ROMANOGERS: PAST TO PRESENT

Chapter Forty Three

Steve's POV

Natasha was eleven now. Two years had passed since the last I had seen of her. Things were different, her hair was longer, she was much taller, and her entire body was a machine of strong lithe muscle. The scenery had changed as well. Natasha was sitting in a large crowded room, the cafeteria from the looks of it. Dozens of other girls milled about talking and laughing with their friends but Natasha was alone. The clatter of a food tray sounded on the table and the sense of emptiness I had felt before was replaced with one of familiarity. The view shifted so that I could see a very familiar face. Bucky sat across from Natasha, the two looking surprisingly similar. They had the same long hair that dangled in front of their faces. The same calculated but suspicious stare. They both had slightly drooped shoulders hunched around their meals like at any moment someone would come steal their food. Bucky studied Natasha but didn't say anything. He didn't have too, his eyes had the fraction of a warm glint in them.

"Hey Bucky." Natasha greeted in a whisper. That was all she said but it was enough to get the corner of Bucky's mouth to twitch. A crowd of whispers had grown as the other girls took note of Bucky at Natasha's table. They snickered and by no means were they quiet.

"Haha look at her!"

"I heard she was a good manipulator but Bucky? How did she get him wrapped around her finger?"

"How else do you think? She's desperate. Classic outcast syndrome." Natasha's shoulders tensed at the remarks but she didn't say or do anything. Anger bubbled in my chest ever so slightly and I could tell by the crease in Natasha's brow she was struggling to keep her cool.

The world shifted yet again to show me dozens of training sequences.

Natasha was sparring three armed men. Knives glittered in their hands menacingly. Other girls lined the walls ,cut severly in multiple areas and bleeding profusely. Still they stood unmoving, watching enviously as the new comer was given the spotlight. The three men attacked her in unison and she dodged blades weaving in and out. She was deadly even at that age, but she was also a kid. One of the knives slashed her back and another scraped down her arm. There was no reaction on her end. By the end she was bleeding fiercly but was better off than the other girls. A girl who had the worst wounds. She swayed on her feet before collapsing to the ground. She died by bleeding out her body falling over on the mats in a pool of her own blood. No one moved to help her.

The next was of Natasha in a cramped room, hardly any objects inside. There was a table, a chair, and nothing else. A sort of vapor was seeping into the room and by the jump in my pulse I knew that gas was bad. Leaping into action Natasha moved about the room towards the door. She stopped to study the lock and cursed. Turning she scoured the room for anything that could help her get out. Slowly my eyes started to burn and my throat and nose screamed. Tear gas. Natasha choked gasping furiously for clean air before grabbing the chair and slamming it against the lock. The door jerked furiously but was still in tact. She did it again and dented the doorknob. After a few more swings the doorknob flew off the door and clattered to the ground. With a powerful kick Natasha escaped the room hacking and wheezing. I watched her fall to the ground gasping and shuddering before the image changed.

The next was of her being tossed into a clearing where a pack of wolves waited hungrily. The trainer stood nearby with a recorder to capture the moment. The wolves snapped and snarled angrily at Natasha. They surrounded her and leapt on her. Her skin was shredded like butter and she screamed and kicked. Pulling out her gun she shot one of the wolves and slammed her weapon into another. She fought back angrily and desperately. By the time the trainer called them off she was bleeding and shaking. Her clothes and skin were shredded. Natasha tried to stand but collapsed back into the snow. The trainer rolled his eyes in disgust and dragged Natasha by the arm back too camp where he selected the next girl. It was apparently a tradition, explained to me by the discussion of the other girls. Whoever lasted the longest amount of time won. Apparently there were dozens of casualties each year. After this it was a painful montage of horrifying tasks.