Premise: Hello, everyone! This is my first story on this site. As you can read, in the first chapter there isn't a lot about The Avengers, but it is only the beginning and soon everything will fit. I'm sorry for any kind of grammar mistake: this story is a translation from Italian language. Hope you enjoy the reading :)
This fan fiction has been written with the only purpose of entertaining. I don't make money from it and I don't own the Marvel universe.
1.
The stink of mold mixed with urine was almost unbearable, at the beginning; but then she got used to it, trying not to inhale too deeply. The jailers had fun watching the female prisoners - specially if pretty - while they were indulging their bodily functions. They bit their own lips and thought of who knows what, in their sick minds. In a very particular way, the guards of the Sing Sing Correctional Facility seemed to love their job. Yes, they like to beat and ill-treat the prisoners. That's why Abigail Connor, twenty-two, jailed for attempted theft and multiple thefts already committed, tried to stave off them, covering herself when she needed to use the toilet.
How I reduced myself…
In there, nobody knew her real name, nor her real appearance. She was Jen Huztowitz to all of them, a professional thief in cahoots with a rich group of robbers as good in their job as her, who committed the only mistake of trusting a new member - then revealed to be a policeman of the New York Police Department. It was hard to keep the disguise, in the slammer: the wig pinched, the mask made her sweat… Contact-lenses and make-up that she used to bright the colour of her own skin were the first things to go: it was no surprise, she didn't have artificial tears to moisten the coloured lenses, nor make-up to renew. She was impressed, indeed, to notice that their use lasted for the whole day.
«Ohmygod, I feel released!» Janice esclaimed, Abigail's cellmate. She was a massive woman, with a handsome and muscular physical structure like no other - even between men -, a very pale skin in contrast with the black irises, and mousy, dull and brittle hair. You should admit that Janice wasn't such a saint, like she used to say: her language was comparable to one of a longshoreman, and her manners were even worse. But when words and facts melt together, that was the result: «I really needed this good piss!».
Abigail made a grimace and turned to the opposite side. Janice just came back from the community service that the prison structure provided to their inhabitants. Looks like she couldn't go to the toilet. When she was done, she adressed to the young girl who had her look set on the cell tiny window. «Oi, you, whatever is your name.» she said, very softly. «How come you ain't gone to the community service today?».
«I have them tomorrow, Janice.» Abigail answered with a flat tone. Not for nothing, but she didn't want to stir up her cellmate anger - even a light anger: she was so huge she could easily smash her.
So, with a very hard effort, she stood up (because there she was) and she laid on the cot, well turned to the wall. It was full afternoon, but she closed her eyes anyway. She didn't fall aspleet at the instant, but memories ran over her with the strenght of an hurricane.
«Can you picture a sloth?».
That question took her by surprise, but knowing Igor, Abigail expected some kind of brilliant sentence coming out in any moment. Here he goes, she used to tell herself, here he goes thinking. That's his brain that has started to carburet at a speed that would melt anybody else's neurons. «A sloth? Why a sloth?», she replied.
The answer didn't come late: «You know, sloths are slow, furry, funny… We humans would recognize one of them at first sight! But in Brasil tropical forests, in the wild, they're absolutely anonymous. Other animals ignore them, indeed: they're treated like they didn't exist. I must become like them. Invisible to other animals».
The girl followed his argument: Igor Palanovic had to fade to the countless eyes of KGB. The association, which played a lead role during Cold War, had never died, as the heads of Stated wanted instead to let believe. Igor had been a spy of theirs, until he betrayed his chiefs. He, in fact, got to know state secrets that, evidently, he shouldn't know. So he wandered around the streets of Saint Petersburg with a different face, the face of Sergej Mitchenko. But when he was home, he just came back to be Igor. Who knows if even that was his real face… But Abigail trusted him, and she didn't care if he showed to her the real himself.
«I want to become a sloth as well.», she admitted «So I could come back home without anyone noticing…».
«Umm… Teach you my job. It doesn't sound as a bad idea! Sooner or lated I should have found me an heir. So it is, I'll be your teacher, Abigail! Be prepared to learn the secrets of camouflage».
The young girl couldn't be happier.
Insensible. Cruel. Those were the words that fit better to the jailers. Abigail had just assisted to a pure vicious event: one of those men had hardly beaten a woman, Emily was her name. She was locked in the cell in front of hers and Janice's, and sometimes they heard her laughing in a so high-pitched way that, if there were, she would have crushed windows glasses. She could have been considered a strange chick, completely out of her mind, but she obviously couldn't deserve such a treatment. She didn't deserve it, no matter how much she was wrong.
What happened is the following fact… It was the air-open period in jail. Women were obviously separated from men, but neither the very high iron separé could keep the male sex to provole the fair sex with dirty jokes and non-appropriate appreciations. As it already said, this Emily wasn't a very clever girl and, bowled over so many ceremonies - even though they were vulgar -, she leaned over the railing, in the purpose to "happily" chat with an energumen with a unshaven beard and dirty hair - not to mention his teeth, which were even blacker than the hair that covered his chest and the furry stomach. In short, it was a lousy man who probably went in jail for sexual harssment, since his interest in women. The poor one let herself conquired with so little, maybe because her standards weren't so high… Anyway, suddenly, she started to climb the railing - or bettere she tried to climb it. She looked quite agile and her first steps were quite fluid too. Abigail didn't think about it twice: while the men whistled and yelled their approval, she dashed towards Emily and, with a tug, pushed her off. Fortunately, Emily didn't go so high, so none of them got hurt (except for a few bruises). The real problem stormed when a guard walked threatening towards them. He threw Abigail away with a slap on the right cheek, and then started to beat roughly the other woman with the truncheon. Emily laughed and cried at the same time.
It is a made cage, Abigale found herself thinking, regretting her soft bed in her warm house - the house of her childhood and teenage. Since that day she started to talk to herself. They weren't real and proper spechees; pretty much, it was an only sentence. «Bring me out of here».
We can't state that the first week passed quickly. Abigail kept a low profile, most of times and specially when she was sorrounded by her jailmates. When she was in her jail with Janice, their conversations were mostly carried on by the bigger woman that lived those few square meters of very little intimacy.
«This place sucks!» Janice commented some day «In Los Angeles, the female department was controlled by other females. Not from these maniacs here».
«You're saying they don't respect the law here? In a jail?», the question rose spontaneous on Abigail's lips. Janice nodded, matching the act with a guttural sound that should have been affermative as well. Abigail would have taken this to account.
The community service was exhausting and boring: in particular, she had to look after old people. And she didn't just have to entertain them, being on their side and listening their stories, but she also had to take care of them, as newborns. Basically, she was a caregiver: she changed their diapers (the most lousy part of the work package), she fed them, she washed them. Fortunately, she was always assigned to women, and not old, decrepit men with l'Alzheimer.
Well, it wasn't a fun.
«Bring me out of her. Bring me out of here.», she kept of saying in the darkness of her shared cell, while the disguise decaded more and more everyday. I must do something, or they'll find out. But what could she do without the necessary? I'm screwed, easy.
«Bring me out of here…».
«Will you stop? You're so annoying, girl!», for how much Janice could complain and strike her dead with her look, Abigail didn't stop. Say those words out loud seemed to give her a little sense of peace, like pronouncing them could make her wish come true.