February 26, 2002; Princeton University…

Ellen sat on the floor in her dorm room, staring at the wall. She'd been in the same position for hours now, having lost feeling in her legs. The last time she ate a meal had been…yesterday? The day before? She didn't care. The image of an empty casket lowered into a grave rooted itself in her mind and wouldn't leave. So many people died when the towers came down, they were still tallying numbers. They'd be cleaning the wreckage for months. It seemed wrong to have a funeral with no body, but her father insisted. Her mother was dead, and that realization had caused Ellen to lock herself in her dorm room.

Her fingers twitched, and she felt the cool metal surface of the gun in her lap.

It had been her Grampa Joe's service revolver in the NYPD. Her father kept it in a display case in his office in the New York house. After the funeral, Ellen saw it and decided to take it when no one was looking. It still had all six rounds. She only needed one.

She felt empty inside, hollowed out. Her last conversation with her mother replayed in her mind over and over, every word spoken. She couldn't imagine the terror of being inside one of the world's tallest structures and seeing a plane flying towards her. Her father, being a member of the World Security Council, had thrown himself into his work. He and his colleagues were in charge of the response to terrorist attacks like this. She'd hardly seen him, apart from when they buried an empty casket. He'd been quiet, closed off. His distance felt worse in a time when she already felt miserable.

Ellen's other family grieved, offered condolences. Then they left and returned to their own lives.

Her roommate, Cindy, had left school and moved back to live with her grandmother in Brooklyn. Cindy's brother, Michael, had been a first responder on September 11th. He didn't make it. Apparently it had been a freak occurrence. One of his colleagues had broken an arm trying to save a woman in a flipped over car. Michael had walked over to help, and gotten crushed by a falling telephone pole. One step, one choice had ended a life. Cindy was distraught.

Everyone left. Ellen had never felt so alone.

She lifted the gun in her hand. It felt heavy, carrying the weight of her grandfather's 40 years of service. The last five hours were spent working up the courage to kill herself. She didn't want to leave, but she also wanted to make the pain end. Just when things seemed to get better, life ground her spirit back into the shit and dust.

Her cellphone rang, the seventh time in half an hour. When she looked at the screen of the flip phone, she saw Doctor Carter's name. Ellen missed their last two sessions. Before that, she'd expressed her weariness and desire for everything to end. It probably didn't take much for a respected psychologist to put two and two together. The last thing Ellen wanted was more talking. Sitting in a plushy couch telling some doctor her feelings never helped.

Lifting the gun to her head, Ellen pressed the barrel to her temple.

She took quick, shuddering breaths. 'Let this end,' she thought. 'Let this end!' A single tear ran down her cheek as she put her finger on the trigger. Just a single movement, and all this would be over. She willed herself to pull the trigger, but her finger would not move. No matter how much she wanted this, her body wouldn't make it happen. With a frustrated grunt, she dropped the gun on the floor and started crying.

Then, a memory floated to the surface. Her first session with Doctor Carter.

"There's this…need inside me. Like an itch."

"A need for what?"

"To hurt someone…Since I can't hurt the bad people, I hurt myself."

The pain Ellen felt was overwhelming, the pressure building until it threatened to burst from inside. The only way to release it seemed to be hurting herself. But in that moment, drowning in the depths of her depression, she figured out another way.

Grabbing the gun, she stuffed it into the pocket of her black hoodie and left her dorm room. A week ago, one of her classmates had been attacked and sexually assaulted while walking alone at night. Campus security seemed to do the bare minimum to investigate, and the university kept the whole thing quiet to avoid a scandal that would negatively affect its reputation. The attacker still hadn't been found, and nothing was being done about it.

Stepping outside, she started walking the same route her classmate had taken. A few scattered lights illuminated the walkways, but otherwise darkness bathed campus. Oddly, Ellen felt more at home here than anywhere else. In the darkness she could hide and never face the demons plaguing her dreams. In the light she'd have to confront them, confront the bitter, horrible reality that had been forced on her.

She kept her hood pulled back so her long hair could hang loose. If she wanted to draw the attacker out, the key would be appearing like a normal student walking calmly. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking, so Ellen stuffed them into her pockets. With her right, she gripped the revolver.

