I just got back from a 6 week trip to Europe so this and the next few chapters might talk about old stuff and have a more focus on the inhuman side of WW2 (yeah, I'm talking about the concentration camps).
Some of this was written while being forced to listen to Romeo and Juliet (ugh, I hate Shakespearian English) so some of it might sound like someone's grandma.
The lack of heat presses into my chest, cheek and arms, dissolving the drowsiness of waking up after a bullet in the brain. The ice cold feeling of metal kicking short, sharp breaths into my lungs and the previous quiet air of tiny yet persistent beeps and clicks of machines giving way to shuddering German and quiet prayers to God.
"Oh my god she's awake," someone whimpered as if the apocalypse had just dawned. The room erupts into the high pitched squealing as multiple waffle stompers scream in panic as they're dragged against the floor. Several loud crashes and clangs of metal smashing into metal were anterior to more loud cries of rubber.
There's no clasps around my wrists, no objects speared through any limbs, nothing to signify that I'm trapped here. The low buzzing feeling of the healing factor tingles as it works over time to fix my crushed eyes, beaten wrists, puncture holes and the observe heavy liquid clogging my stomach.
"Please don't kill us." They wait for something, the heavy breathing and the tell-tale frantic pace of a frightened heart resonating all around, pressing into my newly healed, sensitive ears. The unknown liquor gathers in my stomach, too foreign to let be. The vile elixir swells, forcing the natural response of throwing up to activate.
At first, there's nothing but dry air and disgusting, retching sounds forcing its way out of the back of my throat. Then, a slow trickle wiggles up my throat, coating the walls of the oesophagus. As soon as it touches my tongue, my body shuddering in disgust, reacting according to the turpitude taste.
Excessive amounts of the wretched fluid force itself up and out, leaving intervals of varying amounts. Just as the last of the stuff empties out from my stomach onto the cold iron mortuary table, my vision clicks in, throwing my balance out for a horrifying few seconds. The table groans and tips over, wheels flying out under it. The (rather dull) pain of the marble floor nearly smashing in my hip rattles me, shocking the hypnagogic feeling out of the fluff-filled space where my brain was supposed to be.
Half-concealed behind barely technology lumps of metal miched cloaked men, clothed in the finest material available when HYDRA captured me. There was at least ten scattered around the room, all in different stages of panic.
Pooled around me like some protective halo was a lustrous, rich gold puddle, catching the weak lights and turning that brightness into a blinding brilliance printed onto my eyes. It hurt to stare at it for too long, but it was so pretty.
Something dribbled down the crease of my chin, and I reached up to touch it, thinking it was only blood to wipe away. What came away was the exact same radiance that sat under my legs; despite it being so gorgeous and luminous, it felt like some sin to have this golden liquid inside, like it had booked me a one-way ticket to hell.
My legs were already under me before I knew it and scrambled away from the puddle; the men around me reacted to my sudden movement with shouts and yells, machines tipping sideways as they shoved anything out of their away to get away from me.
It takes a few moments for my encephalon to right itself, to transmogrify from its ugly drug-induced wool-gathering as the open split over my crown seals itself at the same time. Despite the powerful healing factor inducing multiple organs to fix themselves, it takes a few moments for the power to move limbs beyond the jittery attempts to right the balance of my body to return to coherent thoughts.
The few dozen metal instruments come into focus in front of my eyes, all scattered across the ground - there are items I do not know of, have never seen before, and with the decorated dried blood on nearly all of them they have stepped out of a B-rated horror movie.
It does not take a fully-healed brain to realise that was my blood.
"Lady," Someone approaches.
I try to reply, to shout, to whisper, but nothing comes out but panting and a low, wet gurgle of sounds. It was almost instant to tip forward and let more liquid fall. At least, this time, it was blood.
"Lady -" He seems like he was about to say something, paused, tried again and yet couldn't finish. Was he searching what to say next? Was he try to be polite and not point out that they had just been experimenting on me? "Ah,"
It takes a few seconds for the energy to gather, the energy to lift my heavy head and look at the man in the eye. There is not a strand of hair in sight – they must've chopped it off to look at my head.
"Can you let me go?"I breathe, barely realising that I'm talking at all, let alone speaking English to Germans. "I want to see Nick – please, I want to see Victor and Nick again."
