It was a well known fact that you were a marvel fan, yet you didn’t make it your whole personality. Your barracks were decorated with different posters to personalise your barracks.

You and Gaz had been captured by the mafia during an undercover mission where your cover was blown.

They were brutal. They wanted information on who and why you were investigating them, and they’d do anything to get it. You made a few snarky comments and they cut off your arm in retaliation. Luckily, they healed it - by healing, you meant burning it closed - now it was just a stump. Maybe it was just the trauma but surprisingly, you were at peace with having one arm, but Gaz seemed more concerned about it than you.

They had put you both in the same cell, where you both leaned against a wall in silence, hoping the Task Force will eventually find you and Gaz scared what they’ll do next for the information.

You broke the silence, not breaking your stare at the wall opposite you. “Maybe I’ll get a metal arm.” You say to no one in particular.

Gaz wonders if he heard you right as he turns his head to look at you, his face showing confusion at your random statement. “What? A metal-“ he seems to realise and sighs. “A metal arm? Seriously? Winter Solider style? Fucking hell.” He is shocked that that was all you had to say in this situation.