There was no way of keeping track of time without a watch. It felt like hours. Agitating, excruciating hours waiting for a monster to appear. After a while, hunger and lack of sleep started to take their toll. Every step felt heavy, every breath laborious. Her stomach growled, protesting days of starvation. With a heavy sigh, Ellen wondered if she should return to her dorm and sleep it off. But if she did, the nightmares would come back.

What was that?

She whirled around, now alert and searching for the source of the noise she just heard. It didn't seem like anyone else was nearby. After a few seconds, a small robin appeared, and Ellen relaxed. Just a bird. Christ, she was wound up if something so small could put her on edge.

A hand clamped over her mouth as an arm wrapped around her throat. She tried to scream, but the sound came out muffled. Her attacker tried to pull her back, probably to a more secluded area. Whoever it was, they reeked of cigarettes and cheap cologne. This was it, the moment she'd been waiting for. Years of martial arts practice kicked in, and she drove her elbow into his side. Once, twice, three times, as hard as she could. He grunted, his grip loosening. She then stomped her foot into his, then smashed the back of her head into his face. His hands slipped free of her, and she turned to face him. He didn't look familiar, but that meant nothing. Thin and somewhat attractive, an otherwise normal-looking person.

Sometimes monsters hid the evil within.

Ellen couldn't see much in the poor light, but something wet shone on his upper lip. She must've broken his nose. Though the shadows obscured most of his face, his eyes were clearly visible. They shone with pure, calculated rage. He was a predator, whose prey had managed to fight back and hurt him. But while he might have hated her, she loathed him with a wild fury that burned her guts like napalm.

She punched him in the face with two quick jabs, and he stumbled back. Everything fell into place like she wanted. His defenses lowered, no witnesses to get in the way of what needed to be done. Taking the revolver out of her hoodie pocket, she pulled back the hammer and aimed it at him.

But while her fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar weapon, the man charged and full-body tackled her. They slammed into the concrete of the sidewalk, causing Ellen to grunt as the wind got knocked out of her lungs. The revolver fell out of her hand, clattering a few feet away.

Ellen's heart thundered in her chest, terror gripping her like a boa constrictor choking its prey. The man tried to grab at her throat, and she fought back. She clawed and punched and spat and did everything possible to stop his hands from wrapping around her throat and killing her.

Her mind flashed back to that terrible day in Bogotá, to Gregory's words on self-defence. "And if you are in a bad situation, remember to go for the vulnerable parts. Eyes, face, and especially the groin."

So that's exactly what she did.

The man still stared down at her with such a cold, murderous intent he didn't even seem human. Just an animal wearing human skin. Killing an animal wasn't wrong. Roaring like a Banshee, Ellen jammed her thumb into his right eye. He screamed, jerking his head back. Just enough of an opening for her to shove him off of her. Without any time to think, she turned and grabbed for the revolver.

A hand gripped her ankle, and she grunted in surprise as it jerked her back. The sudden movement made her chin scrape against the concrete. It stung, but the pain barely registered in the midst of an adrenaline-fueled struggle to survive. She looked back to see the man's bloody, snarling expression as he tried pulling her back towards him. With her other foot she kicked at his face again and again, as hard as she could. Finally, she managed to slip her ankle free from his grip.

Ellen scrambled to her feet and rushed over to the revolver, snatching it off the ground. Turning, she saw the man rise to his feet and charge at her. She aimed it at his chest and fired, the sound of the gunshot like an explosion that made her ears ring.

The man jerked back, surprised, then kept coming. Ellen shot him a second time, then a third. He finally fell back, two holes in his chest and a third in his stomach. She stood, rooted in place, feeling as if she'd left her own body and observed like a bystander. She watched the man take gasping, desperate breaths as a pool of blood grew beneath him.

She heard footsteps behind her, and turned to aim the gun. The footsteps belonged to a man who looked to be in his mid-forties. He wore a black jacket and jeans, and had a light stubble on his square jaw. His short hair was styled to stick up, giving him a masculine, 'pretty boy' look.

