Peggy Carter Feb 25, 2017 10:21:49 GMT
Post by Peggy Carter on Feb 25, 2017 10:21:49 GMT
NAME: Margaret Elizabeth Carter
ALIAS: Peggy, Her Excellency,
OCCUPATION: Old England Ambassador
MEMBER GROUP: Government
POWERS AND ABILITIES: Diplomacy, public speaking,
PLAYBY: Hayley Atwell
PLAYER NAME: Lux
OTHER CHARACTERS: N/A
WHO PLAYS WHO:
JOB CLAIM: Old England Ambassador
NATIVE UNIVERSE DESIGNATION: MCU (CA:TFA and Agent Carter series)
1951. New York.
"Peg, come on, Peg, stay awake..."
The words are blurred, faint, but the voice is familiar. She exhales, and becomes aware of a dull ache in her chest. The ache is spreading, through to her neck, abdomen, and limbs, exponentially amplifying in intensity until all she feels is white-hot pain and all she hears is screaming--
Then her eyes fly open and she realises the screams are hers. She's on her back, eyes to the ceiling, several heads obstructing her view of it. The man closest to her is clutching her hand, but he's speaking to the others who surround her. His is the voice from before, his usually smirking visage obscured by worry and--desperation? It's an expression she's only seen him wear once, years ago.
"Mr Stark, we've no idea what HYDRA's shot at Agent Carter," states an agent (who has to shout over Peggy's screams). "There's no data on the virus, and there's no time to find the cure before Carter--"
"Then I'll make time!" Howard's grip on Peggy's hand tightens, sending a stinging pain through her arm. His hands are stained with blood--her blood. Peggy doesn't know how bad her condition is, but she's always been more of a pragmatist than an optimist.
Howard is barking orders at the agents. "Get her into the lab! Prep the cryo chamber, pronto!" He glances down at Peggy when he notices that her screams have diminished into choked wheezes. "Peg!" He tries to smile, but it's terrible. She'd tell him so, if only it didn't feel like someone was repeatedly stabbing her windpipe with a fork.
"Sorry, Peg, you're not gonna like this," he continues as she's wheeled into a massive laboratory (Peggy's barely conscious, but she still has enough strength to wonder how many secret projects Howard has been sneaking under Phillip's nose), "but you gotta trust me, alright? I swear, I won't let anything happen to you."
The pain has rendered her mute and her vision is blurred with hot tears, but she manages a nod. Howard peels himself from her side, rushing to God-knows-where, while she is lifted by agents into a steel, human-sized pod. A coffin, she thinks to herself, as she is strapped down by the torso and legs. The pod clamps shut, locking her in darkness, and claustrophobia sets in. Her panicked wheezes are soon drowned out by the sharp hiss of gas pumping into the pod, and she chokes on it. She claws vainly at the windowless, metal door, furious that this is how she ends. There's no dignity in this, suffocating in a gas chamber with the whole damn organisation watching.
Eventually, the feeling of pain, anger, and helplessness subsides, and she knows she's dead.
"The freezing process is complete, sir," reports an agent. "Her vital signs are stable, and brain activity indicates she's successfully entered cryogenic sleep. As long as things are operational, she'll remain in that state, indefinitely."
From his chair behind the main control panel, Howard lets out a deep, shaky sigh. Thank God, it was a success. His cryonic chamber should have worked in principle, of course, but it's brand new technology, and not in his worst nightmares had he expected his initial test to be like this. When agents had first dragged in Peggy, shouting about a HYDRA ambush, she'd had only minutes left. Without a cure, her chances of survival were naught, so Howard had to act fast. It's not ideal, but at least like this, he can keep her alive until a cure is found. And he'll do everything he can to make sure it is.
Standing up, Howard wipes his bloodied hands on a cloth and then hands it to one of the agents. "Take this," he says. "Have it analysed, see what we can extract from it. In the meantime, I want backup power generators, the big ones, and backups for the backups--this chamber doesn't ever lose power, got it?"
The days pass, turning into weeks, months, then years, and Peggy sleeps through it all. Her preservation is a guarded secret, and only top level SHIELD agents know of the specialists working to save her life.
Finally, they think they've found it: the cure.
The year is 2016, and Peggy Carter takes her first breath in nearly seventy years; five days later, she regains consciousness. But just as her eyes flutter open to take in her new world, time stops, and everything resets.
And both she and the world begin anew.
2016. New England.
"Ambassador Carter, your thoughts?"
Peggy finds herself easily distracted these days, and often by what most would consider mundane. This morning, she loses track of the discussion--it's something about cognitive economics and environmental peace--when she spots an aeroplane from a window. It's an ordinary aeroplane, but she's somehow struck by how impossibly long it is, like a giant, white missile with paper-thin metal sheets for wings. Somehow, she remembers them looking differently, though she can't describe how. It's how she feels about most things, these days.
