Childhood
Chapter Three:
Childhood
She was a child.
She was a little girl.
She was a soldier—a weapon—before she knew what it was like to lay in the warm grass.
She was born into a world that was bleak, gray cement walls.
She was a child.
A two-year-old girl hooked up to wires and IVs. She was a test subject before she even learned what colors were. She was tested on, beaten, starved, and isolated before she knew what a friend was.
She was a three-year-old girl when her first tooth fell out. She didn't even know what the Tooth Fairy was. She was knocked unconscious by a soldier because she had cried, waking up from a nightmare. Little did she know that the nightmare didn't end in her dreams. They started when she woke up.
She was four when she learned how to read people's lips. When she realized that the soldiers' angry faces in front of her were trying to speak to her. Her world was always silent. Just images flashing before her eyes. She couldn't hear, she was in her own little bubble until the soldiers popped it with their fists and dirty smiles.
Alla was a child when she started living in the Soldat's quarters. At first, she was afraid of him. She was two, in her own cell, cowering in the corner. For years this went on. She'd cower in the corner when her cell door opened. The soldiers would do bad things to her. Things she doesn't want to think about anymore. Things that are unimaginable. She'd be bloodied, sore, tired, and fearful once they'd left.
She was no longer afraid of the Soldat. Not afraid of his metal arm. Not afraid of his scowl, or his glare.
Not since she's been living with the Soldat. He'd call her Alla. He'd coax her out of the corner, with promises of split apples.
Alla was three and a half when she lived with the Soldat. Daily, she'd be hooked up to monitors, to big screens. People in white lab coats. They'd scurry around the child with fiery red hair. The room bleak with one pristine white—bright—overhead lights. The walls were covered in diagrams of her body, its reaction to each IV.
Alla would wake up in the same room, the same blurry faces prodding at her body. She had welts, and red marks on her arms, legs, and abdomen from their injections. Sometimes, they'd burn. So much that Alla cried out. But no one would stop. She pleaded, her throat closing up. Days later, she'd wake up on her cot. The Soldat, in solitary confinement.
For years, this continued.
Alla hooked up to IVs, burning, searing, painful IVs. They'd inject her with blue vials, red vials, and glowing vials. Anything they had.
The blue ones were supposed to make her stronger. Alla didn't feel stronger. She felt more hungry. She'd eat all of the food that the Soldat and her would share. She'd eat the food like it was her first meal in years. Which, considering her circumstances, might have been right. The Soldat didn't protest. He'd rather Alla eat all the food he could get his hands on. He'd rather starve for days than see his little 'solnechnyy svet' starve. He'd do it any day. Every day, if he could. Sunlight.
The red vials, those... Those hurt the most.
Alla felt like she was being burned from the inside out. Her skin would burn up, and her temperature over a hundred and two. She'd throw up anything that was in her stomach. She could feel the bones in her body deteriorating in her body like they were being melted over a toasty fire. And she was the squirrel being turned over for food. For HYDRA and their benefits. She'd scream, cry, wail—anything to make them stop. She'd claw at the wires, pulling them out.
That got her a punishment.
The doctors would up the dosage.
She'd seize from the amount of serum they were giving her.
Alla would be turned onto her side as she seized. The doctors would have a scowl on their faces as if they were angered by her little cop-out, a "temper tantrum". They'd wait for her seizure to be done. She'd remember the pain the most. The searing, red pain that soared through her body.
She was left feeling exhausted like she had just died a painful death—like she was thrown into an incinerator, then plummeted into the Arctic Ocean over and over again. Then impaled with sharp knives with pointy tips over her body.
For years, she's been wheeled into the medical quarters, strapped to a bed since one of her last encounters. The Soldat was no longer allowed to be around her hours prior to her injections because of his past mistakes. Months ago, he was allowed to watch from a distance. A punishment of his specially picked. He'd refused to kill a child on his last mission.
The child looked too much alike Alla. He'd held the gun with shaking hands. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hesitated. God, it had been years since he hesitated.
Instead of killing the child who looked too alike to his own, he'd knocked the child unconscious, escaping the colorful house with pictures lining the walls, pictures of the child smiling broadly and the words 'Family' nailed up on the wall surrounded by more "happy" faces.
