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@yourxcreator
All that Remains. [Post-TWS]
@yourxcreator
Hunting down the remnants of Hydra kept him busy, kept him from thinking too much about who he was and who he used to be. He still couldn’t even begin to feel like “Bucky,” but James was as good a name as any.
Not that it mattered right now, while he stayed under the radar and hunted live prey.
James had demolished every single hideout he’d located, hopping from one continent to the next, although a large amount clustered in Europe and the United States. And he’d killed every single member of Hydra he’d come across– quickly, mercilessly, no quarter given or prisoners taken. A mission of vengeance as much as one of justice, and as much as it was a means of keeping anyone from experiencing what he had as the Asset.
Now, James paused just outside the door located deep within the lab. He’d already killed the guards without any alert or signal being given. Now he sought to eliminate those who experimented so horrifyingly on other human beings, and those who ordered the experiment. James drew his gun, silent, and flicked the safety off.
He finds him standing there, alone in the room, a barren gleaming landscape of white walls and steel tables, his hands empty, but not up. It takes him longer than it ought to to turn around, but turn around he does, as easily and as casually as if this were his home and he were greeting a not unwelcome guest.
Pale eyes rake over him, top to toe, and by the time their eyes meet, that razor-thin mouth is smiling. He looks the same.
“Why, will you look who it is,” he marvels, shaking his head in pleased disbelief. “Still alive! Well done, well done. I’d offer you a drink, but I’ve been working- and these days it’s rare that they let you keep a good scotch in your office.”
"If monsters are shaped." Erik's voice is dull and bitter, eyes turned up towards the ceiling, fixed on the patterns there. He sees Shaw only in the corner of his vision. "Who shaped you?"
“Now, son,” he says, and his voice is like a knife inhoney, the edge just barely visible, barely tangible-(reach in, just a little further, just an inch, and you’llcut yourself-)“What kind of a question is that to ask somebody?There are no monsters in this world. Not a one. There’sno such thing and never has been. There’s only men, only different types of men. That’s all. Some better thanothers, sure- but we knew that, didn’t we?”That bony hand, no longer as stark a white as it used tobe but still so hot and cold and wrong, lays itself likea patient spider on Erik’s knee. It squeezes. A bone creakssomewhere.“Of course, if you’re asking where I was born, that sort of thing,I’d have to say I was surprised at the sudden interest. But Ihad a mother, I had a father, just like anybody else. Fine people.Small. But fine people all the same. A sister too, can you imagine?Her name was Karla. I wonder if she’s still around.”
Euridice BA 2O37 | Nikos Nikolaidis, 1975
How old are you really, Shaw?
“Well, first I really have to say I don’t care for the question. Impolite, in my book.”
He had always done everything so quickly, before the water of his life had slowed to this steady and terrible stream- something that oozed rather than gushed. University at seventeen. Doctorate at twenty-three. Party member before he was forty, entrusted with more in only a few months’ time (oh, so much more!)
…
But now? Seven years since the war ended, since the Manhattan Project came to its ghastly fruition?
He hasn’t had a gray hair from the time he first set foot in the desert. He smiles at the asker, born at the turn of the century, and lies.
“I’ll have seen my thirty-eighth spring come this February.”
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What Will Atomic Energy Do For Me?
Covered Wagons & A Mushroom Cloud - Early morning bathers in Las Vegas watch a mushroom cloud from an atomic test just 75 miles away, 1953.
O U T
no. :) i n . :)))
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