The three of us stand together, holding hands, the twins and me. None of us want to be the first to break the silence. To leave. Even though we know we must soon. We can't let go of this moment. It might be the last time we're together. I wonder what will happen to us tomorrow. I wonder if one of us will die, or if all of us will. I wonder how I can survive if I lose both of them. In just the few months that we have known each other, we have become closer than I have ever been to anyone. They are the first people that I have been able to trust. I don't want to live without them.
"Promise me something," I say almost desperately.
"Anything." Pietro and Wanda speak together, as they often do.
Squeezing their hands and looking into their eyes, I whisper through the emotion that closes my throat, "Don't leave me tomorrow. Promise you'll both make it."
They both nod, embracing me. "Only if you'll promise the same." Wanda says into my ear. I can only nod, speaking beyond me.
Reluctantly, we separate, knowing it is time. Wanda is the first to say good night and leave for her room. I'm about to do the same, but Pietro catches my hand. I turn back, wondering if he has something else to say, and he surprises me with a kiss. It's just a light peck, but it makes me blush to the roots of my red hair.
He grins at the surprised expression on my face. "You didn't see that coming?" he asks playfully, but I can hear the catch in his voice. We're both terrified of what might happen tomorrow. That kiss was meant as a goodbye, just in case.
"If- If one of us doesn't-" I began.
"Don't talk like that." Pietro cuts me off. "We both promised, remember?"
I nodded, then hugged him tightly. "Good night, Pietro." I whisper, tears building up in my throat, then turn away before he can see them on my face.
"Good night, Sera." He replies.
: :
Exhausted, I lean against my closed door, torn between exhilaration and worry. I just had my first kiss. But I might die tomorrow. Those two thoughts keep circling around in my mind.
"Concerned about your little friends?" a voice asks from the darkness.
I whirl around, startled, searching for the speaker.
"I can fix that, you know." The voice continues, its owner stepping into the sliver of moonlight that slips through the curtains.
"I don't know what you're talking about." I say to him, trying to buy time. Trying to remember where I've seen that face before, heard that voice.
"Don't play games with me, girl!" He replies sharply. "I'm not a fool."
"What do you want from me?" I ask, memory kindling within me. Of course. He is Kazimir Ovechkin. I've heard tales of his terrible cruelty, his unbounded malice. His slaughter of children.
As quickly as his anger appeared, it fades away. A thin smile appears on his lips. "So quick to get to the point. I always liked that about you." A shiver runs down my spine. He's been watching me? I wonder for how long. "Put simply, I want you to work for me."
Suspicious, I ask, "Doing what?" I don't trust stalkers.
"Oh, a little spy work here and there, espionage, perhaps the odd assassination or two." He says casually, as if it's unimportant. "Nothing you haven't been trained for."
My eyes narrow to slits. I'm not fooled. Working for him, I'd be killing people, not spying on them. "No." I'm not about to go work for this man who destroys the lives of others. Not unless he threatens Wanda and Pietro. I can only pray he won't go there.
He raises an eyebrow, smile growing wider. "I thought you might say that. Am I really so repulsive?"
I don't deign to reply to his so obviously rhetorical question.
"What if I were to sweeten the deal?" he continued. "I will ensure that both of your little friends–" –I interrupt, denying their existence, but he simply ignores me- "Both of your little friends will survive tomorrow if you agree to work for me."
The answer is out of my mouth before his sentence is finished. "No." Pietro and Wanda will survive tomorrow, they promised. No matter if he 'ensures' it or not.
"I wasn't finished." He says sharply, then his voice returns to its usual smooth tones. "If you refuse, I will ensure that they don't." He smirks triumphantly as he delivers the ultimatum I so feared. It isn't a question of if he can do it. I know he can. I've heard the stories they tell of Kazimir Ovechkin, ruthless murderer. I've seen the aftermath of his ruthlessness. It's a question of whether or not I will let him. Do I care enough about Wanda and Pietro to sacrifice myself, my soul, whoever Ovechkin sends me to kill, to save them? The answer is immediate. Yes. I made that decision when I decided to let them into my life, into my heart. But fury still boils up inside me at the choice I am faced with. Ovechkin knows I can't refuse. I can see it in the cruel smirk that taunts me. And I hate him all the more for it.
