shards - pietro maximoff

chapter one ; among the wreckage

{TW: TORTURE}

November 19th, 1996
Chicago, USA

A rusty and drafty shack lay in the middle of a scrapyard, and screams could be heard echoing through the rows and rows of various metals, the shrieks bouncing off every which way.

A small girl, who looked to be no older then seven, was strapped to a cold metal table, her legs bound by leather bands, her arms chained above her. Tears streamed down her face, leaving a damp trail behind.

A pain like no other circulated through her body, twisted fire filling her vision. Her body was covered in scrapes, bruises, and scars. For some children, this sight wasn't unusual, a result of summers climbing trees and scaling roofs, but for this particular young girl, these scars were result of something much worse.

A needle was forced into her arm, the long metal stake drawing some blood as it sunk in.

All she caught a glimpse of before the world went black was the sick, twisted smile that lay on her mother's lips.

"Don't worry darling, it's all for the best." The dark haired woman spoke to the unconscious girl that lay curled up on the table.

"You'll thank me someday."

The woman smiled sinisterly and looked very pleased with herself.

That is, until a siren sounded in the distance. The older woman scrambled to grab her equipment, her tools, and her precious lab experiment. Her own daughter.

But it was too late. She had hesitated a second too long, and that one second led to her downfall.

Thirty-seven guns were trained on the house, if you could even call it that.

It was eerily silent in the abandoned junkyard, no one dared move a muscle.

The woman looked around, grabbed her revolver and bust the door open, killing several police officers at once.

The Sargent climbed over piles of metal, her officers following in pursuit of their target.

As they followed her across the junkyard where they would inevitably lose her, they had forgotten to look at what she had left behind in that shitty junk pile she used as a laboratory.

The small, seven year old girl was still laid out on the table, her hair covering her face, hiding the deep gash that was carved into her right cheek.

As soon as the police officers were out of sight, a red haired woman entered the shack, unnoticed by the law enforcement authorities.

An unknown branch of the government, known as the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Divsion, had been keeping an eye on this case for months.

The authorities that worked in what was known as S.H.I.E.L.D. knew that the local
police department couldn't do anything but scratch the surface, for they didn't know what was really going on.

All local law enforcement knew was that the criminal in question had stolen large amounts of money from the U.S. banks and was carrying loads of stolen goods. To them, she was merely a second class criminal.