Black Sheep (2/4)

The next time Irene saw the nameless soldier, he was walking out of the base in full battle-wear, and his eyes slid over her without a flicker of recognition. Bianov didn't even look at her as he followed him out, and that night she went back to her little room and burned the list she had hidden under her bed, burned the preserved petals he had brought her.

A couple of months later, her mother figured out what happened from the lack of monthly blood spots on her underwear and, without a word of pity, did something to her with a wire coathanger and a bathtub filled with vodka that hurt almost as much as the original incident. Your father must never know, she had implored Irene, we can never tell him, do you understand me? Never.

She lost the ability to smile after that, hid her body in the most shapeless clothes she could find and shied away from the soldiers as they passed. She made herself throw up the next time Pierce visited so she wouldn't have to serve him on the pretence of being ill. The incident had planted a seed of doubt in her mind about the benevolence of HYDRA, the righteousness of the Nazi way- what had happened to her wasn't good, wasn't pure. It hadn't even happened because of her, no, she had been used merely as an instrument to punish someone else, because he had dared to spare someone's life.

When she turned eighteen, Irene was allowed to carry out the occasional two-mile trek to the nearest town in the mountain range that happened whenever her parents unexpectedly ran out of supplies. The presence of so many civilians, and more importantly a complete lack of soldiers, was a complete shock to her; a welcome one, though, which added fuel to the tiny flame of rebellion growing inside of her.

There was a library in the town, filled with dusty books and dusty librarians, as well as a couple of clunky computers that took an age to load tucked into one corner. There was much more sophisticated technology back at the facility, but she didn't want anyone to know what she was doing and besides, she wasn't allowed near it without supervision anyway. Her fourth visit was when she finally plucked up the courage to use them: once she had sprinted down the high street and bought the cleaning fluid as fast as she could, she switched on the computer and began her search for who she was supposed to be.

Twenty minutes later, she was sat deadly still as she stared at the monitor with tears running down her face, grainy images of countless corpses reflected in her grey-blue irises. She had been raised in a cult of murder and bigotry, raised to worship those who had caused the death of millions, and for eighteen years she had… idolised them. She had thought these, these monsters to be the heroes, which meant that she was one too. As was her mother, her father, the only two people in the world she truly loved.

What am I supposed to do now? she thought, shutting down the computer and beginning the walk through pine forests back to the facility. I can't keep doing this, but it's all I've ever known. The world tells me that we are wrong, but who am I to believe? Millions of people I have never met, or the few who have raised me? The world has never shown me any kindness.

But that wasn't true. The nameless soldier had refused to touch her, and then her people had punished him for it. Is that enough to make me run for the rest of the world? Now he has gone again anyway, and how am I to give up my entire life? We are utterly isolated; there is no escape, if I am gone for more than a few hours they will send soldiers to search for me. Perhaps I should just give in, return to how I once thought. Besides, to leave is assume free will is healthy, rather than toxic. I still do not know who is correct about that.

As she stomped her way up the snowy path, she thought about what good lack of free will- HYDRA's most important cornerstone- had done for her. If free will had been permitted, the incident would most likely never have happened, since the nameless soldier would not have been able to choose to spare that girl's life - but to base my decision on just my own experiences is selfish. HYDRA's beliefs are to protect the ignorant millions, not me.

But why should she be separate from them?

Irene had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she flinched when the concrete walls of the facility suddenly loomed up out of the cliff face at her, followed by a few of the guards swarming round her to check she was not a threat. This base, where she will never be anything more than a servant because of her gender, where she was used and thrown aside like a child's toy. She wasn't a person; she was a tool. She was a thing.

I do not care if my reasons are selfish, she decided, I cannot stay here. Mother, Father, please forgive me. She could no longer be their daughter, not if she was going to flee this forsaken place. She needed another name, one for starting anew.

%

The first thing Irene Neumann ever did was bring a mug of fresh coffee to the man in the surveillance room. The second thing she did was peer over his shoulder over the list of which security camera monitored where, and the next three years of her life followed the same pattern; pretending to still be happy in her old role, as if nothing were amiss, and using their trust to slowly gather information, piece by tiny piece. Fortunately, Irene had learned patience from an early age and thus never once took a risk, knowing the price would be a bullet in her head if she did.

Meanwhile, in the gap between the tub in her bathroom and the wall a small collection of supplies was growing: food, non-perishables, lightweight clothes to change into (she would run after the annual thaw, she decided, when the land was green and she wouldn't catch frostbite overnight), a print-out map of the local landscape she had gained from the library's computers, spare bullets for her little revolver and a bag to put it all in.

And then, one sunny April afternoon, Irene realised she was ready. Her things were packed and tripe-checked, the weather was mild, and the guards on rotation that night were the laziest in the facility. The thought of her freedom finally being within touching distance made her twitchy throughout the day, so much so that her parents noticed it at dinner that evening.

