whose building did we crush? | solvingthxpuzzle
Steve had slept through a war. More than one war, as it'd happened. The wars had become smaller again, the way they'd been before he had been born. But some of them hadn't been. The quiet, looming struggle that had given birth to the yellowed folder Natasha had given him in a graveyard seemed even bigger than HYDRA had touched the world, though. Leaving scars like the facility he walked through.
Underground and meant for something else--a missile silo, once--it had been given new purpose many times. Quietly, always. Secretly, always. Few seemed allowed to question and those who were maybe weren't inclined to. There were always people who didn't push for the truth as long as they were safe.
The silence underground seemed to echo with an unnatural hum in his ears. He'd lost contact with Sam (where he'd made him wait, insisted that he wait, had to trust that he'd wait) a while ago. He wondered if it was just the weight of earth above his head or if it was a deliberate jamming of the signal. He didn't have the time to worry about finding out.
There were employees still working in the place. They were few and far between, not even reaching the capacity that he would have guessed someplace like this would have. Maybe it was all in the computers now. But there were a few, and he held his breath as he avoided them. They seemed like locals, and he was here for information--not to win a battle or a war. Going back in time to move forward, and it was a difficult enough balancing act in his head lately--even without distractions.
He had gotten pretty good at sneaking around places that felt old even though they were younger than him. He thought he'd collected some of Natasha's skill without even noticing, but he was still a soldier, not a spy. Sam had said that, and it came back to mind as the thing to blame when something went wrong.
He stepped through a door, a computerized lock fried by a device he had with him that he didn't fully understand. He didn't have to. The door hissed at him to let him know he was entering an environment that had been meant to be sealed off from the outside world even underneath it. There was an aqua, offensively bright blue lighting that ran up and down a narrow hallway that led to another door. It was cold in the passageway and it was flanked on both sides with a dozen rounded doors that reminded him very sharply of the thing he'd come out of a different man. He wondered if they were the kind of things that changed a person--person-sized capsules and cold, seeming all too much like they had a point.
Looking left and right, walking slowly, they seemed empty.
He had come nearly to the exit, was ready to look through the little slit of a window, when something changed. He paused, and he saw something a little different, a little less pristine about one in particular. He paused to investigate, and then--he reached out, and there was a space of time that passed. It was short, but he didn't know if his hand had ever reached the sleek silver handle before the world began to shake.
For a moment, he glanced up. He thought about staying still.
But he was underground--buried if this went wrong. It occurred to him--all at once--reasons he had to get out of here. Things he still had to do. A person he still had to save. People he'd like to explain this to.
Unhappy with the reality that he had to try to run away, he went for it--forcing the nearer door with gritted-teeth strain. He stumbled through to the other side, cushioning his tumble into a bank of newer screens and equipment with his shield. Some of them flickered and died. He saw a couple of the people making their way out as the shaking settled for a moment and the lighting began to take on a red hue everywhere--even within the blue passageway he'd come from. The red lights didn't completely overpower the ordinary ones, but they rotated and insisted, accompanied with an intermittent siren that seemed strangely calm.
He took his chances, making for the end of the (office?) that seemed nearest the escape route. He got his bearings. He was out in a hallway, gloved hand holding onto a door frame. He glanced back over his shoulder. A lot of things were starting to seem more and more quiet.
Was he alone down here? Did he have time?
Then, he saw someone move as there was another violent shaking of the whole facility. And he remembered its history--missile silo. He wondered. He didn't have time. There was a very loud sound and he didn't have time, so he chased after even the ghost of a silhouette. He had to, really.
They didn't have time either, and as he caught up with them--with her, he identified--a good number of the not-red lights flickered and stayed out for a moment.
"Come on!" he ordered, as if he belonged there. As if he were bringing her to safety. The back of his mind decided that maybe she could answer some questions. If she spoke English or French. Maybe. First, though, he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and ushered her toward the only way back up to the surface. Another rattle and some of the lights came back on, for now.