"I, ah, of course, I mean, of course." The cape of white moves next to me, a band of white slithering under my right arm and gripping me. The man whispers words that escape me, slowly bringing my upper body with him. It takes minutes for me to regain my standing, and although the healing factor is slowing down now that nearly everything was back to order – even tiny strands of hair were pushing through my scalp – the effect of the golden liquid still impose against my thoughts, and the psychological effect of waking halfway through a live surgery still steal strength.
"Quick, get a chair. Now. Call Erskine."
The room doesn't quite explode into a flurry of movement; one man quickly totters off, another dragging along, what presumably is, a chair. The other men began to chatter quietly, although a few do come closer to help me sit down.
Heavier steps, although not commanding, shuffle into the room. Stopping to the left of me. I raise my head to look at him, aware that I shouldn't be able to do so.
"Are you a mutant?" is all he asks. It's straight and right to the point. I nod, not ready to speak again. "Is healing your ability?"
"One of them." I croak, and all he does is nod along. He's off again, righting the table, carefully picking up the items and setting them on desks higher than I can see. The scientists keep a wide berth, but it's hard to tell if they were giving some breathing space or they were afraid to come close.
The man who spoke seconds ago comes and goes, small enquiries needing nothing more than a nod or a shake. With the huge strain from healing all the surgery cuts, tiredness descends, smoothing out my breathing, relaxing the tense muscles and once more closing down the sharp thoughts.
This time, the bed is softer.
The fabrics are different from anything I've felt before – it is softer than the everyday textile the Victorians use yet the course material still signifies how little it would cost and the pillow gives just that little more. I twist as little as I can, trying to keep movements to a minimum. The fact that my knee hits a cold wall collapses that plan, the dull thud loud enough to notify anybody.
With some resentment, I rise. The bed is held in some niche in the wall, with enough space so a grown man could sit without discomfort. There are several books, some in English, most in German, stacked in dozens, in rows and crowd around the room. The walls are plastered with diagrams, faded from time and an about only two sources of light in the room – a lamp light on the desk and one hanging from the roof by a single thread.
The books are divided – one clear path from the door, passing the desk and ends at the bed. Even then there is a little line of books leaning against the wall under the bed. There aren't that many books for the floor to be completely covered so it's not that hard to guess that they're bedtime books.
There's no pain from setting my feet on the floor and luckily enough it was perfectly fine to stand up. There's no raised alarm as I wonder out the door; there're no guards on watch outside the door. For the first time in years, there's nothing to stop me doing whatever I want.
The building is simple. The walls are a dull colour but are broken by windows that have a dark background beyond a dimly lit town. The dirt on the glass blurs it, so nothing but the lights gets through. Small voices pass behind me, taking no interest. They don't spare anything but a glance at me as they go, leaving to where ever needs their presence.
A few more pass, going back and forth in one particular hallway. As I pass more rooms to see tiny rooms with beds, one man stops nearby.
"If you are looking for the place where the science happens, follow in the direction where everyone is leaving." He smiles and leaves. It is hard to determine if he knew who I was or if he thought another guest had gotten lost.
More people pass me, and it isn't until a pair pass chatting about their recent test does it take to me that this place is a simple, public science experimental house. To think that HYDRA would truly let me go to stay in an unaffiliated man… that would be impossible.
A man spots me and his arms slacken, books dropping to the ground. He garbles, trying to find his words as I stare at him, a touch amused.
"I take it that you know of me." His mouth closes with a snap and merely looks down to the floor. "How?"
"There is a foundation with the same letters as your names." He whispers, English low and barely heard as if it is a dark and dreary secret. "I dare do not speak its name as there is rumoured a section that deals with us."
"I know; I woke up on their examination table." This fact seemed to shock him. "It is not a great section, but they let me go once they realised I was still kicking." The man gapes and I chuckle, threading my fringe through my fingers, guiding it until my face is clear to see.
"It is nice meeting you, but I must warn you to leave. I fear HYDRA is almost upon this building as soon they learn I am awake. Take all the other mutants in this house and go to the nearest Legion, wherever this place is." He nods, but still waits for something. He clasps his hands together and a little light blooms between his fingers.
