Titanium (Ti)
Atomic Number: 22
Atomic Weight: 47.867 amu
Solid at room temperature; strong metal resistant to sea water, chlorine, and aqua regia; easily oxidized; relatively abundant in the atmosphere
Warnings: Fire hazard, potentially explosive
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How is it possible that after sleeping, Malka's leg throbs more with each step? She suppresses the urge to groan when she lands on her bad foot as she steps up to Natasha and Steve before the old gate. The abandoned military base sends shivers down her spine as she reads the signs covered in rust and dirt.
"This is it," Steve says.
"The file came from these coordinates," Malka sighs. "Of course, it did."
"So did I."
It takes longer than expected for the three of them to find a subtle way inside. Eventually, they climb over the fence, Natasha first and Malka last. Malka, unfortunately, lands on the ground instead of her feet but brushes it off as she pushes forward, her eyes searching through the abandoned base.
"This camp is where I was trained," Steve says as they walk through the darkness.
"Trained or made?" Malka asks, curiosity all too clear in her voice.
"Both."
"Changed much?" Natasha asks, holding the glowing drive in her hand along with her phone.
"A little."
"This is a dead-end," Natasha sighs. "Zero heat signatures, zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off."
"No, the trace definitely led here," Malka says with a shake of her head. She narrows her eyes when she sees Steve's perplexed expression. "What?"
He glances back at them. "Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards of the barracks. This building is in the wrong place." They march up to the concrete structure, Steve slamming his shield into the lock. Descending quietly, they spread out through the structure as Natasha flips the lights on.
"This is SHIELD," Natasha says, staring at the symbol on the far wall.
Steve nods as they walk down the room. "Maybe where it started." As they step into a smaller office, framed pictures spanning the walls, Malka hesitates and allows her mind to imagine what it was like, who might have worked there, before following them in.
"There's Stark's father." Natasha motions to one frame. "Who's the girl?"
Malka glances back when Steve says nothing. Without dwelling on Natasha's expression, Malka pauses in front of a large bookshelf, wind brushing by her face. "Strange," she whispers.
Steve comes up by her side to inspect the bookshelf. "If you're already working in a secret office," He pushes the shelving open to reveal an elevator, "why do you need to hide the elevator?"
"Something's not right," Malka mutters as Natasha puts in the code, the pristine elevator opening. "This is too new. America didn't have this tech yet—no one did."
