Chapter Text
Most people would say the impact is the worst part, but really, it’s the falling.
Falling is a horrifying experience.
The feeling of weightlessness knowing that impact was coming. Falling is like being free for a few precious moments, like being able to hold the one you love close for a night before you have to go back to the real world. Falling is like thinking that they love you as much as you love them, only to hit the ground and watch them walk away.
Owen knew he was dying. A fall like that is not one you come back from. He also knew that even if he could survive his no doubt countless fractures, and the accompanying internal bleeding, he would not survive the upcoming explosion.
It would be so easy to blame Curt. It was his recklessness that had led to Owen laying on the ground watching enemy agents swarm around trying to escape. Watching as Curt ran out of the facility. But in the end, they were both reckless. Egging each other on during missions to beat old records, just to see that pure adrenaline high in the other’s eyes. Yes, it would be easy to blame Curt, but it takes two to tango.
Owen saw the building collapsing before he heard the explosion. Then he felt the heat, the horrible crushing heat… then he knew no more.
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Waking up when one believes they are dead is an odd sensation to say the least. The senses come back slowly at first, then in a rush. It was like panic, like a fight or flight response at night where all that exists are noises and shadows. It took time, but eventually the shadows became people and the noises became voices, then words.
Once he was able to make out the shapes as people and the sounds as words, Owen realized there were three people in the room with him, two men and one woman. The woman and one of the men were wearing lab coats, while the other man was wearing a royal blue suit.
The man in the suit was the one talking, and with a little focus, Owen was able to discern that the man was saying, “Mr. Carvour,” over and over again. That was when Owen really started to panic. He knew every operative in both MI6 and the CIA, and he didn’t know this man. That meant that Owen was compromised. He tried his best to find any clues as to who this man was associated with, he was above average height, well built, with short brown hair. He also seemed to have a Cockney accent, but that wasn’t a judgement Owen wanted to make on two words.
The man seemed to notice a change in Owen’s behavior. He immediately straightened up and adopted an air of even greater importance, which Owen didn’t even know was possible, “Agent Carvour, nice to see that you are finally awake. We have a lot to talk about.”
“Who the fuck are you, and how do you know my name” Owen replied, trying to channel his inner Curt as much as possible.
“You can call me the Deadliest Man Alive. As to how we know who you are, we are Chimera, it’s our job to know.”