Chapter 10.
I've been going through some stuff with my family, and I don't appreciate it when I am constantly bothered. When I have the time, I'll work on my stories. Either stop nagging me or leave me alone. This is my story, and I can discontinue or delete it if I want.
Short chapter. Eleven won't be promised.
I lay panting on the cold metal table I was strapped to, my chest heaving with broken and ragged breaths. My entire body ached, and each muscle connected to my shattered bones screamed whenever they were moved. I deemed it necessary to cease all form of movement. Everything hurt so much, and it was a struggle to even put the energy into moving, so why bother doing it?
A hot liquid ran across the exposed skin of my body, working its way through the tears in what remained of my suit with a slow and agonizing pace. I cringed inwardly, glancing momentarily at the shredded flesh of my numerous wounds that were freely leaking green-tinged crimson blood. The strange woman had been relentless in her explorations, and I knew from now on that I would experience the aftereffects of them for a very long time.
While I was stretched out staring at the ceiling, I took the time to reflect on what had happened in the past...well, time really had no significance anymore, but I believe it has been a few days or weeks. My mind was forever muddied and slowed by that wretched tranquilizer the other Agents kept injecting me with. I could barely think straight, let alone linger on a thought for but a few moments, before my mind and body protested and made me cringe back in as acid-fire pain tore through me.
The woman had entered my prison-like room sequentially, appearing each time with some new toy she wished to test on me. She had said that it was such a high privilege to be an honorary and living Petri dish, let alone one that was owned and protected by her. According to her shattered ramblings, she was a figure of high authority that even agents like K and O—the ones that had assaulted me constantly in the past, and the ones that had hunted me down and brought me here—answered to with immense fear. She had yet to inform me of whether or not she was the leader of the GIW or if she was a subordinate with too much power that had gone to her head. She even had yet to tell me her name.
If I could smile, I would have. The hints of it were already starting to show, and I knew that if anyone was watching me, they would be terrified by my horrific imitation of a smile.
I mean, sure, there was the chance that I would escape, and that if I did I would kill her for doing all of this to me, but if I knew her name, maybe I could appeal to her in some way...get her to stop this horrific nonsense...
If that didn't work...well, I could always resort to other things. Things that would be so much more colorful and creative than what she was doing to me.
With a grimace, I clenched my teeth together and focused on trying to breathe. Maybe it would help me convince them that I was not completely dead and that I had some ounce of humanity in me.
The door hissed open, and painful light stabbed the thin and bloodstained flesh of my eyes. Unintentionally, a pained moan escaped my throat.
"How is my baby today?" The woman leaned close to me, her ruby lips pulled back in a dark grin. She trailed her cold hand over the side of my face, tracing skeletal fingertips against my heated skin.
I snarled, spitting a mouthful of green-red blood in her face. She jerked back and ran a hand over her face, her claret eyes bright in a strange mixture of rage and confusion.
"Now, why would you go and do that? Do you not realize that I am the one who literally holds your life in my hands?" She was muttering to herself as she moved away, towards something that resembled a table. She began to rummage around in whatever tools were spread out before her, the sharpened tips of her nails clinking against the sleek and sterile metal.
The woman faced me again, and through my veiled gaze, I could see that she had some sort of large knife in her hands, one that had a serrated edge that was most likely very painful.
"Now, where shall we begin?"
"Bring me the morphine!"
"We're out of it! I don't—"
"—then find something else! Quickly!"
"We're losing him again!"
There was a pained scream, and then a violent flash of toxic green.
"—what?"
Another cry sounded, tinged with a faint echoing that bit at their ears. The aura in the room wavered and darkened as the temperature dropped noticeably.
"What are you doing standing around? Either help me or get out of the way!"
"—don't talk like—"
"Shut up!"
A frantic beeping filled the room, and the temperature continued to drop as the screams intensified.
"He's not gonna make—"
"—don't say that—"
"Focus!"
Hesitation lingered in the air like a foul stench.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"He's dropping—"
"—I can't—"
"Give him more—!"
