Julya Kuznetsov is a weapon. That's all she's ever been. That's all she'll ever be.
But when the Red Room sends her to work for Hydra and she's forced to work with the Winter Soldier, what will change and what will she discover about herself?
Part o...
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Killing me slow, out the window I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes What doesn't kill me makes me want you more -Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift
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February 16th 2007 Siberia, Russia
"Here's where you'll be staying." a guard shows me to a heavy-duty metal door. Pierce has long since disappeared, he wasn't even on the jet from the Red Room to here- wherever here is. The courtesies and respect that were shown to me back in Dreykov's office clearly aren't going to become a regular thing. Not that I'm surprised, nor disappointed. Respect isn't something I've accustomed myself to, so I don't crave it. "The asset will be back soon. You'll stay in here with him until you're needed." he heaves the heavy door open and I willingly walk inside, before having the door slammed shut behind me.
I suppose this is going to be my home for the 'foreseeable future'.
It's a windowless room, the only light source being a barely functioning light hanging from the ceiling. One cot sits on the far side of the room, a thin and itchy-looking blanket crumpled upon it. Across the room from that, is a small, slightly hidden alcove, with a metal sink, bucket, and toilet. A bathroom of sorts- how generous.
As for decoration, the only thing even close to it is a collection of dents in the wall, where it looks like someone's punched it. Cautiously, I take a seat on the cot and glance around, wondering how I'm supposed to share this room with someone else.
For a while longer, I wander around, doing absolutely nothing, until the door swings open. A man walks in, his face void of emotion and his body stiff as a board. The door slams shut behind him and he doesn't even note my existence. I furrow my brow looking at him, but when he makes absolutely no movement, I perch on the edge of the cot.
I'd estimate that he stood in almost a trance, unmoving, for a solid half-hour. Finally, he walks over to the cot I'm sitting on and glares at me, "Move." he commands, surprising me with an American accent.
"Nice to meet you too." I scoff, staying put. He stays stood, glaring at me; I stand up and hold out my hand, "I'm Julia."
"I don't care." he says, stepping around me and sitting down on the cot.
