Chapter two-The first murders

After the absolutely shocking encounter with these new doctors had ended, Clarke had pulled herself out of her stupor to go to the office of the staff members, pressing her back up against the wall, listening in on them. And her listening paid off. She heard one of the orderlies, Luke Cage, comment loudly to at least four other orderlies, "Well, this all sucks."

"Yeah," another orderly, Scott Summers, said, "But you know just as well as I do that Dante wasn't as decent as he came off as."

"Who is who they claim to be?" Alex Summers, Scott's brother said, "Everyone has issues. Dante did what he could around here. Anyway, I'm just glad that son of his is dead. What a scumbag."

Clarke felt herself smirk. She couldn't say that it wasn't a good thing that Dante had died. It was. Cage Wallace, Dante's son, was somehow even worse. Cage Wallace had worked at the facility. And there had been a few unsavory rumors around the facility about him. That he would take advantage of some of the patients sexually. That he would blackmail some of the staff if they even tried to say a word.

So if Clarke was relieved that Dante was dead, she was actually happy that Cage was dead.

It was a pity that Dante's wife and daughter both were dead too.

She listened in some more and learned that the way in which the Wallace family had died, had been because of a gas leak in the house while the family had been asleep.

None of them survived. They had suffocated.

Clarke had felt sickened by her joy, but she couldn't help it. With Dante dead, was there a chance that she could get out of the facility?

Three faces flashed through Clarke's head. Wells. Rose. Daniella.

Could she see them again?

She hoped so. She backed away from the room, going down the hall and got to her room, going to her bed and hugging her alligator close. She might just see Wells and her daughter again soon enough.

She looked around her room. It had taken her every ounce of strength she had not to draw Wells, her sister, Rose or her daughter, Daniella's faces on the walls or any of the papers she had to remember them by.

She wouldn't allow anyone in this place to look into her room and see their faces and know their faces. To potentially recognize them in the outside world and it getting back to her mother, Kane or Bellamy. She couldn't risk her mother, Kane or Bellamy finding her daughter.

So, she hadn't drawn Wells, Rose or Daniella while she was here. Ever.

She began drawing and was busy drawing along the walls, drawing a pattern with elk in them, when she heard a knock at her door. She almost jumped, and turned around, her stuffed alligator hugged tightly to herself.

She felt ridiculous. Here she was, a full-grown woman, who was almost twenty-one, and she was holding a stuffed animal, like she was still only five years old.

Still, she looked at who had just come into the room.

And her breath was caught in her throat. It was Dr. Pepper Potts.

The woman, who Clarke was guessing was somewhere in her mid or late forties at the oldest, with long, orange hair and blue-gray eyes, smiled as she entered and looked at Clarke, asking, "Hello, Clarke. My name is Dr. Pepper Potts. We're just introducing ourselves to the various patients."

Clarke asked, feeling heat creeping up the back of her neck, "Didn't you all introduce yourselves in the main room?"

Pepper chuckled, "Well, you're not wrong. But I still think it's important to get acquainted with patients one on one."

"Sure…," Clarke said, uncertain, "Um, well, nice to meet you."

"And nice to meet you," Dr. Potts answered, "That's a very cute alligator. Does it have a name?"

Self-conscious, Clarke looked down at the alligator and felt heat spread through her cheeks as she nodded. "Yeah," she said, "His name is Jake."

Pepper smiled again. "That's a nice name," she said, "I'd like you to know, Clarke, that if you need anything at all, ever, you can come to us and tell us, alright?"

Clarke nodded, holding the alligator and the piece of charcoal close, as if in self-defense, but she had no idea why she felt like she needed to do that. Something about these new doctors, while completely amazing, also…somehow unnerved her. And she had no idea why.

Pepper turned her attention to the walls around them. "These are very well done drawings you've made," she acknowledged, "You're very talented. Are you taking some of the art classes here?"

Clarke shrugged. "Thank you. And sometimes," she said, "I prefer playing the games here."

Pepper smiled wider and told her that she needed to go speak with the other doctors and she hoped to speak with Clarke again soon. After she had left, Clarke turned back to her work along the walls. Whatever she was feeling about all this, besides the lust? It was probably nothing.

She went back to drawing.

She had hope for the future now. After all, Dante and his family were dead. Which meant it was more possible now than it had been that she could see Wells and her baby girl again.

That night, it rained and rained hard. Against the thick panel of glass that was the window of her room, there were heavy rivers of rainwater that drenched the glass and poured down.

