[Quinn]
Drip. Drip. Drip.
My body wracked with shivers as my back pressed against the cold, damp wall, water seeping through my thin shirt. I feebly attempted to wrap my arms around my torso to conserve body heat, but I knew it was no use. The shackles on my wrists wouldn't allow it; my arms could only move so far before the chain connecting them to the wall would snap them back, the cool metal biting into my delicate skin.
I was chained to a wall, my arms extending to either side of my head. My ankles were also shackled, but the chains were long enough to allow me to sink to my knees on the dirty, concrete floor.
Drip. Drop.
My eyes traced the cracks in the concrete, searing every little detail of the paper thin crevices into my mind.
Drip.
The echoes of water falling from somewhere in the room reverberated through my dark, concrete, prison, reminding me of how thirsty I was. I couldn't remember the last time I had something to eat or drink. A few days? Only hours? It was impossible to tell from down here.
Suddenly, the only door in the room swung open, its rusted hinges shrieking in protest. A figure stepped into the room, then flicked a light switch and turned on the only source of light in my room, a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, its wires exposed.
After a few flickers and a soft buzzing, the bulb was illuminated with dull, yellow light. I cringed as spots danced in front of my eyes from the unexpected onslaught of brightness.
I continued to stare blankly at the floor as footsteps came towards me, the sound echoing with every step. Black loafers, shined to perfection, paused in front of me. I didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Rough, calloused fingers tightly gripped my chin and forced me to look into a pair of dark, cruel eyes. I glared at the man in front of me.
He pulled something from his pocket. A syringe, filled with a murky amber liquid. I blanched. Not again I whispered in my mind. My eyes followed the syringe as the point of the needle was positioned on the side of my neck.
"Now, Talia, let's try this again. Last time it only lasted for a few minutes because your mind was able to break away from the effects of the serum. This time, it will last longer and the hallucinations will be more vivid. As will be the pain." I could hear the cruel, sick smile in his voice.
I struggled as he started to jab the needle into my neck.
"Sweet dreams, daughter."
He injected the liquid, and my veins turned to ice, then slowly started burning, on fire. I convulsed as the serum took effect, blurring my vision and muffling all sound. Everything went black and my body became rigid as I fell into the realm of my nightmares and worst horrors.
The last thing I heard was a chilling, savage laugh.
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Gasping for air, I shot up in bed. The white sheets were tangled around my legs, preventing much movement. Taking a shaky breath, I dropped my sweaty forehead into my clammy palms, trying to calm down. Once I wasn't on the verge of a panic attack, I glanced at the digital clock beside my bed. 7:00 A.M.
I knew there was no use trying to go back to sleep. I was used to only having a few hours of sleep due to my recurrent nightmares. It was then that I realized how hungry I was. How long has it been since I last ate something, a day?
I put my Phantom clothes on, not including my fingerless gloves. I put those in a pocket inside of my jacket because I would wear those for training. Scowling, I ran a hairbrush through my hair, detangling it. Why do they even bother calling it training when it's actually a test to see how good I am at fighting so they can classify if I'm a threat?
Smirking, I walked to the door and then pulled my hood up. If I'm a threat to them, so be it. I'm not going to give it my all, but I'm certainly not going to hold back. Well, except for my energy, because I don't want to turn into another human experiment.
I stepped into the cool metal hallway. The lighting was a bit dim since the only things that illuminated the hallway were tiny circular bulbs in the ceiling and above each door. I glanced at the bedroom door beside mine that Captain America stayed in. After a few seconds of pausing, I assumed that either he was asleep or out of his room.
I turned and made my way down the hallway. My feet, even though I was wearing combat boots, made no noise as I walked. It's become a habit of mine to always walk with an extremely light tread, it helps when sneaking up on people or going unnoticed.
Since I didn't want to take the elevator, I decided I would try a door beside the elevator that I hoped was a staircase. Twisting the doorknob, I discovered that it indeed led to a set of stairs. I was about to climb up them when I saw shadows creeping around the corner of the stairs, accompanied by the dull, echoing thuds of footsteps.
