Partners in Crime

You swear that your final walk through the building was the slowest, most dread-filling few minutes, each step you take increasing the distance between you and her.

You try to bring to the forefront of your mind the girl who you had left behind, no, who they had taken you from. The mesmerizing jade irises that you could’ve gazed into for hours if ever given the opportunity, but they had told you not to, that connection like that only brings weakness and pain. You still managed to steal fleeting glances though, and that had to be enough.

You wonder if she’s thinking of you now, the same way you’re thinking of her. If she’ll miss you even as the inevitable days, weeks, years will come to pass. Or if she’ll forget, either by choice or by force.

What does it even matter?

It did matter though, it mattered to you; if she held on to your memory for as long as she could before it faded away. It would mean that she had cared, that she might still even after your departure and the only thing that you cared about was her.

Your eyes flit from the floor, to the walls, to the numerous doors you pass, many of which separate the halls from the unspeakable acts being committed behind them.

This leads you down another train of thought, still regarding a certain redhead that, you were hoping, was still in a room on the floor above you. What would happen to her now that you were going to be gone? You knew how much she relied on you, as did you on her, but this place had a knack for shutting people down, for hollowing them out until they were merely a shell of the soul they used to be. You had always had each other to go back to, using the other as a lifeline to tie yourselves to humanity, to the light, but if she looked for a savior now she’d only be met with your ghost.

There was no doubt in your mind that she was dealing with the fallout of your actions now, vulnerable to the hands of one angry handler, or multiple if they were feeling extra spiteful. You bite down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood at the thought of her going through the beatings and conditioning alone. You had a pretty good idea of exactly how they were going to punish her for showing emotion, for loving you. It made you sick.

You didn’t have much time to let your mind conjure up any of those awful images though because you had made it to the waiting vehicle outside, the man escorting you motioning for you to get in the driver’s seat as he walked around to the passenger side.

You comply, not really having much of an option here, sliding into the seat behind the wheel. He was going to make you drive yourself to your own doomed fate, his willingness to let you control a vehicle with him inside telling to how much faith he placed in Petrovitch’s training. It’s disappointing to admit to yourself that it held fast, that the ideals instilled deep within your being were unbreakable.

You had been raised to have no opinion, to always please your superiors, to be a weapon and a machine, and despite the occasional reprieve that Natalia gave you from this mindset, it was still your default mode of operation. This was made apparent as he barked out a set of directions, you moving to follow them as you sped away from the academy.

The drive isn’t far, just out to the middle of a plain that appeared as if it had gone untouched by man until your arrival; nature evident in the surrounding landscape. Fitting how the first people to mark this place, to disrupt the peace for the first time in a long while would be liars and killers. Sitting in the clearing was a jet, one that would complete your journey and take you to your final destination.

Seeing it made you wonder just how far these people would go in letting your leash loosen a bit before they inevitably yanked it tighter and closer. Even if you weren’t going to make a run for it or move against them, letting you stay awake and alert was dangerous enough. At some point they were going to have to knock you down, you were just left in the dark as to when that was.

You didn’t have to wait long to find out as you felt a telltale prick in the side of your neck and the drowsiness that followed soon after. You were being moved far enough to warrant a jet, yet you doubt that you’ll ever find out exactly where; and that’s the last thought you have before slipping into the land of the unconscious.

—————

She opens the door to her room, bloody and bruised from the beating she had just taken. She was hoping that you would be in there, waiting to help her with her wounds like always, that losing you had just been a nightmare, but the empty room and the stripped cot are harsh reminders that you are gone. And you aren’t coming back.

She drops a number of medical supplies onto her bed, gingerly lowering herself down next to them. As she cleans the plethora of cuts littering her body and stitches up the deeper ones, she realizes how much harder life was about to get now that you wouldn’t be around. And she wasn’t just thinking of manual tasks like the ones she is performing now. Simply getting through the day was going to get exponentially harder without your presence, or even just the thought of the next time she’d get to see you. Because now she’d never get to your face again. The face that she had loved so much.

To her, you are, were a pillar of strength, a beacon of light and hope guiding her through this era of darkness. They had taken you though, extinguishing said light in the process, leaving her without a guide to the right path. She worries that she’ll lose her heart, that without you by her side she’ll finally fully become part of the shadows that she had spent all of her life pushing away.

That’s when she vows, sitting hurt and alone in the bare little dorm, that she’ll keep her head up, that she won't succumb to the darkness, that she’d keep fighting until she finds a way out.

For you.

