A/N: I'm planning to update about every weekend, but I won't be sticking to that religiously because exams. This chapter and almost all the other ones will be told from Cerina's POV, as though she is telling the story starting from two years ago. If you have any questions or are a bit confused PM or drop me a comment and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

Chapter Two: Butterflies

In the first six months there was no sign of what the eyes would later become. I progressed through training quickly, I'd already been a sniper in Afghanistan so it was easy to adapt to working in an intelligence agency. I was a born liar and, although I'd always liked athletics better than martial arts, had got a good grip on the hybrid system they taught at the academy. Psychological analysis took longer, I think some strings might have been pulled there, usually PTSD is treated with a bit more anxiety than it was in my case. Anyway for my first mission I was the covering sniper for a small team of experienced agents, our mission was to prevent an arms deal going down in Greece.

"Blackbird, you still got eyes on Inachis?" Montgomery, who was currently a tiny brown speck on the plaza below, whispered into his hidden com.
"Yes sir, red spot trained on his ugly face as I speak." Although I was alone, lying on my belly, a snipers rifle cradled in the crook of my shoulder I couldn't help but smile, it felt so good to be back in the field. The dense black plastic stock was pressed hard into my shoulder, I liked it, the rifle felt like part of me, like it was supposed to be there.

In the square below, my team circled, there was Montgomery, a burly man who'd worked at SHIELD for years but always refused promotions, he liked ground work he insisted. Then there was Mya, we'd borrowed her from the explosives division to diffuse a bomb in case Inachis was tricking us and his briefcase actually contained explosives. Next came Peter Shelley, my SO and an all rounder who didn't have much of a personality, apparently he liked to keep work and play separate. Lastly came Brown, he looked far too engrossed in the Greek newspaper he was reading to effectively be monitoring the deputy of HYDRA's French terrorist cell.

Athens glowed around me, the midday sun beating down on brick and skin alike. In the square, a slender man with big splotchy birthmarks and pitted cheeks from acne or pox stopped to examine a stall laden with secondhand books. I followed his movement with my sight and watched as he set down the case and picked up a Greek hardcover of Dante's Inferno. He flicked through the pages as the woman behind the stall nattered to another elderly old lady.

Without warning there was a roar as flames went up from the bakery on the other side of the plaza, utterly destroying what had previously been an idyllic, postcard moment. Following my training, I kept my rifle on target and watched as Inachis quickly flipped through the pages to where they had been hollowed out at the back. My hand darted to the collar of my t-shirt, I pressed down on the button and spoke into the radio:

"Inachis is making the exchange, do I take the shot? Over." I slowed my breathing, slipped my index finger onto the trigger and waited for orders. They never came. I caught a glimpse of a tiny metal cube being squirrelled away in the man's trouser/pants pocket and then my head exploded with pain.

It felt like something was pressing the eyes into my sockets, like they were trying to burrow into my brain. All I could do was pull myself into a ball and wait for it to pass.

As suddenly as the pain had come it was gone, but in its wake it had left something else:

'THROW YOUR RIFLE OFF THE ROOF.' Was etched into my vision in big red letters. I ignored it, I was sure I was hallucinating. Panting, I rubbed my eyes but the writing was seemingly indelible. The pain was back before I knew it, so acute that I could virtually hear it buzzing inside my head. I felt like my skull was trying to turn itself inside out. When the agony had died down enough for me to see again I held out a shaking hand and grasped the barrel of my rifle, with a delirious strength I managed to lift it above my head and cast it down into the street below. I heard an audible crunch as hardened steel smushed onto the paving stones. That helped a little; I no longer considered throwing myself off the building to stop the fire in front of my brain. The blinking line at the end of the text devoured the letters then presented some more.

'GOOD. NOW LEAVE THE BUILDING. DO NOT BRING THE RADIO.' I faltered, this command flew in the face of everything I'd been taught in both the Army and SHIELD. I did argue internally, it was not an easy decision but in the end, fearful of the torturous power this thing had over me, I did as it had written.

