(DIS)ASSENBLED is a MARVEL CIVIL WAR roleplay set in a blend of 616 and MCU universes. We rely most heavily on 616 and comic influence, but also borrow from the MCU as well. We invite you to join up as your favorite Marvel hero or villain, choose your side, and see where the dice fall. In our universe the SRA has been passed into law and is roughly two months old. Those who do not register and are caught are sent to the Rock, an inescapable prison designed by Henry Pym.
Lives have been torn apart and ruined by this war, families destroyed. People have died fighting for their cause -- the only question left is, where do you stand?
How long had it been now? Her gut said four years. She'd stopped checking calenders when they had to cut out all unnecessary systems. They'd been banished here, spared their lives, but now it seemed the benevolent Baron Zemo had all but forgotten about the former S.W.O.R.D. and its satellite home's small motley crew, and one very prominent prisoner. Robert Reynolds. Sentry. A man she had spent the better part of six years begrudgingly getting to know. Getting to like even. She'd hate him for it if she didn't hate herself more. She couldn't care about him, she knew that. She knew what his fate was. They both did, she assumed. Still, for these near six years he'd been her prisoner, she'd made his life as comfortable as she could while keeping herself, her people, and Earth safe.
Now though, there weren't many of them left. She'd sent out all the escape pods with her staff, leaving just herself and a few others who refused to go. Power depletion were a problem, lack of provisions even more so. They had to leave here, that much was clear. She and her small group of S.W.O.R.D. members left behind had worked out a way to seal off all but one area of the station and blow the rest to hell. That'd mobilize them with just enough power to break the atmosphere, from there? Well that remained to be seen.
The only variable in this plan was him. Taking him to Earth was a big risk. Leaving him here was murder. Normally this decision would be simple to her, weight the dangers, and make the tough calls. It was why she was head of S.W.O.R.D. problem was, she was too personally connected to him now. She couldn't make an unbiased judgement call, and she refused to let anyone else make the call but her.
So she decided to have a little chat with him. Decked out in her full uniform for the first time in months, Brand had her hair pulled back but it looked dull, brittle, telling of their lack of water and showers. She had several guns on her, as well as her signature green sunglasses, but it was the pistol in her hand as her heavy booted-footfalls echoed through the halls that was extended. There was no one to shoot, but it made her feel better having it. She came to the prison level, typed in a code, and entered with the loud creaking of the doors. The air was thin here, they'd had to turn down the oxygen to high-elevation levels, still livable but physical exertion was more difficult. The lights flickered dimly above her as she moved through the familiar halls with ease despite the darkness. Lights were another commodity they couldn't afford.
She passed cell after empty cell until she came to the familiar one, glass shielded, furnished nicely, books, bed, couch, latrine, a table, as nice as space-station prison could be. Staring silently into the cell, Brand let her gun fall to her side and she pulled off her shades. Her gaze was harsh and unyielding. "Me and you need to talk, Bob." she called out, waiting to see if he'd stir int he dim darkness of the cell.
Life was peaceful up here. Sometimes he could forget who he was and what he had done, whether it be in the pages of a good book, in the dregs of sleep or just in a blissful trance as he stared up at the ceiling. He knew he was going to die here. Even if the rest of the ship's men and women found a way to leave, they wouldn't take him with them. He was too dangerous. Robert knew that. A liability. It would be the right thing to do, to leave him here, and he had familiarised himself with the idea very well. He'd even imagined how he would die. Dare he say he even looked forward to it? It seemed nice, to finally let go of everything that troubled him, and to cease to exist.
He was lying on the floor with his eyes closed, as he found it more comfortable than his bed - which was a very nice bed. He had nothing against the bed, just that it wasn't as homely as the floor. His hands were clasped over his stomach and his feet were crossed at the ankles as he lay there serenely, his eyes closed and oblivious to anything else around him. He would have lain there forever - maybe even until he died - even if he hadn't heard her voice. His blue eyes opened.
She was no Lindy. She would never be Lindy, but then again he wasn't sure if he wanted her to be. Lindy had never understood nor sympathised with him. Abigail Brand was hardly one for understanding or sympathy either, but didn't that just shine a bad light on his...well, she was still his wife. Divorce papers couldn't really reach a space station. For a while, he just lay there and contemplated the ceiling. Then he finally sat up, rubbing the back of his head and craning around to peer towards the shadowed silhouette that was Agent Brand.
"But you don't really like talking to anyone," he pointed out. "That must mean it's something important. Not just important, but very important."
Always the smart ass, even for a guy she generally considered to be an idiot, he was pretty keen. He knew her pretty well too, unfortunately. She supposed it was inevitable, he was the first person to be consistently exposed to her for more than six months. That was the point that people usually requested transfers. Licking her lips slowly, she breathed out a sigh and reminded herself getting angry at him never did any good. Besides, he was a good person to vent at, and she often did, even if she kept him from speaking at gun point.
