Hope you enjoy! TW: violence, blood, bullets and maybe needles mentioned
??? POV I’m lying on a padded bed. It’s a very comfy operation table for HYDRA. Normally it’s a cold, metal bench. I must have been evacuated from the building. Or maybe I hallucinated the whole thing; being in the middle of an attack, being shocked by my collar… hang on- my neck is free from its usual torture device. I must be wounded on the neck, or possibly I needed an injection… what horrors have I been given this time? Something to enhance my mind control? No. There’s none of the usual ache I get after being jabbed in the neck with a needle. My mind wanders, forming an image of a red haired woman, gentle, warm, scooping me up, carrying me to a ship… I was definitely hallucinating. My mournful life doesn’t have the hope of that fantasy. I peel open my eyes and survey my surroundings; I’m in a plain grey, clinical room, with hard flooring and two doors, one ajar, leading to the bathroom. The other must be locked. I check. Yep. Locked. No sooner have a sat back on my bed does a key click from the other side of the door. A man, sandy haired and well built, wearing a simple blue t-shirt, walks in. He moves towards me, leaving the door open; that was his first mistake. His second was not being on guard. I launch myself into a forward roll, sliding between his legs and racing out the door. This is not like any facility I’ve ever been in; all the adults normally wear white lab coats, or black uniforms if they’re guards, and the halls are all stone, not light blue. I speed past another room, briefly seeing a woman with gingery brown hair, a red man and a guy with a goatee, all looking up at me, out of the corner of my eye. I can hear the sandy haired man chasing after me. “A little help!?” He shouts, causing another pair off footsteps to join his. No time to look back. I race up a set of stairs, wincing at the pain rushing through my body, and out of a metal fire escape. I end up on a roof. Please be one story, please be one story… it’s not. There is at least 3 or 4. I can see there is not escaping. The man with the goatee grabs my arms and leads me back inside; I don’t resist. What’s the point? I end up in the room I passed on my flight through the corridor, where I am sat on a chair, facing the lady, weird red guy and my two pursuers. “What was that for, kid?” The goatee man asks me. I shake my head. “What’s your name?” I hesitate, before replying. What’s the harm? “Tilda.” “Well, Tilda, can you tell us anything about the people who you were imprisoned by? HYDRA?” I shake me head looking down. He moves towards me. I leap off the chair and back into a corner, memories of the facility clouding my mind. Tears fill my eyes and I slide to the floor, curling up, head buried in my knees. I hear a woman’s voice by my ear. “Your okay. We’re not going to hurt you, Tilda.”
