Somewhere in New York; Night.
Black Widow and I, an unknown Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., had been partners for who knows how long; to be honest, it wasn't inordinately clear, but it felt like years. Tonight, she and I were ordered to evaluate information imperative to our mission, yet couldn't discuss the exact details. I met Natasha around 2100 hours inside an unfinished although familiar building, on the second to last upper level of a skyscraper overlooking the city. Our objective, to my knowledge thus far, was to question Sharon Carter on the whereabouts of a particular friend.
The moment she arrived, however, Sharon decided to stand no more than ten feet away from us, obviously feeling a bit unease. I couldn't blame her, as it was a tense situation and nobody wanted to fathom the inevitable conclusion. While Natasha began verbally drawing out the importance of finding this friend, Sharon would only answer in slight riddles, which further agitated our quandary and left me speculating. I listened intently between the two, attempting to connect the smallest hints in Sharon's replies, if there were any.
"Sharon, please," I advocated with a sigh, "we have history. Let's not make things difficult." She lowered her head in thought, and I continued, "Please, help us." She debated whether or not she should as I glanced to Natasha, insinuating that there is a possibility of a lost cause. I then turned back to Sharon, pushing for a quicker answer. When all was said and done, it seemed we came to a peaceful understanding; I managed to coerce her into sharing Steve Rogers' location. I also deduced her feelings for Steve were deeper than she let on.
Suddenly, as if on queue, a loud noise steals our attention. It's the combination of heavy boots and muffled voices, growing in volume the closer they became. Clearly a breach stemming from the southern side of the lower, undeveloped floors. HYDRA Grunts soon poured in and fanned out to cover distance and angle, blue pulses of focused energy shooting from their advanced assault rifles. Without notice and in-full sprint, Sharon took off down an aisle of sheet metal, beams, and insulation tubes. "Damn it," Natasha cursed, evading gunfire, "rendezvous at Site B." She followed after Sharon.
"Wait, but... you're my ride..." I commented, somewhat letdown by her abrupt departure. A pulse struck my head. Black Widow was fresh on Sharon's trail, so much so that she came within inches of nabbing her target. Sharon's training enabled her to escape Natasha's grasps and avoid being caught. She leaped from the edge of what's soon to be a bathroom, covering a small gap leading down to the next level.
Natasha pursued her, up until a hand threw off her coordination. My hand, which clawed at her right shoulder in mid-jump and caused her to fall and crash. I was hoping to stop her in order to let Sharon go, a calculated idea that kind of backfired.
Later that morning.
An out-of-control tactical helicopter is spinning sideways, rotating fast enough to tear the skin off any normal Human. But for Captain America, holding on for dear life by the inner-straps of his Shield, it was just another night in paradise. There was something utterly peculiar about Steve Rogers, the Legend: he's enrobed convincingly as Spider-Man, wearing a suit composed of the Red, White and Blue color scheme, and donning a Star on his chest. Beneath the mask, Steve furrows his brows and grimaces. The helicopter had to be stopped immediately, or else innocents might die.
"I've got this," he managed to say. Web sprang from his left wrist, and thanks to his superior strength, he's able to yank the door from its hinges. Pushing his head in, he observes the interior, expeditiously heeding the Pilot's death. "Tch." Steve projects additional webbing, trying to halt the helicopter's descent, binding a network amidst the closest buildings. To no avail, Spider-Man's artificial mesh couldn't stand the dynamic weight and rapid gyration of HYDRA's killing machine.
He opted another way; it's dangerous, he thought. Loading himself like a slingshot, he pressed off, vaulting through the propellers. Unfortunately, that's where he ended. Captain America gravely misjudged. Blood and chunks of armored-flesh showered the street below, dousing some civilians and the like in effluence. Black Widow and Hawkeye were traumatized. I didn't believe my eyes, either, watching a viewing screen at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s main base of operations.
Seconds passed, and to everyone's surprise, nanotech designed by Tony Stark released thousands of nanobots readily accessible in Steve's getup; they enacted optimized repair and rebuild protocols. Each lump of flesh, bone and costume wiggled and crawled to a congregation in the middle of the roadway, wires flinging out to connect every piece, making Spider-Soldier whole again. In sync, the nanobots sent a resounding electrical shock throughout Steve's lifeless corpse. Then another, and another. Steve woke on the fourth jolt, gasping for air.
Notes: I'm sharing this for no real reason other than I thought it was kind of cool. It's based on a dream I had recently, like five days ago. Got around to writing it out of boredom. Let me know what you all think.