stoneheart ; 𝐭. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 , 𝟐

03 | always watching

january 2019

TIME HAD PASSED, that much she knew. The real question was, how much? How long had it been since she'd felt a cool breeze against her face, brushing the hair from her eyes? How long had it been since she'd touched the grass with her feet, the soft earth squishing beneath her toes? Too long.

It took everything in her to not bang her head against the wall, just hard enough to end it and take herself out of this misery. She knew she was strong enough to do it, if she really wanted to. And she did, she really wanted to. 

For days, she stared at the gray walls around her, nothing in her cell save a hard mattress and a bucket that they made her use as a chamber pot. It was barbaric, meant to humiliate her more than anything else. Despite the sour taste in her mouth at the medieval method, she fought to keep her face calm when her guards came in to empty and clean the bucket. 

Besides, thanks to her previously failed attempts at escape, she had no choice but to act calm. They were bringing guns in now. Not tasers, or clubs to merely render her unconscious, no. They meant business. If she didn't comply, they had no issue terminating her.

So much for Hydra's most precious asset. It seemed that Asset 53 was no more, leaving a nameless, pitifully broken woman behind.

Tony called me Jack.

It was the only thing that kept her from ending it all. A meager reason, but a reason nonetheless that she gripped tightly in her hand and refused to let go. Tony called me Jack.

She didn't think of herself as anyone, really. She didn't feel like she had a name, or deserved one. Not after all she'd done. Hell, she couldn't even remember everything that she'd done, but the dark, icy feeling in her gut that threatened to strangle her everyday told her enough. She was a monster, created to do monstrous things.

Although she knew nothing about herself, or where she was being kept, it would have been stupid not to try and escape. Break out of her cell and find her way out of this place. She had no idea what she would do after that; she couldn't even begin to imagine a sense of freedom. Her entire existence had been as a tool, a slave for kings and queens that needed someone to do their bidding. No questions asked.

There was one time when she tried to escape. It felt like ages ago, but it must have only been a month. Time blended together in this concrete cell, keeping her from knowing what year she was in, much less the time of day.

Something inside of her reminded her of the brutal force she used to be, in another life. Or was it the same life? There was no way of knowing; her mind was food for crows. Any image or thought in her head felt like it was tampered with, misconstruing whatever form of truth she might have known, once upon a time.

It was when four guards came in, emptying and cleaning her bucket, as well as giving her a glass of water and a slice of buttered bread. A pitiful meal, but more than what she had expected. They'd come in, two of them standing guard at the door, one emptying the bucket, the other tossing her food at her.

"Eat up, traitor," he'd snarled at her, in a language that wasn't English, yet she understood. She couldn't remember what it was, or why she knew it. Or why he called her a traitor.

There wasn't anything particularly exciting about her first attempt at escape. It was a routine procedure, one that had been happening each day for however long she'd been kept there. They'd made her stand against the far wall of her cell, facing the cold cement with her hands above her head. She wasn't permitted to turn around until they left.