"Good. I'm glad you understand so I don't have to waste time explaining it," she said gruffly, pulling a key card through a panel outside his cell and typing in a code. The glass, which was more of force field vanished and she stepped inside. She wasn't worried about him getting out for many reasons, including her gun, his contentedness, and the lack of anywhere for him to go. Walking into his cell, his home really, she shoved some books and things aside with he toe of her boot before sitting down on the edge of her bed, setting the gun next to her, though it never left her hand. She stared at him hard, willing her eyes to adjust more to the dim light, and considering exactly what she was going to say to him.
"The station can't support life much longer. Zemo may have banished me and the rest of S.W.O.R.D. from Earth but I'd much rather take my chances with him than the damn cold." she said bluntly, shaking her head as she glanced towards the door. She was not usually so open and honest, nor did she ever so the smidgeon of what might be fear when she spoke of the cold. And it was only a smidgeon, but there all the same. "Now I've got a little problem, and I am sure you can guess what that is." she said, her voice gruff and sharp as it ever had been once more.
So how do I solve a problem like Robert Reynolds?" she mused, tilting her head at him, green eyes flashing in the dark. "I could put a bullet between your eyes here and now. I could leave you to freeze, or suffocate, maybe starve. Maybe all three. Or I could do the moral thing and take you with me, possibly land you in the hands of some really rank butt-munches who'd love nothing more than to use you as a weapon. Seems a pretty logical choice." she continued, raising her gun and aiming it up at his head."One breath. One pull. And all my problems would be over." she said, almost as if she was thinking aloud more than talking to him. "Bang." so easy.
Shaking her head, she turned the gun over in her hands and stared down the barrel herself. "Too easy." she muttered quietly before looking at him in a pained hatred that spoke of her wanting to be able to kill him, but knowing she'd never be able to. Not unless it was absolutely necessary to save the world, and even then, she felt disgusted to admit to herself, that she'd probably still hesitate.
When she stepped into the makeshift room, Robert swivelled around to face her, his knees tucked into his body and his arms lightly encircling them. He stared at her and kept on staring throughout her motions and her speech, and he'd expected that speech. He'd thought he still had time before it came, but he felt only calm as he listened to it. The gun would rise in a moment and aim to his head. One shot and it would all be over.
It happened. She lifted the weapon and pointed it. All she had to do was pull the trigger, and he stared at her hard and willed her to do it. It was the right thing to do. But she didn't do it. She said it was too easy. He didn't understand her sense of logic almost as much as she failed to comprehend his.
"You don't have to do it," he said blankly. Long ago he had lost the want to speak and act normally. He wasn't sure if he was still Robert Reynolds or if he had finally succumbed to the power that was the Sentry, but he just moved and spoke and thought as he pleased. It was easy to do when one was secluded in space. Shifting forward onto his feet so that he was squatting, he extended a hand out towards her gun. "I can do it. It's been nice up here, though. Thank you for giving me a home."
The smile he gave her then was genuine. He wasn't really sure if he knew how to fake anything anymore either.
She didn't have to do it? She sneered at him. She hated the way he acted as though she was fragile about this. It was bad enough that she was growing a god damn conscience, being reminded of it by the lumbering dumb blonde who had caused it to happen in the first place infuriated her. Her fists were already clenching when he sat forward, gesturing that she give him the gun. As if he would get to make the choice himself. He was for better or worse, her prisoner. She made the calls. Not him.
And what was his attitude? Just giving up? That pissed her off too. His thanks followed by the smile was the final straw. Her fist went flying out at his jaw before she even knew what she was doing. "You do not get to give up," she barked at him, pushing to her feet and throwing a kick his way. She was angry, and had a lot of emotions she didn't know what to do with so she was taking them out on him. Seemed to make enough sense for the side of her mind she was thinking with currently, at least.
Reaching down to get a fistful of his shirt she gave him a rough throttle and yanked on it. "Get up," she seethed, glad the gun was back on the bed and not in her hands lest she do something incredibly stupid. "I said get up" she grunted, giving him another rough jerk upwards by his shirt.
He didn't get to give up. If she didn't get give up, neither did he.
Her fist lanced out. He hadn't expected that. If there was pain, there wasn't enough to affect the Sentry, but the impact jerked his head back and, gingerly, he felt the assaulted area. There was further onslaught and he pulled back in surprise, eyes wide and shocked. Not that there was much time to himself, as she suddenly had her hands in his shirt and he became vaguely aware that he had made her very, very angry.
"I'm not giving up," he protested, finally allowing himself to be dragged up to his feet next to her. He probably should have been angry at this beat-down, but he was more surprised and concerned than anything. "This is what needs to be done. I can't go back down to Earth, that's insane."
