Ch: 8 [Me and my big mouth]

Ch: 8 [Me and my big mouth]

"I'm not sure why she specifically asked for you, but Natasha is always calculated in her actions. There's a reason behind it," Nick Fury said calmly, his usual demeanor unwavering.

As I stood there, trying to steady my trembling hands and calm my racing heart, I couldn't help but wonder how Nick Fury remained so composed in such intense situations. The room felt icy, and the sight of blood on Selina's bandaged shoulder only heightened my anxiety. Yet, Natasha's body appeared to have suffered fewer injuries.

The memories of the New York incident resurfaced, the trauma still fresh in my mind. I recalled the horrific scenes of people crushed under debris and alien machines falling from the sky. It was a day filled with chaos and destruction, one that the Avengers eventually triumphed over.

I had taken shelter inside a building as the wormhole closed. Peering outside, I witnessed Iron Man plummeting from the sky, only to be caught by the Hulk. It was a moment of victory for the Avengers.

Emerging from my hiding place, I frantically searched for my family amidst the devastation. The streets were strewn with lifeless bodies and gruesome remains. Some people lay wounded, screaming in agony, while others mourned the loss of their loved ones. Everywhere I turned, there was blood, screams, and death. It was a harrowing experience I wished to forget.

Finally, I found my mother and sister, but my heart sank as I realized my father was missing. His lifeless body lay before us, drenched in blood, his lower half absent. The memory of that gruesome sight still haunts me to this day. I never want to relive that horrifying day again.

Since then, something within me has changed. Blood has become an unsettling fascination, causing my heart to race and my mind to lose its grip on sanity. It's a disturbing reaction, one that I can't explain. Who in their right mind finds joy in the sight of blood and injuries? It's as if the trauma has twisted my psyche.

"I've always struggled with a fear of blood," I once confessed to my doctor, a small white lie to conceal the truth. The diagnosis was hemophobia, a fear rooted in the trauma I had endured.

Perhaps I had witnessed more bloodshed than most people my age. Yet, there may be others who have experienced worse. Who knows? All I know for certain is that my trauma has altered me. Surprisingly, the medication prescribed for hemophobia has brought some relief, its calming effects helping to maintain my fragile sanity. But I'll never truly understand the science behind it. After all, I'm no doctor.

Later, I came across the news. Reporters were discussing how Thor had taken Loki back to Asgard for a trial, and a memorial day was held to honor the lives lost. I couldn't help but question myself.

Why were the civilian casualties so high?

Why did none of the Avengers lose their lives?

Why was there no significant loss within the Avengers team?

Instead of publicly executing Loki, why did Thor choose to take him back to Asgard? Was it because Loki is his brother? If that's the case, what about me? I lost my father because of Thor's brother... I wanted to confront Thor and demand, "Who will pay for my father's death?" After all, isn't an eye for an eye the fair way to settle such debts? But what could I have done back then? I was powerless... Eventually, I let go of those childish thoughts and returned to my daily life.

Today, those suppressed feelings of bitterness and anger resurface. The desire for revenge... for true justice, by taking Loki's life with my own hands. I no longer feel helpless, but now is not the right time. I must prioritize my family and focus on gaining power and earning their trust. Only then will I be able to act.

[They say the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Now finish him and taste his blood.] The voice persisted.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Feeling a cold object against my neck, damn it!

"Your man attacked me first... It's only fair to give him a taste of his own medicine," I said, slowly standing up and turning to face Nick Fury.

"Stay calm and do the job you're being paid for," Nick Fury stated, pointing a peculiar-shaped gun at me. "I don't have time for your childish outbursts... And you, Karl. Get up and bring the vial... Now!"

[Come on, tell him to pull the trigger. You know he's bluffing. He can't possibly kill you. You know it. Let's have some fun with him. Do it.]

"Oh! Why don't you go ahead and pull that trigger, splattering my brains all over the floor... Huh? Come on, give it a try," I taunted, walking closer and pressing my forehead against the muzzle. "You called me instead of all those fucking heroes, insulting me in the process. In a situation like this, you should have summoned Dr. Strange, but you didn't... Or is it that you couldn't?"

What the hell am I doing? This voice in my head! Fuck! It must be the effect of the drugs.

Nick Fury lowered his gun. I had suspected something was off from the beginning. This bastard was hiding something, and I didn't want to be entangled in their mess without proper preparation.

"Shit happened. The less you know, the better. Help them and return to your life," Nick Fury responded.

Ah! A question suddenly crossed my mind.

"It's not my business, but what about the assault team? Aren't they affected by the poison?" I asked, curiosity piqued as I recalled Black Widow's conversation in the hospital. I wondered why Nick Fury had never mentioned anything about the assault team that accompanied Black Widow and Selina.

"What assault team?" Nick Fury inquired, his expression growing serious.

Fuck!!! Did I just step into an even bigger mess? Me and my big mouth... Shit!

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