HYDRA Facility
Cagliari, Italy
1969
I was bred to be a weapon. There wasn't any other intention for me other than being used against the world as a weapon. My parents bred with the sole intention of creating a highly intelligent specimen with lots of potential to be great, for good or evil. A person created just to be tested and injected with chemicals and put through a guaranteed life of suffering is a waste of space. They don't exist to the outside world, and are barely a person inside these walls in which they are known. They aren't treated as a person or as a human being, only a weapon created to accept and comply. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't even have a name. They call me 'The Baby' for how I behave with the pain they put me through.
I was born in a prison cell. The cold, stone floor was a comforting welcome to my world of pain and suffering. From that day it has all felt the same, to be kept as a test subject until I am the perfect embodiment of the weapon that HYDRA desires most. Every day brings more pain and suffering coming from the same tests and experiments made to mold me into something I was born for. I never chose this. They take their time torturing me with solitude, which in some ways is a greater pain than physical torture. I am used to being alone, but it doesn't mean I enjoy it. HYDRA takes great pride in knowing the effects they have on people of all ages.
Most of my short, miserable life so far I have been in constant isolation. The only time I am dragged out of my cell by a new HYDRA scientist is for more torture to live through. They don't talk, just do. They don't stop when my throat cracks with effort after screaming for hours, or my painful thrashing against the restraints. Even if I loose do end up loosing consciousness I once woke up a bit later strapped more heavily to the same table unable to move, yet I can feel everything. They stabbed me with a thick needle with a paralyzer in my neck. I was hyper-sensitive enough to feel each thick particle work it's way down my spine, into my legs, and back up my arms. They were making their jobs easier. They didn't want me to move, but they still wanted me to feel each and everything that they do to me.
My throat aches for a sip of water, scratching with every intake of dusty air. My head pounding with the pain and remembrance of my last beating. Opening my eyes I am met with the view of my dark cell. I look down at my where my wrists are, slightly unclear with the lack or light. The small open holes are clearly visible even in the barely there light crusted over in dried blood, used to physically restrain me and keep me down on the table when I move around too much. I have been healing quicker now that I was a couple years ago.
I can still smell the strong chemicals burning through my nose, and the metallic aura of my blood masking the severity of the chemical scent. I remember the doctors threatening to hurt me more, to drill more holes in my wrist. The horrid scene is still in the front of my mind, teasing me with its memory and thought that it could happen multiple times over. I hear the Chief Scientist repeat in my head; "Come on princess, at least you're not dead. But when we are done you can wish for death, but it doesn't mean that it's going to come." I wish to die a hundred painful deaths than live out my life as a weapon I thought to myself.
I remember being released from my restraints, the screws removed from my wrists with warm blood taking it's place. Too weak to fight back, too weak to say anything. I remember being dragged by both wrists on the floor, no intention of making transportation comfortable. I ended up at my cell once more, pushed in with a barely-there thud of my frail body hitting the cold, stone floor. With all of the effort I manage to dig up, I attempt to throw my body onto my cot. My arms and legs are shaking to go with the pounding in my head. I don't remember if I got to my cot, only that I cried the pain away.
I am snapped out of my line of thought when I hear the gears of the locks turning to open the door that leads to my cell. I hear the steel door open with slight refusal from the hinges, then close with an echoing snap from the door closing. My head's pounding rhythm increases as my eyes shoot up to see a scientist standing in front of my cell with four books and a dim yellow lamp in their hand.
They almost look patient with their stone-cold expression, waiting for me to do what has yet been asked of me. The scientist throws the books down through the bars of my cell with more force than what is really needed. The dust from the solid stone floor rises around the books in a cloud. I see in light detail the particles from the dust shine in the single yellow light outside of my cell hanging in front of a steel door with too many locks to count. I look back down at the books and notice that there are three in front of me, and one still in the doctor's hand who threw it to me. All of the books are in different languages I easily notice with the obvious flags present on each of the book covers; Spanish, French, and English. The Mandarin book has yet to be thrown in front of me. I can infer that I am expected to learn three languages, maybe four in a certain amount of time. I pick up the French book slowly, eyes still trained on the scientist. My young arm is still weak from not having any control over my limbs after being strapped down on a table for too long, I see a cut reopen up and ooze blood once I open the book. I back up two feet away from the cell bars and reach the cold stone wall. I turn to rest my head in the dark corner of my cell. My cot is an arm length away in front of me. The confinement is comforting.
I hear the scientist file through the door, leaving dust trailing behind their heavy black boots. I don't look up to see them walk out, only when I hear the metal door close behind them I cringe. I then hear the click of the locks echoing through my quaint cell as I turn my head slightly to see a small, dimly lit lamp left on an uncomfortable looking plastic chair with the Mandarin book to be used as my reading light. I look back down at the book on my thin legs and read. At least I have something to do, even though it benefits the doctors and HYDRA heads and everyone that tortures me.
I'm going to try writing a fanfic again and hopefully this goes better that the first one I attempted. I am going to be updating this chapter probably several times over because I have absolutely no clue what I am doing. It is going to be real sucky at first, and most likely the more I update it the better it will become.
Please keep reading and dealing with my shitty writing as I continue to grow. Updates will come in the future.
I make my own rules.