A/N: New story! Yay! I'm actually really happy where I'm taking this story (I've got big plans for it!) so...I hope you guys like what you read and stick around for the ride. It's also the most different form of the Winter Soldier I've ever written, so that's pretty cool.

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel comics. No infringement was intended and no money made off this story. The only thing I own is my original character, Sophie Duran.

Sophie knew that leaving her house was a mistake. She'd known this fact since she was five-years-old. She'd snuck into her father's study and put her hands on her father's computer, the one he'd said she must never go by. He always kept the study locked anyway. But he'd forgotten tonight—he and Sophie's mother were at yet another benefit and a negligent teenage babysitter was watching (in the loosest definition of the word) Sophie—and Sophie was what people like to affectionately call a "rascal" and not-so-affectionately call a "menace" (usually through gritted teeth).

This meant that Sophie broke rules, made messes, and caused trouble.

She'd clambered onto the large oak desk, sitting right in front of the huge bay window which revealed a stormy black sky outside, lightning flashing and thunder cracking in the sky, and had eagerly turned the computer on with her chubby preschooler finger.

That was when things had gone all wrong.

The computer booted up and it hadn't looked like the normal computer log-in screen Sophie saw on their family computer in the computer room. Glowing green symbols had flashed on the screen. She'd tilted her head, frowned, and smacked a hand onto the screen. She would forever wonder if she'd triggered something because of her action, or if it had just been chance, or if Fate had been sneering down on her—but lightning crashed through the window and hit the computer at the same time that Sophie touched it. Computers generally do not conduct electricity but Sophie's body and world lit up like the Fourth of July. The computer exploded, Sophie felt her bones melt and snap, her eyes rolled in her head, her body shook like she was seizing, and there was a sharp stabbing pain in her head. Oh, and the light. Yes, the light. So much light. The world seemed to go up in flames around her.

The baby sitter found Sophie's body lying in a wreckage of charred oak desk and mangled, melted plastic bits of the computer. Her hair and eyebrows and eyelashes had completely burned off her face and strange purple, white, and red welts and marks covered her entire body.

Screams were heard. Paramedics called. Parents rushed to the hospital.

And somehow Sophie lived.

No one knew how she did it. As far as doctors could tell, she had been directly hit by a full bolt of lightning. She should have been completely fried. Her tiny heart should have stopped. But instead, the marks on her body faded, her hair and eyebrows and eyelashes grew back, and she was left with some beautiful patterns of her veins mapped out on her skin for a while until those too faded.

A verifiable miracle by all accounts.

What made it even more amazing was what Sophie could do after…

Her parents became extremely overprotective. She wasn't allowed to go anywhere alone. She was escorted everywhere. She was forced to go to a local college (two local colleges, in fact, but that was a long story) so she wouldn't have to move far away from her parents. She had almost no friends and everything about the outside world frightened her. But when she was 21 and graduated college, she'd finally had enough. Heart racing, hands trembling, she firmly told her parents goodbye and promptly moved to a new apartment…across town. (There was only so much independence she could take in one dose. Baby steps, she figured.)

Her parents tried to insist on paying for a nicer apartment but Sophie was determined to do something on her own. She made next to no money working at a local coffee shop and at a Home Depot but it was enough to pay for her shabby apartment, food, and the clothes on her back. So she was okay.

Even if going outside made her nervous. And lightning made her nervous. And technology made her nervous.

A lot of things made Sophie Duran nervous.

"I should buy my own car," she told herself firmly as she straddled her bicycle and headed for the local grocery market. "Yes. I will save up and buy myself a car."

Sophie knew she was never going to buy herself a car. They frightened her. Too much risk.

Teetering precariously on her way home, peering over the brown bag of groceries balanced carefully on her handlebars (she'd perfected this system a few months ago), she slowly pedaled home, enjoying the summer evening. Washington D.C. could be unbearably hot in the summer but it was still late May; they had time still before the oppressive heat arrived. Aside from going to the work and to the library, this was the extent of Sophie venturing out into the real world. She still didn't know anyone in her neighborhood and she didn't care to. She kept to herself. It was safer that way.

It wasn't that people didn't try to get to know her. Her coworkers at Home Depot had long given up on trying to befriend her but guys regularly tried to hit on her at the coffee shop. Sophie didn't even know how to deflect them. She just withdrew until they went away.