"I offer you this in place for all the hope you have given us." He takes his left hand away from his right, revealing an unidentifiable flower. He holds it out, and as I take it, he gestures to one of the petals. Words so faint are written that they need a sharp eye to read were etched to the side – thank you – and it is one of the kindest things I have received for so long.
"If you want I could add a stem. This will last as long as I live." His eyes flicker from mine to the flower resting in the palms of my hands. Once I nod he gestures again, the surrounding light gathering to solidify.
"Thank you," the stem is sturdy as hell, not creasing or breaking as I wrap it through my fingers, unlike a usual flower stem, but is as stiff as one.
"No, thank you." He says, and I know the speech that is coming. It has been said over and over, with every mutant I find. "You gave us a home from the humans, you opened our eyes to other mutants. You showed us that we weren't alone."
He bows, and crouches to gather his books. "You're everyone's hero, Lyall." And then, he leaves. The little flower does not glow like the sun or a flame. For now, I leave it to rest in my hair, tying back the long strands.
As I continue from the spot we stood, out of everyone's way and hearing range, it became more obvious that I had woken at night time as the closer I moved towards the examination rooms. True, there were fewer people, but there was one man who stood stock still in a large room that connected most together.
Looking through the windows, anyone could see plants, bubbling liquids, scientists who were camping overnight to watch their test. It was a little like the simple, childish experiments Amy conducted in high school science.
"Hello," the man speaks, tapping my shoulder. I turn to see him leafing through pages of paper, looking for something. "Ma'am, are you looking for the new physical examination division? It's the last door on the right, up this corridor."
"Thank you." He nods and returns to his station on the other side of the room. It occurs to me that he is the past version of a reception. Despite what the mutant had said about there being a rumoured new section, the plaque was clearly displayed with absolutely no shame at eye level.
Physical Examination Division (Mutational)
I knock politely, not quite expecting what was beyond the wooden planks. All I could remember was a metal table, a beautiful liquid that was painful to look at and kind men who despite my resurrection didn't treat me as a demon straight away.
One person answers it within a few beats, looking surprised to see me behind the door. He pauses, the awkward silence stretching until he realises why I am there. He opens the door completely and lets me go through.
The head scientist is there again. This time with perfectly healed sight and a brain to transfer short term memories to long term, his appearance is easier to memorise. His head has a thinning bald patch on the top of his head, dark hair threaded with grey coating the sides of his skull. His eyes are grey, pinning down whatever he saw as his eyes flickered everywhere. It was not nervousness, it was a dominating scientist habit – this was copied in the way his answers were always short and clipped, hopping from one to another, giving the best answers in the shortest amount of time possible.
His other features – a white scientist coat, a suit under that, two expensive pens residing in his pocket, another in his hand – all seemed to be simple clothes when compared to the other men in the division, however, this man used it to raise his presence in the room.
"Herr Erskine, Frau Howlett is here." A man beside Erskine's shoulder interrupts, nodding towards myself and the man who showed me inside.
"Frau Howlett," the head scientist greets. "I was not expecting you to be up so early."
"I have learned to not underestimate my healing ability, Mr Erskine, it can go far."
"Is that so? I would love to find the truth behind your statement, however, I have experimented on your body far too long without your consent. You were beneath our tools for nearly a week before someone removed the bullets in your head."
"Ah, yes, that is why I have come back before I leave." The man furrows his brows "Do you know the company you took my body from?"
"Yes, they are from the new Nazi science group. They had a fascination with hydras." He takes a sheet from a nearby desk, pointing to the cherry red HYDRA stamp in one of the corners. "I take they do not like what we've done to you."
"Oh, they didn't care what you did even if you raped me." Erskine's eyes brow shoot up at this, even some of the men around us took a moment from their experiments to stare. "What went wrong for you guys is that I woke up. I bet one man in this division is in league with HYDRA and has notified them to exterminate this place. I suggest evacuating this building, although they might already know about every man who has stepped onto this site."
"Oh," Erskine stares daggers into his clipboard, clenching his pen. "Are you sure?"