It wasn't bedtime yet, but it was getting there. Outside, Clarke could hear the roaring of thunder and saw the occasional flash of lightning outside the window.

She knew she probably wouldn't be able to sleep anytime soon. She put her things away and left her room, going down the hall to the food hall.

She wanted to see if she could get her hands on some caramel pudding.

She had become very familiar with all of the desserts in this facility. While the caramel pudding wasn't her top favorite, it was still good. And it was one of the best desserts being offered tonight.

The lights would always be on, but it was almost vacant, since most of the patients were in their rooms. The more dangerous ones were kept locked away early. For their safety the not as dangerous ones were monitored more closely than patients like her. For some reason, she had been categorized as "not dangerous." Not that she was complaining. She was allowed to do far more than most patients were.

She went past one of the rec rooms, getting close to where the cafeteria was, and movement out of the corner of her eye, and caught the sight of people moving in that room. She turned, stopped walking, curious.

Her eyes widened. Three of the new doctors were in one of the lounges and talking. Dr. Natasha Romanoff, Dr. Maria Hill and Dr. Tony Stark.

As soon as Clarke looked in on the room, Dr. Romanoff smiled at her. "Hello, Clarke," she said, "Is there something you need?"

"I…," Clarke felt heat go to her cheeks again, "I…no, I don't. Sorry. Just wasn't expecting anyone here this late."

She felt heat traveling all throughout her body at just that smirk on Natasha's face. There was this look in those emerald eyes that hinted that the redhead knew secrets about Clarke that Clarke didn't even know, and it was doing things to her that she knew she probably shouldn't be repeating.

"No need to apologize," Natasha said, "It's alright. If you need anything, you can tell us."

Clarke smiled, appreciating it, even if there was something strange about how these doctors were focusing on her, but then again, they probably were acquainting themselves with all of the patients.

"Thank you," she said to the three doctors, then going past the room, walking faster than she wanted to, wanting to move quickly, so that she didn't embarrass herself any more than she already had.

She got to the cafeteria and grabbed some of the pudding. After devouring two containers and tossing the containers, she checked the time on one of the few clocks. There were clocks in this facility, but it depended on where in the facility it was.

And each clock always had a cage of metal bars over it, so that the patients wouldn't destroy the clock and mess with the glass panel of the clock or the sharp bits inside and potentially hurt themselves or others.

It was close to bedtime. If she didn't get to bed soon, she'd be escorted to her room by a couple of orderlies.

Clarke almost sneered, "Yes, time to go off to bed like a good little drone." But didn't. She was passive aggressive enough without getting into trouble so far. She didn't want to push it.

She walked down the hallway. She knew the lounge was coming up, but kept moving. She glanced almost half interested and looked into the lounge. She almost froze when she saw that there were more of the new doctors in the lounge, all of them had turned their heads to look out of the doorway of the lounge right at her. As if they had known that she was going to be walking past the doorway of the lounge. As if they had been waiting for her.

Clarke gasped, feeling an icy chill. That was really creepy. She went past the room fast, and went back to her room and got to her bed, closing the door fast and dropping onto her bed, grabbing the alligator and pulling it to her chest protectively.

She shook, going up against the wall, her back pressing against it, hugging the alligator close. She wasn't insane. She wasn't.

But there was absolutely no reason for anyone to behave that way. For the new doctors to all look at her as she had passed the doorway of the lounge.

She panted, heart speeding fast.

After several minutes, she was able to come up with an explanation. No, it didn't make any sense that the doctors would look at her that way. And no, she wasn't going insane. But she had had a couple of stressful years. And had gradually stopped caring more and more over time. It was possible that her imagination had just started growing wild.

She laughed a little. Yeah, that made sense.

She slowly put the stuffed alligator down onto the bed. She ignored the pounding of the thunder outside and the pattering of the rain bullets hitting her window.

She just needed to get to sleep. That was all.

She got up, went to the bathroom and took care of things. When she was done, she turned out the lights and dropped onto the bed, closing her eyes and pulling her blankets on over her.

She fell asleep practically as soon as she closed her eyes.

As Clarke slept, outside of her room, in the lounge, the doctors were talking.

If anyone looked at these doctors, they would notice nothing strange about them, most likely. However, if someone caught them at their most predatory moments? They'd notice that there would be fangs in the doctors' mouths. And that their eyes would turn black or gold sometimes. Or that some of them had wings. Some of them had magic. Some of them had pointed ears. Some of them had very sharp claws.