It wasn't that Sophie was a complete coward. She had a spark in her, a liveliness, a curiosity, a playfulness…but she smothered them well. Life experience had taught her many times that she got into trouble when she allowed herself to be more open.

And on this fine day, she was so lost in thought as she pedaled that she crashed right into a lamppost. She fell off her bike with a thud and a cry and groceries spilled in every direction. Groaning, she picked herself up and then set about picking up all the potatoes and tomatoes which were making their escape from her. Riding a bike while trying to think was a deadly combination.

Little did Sophie know, she was being watched. The man crouched on a rooftop nearby, so still that had someone seen him, they might have wondered if he was stone. A black mask covered most of his face and black goggles covered the rest. He was outfitted in full combat gear—black, natch—and most alarmingly of all, had a metal arm which carried a gun which was most definitely not legal within the United States.

And he was watching Sophie.

His mind rocketed off of its every surface while remaining curiously blank all at once. This was how it was. Every possibility, every piece of stimuli ricocheting around in his mind even while he stared and thought of…well, really nothing at all.

Except for the target. This girl.

This time, he did vaguely wonder. It was the vaguest of wonders, an itch in his mind really, but it was there: why did Hydra need him to take out this little fool? He'd just watched her single-handedly ride her bicycle straight into a pole. With absolutely no one around her for her to even blame for the accident. The sidewalk was empty and clear, she'd had more than enough room, and she had plowed right into the pole. He almost hadn't believed what he'd seen.

And then, as if that hadn't been enough, she'd gotten up to gather her belongings—and had tripped. Over nothing. She moved as if someone had cut her muscles. This weak, distasteful creature…was his target.

However, she was his mission and he always completed his missions—always. There was nothing that could stop him from completing his mission. So if Hydra needed him to take this girl away—"Stealthily, quietly," were the orders. "No fights or scenes. No one should notice,"—and hold her somewhere for reasons unknown and unimportant to him…then he would do it. There was no need to ask questions; that wasn't his job or his place. The questions existed, of course. Without them, he would not be as efficient as he was. He was constantly questioning—but he was constantly quelling as well, stomping out questions that didn't help him finish his mission in any way. And he always completed his missions. As he would this time, if Hydra wanted him to…

Of course he would. He was the Winter Soldier. And he was colder and deadlier than ice.

There wasn't much Sophie liked to do beyond read and cook or bake. None of those required friends which was exactly why she loved them. Did it get lonely sometimes? Yes. In fact…it was lonely most of the time. But she was in self-imposed exile and loneliness is a little more bearable when you force it upon yourself rather than having it forced upon you. This is what Sophie tried to convince herself anyway.

As soon as she entered through her apartment door, she got her usual weekly Friday night call from her mother. This was how dependable (some with say lame) Sophie was: her busy, socialite mother knew exactly what time she'd be home on a Friday so she could call Sophie on her landline.

Yes, Sophie had a landline. She might have been the only 23-year-old in the city to do so.

"Hi, Mom."

"Sophie. What are you doing tonight?" Her mother never wasted time with formalities.

"Nothing much. Baking some cookies."

There was a pained silence on the other end and Sophie waited, knowing exactly what was coming next. It always started slow. "Baking cookies? How…nice. You bake the most marvelous cookies."

How her mother had the ability to make this proclamation, never having actually had one of Sophie's cookies, Sophie didn't know.

"But you do that every weekend, dear. Why don't you go out tonight?"

People, Sophie thought with a shudder. Unpredictable people who could turn on you at a moment's notice.

"No thank you," she said politely, setting a pot boiling on the stove for some tea.

"Sophie." Her mother's voice turned severe—also expected. This was how their conversations always went. "This isn't healthy, shutting yourself in like some…like some sort of recluse!"

She's one to talk, Sophie thought to herself, after she had me shut away my whole childhood.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she said. The response didn't make any sense but it was the only one she ever gave for being such a disappointment to her social mother. Moira Duran would never understand how such a busy and social woman such as she, with such impeccable taste in all things, managed to produce a daughter so…wallflower-ish and unambitious. Sophie was pretty and had a college degree (though it was in English, something her mother considered useless) but she never went out, never chaired any committees, never dated any boys… What was the use in having a daughter one couldn't show off? Moira certainly didn't know.