He held his hands up, stopping. "Easy there, kid," he said. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Who…" Ellen paused to lick her lips. She could barely talk. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Agent Brock Rumlow. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Fury sent me here to keep an eye on you. Your old man was worried, asked him for a favour."

She frowned. "H-how do I know you really work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"I'm just going to take out my badge, okay?" She nodded, and he reached into his pocket. The silver badge resembled a stylized eagle with its wings spread, surrounded by a ring of stars. The name 'Brock Rumlow' was printed just below it. Slowly, cautiously, Ellen lowered the revolver.

Agent Rumlow lowered his hands and walked up to her. The man on the ground had stopped breathing, still as a statue surrounded by blood.

"I…" Ellen said. Her hands lost all strength, and she dropped the revolver. "I killed him."

"Yeah, you did," Agent Rumlow said, picking it up and shoving it into one of his pockets. "You ask me, this piece of garbage deserved it. Now come on. I'll have this taken care of, and we need to get going."

She blinked, her brain barely processing the shock of what just happened. "What? Where are we going?"

"Your old man wants to see you."

The next few hours scrolled by like reels of film. Rumlow loaded Ellen into a car, said something about a 'cleanup crew' on his phone, then drove off. The next thing she knew, they were in New York, parked in front of her father's house. Rumlow guided her inside, and they met him in his office. She could barely move, haunted by the fact she just killed a man. Her father stood behind his desk, a glass of scotch in his hand.

"Sir," Rumlow said, nodding to him as he stood to the side.

Ellen stood there, not quite sure what she should be doing. Her hands hung limp at her sides, fingers twitching. He stared at her, his expression neutral. She expected him to be furious, to start shouting and demanding what she was thinking, going after the rapist the way she did. But he didn't. He simply finished his scotch, set the glass down on his desk, then said, "Get in the car. We need to talk."

Camp Lehigh, New Jersey…

Ellen and her father sat in the back of the car as Agent Rumlow drove them. She had no idea where they were going, but felt too nervous to ask any questions. He should have been screaming his throat raw, but for some reason elected to keep quiet. In fact, he hadn't said a word since they left his house. The silence felt far more unnerving than any lecture.

Finally, as they merged onto the highway, he said, "Ellen, there are things you need to be made aware of. Things that will directly affect your future."

"Okay," she said softly.

"After what happened in Colombia, I came to an important realization. The world wasn't as complicated as I thought it was. Actually, it's far simpler than that. The only forces that matter are order and chaos, and the world we live in is a chaotic shithole. To restore any kind of balance, we need to be willing to make the hard choices and sweep the board of anyone who represents a threat."

Ellen nodded. She agreed wholeheartedly. There were bad people out there that needed to be eliminated. The pieces of garbage who killed her mother were a prime example.

"Shortly after we moved back to Washington, I was introduced to people who shared my opinions," he continued. "They've been working in the shadows for decades, trying to correct the countless imbalances we face. And while some would call them extremists, I call them realists. Even heroes. I've been slowly working my way up the chain, and I don't intend to stop until I'm in a position to sweep the board forever." He looked at her, a slight smile on his face. "I didn't plan to make you aware of all this for a long time. I wanted you to have as normal a life as you could have. But now I see you need this. You recognized there was a cockroach in your yard, and rather than waiting for it to go away, you stomped on it so it wouldn't be a threat. That tells me you're ready."

"Ready for what?" Ellen asked.

"To be brought into the fold."

They drove for another half hour, until they turned off the highway and entered a remote area. Up ahead was an old army base of some kind. It must have been abandoned for many years, as the sign looked faded, every building dark and decrepit. Ellen wondered what they were doing in a place like this, when they pulled up to a squat bunker. Two men in leather jackets and cargo pants stood on either side of the front door, rifles in hand.

Rumlow opened the car door, and Ellen stepped out, following her father. The gravel crunched under their shoes as they walked to the door. The two armed men nodded to him, lending credence to his claim of 'climbing the ladder' of whatever group this was.

