WE FACE OUR FEARS UNARMED ON THE BATTLEFIELD | ❝ Protect Seraphina. And don't trust anyone. ❞
✪✪
All she's ever known is a life of looking over her shoulder, running, staying out of the spotlight.
Until a man in blue with a large disc on his...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
╚════════════════╝
"Initiate system?"
I walked up to the platform to join Steve and Natasha, to get a better look at what was going on. Because I was always a fly on the wall, watching and assessing other people, going unnoticed, it was in my nature to hang back and watch from a distance. But I knew I had to break that habit eventually.
I was a wanted woman and there was no doubt that S.H.I.E.L.D. would be looking into the shadows, trying to think like me in order to catch me.
Natasha put her fingers on the keyboard. "Y-E-S spells yes," she said aloud as she typed. As the computers on the workspace started to whirl to life, I heard her say in a deep voice, "Shall we play a game?"
With no response from neither me nor Steve, she started to turn to Steve. "It's from a movie that was—"
"I know. I saw it," Steve cut in before Natasha could finish.
I snickered to myself as I saw the main computer screen flicker, a static-y green screen appeared to resemble a face. It was super creepy, yet oddly life-like
"Rogers, Steven. Born 1918," an animated voice said. It sounded like a German accent, but I wasn't really sure.
The little camera on top of the screen turned toward me and I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to be small again. "Harper, Seraphina. Born 1988."
What the hell? How did it know that?
The camera moved around again, turning toward Natasha. "Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna. Born 1984," the voice said again.
"It's some kind of recording," Natasha said in confusion.
"I am not a recording, Fräulein," the computer spoke. What was even creepier was that it sounded like it was offended about being called a recording.
Someone get me the fuck out of here. My stomach was churning, something in my bones telling me that something bad was coming.
"I may not be the man I was when the captain took me prisoner in 1945. But I am."
A black and white photo of a small old man with big, round glasses appeared on the computer screen to the right of the big one.
"You know this thing?" Natasha asked Steve.
I looked to Steve and saw the shock on his face. He started to look around the room as he stepped off the platform. "Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He's been dead for years," Steve said, walking around the platform like he was looking for something.
