You know this gist of the story from the title, do I really need to explain it? Oh, to the new people clicking on this book, hi. I'm Cyanide, and this is the second chapter of my story.
"It was him. He looked right at me, but he didn't even know me," Steve was staring at the ground. "How is that even possible? It was like 70 years ago," Sam said. "Zola. Bucky's whole unit was captured in '43. Zola experimented on him and a few others. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. They must've found him," He explained. "None of that's your fault, Steve," I said, gritting my teeth from the pain shooting up my arm. "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky," Romanoff leaned back, blood dripping from the wound in her arm.
"We need to get a doctor here. If we don't put pressure on that wound, she's gonna bleed out here in the truck," The guard simply buzzed his stick at him, when the other suddenly electrocuted them and knocked them out. "Ugh, that thing was squeezing my brain. Who's this guy?" Maria Hill pulled off the helmet. She pulled out a melty stick, and we all slid out of the truck through the bottom. "Here, I got you," Hill scooped me up, leading us to a truck of her own where she had a wheelchair and some keys. I sat down in the wheelchair, and the others got their hands unbound. "Get some sleep, we'll be there soon," Hill said, going into the front.
We stopped in front of a dam, Hill leading us to the gate and opening it. "GSW. She's lost at least a pint," Hill reported to the doctor running towards us. "Maybe two," Sam echoed. "Let me take her!" He called. "She'll want to see him first. Then you can patch the ladies up," Hill said.
We approached a plastic curtain, which Hill pulled aside to reveal Nick motherfucking Fury. "About damn time," He said, looking at us staring at him. "Take care of her first, I can wait," I told the doctor, who went about working on Natasha. "Lacerated spinal column, cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and one hell of a headache," He said, listing off his injuries. "Don't forget your collapsed lung," The doctor piped up, pressing gauze to Romanoff's wound.
"Let's not forget that. Otherwise, I'm good," He said. "They cut you open, your heart stopped," Romanoff said. "Tetrodotoxin B. Slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress, didn't work so great for him, but we found a use for it," He explained. "What's with all the secrecy? Why not just tell us?" Steve asked. "Any attempt on his life had to look successful. Can't kill you if you're already dead," I said from my spot.
"Besides, I wasn't sure who to trust,"
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