But they had made sure never to allow anyone who they didn't intend to kill to see them like that.

The best part was, none of them, save for Dr. Melina Vostokoff and Dr. Bruce Banner, were even doctors.

But Melina and Bruce had provided the information and equipment they needed to make themselves look legitimate.

They had come here for a reason. They had intended to seek out their mate. Well, Clint Barton's familial soulmate. The rest of their romantic partner soulmate.

They had gone through the forest surrounding the area almost half a year ago, and then they had smelled a very specific type of scent. A vampire could recognize someone that was to be connected to them in some way through a number of ways. Sight. Voice. Scent.

That was what they were. Vampires.

They hadn't realized what it was that they were smelling, until they had reached the mental facility.

And they had looked at Clarke, and they had been lost.

So they decided afterwards, after realizing that Clarke was their romantic partner soulmate, and Clint Barton's familial soulmate, that they needed to find a way of getting Clarke out and of getting rid of anyone that might hurt her or might try to hurt her.

They decided they needed to learn more about her. If she was truly mentally ill, then they would need to know what she needed.

If she wasn't, they needed to know how she got here and fix the situation.

And now that they were here, learning what they had learned beforehand, and learning what they could from the doctors, they knew everything. Including that Dante Wallace and his son, Cage Wallace, had been corrupt.

That was why they had died.

After the vampires had learned that Dante Wallace had helped keep Clarke locked up, they had made sure that both Dante and his son, Cage, were all at home with their family, and that everyone in the family was asleep, and when that was done, they had caused a gas leak. And they had stood back and done nothing as the family of four inside died of suffocation.

There was still the issue of the others that had hurt Clarke and had made sure that she had ended up here in this facility.

One of them had been Clarke's actual biological mother.

All of the vampires in the room, Clarke's mates, had been furious. So furious. Clarke's mother and she had betrayed Clarke like that?!

Well, that wasn't going to be an issue soon, was it? They would get rid of Abby. And get rid of her lovers, Markus Kane and Bellamy Blake. And those teenagers and young adults that Abby had chosen over Clarke

Jasper Jordan, Nathan Miller, Raven Reyes and Octavia Blake.

They were destined to die. They all were. And the vampires? They wanted Clarke to know that they had done it. They wanted her to know. They wanted her to know that someone loved her so much that they'd kill over and over again for her.

Because she deserved to know that she was loved, truly loved and that they'd be there for her.

There were two other things they needed to take care of too.

Clarke's father, Jake Griffin. He was still imprisoned.

And Clarke's best friend, Wells Jaha, her younger sister, Rose, and her and Wells's little girl, Daniella, were in hiding, so that Abby, Kane and Bellamy couldn't find Daniella and do heck knew what to her.

The vampires, they knew where Wells, Rose and Daniella were. They would bring all three the man and the two children to Clarke.

Clarke was theirs, no other potential lover's. But they knew that Clarke cared deeply about Wells.

And they wouldn't keep Clarke from Wells, or from her daughter.

And they'd bring her father to her.

They had searched for centuries for her. Now they had her. Their predatory, glinting gold eyes all flashed at each other as they smiled slyly. They would not let her go.

The oldest of them, Hela Odinsdotter, said, her expression arrogant and amused, her fangs showing, "We should take her now."

"We could," Natasha said, her voice steel when she said her next words, "But we won't. We need to make sure that Clarke feels it's secure for her to reunite with her daughter, father and Wells again. And for that? We need to get rid of those that have harmed her."

Hela looked dissatisfied by this, but didn't argue.

Beatriz asked, "Who should we go after first? I want her to see Abby, Kane and Bellamy's bodies."

"I do too," Natasha said, smirking, "But I think we should go after John Murphy first. He is the closest threat."

"Yes, I agree," Mari said, growling, eyes gold as she thought about how Murphy had treated their little girl, "I want to crush his skull."

"Easy," Maria said, "We need to make it look like an accident. Or people will get suspicious."

Mari glared, but said nothing. None of them were pleased by this, that they couldn't kill Murphy slowly.

But they had to, that was, if they wanted to be able to gradually eliminate all of the threats that had been in Clarke's life.

"Don't worry," Pepper reassured the others and Steve smiled in agreement at Pepper's words of confidence, "We will eventually get rid of all of the people that hurt Clarke or who want to hurt her. We'll make it convenient for her to know. She'll find out what we've done for her. And then? We will have her."