"Are you sure there is enough security on this level? We still don't know what she could do."
"Yes, sir. We installed another set of cameras further down the hallway so we can see if anyone is snooping around."
The first voice belonged to none other than Vincent Crowe, and it sounded like he was talking to an agent. I didn't know what they were conversing about, but I had a feeling their topic of interest was me.
The footfalls grew louder and the shadows grew as the men approached closer to where I was. Seeing as I had no where to hide, the smart thing to do would be to slip out the way I came. If they saw me, it would raise suspicions. I didn't need a whole team of agents on my tail, watching my every move.
Soundlessly, I crept out the door and shut it as softly as I could, then made my way to the elevator and pressed the up button. The shiny, chrome doors slid open and I stepped on, then they closed just as the two men made their way out of the stairwell, not noticing me.
Not knowing where the mess hall was (because surely they had one- how would they explain to a Chinese food takeout guy why there was a top-secret military compound outside of New York City?) I pushed the button for the main floor and watched as it lit up. A floor or two before I reached my level the elevator stopped. I scowled. Great, I'm going to have company.
Tony Stark, wearing a casual outfit of dark jeans, a light gray-blue T-shirt, and an unbuttoned charcoal blazer, that in all probably cost more than a small car, strolled in.
"Well, looky what we have here! It's Little Miss Dark-and-Depressing! How are you on this wonderful, sparkly morning?"
If looks could kill, this man would've been stabbed, beaten, and hit by a bus multiple times already. Too bad he can't see my expression from under my hood.
"I'm guessing you're going to the mess hall, correct? Floor 1, I'll accompany you."
Since I had already chosen floor 1, the elevator continued to rise. It came to a stop, and I was the first one off, wanting to get out of the small metal deathtrap that always seemed too crowded. Stark showed me to the mess hall, which was a normal cafeteria if you excluded the fact that all of the workers who were eating and chatting wore an earpiece and a gun holster. I walked to the breakfast line and grabbed a random muffin out of the pastries and a water bottle in a station a few feet away, then made my way to an empty table in the back. To my dismay, after gathering his food, Stark smoothly slid into the chair across from me at the table, then propped his legs up.
"So," he paused after chewing on a piece of bacon. "I never got to formally introduce myself. Tony Stark. Playboy, billionaire, philanthropist. Oh, and don't forget genius."
I took a bite out of my muffin, finding that it was blueberry.
"Quinn. Vigilante, dangerous, takes-no-shit. Oh, and don't forget can-kick-your-ass-any-day."
At that moment, Clint Barton slid into the seat next to Stark, a slight smirk on his face, probably having just heard our conversation. I popped the rest of the muffin in my mouth and took a swig of water as Stark chuckled.
"Man, I sure am glad we have someone on the team who actually has a sense of humor." He sent a pointed glance towards Barton. "But I wouldn't be too sure about that last part, sweetheart." His grin grew because he knew I was glaring at him.
As Barton began eating, he sent a quick look at me. "Aren't you going to eat more? You're going to need more than that to get through today's training."
"Not hungry." I answered, my tone clipped. The truth is, I haven't been truly hungry since I was locked in my basement for a year and tortured. After what I've seen, I don't think my appetite will ever come back.
"Well," Stark said, lacing his fingers behind his head, "we have some time to kill before we have to report to training. Want a tour?"
Since I had nothing better to do, I shrugged and gave a small nod. Getting the layout of the compound could actually help me. Standing, I walked behind Stark who had finished his breakfast and was currently patting his mouth with a napkin. A quick glace down told me that only the two back legs of his chair were touching the gray-tiled, linoleum floor as he leaned back in his over confident, cocky manner. I took this chance as I walked by to swiftly hook the tip of my boot around the back of his plastic chair leg, then sharply tug forwards.
Stark started in surprise as his chair tipped backwards, hitting the ground with a loud thunk. The eyes of the agents turned towards us as they surveyed the scene; many looked amused at Stark's current situation, including Barton.
