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a/n : no pain, no gain, besties!

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And in some instances, pain is the only reminder of life.

That's how Spencer's doing right now. If she couldn't feel all the pain - the poking, the prodding - she would have thought she was dead. She never really knew what to believe about the afterlife, but she was certain this was hell.

Madam was not kind, she never was. And Spencer's momentary escape, her small sliver of hope in a better life, only damned her more to the woman.

Immediately after Pietro had agreed to work with HYDRA again, Madam directed the HYDRA agent holding him at gunpoint to bring him to the facility. In separate transportation.

Spencer hasn't seen him since.

It's been five days - she's not even sure he's alive. Half the time, she's not sure she's alive.

It's been five days of pain. The second she arrived back at the facility, the torture began. The whippings came first - 50 swatches down her back, leaving bleeding reminders of everything she wanted to escape.

That wasn't the end of it.

She didn't eat for the next few days but was thrown into intense training, anyway. She didn't see Soldat again, but she would be too weak to stand a chance against him, anyway. She had no will for survival, and these agents brought her to the brink of death.

It's day five of this. Spencer's only eaten half a meal, and she's so tired. She feels nothing but pain and guilt. She dragged Pietro into this. Soldat was right - she should have just run.

Because Pietro only ever made things better. For that fleeting time Spencer did escape, he made her feel safe. Protected. Loved. She couldn't even remember him, she gave him hell, but still.

And even with a gun to his head, telling Madam that Spencer couldn't remember anything, that it wasn't her choice - he saved her ass. Again. He knew she was remembering piece by piece, but he knew that if he said anything, HYDRA would make sure she'd forget this time.

She goes along with it - it's not that hard. Sure, it's hard, because Spencer can remember her dad, and her mom, and her heart fucking aches for them, but she doesn't have time to think about them. Her eyes glaze over. Her brain goes quiet. She fights. Spar after spar. Even if she loses.

"Things like you should never be out of practice long, Merzost," Madam notes, walking up to where Spencer was sprawled out on the ground. The agent stands over her, frozen, but ready to pounce again. It's no use, though - Spencer's eyes are close to crossing. She thinks she's close to death, not even strong enough to summon the strength that's given her the nickname.

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨  ➪ 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘧𝘧 (2)Where stories live. Discover now