"Ambassador Carter, are you still with us?"
This time, she hears her name; she snaps out of her reverie, albeit less gracefully than she would have liked. "Yes," she lies, "please, do continue."
The Speaker, the chair of the meeting, gives her a look that is both critical and sceptical, but does not press. For now. But an hour later, Peggy finds herself sitting in his office.
She tries not to scowl at her situation. She already knows what he's going to say to her, and she doesn't want to hear it. Like sandpapering an anchor, Peggy thinks to herself, and wonders where she picked up the phrase. It sounds vaguely military, but Peggy has never served.
"Margaret," the man begins, gazing at her with a pained expression, "I can't help but feel that since your return, you've been lacking in, shall we say, focus. If you're still not recovered from the accident--"
"I've been on leave for three months, sir," Peggy replies, meeting his eyes evenly. "I'm quite sure I'm ready."
"Well, I'm not sure," he says, frowning with disapproval. "You've been back in office for a few weeks now, and you've always seem distracted, like the time we dined with the mayor--"
Charging anything more than four dollars for a steak is highway robbery, she thinks to herself, but lets him continue.
"Or that time you thought your phone was a bomb..."
"It was beeping," she says this time, determined not to feel foolish, "and I don't recall telephones being small enough to fit inside pockets--" (There's a lot she doesn't recall, but she doesn't tell him that.)
The Speaker raises an eyebrow. "And the incident with Howard Stark?"
Peggy opens her mouth to retort, but instead falls silent. She remembers how she'd all but burst into tears as she shook the man's hand. "He's a lot older than I remember," she says finally, even though it doesn't make sense, because she's never met Stark until that week. The Speaker looks at her, as though waiting for her to continue, but she doesn't.
He probably attributes her loopy behaviour to her car accident. It was quite a wreck, Peggy's been told, and she had taken such a blow to the head that it left her unconscious for three months. But somehow, it feels as though she's been sleeping for longer than that--much, much longer. It's been almost a month since she was discharged from the hospital, but there's remains a dissonance in her life that she can't resolve. She feels perpetually... off balance.
Ten minutes later, Peggy is finally allowed to leave the Speaker's office. She makes her way down to a lower floor and when she enters her own, she's surprised to find someone waiting inside. The visitor is a man, and the suit he wears is dark, conservative, fitted, much like the ones worn by the federal agents who regularly patrol the tower. Hearing her open the door, he turns around and offers her a warm smile in greeting.
"Your Excellency," he says, with a slight nod of his head.
While Peggy has no logical reason to be suspicious of him, she can't bring herself to smile back; something about his presence sets her on edge. "Can I help you?" she asks, her tone clipped. Her body has tensed, and her eyes track his movements.
The man's smile widens slightly, but there's no more preamble; in a single, fluid motion, he draws his weapon and fires.
With startling agility, Peggy dodges the shot, leaping behind her desk. She has no weapon, so she improvises by grabbing a nearby desk lamp and hurling it at him. While he's distracted, she goes on the offensive, taking her chair by the legs and using it to strike him down with as much force as she can muster. He's knocked to the floor, and she throws a punch that lands squarely in his jaw; grunting in pain, he swings back, but his attack is sloppy and she avoids it nimbly, using her momentum to bring her elbow down on his wrist. His grip on the gun releases and she seizes it for her own. She cocks it with practiced ease and aims it at his forehead, just in time for agents--real agents, this time--to burst into her office, their own weapons aimed at her assailant.
The man is quickly arrested, while Peggy is escorted to a hospital; she's relatively unharmed, with her severest injuries being a few bruised knuckles. Her head still reels from the attempt on her life, her heart hammers in her chest, but she's exhilarated. She's never learned how to fight, but her movements against the assassin had been swift, her blows deliberate; her body had moved on its own accord, dancing a dance too her mind doesn't know. The ordeal should have terrified her, but instead, for the first time in a long time, something feels right.
While details of the attack are kept confidential (especially pertaining to her extraordinary display of self-defense), the assassination attempt becomes headline news on nearly every newspaper in the world. The other ambassadors are deeply concerned, both for Peggy's safety and their own. The Embassy intends to hire a bodyguard for Peggy until investigations into the crime have concluded.
"We've got this covered, Your Excellency," the lead investigator says to Peggy one day, when she politely inquires about their progress. "This happens more often than you think, and I've got way more experience than you in this game." (She's annoyed by this remark, even though he must be right.) "Just sit tight and don't worry; we'll get to the bottom of this."
His words are meant to be reassuring, but instead only frustrate her. She doesn't even want a bodyguard, and she doesn't like being kept in the dark. So she decides that she'll simply have to start her own secret investigation. Desk work has always bored her, anyway.