57

The blindfold is ripped off when they wrap you in thick nylon rope and throw you into a military-style, canvas-covered transport truck. (To be honest, you weren’t expecting that; you’d have thought a big-ass tank would be more Hydra’s style, regardless of whether or not it was useful.) Bruce has some kind of weird, thick, electronic-looking cuff on one wrist (he shrugs at you when you send him a silent question about it), but you don’t see Natasha anywhere, so maybe, you tell yourself, maybe she’s all right.

That question answers itself as you’re underway, being driving at what you’re sure is a speed well above the limit. There’s a sudden shaft of light from the back of the truck, and then Natasha’s inside, deftly unknotting the ropes at your left elbow.

You debate asking her what a nice girl like her is doing in a place like this, but opt for a brief, “Thanks,” instead. It’s probably the wiser choice. She gets the ropes off both of you and Bruce shakes his wrist in the cuff, which she can’t remove. “I can’t, uh, go green,” he says, and you frown. That would have been useful.

“We need to get out of here,” Natasha says.

To try to escape from the truck, turn to page 58.