A touch of fear hit his voice then and reflected in his troubled gaze. His own death was nothing compared to the millions he might cause if he lost control back down where there were trillions to kill. It wasn't giving up if it was the only choice, was it? He was too unstable. If he couldn't get a grip on himself, who could force him to? No matter how much Brand might want to exert her obvious dominance over him, he knew that, in the end, he was much more powerful than her. Frighteningly so.
Of course it was insane. She knew that. She didn't need him to tell her it was insane. She knew that all that she needed to do was put a bullet in his head here and now. She just had to pull the trigger, and she'd give them both what they wanted. Except she wasn't so sure what she wanted anymore. Her life had unraveled. The structure it was normally built upon crumbled, and the presence of this man in her life, making her care about him when he was the worst possible sort of man to care about...she was about ready to just put the gun to her own head and let everyone else handle things for once.
"And how is killing you any less insane? You've contained it for years. It could be used for good. Killing you would only be a waste." she spat at him, her teeth grinding between words as she kept him close, her grip on his shirt tightening to the point where it had to be uncomfortable for him.
"You should be fighting. You should want to live." she said further, giving him a hard shove away from herself, and letting him go. Raking a hand through her green hair, she returned to her gun and looked it over before sticking it in the back of her pants and looking at him.
"I am leaving. You will either come with me or you can stay here to suffocate and freeze to death. I want your decision now." she said, with a sharp nod, her hands going to her hips.
I don't want to! he wanted to scream at her like a little child. I don't want to! You can't make me! It terrified him, too, just how much he wanted it to be over with. It terrified him and angered him because she was angry at him, and she was refusing to understand or contemplate how he felt. The mixture of emotion tightened in his chest and pressed against his already fragile hold on his own actions, but just like she'd said, he managed to contain it.
He looked down at the ground sadly when she pushed him away, wondering if she was right, but mostly wondering if he was wrong. He'd had plenty of time to think about that over the years. Had he been wrong that one time he'd walked past a homeless man on the street and not given him a dollar? That sort of thing. Had he been wrong about Lindy? And his mother, too. He missed his mother. He wondered if she had been wrong about him. His face softened. It would be nice to see her again.
"I'll come," he said finally in a small voice, glancing up meekly to gauge Brand's reaction. "But I don't want to use my powers. Not for evil, or good. I just want to be normal."
It was a subdued plea more than a statement. One that he felt he already knew the answer to.
His answer oddly sat well with her. She didn't know why, usually such wants pissed her off, but she could understand it. It seemed more logical than anything. If he didn't want to be used for a weapon, then fine. Nobody would touch him. Not so long as she was still alive and breathing, able to weird a gun or just her own powers. After staring at him silently for a moment, she nodded and turned to the door. "Get whatever you can't live without. We leave within the hour," she said, turning to look over her shoulder at him again.
"I promise you no one will make you do anything you don't want to." she said, considering it a moment fore the tiniest hints of a smile flashed across her face. "Except me." With a lingering glance, Brand walked out of the cell into the hallway and tapped on the security pad to his door, leaving it open for good. She'd wait here for him to gather his things, but their journey was far from over, and this plan they had was one that came with many risks. She was beyond being that concerned about them, though.
This plan risked death. Doing nothing was certain death. Not much of a gamble, really.
There wasn't actually anything he couldn't live without. The books were nice, but the prose usually slipped his mind a half-second after he read it. The bed he didn't like very much, and would be too bulky to carry anyway. All in all, he thought, all he really needed was himself, and his common sense and sanity. Those weren't material things he could pick up off a shelf.
She talked more. He'd thought she was leaving for good, but she spoke again, so he turned to accommodate her words. He supposed that was supposed to be comforting, but seeing as the green-haired woman was trying to get him back onto a heavily populated planet that he could easily blow up in a fit of rage, he wasn't really sure if he trusted that consolation. There was a heavy, hesitant stare on his end, then a slow nod. In the end, no matter how much he didn't like what she was asking him to do, she was the only person he could trust anymore. Even himself was crossed off the list.
When she left, he sat down in the middle of the room and just stared at everything. He took it all in with his eyes and tried to etch them as hard as he could into his brain. He wasn't sure why it was so important for him to remember this place. Maybe because he had grown to associate it with control, safety and security. Down there on Earth, he could recall this room at any point in time when he felt too suffocated by his own hopelessness. A smile flickered across his lips. Even if the end didn't come for him today, it would in time. He wouldn't live forever. One way or another, all the hardships would slip away and leave him be in the bliss of darkness. He'd like that.
The Sentry climbed slowly to his feet and left the haven that had housed him for so long. He stretched his arms out and embraced the darkness of the ship and the stiffness of the air. One day, he thought to the ship, I'll join you in destruction. We'll meet like old friends.
"We're on the eve of destruction," he hummed to himself, letting his eyes roam the shadows before him. Years ago, he could've lit the area up with the twitch of a finger, and bathed it in light stronger than the Sun.