If any human had been in the room with the vampires, they would have run out quickly, terrified at the sheer feeling of possessive joy that filled that room.

When morning came, and there were shouts from the orderlies that it was morning and time for the patients to get up, Clarke yawned and stretched, shaking herself awake.

She got up and went to the bathroom. After she was finished up, she put on her hospital slippers and went out, down the hall.

She was going past the lounge and looked into the lounge. She almost laughed when she saw only the orderlies, Luke Cage, Danny Rand and Kitty Pryde. She quickly went past the lounge. Because yeah, there was no way that the doctors from the night before would still be in the lounge. They had no reason to.

Whatever had happened last night? It had just been her imagination or her misunderstanding what she had seen. That was all.

She got to the cafeteria and grabbed some food.

She heard the chattering from some of the other patients.

She tried not to tense, recognizing John Murphy's voice. Murphy's voice was very easy to recognize. It was harsh and always somehow sounded snide, despite him being locked up here like the rest of them.

Clarke looked at where Murphy was. Her face contorted in disgust when she saw what Murphy was doing.

He had unzipped his pants and had peed right on one patient that was lying down.

Oh, that was disgusting.

The patient lying down yelled, jumping up and glared at Murphy. Murphy grinned at him, tongue sticking out. Not sticking out as in teasingly, but in an obscene way. The patient roared and swung his right fist at Murphy's face.

Murphy hadn't been expecting that. So when the other man's fist swung, Murphy's nose had been the first target. Clarke actually heard the cracking noise of Murphy's broken nose.

Clarke felt a laugh bubbling up. Looked like Murphy finally got what he deserved.

Murphy exploded after he was done backing away nose broken, blood coming out of his nose.

Looked like he couldn't take it as well as he could give it. He lunged at the other man and wrapped his hands around the other patient's neck.

That was when the orderlies, Jessica Jones and Eddie Brock interfered, each of them grabbing each of the patients and tearing them from each other.

Murphy screamed at the other man, "You're dead, bitch! You're dead!"

Clarke smirked, watching as Murphy was dragged off to his cell to be locked up for a while till he cooled off.

Poor little stupid baby.

Her experiences over the years with people as toxic as Murphy? It had caused her to be less tolerant and less sympathetic to Murphy or anyone like him.

"You look happy, Clarke," A voice said softly to her right, making her jump. She turned around and glanced at who was right next to her. As soon as she did, she felt heat travel down to her stomach, feeling herself blush too.

It was Dr. Natasha Romanoff.

The redhead had sat down next to Clarke, smiling at her.

"Um," Clarke said, feeling like she was on fire, "Hi, Dr. Romanoff."

"'Dr. Romanoff,'" Natasha chuckled, "You can just call me 'Natasha,' if you want to."

"Oh," Clarke said, feeling very self-conscious with this woman, "Natasha. Okay. Sorry."

Natasha smiled, "You apologize a lot, malen'kiy. There's no reason to."

Clarke mumbled before she could help it, "Sorr…I mean, yeah. Okay."

Natasha chuckled at Clarke's lack of eloquence. "Is there a reason you feel like you need to apologize over and over again?" She asked, asking very curiously, no judgment on her face as she asked the question.

"I…," Clarke shifted, feeling tense.

"We're the new doctors here," Natasha reminded Clarke, "So we're going to have to ask you these things at some point, anyway."

Clarke looked away. She knew that. She knew that she would have to tell these doctors her problems. Or the sanitized version of her problems. The version of her problems that would potentially get her out of this facility sooner instead of later.

"Yeah, I know," Clarke said, "But shouldn't you be asking me this during sessions?"

Natasha chuckled, causing Clarke to look at the beautiful redhead. Natasha said, smirking, "Yes, we will. But wouldn't you like to tell me during this entertainment," she glanced at where Murphy was being dragged off, "Instead of telling me in an isolated room alone?"

Clarke's eyebrows went up. For a doctor to call patients fighting entertainment? She had never seen or heard that before.

Sure, she had heard orderlies occasionally talk like that. But doctors?

It probably was wrong for her to like that Natasha talked like that. But she did. To be amused by mental patients fighting…that had to be pretty disgusting, right? Still, Clarke realized that she liked this woman. Not just was sexually attracted to her. She actually liked her.

She did, however, mentally warn herself. She needed to be careful. After all, she had liked Dante, hadn't she? And she knew what he had been more than happy to do to her and work with her horrible mother.

But still, she liked this woman.