Inside, they stepped into an elevator and rode it all the way down. The floor that greeted them looked like some kind of old office space, filled with desks and lined with shelves and cabinets. The computers on each desk were ancient, and the amount of dust meant no one had used this place in decades. Rumlow guided them towards the far wall. Ellen paused, spotting three framed pictures hanging there. She recognized the faces. Chester Phillips, Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark.

"This was a S.H.I.E.L.D. base," she said, looking around with renewed interest.

"One of the first," her father confirmed. "They abandoned it in '75. We've been making use of it ever since."

Rumlow came to an empty shelf. Bracing himself against the side, he pushed it across the floor, revealing a hidden passageway. Ellen snorted, getting a kick out of the old-school spy tricks. Her brief enjoyment faded as she remembered how much her mother loved Get Smart. They'd watch it together most nights. A fresh dagger of grief pierced her heart, her mother's smile flashing in her mind.

The passage led to yet another elevator, this one requiring a code. It took them down another level, opening into a dark, dusty room. As soon as they stepped inside, the overhead lights turned on. The room looked massive, cavernous, stuffed with old data tapes and computers that were older than Ellen. Her father walked over to a central terminal and started typing. The tapes and computers came alive in response, whirring like the first breaths of an underworld creature rising from an abyss.

The main computer screen turned on, and the words 'Initiate System?' appeared. A synthetic voice, just like the one in WarGames, read the text aloud. He typed 'Yes'.

The camera mounted atop the monitor turned to regard him. A spectral green face appeared on the screen, resembling a skull with goggles on. "Greetings, Undersecretary Pierce," the synthetic voice said, this time louder and clearer.

"It's actually Secretary now," he replied, taking a step back.

"Congratulations." Ellen frowned as she stared at the camera. Was this some kind of program? A simulated computer interface? It turned to look at her, almost as if sensing her gaze. "Pierce, Ellen Portia. Born: February 26, 1982."

She blinked. "How does it know that? Dad, what's going on?"

"The answer to your first question is rather simple, fräulein. My body may have died thirty years ago, but my mind is very much intact. You are standing in it now."

She glanced at all the data tapes. While she didn't know much about computing science, it was theoretically possible for someone to copy their memories into enough storage space. S.H.I.E.L.D. always had been at the forefront of science and innovation. Even if using such outdated tech seemed laughably impossible for such a monumental task.

"I have access to several databases that grant me knowledge of what goes on outside this facility. My associates also provide important updates when needed. As for your second question…"

"Ellen," her father said, gesturing to the computer. "Meet Arnim Zola."

Her brow furrowed, and she asked, "Why do I know that name?"

"In 1945, I was brought to America and recruited into the newly formed S.H.I.E.L.D. to assist their scientific endeavours. Before that, I served as the right hand of Johann Schmidt."

Ellen felt like she'd been gut punched, and took a step back. "Red Skull," she whispered. Captain America's nemesis and one of the worst war criminals in human history. Her breathing quickened as panic started to set in. "S-So this…ALL of this, is HYDRA?"

Her father patted the air in a placating gesture. "Ellen, just calm down."

"They're fucking Nazis!" she protested. Everything spun as the world seemed to go topsy-turvy. She wheezed as her chest constricted, and her vision grew fuzzy. Ellen stumbled into a computer bank and slid down to the floor, gripping her head tight and closing her eyes. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening.

"Correction: we allied with the Nazi party to take advantage of their resources," Zola said. "Accessing archive." Ellen opened her eyes and looked back at the monitor, which showed a series of images. Pictures of important figures from World War II, newspaper clippings, and several flashes of the infamous HYDRA logo of a red, many-tentacled skull. "HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. To that end, Herr Schmidt decided to take advantage of the Nazi regime's growing influence and resources. However, neither of us believed in Hitler's reductive and idiotic racial programmes. When it became apparent that we could no longer grow in Hitler's shadow, we severed all ties with the Nazi party."

"So, what?" Ellen demanded. "You expect me to believe you're all about sunshine and rainbows?"

"Your reluctance is understandable. Allow me to explain. After the war, I worked tirelessly to rebuild HYDRA within S.H.I.E.L.D. The world has always been a bloody, wrecked place. I devoted myself to accomplishing the dream of a lasting peace and stability. Because of our former association with Nazi Germany, I knew we would have to work in the shadows. As it turns out, that was the best possible place to operate. Free from oversight and scrutiny, HYDRA has evolved into a new, more efficient form."