HYDRA had gotten word of his mistake. He had to pay now.
Pierce had been angry—fuming even. At the asset's defiance, Peirce had punished him by making him go "through the blender" once more.
Screams had filled the setting as the metal whirled around the asset's head, his arms restrained to the metal chair. It was like a throne, but not made for a king. Made to be used as a punishment. And this man was no king. He was a monster, a martyr. Used over and over again until he was nothing but a shell of a man. Someone who once was a person. But was never treated as such here. No, no monster deserved to be treated like a human, like a person. He was a monster, afterall.
A shell of what was once a man, had to watch his daughter be connected to IVs placed on her left and right forearms. Large welts beneath the creme medical tape keeping the needle's in place. His child with unruly copper hair was crying silently, letting out quiet whines and whimpers in protest. He watched as she shook her head as more doctors came up to her, flicking the needle expertly of a red vial before the doctor plunged the needle into Alla's upper arm.
She cried out in freight, thrashing as much as the bonds around her body would let her. She babbled in protest, shaking her head. Her face was as red as her curls, her blue and green eyes screwed shut.
The asset's heart broke. More like it shattered into millions of pieces. He fought the urge to pull all of the doctors away from her, to pull out all of the serums and IVs connected to her. His stomach dropped as the monitor that was constantly beating grew quiet, then blared loudly.
The doctors paused in horror, staring at the limp child strapped to the bed.
"What did you do?" The asset asked—he surprised even himself by speaking.
The doctors split off into different directions, one checking her pulse—even if it was no use, the monitor was beeping loudly to prove. One doctor began setting up some sort of oxygen mask, another unclasped the bindings over her chest and legs, pushing the small child onto her side.
There was foam leaking out of her mouth at an alarming rate. The Soldat could feel his heart stop in his chest. His eyes wide, no longer stuck in his mind, he was horrified to witness what's before him. He moved numbly, pushing through the doctors. Before he could move, there was pain.
The guard at the door was quick to stop the asset in his tracks. He used an electrified baton to crack over the asset's shoulder. The asset fell to the floor in pain, gritting his teeth. "What did you do?" He asked once more, weakly.
"Take care of this!" The guard shouted at the doctors, pulling the asset out of the room.
The asset flailed and protested, locking the guard in a headlock, before another guard came up behind him. The second guard used the electrified baton on the asset relentlessly. Heaving and gasping, the asset lays on the ground, his lip bleeding, his eyes bloodshot. "What did they do to her?" The Soldat whispers.
"That is none of your concern, Soldat. Get up." The second guard seethed, shoving the asset's shoulder.
The asset complies, feeling wave after wave of exhaustion and pain roll through his bones. He was so tired, so tired of fighting. But he had to keep fighting, he had to keep going for Alla. His little 'solnechnyy svet', his little ball of sunshine. Who happens to be laying on her side, seizing.
Alla was wearing "normal clothes'' for once. Or what HYDRA had deemed "normal clothes'' for her. She was given a mission. To take out the Widow and Captain. They were fugitives from Shield—which in code words means that they need to be eliminated in HYDRA's vocabulary.
She was told to blend in, to use her training from the Red Room to her advantage. Pretend to be a normal preteen girl in a busy mall. Avoid direct contact, but get them away from the busyness of the mall. Keep them occupied. Play them. Wrap them around her little finger and tie it with a bloody satin ribbon. Do what she does best. Play innocent, and then bare her fangs. Wrap them up in a spindle of webs like the Widow she is.
What else was her nine years of training at the Red Room was used for?
She pulled a orange and white striped long sleeve shirt over her head, her tactical vest and gear discarded on her cot behind her. She could feel eyes on her back—like usual—but she tried to ignore them. Rumlow was at her cell door, the bright greenish hue of light poured into her cell brighter than normal, painting the walls with a sickening hue of green instead of its usually dull gray. Her blue and green eyes were forward, intent on a hole in the wall, Rumlow to her left at the door.
