Chapter 2 – Cats' Out Of The Bag

AN: Please bear with me as I work on a new layout style.
-&-

Waking up with the distinct sensation of nails being hammered through your skull is unpleasant. Waking up and not knowing where one is, is just downright scary.
However, waking up with both the above occurring at the same moment, had to be in the top five of the most horrific occurrences in Aziras' life…ever.
Shooting bolt upright, she immediately regretted that choice as he vision flared and swum and her skull throbbed and ached mercilessly.

Groaning and doubling over, pulling her knees to her chest, Azira closed her eyes and placed her forehead on her knees, hooking her arms round her legs to hug herself and try and shake the feeling of dread.
Her breathing slowed down, barely noticing that she had morphed back into her human form. She had expected as much, as drug induced sleep often cancelled out any previous shape-change as she needed a certain cognitive concentration to maintain any shape other than her human one and as practised as she was at maintaining any shape in any situation, any sort of anesthetic had always had the potential to completely cancel out her abilities. A few could even neutralise them for hours after she regained consciousness.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Azira stilled herself, regressing into her mind to see if her abilities where still there. She felt the muffled stirrings of power and breathed easy, allowing herself to come calmly back into the present world. She would still be able to shift at will, but at feeling how muffled her powers were, it would be a stupid risk to even try to shift now.
To shift, all her organs, nerves, bones and blood vessels had to realign and sometimes re-create themselves. To try any sort of shifting now, could cause breakage of bones and even the rupturing of organs. In short, to shift when you did not feel able, was a death sentence.

A few minutes passed, or was it hours? Azira didn't know, but time passed and she finally felt alive enough to lit her head and look around her. She did so slowly as the throbbing ache was still there, less than before, but still there, and it was enough to make her dizzy.
She found herself in a room, on the second bunk of a bunkbed and everything around her was very much...grey. She blinked slowly as she took in the room.
The was not much in front of her, a steel door, obviously locked and then just space, one light with a shell-like lampshade, which dimmed the light coming from the bulb but gave no colour.
To her left was a small table, however, with a letter, a pill and some water in a glass.
Squinting in mild curiosity, Azira leant over and gently picked up the letter, starting to read;

'Azira,

The moment you picked this letter up and started reading it, we were alerted to this and you will be visited by General William Stryker in one hour.
Do not try to escape, attack or otherwise harm him, or you will be killed. You have one chance at this and one chance only.

The pill beside you is a strong pain-relief and will counteract any side-effects of the anaesthesia given to you to bring you in, it will also lift the suppressant on your powers and they will be restored at their normal rate, if not immediately.

The door behind you leads to an on-suite for you to use at your leisure. Fully outfitted for any of your needs including clothing.

We will see you in an hour.

Operations Control.'

The letter brought back all sorts of nasty feelings within her and she placed it back down on the table quickly and curled herself in again, thinking over the information given to her.
So, she had an hour left and was being watched, or at the very least, motion monitored and then someone called Stryker was coming to see her.
She shuddered quietly. His name was anything but comforting.
Running one hand through chestnut brown tresses, Azira swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly got to her feet, steadying herself on the higher bunk and giving the water and pill a dubious look, before quickly snatching up the white circle and swallowing it in one gulp, downing the water as well, surprised at her thirst.

Licking the droplet from her lips and placing the glass quietly back onto the table, Azira proceeded to move in the direction of the rear door. She did so at her own pace; there was no need to be cautious now, as all the cards of the current situation where on the table, so to speak. She knew she was being watched but was in no immediate danger.
She opened the door and had to squint a little at the bright white bathroom before her. It was certainly clean and smelt pleasant enough. It smelt of disinfectant, unlike the dormitory which smelt of concrete and cold.

She shut the door, merely out of habit than anything and made her way to the mirror and sink at the far end of the room, walking past a large, luxurious looking shower and smirking at it slightly. It would certainly be an enjoyable use.
When we was met with her reflection, Azira was only mildly surprised that she was still wearing clothes, but her appearance was rough and thoroughly shocking.

Her hair, which was meant to be an auburn brown, almost the colour of whiskey, was stringy and matted, almost black with sweat and grime. Her face had dust and mud thinly caked on to it and taking a look at the rest of her body, she was patched in globs of dust and mud with a few pine needles in her head and on her clothing.
She was bare footed and huffed as she looked at the tears in the jeans and tank top before stepping back from the mirror and taking a good look around the bathroom.
She found a stack of clothing in an overhead cupboard, and they were all colour themed the same as the clothes she was wearing now; white top, dark blue stone washed bottom and black jacket.
The styles were different and she has shirts, tank tops and polos to choose from, alongside straight or bootleg shaped jeans. Underwear of the correct size was provided as well, and so, taking her pick, Azira lined up her new clothes and stripped of her old ones before stepping into the shower.

