november 2018
HER EARS WERE ringing when she finally came to. Her eyes opened, but it didn't do much good, as her surroundings were pitch black, giving no clue as to where she was. It was completely dark, and the high-pitched ringing in her ears kept her from hearing anything else.
As she became more aware of her body, she felt a numb tingling in her legs that resulted from loss of circulation. Her legs had been folded underneath her awkwardly, and now that she was awake, they felt weak, uncomfortable, and useless. The same went for one of her hands, the hand that she used to push herself off of the cold, hard ground that jostled beneath her touch.
She didn't know much, but she knew that this was wrong. Everything about it was wrong, it was not supposed to be happening. But alas, she was not in control. She was in the dark, in a cage that moved, transporting her—whoever she was—to a new location.
Her hands reached out in front of her, trying any way and every way she could to get her bearings. Touching a cool substance beneath her, she felt the vibrations from the floor rise into her arms and shoulders. We're on the ground, she concluded, but we're moving.
In front of her, she discovered a broken barrier that, as she stretched her arms and felt around her, extended in a hard, barred cage that surrounded her. Above her head, only a few feet allowed her to stretch her limbs.
With a sharp pang in her gut, she put the clues together. She was trapped. Locked in a cage, transported like an animal. Helpless.
The darkness prevented her from seeing anything else. It was disorienting, this feeling of being suspended in an endless oblivion. There was nothing tethering her to her sanity, nothing but the jostling trip she was undoubtedly on. She had no idea if she was in a box, in a van, in a trunk, on a train. She had no idea where she was, or how big this space was. The darkness was stifling, a claustrophobic force that threatened to overtake her.
It was awhile until she found her voice. She'd plainly forgotten she even had one. Pulling her nearly-feeling legs underneath her to sit as tall as she could, she reached with her hands to grab onto the bars that kept her trapped. When she opened her mouth the first time, no words came out. Just a pathetic, wheezing sound that echoed in the silence. She tried again. "Hey," she managed, her voice dry and hoarse from lack of use. "Hey, w-where am I?"
"Hey, be quiet."
She hadn't been expecting a response. Despite her hope that there was someone here with her, the actual response had startled her, jolting her heart and setting it at a blistering pace. The voice was close, too close. She couldn't see the speaker, but they were there. The uncertainty of anything outside of her cage frightened her, and she quickly scrambled back from the bars, hitting her back on the far side.
With the bars biting into her spine, she swallowed roughly. "Where are you taking me?" She whimpered. "W-who are you?"
This time, a different voice. Another man, she could tell, but a stranger's voice, all the same. "Shut the traitorous bitch up, dude."
There was a rustling sound as someone stood up. Her hands tensed on the floor of her cage, her legs folded up towards her chest. In the safety of her cage, she struggled to feel a shred of comfort.
A blinding light flicked on, too fast for her eyes to adjust. Next thing she knew, a dark object was coming down at her head, colliding with her face, making the darkness complete—
—————
"Why'd you have to hit her that hard? She weighs a ton."
"Hey, would you have rather seen her figure out where we're taking her?" A pause. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Then we'd have the Chancellor's foot up all of our asses."
Her eyes were open, but only for a few moments at a time. They hardly saw anything, though. The stark contrast to the previous darkness was obvious. Instead of black, all she saw was white. Covering everything, everything that she could see...
Time had passed, but the scenery had not. The white surroundings were the same, but this time, as she looked down where her feet should be, there was a trail of red that dotted the ground. Her feet followed, trudging in the white substance—snow, her consciousness reminded her. She could fell the snow on her feet, but they were not walking. She was being dragged, a sorry excuse for carrying.
And the trail of red was perpetual, never-ending as it dripped from her nose.
—————
She didn't know how long it was after that. She didn't know when she woke up, or where she was, or when she was. The only control she had, the only shred of control she clung to with her life, was her emotion. She kept her face steely, refusing to share any bit of fear or desperation to whomever was surrounding her. Standing against a wall in a gray room, she closed her eyes to center herself.
