"In a world that has c heated me, w hy should I play f air? " – Unknown

When you wake up and see white walls, and bright white lights most people would think they've died, or got locked up in some psychiatric facility, maybe even dead. Not me, I don't have that luxury anymore. I know I am now in some S.h.i.e.l.d holding facility, where I will never be let out of; until they have use of me. Everything is white, the sheets and blankets, I have entangled myself in are white, the walls the bed frame...even the scrubs they put me in. White, white, white...No windows... besides the observation one. And a door that will probably be where my food and daily doses of my throat. Suddenly my mind takes a sharp turn my throat, I can't feel it. With panic I reach up and grasp at it...nothing there are no marks in the skin yet there is a numbness as I try to make a noise, scream, yell...Nothing just air passing through frozen vocal chords. The door lock clicks and my gaze locks on to it. A man walks in, clipboard in hand he doesn't even look up.
"Patient has awakened and was quick to assess whereabouts," he walks over to the bed I watch, muscles tensing, but I do nothing.
"No physical reaction to close proximity...Vocal numbness is still in effect." He reaches out and slides the right shoulder of my scrub away I don't move, not with doctor dude so close...I don't feel like being tranquilized.
"Bullet wounds are almost completely healed?" This surprised him almost as much as me, glancing down my eyes widened in disbelief. The three wounds were almost all scar tissue now. No stitches...a slight bit of irritation around the wound but other then that, you wouldn't think I had been shot a few days...maybe hours ago? He shrugs it off and finishes the tape session. Moving to the door, another shadow waits outside to receive him. But the door is shut before I get a good look. In the silence at first I think this is it. Now they just leave me till feeding time. But then from the observation window I hear them, voices. Muttering but I can make out just enough. "—she has only been here a few hours how are the wounds closed?" Okay few hours check...
"—Well she can't go anywhere and the numbing agent is still in full effect—"
"Will we tell her about her grandmother?"
"Nah, they said we only needed one Siren, besides the Soldier did his job the old bitty bit it the minute we apprehended her—"

I stopped hearing the conversation; a dull ringing filled the silence almost like a white noise. They couldn't be serious, they couldn't...I searched every possible person they could have been talking about, maybe Lena's body was found in the room? No. Any idea that popped up was easily shot down, Camilla is silent though I know she listens. I stare at the white walls, the white scrubs, white...white...
I wanna go home.
It's a childish thought but one that clouds my mind, I want to see Oma, I want to bury my face into her. To take a big breath and just inhale her smell, a bit of dust mixed with that old perfume grandpa Jo got for her when they were in England. Feel her hair as it rested neatly on her shoulder at night as she got ready for bed. I wanted to curl up on the bed close my eyes and wake up in the middle of the night Oma sitting there on the edge of the bed running her fingers through my hair, she

would sneak in when I was younger and just rub my back or run her fingers through my hair...I never let her know I was awake. I wanted those moments right now I wanted to be that little girl again who never let go of her dress hem...I wanted...

I realize I'm crying, tears are pouring over my cheeks landing in wet plops either on my shirt or on the sheets. I don't care though, I feel like someone has taken a rusted blunted knife and is trying to carve out the upper part of my chest. My breath won't settle, I can feel my heart contracting painfully. My hands grasp at my throat and chest trying without hope to make the pain stop. If I could I would be screaming but all that manages to pass from my vocal chords is a weak wispy whine that makes it even sadder. I can't even cry now...I can't mourn. S.h.i.e.l.d took everything away this time. I fucked up once and now, they've taken my last light. I curl in on myself, the mattress creaking the only other noise as I curl up on the bed my silent sobs turning into hiccups as my body gives out. The lights switch off and I am left in the dark, my brain panics for a moment the old monsters coming to creep out and steal me away. But it stops as I realize the monsters have taken me away. A soft hiss of air breaks the aching silence. I don't move as my body just feels heavy I feel sick...I want to go home. But my eyelids droop and sleep takes me from the pain in my chest and the hollow realization that Oma was right.
The life of a Siren is to suffer.