"Be sure about that last part, Stark." I quipped as I stalked out of the room, thinking about our earlier conversation. The scraping of the chair against the linoleum filled the room. In a fluid movement, I deftly turned and caught the water bottle that was aimed for the back of my head, having been thrown by Tony.
"You forgot your water!" He called from behind me.
I threw the half empty bottle into a nearby trash can and waited for Stark. The hallway was bustling with agents and workers. A scientist could be spotted here and there in the crowd, their crisp white coat a speck in the sea of black.
The doors behind me swung open, and Stark sauntered into the hallway.
"Now let's take that tour, shall we?"
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"And these are the labs!" Tony Stark announced with a flourish, gesturing to the large, pristine, white room. He had taken me around and had shown me the air hangar where all of the fighter jets, choppers, and stuff of the like were stored, the warehouse where all of the terrain vehicles were kept, the weaponry, the gathering hall where large meetings were held, and many more places within the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound. Trust me when I say they have everything, and then more. Now, he was showing me around the labs, where he and Dr. Banner spend most of their time (even though Tony pointed out he preferred his private lab at home).
Scientists in lab coats scurried about, taking notes on small vials of liquid and examining charts and papers, occasionally sparing us a glance.
"Bruce has his own lab in a separate building not far from here, and that's what I usually use when I'm here for Avenger reasons. Come on, I'll show you. Bruce could use some company, even though he won't show his appreciation to us for coming. He's a bit of a loner, but really he's just a big softie. One that can turn into a giant green thing and rip you to shreds, but nonetheless a softie."
He sounds charming.
We walked outside in the chilly air on a series of concrete walkways until we reached another building. It looked similar to the others with its concrete walls and metal doors, but it was only two stories high and the second story was mostly made up of wide windows.
Stark opened the doors and we entered, the warmth of indoors hitting me the instant we stepped in.
"Bruuuuuce!" He called, his voice echoing in the fluorescent-lit room.
"Up here!" A voice from above answered. We ascended a tall, spiral staircase to the second floor. As I walked, I observed my surroundings. Machines lined the walls, monitors flickered and beeped. The top floor was the same, full of technology that probably cost millions, if not billions, of dollars. Which seemed to not be a problem for S.H.I.E.L.D.
Dr. Bruce Banner sat at a desk that faced the large windows. He glanced up from the computer screen he was studying intently as we entered the room, giving a small grin at Tony and a nod at me.
"Quinn, was it?" Banner asked, removing his glasses from the bridge of his nose and placing them in his shirt pocket.
I nodded and continued my silent observation of the room, my eyes lingering on the equipment.
Stark sat down in a spinning desk chair and swirled his way over, acting in his characteristic childish and mischievous way.
"She doesn't talk much. Mostly nods." He swiveled his way over to me, and then spun around me in a circle.
"She's the strong, silent, gloomy and depressed type. Hence the the lack of color in her wardrobe and the creepy hood."
I repressed an irritated scowl and Banner rolled his eyes, returning to typing on his computer.
"Sadly, you get used to him after a while. Doesn't mean he's any less annoying." Banner said.
Now it was Stark's turn to roll his eyes. I looked out the window and saw S.H.I.E.L.D fighter jets streak across the sky, probably a training routine.
"Almost time for training, Quinn. We should be making our way down there. Fury gets grumpy when we're late. See you in a bit, Bruce!"
Banner didn't look up from his work, just nodded absently.
As we walked out of the lab, Stark turned to me.
"By the way, Fury wants all of the Avengers to watch you fight. See how good you are, your tactics, catalogue if you're a possible threat, etc."
"I better give him a show then."
Stark grinned. "That's the spirit. Show him that you can fight to match your kick-ass attitude. By the way," he glanced at me as we strolled outside by the various compound buildings to get to the main building. "You probably shouldn't trust Fury, not many of us actually trust him fully, including me. His secrets have secrets."
"What was your first clue, the trench coat or the eye patch?" I asked dryly.
Tony chuckled. "I was thinking it was more of the 'I can send people to kill you in your sleep' vibe, but that's just me."