"You're so young—and so pretty—Clarissa Walden's daughter is attending law school and she just got engaged and—well, never mind the law school, heaven knows I don't need another person in this house who can't stop arguing, and besides, Clarissa's daughter runs her mouth a little too much if you ask me"—and no ever really did ask Moira Duran, but that never stopped her from giving her opinion anyway—"but still, engaged, you know! Wouldn't that be nice if you went out and met some nice man? I must show you Katie's ring, however, it's so tacky, I can't fathom how a boy from such a good family picked something so ugly—"

Sophie mmm'd and hmmm'd and uh huh'd in all the right places, throwing a tea bag into the tea kettle when the water began bubbling, and when her mother had gossiped until her heart was satisfied, she said, "Okay, I really have to go now, Mom!"

"So you're—you're sure you're going to stay in tonight?" her mother asked.

"Yep," Sophie said cheerfully. "Maybe next weekend I'll do something."

They both knew that was a lie but they both pretended to believe it for their sake. Sophie said goodbye to her mother and hung up the phone. She poured herself a cup of tea, added some evaporated milk and sugar, and sat down at her tiny kitchen table. She looked thoughtfully out the window at the violet evening sky. Summer could be so beautiful…but she was missing something. She frowned for a few minutes, thinking hard to herself.

Oh, that's right—my book. She'd just started the new Dan Brown. She knew his books were cliché and cheesy and formulaic but she had a weakness for exactly those type of action books. The action she'd never be able to live out in real life could at least be lived out on the page, no matter how inconceivable it be that ancient Byzantium treasures were hidden under Washington D.C. by an ancient and secret sect of men and women who worshipped the Norse gods.

Or, at least, that's what Sophie strongly suspected was happening. She was just about to find out.

She got up and headed into her small, dark bedroom, fumbling to turn on the bedside lamp to find her book. The small golden light flicked on and she searched her nightstand and her bed for it, shaking her blankets. It took her a solid moment to get the eerie feeling of being watched and she froze.

She was bent over the bed, holding the blankets and looking down at the mattress—but a horrible curling sensation in her stomach was telling her that there was someone standing right there on the other side of the bed looking at her. Suddenly she was trapped in a familiar nightmare from her childhood where she knew the bad, ugly thing was close by but perhaps if she didn't look at it, perhaps it would just go away and not exist—

Heart pounding, mouth gone dry as ash, she ignored the impulse to dive into bed and draw the covers over her head—That will make the scary monster go away!—and slowly looked up.

Her heart plunged. There, on the other side of her bed, stood a figure. Sophie had never been in a situation like this before and now that she was in one, her brain began throwing random facts at her like punches, while she stood frozen. Tall. Muscular. Male. Dark silhouette. Still. Danger. Run. Now. GO!

Her trembling legs finally catching up with her mind, she spun and raced out the door, desperately running for the front door which was only about fifteen feet away. The apartment was quite small.

It was almost hilarious how little she had a chance of reaching it. She would have laughed if she hadn't been about to vomit from fear. She heard pursuit behind her, still oddly silent pursuit, something whistling overhead, and then WHAM. With a sudden crash, he had leaped over her and landed in front of her, his feet hitting the ground so hard they…made craters in the ground?

Sophie stared at the floor, the ground tilting sickeningly beneath her feet, feeling almost delirious. "Wha—?" she said before the man—she saw he had a full black face mask with goggles on—grabbed her. For a few seconds, Sophie had no idea what was going on. She tilted forward, as if still trying to escape, but her legs had turned to liquid and weren't holding her up. Meanwhile, his grip was tightening and he was hauling her away from the door, back, back, up, up, and—

He threw her over his shoulder, her head hitting his back hard, and the world spun sickeningly around her as she slowly blinked and tried to comprehend the rising feeling of burning and panic in both her mind and gut. She was vaguely aware of a ringing in her ears, a blurriness to her vision… He was walking now… He was going somewhere—no, he was…taking her somewhere…?

I'm being kidnapped. The thought suddenly slapped Sophie in the face, clearing her hazy, fading mind up. She opened her mouth to violently scream for help but she noticed that the man was quickly moving up the stairwell of the apartment and was struck silent. He was moving quickly, racing up the stairs. Was he heading to the roof of the building? If she screamed now, chances were that no one would be able or willing to help her in time—Sophie knew from experience how awful the bystander effect could be—and then she'd be alone on the isolated roof with this very angry, very fast, very strong man.

