The wall makes a soft, yet piercing scratching sound as i etch another notch on the wall, starting a new set of 5 underneath the many more above it and to the left of it.
Notch 2416. 2416 days in this hell hole. They've carved out most of me already, experimented and trained me to be a monster. Yet i always feel the need to do this, it etches like the scratcher on the wall at the back of my brain. This one little thing each and every day at 6.30am. Sometimes i'll wake up and look down to the end of my rack, crawl down the end and look to make a new scratch, and there will be more than i remember making, the record i have so far is 21 days.
'No!' i tell myself, 'you are stronger than this you pathetic girl!' The Seer's words, my masters and trainers words, pierce behind my eyeballs. etching itself like my scratcher again. So i look away from the wall, this pathetic wall, this pathetic habbit, and pathetic weakness.
'Weakness's and habbits will kill you. You make them, you will die.' The Seer's encrypting and enticing words make my ears ring, so i do what i have to: Stand up, and go through with my routine, I dress while I run through the day.
For a young girl, barely 7 years old, 6.6 in fact, i have an extrodinary vocabulary, and memory.
On my third birthday, my father gave me up to this place, this hell hole, this nightmare, and ever since i've been their lab toy, student, agent-in-training and more.
I remember the red-haired lady, mummy, she was a nice lady. The black-haired man though, daddy, wasn't nice. i remember seeing he hit her once, when i crept out of bed, and i used to hear her cry a lot downstairs too, while glass shattered. On my third birthday though, he hurt her bad for cooking a cake. I remember my birthday simply because mummy told me it was 'our little secret' and at that time the main thing in my life, but daddy came home early, and all i remember is the red stuff blending with her hair really well.
Now however, now its been 2416 days since March 14, 1987. In other words, its June 17th 1996.
I guess this little...... routine, shall i say, does have some use, or an impact if you like, on my lifestyle. I keep track of the days, how much i've trained, i don't rely on technology - or anything to help me out and one day, one day i can say it took me this long, to become russia's best assassin and spy. The worlds best assassin and spy.
Because thats what i was born to do, to serve my country, and act in favour of HYDRA.
The bell rings. The cell door that locks me in my quaters slides across the wall with a hideous clanking and grinding sound which i dislike very much, especially since it opens 50 others simultaniously, allowing me and the other students out of their quarters.
But its just another day, day 2416, i still have many more to go, and as i march down the corridor to the mess hall to be given my rations and start my days training and education, the scratching of a new day stays imprinted on the frontal lobes of my brain.