Chapter- One Rescue
The seconds ticked by in her mind, not caring if it was morning or night. The past years had become a haze of pain, fear, confusion- and a growing hatred. She stared at her door, her eyes watering as she forgot to blink.
She felt lucidity surfacing, buzzing under her skin like a liquid fire. The sedatives must be wearing off, she thought to herself. Every moment became shorter as she once again came back to herself, a swimmer gasping as she broke the surface of the water. Her fingers tingled and her eyelids closed slowly over parched eyes. Her mind began to flow and pulse.
The door opened and she jumped back in terror, her hands up. "Come here now," said the orderly soothingly. "It's time for your medication."
"You're not putting that stuff in me again!" she rubbed her needle-bruised forearms protectively. Down the hall she heard the howlings of Mrs. Sanchez. Must be morning then, the thought streaked across her mind, and was quickly dismissed.
"Security? We might have a problem here. Room 111," the orderly muttered in to the mic.
"No, I'm fine," she said in a forced calm. "No needles...please," She blinked as the orderly's head tumbled to the floor, shortly followed by his body. She glanced up at a tall, shaggy-- almost feral looking man, dressed in furs. She blinked once and followed him down the hallway, her bare feet padding against the linoleum.
She fleetingly noticed the trail of decapitated and otherwise mutilated bodies on the way to the exit, but she could hardly pause to care. She was free!
There was a helicopter in the front parking lot. It's pilot shouted something irritably at the furry mountain of a man, and they quickened their pace.
Her pale skeletal hands gripped the armrests until her knuckles turned white. She heard the large man speak with the hidden pilot--almost as if she were far removed from them. "She's not lookin' too good," muttered the feral one. "Real pale. Too skinny. Looks like she's goin' in to shock."
"I's goin' as fast as it bleedin' can, Vic." the pilot snapped.
"I'm just sayin', we don't want t' be giving the boss a potato."
"A vegetable?" the flier deadpanned.
"Yeah, one of those."
She eyed her visible cabin-mate distrustfully, but finally relaxed enough o fall in to a half sleep.
Wanda Maximoff had been trapped in a nameless mental asylum for the last eight years, despite her lack of mental disorder. She was a threat, even to the darker sides of society. And she must be tamed.