No—she was going to pretend to be unconscious. His guard was down right now. And then as soon as he got down to the ground and she got the chance, she was going to get away from him and run like hell. Sophie had no idea how to defend herself from harm but her instinct for self-preservation was the reason she was still alive and well to this day.

He burst onto the roof, jostling her slightly to a better position over his shoulder (her gut was beginning to ache from being held at such an awkward angle over him; the metal buckles and leather straps of his vest were digging into her stomach and legs), his right arm wrapped tightly around her dangling legs. How on Earth did he plan on taking her somewhere while carrying her like this? It was the furthest thing from inconspicuous. And why had he gone up instead of down to some waiting van, as a normal kidnapper would do?

Sophie received her answer very soon. The man suddenly broke into a sudden burst of speed, sprinting across the roof, and she realized too late what he was planning on doing: jumping from the rooftop. She abandoned her plan immediately in favor of screaming her lungs out but before she could even draw breath, he'd hurtled off the roof's edge with a powerful, flying leap—OH MY GOD, HE JUST JUMPED OFF OF A ROOF WITH ME!—and then he landed with a resounding thud on another, shorter rooftop quite a ways from Sophie's apartment building.

She had no idea how to react—he had just done something no human should have been able to do—so she hung there, staring at the world upside down, feeling bile rising in her throat. Frozen. Speechless. He hadn't even said one word to her (though he probably still thought she was passed out) and he hadn't even tightened his grip on her before he'd jumped…that was how casual he'd been about it. Sophie couldn't believe that ten minutes ago, she'd been ready to sit down with a cup of tea and a Dan Brown novel. And now her life had turned into a Dan Brown novel.

Before she had time to dazedly think any more, he was taking a running start again—Oh my god, AGAIN?!—and leaped off of this rooftop too. Her stomach lurched as they plummeted three stories to the ground. Her mouth fell open for a scream to rip out just as he landed with an even louder thud in the alleyway beside the building.

Okay, he's on the ground now! Sophie realized. Now's my chance! Run, Sophie!

But her legs wouldn't move.

She was paralyzed with shock and fear. He began walking down the narrow alley and she remained frozen for a few more seconds before she realized that if he made it out of the alley—if he deposited her in whatever vehicle he had waiting somewhere—

She would never be seen or heard from again.

She suddenly screamed and used her left arm to wildly punch him in the neck with all the force she could muster. He jerked back, more out of shock than anything else, and she used his surprise to throw herself forward as hard as she could. She fell out his slack grasp and hit the ground hard. She lay there for a second, wincing, but before she had a chance to stand up, he grabbed the back of her head by her hair and hauled her to her feet. She shrieked in pain, tears springing to her eyes, and fought furiously against his grip in any way she could, lashing out and kicking and just generally acting like a flailing octopus gone mad. If he was going to try and take her, then she would make it as hard for him as possible.

They struggled for a few minutes, she fighting as furiously as she could and he trying to subdue her without killing her. If she got away from this man, Sophie vowed to take every self-defense class in the world. But now, struggling against him, she wasn't sure that all the self-defense classes in the world would even have helped her against this man. His grip was terrifyingly, alarmingly strong and—her eyes widened as she caught sight of his left arm: gleaming, silver…metal? Did he have a metal arm?!

Before she could do much else, the man suddenly threw her away from him with so much force that she went flying, hitting the ground so hard that the skin on her arms instantly became bloody and scratched and dirty with gravel. She scrambled to her feet, wincing, and then staggered back a safe distance away from him, her arms raised in a pathetic attempt at a shield. However, instead of grabbing her again, he stood there and stared at her. It made Sophie very uncomfortable; she wished she could see his face instead of his goggles and mask. "Wh-what?" she demanded, trying to sound braver than she felt (which wasn't brave at all). She wanted to turn and sprint straight to the airport and buy a one-way ticket to Guam—but deadly curiosity made her at least want to know why her. She thought she had an idea why but she wanted to confirm it. "That's it?"

