Hello! I need to stop making so many fanfics, but I cannot stop myself. Anyways, first Marvel SI/OC, and a bit of a weird one, I think. Like's just say her birth isn't exactly conventional. I'm a bit nervous to see if people will like this one, actually.

Trigger warning: this heavily covers child abuse, murder, death, child on child fighting, and basically everything else like that. The main character is both raised by HYDRA and also partakes in the Red Room training, and neither and fun times.

The second half of this chapter is when we meet the actual OC!

1955

Katina Novikova did not consider herself easy to scare.

Maybe those ten years ago, when she was a seven-year-old alone in the world, the orphanage who gave her away without a second thought. Or… or maybe it was her aunt…

Katina frowned, 1ooking down at her pointe shoes. Her memories had always been foggy, but, as she got closer and closer to the graduation ceremony, she found that she knew nothing. The faces of her parents, who died when she was four (or five, or six, or not even dead, they sold her) changed appearance — once her mother was blonde, like her, another time ginger. Her father's eyes went from green to brown to blue to the off-white color that meant he was blind.

It was like she had millions of different lives in her head, and she could not figure out which was true or which was falsified. What ones did she wish to be true? The one where her parents died in a mugging, and her older brother sold her having no other choice? Or the one where she was born an orphan, living seven years in an orphanage until one of Madame B.'s scouts found her?

Knocking her away from her thoughts, and allowing her to realize there was a horrible throbbing behind her eyes, the door was pushed open and a gust of frosty air caused the skin of her arms, which were bare from her sleeveless leotard. Automatically, Katina's back straightened, her eyes forced forwards as she willed herself to stay completely still, and paid no attention to the continuous pain.

"Katina, stand," Madame B.'s voice was always too nice for who she was, even with her Russian-accented English. She stood, shouldered squared and eyes not leaving their spot on the wall, straight-across. "How old are you, Katina?"

"Eighteen."

The sound of high heels against the cement floor was all the warning she had, Madame B.'s fingers digging into her cheeks, forcing her head in her direction. Katina swallowed the noise of pain. "Older than the others, are you not?" She didn't answer. The woman grinned, it was slick with poison and caused a bad feeling to emerge in the bottom of her stomach, "And talented, too."

She swallowed, "Thank you."

"There is no need to thank me," her face was let go, "you came with natural talent. You practiced ballet before us," Katina's eyes dropped to the floor for just a moment, mind whirling with a new tidbit of information she had no clue about herself, "and, using that, have mastered twenty-six martial arts styles. Far more than any of your peers. Perfect."

She didn't like how she 'perfect' was said, like she was a prized hog and not a human. Madame B. moved her hand to Katina's upper arm, her nails, painted the same ruby red as her lips, digging into the flesh.

She still did not cry out when her arm was harshly yanked, or when she almost tripped and her ankle rolled trying to steady herself. She kept her eyes forward, resisting the urge to limp because her ankle had just begun to throb, along with her head, which still hadn't calmed down.

"Consider this your graduation ceremony," the hallway, connected to a series of rooms (the dormitory, she realized, had all the other girls asleep and handcuffed to their bed — was it nighttime already?) and into a discarded classroom.

What was once a rather large-sized room filled with chairs facing towards a chalkboard was now emptied, rather than a handful of unrecognizable soldiers, scientists, and…

The Soldier.

Katina's heart leaped into her throat, but she breathed in through her nose and then exhaled through her mouth, removing her green eyes from his form. She knew him well, all the girls that had survived this far (all six of them) knew him. His blank eyes, his metal arm, how he held nothing back when they sparred.

Every girl in the Academy had blood on their hands. Katina had not made it to the end, the ten years of pure Hell, without taking lives of her own. She shot the begging men, tied to a chair with a bag over their head, without mercy. She learned how to poison by using disgraced Politicians like it was second nature. And, when she became victorious in their sparring, she had claimed the lives of three of her fellow peers.

If she had blood on her hands, the Winter Soldier was bathed in it. For every life she had taken he had stolen a hundred. He had no thoughts to himself, nothing more than a shell of a man, ripped apart and built up again until he did nothing but obey. Like a well-trained dog.

The bad feeling in her stomach only worsened, attempting to imagine what HYDRA had to do to get him to behave so. And, with a quick glance towards the group of soldiers, seeing the HYDRA symbol upon their uniform, thought that… perhaps they wanted to do so with her, too.