My voice barely in control, I growl, "What would you have me do?"
That hateful smirk widens, and I feel the sudden urge to wipe it off of his face with my fist. But I can't anger him. I can't risk their lives. So I force myself to relax, to stare at the wall instead of at him.
"Oh, nothing at present." He finally says after a long, tense silence. He sounds almost bored. I'm almost shaking with the anger that burns in my chest. "You're of little use to me without those lovely powers you'll receive tomorrow."
"And if the operation kills me?" I lock eyes with him, challenging.
"It won't." he replies confidently, turning to leave my room. He pauses in the doorway. "Oh, I forgot one more thing." He faces me again, threatening now. "If you tell anyone, anyone about this little conversation of ours, especially your friends, they'll be dead by morning." He shuts the door behind him, and I am left alone with my growing desperation and fury.
: :
The next morning, we're all rudely awakened from our slumber by the soldiers, their booted feet thundering down the hall, doors clanging open, harsh orders given. Not that any of us were really sleeping. Especially not me. What sleep I had gotten was fleeting and riddled with nightmares. And that was only after I had punched the wall a few times and cried myself into exhaustion. I was exhausted. It didn't matter to them, though. All I represented to them was a means of getting more power. They didn't care how I felt.
Despite my still-smoldering fury leftover from last night, I force myself to smile at Wanda and Pietro when I see them being herded towards the lab like the rest of us. Pietro's eyes are full of our little secret, our shared moment, and pain slices through me as I realize we will never share a moment like that again. Wanda seems to notice that something is off with me and gives me a questioning look. She always was very perceptive when it came to people. But I shake my head, giving her a weak smile. I hope she interprets that to mean that I'm just nervous. All of us are. But some are better at hiding it than others. Those of us who have been on our own for longer, grown used to fending for ourselves, hiding things. Some of the others are hardly more than children. I suppose I don't really have much on them, but I feel much older. Especially after last night.
We're herded like so many obedient ducklings into a line to wait outside the lab while they finish preparations within. I feel a strange little prick in my elbow, and I look down to see a needle being retracted from my arm. The man that brought me out here is surreptitiously returning it to his sleeve. I glace around quickly and see needles slid into both Wanda and Pietro's arms, but no one else. This must be Ovechkin's way of keeping us alive. I wonder why he doesn't ensure the others' survival.
After what seems like an eternity of tense, silent waiting, the doors open and we are ushered inside. It's very sterile-looking. And rather empty. I expected it to be more cluttered. But there's just 32 large refrigerator-shaped things. One for each of us. Every box has a little symbol on it, telling what power it will give to you. There's all sorts. Fire, strength, shape-shifting, the list is endless. My guard, holding me by the arm, takes me to the one with a lightning bolt on it. Despite myself, I smile. Lightning was one of the ones I had hoped for. As my guard turns me around to place me inside the metal container, I glance around the room, searching for Wanda and Pietro. They meet my eyes and give a little reassuring smile. Pietro's got speed, Wanda telepathy. I wish I could have the chance to see them in action once they have their powers, but I doubt Ovechkin will be so kind.
Straps are pulled tight over my body to keep me restrained. I wonder just how painful this will be. Then the doors shut on every other container but mine. I glance at the guard by me, questioning, only to feel another prick in the crook of my elbow. What on earth can that be for? I think as he steps back, grabbing the heavy metal door to mine and heaving it shut. I hear a lock slide home and I'm left alone in the darkness.
The countdown starts: "три . . . два . . . один . . ." And everything but the pain disappears. I'm screaming, I know I am, but I can't hear it. My body feels like it's burning from the inside out, light flashing across my vision. I've never felt anything like this before. It's exhilarating and torturous at the same time. I feel powerful. And powerless. I feel alive most of all. But then it starts to slip away. The scorching pain, the light, the screaming. It all disappears slowly. And I sink into darkness.