"—that's not gonna—"
"—no! Danny, wake up! Danny! Danny!"
T'Challa remained seemingly unaffected as the sound of pained screaming and frantic cries echoed throughout the mansion.
Beside him, Tony lay eerily still, his gaunt and pale face revealing nothing that was going on in his head.
The door hissed open behind him, and he remained still as Captain entered the room.
"T'Challa. How is he?"
The Black Panther turned to face the decades-old hero. "He is still the same. He is reacting to nothing."
Captain sighed heavily as he leaned against an unoccupied medical bed. "Is there the chance that he will wake up at all?"
"As I stated earlier, we will only know how to counter the effects of the recent attack when Daniel wakes up."
"How can you be so sure that he will wake up?" the elder hero countered, blue eyes wide. "I mean, he hasn't done anything except fade in and out of consciousness for the past few days."
T'Challa took off his mask, and it was then that Steve could see the exhaustion that was carved into his weathered face. "I do not think you realize this, so I will tell you." He linked his arms behind the small of his back as he began to pace the room. "When I spoke to young Daniel earlier, there was a fierce determination in his eyes. He knew that we would not harm him, even if he did not show it, and he knew that if he attacked it would harm his physical and mental state as well. He was trying to convince himself that everything would be okay."
The king faced the soldier, dark eyes narrow and holding exhaustion. "Daniel will wake up. It may take some time, but he will."
Captain America stared at the darker hero before nodding. "If you think he will, then I do." He grimaced as another scream—this time more powerful—tore through the tower. "Poor kid. He's going through a lot."
"Indeed." T'Challa turned as the heart monitor attached to the billionaire began to beep frantically, and a groan came from the unconscious man as he began to shift on the bed.
Rogers frowned. "Panther, is he...?"
"Yes."
The king faced the soldier fully, his mask down to expose his darkened and weathered face.
"He is waking up."
I screamed and writhed as the blade pierced my flesh over and over.
Just make it stop. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.
"Oh, my precious little one. It will all be over soon. Her long and icy fingers trailed over my sweat and blood-slicked skin, and she hummed almost parentally. "You won't feel anything very soon."
No, no, no. Get it out. Make the pain stop. Make it go away, go away, go away.
She was laughing as she shoved the point deeper and deeper into my toughened skin.
The point of the poisoned knife made my skin give way.
"Don't cry, my pet." She was crooning in that cold and sadistic voice she used when she donned her motherly facade. "It will all be over soon."
No, it won't.
A voice murmured in hushed words in the back of my head.
She's lying.
They always lie.
Everybody lies.
"It'll all be over."
Liar.
"Don't cry. Wipe those tears."
Liar.
"You will be completely fine."
Shut up. Liar liar liar.
"Mommy will take care of you."
Liar.
Liar.
LIAR.
The sudden explosion of rage nearly caught me off guard, but I took the opportunity to struggle and writhe out of my bonds.
Hellfire roared around me. Crimson obscured my wavering and darkened vision.
Pay.
They will all pay for what they've done.
Every single one of them.
Hawkeye woke with a start to the sound of someone ringing the doorbell repeatedly.
With a groan, the archer rolled over onto his side, closing his eyes and attempting to sleep off a monster headache he had.
Ring. Ring. Ring ring-ring ring-ring-ring.
He sat up with a growl, clear blue eyes narrow as he reached over to grab his quiver and bow.
"Idiots wakin' me up in the middle of the night—they'll get an arrow to the eye and then whine about how much pain they're in—"
He stormed his way down the stairs and threw open the door, no doubt looking the very definition of you woke me up and I'm ready to punch you in the face.
Two cool gray eyes stared back at him out of a long and narrow, almost skeletal face. The man was tall and lithe and had long white hair pulled back in a low ponytail. He was dressed in a sleek and expensive black suit, and every inch of it screamed neat freak and arrogance.
The man was grinning coldly, showing bright white teeth.
He held out his hand, seemingly unperturbed that the archer only continued to glare at him.
"Hello. My name is Vlad Masters. I believe you have something—sorry, someone—that belongs to me."