"Antonov," Madame B.'s voice filled the air, hand stuck clutched around Katina's upper arm. Then, she began to speak, but in Russian, "This is the girl I mentioned, Katina Novikova. Born February second, 1932, in St. Peterburg, Russia. Her father was a politician and her mother taught ballet, they died in an Accident on April thirtieth, 1934, and the girl was placed in the care of her aunt, who sold her to use due to money problems."

That was more information about Katina than she knew about herself. Even though her life story was just placed before her, she came up blank, unable to fit the pieces together. She had no memories of ballet, not before the Academy, and the idea of an Aunt made some sort of sense… but it was too far.

The man eyed her up and down, "She's not much." He responded in Russian as well, voice gruff and raspy, like he was a heavy smoker. "Rather short, though she does have some muscle."

"Top of all of her classes," Responded Madame B., as if Katina was not there, "fluent in Russian, English, Chinese, Korean, and German, each of which she can speak with or without an accent. She knows twenty-six different fighting styles, a master marksman and assassin, and has proven that she can and will kill without hesitation."

Antonov considered her words, his eyes moving from her 5'3 to the Soldier's 6'0, and nodded. "Fischer! Get whatever you need."

Fischer turned out to be a scientist, and, with his own group of lab-coat adorning men, sat her down on a table beside the Soldier, taking swabs of her cheek, about a pint of blood, and cut off a small chunk of hair. When they had finished, she was allowed to sit up, and was handed back to Madame B.'s rough hands as the Soldier was put through the same, not even moving when the needle poked him.

That was all. The scientists looked at their collected samples, chatting over them like excited children, as Antonov gave Madame B. a nod and Katina was lead away.

"I do not understand?" She asked, in a hushed whisper, being lead back to the dormitory, "What have I just done?'

Madame B. chuckled, seemingly in such good spirits that she allowed her admittance towards being caught unaware slip without punishment. "You just help create the world's next Super Soldier."

If Katina wanted any other explanation, she was given none. And tried her hardest to put it to the back of her mind, though she would often have dreams of a young girl with her face and built but with the soldier's coloring. She ignored this, too, and, by the next month, she was sterilized and had taken on the mantel of a Black Widow, and became one of the first Widows to be hired by the KGB, in 1957.

(The dreams never left her, no matter how hard she tried. They scared her, and Katina Novikova was not easy to scare.)

- ... . / .-. ... . - -. .. -..-

She couldn't remember how she died.

The smell of burning flesh was a constant fixture, as if the scent had surrounded her, forcing her to bear witness to a small travesty she had little clue about.

And it was dark. For a long while it stated dark, and she was floating, though not the floating she was used to. She was not above the water, her face able to breathe in the air, instead the liquid surrounded her, slimy feeling. She quickly came to realize she didn't breathe.

During this time, the darkness and the slime, she tried to recall anything and everything possible. Liliana Marhsall, her name; eighteen, her age; Hufflepuff, her Hogwarts house — She could remember my Hogwarts house, but not how she died!

When she thought the nothingness and overwhelming boredom and the burning flesh would steal her sanity and she would be forced to watch herself go insane, the nothingness was replaced with what felt like gigantic hands wrapping themselves around her body and pulled her out of the slime.

It was cold. Freezing, actually, snipping at her skin and causing her to cry out. But, instead of a cry, her ears were met with a wail, and she had realized, with a panic, that someone was holding her under the arms and outstretched like one would a toddler.

Someone said something, but it was not in a language she understood (German, maybe?) and she was placed onto a piece of fabric that scratched against her skin. Someone's finger pried her eyelid open, and she screamed, ignoring how she heard it as a wail, seeing nothing but several unfocused splotches of color, and the same with the other.

"Everything okay with eyesight," spoke a voice, broken English with a heavy German accent. Her mouth was pried open, momentarily ending her cries, mainly out of shock. Something poked the back of her throat, and she gagged, which earned a rather pleased hum from whoever the hell was doing this to her, "Throat good too. Red, from screams."

It continued like that, checking over her ears, lungs, and just about anything else that would be deemed needed for her survival. Still unbelievably confused, she had attempted to ask questions, but found that her vocal cords could not form the words.

It wasn't until she was lifted into someone's arms and had the nip part of a baby bottle shoved between her lips did she realized what had happened.

She was a baby.

- ... . / .-. ... . - -. .. -..-

Out of all the things that could have occurred after death, she couldn't believe that it was reincarnation into one of her most beloved fictional universes.

