Fear the Fever ⏃ Captain America [3]

Chapter One

Dr. Marcel Carsten walked into the occupied holding cell, a chair in hand. He set the chair a few feet in front of her and sat down in it. He sat right across from her and stared at her unconscious silhouette. She was beautiful and Marcel had to admit to it. He then noticed it. The purple lightning-like burns that traveled up her right arm to her neck and inching onto her jaw. He narrowed his eyes at them and knew that she had run into some trouble along her life.
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Marcel pulled out a zippo and began igniting and extinguishing the small flame the device created. He studied the flicker of the flame and decided that she wasn't going to wake up on her own any time soon. He reared his left foot back and fired it into her shin, hard enough for her to slightly stir. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, revealing the most beautiful shade of purple-blue Marcel had ever seen.
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She had never been scared of being kidnapped and tortured, but tonight the nerves found her. It wasn't because of the dark room or the rumbling thunder outside or even the reality that she was sitting in front of man who supposedly died back in the early 1940's. It's the questions, the ones that they would be screaming at her, demanding her to answer.
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"So, you're the infamous Red Cobra." Marcel declared.
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"Marcel."
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"Hmm, so you do know your history." Marcel replied, intrigued at how she seemed to know him by name, yet he didn't know hers.
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"Ja," she said in German.
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"And you speak German," he added. "You're a very intelligent woman."
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She began to wonder if he was being condescending, but then realized that it didn't matter. Despite what she had promised before she left America, she knew that she might not make it out of here alive. But if she did, she also knew that she wouldn't be the same as before.
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The metal of the chair is cold, and the surface is smooth, like rocks in a riverbed. She looked up at the ceiling, seeing cracks sprawled across the cement where water was dripping through and splashed against her eyelashes. A flash of lightning brightens the sky; for a split second, she can make out a long scar that marred the side of Marcel's face.
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"Some people don't believe you exist, Cobra." He announced, leaning forward in his chair. "But, here you are, sitting right in front of me and I still don't believe it."
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"Some might say the same thing about you." She replied coolly. "Seeing as though you died during World War II. But, here you are, sitting right in front of me," she smirked.
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"I need you to answer some questions for me. But first, what is your name?" Marcel asked.
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She knew that if she answered it would hurt other people, but if she didn't answer it would only hurt her. She wouldn't show any sign of fear, it would only give Marcel the power he craved. She didn't want to do that. Giving him power would just prove him right. He slowly rose from his seat. Suddenly, Marcel grabbed the chair and threw it over her head. It slammed into the wall with a loud BANG!
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But she didn't move, or even flinch.
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Marcel strode up to her and smacked her across the face. The slap echoed throughout the cell and her head whipped back, her hair draped over her face for a moment until she slung it out of her face. Marcel dipped his head dangerously low to hers, breathing in her scent, studying her every move.
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"Who are you?!" Marcel screamed.
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His accent was so thick and full of fiery rage. She knew that he would scream and yell all he wanted, but she would never answer. Revealing her true identity would place everyone she was close to in danger, and she wouldn't allow anything happen to them. Marcel grew impatient and enraged at her silence. He slapped her yet again, but this had no effect. It did not suede her in the slightest. He balled his right hand into a tight fist and fired it into her face. The crack of her nose rang out through her head and the blood flowed into her mouth. The metallic taste of her blood was electrifying to her heightened senses.
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Marcel smiled wickedly and bowed down to get into her face. His breath reeked of foreign cigars and a familiar order a certain disease gives off. It was cancer. She knew the smell well.
She wondered if the cancer was the reason he had survived this long, a German experiment assisted in his long life.
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Why did it matter how he survived all these years? It didn't.
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Marcel reached out and took a handful of her hair and yanked her face to where she looked directly up at him.
She met his eyes and the hardness in them didn't falter. The world around them slowed. He searched her eyes for any traces of an answer, but, when he didn't, he released her and stormed out of the cell.
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She narrowed her eyebrows in confusion and watched his retreating form. She steadily grew even more curious, pondering what he had in store for her. She was aware of the many methods these German hijackers used to get what they wanted. She was aware of their power. The metal cell door slammed shut and she could hear the distinct muffle of voices. She leaned forward slightly and listened closely as the men spoke in German. It was faint and too far away from her intensified hearing could pick up on.
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Two men entered her desolate cell, one of them was a gruff, hardened former soldier who was extremely muscular. But the man behind him caused her heart to lurch into her throat.
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Micah.
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Despite herself, tears welled up in her eyes at the sight of him. A mere six years ago, she watched as a bullet flew right through Micah's left temple. Her world had seemingly come to end at that single moment, holding his still body in her shaking arms, explosions and gun-fire sounding around them.
But the sound had been distant to her, sounding as though it was hundreds of miles away.
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Micah strolled over to her, running the pads of his fingers up the length of her arm, across her collar bone until they reached her chin. He lifted up her chin to meet her eyes, he slowly leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. She took his bottom lip into her mouth and sunk her teeth into the soft flesh; the warm blood rushed into her mouth as he hollered out. Micah wrapped his large hand around her neck, blood flowing out of his swollen lip.
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"You always were a bitch," he spat. He released her neck and turned to the larger man behind him. "Lassen Sie uns." [Leave us]
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The man nodded and replied: "Ya, vol." [Yes, sir] He turned around and walked out of the cell, leaving Micah and her in the dark room.
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"è molto tempo che non ci si vede, amico." [Long time, no see, friend] Micah said in Italian, knowing that only she would understand him.
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He unshackled her and helped her to her feet. He cupped her face in his hands, studying her every single feature before placing a gentle kiss upon her mouth. But at the same time he began to unbutton her blouse. She yanked her head away from his, staring down at her unbuttoned shirt.
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"What are you doing?" she whispered, bring her eyes up to meet his.
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"I have to do this," he replied.
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She nodded curtly. Micah resumed, removing the fabric from her shoulders before tossing it into the corner. He gingerly brushed his knuckles on the smooth flesh of her abdomen as he fumbled with the button of her jeans. Once they were unbuttoned and unzipped, he slowly pulled them down the length of her legs and off of her feet. He then pressed his lips on the uppermost of her thigh before running his thumbs over the scars that marred her abdomen.
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"Das reicht, Micah," [That's enough, Micah] An unfamiliar deep and throaty voice commanded from the doorway of the cell. Micah stood, still facing her and he winked at her, before turning around and exiting the cell.
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"My name is Sebastian," the man said, crossing further into the cell.
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On instinct, she took a step back. Sebastian reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. The coldness of his touch caused goose-bumps to arise on the surface of her skin. He narrowed his dark eyes at the perfectness of her recently broken nose. When he put the pieces together, a faint smile formed on his lips.
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Sebastian took a few steps back, and surveyed her form - taking in everything about her. A minute. Two minutes. Three whole minutes passed before he quietly left, leaving the room as if he were never here. When the door closed she released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She looked up and saw the soul "window" in the room and then looked to the door.
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The window wasn't really a window at all, but a hole that had been cut into the concrete when it was built. She let out a few deep breaths through her nose, she felt so exposed without the proper clothing and she felt the chill of the winter air through the makeshift window - but at least I'm not completely naked, she thought. She had no idea why Micah was forced to take her clothes, but at the moment it wasn't of importance.
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She glanced around aimlessly trying to configure something. A plan. A plan was all she needed. She didn't care if the plan was stupid or reckless, she just needed an escape. She stopped pacing and stared up at the window.
The window had nothing covering it except two rust and ice covered bars.

