oblivion. ▷ captain america. [1] •••DISCONTINUED•••

PART ONE i ▷ back in business.

O N E

01. | back in business.
you never leave the olden days

genevieve.

•

AFTER ALL of my years of schooling, I've never been so unprepared for something this simple. For a woman to have a doctorate degree in psychology from Oxford and be one of the highest ranking women in the United States's military, I believed that I had this covered. However, I believed completely wrong. This kind of science and physical development is completely irrational. So I've either gotten myself into something incredible or something utterly horrible.

I've repeated over and over again to Dr. Erskine that this will not be a good idea to experiment on a person like this, but he assures me that it will be all right and that the only test subject will be given a choice. I pray to God that he isn't lying to me.

I've had to fly across the bloody ocean for this, so it better be good too.

I twiddle my thumbs on the airplane, silently waiting until we reach our destination. There are a few men that they have all informed me of, but not one seemed fit for the operation. They were either too self-centered or too mortified to take the job. That's when the people in the US told me of Steven Grant Rogers. Apparently he's perfect for it, but Dr. Abraham Erskine and Mr. Howard Stark wanted my approval before testing.

I feel bad for the poor fool. If he just so happens to be fit for the job, he's damned from the moment he steps into that laboratory.

I flip through the files of every other previous soldier that we've thought about. There's one guy that seems well enough for it, but I have not met him personally yet. Hodge is his name. He's fit, big, strong — the perfect soldier. However, that's not what I'm looking for. I'm searching for the guts. If the man's tiny with a big heart, they'll give him a big figure to match it. That's all our guy needs to have.

"Miss Edwards," the flight attendant calls. His ginger hair is swiped clearly to the side, showing his care for his appearance. I glance up at him, meeting his dead eyes. Definitely self-conceited.

"It's Doctor Edwards," I correct.

The ginger sets his jaw, growing impatient. "We will be landing in a few moments. I suggest you gather your things."

"I will. Thank you," I state sarcastically. He stomps off again, leaving me in this section of the jet by myself, which I'm perfectly fine with. I shove my files into a small leather handbag that slings across my shoulder, setting it in my lap and waiting quietly. I feel the plane shooting down towards earth, slowly skidding across the cement once it does reach the ground. I stand from my seat once the flight attendant (Gavin, I think his name is) orders me to get out. He lazily gets my things, smashing them to the floor. Even for being a small beaten up brown suitcase, it thumps to the floor.

"Thank you, love," I grin, snatching my things up and smoothing down my blue and white polka dotted dress. I watch Gavin hold out his hand, expecting some cash I suppose. "Your payment is keeping your job."

Gavin clenches his jaw, retracting his open palm away from me.

I stride to the exit with my luggage. My black flats click across the cement and towards the small black car the awaits near the airplane. A man in a tailored suit leans against it, his hands in his pockets. He greets me with a smile and takes my bags from me. He offers to take my satchel, but I quickly decline.

"Thank you though," I tell him. "If this was ruined, a few people would want me dead."

The chauffeur nods, laughing softly. "Well, Miss Edwards, welcome to New York."