"That's it?" the girl asked. Her words sounded like a goading taunt, a challenge, but he heard the unfiltered fear trembling in them. Saw her white-as-a-sheet face, her shaking hands, could almost hear her pounding heartbeat and taste the terror that rolled off of her in a sweaty sheen. She was right to be afraid: she was small, untrained, defenseless, and most importantly, she was human. She didn't stand a chance against him. She didn't even stand a chance of a chance. The slightest bit of common sense should have told her that too. But humans could be so amazingly, stupidly stubborn and he knew she would continue to uselessly struggle against him, making his mission exceedingly annoying…unless he broke her spirit.

It was the only way. It would be a waste of his time—he was nothing if not efficient—but his handlers hadn't given him a time limit on this mission because they knew he wouldn't take any more time than he would need. So he had the liberty to do this. Instead of forcibly taking her and her resisting at every turn, which would anger him and put both of them at risk (him at risk for exposure, her at risk for being murdered by him), he was going to allow her to think she had the chance to escape—and then he was going to forcefully, brutally, cruelly show her that there was no chance. There was never a chance. And there never would be a chance. Once she realized this, her spirit would be broken. She would droop. And she would come with him quietly. Humans became very quiet, strange shells when they realized they had no hope. A strange, tight, small part of the back of his mind instinctively told him that he knew this from experience, a part of his mind that dug a sharp claw into the blank chaos of his mind.

Shaking off the tiny pinch in his mind, he squared his shoulders and spoke. "Go."

The man spoke one word: "Go."

Sophie jerked back, startled. Not that she'd had much time to ponder what his voice would sound like but this definitely wasn't it. She'd expected some dark, grizzly voice or a cold, icy, sneering voice—something that definitely screamed dangerous and evil. She hadn't expected…this. His voice sounded like the voice of a normal man—a man in his mid- to late twenties. It sounded far too normal for a figure like him, though it was flat.

"What?" she asked, unsure if she'd heard right.

"You have ten minutes," he said, his voice monotonous, dying rays of a golden setting sun throwing beams of melting orange across his black mask. His black shadow stretched behind him, fifteen feet tall, dwarfing him.

"You h—I have ten minutes?" she repeated, not understanding. He didn't respond, merely stood still as stone and stared at her. She stood there, mouth open, staring at him, uncomprehending, but when he didn't move, it all clicked into place: he was giving her ten minutes to run…before he came for her.

He's playing a game with me. The thought nauseated Sophie but even more than that, it terrified her. A kidnapper or a killer was one thing—but someone who played with their food before they ate it? That person wasn't just evil…they were sick and heartless. Empty. She had no chance of reasoning with someone like that.

She turned and ran.

She had no idea where to go. She didn't have any money on her (though thankfully her small wallet with her license was still tucked into her back pocket…at least someone would be able to identify her corpse). She lived at the furthest bedraggled edges of Washington D.C., next to empty factories and warehouses, far from the noise and crowds. She'd thought that living in an isolated area would keep her safer…she could have laughed and wept at the dark irony of it. She didn't even know where she was, even though she should have only been one street away from her house, because in her blind panic, she'd run in a random direction away from her apartment building. She kept herself so isolated that she'd never bothered to explore her neighborhood—a big mistake.

The streets were mostly empty. The air was warm but the setting sun made the neighborhood look eerie, casting orange light into dark glass windows, making everything look like it was either on fire or hiding in the shadows. She ran as fast as she could, making random turns every now and then to throw him off her trail, breathing too hard to even cry. Her face felt hot and sweaty, there was a stitch in her side, and her Converse sneakers were hardly the best shoes for running for her life, but still she ran. Faster and harder than she ever had in her life.

A sob of hysteria was building in her gut as she ran but she forced it down. It was amazing how few people she was seeing. Was the neighborhood normally this empty? Or had this man just killed everyone in advance, to make the game fun? Sophie knew she was being ludicrous but her mind was suddenly filled with images of bloodstained living rooms and shops of all the buildings and apartments she passed and she cringed to herself. She tripped over her own feet at one point and hit the ground hard, ripping the knees of her yoga pants. Clambering back to her feet, she saw a group of people sitting on a stoop outside an apartment building, talking and laughing. Her heart nearly exploded in relief and she raced in their direction. As she neared them, she realized that although they'd looked like adults from a distance, they were only teenagers. Four of them, three black, one white with ginger hair, wearing loose running shorts and enormous sneakers that looked too big for their feet and tank tops. They all stopped talking and stared at Sophie. She could only imagine what a mess she looked: sweaty and bloody and panicked.

"Hey, you okay?" one of the boys asked, looking bewildered.