"Are you going to leave me, or are you going to watch me undress even more?" Alla spoke in her native tongue, her Russian accent very prominent. This was a normal occurrence. Rumlow would wait at her door, watching her undress before she spoke up and asked him to leave. On good days, he'd leave. But today doesn't seem like a good day for Rumlow. Someone must have pissed him off. Maybe her Papa. Or the Captain. Alla wasn't sure who exactly. "Or are you pushing it a little today, Agent?" Alla taunted, rolling her head to her left slowly, her eyes hooded.
Rumlow scoffed, standing up correctly now that Alla was looking at him straight on. Before, he'd been leaning lazily on the cement doorframe, looking her up and down. "Nah, just get goin', Project Glory." Rumlow retreated into the hallway, leaving the cell door open.
Two other guards in heavy tactical gear were stationed on either side of the door. But Alla didn't see a point to escape. She'd be caught before she stepped foot out of her cell without permission. Alla straightened her spine, discarding her black cargo pants for a pair of too small dark blue jeans. Being how abnormally tall that Alla is, the cuff of the jeans landed at her calf, instead of resting at her ankle. It didn't matter much, she'd be wearing a pair of knee-high boots. For whatever reason. She could make this work though. She could take on the Captain and the Widow in these shoes—and in these too tight jeans. The only piece of clothing that fit Alla relatively well, was the hideous orange and white long sleeve shirt. It rested below her waist, covering her butt. Sighing, Alla tied up the brown boots very tightly, with an extra pull of anger, before standing at the door to her cell.
"I'm ready." Alla spoke in English, her chin up high.
* * *
A few hours later, Alla was brought to the Shield headquarters for the mission, to be briefed by Pierce. A graying old man with a temper, who always thought he was right. Alla never really liked the man. But she did as she was directed, as she was told. Like the good little Widow she was. Like the good asset she was—the perfect, cooperative Project Glory she was.
"You know your mission?" Pierce asked Alla, his face turned slightly to the left. He was too busy doing some other "important" task to even remember that Alla is deaf. Alla pieced together what Peirce said and responded with, "Yes, sir."
Pierce looked up at Alla with a rare smile on his thin lips. "Good." Pierce rounded his desk, Alla turned to face her superior before her. "You know, you remind me of someone," Pierce placed a wrinkled hand on Alla's cheek, moving down to her jaw.
Alla didn't react. Just kept her face blank. Eyes set on Pierce as he moved her head from side to side, assessing each and every feature on Alla's face. The scarce freckles that littered her cheeks and nose, her sea blue eye and forest green reminded Pierce of two different people. Her nose, however, reminded him of Natasha's. She had the same tipped nose, with a strong bridge. Alla was a spitting image of Natasha and the Soldat. "Come to think of it, you look like someone I know, too." Pierce hummed.
He didn't elaborate, insead let his hand move to her shoulder, giving it a gentle pat. "You know what to do." Pierce moved to the heavy door across the silver room, the silver tiles, and the gary couches. "Chop chop." He motioned to the open door where Agent Rumlow was waiting.
"The cars are ready, sir," Rumlow addressed Pierce, giving him a serious nod.
Rumlow looked worse for wear, a bruise forming on his jaw, his clothes disheveled. He also looked angry—pissed off even. Alla followed out the door, a funny feeling in her chest. Something she couldn't describe, like she was about to explode in anger, but also about to cry. She shook her head. A Widow doesn't have feelings. "Let's go." Rumlow rumbled pushing Alla forward down the wide hallway.
* * *
Alla was shoved between very sweaty and bloodied men in the backseat of some Shield SUV. They stank of BO, and had some pissy faces. Alla couldn't help but want to laugh. They all looked pathetic, they were grown men for god's sake! The man to her right was some sort of STRIKE operative who looked eerily familiar. The side of his face was covered in angry red scrapes from the tip of his receding hairline, to his clenched jaw. These men got their asses handed to them by the Captain, and Alla couldn't help but want to roll her eyes. Or scoff. She couldn't decide, maybe both. They were acting like babies, throwing a temper tantrum because their prized Soldier had figured something out about Hydra being a part of Shield.
Because of that, they'd lost one of their favorite toys.
