The Unknown Enemy ∘ Marvel [3]

Chapter 17: We All Break

Fury stands up in obvious pain, showing JUST YOU AND ME while giving a small smirk, "Just my friends."

"Is that what we are?" Steve inquires more, confused and feeling in the dark once again as the director walks towards him.

"That's up to you."

Suddenly, a bullet rips through the wall. Fury gives a cry of pain as Rogers reacts as quick as he can. More shots are fired as he drops to the floor, Steve grabbing his shield and kneeling over him. He looks through the windows, trying to identify the attacker from across the street.

Red blood seeps onto the dark hardwood floor. Fury struggles for breath as he reaches out to Roger's. The soldier gaze is torn away from the figure running from the window across the street as the dying man places something in his hands. He glances down to recognize the hard drive Natasha had taken from the Lumerian Star weeks ago.

Fury coughs, choking out his last words to try and tell Rogers something, "Don't trust......anyone."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has always been odd to me how a normal life existed.

I sat on my bed, giving up the fruitless idea of sleep after a half hour of laying awake while the words of the dream ran around in my head. Instead I now faced towards the window, pulling the blinds away for the first time in weeks.

Lights of DC still shone past midnight, and cars passing by the hospital three floors down were off to wherever their destination was. Beeping of horns and other busy sounds were audible from behind the glass. I sighed as my tense body didn't relax as I kept watching 'normal' people.

Did those people in their offices feel fear around every corner every night as they stayed up late working? Did those people driving home, perhaps talking on the phone, become uneasy at the idea someone may be tapping their call? How could someone not wear a pistol concealed under their coat incase of attack?

Did these people not understand the battle around them? The corrupt businesses? The agencies out to destroy them? The murder of innocents happening by the millions? The monsters that lurked among them? Did they not realize how many people they passed on the street were so ready to kill? How much danger they were surrounded by?

Did they really not know the world for what it was?

Perhaps they lived in a different one. A world where spilling coffee on yourself was the biggest downside of your day. A world where you could sleep with peace because no one wished you dead. A world where a broken heart was the thing that would tear you up inside, not a knife.

So many of those people weren't murderers. They maybe hadn't even touched a gun. They didn't know overwhelming guilt of things they'd done. They didn't know protocols and kill missions.

You think you can live in a world that can never love you? You think you can exist in a reality where you can't function without a mission? You think you can keep going with all the blood on your hands? You think you can get by?

Those words were so true, and that fact was it was scary. Here I was, trying to ignore my fist griping a blanket tightly in my hand as it shook. My lungs invited in shaky breaths to still my beating pulse that wouldn't slow down.

How many people out there were as scared as me now? If they were, was it because of months gone from their memories? How many were scared of being scared?