"I—" Sophie's words dried up in her throat. They were only kids. They would probably let her inside one of their apartments to use a phone to call the police…an apartment that probably had family members inside…and if the man hunted her down… She could cause the slaughter of a bunch of innocent people.

She turned and ran. She heard the boys shouting after her, one calling "Wait!" but she was gone too quickly for them. She headed down the street, weaving down narrower roads. The neighborhood got rougher as she kept running. Weeds sprung up through cracks in the sidewalk, graffiti covered buildings, and chain link fences enclosed parks and lawns. The cars looked older. She could see golden lights and the blue glow of TV screens flickering inside the tiny houses she passed but she didn't stop at any house. No one could help her now—she could only help herself.

Had ten minutes passed? She thought it had, though she couldn't tell. In all honestly, it felt like five hours had passed since she'd been running. The stitch in her side was killing her, she was breathing so heavily she could hardly suck in a breath, and her lungs burned almost icy-cool. The last time she'd run this hard was in high school when she'd been forced to do an extra mile around the school to make up for a missed mile day in gym class.

She made it past the houses and entered the warehouse district. This wasn't what it was officially called but that was the unofficial term for it: a few blocks of mostly abandoned warehouses and factories. They'd been in production up until the seventies, or perhaps eighties, but then the radical environmentalism revolution had hit in the '90s and many of them had shut down for no reason other than public furor. Now they were mostly homes for drug addicts and bums, people said. Sophie didn't know how true that was; she'd never been out here before.

There weren't even streetlamps in this area. She had a feeling the clock had run out on her ten minutes so she picked the closest building to her—an abandoned, half caved-in factor—and climbed through a hole torn in the chain link fence outside of it. Jogging across the weed-thick grass, she entered the factory through a side door. The hallway was pitch-dark but parts of the roof a few stories above her had fallen in, letting some weak night light. Enough for her to make her way down the hall, at least. She found a set of stairs at the end of the hall and raced up them, her heart nearly exploding in fright as she thought about all the creatures she'd ever read about in Stephen King's novels and the darkness in the stairwell beneath her…

Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back. Her mouth was dry as ash as she finally made it to the top floor. Her legs felt like jelly now and she was wheezing like someone who'd smoked constantly for forty years. She had to use her shoulder to open the heavy metal door at the top, that was how limp her arms felt, and she forced herself down the dark hall, through a door, and then collapsed in the corner of a small room. A desk and a bookshelf stood in the corner, thick with grime and dust, some books still in the shelf. A window was set behind the desk, smashed in, letting the warm summer air into the room. She huddled closer to herself in the corner, wrapping her arms around her knees and closing her eyes.

How is this happening? This was the thought that kept circling her mind. She felt like she'd been dumped into some sort of alternate reality. A man with a metal arm. An eerily empty neighborhood. Jumping off of roofs, crushing the ground with his feet… She took a deep shuddering breath, covering her hot, sweaty face with her hands, trying to breathe normally without hyperventilating.

I can't deal with this, she thought in despair. I'm not strong enough for this. Once upon a time, Sophie had been strong, wild, electric… But slowly her energy had been stamped out of as she grew up. Things had happened, lines had been crossed, backs had been stabbed. And she had realized that she was truly weak, deep down. She didn't know how to defend herself properly—never had—and when the going got tough, she turned tail and ran. The only brave thing she'd ever done was telling her parents she'd had enough of their protection and walking out on them. And even then, she'd only moved to the other side of the city. Hardly a courageous move.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the images of the man that danced in her mind, burned on the backs of her eyelids. She could feel a terrible, massive headache coming on. She was alone in an abandoned factory in a dangerous fringe of town at night…while being hunted by a psycho. She suddenly regretted not owning a cell phone. What had she been thinking? That she would always be safe from the world's horrors and would never need to call someone for help?

Although she didn't really have anyone to call anyway. It was sad but true: Sophie had no close friends. She'd lost contact with her high school friends. She'd completely cut out her friends from the first college. She'd never even made friends at the second college. And her parents were always at events or meetings or spas, not exactly available to come save their daughter from death. Of course, there was always the police, though she wasn't sure they would have believed a story as wild as hers.

