The doctor had been lucky. The three chemical compounds he'd tried on her all showed success—but the third had enough promise that they started the girl on regular injections immediately.

It took a few months, and in that time, she had become increasingly aware of the world around her, though they didn't let her slip into her old habits. Behavioral conditioning is what the doctors called it; re-teaching the basics—or at least the basics that the Russian wanted her to know.

Obedience, loyalty, subservience, silence.

Relatively easy considering she was a shell of a person thanks to the electricity frying her brain. One silver lining.

By the third month on the compound, she proved herself an asset, spurring more resources funnelled to the Russian and his pet.

The chemicals that they pumped into her kept her mind sharp; able to do quick calculations, answer riddles, make split decisions, but they inhibited the areas necessary for control, personal motivation, even fear.

She was yet another scientific marvel that Hydra turned out, but there were dozens of recruits at their facility alone who didn't need that conditioning. Who were already loyal and subservient.

The only thing that made her special was her knowledge of how to use the suit that had accompanied her to Siberia.

Although, no matter what the engineers tried, they couldn't understand how it worked. How, as Agent Richardson had told the Russian, it had appeared on the girl in less time than it took to blink. They didn't bother asking her—a mistake on their part, when she would have explained that it could have been reprogrammed it to work for any of them, along with the fact that it was made of nano-bots. Although considering it was common knowledge that the doctors had made some type of mistake during shock therapy, they probably wouldn't have listened to her anyways.

But they hadn't even considered asking, and the Russian paid little mind to the tinkering's in the bowels of the Siberian facility—he as too occupied with perfecting the girl to bother with their research.

So instead, they sought information from more difficult places.

It was a good thing that Agent Richardson was still stationed at Camp Lehigh, because it meant he could steal information. Over the months that they'd been working on the girl, Richardson was tasked with collecting information on the suit that she'd claimed Pym had, along with any other research that may be helpful.

He'd had trouble; Pym's lab was filled with research, but nothing about a suit—other than a gaudy helmet that looked more like a kids Halloween costume than anything else. There were no traces of schematics or programs to be seen—that is until the mission in February of 1971 that went slightly wrong. The details around what happened, Richardson didn't know, but Hank had ran from his office in a storm, files and loose leaf papers tucked poorly between his arm and his suit case.

One file, by chance, had fallen from the stack. One file, that by sheer luck, happened to have everything Richardson needed to know. He copied the papers hastily, then dropped them just inside the door of Hanks lab, allowing the papers to scatter before re-locking the door.

Pym, who'd rushed back to his office later, was none the wiser, only frustrated with himself for dropping such an important file.

That file though, did little to make sense of the girl's suit. They couldn't even get the compartments on the utility belt to open, let alone understand how it turned on or even shrunk.

They knew they needed the haughtily named Pym Particles, but they argued that suit should still react to stimulus.

So, they started their own research into Quantum physics, testing and growing their knowledge.

All of this done while the girl was undergoing her own testing.

⁂

She didn't quite understand the world around her, but she knew her place within it, knew her purpose: to comply.

"To help," the Russian had told her.

What she was supposed to help with, she wasn't sure.

She'd guessed she was helping all the times she was brought from her cell to the testing room. Where, though she wasn't sure why, the Russian always seemed pleased when she did anything. Called her ptichka in an affectionate tone—or what she thought was affectionate—all because she'd done something correct.

It felt strange sometimes; that despite how small the world was within her mind, she'd known things that she didn't remember learning. Like world histories. Or how to load a gun.

Where had she learned that?

And then there were the ways her mind would work through the problems they would give her. Like the blueprints they'd shown her, asking for the best route to a certain room. She'd seemed to ask all the right questions; number of people in the building, fire exits, whether there was bulletproof glass, when security had shift change.

How had she known to ask those questions?

She wasn't sure, but when the Russian came to her cell, telling her she was to come for another test, she followed without hesitation.

That was her purpose, after all.

When they stepped into the unfamiliar room, the girl automatically began scanning the space, taking stock of exits, possible weapons, number of people. She continued until she came to a stop in front of the dark haired man, clad in a thick vest and dark pants, with an arm that she examined carefully.

Metal.

She'd never seen a metal arm before. Or maybe she had, and she just didn't remember. The Russian said her memory wasn't very good, seemingly her only fault.

The metal armed man didn't say anything, and neither did she; they simply minded their business, each silently assessing the other.

She didn't understand what the Russian said to the other uniformed man, but their conversation was over quickly, and then he was addressing her.

"Ptichka, join the Soldat in the ring. Do as I say, this is a test of compliance. Do not let me down."

She said nothing but nodded, turning to where she saw the white circle painted on the floor, watching the metal armed man—the Soldat—stop near the center, chin tilted as his eyes followed her.

She thought, or maybe she felt—she wasn't completely sure—but she had the vague sense that she should shy away from those eyes. That something in them should deter her, or that he himself should deter her. Like a quiet nagging that didn't quite reach her ears.

She paid it no mind in the end, stopping a few feet from the Soldat and waiting further instructions.

"Soldat, fight her. Ptichka, do not fight back. Go."

She knew her orders, so even as the Soldat stalked towards her, wound an arm back, and punched her in the gut, she didn't retaliate.

Even as her face became numb with the hits, and groans of pain escaped her, she didn't retaliate.

The test continued for some time, until it seemed like the Russian and the other man were paying more attention to each other's jokes than the fighting in the ring.

"Okay," the Russian called, stopping the Soldat where he was ready to punch the girl again. He let out another jesting chuckle, saying something in Russian before he finally addressed her. "Good, ptichka, good. Although now I feel like you should have some sort of retribution, uh? What do you say tovarishch? Dolzhny li my pozvolit' yey borot'sya s nim?"

"Konechno. My mozhem pozvolit' yey poprobovat'. Eto mozhet byt' zabavno," the man laughed.

"Alright, go ahead, my ptichka. Fight the Soldat. See how long you last," the Russian ordered, waving a hand before looking back to his companion and jumping into another conversation. "Go," he called, as if he had forgotten.

With that, the Soldat was after her again.

The ground was slippery with droplets of her blood, but she dodged the man in front of her, keeping away from his arms before spinning behind him and landing a few quick punches to his spine.

It didn't seem to affect him much, but he spun, metal arm whipping through the air like a scythe. She ducked, kicking away from his hands as she watched him stalk her, not getting any closer, just tracking her movements.

She bounced up, mirroring his steps before he descended on her once again, movements too quick for her to avoid as he punched then kicked, catching her on the shoulder when she ducked.

She kept herself righted though, blocking a right hook before ducking away from the left and using the arm to pull herself behind him and subsequently climb to his shoulders. His hands grappled to yank her off, but she wrapped her legs around his neck tight, ignoring the burning of her thighs where his metal hands scraped and banged.

She wasn't able to last much longer atop his shoulders though, not as he ripped her legs apart painfully, crouching and throwing her forward into the mats. She bounced, registering both the jostling of her brain and the pain still radiating from her legs, but didn't let it stop her from rolling away from where the Soldat pounced.

It only took a second for him to get to her position and straddle her, a hand around her throat while the other reeled back.

"Soldat."

With that, the man froze, his pants mixing with her's only a moment before he dropped his fist and pivoted on a knee, stopping in a kneel to her right.

"You continue to please me, ptichka."

She got that sense again; that she should feel something, but she just nodded and sat up.

"You are proving your worth. Let's go. You need to see the doctor."