That's their own fault, and they should figure it out themselves. 'They' being the STRIKE operatives and Alexander Pierce. Not Alla, and not her Papa. Not Project Glory.
What scares Alla the most about this situation, is how she's tired of doing Hydra's dirty work. Alla is Project Glory, she has no purpose in the world, and is only used to assassinate people. That's what she's made for. Not to become tired of killing people.
This is her life, for god's sake. And she has no say in what she does.
Alla lets out a controlled exhale as the Shield SUV comes to an abrupt stop. Rumlow craned his neck to the back, handing her a lousy pistol. "Remember, keep your distance." Rumlow instructed, a dark look on his face.
She wasn't scared of him. She wasn't scared of what he could do, or what any of these STRIKE operatives could do to her if she fucked up. Like she would anyway. She's Project fucking Glory. Hydra, and the Red Room's prized asset. She was untouchable. And even if she were, they'd have to answer to her Papa. And they'd regret it.
Alla nodded numbly, screwing up her face into a look of eagerness covering her face smoothly. She melted into her role of a pretten girl perfectly, climbing out of the car excitedly and slamming the door shut. She took off through the glass sliding doors, not bothering to look back.
Her mission was different from the Agent's mission. She was meant to gain intel, to be an innocent bystander and observe. Use her nine years of rigorous training to blend in, melt into person to person, gain abundance of information by just one look. On the other hand, the agents were here to take in the Captain with force. Even if there were civilians around, or in the way.
Alla made her way down the tan tiles, excusing herself between groups of people. She had a bright smile on her face and a pep in her step as her brown boots thudded almost silently on the tile. Alla ogled at the Lego store, standing beside another young girl, watching in the reflection as she saw an older man looking anxiously around his soundings.
Target acquired.
Not even five minutes in this place, and Alla got this shit in the bag.
Damn, these Shield Agents are shit at their job. A twelve year old fuckin' beat them to it. Now all Alla has to do is watch them from afar, make it seem like she was just another young preeteen spending her afternoon at the mall. Maybe her first trip to the mall without a supervisor. Lingering at the Lego store, Alla made up a story to go with her operative. A back story on who she is today. Why she is even at the mall by herself.
Well, Alla—"Nora"— just turned thirteen. (Alla could even pass for a fourteen year old with how tall she is. Being 5'2 and all.) So she snuck out of her house after school and treated herself to a trip to the mall without any adults, or anyone older than her telling her what to do. She felt free, even if she didn't have a dime to spend. Just walking around made her feel more grown up than she already is.
With that mentality, Alla bounced down the walkway passing by one of the many fountains. There were so many people milling about. Alla's eyes surveyed the people in colorful clothes, all carrying on conversations. To Alla, it looked as if they were puppets—or were they called muppets?—whatever they were, they looked like everyone was just flailing their mouths all over the place, along with their hands, carrying on enthusiastic conversations. Alla picked up her pace not seeing her targets for a moment. She acted like she wasn't paying attention when she made it past the fountain, right behind her targets. She tripped on her boots purposefully, letting her bodyweight slam into the person before her.
She let out a perfectly crafted squeak, and tumbled to the ground. She scolded her features into mock embarrassment. Alla could feel her cheeks growing warm as she fell on her hands and knees.
Alla looked up quickly, her neck craned up all the way. She stared at the man in front of her with a look of pure shock on her face. "Oh! I am so sorry—" She stuttered profoundly, her eyes wide. Alla made sure to use an accent to conceal her native tongue before she spoke.
The man, however, turned around to face her with a look of concern on his sharp features.
Exactly who she needed to keep an eye on. The Captain. Damn, she is good. She's got them fooled.
"Are you alright?" The man held a kand out to her, concern evident on his face. His blonde brows were furrowed as he took in her appearance. The young girl's copper curls were covering her face, she looked as red as a tomato, but had no injuries.
Alla nodded embarrassedly, taking his hand and standing up. His grip was strong, and she let him pull her up to her feet. "There you go," Alla saw the man's lips move as he squeezed her hand before letting go.
"Now, be careful, and watch where you're going." The Captain dismissed with a smile, looking around anxiously behind her. Alla could feel eyes on the back of her skull. Good, they see what I've done.