—————

You wake to complete darkness, it seeming as if all of the light had been sucked out of whatever room you were in now. You allow your other senses to take over, to reach out in hopes of mapping out your current surroundings. It was damp here, the floor and walls feeling as if they hadn’t been tended to in years. This was a stark contrast to the academy, it had always been impossibly clean, to the point where it felt unnatural. It was also cold, very cold. The cement around doing nothing to insulate the room and only chilling your body where it made contact. This wasn’t new, they had never bothered to provide such comforts as adequate temperature control, but you knew the building to have at least some heat to prevent literally everyone from freezing to death. Given a few days in here, hypothermia was sure to set in, even with your enhanced durability provided by whatever serum had been pumped into you as soon as you had turned of age.

Next you check yourself, running through a mental checklist to make sure no damage had been done physically. You stretch your limbs, moving to a squat before fully standing up. Nothing seemed to be wrong besides a little stiffness in your back and shoulders and a small headache that you assumed was from being drugged, and from the lack of food and water.

Satisfied, you case the room, keeping in contact with the wall until you had lapped the perimeter, noting a door near one corner, otherwise the room was quite literally an empty box. Next, you walk across both the room’s length and width, estimating the room to be about 60 square feet, the size of a typical jail cell.

Now you had nothing to do but wait. There were no clues as to where you were or who you were with and that frustrated you. There were an infinite number of unknown variables now and that left you feeling powerless, something that being a world class assassin allowed you to avoid when you were out working.

Because that’s what you stubbornly believed you were here for. Work. Maybe this was a test or a mission that someone back at the Red Room had concocted, you’d complete the job and be back in a few months at most. You knew this wasn’t the case though, thinking it was was just a stupid way to try and allow yourself some sense of control still. You chide yourself for being so weak, for having such childish thoughts, for seeking comfort. It didn’t matter what you wanted, just what they did; but they had given you up, so now it was whatever this new party wanted, and that’s all you needed to know.

So you shut off your mind, prevent your thoughts from going back there, back to her. Because such thoughts stem from love, and love is for children, and you are not a child. She had enabled you into thinking that you had a place in the world, separating you from her was just a reminder that you didn’t.

You sit on the cold, hard ground for what you clock to be around six hours, trying to let your mind and body rest as much as possible without falling asleep, you were damned if you were to let something take you by surprise now. Yet somehow the screams still did.

Snapping your head up from its position atop your knees, you listen intently to the first sounds you’ve heard since waking. It was not welcome though, the cries of a tortured man penetrating the walls and invading your eardrums. It was enough to make you physically shiver as chills ran down your spine. This was an entirely new beast from anything you had ever encountered with the KGB. Not the torture, that had been a constant throughout your entire time there, which also conviently happened to be as far back as your memories went. It was the reaction that triggered your fight or flight response. They had always taught you to be quiet, to grit your teeth and take the pain without making a fuss, any form of crying much less gut-wrenching screams would warrant a bullet in your head.

But this. This had you truly scared because whatever they were doing, they knew it would push way past the human threshold for pain, and they didn’t care. Now you knew, as you sat there listening to his screams, why you were here. You were to be a test subject, with a death date set to within a couple of weeks you were sure. Maybe they wanted someone with the Red Room’s enhancements, to see how much they’d be able to handle before giving out. It didn’t matter why you, you just knew that your world was about to become one of pure pain before leaving it behind.

Death would be a sweet reward after what was ahead of you.

You think you should cry, or yell, or react to your incoming fate, but you can’t. Big emotional reactions hadn’t been in your capability since you were practically a baby. And besides, maybe this is what you deserve after all the lives you’ve taken and all the secrets you’ve stolen. At least the world would be free from your wrath, be safe.

The door opening jolts you out of your spiraling, your eyes unused to the light provided, even if it was just a slight amount from out in the hall. You stand to attention, your eyes leveled at the man who had come for you, but making sure to avoid direct eye contact in an effort to make clear he was in charge, not you. The man was middle-aged, blonde hair, 5’10”, dressed in light combat gear, probably a guard of some sort. You also note that his person lacks any identification, no name badge or organizational insignia, still leaving you clueless as to whose hands you were at the mercy of.

“Come with me,” he orders before turning around, allowing you to clock a sidearm strapped to his waist, and a pocket knife tucked into his right boot. You’re not sure if that information will ever be useful to you, but you store it away just in case.