"What the hell was that?" One of the lab workers asked softly all of them having witness something they aren't sure they want to name.
"That boys was the first step in the right direction." Both medics turn looking at the suited man, he's been standing there silently watching the girl. They both know he's the reason she's here, but neither will open their mouths to ask why.
"What should we do now sir?"
"Begin her new training—"
"Sir she's unstable, and after that display I'm sure she'll be even more prone to violent—" The suit holds up a hand.
"That's what we want, now tell me how well guarded is this facility?"
"T—top notch sir we've had all the necessary upgrades and the guards are all top trained in the force—"
"Good I want their watches doubled and I want daily reports on her improvement." "Yes sir." The suit had never taken his cold gaze off the now sleeping Siren and he smiled which would have been charming if the circumstances weren't what they were.
"She'll be perfect." With that comment made the suit leaves, the medics looked between each other then settle in for the long night ahead.

I wake up when the lights are turned on, it goes like this whether or not they have this timed to the daylight outside I don't know. Nor do I care. I know I've frustrated my keepers the past few days? Weeks? I don't know I don't want to keep track. But food comes in, I don't eat it. I'm not hungry. They numb my throat and I

don't fight back. Even though I want to grab the syringe and jam it into my chest if it would just stop the aching...Stop the pain that no matter what I do or how long I sleep doesn't go away. They keep trying to get me worked up the most they get out of me is a withering glance and then I turn away. I'm hoping if they get pissed off enough they'll just leave me here. I can die then. That works for me.

You're pathetic. O h and Camilla has stopped being quiet, she's sitting in the corner her gaze never leaving me, I know they can't see her. She has stood up though and prowled forward.
You won't even answer me now? H er lip is curled into a snarl as her voice drifts over me. She kneels down beside the bed her fingers slipping through my hair at first her touch is light almost caring then her fist clenches pulling my head to face her. She looks me over her eyes filled with disgust.

You're useless. S he mutters releasing me to flop back down on the mattress.
"Good." I mutter myself as she retreats back to her corner, her gaze leaving me to watch the observation window.
Why not make them suffer? S he says it so passively I almost think she isn't serious. Her gaze returns to me.
Come on use these pawns, get out, find this...Solider. Make him pay for the pain he has caused you. I t's so tempting but...What would I do after getting out? I couldn't go home. Steve and Natasha had all but abandoned me. And the other Avengers had their own problems I was totally and utterly alone.
"Good luck with that." I mumbled and turn over again laying on my side rubbing the scars where the bullets had ripped open my flesh. I found it soothing for some strange reason. Maybe because they reminded me I had failed? That no matter how hard I tried no matter how much I fought...my scars were proof I had lived and Oma hadn't. I curled up again feeling that horrid ache welling up again as more tears slipped out from my clenched eyelids. The door opens again and I don't bother to look back as steps approach they are brisk and hurried, new steps. A hard grip latches onto my shoulder and I am forced onto my back. My training mind wants me to fight back to use the moment that the idiot has given me lashing out with my fist and collide it with his stupid fucking jaw. But I don't I slam onto the mattress and look blankly up at the medic he's younger. Dark curled brown hair stubble along his sharp pointed chin, he would be considered good looking if his eyes weren't so...hate filled. His eyes were a bright blue, but there was a striking look to them like he was attempting to look into my soul and if he did he didn't like what he saw there. He pulled a syringe from his pocket I don't struggle and he smirks goddamn smirks. I almost fight back as he uncaps the needle it's long and doesn't look friendly.
"Wow they weren't kidding when they said you were a pushover." He mutters I would reply but...my throat was a little frozen at the time. He holds me down and jams the needle into the soft skin of my throat. I wince and he smiles his eyes alight with a new emotion glee. Fuck this one was going to be a case, he injects the numbing agent and then none too gently pulls out the needle. Doesn't even check to see if the bleeding stops. But then again I don't care either as the blood wells up in the wounds and then slowly leaks out staining the stupid pure white sheets a pretty

shade of crimson. He leaves but he never takes his eyes off of me, I lay there watching him I don't care. If anything this guy has become my favorite, he wants me dead I know it. And I can't wait for him to get the balls to do it.

Huge thanks to WinterLifeAmerica and just letting you guys know now I have taken on a full time job so hopefully it shouldn't mess too much with the stories. Thanks for reading!