Dijn | Marvel

"Ms. Dinah Nicole Barton Drake Fury"

Fifty seconds.

Dijnger pushes down her rising panic and keeps working. Fifty seconds was more than enough time to crack this lock.

Forty seconds.

She holds a bobbi pin in her teeth, typing in the passcode on her computer that is currently hooked up to the electronic lock. All she has to do hack the carefully created algorithm, push the button in the lock with the bobbi pink, then get in and out of the safe without anyone noticing.

Thirty seconds.

Come on, Dijnger had done this a trillion times, but this time the person who made it was almost as smart as her. Almost.

Twenty seconds.

Just one more number, perfect. The lock makes a satisfying click and the door opens. With ten seconds to spare.

Dijnger pears into the room. It's completely empty except for a glass vial filled with an amber liquid, sitting on a stand in the middle of the room. The Star Spangled Serum 2.0. Her name of course.

She takes some blush out of her purse, never leaves home without it, and blows it movie style. What can she say, Dijn loves style. And of course, the blush stills in the air, settling over the laser beams meant to catch thieves. Thieves without a love for all things cliche, obviously.

She artfully dives under and over the laser beams, knowing that if even one is interfered with, she is dead.

The brunette lifts the vial from the stand and slips it in her bag, then, carefully, she goes back the way she came.

With a smug smirk on her olive toned face, Dijn exits the room. She needed some theme music. What a shame she didn't buy that Spotify membership when she had the chance. Signing up now would take to much time.

Just as she was about to make her grand exit, a piercing pain erupted in her side. She softly poked at her wound, finding blood on her fingertips. Ouch.

Dijn heard a grunt and turned to see a man behind her, carefully notching another arrow. Wonderful.

"Ow."

~×~

"Pleasure to finally meet you." A gruff voice breaks into Dijnger's subconscious. She opens her eyes to see a dark skinned man in an eye patch and a trench coat sitting across from her.

Collecting her bearings, Dijn looks around to find herself in an interrogation room with depressing blue walls, and drearily dim lights. Skies above, who decorated in here? The fact that the dark color of the wall matched that of the ceiling was just the first of many mistakes. Shaking her head, the brunette goes to use her fist to prop up her head, but finds that her wrists are chained to the table.

"Hey, what gives?" She fusses with a sneer.

"What gives is you're a dangerous criminal Miss-- What is your name?" The man asks. Dijnger bristles at this.

"I don't give my name out until you give me your's." She counters sassily.

"Fury. Nick Fury."

A giggle emits loudly from the young woman, "Fury. Nick Fury. What are you James Bond?"

"Sort of. You see, instead of being a dashing spy, I head an organization full of dashing spies. Like Agent Barton, the archer in the hallway."