You move to walk behind him a few paces, keeping in stride with his clipped walk. You internally curse at how empty the hall is, absolutely nothing but unmarked doors on either side, no people, and no signs letting you know where a possible exit might be. You did need to know how to get out of here, because escaping was exactly what you had in mind right now.

The increased anxiety from waiting in that room, subject to the wails of the unknown man, combined with your lack of sleep, food, and water was enough to convince you that running was the best plan, or at least to die trying.

Now they have left you alone with one poorly armed, overall unintimidating excuse for a guard. This was one hell of an opportunity if you had ever seen one. Yea you had no idea how to get out, or even where to go if you did, but desperate people take chances, and you were more desperate than you had ever been in your entire life.

You increase your stride, gaining on the man a little with each step, until you are close enough to lunge forward and grab his pistol, knocking him in the head with it hard enough to render him unconscious. A gunshot would definitely alert anyone nearby of your mutiny, and besides, you might need the bullets later. Carefully, you lower him to the ground, deciding that leaving him in the hall was risky but also your only option, sliding the knife out of his boot and slashing his throat before taking off at a full sprint down the hall.

You have no idea where you are going, the place was a maze, but you had to run into a way out somewhere, right? You could cover a lot of distance in a short amount of time, and the picture you create in your mind along the way prevents you from retracing steps already taken, maximizing your time before someone was to inevitably catch you.

What you don’t know though, is that they were watching you at this moment, had been ever since you’d woken up. The cameras were undetectable, placed in the upper corners of the facility, only noticeable if you knew what to look for, which you didn’t, so you had unwisely assumed there were none in this wing.

“We’ve got a spirited one.”

“Perfect.”

Shit, this hall was a box, meaning that the route to freedom was through one of the dozens of doors you had breezed by, probably down more winding halls, an impossible feat from your position.

It dawned on you then that perhaps you had played right into their hands and only made it worse for yourself. If that was the case though, why give you the illusion of escape, why waste the time and life on allowing you to run instead of immediately using you? It made absolutely no sense and you couldn’t push away the dread that crept up from the back of your mind; maybe they wanted more with you than you had originally believed.

You double back now, trying all the doors, and banging your fist against one when you realize they’re all definitely locked. They were toying with you, a little mouse in its maze, you had played their game.

Anger fuels your veins now as you hear footsteps from somewhere down the hall. There is no cover besides the wall so you press your back up against it, waiting around the corner for the guards to run by. You are determined to play the cat for a while, to kill as many as you can before you’re overwhelmed.

You check the clip in your stolen pistol to see it was half empty, only eight bullets remained in the cartridge. Eight bullets for eight bodies plus the knife, which had already been battle tested, the blood from the first guard still covering the blade.

Just as the first guy comes running around the corner you grab the back of his neck and slash his throat open before throwing the leaking body into the rest of the unit. That had somehow taken the remaining soldiers by surprise, apparently this place was filled with duds and that gave you some hope for your little crusade. 

To anyone with an untrained eye you moved at inhuman speed, using two of your precious bullets to put holes into exactly two more guards, precisely in the middle of their foreheads. Three to go, you totally had this. The remaining men finally find their senses and flick on their batons, electricity fueling the weapons. Non-lethal, they definitely wanted you for something more than a lab rat.

At some point you had realized that there had to be cameras planted throughout the base, that’s the only way they could’ve sent reinforcements to your location so fast. They obviously wanted a show, so a show you were going to give them.

You shove the gun in your waistband and brandish the small knife, twirling it for extra flourish as you advance on your opponents, a dangerous gleam littering your eyes.

The first guy moves to jab you in the side, but you easily sidestep it, kicking him in the ribs and sending him flying down the hall. The other two rush at the same time, so you slide between them, hooking your arm around the ankle of the guard on your left, bringing him down. You quickly bounce back up and stomp as hard as you can on the back of his head, it was safe to say he wouldn’t be getting back up.

The time it took you to take him down allowed the first one to get back up behind your back, shocking you in the side while the other guy sweeps your feet. You grunt as you hit the floor, the electricity causing you to drop your weapon. The loss of your knife and the closing proximity of the guards forces you to expend two more bullets, their bodies thumping against the ground.

You get up then, shaking off the remaining buzz from the baton and quickly sweep up the knife. You barely have time to recover before more guards come barreling down the hall, a dozen this time instead of just six. And you are down to four bullets.

The guards are really poorly armed you notice, lacking any sort of ranged weapon, each equipped with only a baton. You take advantage of that fact though, quickly discharging your last four bullets and then throwing the gun in the face of another man hard enough to break his nose. You fly forward, plunging the knife into the chest of your target and deliver a swift kick to his stomach. You watch as he flies back and hits the wall, the crack of his spine echoing in your ears.