So Clarke decided to give Natasha the edited version of why she laughed at Murphy's expense.

She told Natasha that she had been tossed into the mental facility without deserving it or needing it, which wasn't a lie. She told Natasha how Murphy enjoyed threatening her every chance he got. There were other things she told Natasha. But she never said a word about Wells or Rose, and sure as hell not about her daughter, Daniella.

Through all of her explanation, Clarke observed Natasha's face and eyes. Natasha's expression didn't change. Not even for a second, save for an eyebrow raising every now and then or a twitch of the corner of her lips.

Clarke had seen a lot of doctors that had learned how to keep their expressions neutral.

But no one like this woman.

Everyone had a cracking point. If this woman had one? It was very well hidden.

"That sounds very difficult," Natasha said, "I'm sorry. I wish you didn't have to live with that."

Clarke said dryly, "Yeah, well so do I. But that's what I've had to deal with."

Natasha looked like she was contemplating this. "Well," she said, "You don't need to worry anymore, Clarke. We are here now and we are here to make things better here. So, you won't have to worry. Murphy won't bother you ever again."

Clarke tried not to snort. She was very, very skeptical. She had heard promises like that before.

She just said, "Thanks, Natasha. Thank you for trying."

Clarke was about to turn back to her food, but before she did, she caught Natasha's new expression. She, for the most part, appeared neutral, but her eyes narrowed and for a second, Clarke thought the older woman looked sad.

Then Natasha got up and smiled. "Thank you for your time, Clarke," Natasha said, "I'll leave you to your food now."

Clarke tried not to think too much about that, as Natasha left the table and went back to the tables where the rest of the doctors were seated, watching the patients.

Clarke turned back to her food, but the talk between her and Natasha stayed in her mind.

She might have been calm the whole time, save for one thing. During the entirety of her breakfast, she had the feeling of eyes on her. She felt someone watching her the entire time.

It wasn't that she hadn't been watched before. It was a mental health facility. The whole point was that orderlies and doctors observed a patient so that patient wouldn't pose a danger to themselves or to others.

But she had never felt that watched feeling, the way she was feeling it right now.

It felt like there were eyes drilling into her back, it felt almost like a strange embrace around her. That was a weird comparison, but that was the closest she could think of conveying it, if anyone asked her.

But she tried not to think about it too much. Tried not to think about how the doctors had all looked at her while they had been in that lounge.

Tried not to think about how she only felt this watched feeling, when the new doctors had arrived at this mental hospital.

No, she wasn't going to think about that. Better to just ignore the feeling.

She ate her food, feeling watched the whole time, then went back to her room.

After she left the cafeteria, Natasha, Steve, Tony, Maria, Clint, Tora, Beatriz, Mari, Diana, Hela and the others all turned their attentions to each other.

"I believe now would be a good time to dispose of Mr. Murphy," Steve said, smiling pleasantly, his words betraying his peaceful appearance.

"Now's good a time as any," Tony said, "He's isolated and alone and locked away. It would be easy."

Carol and Felicia agreed to do the deed.

That afternoon, while John Murphy stewed in his anger and cursed, he heard the door to his cell clicking. He turned to the door, and was startled when he heard the locks turn. The door opened up, and he looked up from where he sat, seeing the two incredibly beautiful women come in.

"Well," Murphy sneered, grinning, trying to ignore the pain in his face, "Would you look at that. I didn't think that I was going to get laid today."

Both women smirked. Neither of them looked offended by Murphy's words of harassment.

"Oh, Murphy," Felicia said, as she and Carol came in and closed the door with a foreboding clanging noise, "You really shouldn't make jokes when you're not ready to be the punchline."

Something about what the woman who just had spoken said, or maybe how she said it, put Murphy on guard.

He then noticed something that made him jump up from his bed, sweat pouring down his face. Both women pulled out leather gloves and put those gloves on their hands.

He had only two seconds to express his suspicion, when both women lunged for him.

Clarke, back in her cell, put one of her paperbacks onto her lap and began reading quickly.

She didn't want to think too much about what had happened this morning. Best to distract herself.

She had been isolated most of her life. Isolated from people aside from her friend, Wells, by her mother, by Kane and by Bellamy., Octavia, Jasper, Miller and Raven.

Isolated from people after she had been put in this mental institution.

It was why she apologized so much. Because she always was told she was doing something wrong for just existing.

Always.

