129

            A shot rings out across the air; it takes a second for you to realize who it is that’s been hit.

            It’s you.

There’s another long, frozen moment of shock (you stare at the man in the dark grey uniform, but he’s impassive, why isn’t he smiling or something?) before all the feeling goes out of your body below your shoulders and you crumple to the ground, where there is already a surprising amount of blood (oh, of course, if you’ve been shot, you must be bleeding, and this is not what you thought your last moments would be like). The whole field is suddenly churning with motion, flashes of grey and green and Steve and Natasha fighting, and you try to tell them, no, that’s not right, they should be, you try to choke out, Run!, but you can’t manage the words.