"Ich bin gut, danke," she said to her mother when she enquired as to why Irene's hands were shaking. Perfectly fine, please don't worry about me, please… "Mutti?"

"Ja, Irene?"

"Ich…" she faltered. "Ich liebe dich. Und Vati." I love you both so much, I am so sorry, I wish I never saw what terrible people we were and I wish I never had to leave you. Oh, god, I love you and I'm sorry.

Her parents exchanged slightly confused glances, but didn't pursue the matter further; their daughter had been distant from them ever since the Winter Soldier had arrived. They merely thought she was pining after him, the asset being a handsome man after all, and although her mother soon learned differently her father never suspected a thing. She finished her plate as quickly as possible, knowing it was important to eat as much as she could, and excused herself to go and sit in her bedroom until the clock on the wall told her it was time to go.

She climbed into bed still wearing her HYDRA uniform (a grey skirt suit unchanged from the ones they wore in the 1940s, with the symbol embellished on the lapel and collar of the shirt) and listened to her heart beating steadily against her ribcage. She was scared, horribly scared of what was coming next, but the thought of spending the rest of her life in the facility made her skin crawl. The closer she came to carrying out her plan the less likely she was to give up, and now it was the night of her escape the might of the Reich could not have held her back.

She listened through the thin wall as her parents got into bed, waiting for their breathing to become soft snores before slipping out of her own sheets and pulling on her shoes, intending to change into boots and trousers when she was out of the compound. She pulled her bag over her shoulder and glanced around one last time at the room she had spent her whole life in. Goodbye bookshelf, she thought, goodbye desk. Goodbye photo of Red Skull, which always gave me nightmares as a child until I learned to idolise it. Goodbye photo of the squirrel I took when I was twelve. Goodbye clock that was always two minutes late. Goodbye.

She could navigate the route to the trade exit, which used all the surveillance's blind spots, blindfolded, but that still didn't make her feel any less nervous. She hardly breathed at all until she reached the rusting metal doors which she knew were always left slightly ajar, but that didn't matter since there was security posted a dozen metres beyond them. It was two men sat at the perimeter fence, dozing lightly since this was one of the less important jobs, with empty coffee mugs at their feet. She picked these up and took them with her as she circled the fence, so that if either of them was half-awake they would just think she was collecting dirty crockery to wash. As soon as she was out of earshot, she threw them as far as she could into the forest, the opposite direction to which she was headed.

The floor was mostly moss which thankfully muffled her footsteps, and Irene ran until she ran out of breath. With the spring air biting at her skin a little, she stripped off and pulled the HYDRA overalls out of her bag before lacing up the heavy soldier boots, which she had to pair with three sets of socks to make them fit. A heavy coat hid her feminine frame under a good deal of bulk, and with the moon lighting her way through the canopy she continued down the mountainside, ringing around the outside of the town.

It was an hour or two before dawn, when she was cutting through an alleyway of the town, when the alarms began to holler back up at the facility. It felt as though her heart was trying to jump up through her throat and she quickened her slightly exhausted pace. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the gun in her pocket as windows opened and housewives exchanged loud, guttural conversations about what all the fuss was about. Me, Irene thought, it can only be me. This is my fault.

Another twenty minutes and Irene would be out of the town, on the wide unsheltered road that led out of the mountains- maybe someone would be kind enough to give her a lift. If the soldiers came after her in vehicles, it would take half an hour to reach the point she was at now, but surely she wasn't so important- better to save her energy, she figured, and resisted the urge to break into a run again.

"On the farm," she sung under her breath, "it's rabbit pie day… la la la… run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run… don't give the farmer his fun fun fun…" she hit the edge of town, where the houses began to peter out. "Gott in Himmel… He'll get by without his rabbit pie, so run rabbit, run rabbit-"

The sounds of massive engines tore through the quaint little area, heading towards her.

"Oh, sheisse," she whispered, "nein, bitte nein!"

She started to sprint, giving up all hope of hiding and just hoping that she could reach the road before they caught up with her. She stuck to the verge, leaping over rocks and tree roots with her bag thudding and bruising her hip with each jump, but she could never outrun a jeep. Within minutes, she could hear the excited shouts of the men searching for her, hunting for her. But she could hear the distant sound of civilian engines ahead of her as well, just another half a mile or so and she would be free-

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Goes the farmer's gun!

She screeched in pain as something tore through her lower leg, ripping muscle and shattering bone, and fell to the floor. As she writhed in agony the floor shook with synchronised thuds of soldiers' feet, they were coming close to her now and she could see the victory mixed with disgust on their faces. She tried to beg but all that came out of her mouth was a panicked shriek. One of them raised his gun above her face like they had done to the nameless soldier during the incident, and-

Crack.

Everything went black.