At her position, she tried to calculate if the space was big enough for her to squeeze between them. She looked over her shoulder at the door, her eyes wide with anxiety. She had no idea if this would work and she prayed that she didn't get caught, because the consequences she would face for trying to escape would be brutal.
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She took a deep breath and grabbed the chair which she was just recently shackled to and pushed it against the wall with the window. She stood atop the chair and looked out, her face was immediately met with the wind that was so cold it felt as though it was shredding her skin. She saw Micah, Sebastian, and Marcel talking just outside. She shook her head, she couldn't try to escape right now. She had to wait for the cover of nightfall.
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She hopped down and moved the chair to its original position, diverting suspicions. She sunk down in the corner of the room and stared up at the cracked and leaking ceiling. It wasn't long until Sebastian made an abrupt visit to her cell. Her eyes followed his every movement as he trudged toward her. She hadn't even had the chance to stand or even react when Sebastian took her by her hair and pulled her to her feet. A scream tore through her throat.
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Sebastian dragged her toward the chair and shoved her down in it. He fired his left fist square into her face, the large metal rings on his fingers busting her lip. She could taste her own blood, and Sebastian smiled at the quickly healing slit on her bottom lip. She wiped the remaining blood off with the back of her hand. Her eyes flickered up at him, filled with anger. She rose from the chair and pounced on Sebastian. She punched him and stood, hurriedly making her way to the door.
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She was immediately halted by Sebastian grabbing onto her ankle and yanking it backward. She plummeted face first. He pulled her back, watching as she rolled onto her back.
She raised her free foot and kicked him in the jaw, causing him to stagger backward. She clamored to her feet and ran, she turned a corner and ran right into the chest of a guard.
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"Where do you think you're going?"
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She looked up and her heart lurched into her throat once more. "Scott?"
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"That doesn't matter," he replied, gripping her shoulders and slamming her against the cement wall nearby.
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She gasped, her back arching in pain.
A growl came from deep within Scott's chest, he reached out and wrapped his large hands around her neck, cutting off her oxygen. She sucked in short and hallowed breaths in attempt to fill her lungs with air. When her efforts failed, she tried to pry off his hands, scratch at them or thrash out of his hold, but nothing worked.
Scott's face soon turned into smears of color as her heart beat started to slow, blackness beginning to consume her.