Unfortunately you’d been surrounded by the remaining men and you couldn’t take out seven more people by yourself and with a weapon not ideal for carrying you through a fight on its own. You spin as the one directly in front of you tries to hit you, only to end up taking the force of a different baton. You power through it though, the super soldier copycat serum running through your veins giving you the strength to snap the guy’s arm, causing him to drop the weapon. At the compromise of this one agent, two more take his place and each one brings his baton up to taze your backside.

They must have the setting on a level that could kill a normal human, you think as you fall to your knees; another jab sending you onto your hands as well. You manage to gain enough control of your arm to flip the knife up and into one of the faces of your attackers, feeling slight satisfaction as he goes down before all you can focus on is the immense amount of electricity being unloaded into your body from six different points. Yea, you are definitely going to be sore the next time you wake up.

—————

“This better work or you’re going to be the next one on that table, do you understand? We’ve gone through too many failed subjects to warrant the continuation of your little project; the Soldier will have to be enough.”

“Did you see? They took out 13 of our men with nothing but a little knife and a half-cracked pistol, they have the potential to be an even bigger success than him.”

“Yes, I saw them rip through half of our top squadron. I wasted good agents for what, target practice?”

“No, I needed you to see, when I finish with them they will be worth ten times more than all of the men they killed today. Have some faith.”

You blink away the bleariness that clouds your vision as you wake slowly, the soreness in your body leaving you wondering if you would be able to move at all. A blinding light obscures your sight now, but you can make out two figures, one appearing to angrily jab the other in the chest before leaving the room, slamming the door behind them.

The remaining man, a scientist, you deduce from the lab coat and the glasses sighs, muttering to himself as he turns, making eye contact with you.

“Ah you’re awake, perfect timing.” He claps his hands together, moving closer to you as he did. “Together, we are going to show him what you are capable of. You are going to help me prove that I am not just some madman.”

It disturbed deeply, how he kept referring to the two of you as if you were on a team, as if you were a willing participant in this game. You weren’t, the leather restraints securing you to the table are indication of that. You also notice now that your shirt has been removed, exposing your muscled torso and shoulders to the frigid atmosphere.

The scientist fiddles with an IV bag directly to your right, and sensing what’s coming you strain against the straps, your body automatically moving to try and evade the threat. He tuts at you, shaking his head as he ties a tourniquet around your bicep in order to make your dehydrated veins pop.

“Hold still, and this will be a lot easier for both of us,” he warns, brandishing a needle to insert into your arm. You comply and will your muscles to relax as you try to mentally prepare for whatever havoc the mystery liquid is about to wreck on your body.

It starts out as just a tingle at first, like your cells are vibrating, making you feel fuzzy. Then that small, odd sensation rockets exponentially into raw, unbridled pain. It feels like liquid metal or molten lava or something of the equivalent is being injected into your bloodstream and you are unable to contain your screams of agony. Sweat beads up along your forehead as your heart rate increases, the monitor starting to beep out of control; the sound however, failing to register in your aching mind. You clench your fists as tight as possible, your teeth grinding against each other as your whole body spasms. It feels as if your very being is splitting apart; like someone has taken a scraper to your insides, and was intent on mutating every part before attempting to  piece it all back together. You fight to keep conscious, worried that if you were to pass out you’d never wake up again. The leather rubs uncomfortably against your wrists and ankles, your shouts finding a crescendo as the mad doctor watches with morbid fascination. 

It was finally working; it seemed as if he had finally found a subject strong enough to handle his serum, his masterpiece. You were already leagues ahead of anyone else he had injected it into, they normally died within a few seconds, their bodies being overwhelmed with the extreme changes it forced. He made sure to watch the heart monitor though as its rhythm was still dangerously high and as your sweaty figure writhed on the operating table.

The pain finally started to edge out over your will to stay lucid, and your mind closed down just as your body came to a still. He approached you cautiously, afraid that you might shoot up at any moment and attack him. But your person lay completely still, the only indication that you were alive was the slight rise and fall of your chest. He smiles to himself then, moving to show his superior that he had indeed been correct in his assumptions about your strength. Now if the serum had worked as he intended it to, well he’d have to wait and see.