"I will, sir, thank you," Alla mumbles, pulling her lips into an innocent and timid smile, hiding her blushing face expertly behind her copper curls. "Have a nice day, Mister—oh, and Misses." Alla said as a farewell giving them one last smile and walking back towards the Lego store to throw them off their track.
Alla felt a woosh of air go past her. Her eyes followed the movement, she played it off as if she were looking for a certain store. It was the Captain and Widow, hiding in plain sight. They entered the Apple Store that was a few feet away from Alla, keeping their heads down. The Captain obviously didn't know what he was doing, and you could tell. Looks like he's not made for the under-cover missions, Alla thought as she entered the Apple Store a few paces behind them. The tables and tables full of metal boxes that people used on the daily. Alla stationed herself at a random table, labeled in bold letters IPHONE 6.
She picked up the phone, and struggled a bit. The device was anchored to the table, a chord connected to the back of it. The wire gave some slack, but not enough. Alla inwardly groaned. She wanted to use the camera for "selfies" as some teenergers would say, to keep an eye on the Captain and Widow behind her.
The twelve year old assassin moved from the display on the right of the room, to the tablet displays. From there, she could act like she was playing some sort of video game, and still be able to keep an eye on her targets.
She could feel her heartbeat thundering in her chest for a moment as her thoughts were all jumbled together. Alla knew what would happen to her if she failed. And she knew what would happen to her if she secudded.
If Alla failed this mission, it wouldn't be good. Her Papa would be punished for her doings. They'd lock her in her cell, Rumlow would have free reign on her—or some other Agent. Whoever wanted her could have her for a few days. She'd have to deal with—she was startled out of her thoughts, watching a blonde heavy-set man waltz over to the Captain and Widow, who were bent over a laptop. The older woman's expression was set in a straight line, her eyebrows furrowed. Her shoulders were set too. She looked ready to pounce—ready to split at any moment.
The long haired man conversed with the Captain feverishly, Alla took her opportunity to blend into the crowds and stationed herself at another computer behind the Captain and Widow. She watched from her peripheral as a map popped up on the Widow's screen, labeling Wheaton New Jersey as their target. Alla could feel anxiety bubble away. She finally knew what she was going to do.
The hooded Widow conversed with the Captain, a triumphant smirk on her lips. In a motion, the duo was on their way out of the store in haste. Alla fumbled with her computer. She had set up some sort of yous tube—Alla didn't bother to get the correct name of the website. It didn't matter anyway—video of cats making fools of themselves. She didn't bother to close out of the tab before slipping between a mother and her child blocking the exit. Alla took a moment to collect herself, shoving her thoughts deep in her mind, and pulled up the personality of Nora to the front of her mind.
'Nora' would want to make her way to Clares, and to Alla's astonishment, the Captain and Widow were passing by the store. She could make this work.
Alla picked up her pace slipping between person to person. She had to keep on their trail, to watch them. She watched as the two moved swiftly. It was like the crowd parted for them like the red sea. The Captain threw his arm around the Widow abruptly, bowing his head.
The Widow was not as bad undercover as Alla thought she was. She followed them all the way to the escalators, ending up a few people behind them. Alla was looking at the people around her. There were two STRIKE Personnel on the second floor moving quickly down the walkway, their eyes peeled. They were so stupid, Alla thought. Her eyes wandered around, widening as she saw the Captain and Widow...being intimate. She shuddered, the ghost of hands on her own body. She averted her eyes, only for them to widen even more.
Rumlow was coming up the escalator on her right. She felt the ghost of hands creep all over her body. She was frozen, like a deer in headlights. It was like her vision was flowing in and out, fooling her, making her think she was back in the cell, with his hands on her.
Alla exhaled shakaily, making herself calm down. Now's not the time to be Alla, she was Nora right now. Alla was just gathering information. No time to react, only observe, be Nora, for god's sake! Alla followed the Captain and Widow down the escalator as they moved, keeping her pace two people behind her, looking around in fake awe as she looked at the stores. She's really only looking to see if there are any STRIKE Personnel on their trail.
She needed the Captain and Widow alone.