Then again…the world had been a very different place ever since Tony Stark had revealed himself to be Iron Man a few years ago. He had been the first to come out in the open as something other than an average man. After that it seemed that weird people came in a never ending stream: a man who turned into an enormous green monster and destroyed half of Harlem, an alien god from another realm, and Captain America, a super soldier who had apparently been frozen for decades and had survived. Sophie wondered if this man was a superhuman or some sort of god from another realm—but even if he was, he definitely wasn't a hero.

A low moan escaped her and she clapped a hand over her mouth, terrified to make even one sound. She hoped her hiding spot was remote enough that the man wouldn't be able to find her, but even if he didn't find her, what next? She could go home tomorrow during daylight but he knew where she lived. She couldn't stay there a minute longer. She could immediately move in with her parents, but he'd surely be able to find her there as well and then her parents would be in danger. And she didn't have enough money to immediately find a new, cheap apartment.

A sudden idea hit her: a women's shelter. If she made it to a women's shelter without him somehow following her or finding her…he would be hard-pressed to find hide nor hair of her. The shelters accepted women without questions and kept them anonymous. No men were allowed in. And she certainly looked abused enough to keep anyone from questioning why an otherwise healthy young woman was hiding out in a shelter. (Not that someone had to look abused to go to a shelter but Sophie knew it would make her blend in better.)

Satisfied that she had a tentative plan for the future, she exhaled and rubbed her eyelids, trying to massage the pain out of them. She would go to a women's shelter tomorrow. She would call her jobs and quit over the phone. She would catch a bus to some random state and find a job doing literally anything. She would find a cheap place to live and spend out the rest of her life in anonymity, earning no money, interacting with no one but books. It would be even more isolated than the life she was already living—but did it really matter? She hadn't had big hopes for her future for a while now. This didn't have to ruin her. Sure, it was terrifying and she would always be looking over her shoulder for a man with a metal arm, but—

Something creaked in the room with her.

It was like everything in her turned to ice. Her entire body went still as stone, her heart freezing. She held her breath and her saliva dried up in her mouth. It was almost like she willed her heart to beat more slowly so it wouldn't sound so loud. She pricked her ears, terror rising over her in waves. The creak had come from this room. It could have been anything. It could have been the wind or a mouse or the old, rotting floorboards. It didn't mean anything. So why did she feel like screaming?

Look up, Sophie. And so she did. The terror was excruciating, ten times more awful than the fear she'd felt in her bedroom. It seemed to take a thousand years for her to lift her head and peek up—

And there he was. All thoughts about screaming died within her chest. It was as if she had swallowed her tongue completely.

He loomed over her, shrouded in darkness and shadows, arms held like iron rods at his sides. She could barely see the gleam of his metal arm, that's how shadowed the room was. The sun had set by now, leaving the sky a deep blue. She couldn't move, that's how paralyzed her muscles were. A constant chorus of nonononononoNONONONO was rising to a hysterical scream in her mind but her mouth wouldn't open. She could only stare as he walked towards her with slow, mechanical steps. He didn't say anything or pull out a weapon. He grabbed her arm and yanked to her feet so hard her shoulder erupted in flames. She let out a wail of pain, hand immediately flying to her shoulder. She thought she was going to pass out from pain. She hurt herself regularly but she'd never sustained any real injuries (except for being struck by lightning as a kid).

She thought she might have had composure but as he dragged her towards the door with no regard for the fact that he'd probably just dislocated her shoulder, her hysteria won over. "Please!" she begged. He took no notice and dragged her down the hall. He might have been dragging a bag for all he took notice of her. A body bag because Sophie knew she was as good as dead. Fear overcame her mind in a smoky haze as she realized in horror that she didn't want to die. She hadn't even lived a life worth living. There were so many things she should have done and so many people she should have made friends with. She'd wasted her 23 years being a fool. And now she was going to die and no one would remember Sophie Duran except for her parents and people she hadn't spoken to in years.

She'd left no mark on the world.

"Let me go!" she begged. "Please, let me go!" Tears streamed down her face as he dragged her down the stairs, her left shoulder on fire. "LET ME GO!" Her voice rose to an incoherent scream as he dragged her down several flights of stairs. She didn't even know what she was saying now; it was a mix of begging for her life, crying for her mother, and pure terror coming out in wordless sounds. When they reached the bottom, he swung her around to face him and then slammed his black glove-clad fist into her face. She was out instantly, hitting the floor with a slight thud.

He picked up her slight form and vanished into the night.