Chapter 2

*Warning: This chapter does have implied sex. *

The smell of oranges filtered into the room, thick as blood. It stung the eyes and made the nose tingle. Not poisonous. Just a disgusting odor that should never have been made. Best to think of the inconvenience of the smell than the meaning of the smell.

"Who taught you how to fight?" Subject Three quipped, lounging in a metal chair with her feet propped up on another, "Your dead grandmother?" It felt like gravel in her mouth. Why fire verbal shots when you could simply fire a real shot to shut the person up?

She knew why and it was logical. The enemy would not expect a soldier to parry with words and retorts or have a smile when fighting. It would temporarily throw them off of their center. But it was just so inconvenient! They expect her to be serious when not fighting and then just all maniacal smiles when fighting? Not worth it. Better just to make people underestimate you then crush them.

"No! No! No!" A younger man, maybe 30 at the most, screeched as he brought a switch to the back of Subject Three's head, "More inflection! More casual wit about it! The dead grandma could send a jibe more convincing than that!" The switch was abandoned and he gripped her jaw. Soft hands that never knew laborious work, "You impudent-" His smell of stale mint gum and a lazy man's sweat. He was a nonessential to the program. Right?

The hands found themselves flying towards the ground and his face was greeted with her knee rocketing up towards him. His head went back with a snap that nearly decapitated him. He may have survived - if not for the following hand onto the back of his head and effectively fully snapping his neck - that left him in a heap on the cement floors.

Subject 3 smiled at the dead man lying on the ground before her, that beautiful blank stare she knew so well, fixed on the great unknown, "Sorry there, old chap, looked like you needed a bit of a realignment." If only it had been the Weasel. The son of a -

Slow clapping came from the doorway as a middle aged woman cackled, "He deserved what he got." She was a dark, short and slim woman with her nails painted the same deep red as her lipstick was. Currently, she sounded American but the subject had never found out where she was truly from.

Subject Three kept her smile, tone light and free, "Good to see you, Miss Alma." The Weasel really did want to punish her. He had sent for The Snake and her skin broke out in goosebumps at the thought of what was to come. How could he tell just what she hated when she thought she never let it show?

"It has been too long, subject 3." The Snake grinned, "Now let us begin some training." With a quirk of her finger she was off.

--

12 hours later, subject 3 was laying on her cot, staring blankly at the wall. If she had to look at another man or woman again she would sooner kill them than seduce them. Even if it wasn't the mission. They would get over it.

They must have noticed she was nearing her breaking point when a woman who'd been seduced left the room crying and still naked. Another 2 hours and Alma finally relented, giving a scoff and had stated that next time it better be double that. Then off back to the compound it was.

They had all been rather low level figures and, as it took time to seduce a person, there had only been a handful that had been successful. Good work for 12 hours. The others who were stationed there told her so. She was too good. That was not a station she ever wanted to have given to her beyond a training assignment. There were people who did this full time?All respect to them.

Out of all her training, this was the worst. She couldn't figure out why it was as it was merely a job - a test really. But the feeling of another being touching her flesh and using their lapse of mental weakness as they gave into their physical desires against them repulsed her in a way gutting a man never would. It was a job. A job she did well, unfortunately. Humans were so disgusting.

"Get up, you -" A stream of abuses issued from The Snake as the door was slammed open, her accent a harsh, Scottish one this time. "No rest for failures!"

Knife fighting, torture strategies, civilian actions and mannerisms study, and resisting torture all passed by in a blur that left Subject 3 tired for the first time in months as she was finally allowed to rest for an hour before being sent on a mission by her handler. With a small smile, Three allowed herself to be pleased. Steps were being made. She was getting closer to a solo mission. She was closer to esc- to earning a name.

--

Civilian clothes. A cute, blue sundress that brought the shade of her eyes out, a pair of sandals, a light sweater, and a simple gold necklace. No pants to be seen. Glorious!

New York City. The bustle of the city was deafening to a normal passerby but to Subject 3 it should have brought her to her knees. It took a second, but her hearing was soon tuned and she could walk without trickles of blood coming from her ears.

Her objective was in sight. Midtown high-school. The backpack over her shoulder reminded her just how important this was. It wasn't a solo by any means. The school had a couple plants as teachers and she was under constant surveillance but it was enough for now. She was in the system as if she had never not been there and was a student. Her name was Bailey Smith. For now. With a skip, she made her way up the steps and to the first class of the day.

"Ah, man! I'm so sorry!" A boy, short with black hair, crashed into her in the throng of people. "Didn't see you -" Then he stopped, mouth agape as he got a better look at her. Disgust curdled in Three's belly. The scent of attraction rolled off of him. Boys, men - even females. Human beings were revolting with their attachment of looks to attraction and desire for a mate - or to have sex in general.

Another boy beside him, taller and built like a rail, snapped his fingers in front of the other's nose, "Ned!" There was something about the taller one, he smelled off. He wasn't what he seemed. Best to keep an eye on him.

As they were distracted with each other, Three took that moment to let the crowd swallow her and get to her first class. One more after this, then the fun would begin.

--

"GAHHH- AAAACK WHAT THE HELL, CAP?" Tony stumbled out of Steve's closet, the super soldier in nothing but his underwear, and had been promptly socked in the face.

As Tony cupped a hand over his face, Steve grabbed his clothes and quickly dressed, "Stark, if you're going to hide in my closet and try to scare me, at least bring the shield with you so I'll punch that instead."

"Did it at least work?" The words were muffled through the hands.

"In the sense that I reacted?" Steve laced his boots up and stood, "Yes. Scared me? No. I could hear you shuffling around in there as soon as I got out of the shower. Just wasn't sure who it was."

"So you punched me?" Tony took his hands away, a red mark was already formed above his left eyebrow.

"Yes, sir."

A mutter came from the man and he stalked out of the room, "Clint, you owe me five bucks! I got half way!"

A/N: After this I'll more than likely be updating on a weekly basis if at all possible and I've decided it's set after Ultron but before the Winter Soldier.

I thrive off of feedback and thoughts. So thank you to those who have reviewed! It's much appreciated. :)

Also, standard disclaimer: I don't own anything of Marvel. (I wish)