It wasn't even a good situation, like being the child of Tony Stark or some other rich-and-or caring parent. As far as she could tell, she was at the mercy of scientists and the woman who visited several times a day, always accompanied by an armed soldier at the door. She would feed her, breastfeed, which was both embarrassing and horrifying, and, when she had first refused, the guard had slapped her — slapped her! She was a literal baby! — and shouted at her in a language she didn't understand… probably to eat.

The woman, Zhenshchina, according to the guard, cried constantly. And not in the ew I don't want this baby crying, the I am here against my will crying. She also repeated the name 'Michail' a lot. Not to her, especially since she assumed it was a boy's name, and she was not a boy.

Well, she had never actually checked. The scientists referred to her as an it, when they spoke English, and she was a bit afraid as to what that meant. It was never a good thing to be a baby and be referred to as only It, especially when you were being raised by a terrorist organization.

Had she mentioned that, yet? Yeah, she was like, 99.6% sure she was currently in the care of HYDRA. Like, Steve Roger's #1 enemy, the batshit crazy brainwashed-assassins-creating half Nazi half Soviet organization. That one.

Anyways.

Zhenshchina cried a lot, always looked miserable, but still, she was the softest touch she had felt. The woman held her like fine china, cradling her and humming to her as she sucked at her breast (gross) and talked to her as she changed her diapers (gross). Zhenshchina spoke in what sounded like Russian, but she wasn't the best with languages, which was mad news for her, seeing as she heard English about once a week, if she was lucky.

As soon as she was pretty sure where she was, she made a game plan. It wasn't the best, but she urged her mind to remember every single bit of information she could about HYDRA. Assuming, based on the dress Zhenshchina wore, it was sometime post-World War II, meant that Bucky Barmes was still within in their clutches, and she could consider herself lucky that she had not had to face him yet.

Her game plan goes as shown: Get old enough that she could run without falling over, do not shy away from what she is taught (it could become useful, seeing as this was Marvel), find Bucky Barnes and try and un-brainwash him (so far she just wanted to list off a bunch of random facts about him or Steve), escape. Oh, also: Do not die.

It was a work in progress.

Life pretty much went the same. She would be awoken by Zhenshchina, who fed and changed her, then the armed soldier would lead Zhenshchina out and she would be alone, staring at the ceiling, bored out of her mind. Then, finally, a scientist (always a different one) would enter her room and bring her to the laboratory, or whatever they called it.

There she went through tests. They took a small amount of blood, and one would check that over as the others poked and prodded her. One thing that was very worrying to her was the fact they, every single day, injected her with something. It wasn't painful, other than the small cry she allowed herself when the needle jabbed into her skin, but the light green liquid going into her veins terrified her.

Her daily normality was one day broken by a new face, peering down at her. The woman was blonde, hair pulled back tightly, with dark eyes and skin just beginning to gain wrinkles. Though, her eyes looked much older. "This is It?" She asked, her Russian-accented English voice not matching her words, far too nice.

"Yes," responded a man, his voice also with a Russian accent. "The DNA clone of the Soldier and your girl."

Clone…

If it wasn't for the fact she was trying her best to pretend like she was a stupid baby, she would have probably reacted physically to that word. Clone. She was a clone.

Of the soldier. Like… the Winter Soldier? No. She couldn't be Bucky Barnes' clone. That was outlandish. (But so was reincarnation)

The woman grabbed her cheek between her red painted fingers, moving her head move side-to-side. "She looks just like her," she murmured, "with the Soldier's coloring. Well," she gave the man look, "I was told there was a complication?"

"It cannot function with this," he held up a small glass vial with the green liquid, which formed bubbled at the minimal movement and went up to the top. "A stabilizer for the liquid It was grown in, meant to mimic a womb."

God, she was getting tired of calling things gross.

"However, during Its time between the sped-up first and second trimester, Its body relied too much on it. There is a 5% increase of the liquid in her blood, and without the stabilizer, Its immune system would see it was an intruder and attempt to get rid of it, which our head scientist says will kill It."

Information dump, which made her head spin as it was about her. And there was something wrong with her, very wrong with her. She wasn't human, well… apparently she was made from human DNA, but she was grown in a lab and it showed by her blood. She wanted to cry.

"Does It have a name?" The woman's eyes left the green vial and onto her.

"No, we've been calling It the Child or the Experiment. Why? Does It need one?"

"No," responded the woman, "Not having a name is good. Keeps It from feeling human."

Yeah, screw you too, lady.