—————

For the third time now in a short span of time you wake up with a sore body and a splitting headache in an unfamiliar location. This time you’re in what appears to be a training room, complete with a viewing balcony about a dozen feet above you where you see the scientist and another man. You clench your jaw, the agonizing memory of what he had done to you earlier was very, very fresh in your mind, and for that, you wanted to kill him. There was no way to get to him and slap those stupid glasses off of his face though as he stood smugly behind glass panels a whole floor above you. 

You were too busy focusing on him and what would be the best method for slowly draining the life out of him to notice what was happening to your body. The people watching you did, one feeling proud of his accomplishment and the other impressed and somewhat confused at what he was seeing. Noticing the looks on their faces and where their eyes were trained you look down at your arms, your eyes widening in surprise at what was going on.

What. The. Hell.

Your arms, and the rest of your body for that matter, seem to be glitching, slowly fading in and out of view. You take a few steps, wondering if it would impact your movement and you’re relieved to see it hadn’t, only that a sort of trail had been left behind in your wake; wavering versions of you jumping in and out of sight along the same path you had traveled.

Clapping from the room above startled you from your stunned state, causing you to look up at the source as it spoke.

“Go and strike that bag.” The small scientist instructed.

You just stood there, glaring at him. Your haywire emotions being reflected in your ever-shifting form. You weren’t going to do shit for him, not now that you no longer had control over your body.

He holds up a bottle of water and motions to the punching bag. Seeing the liquid made you realize it had possibly been days since you’d had any and all of a sudden your parched throat and dehydration-induced headache were all you could think about. You stand there for a moment longer, contemplating flipping him off as you continue to stare at him before begrudgingly walking over to the bag.

Watching you move again the men noticed how it was hard to pinpoint exactly where you were while in motion, your phasing in and out of sight and the formation of the glitchy trail of yourself that you left wherever you went making it rather difficult.

You approach the bag, determined to show them your raw strength, and hopefully intimidate them in the process. You knew that if given a few minutes, you could knock the bag to the ground. Throwing an uppercut followed by a jab with your other hand, you stumble forward when your body passes right through your target. Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, how had you failed a task you’d spent perfecting every day since you could walk? 

You try again, the bag practically taunting you as your fists phase harmlessly through it. Were they laughing at you now? You could just imagine how pathetic you looked, dancing around a target without managing to hit it once. Growing frustrated, you try to kick it this time only for the momentum to carry your entire body through the bag. Looking up towards the balcony now, you see that yes indeed they were finding this amusing.

Rage at yourself for the lack of control you possess over your own body, at the men above you for causing this change, at whoever had orchestrated your life to end up this way threatens to cloud your judgment, but you force it back down. You had to show them you weren’t weak, that you could control it, that you were worthy. So you still your body and reach your hand out to try and stabilize the molecules enough to at least graze the bag.

You watch it fail to solidify and try again, closing your eyes and concentrating. Except you had no idea what to concentrate on. How were you supposed to control something that you didn’t understand? You flex your fingers, watching as they fail to materialize fully, still stuck in that fritzing state. Watching your hand pass through the bag for the tenth time you glance back up at the men watching you to see that they are no longer entertained at your failures, and instead look down on you disapprovingly.

You will yourself to calm down, thinking about how you had first learned how to work a gun or properly throw a punch. You find that the answer is in a certain girl, one who had always been by your side, silently encouraging you whenever you grew frustrated. So you close your eyes and imagine she is there with you, telling you that you are strong enough to overcome this challenge, and that you have to succeed if you want to survive.

With your new found confidence you once again attempt to hit the bag, and this time you’re rewarded with the gratifying thump of your fist against the leather, the training unit rocking a bit. Refusing to believe that you had done it, you check the rest of your body to see that yes, it had managed to stabilize. The scientist throws you the water bottle and you quickly empty its contents, the liquid providing you with much needed relief.

You continue to train until you feel as if you’re about to collapse from tiredness, having significantly improved your control, but being nowhere near proficient enough for it to be deemed useful. As you had completed various tasks though, such as turning it off and on on command, and even using it to become completely invisible for short bursts of time, you had received various rewards in the form of food and water from your overseers. This left you feeling much better than when you had woken up, even if you desperately needed sleep.

Apparently, rest was going to have to wait as a swarm of guards walked into the training room, guns aimed at your head and chest. You take this as a sign to put your hands up and sink to your knees, allowing them to get closer to you, one in particular armed with a syringe.

