heartless ; 𝐭. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 , 𝟏

09 - hunting grounds

june 2016

The asset padded down the corridor, following the sound of metal clanging on metal, the sound of Tony's sharp orders to his mechanical friends, and the occasional string of curses that fell from his lips after a failed experiment. She smirked as she silently snuck up on the billionaire. It had been a few weeks of staying here and infiltrating Iron Man's defenses, and she had yet to make her first move. She could hear a clock ticking in her head as the days went on, slowly but surely counting down to her victim's inevitable fate.

She'd spent all of the previous weeks gently playing the part of a lost woman looking for a place to call home. Just a poor, defenseless girl in a woman's body. But the strength and sheer power of will that coursed through Asset 53's veins strongly suggested otherwise.

Shaking her head, she rid her mind of the fogginess that still lingered from the cryo pills that she took every night. The small green things sure had a kick to them, letting her embrace the cool wave that washed over her every time they slid down her throat. Not as promising as the real thing, but it was enough to do the job and keep her mind fresh for the next day of her mission.

For a moment, she longed for her cryo chamber, her concrete-walled cell of a bedroom, and even Mr. Smith, the man she used to practice different torture methods on. With a twinge of sadness, she tried to usher his face to her mind, but it was nearly impossible. All she saw was a blurry face in the middle of a forest, a shadow cast over the features, keeping it hidden from view.

The sight shook up the asset, and she blinked a few times to get herself back on track. She was almost upon her target's lab, and she had to be free of all conflicting thoughts in order to execute this deed. Must have been a faulty pill last night, she brushed it off. Happens all the time.

As she crept to the edge of the doorway and surveyed the scene, she crossed her arms and scrutinized the area.

She was no scientist, but she suspected that even the most brilliant ones didn't have as much of a mess littering their labs as Tony Stark did. Papers fluttered from shelves when a robot—or machine, she didn't know—rolled its way past. The sheets of paper were hardly in neat piles, nor did she think that was the point. Organized chaos was not a phrase she could use in this situation. It was turbulent chaos.

Coffee cups had been tossed on the floor after being emptied of their contents, styrofoam takeout containers were stacked by the far-too-small garbage can, seemingly the only organization in the large room. Pieces of metal, presumably parts for a model for his suits or other weapons, were scattered on the tables, most of them laying on odd angles, unfinished. Others were standing upright, an arm here, a foot there, all built out of what looked like scrap metal, painted bright colors of shining red and shimmering gold.

The asset took note of just how many models he seemed to be making. It was like he was building an army.

And in the middle of it all stood the one and only target of the biggest mission of her life. Tony Stark.

His head was bent over the table he was working at, hovering over what looked like...well, the asset couldn't tell. It was far different than what she'd seen on the other tables. This was not made of metal, this was some kind of rubbery material. And instead of red and gold, she caught stripes of blue and black, with red pulling it all together.

She'd done the most observing she could without talking. The only way she would get more information to bring back to Hydra would be if she started playing the role she'd been instructed to. "What are you making?" She opened her mouth, letting the words float from her lips like a sweet love song.