"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," a nasally voice spoke, alerting her of someone else's presence. Her eyes opened, and she stared into the face of a man she didn't recognize, but whose name she did. "I'll make this easy for you," he said, a small smirk on his thin lips. "There's only one ending to this tragic tale of your life, 53. Do you want to hear it?"
She dared not open her mouth and give him an answer.
He made a tutting noise, pursing his lips. "Such disobedience may have been tolerated by my father, but the same will not be true with me," he warned. A humorless chuckle forced itself from his lips. "Even my brother was too soft with you, letting you run amok and get yourself into...trouble." The disgust with which he spoke was plain.
Who is he talking about? She asked desperately in her own mind, fighting to keep her expression neutral. His father? His brother?
"Your stay with us will no doubt be..." he licked his lips. "Memorable," he finished. Then, "It would be a downright shame if it were to be cut short, say, with a knife to your throat?"
He moved quicker than she was able to comprehend it. With one hand against the wall behind her, he lifted a dagger and pressed it to her throat, poised and ready to thrust it into her neck, pinning her to the wall.
She swallowed roughly, the only movement that gave her assailant a clue to her discomfort, her anxiety, her fear. But that one movement allowed for the point of the dagger to pierce her soft skin, drawing blood. She tried to ignore the feeling of a warm droplet of blood trailing down her neck.
The stranger let out a raucous laugh at that. "I was only kidding, 53," he said, stepping back and extending his arms to the sides in a grandiose show of what he, no doubt, thought was kindness. "There's no need to be concerned. I wouldn't kill the most valuable asset Hydra's ever seen."
Her eyes were trained on the dagger that still hung loosely from his hands. If only I could wrap my hands around the hilt, use it to cut him neck to belly, and get out of here, she thought hurriedly.
But he had other plans. He saw her gaze on the knife, which gave him another laugh. "You want this?" He dangled it in front of her eyes, and though she wasn't restrained by any means, she knew she couldn't trust herself to grab it and fulfill what needed to be done. Instead, she just stared at the metal glinting in the light of the room. "That's what I thought," he sneered, dropping his hand and reaching out with the other.
His cold hand grazed her cheek, cupping it as a lover might do. Her chest tightened at the familiarity of the gesture, though his hands were always much warmer. Calloused, rough, but warm.
"Such a sad story, isn't it?" He said softly, his thumb brushing her skin. It took everything in her not to jerk away from his cold, slender fingers. "My father made you. My brother broke you." He leaned closer, his deep brown eyes staring into her own. "Remember this, 53. Ethan Thompson will remake you." His hand caressed her hair while she felt the dagger on her body again, this time at her stomach, just underneath her last rib, ready to be shoved into her heart. "I will fix you," he said with the utmost sincerity.
He remained there for a few seconds in silence, just staring at her as if waiting for her to move. When she didn't, he stepped back, flipping the knife easily in his hands. "I hope to see you soon, 53," he smirked. "I hope you enjoy your stay."
She hadn't even noticed that this room had a door until he walked out of it. When the door slammed, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, sinking to the ground. Her legs were shaky, threatening to give out underneath her. Her mind was racing, going over everything she was told. She hardly had enough memories to understand it all, but the speaker's name was familiar. She couldn't figure out why, but she knew that it should have been something she knew.
And that fleeting memory of him, of his hands against her skin, so gentle and unassuming, it awoke something in her that she'd forgotten existed. It was one light bulb, fifty miles away in the darkness of her mind, but it was enough to read the fine print in the back of her brain.
My name is Jacqueline, she remembered, but Tony called me Jack. And I will not go quietly into the night. I will persist, I will rebel, and I will win.
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there's the end of chapter one! what do you guys think?
it's day four of quarantine, and i'm really not having a great time. i want to be at school, and i want to see my friends.
march 20, 2020