"Who else would put me in that state you got me in? I had about two dozen holes in my body, right? Well, they think it's fun to hold me down by drilling iron poles through my body and into the ground. Make sure I don't run away or murder all their guards. Also, I had some terrible surgery scars on my arms, right? They like sending amateur biologists to conduct 'experiments' and they don't care how awful their skill is because, hey, it's gonna heal itself anyway."
The men start to nod and exchange horrified looks halfway through my speech.
"You said that they'll hunt down the whole residents of this building."
"Well then, you better get started and tell everyone to skip the pond. I would recommend Australia – nobody knows who the hell you are and you're just a statistic in the waves of immigration."
Erskine stares off into the distance, thinking hard. He hesitates, still looking unconvinced.
"It might work if you destroy all student records here and I hunt down the man who works for them." This time, he looks more relieved; he takes authoritative steps towards the door. A man passes him a rusted iron box – a lighter – as he leaves.
As soon as the door snaps shut behind him, the room erupts into chaos.
Although it was hard to admit to Erskine, every man under him was HYDRA. It was a simple plan to use his expertise and brilliant mind. No wonder why nobody was so shocked when I launched off that table.
The people closest to me pulled out guns from behind capes, desks and out of drawers. Five of them were dead before they could ready their gun. It takes a few more people to collapse, choking on their blood, for them to realise that guns while their only hope to survive, did nothing to slow me down. Only one man shot me before they gave up, and then the hold off descended into a merciless slaughter by yours truly.
The last man I had stabbed through his arm, pinning him down the floor. His other arm pushes vainly against me, pain morphing his face.
Warning: Explicit torture. If not your thing, please skip to the next header.
"HYDRA scum! You thought you could defeat me! You thought you could hold me down! See how you feel being the one on the other side!" As I stand up, I stomp repeatedly on his wound, cherishing his cries.
One of my hands scrabble around the table next to us, the instruments drawing blood before I finally choose a bone cutter.
"Feel lucky that you're the last one to survive," I snarl. "I remember you! You were the one who tore out my claws from inside my arm." I grip the cutter and saddle his stomach. He looks up at me in pain and terror, shrinking into himself. He screams as I drive the bone cutter down, using all my strength behind it. His bone snaps in two.
"How about your friend over there? The one who I speared his eyes with my claws?" the man doesn't look, so I take the bloody hand and wrench his face to his left. "He had the honour of dying before I could dish out my revenge. I was hoping to peel back the soles of his feet and force him to walk, just like he did with me. Oh, wait! There's still one person left!"
The man started to cry, tears gathering at the corners of strained eyes.
"Did I permit you to start crying? NO!" he jerks back at the sudden shout. "Oh, and what about your true head scientist, the man still pinned to the wall when I speared him with an iron pole through his heart? He liked to slice through my guts, fooling around with the organs and ripping out my reproductive system as slow as he could, saying that I wouldn't need it anymore. And guess what?"
He whimpers. "Answer the question!"
"…I'm still alive?" he starts all out bawling there, healthy arm and legs pushing to get away from me.
"That's right! And do you know what else is right? I didn't need those ovaries! I stopped having my period decades ago! But it! Still! Hurt!" The last sentence was punctured with every time I drove the bone cutter into his other arm's bone and into his gut, slicing his reproductive system over and over until his eyes rolled back and he slumped back, unconscious from the toll of shock and pain.
"Weak arse BITCH-" I raise the tool again, driving it down and down again, his body convulsing with every blow. "Can't even FUCKING take what you little SHITS dished out!"
Continue here – Torture over
"Howlett!" A new voice interrupts; I realise that Erskine had opened the door long ago, watching the brutal murder. "The man is nearly dead. Kill him and let him be." He stares down at me, and only at me, straining to not look at the bloodbath behind me, although I suppose it was hard to ignore the blood splatters decorating my face.
"Can't stand to see a friend being murdered by a girl you just met?" I snarl, driving the cutter one last time just below his heart, leaving it there.
"I had my suspicions. If we want to escape before HYDRA arrives, then we must leave now."
I laugh, bending over the dead body underneath me.
"It's fucking HOPELESS! I was planted here so HYDRA could evaluate the skill you, Abraham Erskine, the greatest scientist since Einstein left the country, possess!" Something dawns in his eyes – the cold, hard realisation of the truth. "That's right, they're coming to get you."