She blinked, her heart slowing as she thought about it. A memory popped in her head, a biology class in high school. "Like a snake shedding its skin."

"Precisely. Where before we marched armies across battlefields, we now employ more…precise methods to correct the course of history. A single operative assassinating a corrupt dictator can accomplish far more than 100,000 soldiers trying to occupy a nation. We do what we can, but humanity's own destructive nature often foils our efforts. Your own mother was the casualty of agents of chaos."

The monitor showed the obituary page for her mother, and Ellen couldn't bear to look at it.

"I predict that the attack on your World Trade Center will result in decades of destructive war and further escalation of terrorist actions across the globe. At minimum. Even if they should perish, the masterminds of the attack have accomplished all their goals."

"So…" Ellen said slowly. "You're saying that HYDRA could have stopped them?"

"Ellen," her father said, sitting beside her and wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders, "the slime that took your mother from us acted because the people that could have stopped them, S.H.I.E.L.D., the armed forces, the World Security Council, lacked the stomach to do what was necessary. They restricted themselves with notions of diplomacy or international cooperation. If Nick Fury hadn't acted that day in Bogotá, you would have died. HYDRA doesn't hold itself back. If something needs doing, we do it. We tear down and replace the rotting supports so the house doesn't collapse. And because of that, there are those who'd call us terrorists. Radicals." He shook his head, mouth compressing in anger. "Meanwhile, spineless politicians and corrupt executives let the world burn just so they can live like kings at the expense of people's safety."

Ellen took it all in, staring down at the floor. On the one hand, it was so much to take in all at once. Her head still spun, her stomach flipping and tying itself into knots. On the other hand, what they said made a lot of sense. She'd often thought about what happened to her in Bogotá; if she never experienced that, then she might have gone on without knowing how shitty life could be. Instead, she'd been forced to face the ugliness of reality. She'd drowned in it ever since, consumed by fear and hatred. No matter how happy she became, or how much she convinced herself everything would be fine, something terrible always happened.

For seven years now, Ellen had been at the mercy of her nightmares. That horrible feeling of helplessness had taken root in her soul and never truly left. There were evil people in this world, she knew, and in one way or another, they had found ways of ruining her life. She was done letting others ruin her life. Her father and Zola were giving her a way to deal with the agony, a path to follow.

"So, it would seem you have a decision to make, fräulein," Zola said. "If you choose not to join us in our efforts, then you will be allowed to live your life while your father continues the work. We have…ways of making you forget this encounter."

Her father glared at the computer for a moment, which made Ellen question just what these 'ways' were.

"Or, you can choose to commit yourself to HYDRA. You will be the latest in a long line of warriors and thinkers who dedicated themselves to order and peace. You will no longer have to suffer life's torments as a victim; instead, you will take control of your life and help save humanity from itself before all is lost. What path will you choose: blissful ignorance, or service to a greater cause?"

Ellen looked at her father, who regarded her with hopeful expectation, then at the image of her mother's obituary on the screen. In truth, there never was a choice. She knew what needed to be done. Fear and regret would no longer rule over her life.

"I'm in," she said. "All the way."

Her father smiled, and she could see Rumlow smirking in the corner of her eye.

"Wunderbar," Zola said, and there was no mistaking the satisfaction in his synthetic voice. "You have now joined a family, fräulein. The only family you will ever need. You will work to further HYDRA's goals and eliminate all those who stand in the way of progress. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. Hail HYDRA!"

Ellen paused, took a deep breath, then said, "Hail HYDRA." The words felt strange on her tongue, unfamiliar.

Zola shut down, and Rumlow guided them back to the elevator. On their way up, her father said, "I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. You've made the right decision."

"Thanks," she replied, bathing in his praise. "So, what's my actual role? What will I do?"

Putting his hands in his pockets, he said, "Well, in essence, you're my heir. One day, you'll help guide people into a better future. In the meantime, you'll want for nothing, just like always."