She stepped out of the steaming cubicle thirty minutes later, wrapping a large, white towel around herself and a smaller one around her head and made her way back over to the rear of the bathroom to dress and fix herself up.
Another fifteen minutes later, and she stepped out of the en-suite looking like a different person, or more to the point, how she was meant to look when not thoroughly scratched up and having passed out for however long she had been out for.
Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, it's original colour and sheen restored. Her skin, which was tanned had its' natural colour back in it, and was clean, glistening slightly in the mediocre lighting, having had moisturiser rubbed into it vigorously. Her right hand was bandaged and disinfected and she's found a rather nasty and large cut on her palm, no doubt from her last hopeless dash for freedom and she'd dressed in a white polo and the bootleg jeans and soft grey socks. A black zip-up hoodie was flung over one arm and deposited gently on the bed as she flopped down on it again and reached under, searching for her footwear.
A pair of military styled boots, black, but a little dusty. Blowing off said dust, Azira set about giving them a rough polish, placing them on her feet and then settling down to wait for 'General William Stryker' after washing her hands again.

It was a nerve racking wait, for sure, but when the door unlocked and opened, Azira was on her feet immediately, eyes as cool and clear as water, appraising the opened door and who came through it with calm interested, thumbs hooked through the belt buckle of her jeans, completely still.

The man would walked through was not incredibly impressive to look at, nor where the four bodyguards behind him, who were dressed head-to-toe in black armour, their faces covered. So Azira switched her attention back to the possibly main threat. General William Stryker.

Frankly, his face annoyed her, but that was of no consequence. He was unremarkable to look at. Military cut hairstyle, dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, but not so pale that he looked like a vampire, and a general dark military getup. She recognised it as the uniform worn by high ranking officials, but she was lost beyond that.
She met his gaze without fear and that's when the conversation started.
For the most part, it was inane. Names, question on her location and on her co-operation and then he stepped back to allow her out the door before him.
As she stalked past the bodyguards, she noticed one swap out to be replaced by a man in a suit, but before she could get a decent enough look at him, Stryker was by her side again and the bodyguards had fallen into position behind them.
She moved off with Stryker, listening intently to what he had to say about their current predicament, not once glancing behind her, although the curiosity was there.

"So, Miss Paynn, in short, what we are is a team. A mutant SWAT, if you like," Stryker continued, gesturing in the air, almost in a bored manner, with one hand. Azira nodded once and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
"We're called in to deal with those whose abilities elude or even overwhelm the general control teams. We're called in when there is no other hope or the target becomes too dangerous to contain. We're the last line of defence and we are expected to neutralise the target for rehabilitation…or execution." He looked her dead in the eye as the explanation finished. Azira didn't miss a beat and kept her gaze level. She wasn't shocked by the brutality of the words, death was not something to fear for her and mercenary work, assassination and the like, were not actions or words she was a stranger too, either. At 28, she had done quite her share fair of "mysterious" kills or helped someone to "mysteriously disappear". She was not fazed by this explanation of Strykers' at all.

The pause was obviously for her to ask any questions, and although Azira had quite a few, she kept hers simple and to the point.
"So, you want to recruit me, in other words. Add my power to your already growing pool of strength?"
The smile that split Strykers' face was almost diabolical and should have set alarm bells ringing in Aziras' head, had she already not written him off as already missing a few marbles.
"Exactly."
"And why, pray tell, should I accept your offer, General?" she challenged with a raised eyebrow.
Now the look in his eyes did set off alarm bells. They were suddenly cold, calculated and devoid of anything but drive and power.
"Because, Miss Paynn. We work for the government, we are assigned government targets, but we have no way of knowing in true advance, which target we are going to be deployed on. The next target, Miss Paynn…could be you."
Azira steadied herself and took a deep breath at that, drinking in the information before coming to the conclusion; "So, you're saying it's in my best interest to help this team, continue to live and stay out of the governments targeting system."
Again, that predatory grin. "Precisely". That could also have been translated as; "If you decline, you'll be dead before the sun sets."

The tension between the two was palpable as Azira mulled over her options, arms crossed and eyes cool, she raked her gaze over the warehouse they were in, over the face of Stryker and his guards, lingering only slightly on the cold eyes of the suited male before meeting Strykers gaze again. She wasn't stupid. He was offering her a chance to keep her heart beating and of course, behind all of this, there was a darker cause, a cause she did not know of, but was aware of. There's always a reason behind actions, just not always a good one, as she was sure of in this case.
With a sharp inhale, Azira rolled her shoulders back and nodded short and sharp, holding out one hand to the man in front of her.
"Alright then, I accept."
Strykers hand grasped her own with a strange intensity, but a solid firmness which was anything but comforting. They shook hand and the dark, predatory gleam in his eyes flashed for a minute. She recognised it as triumph, but he voice stayed as level as ever.
"Then welcome to Team X, Azira."
"Thank you, General."

Her hand was released and she returned it to her side as Stryker stepped back and the man in the suit stepped forward to take his previous position.
They regarded each other coolly as Strykers parting words introduced them, even as the man himself faded into the shadows with the rest of his guard.
"This is Agent Zero; he'll be showing you around the outer facilities."

She barely raised an eyebrow as she took in his appearance now.
Handsome, certainly. His face betrayed Asian origins, Korean maybe, mixed with the West. Korean and American, possibly.
His suit was pristine and his scent was of citrus fruit and ice.
Citrus fruit and ice…
Citrus and…
Azira inhaled sharply and her calm gaze snapped into a glare and at that moment, Zeros' expression of calm indifference turned to one of glorious smugness.
This was the bastard that had brought her in!

"A pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Miss Paynn…"

-&-
AN2: Dun, dun duuuuuuun!
The re-written chapter of how Azira and Zero meet!