Little Events

Assassins

He was glad he had followed the sound of a child crying, all the way down in that dark alley, now, as he looked down at the old freezer box that was sat in front of him. It was wet and tearable with a slight breeze, but still, three little children-a girl, a boy, and a sleeping, unidentifiable, third- were all crammed inside, looking petulant in their filthy, ragged clothing, exposing impossibly skinny flesh below.  The two who were awake were wailing their lungs out, keen little eyes trained on Steve as he shuffled his feet uncertainly. Their cries were tugging at his heart strings, making him want to pick them up and help them, but he knew all too well the scams of the street children, and knew they could just be trying to steal his possessions. All three of them were tiny little things, slips of children, and the girl, who looked to be the older of the three, had horrible tangles and gnarls in her long, ginger hair, her piercing green eyes rimmed with mud and Lord-knows what else. Slowly raising his hand to his ear, Steve turned away for a second to whisper into his comms. "Coulson? We've got a situation here." He murmured, quickly sending his coordinates, before turning back to the box, where the kids had quietened, and the third child was starting to stir. He was tiny, no more than about a year old, and, as he stretched and turned, Steve let out a small involuntary gasp. Where the other two had some sort of life in their eyes still, a fire burning to keep them alive, this one had nothing but dull, dead ice. He glared at Steve for a second, bundled up in a sort of threadbare blanket, before whimpering, and cuddling into the girl's side. She turned, clutching the boy close, stroking his shoulder length black hair back from his face as she whispered in rapid fire words, too quiet for Steve to catch, though the older boy soon turned his filthy head towards the two, and, crawling closer, joined the group hug, all three staring distrustfully out at the Avenger. After a few seconds, running feet could be heard, and Coulson burst into the alley, taking stock of the situation rapidly, before turning to Steve. "What is the meaning of this?" He asked, gesturing to the kids. "They're just street children. Probably trained in manipulative techniques, to get at as much of you as possible." He groaned, dismissing the box of children. "We had to drop an interrogation of a high risk suspect back there, and for some street rats?" He spat in the general direction of the box, and pushed past the soldiers in the street, muttering about 'a bloody waste of time' and how 'he should stop listening to calls'. Steve sighed, knowing something was different about these kids, but he was damned if he could put his finger on it. But, just then, as he knelt down by the side of the box, to study the children, the littlest one broke out from the group cuddle, holding his arms out to be picked up by the Avenger. One was absolutely filthy, scars winding all the way up it as a patchwork of botched experiments, but the other one, the left arm, was the interesting one. As he lifted his arms, the blanket fell away, to reveal a completely spotless arm made of metal plates, bending and moving like a real arm. Gasping slightly as the sun streaming into the alley caught the metal, Steve almost fell backwards, instead using the floor to steady himself, before scooping the tiny boy up into his arms. He felt lighter than a sack of flour, so, bundling him closer, Steve mimed 'one minute' to the other two kids, who looked thoroughly miserable, and ran out of the alley, clutching the baby to himself. "Coulson! Coulson! Phil!" He yelled after the retreating back of his superior. The man turned, angry, and growled "if this is about those damn kids again, I'll-" he started, before Steve got closer, and showed him the baby's metal arm. "This thing has been grafted on. That's major surgery, on a baby." Coulson breathed, lightly stroking it. "Very well, bring them in, I'm sure we can find something out." He ordered, turning to go. "Actually, Sir. There's one more thing. None of them can walk, so...I'm gonna need someone to bring the other two." Steve chimed in, prompting a scoff and an eye-roll from Coulson. "I can't trust any of these to do it. I'll go back for them. Let's just get this one on the quinjet for now." He ordered, doubling back and jogging back towards the alley, to where crying could faintly be heard. "I think we've found Coulson's soft spot there, eh Son?" Steve cooed, as he carried the baby onto the plane, smiling softly as he noticed the boy had fallen asleep gripping onto the star on the front of his suit.