Ellen frowned. It wasn't the answer she expected, nor wanted. She was already going to inherit everything her father had, but she wanted more. As Rumlow closed the secret passageway behind them, she said, "That'll be fine, eventually. I don't have a problem with that, but I need something…more."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I don't want to be some bureaucrat or 'heiress' sitting pretty in an office or penthouse letting other people do everything. If I'm going to help HYDRA make real change, I need to be out there, dealing with the bad guys. I never want to be a victim again."

As they rode the main elevator back to the surface, Rumlow asked, "So what exactly do you want?"

Her father smiled at her. He already knew. "She wants to be strong." He stroked his chin in thought, and just as the elevator doors opened, he said, "Okay. I'll give you all the tools you need. By the time you're finished, there won't be a single person on this planet that can stand in your way."

He kept his word, just like Ellen knew he would. The day after their trip to Camp Lehigh, she dropped all her classes and left Princeton for good. She walked a different path now, and university wasn't for her. HYDRA, and their mission, would be her focus from now on. She intended to give it her all; finally, after all these years, she had something worth devoting her life to.

March, 2002; Virginia…

"What is this place?" Ellen asked, looking out the window. They'd been driving for hours, and now entered a small town.

"Used to be a mining town back in the day," Rumlow replied from the driver's seat. "Everyone moved away after the mind dried up. We've been using it as a practice course for the more…sensitive aspects of our jobs. This'll be where your training takes place."

She nodded, staring out at the ghost town around them. The streets were empty, bereft of cars. The buildings around them weren't higher than a single storey. The sort of place that fostered community among a small population. Now, they were marked by boarded windows, gutted interiors, and half-missing signs. This whole place stood as an eery echo of civilization, abandoned to the elements. Now, it would be the place where she learned the skills necessary to affect change.

To reserve an entire town just for her use reinforced just how much influence her father had in HYDRA. Ellen found the knowledge humbling, as she was –in essence– one of the most important agents in the organization because of her family. She didn't intend to live a life of ease because of it.

She wanted to earn her keep.

"A team of agents will be stationed here at all times," Rumlow explained. "Mostly they'll provide security so we don't get any unwanted visitors. They'll also provide assistance with your training as sparring partners and instructors. Explosives, weapons, hacking, anything you need."

"They really know all that?"

He shrugged. "Your old man called in the best. You just gotta worry about being worth all the trouble we've gone to."

They stopped at the old high school, marked by the picture of a kilt-wearing Unicorn over the door. Inside were dust-covered halls, opened lockers, and classrooms with desks and chairs strewn haphazardly. Following Rumlow, Ellen entered the gymnasium. It looked cleaner than the rest of the building, but that didn't dispel the overall creepiness of the abandoned building. They made their way to the centre of the gym as Ellen looked around.

"So when will–"

Rumlow's fist connected with her face. Ellen saw stars as she fell on her ass, pain radiating from her cheekbone. For several long seconds, her brain struggled to comprehend what just happened. Clutching her cheek, she stared up at him wide-eyed. "What the hell was that?" she demanded.

"Training starts now," he said, unzipping his jacket to reveal the sleeveless black shirt underneath.

"But I wasn't ready."

"You think that matters?" he retorted, stomping his foot down. She barely managed to move her hand out of the way of his boot. He advanced on her as she scrambled back across the squeaky floor. "There are no half-measures with HYDRA. Just order. And order only comes through pain. Are you ready for yours?"

Ellen shot to her feet. Remembering her years of martial arts study, she came at him with the familiar sequences of strikes and kicks. He blocked most of them, displaying brutal and efficient technique.

"Learning how to move and kick is fine for a pansy competition," Rumlow said, grabbing her by the throat then kicking her feet out from under her. He slammed Ellen into the floor, and she grunted. "But when you're in the field, you need to be able to bring the pain. Combat is life or death. You can't just fight your opponent; you need to be able to kill them. Break them into pieces and crush them under your boot! Again."

He backed up, allowing her to stand. She wheezed, touching her neck and blinking away tears. With a grunt, she tried a series of quick punches and sweeps. Some connected, and Rumlow started giving ground. Ellen smirked, her confidence returning as she pressed her advantage. Then, he retaliated by catching one arm, twisting it hard behind her back and wrapping a hand around her throat.