As much as she wanted an actual family that didn't verbally or physically abuse her in any way, and as much as she wanted friends or someone to fall in love with, not just a naïve teenage outburst of hormones, she doubted she would ever have all of that.

That was why her books and drawing supplies were such a comfort.

She read her book, allowing herself to be taken away into its pages.

She must have lost track of time, because it was about an hour later when Clarke had started hearing screaming.

Clarke had almost dropped her book when she heard the cries coming from down the hall.

What the hell?

What the hell was going on? She put the book down and got up off the bed, going to her door and opening it up. She stepped out and looked down the hall.

She saw a bunch of equally as confused appearing patients all over the hallway.

She saw one orderly, Phil Coulson, run to where to where Dr. Stephen Strange stood.

They were too far away for her to hear what they were saying to each other, and even if she was close to where they were, they were speaking to quietly for anyone to hear.

But whatever Coulson had said to Strange? It had disturbed Strange deeply. He stood up straighter and followed Coulson as Coulson started walking down the hall.

Clarke knew it wasn't her business, probably, but she couldn't help but follow after the doctor and the orderly both.

She went down the bright, sterile hallway, staying close behind both men.

When both men reached their destination? Clarke felt icy dread, unlike any she had felt before.

She saw a cell. One she recognized. It was Murphy's cell.

Despite there being multiple people passing through the doorway of the room, Clarke saw it. Now bare feet dangling above the bed, both feet looking stiff. Clarke's eyes trailed up the body of who the feet belonged to.

It was undoubtedly Murphy. His arms were dangling at his sides. His head was bowed. There was a rope around his neck, the other side of the rope taut and tied above Murphy, secured to the pipes that were far above Murphy. Murphy was dangling above the bed, stiff and dead.

He had hanged himself.

But even as she took this image in, horror spilling over her, she didn't know how Murphy could have hanged himself. The pipes? They were too far above a patient's room, so that no patient could potentially hang themselves.

So how could Murphy have hanged himself? Besides, it was Murphy! Even if he knew what a piece of shit he was, he'd never kill himself. Because that was just who he was. Knew he was a piece of shit, but wasn't willing to change. Knew he was a piece of shit, but he would never kill himself.

She shook her head, brain trying to make sense of this horrifying image.

As she began to back away from the room, she caught sight of the new doctors standing in the hallway, right to the left of her.

Clarke stared at the doctors, freezing, something in her brain clicking.

She remembered what Natasha said to her just this morning.

"You don't need to worry anymore, Clarke. We are here now and we are here to make things better here. So you won't have to worry. Murphy won't bother you ever again."

That had been what Natasha had said about Murphy. She had told Clarke this.

Clarke stared at the new doctors, especially at Natasha. Clarke stepped back, seeing how the new doctors looked at her, smirks on their faces.

Clarke saw the smirk on Natasha's face.

This was not a coincidence.

But why? Why would some random doctors come here and kill people? What did they get out of it?

Clarke whispered, "Who are you?"

She had whispered those words, and there was no way that could have heard what she had just said.

But they had.

She knew that, when Natasha said, stepping closer to Clarke, and Clarke fought the need to back away, despite her heart freezing over, "Who are we, Clarke? We're your answer, devushka. We're your protectors. After all, who do you think killed the Wallace family?"

Horror hit Clarke with fierce intensity. Her eyes widened. Oh, God.

None of this made sense. But between both the Wallace family dying and Murphy being hanged, when he'd never kill himself, she saw who was responsible. She didn't know why or how. But she knew who had done it. These people. They were killers. But why?

Clarke backed away as she whispered, "W…why would you do something like that?" She knew that they could hear her somehow, but she still needed to ask, despite the fact that they shouldn't have heard what she was saying.

"I would have thought that was clear, malen'kiy," Natasha said, smirk still predatory, "For you."

Feeling like a gallon of ice water had been poured all over her, she backed away slowly from the new doctors, from Natasha, Steve, Clint, Wanda, Maria, Tony, Diana, Mari, Tora, Beatriz, Felicia, Carol and the others. Away from their gazes following her.

Clarke turned the next corner, away from the murderous doctors and away from where Murphy had been murdered, feeling like her heart might just stop at any moment.

What was even happening right now? Why had these people done this? What did they mean for her?

Why kill the Wallace family and Murphy?

As Clarke's breath quickened in her panic, she desperately tried to think of a way to warn people.

But what could she do? She was a mental patient. The murderers of the Wallace family and of Murphy, were all doctors. Who would believe her over them?