Fire and Smoke - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Chapter 49

My sleep is anything but restorative. The hard ground underneath me is forcing me to switch positions every so often as it becomes unbearable underneath me. The bright fluorescent lights aren't much better either, they are only exasperating my headache which is my only companion. My dreams prove no escape either and every time I wake up I feel like I've aged ten years before I sink into my restless sleep again to repeat the pattern, my dreams making no sense to me at all, most of them feel like they're someone else's. All in all, I would not recommend my stay here.

Later that day, or in the middle of the night, or maybe even the next morning, what do I know,  is when something finally happens again. My insides churn as the now-familiar sound of the door opening reaches my ears, and I sit up, leaning against the wall furthest away from the door, in vain trying to moisten my mouth in order to be able to speak to whoever is about to enter my humble abode.

The door opens and the same guards as before step in, and this time, they're not accompanied by anyone else. I silently curse my battered body, I'm certain I could have escaped if I wasn't so weak. It's only the two of them, hell, I've taken on more before. If only I could use my mist, but even the thought of it makes it retreat even further in me, as if there's some unfamiliar force pushing it down. The guards shuffle towards me, their expressions a mixture of disgust and contempt as their eyes land upon me.

"What, you haven't offered me a shower." I croak out, attempting to deflect with some bad humor.

"That'll be the least of your problems." The burlier of the two answers, a gleam in his eye I do not like at all. "Let's go, get up."

"No."

"We aren't asking."

I huff, but I'm too tired to argue, and honestly, I'm sick and tired of being holed up here. Maybe they're taking me on a nice little stroll. Or maybe I'm getting some food. God, I'd kill for some water.
They stand by and watch me as I struggle, apparently we're not in that much of a hurry. My legs complain as they're forced to bear my weight again and my stomach aches from the kick earlier. It feels like all blood is draining from my head once I'm standing, and I have to lean heavily against the wall behind me. Satisfied, the two guards stomp up towards me and with malicious grins on their scarred faces. They each grab one arm and half carry, half drag me with them out of the cell without so much as another word.

I fail to again keep a track of our progress through the facility -whoever designed this damned place did a fantastic job of making each and every turn of a corner lead into another corridor that looks exactly like the one you just left. The guards don't speak whilst we walk, and the only sounds we make are the dragging of my boots against the linoleum floor and the heavy footsteps of theirs which echo against the cold walls. We pass just a couple of people, most of them clad in similar dark combat gear as my guards with heavy firearms dangling next to them, but the rest oddly enough look like doctors of some sort, and they're the ones who stare with unabashed interest. I feel more and more dread the longer I spend here, my stomach already in such a tight knot I doubt it'll ever untwist.

One last turn of a corner and we're met by two other guards who look exactly as unimpressed as the two on my sides as we approach.

"We're ready." One of the guards speaks, not casting a glance at me, him too sporting a subtle Russian accent.

"Good. I can't wait to see this." One of the two on my side answers and the two new guards turn and lead us towards a thick, grey door.

The door opens and I'm led inside. My brain struggles to make sense of this entirely new space I'm in, but eventually, I realize we've entered something akin to a laboratory. The walls are white, and the room is circular with a huge chair in the middle of the room, attached to a bunch of machines I cannot even begin to comprehend what their usage is. Four of those people with white coats on mill about the machines without even looking up as we enter.