"Mistake: you let yourself get overconfident," he spoke into her ear. His stubble scratched her skin, even as she felt his hot breath. Ellen tried to squirm free, but he tightened his grip on her arm and throat. She realized now that he'd back up on purpose, lulling her into a false sense of superiority and striking when she inevitably overextended. "Never underestimate your opponent," he said, his lips nearly touching her ear. "Understand?"

He twisted her arm just a little more, and she whimpered.

"Understand?"

She nodded. "Mhm."

"First rule of combat: identify the enemy's strengths and weaknesses. Only engage when you know you have the advantage. If they're too strong or too skilled, that's when you bring in reinforcements or heavier artillery. Kill or be killed. Leave nothing to chance."

Rumlow released his grip, shoving her back. Ellen stumbled, coughing as she rotated her arm.

"Again."

Glaring at him, Ellen obliged.

Rumlow and other HYDRA combat specialists took her to the absolute limits of her strength and endurance over the next month. Most of the time she went to sleep exhausted, sweaty, and often bleeding. For hours at a time, they had her stand in front of a wooden telephone pole and punch it to toughen her fists by building endurance.

Ellen had been studying martial arts since middle school, and was quite fit for someone her age. But nothing could have prepared her for such raw brutality. Rumlow wasn't necessarily more skilled than she was –in fact, she thought his style quite simple– but he had years of experience and enjoyed a strength advantage over her. He never held back in his strikes, breaking her nose on two separate occasions and fracturing a rib on another. The other specialists furthered her education in Taekwondo and Judo, but also several styles of Kung Fu, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, and Capoeira. One of her instructors was an agent embedded in the Israeli Defense Forces, and he imparted his knowledge of Krav Maga.

Ellen took to her studies like a honey badger devouring a bee hive. Through the physical agony, she found a sense of serene fulfillment. Martial arts, and all her combat training, were a way of channeling her pain and anger into a potent weapon to use against HYDRA's enemies. All her anger, all her pent-up energy she funneled into her studies.

The second month, in addition to combat and martial arts, Rumlow added weapons training. Ellen learned how to disassemble and reassemble everything from a .32 all the way to an AR-15. The key was repetition, learning and doing something over and over until she didn't have to think about it. She even learned how to use grenade launchers and rocket launchers. The first half of her days were spent training in the high school gym, the second half in a shooting range behind the hardware store. At first, her aim was absolute shit. She struggled to hit bottles lined on a shelf or paper targets hanging from a stand. Ellen swore to herself she would get better, at this and everything else she learned.

Though she struggled with guns and knives, she excelled in the use of poisons. There were countless varieties, ranging from simple intoxicants or sedatives to deadly acids or neurotoxins. Sometimes injecting someone with ricin would be a stealthier and easier option than shooting or stabbing them. Compared to how much she struggled with the other lessons, Ellen surprised herself with how naturally she took to poisons. Even her instructor, a French Toxicologist embedded in the World Health Organization, praised her aptitude.

Next came the lessons on resisting torture, or 'enhanced interrogation' as Rumlow called it. Sometimes, they strapped her to a chair and beat her. Sometimes, they locked her in a confining cell for hours or even days at a time. Sometimes, they injected her with narcotics. Sometimes, they did all of those at once. It constantly amazed her how effective simple sleep deprivation could break the human body.

Ellen never allowed herself to break down. Not fully. The first week of it, she ended the sessions bloody and in tears, gasping for breath and unable to stand. But she never gave up. She had a mission, a purpose. Nothing would stop her from fulfilling it. All of this was making her stronger, faster, better. Ellen would never be a helpless victim again. The next time she came across men like the ELN rebels, she would destroy them. So, she willingly walked into the cells, sat in the chairs, and held her arm out for the needles.

Rumlow enjoyed doing this to her; Ellen soon realized he enjoyed dealing out pain. Another facet of her training became denying him the pleasure of seeing her suffer. When he hit her during a sparring session, she learned to keep quiet and not whimper. When he locked her in a cell overnight, she made sure to stand when he opened the door and spit in his face. Everything he did to break her only made her fight back that much harder. That only angered him, and drove him to harsher methods. Ironically, that helped her improve and toughen herself that much faster.

