happier // avengers au

CH. ONE

     Anastasia's feet drag behind her as she is escorted back to her room. It's not so much a  room as it is a cell down at the end of a long stone hallway. The last door in a row of ten.

Usually she's strong enough to walk back to her room with only one agent on her arm but after today's experiments she is left unable to stand. Her eyelids are heavy and her face bent down, stretching her thin neck until she is too groggy to feel the pain.

Her veins are burning and her head feels like someone is trying to split it open with a shovel.

She doesn't look up as they start down the hallway and pass nine steel doors. She's been up and down it enough to picture in her mind what each cell contains.

A few of them are empty where children have died. A couple hold children whose days are numbered because the experiments have muddled their brains too much to be of any use anymore. The rest contain small, shivering bodies huddled on cots, waiting for sleep to consume them so the sun can warm the cold, stone walls.

They say the cold makes the children stronger, more resistant for when they eventually finish training and are sent on missions, and Anastasia has no choice but to believe them. Despite clinging to what memories of her parents that she has, she has no substantial evidence that the world outside the facility is any different. Any easier.

The cold used to make her sick, but now it's the food that does it. They're only given enough food to survive. Another thing to "strengthen your resistance and push your limits", she supposes.

She wonders if they might let her sleep longer, maybe award her with extra food in the morning for surviving another night after such a grueling experimentation session with Valkov.
The notion is dashed from her head when she is dropped on her cot and the heavy door locks loudly behind her, eliciting a screech from down the hall.

She learnt long ago that HYDRA does not deal in rewards, but in punishments.

Anastasia's limbs feel like stone when she tries to peel herself off the cot, and the simple motion of standing leaves her slumped against the wall, gasping for breath. She almost doesn't reach under her cot for the stray shard of glass hidden there, her bones begging her to rest and not be asked anymore exertion of them, but a glance at the wall spurs her on.

It's covered in small lines painstakingly etched unto the stone with the glass. She counted them before; this one should be the 913th tally mark. That doesn't even span back to when she first arrived - she only found the glass 2 and a half years ago. It's hard to say how long exactly she's been here. They never say what day it is.

Her fingers scream at the effort it takes to etch stone, not to mention the drugs luring her to the realm of sleep, but she presses on.

When the glass is hidden again, Anastasia's knees give out and she has to drag herself into her cot with only the strength of her arms.

It's dark in her room when the lights in the hall go off. It doesn't take long for her eyes to adjust anymore, but they are closed halfway by the time she can see all four walls again. It's a small room, only about six feet by six feet. Claustrophobic for an adult but okay for a child.

It seemed smaller in the beginning.

Anastasia's body aches for sleep, but before she can find solace in the silence, a loud alarm  blares from outside. The same child starts to scream down the hall, but the sound of footsteps, a large door unlocking, and a gunshot silences it.