Great, I wonder where I’m going to wake up next, you think to yourself as the needle is inserted into your neck. The telltale drowsiness of a sedative never kicks in though, and two guards move to cuff your hands behind your back as you’re escorted out of the room. You think they’re just taking you back to your cell to let you finally sleep, but you pass right by it, instead being pushed into a much less friendly space.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room, one that screams torture contraption, along with a desk. The room is otherwise lacking in furnishing. You tense up as you realize that they meant to put you in the chair, and remembering your newfound power, attempt to phase through the cuffs holding you hostage. Your body stubbornly stays solid though, and you only now grasp what the syringe from earlier had contained. It must have been some sort of anti-serum, something meant to deactivate your powers for a short period of time so they could control you easier.

If you hadn’t been screwed before, you certainly were now. The guards shove you into the chair after uncuffing you, a new set of arm restraints quickly snapping into place, trapping you down. One of the agents brings out a book, the cover is blue with the HYDRA insignia in black etched into the middle. So that’s where you are. He flashes a wicked grin, but it wasn’t necessarily aimed at you, he just seemed excited for what was about to happen, which makes your fear double.

He moves closer, grabbing a mouth guard off of the desk and motioning for you to let him put it in. You think about refusing it, but then take it begrudgingly; whatever was in store for you, it was going to hurt, and you’d really rather not shatter any teeth today.

You hear the whir of a machine starting up and the frightening sound of electricity crackling somewhere above your head. No amount of preparation could ever prepare you for what comes next. Paddles clamp down on either side of your head, delivering a massive amount of electricity straight into your brain. You instantly scream as loud as you can with your jaw locked, every single muscle in your body going taut from the shocks. Your mind briefly flickers back to a memory of a man’s tortured cries, and you wonder if yours sound anything like his did.

Fire courses through every single neuron in your body, its one goal to destroy and leave you a mess. The pain is excruciating and every second feels slowed, the process making you lose your mind. You breathe heavily as it continues on its warpath, your brain quite literally melting as your mental pathways are fried.

The device is set to target the subject’s hippocampus and frontal lobe, turning their memories and ability to make thoughts and decisions for themselves into mush. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t think clearly, or maybe it was just the pain.

You’re vaguely aware of someone spewing off a list of words, but are otherwise too preoccupied with your agony to comprehend them. And just like that everything stops. The machine deactivates, and with it so do your screams, the man’s talking, and your mind.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly as you try and get your bearings. Where are you, who are you, what is happening, god you’re just so confused. A man that you hadn’t even noticed was there speaks, breaking your scramble to make sense out of, well anything.

“Призрак?”

Your attention snaps to him. Was he talking to you? He was looking at you so he must be, but you had no memory of being called such, of being called anything at all. Your frustration mounts and you stand up, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming him onto the desk behind him; some part of you remembers your training and what you are capable of, even if you weren’t fully aware of it. The man’s face goes red as he scrabbles at your arm, but that just causes you to squeeze harder, your confusion has turned into pure rage. Before you can finish crushing his trachea, you feel a pinch in the back of your neck and drop to the floor.

In your dreams you see flashes of memories, your mind struggling to sort itself back out after getting completely fucked over. A pair of green eyes that you can’t pair with a face, but bring comfort anyway, cold nights spent with a girl with red hair. The distinct stench of blood, death, and gunpowder, a thousand triggers being pulled. Those eyes again except this time they held an infinite amount of sadness, they were begging you to stay.

You were left with no time to decipher what any of those visions could mean before you’re back in the room with the chair, being forced to go through the process again. At some point you lose the ability to track the time, and the memory flashes at night become more abstract and less in number. The last one being just a sea of green.

You’re back for another round of conditioning, although you possess no recollection of any of the other times you had gone through it. The method had worked the same with you as it had the Soldier, and they were so close to having a new weapon in their arsenal. Just once more and you would be theirs.

You sit up, panting, unable to wonder, to think in any capacity. You are a blank slate, a machine ready to listen and to kill. The harsh artificial lighting sharpens your features and pales your skin, making you look even less human. This was fitting as everything that had ever given you your humanity, your ability to feel compassion and empathy had been obliterated. You are a unit solely capable of destruction and brutality, the man in front of you holding complete control over what would become the deadliest assassin on the planet.

At this very moment the old you had ceased to exist, your former conscious shattering under the weight of the repeated torture and that little list of words. You would mourn the loss if you could, but it was you who had reached the end, and saying the dead could grieve themselves would be a lie. But to the one person who had ever given two shits about you, who had loved you in the purest form of the word, you were sorry.

Today was the day you died, and in your place, the Spectre was born.

“Призрак?”

“готов выполнить.”