A/N: Okay, yes, this is not Remember Me. I know. But still. I write more than that so…
Enjoy!
WARNING: SELF HARM MENTIONS AND INFLICTION
Tales of a Broken Mind
Chapter 1 – Weapons Do Not Feel
An insane bloodlust had engulfed the girl for as long as she could remember. For years, she had desperately craved blood, her own and others alike. She reveled in killings, relished in the light leaving someone's eyes. She lived on it. It was an addiction. An obsession. A desperate plea for help to a broken mind. Help she would never receive and didn't deserve. Because she could hardly be called human after all the murders she were responsible for.
And the worst part?
She didn't feel any remorse. She didn't have a motive. She did it because Hydra told her to. She did it because she had to.
The girl had short, braided red hair. Her eyes were bright orange, like two flashlights in the darkness. Her cheeks were covered in freckles, and a large scar decorated her jawline.
She wore a black tank-top and cargo pants. The shirt previously had sleeves, but she had ripped them off, showing all her scars for the whole world to see. And scars they were: they covered her arms, from wrist to shoulder, some still leaking blood, and some so faint one had to search to find them. In all her seventeen years on Earth, the girl had given herself too many scars to count. She had kept a tally at first, but had lost track somewhere around fifty-two. It had been nine years since she gave up keeping track.
Her cell had walls a stark, lifeless gray and a single piece of furniture: a beaten up cot, with slightly dirty sheets and no blankets. The majority of one wall was taken up by a large, one way mirror, where she knew swarms of scientists always were, watching her every move and action. She hated the feeling of being watched. She hated her life.
Each day, the girl allowed herself a single minute to let her emotions take over. Every day, she either ended laughing hysterically or sobbing violently. And once her minute was up, she would proceed to scratch and tear and rip at her scarred skin until she bleed, reveling in the pain and metallic smell that flooded her cell.
…
The girl liked to think of herself as a bit of an artist. She painted with her own blood, with others, and her crime scenes became her canvas. Whenever she was sent on a mission, a sort of sick glee would overtake her body at the mere idea of making a new painting.
Often, the girl would be told to cause as much bloodshed as she could before authorities arrived. She thought of it as a bit of game. It seemed to never have occurred to her that she was taking innocent lives when she played. Every time she came back from a mission, bloody and gleeful, she would scratch her tally onto the wall, excitement still coursing through her veins.
She could often times hear the muffled voices of the scientists on the other side of the glass. It was one of her favorite pass times, listening to their conversations like a silly teenage girl with a crush on a football jock.
"She's a monster." She heard one day. A small smile crept onto her face. Like she hadn't heard that before. But never from one of the scientists… he must be new.
"She's a weapon." Came the response. "Hardly considered human in our books."
"But still! She's a child, Andersen!"
"Oh, please, Schluter. The girl on the other side of the glass is many things, but a child is not one of them. She has killed far too many for that."
The girl lightly set herself upon the mattress, happily listening to the two scientists continue their pointless conversation.
"How long has she been here?" Schluter asked curiously.
Beat. "She's seventeen, eighteen in five months, so about twelve years," Andersen replied.
"Twelve years?!" Schluter exclaimed, as if it were a surprise. "But—she was—just a—what—child!"
"Child or no, she is our best weapon currently. The Project Leader is looking to move onto bigger things with her. Less mainstream, panic-causing killings and more assassinations. She's going places."
"If 'jail' is a synonym for 'places'," Schluter said.
"Oh please. SHIELD isn't even aware of her existence, Schluter," Andersen scoffed.
"What is she, exactly?"
"A weapon, Schluter. A weapon designed for the benefit of Hydra and to help orchestrate the end of the world."
Beat. "Whew… that's… that's really something."
"And we aren't done with her yet. She has the Serum, of course, but there's still so much more we can do. You notice all those scars on her arms, yes?" Andersen didn't wait for Schluter to answer before continuing. "She has an insane lust for blood. We think it's some sort of after-effect of an experiment from many years ago."
"'Bloodlust'? What do you mean 'bloodlust'?"
"She claws at her skin until she bleeds. She is oddly (and terrifyingly) elegant and artistic when she kills. It's slightly disgusting how much she appears to enjoy killing." The girl's smile grew wider at that. She loved it when people were scared by her, or disgusted by her actions. It was weird. People always thought she would be remorseful or unhappy, like they thought they could rewire her brain by simply telling her that she was bad.
"One… one more question, Doctor Andersen."
"Yes?"
"What do you call her? Anyone I've spoken to simply identifies her as 'the girl'. She must have a title, right?"
"Well… she has a name that's in her file, but no one calls her that anymore. But the Project Leader call her 'Koryn'."
A/N: So there you have it! The first chapter of this story! I hope you all enjoyed, and please note that I haven't done extensive research on Hydra, so I probably got a ton of crap wrong. Feel free to correct me if I did.
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