What Matters {B.Barnes Daughter} ✔️

~Twenty-Six: Trust~

Lizzie gasped, blinking her eyes open frantically. She was panting, as if she couldn't get enough air into her lungs. Her eyes were darting wildly around the room, and they suddenly landed on a large figure sitting in front of her.

She was strapped into an angled chair, and couldn't move any of her limbs. The blonde, muscular man seated in front of her was arranging syringes on a metal table, seemingly looking for a particular one.

She furrowed her eyebrows as she studied the man's features; his bright blue eyes, frightening build, and his strange attire all led her to believe one thing.

"Loki..." she started hesitantly. "You're Loki's brother."

The man furrowed his eyebrows, keeping his eyes fixated on the tray in front of him. "Who's Loki?"

Lizzie, mouth slightly agape, posed another question. "Well, if you aren't his brother, who are you?"

The man shook his head. "No one."

"Who were you, then?" she asked gently, somewhat tentative.

"Someone," he answered, picking up a large, liquid-filled syringe. With no further delay, he grabbed Lizzie's arm and plunged the syringe into it, and she let out a yelp.

"God," she hissed, exhaling heavily. "W-what are you going to do to me?" she panted.

"I am going to do nothing to you," said the man, standing up. His stature was intimidating, and he towered over Lizzie by at least four feet when she was sitting, and most likely more than a foot when she was standing.

"What's your name?" Lizzie called as he began to walk out the door.

He stopped in the doorway, pondering her question with deep thought. After a moment, without any glance or word towards her, he strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Lizzie sighed, aimlessly trying to free herself from the leather restraints that bound her. She soon found it pointless, and let out a frustrated groan as she ceased her resistance.

The room she was in was made of cement walls, plastered into small, heavy bricks that made up the structure. It reeked of mold, and the various syringes and instruments hung around the room from nails dug into the bricks haunted her.

Suddenly, the door was thrusted open, and four men in white lab coats entered, a tray of instruments in each of their hands.

Lizzie tensed, taking in a deep, shaking breath.

"It is time now, Miss Atkinson," one of them said, sitting in a chair beside to where she was restrained. "It is time now to unlock your true powers. You will make the perfect weapon for HYDRA."

"I will never work for you," she snarled, shaking her head.

"You have no choice," he said, filling a syringe with a thick, black liquid.

Before Lizzie could make a word of protest, he stabbed the needle into her neck, and she let out a cry.

Then, like a light, she was knocked out cold.