There was a man waiting, blonde haired and broad shoulders but with a brutish, clumsy face. In complete contrast to the way he looked I could see a tiny orange wing poking up from below his polo shirt. He had a butterfly tattooed on his slightly sun burnt neck. Of course I knew what that meant, i'd seen it on tv and in case histories: he was clearly a member of Les Papillons.
"Follow me." He commanded. I briefly considered not going and screaming for my team but before the idea had fully formed more words had flashed up.
'THERE ARE EXPLOSIVES EMBEDDED IN YOUR FACE, DO AS HE SAYS.' I shook with remembered pain and fear. The blonde man lead me away from the marketplace and down a progressively tightening alley. No-one who'd gone past us gave a damn about two strangers walking away from a square, they cared much more about a fire that could easily spread and engulf their apartments or homes so we met no resistance.

The alley opened up to a small courtyard paved with red stones. As soon as the filigree gate had been locked behind us my arms were grabbed, pulled behind my back and a plastic tie was tightened about my wrists. I kicked out at blondie behind me but shoe never made contact with flesh. I called out for help, in English and Greek but to no avail. It was the same with my punches.

"Kneel." The man had me by the shoulders and was trying to push me down to my knees. I knew what came next, could feel the muzzle being pointed at the back of my head and heard the click of a gun being cocked. My legs had locked in place, Les Papillons could do what they wanted with me but I would not be docile or be led to the slaughter like a sheep.
"Agent Jacobson, Private, Blackbird, Cerina." My head whipped around to an old brick archway where a woman stood, reeling off all my different names in her elegant French accent. She had shining red-gold hair and a beautiful, malevolent smile. I guessed that she was around 30.

"Vanessa Atlanta." I whispered, repaying the favour. Vanessa Atlanta is the Latin name for red admiral butterflies, its also the name of the leader of les Papillons. I think the name suited the woman well, I only ever saw her dressed in red.
"Tres bon, mon chere." Her red lips curled. "Why don't you kneel? If I was going to kill you I could have done it on the roof."
"That was you?"
"Well who else would it be?" She countered with another question. I took a moment to scan the courtyard where they were holding me, it wasn't anything special, it was dusty and weeds were sprouting from between the paving stones. I looked up in time to see the woman nod. The man grabbed me and pushed me bodily to the floor, my right cheek scraped the sandy stone. Another person came down the steps on one side and walked forward. Whilst the original man squatted over me and used one hand to restrain my arms and the other to keep my head down the newcomer poured over my skin. In some places he prodded and in others he produced a torch which shone a green light.

"Ah, bon." He muttered as the light came to rest on my upper arm. "Un scalpel, s'il vous plait." At this I struggled more violently.
"No! No! Please don't!" I wailed and thrashed. All that did was make my captor more angry which gained me a clap across the ear. That shut me up anyways.

Yet another came along baring a platter, I couldn't tell what was on it, all I heard was footsteps and a clatter as they set it down. There was a pause, then the man who had asked for a scalpel presently sliced my arm open. That wasn't the worst of it, in fact it didn't hurt too much, the blade was sharp and it was over quickly. Next he seemed to root around under my skin for something. It hurt like hell. There was one final prick of pain and it was done.
"Et voila." The brute of a man finally got up so I got to see what the other had discovered in my arm.

He was a small man with a shrivelled, wrinkly face but wide eyes that made him look like a baby and an old man at the same time. He was holding up a little bloody chip about a quarter of an inch across and half an inch long.
"Hate to disappoint you guys but that's just my birth control." I lied, I knew very well that it was my tracker.
"Jean, Quoi?
"Elle dit que c'est seulement sont contrôle des naissances." the man, Jean I presumed, who had held me down appeared to be bilingual and explained my joke to the other.
"Ah, non. Mademoiselle, c'est un tracker GPS, c'es-" he took it seriously and started to correct me but Vanessa Atlanta cut him off.
"Non, Matthieu, je n'a pas le temps. It's time to go, mon chere."

Matthieu deftly bandaged up my arm and with the help of the translator instructed me on how to make it heal quickly. Then I was being dragged to my feet. I felt dizzy, at first I assumed that it was the loss of blood, yet I hadn't been left to bleed for much time at all. Then it struck me, the pinch of pain must have been an injection of some sort. I turned my head to examine my arm and confirmed that there was a small puncture, that was all I had time for though because I was soon fast asleep.

-x-

Thank you to the two people who followed, and everyone who read(32)! Please, please review!

Reviews:

carey905, I did really want the first chapter to be interesting and mysterious, I hope this one lived up to your expectations.