35 | Sunday, August 23rd

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I walk through dark halls, pausing when a heavy door opens to my left before slowly moving inside. The overhead lights are sparse, leaving gaps of nothingness where light doesn't reach, and those that do work, flicker. Despite the darkness, I can see four figures standing ahead, unmoving even as I approach.

When look past them, I see no one else. In truth, I can't see anything else; the room stretches too far, and the darkness is too thick.

"Use what's in the room to your advantage," a familiar voice says from above, and it's like a switch is turned on within me.

I hone in on the four in front of me.

They're scared.

They should be.

Hydra doesn't leave survivors.

I step forward, grabbing onto the four and dragging them towards me, their bodies suddenly full of fight as they jerk against my hold.

I know them.

They keep coming back to fight me.

I throw them to the ground, wrapping mental hands around their throats as I press them into the cement.

"Y/N," I hear someone say, but it isn't the voice I'm used to.

I whip my head up, looking around for the voice.

"Y/N."

"Who are you?" I bite, stepping past the four familiar people still struggling under my grip.

"You need to get out."

I ignore the voice and turn back to the four, lifting them into the air.

They need to die.

I squeeze their necks harder, and one after the other, I feel something snap. They stop moving and I drop my hold waiting for orders.

"Y/N, you need to get out."

"No."

I walk further into the room, the sound of water trickling coming from somewhere in the darkness.

My toe kicks a rock aside and I look down in confusion, suddenly able to see.

I look beside me, realizing part of the room is ablaze, the firelight casting dancing shadows along the floor and walls. As I scan the room, I see a gaping hole in the wall to my left, with cement and rebar flung in all directions.

What happened?

I blink and suddenly there's bodies everywhere; under rubble, leaning against walls, poking out from the flames.

We were attacked.

Protect the base.

I reach out, trying to find the intruders, and immediately I feel someone on the other side of the room.

Eliminate the threat.

I start making my way through bodies, taking careful steps around the mess.

"Y/N," someone wheezes beside me before a hand wraps around my ankle weakly.

I whip my head down, meeting eyes with a familiar blond man struggling to raise himself off the floor.

Why is he familiar—

Avenger.

Steve Rogers.

Target.

Before he has time to speak another word, I send a hard gust of air at him, forcing his head into the cement and silencing him.

Reaching Out | Bucky BarnesWhere stories live. Discover now