August, 2002…

Six months after her training started, they faced off in the gym.

Ellen and Rumlow stood on the mats across from each other. She wore a long-sleeved shirt and gym shorts, while he wore a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants. She'd tied her hair into a tight bun; long hair was a weakness in combat, one he'd frequently exploited in the past. A few of her other instructors stood off to the side, observing. Rumlow cracked his neck, grunting and baring his teeth like a gorilla. Ellen, on the other hand, stayed perfectly still as she took deep, focused breaths. They entered ready stances, and one of the other instructors clapped his hands for them to begin.

Rumlow attacked first, throwing several quick jabs and punches at her face. Ellen dodged a few, blocking and redirecting the rest with her forearms. "Don't try to match someone who's stronger than you," he'd once told her. "Redirect their attacks, keep moving, and hit their weak areas." Leaning to the left, she blocked his arm with hers, spun it and stepped in close to press her other arm into his shoulder. Then, clutching his throat, she used a scissor sweep to throw him down onto the mats. She'd been working on that move for days.

Elated at her small triumph, she was half a second too late to stop Rumlow from sitting up and landing a punch to her jaw. It knocked her head to the side as she saw stars. He freed himself from her grip, and she just managed to roll out of the way as a punch intended for her sternum struck the mat instead.

They flipped onto their feet, and Ellen went on the offensive.

She kicked and punched, using the speed afforded by her smaller frame to offset his stronger build. He could attack once for every three of hers, but if his fist or foot ever connected, the damage would be worse. After landing a roundhouse kick to his ribs, Ellen followed up with a punch to the throat. He caught her fist, painfully twisting her arm and punching her in the chest. Wrenching her captured hand away, she reacted to the momentum of his attack and rolled backwards to create some distance, even as the blow left it hard to breathe.

When he came at her again, she ducked, pressed her hands to the mat, and swung both legs up to kick him in the face in a single motion. He grunted, then chuckled, and they continued sparring for some time. Rumlow kept managing to hit her, but she expected it. Ellen didn't let herself stay down, no matter how much it hurt. Just like he always said, "Order only comes through pain."

Pain was an old friend.

After recoiling from a punch to his abdomen, Rumlow caught her arm mid-jab, turned on his heel, and flipped her entire body onto the mat. She grunted, the air driven out of her lungs by the impact. "You're learning," Rumlow said, a smirk on his face as he continued to hold her by the arm. "That's good. But it takes a lot more than a few flashy moves to get the job done. Find your opponent's weakness, and don't stop hitting it until they're dead…" He grabbed her sleeve and, despite her protests, pulled it back to reveal the pair of faded scars on her wrist. "…or you are," he finished, smiling down at her like a rabid dog that just found a meal. "What's wrong, Princess? You liked a boy that didn't like you back? Or maybe you thought you'd get a bit more attention from daddy?"

Ellen lost all coherent thought as she saw red.

She spat right into his eye, and as he recoiled in disgust his grip loosened just enough for her to free herself. Slipping her arm out of his hands, she got to her feet, then delivered a spinning kick to the side of his face. Rumlow grunted, standing to face her as he bared his teeth. He blocked her next punch, but she acted on murderous, berserker instinct and smashed her knee into his groin, causing him to squeal. Ellen then head-butted him, delivered an open-finger jab to his solar plexus, then drove her elbow into his face. The cartilage in his nose broke with a sickening crunch, and he fell to one knee.

Panting, chest heaving, hands and face throbbing, Ellen's haze of savage rage dissipated. She blinked, unsure as to what just happened. She'd been on the floor, pinned, and now stood over a bruised and bloodied Rumlow.

Instead of yelling or attacking her, Rumlow chuckled. When he looked up at her, she saw blood run from his crooked nose into his mouth, colouring his teeth. It made him resemble a shark or some kind of demon. "Woah, damn! Now we're talkin'! You've got fire in you, little girl. You're as bloodthirsty as the rest of us. We just need to get you to focus it."