The darkness envelops me like a suffocating shroud, pressing in from all sides as if eager to consume every last trace of light. It's a chilling darkness, one that seeps into the very marrow of my bones, sending shivers down my spine.
The cold restraints bite into my skin, a cruel reminder of my captivity. With every futile struggle against them, I can feel the metal digging deeper, leaving marks that will serve as silent witnesses to my ordeal. The room feels like a tomb, a place where hope goes to die and despair reigns supreme.
I can still see their faces, twisted and malevolent, their eyes gleaming with malice as they bound me to this chair. Their laughter echoes in my mind, a cruel symphony of torment that mocks my predicament. I want to scream, to rail against the injustice of it all, but the words catch in my throat, suffocated by the weight of silence imposed upon me.
In the absence of sound, my thoughts become my only company, a cacophony of fear and rage that threatens to consume me whole. I am trapped in this room of shadows, a prisoner of my own circumstances, with no means of escape and no one to hear my cries for help.
My gaze flits from the barren walls to the faces that come and go, each one bearing a mask of malice and superiority. They move around me with a sense of purpose, their presence a constant reminder of my captivity. Desperation gnaws at my insides as I search their eyes, hoping to find even the slightest glimmer of empathy or a trace of mercy. But all I receive in return is cold indifference, as if my very existence is inconsequential, a mere object for their twisted amusement.
"Is she ready, Dr. Zola?" Schmidt's voice cuts through the silence, drawing my attention to him as he approaches. His hand lifts my head, forcing me to meet his gaze. The touch sends a shiver down my spine, but I'm powerless to resist. Bound to the chair by tight restraints around my ankles, wrists, and neck, I can do nothing but endure his scrutiny.
Dr. Zola, meanwhile, continues his work on the ominous machine that looms nearby. "She is ready, but my machine requires the most delicate calibration," he responds, his tone laced with a hint of caution. I watch with growing trepidation as he connects another cable to my neck, the sharp pinch of the needle causing me to flinch involuntarily.
Schmidt's eyes narrow as he observes the wires connecting me to the machine. "Are you certain that those conductors of yours can withstand the energy surge long enough for transference?" he questions, his skepticism evident.
Dr. Zola's presence looms over me as he joins Schmidt by my side, his gloved hands deftly connecting another cable to my neck. The sharp pinch of the large needle makes me flinch involuntarily, a wave of discomfort washing over me. "With this girl holding the energy, I am certain of nothing. I fear it may not work at all," he confesses, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and resignation.
Taking his place behind the control center of the device, Dr. Zola adjusts his goggles with precision before flicking a switch to activate the machine. The air fills with the ominous hum of machinery, its vibrations reverberating through the room and sending a shiver down my spine. Anxiety claws at my chest as I feel something inside me shifting, a corrupting influence that threatens to unravel my very being.
As Dr. Zola announces the progress, each increment of energy drained from me feels like a heavy burden, weighing down my very soul. "Twenty percent," his voice rings out, laden with concern, as the machine continues its relentless extraction.
"Forty," he adds, the drain intensifying with each passing moment, leaving me feeling hollow and depleted.
"Sixty," he continues, and I struggle to maintain my composure, my strength waning with every fraction of energy siphoned away.
With a heavy heart, I meet Dr. Zola's troubled gaze as he confirms the stabilization at 70 percent. His words hang in the air like a chilling verdict, a stark reminder of the dire circumstances I find myself in. Despite my efforts to steel myself against the draining sensation, the emptiness inside me grows with each passing moment, a relentless reminder of my dwindling resilience.
A heavy lethargy settles over me like a suffocating blanket, weighing down my limbs and sapping what little strength remains. Even the simple act of holding my head up feels like a Herculean effort, each movement sluggish and labored.
Impatience radiates from Schmidt as he strides purposefully toward Dr. Zola, his movements swift and decisive. With a forceful punch, he knocks the doctor away from the control center, seizing control of the machine himself. "I have not come this way for safety, Doctor," he declares, his voice dripping with malice as he cranks the meter to its highest setting.
A wave of agony crashes over me, the pain so intense it feels as though every nerve in my body is on fire. It's indescribable, unbearable, as if they're draining the very essence of life from my veins. I clench my jaw tightly, biting back a scream as the torment threatens to overwhelm me. But despite my best efforts, a guttural cry of pain escapes my lips, echoing off the walls of the chamber.
As the pain courses through me, I watch in horror as the blue electricity arcs from my body through the cables, feeding into the machine and charging the massive weapon before us. It's a chilling realization of the true purpose behind their actions, and I can feel the weight of their intentions bearing down on me with each agonizing pulse of energy.
Schmidt and Dr. Zola gaze up in amazement as the blue light dances around the room, casting eerie shadows against the walls. Their expressions are ones of awe and triumph, basking in the spectacle of their success. But then, as suddenly as it began, the light flickers and dies, leaving behind only a low rumbling sound and a cloud of grey smoke billowing from the control center.
"I must congratulate you, Armin," Schmidt declares, a smirk playing on his lips as he gestures toward me. "Your designs do not disappoint, though they may require some slight reinforcement."
Dr. Zola approaches me, his eyes alight with excitement. I'm panting heavily, my body still reeling from the ordeal, as I look down at the ground, the weight of their actions settling heavily upon me. The realization of what they are capable of now that they have access to my powers sends a shiver down my body.
"The subject is stable. Amazing!" Dr. Zola exclaims, his voice tinged with a sense of triumph. "The energy we have just collected from her could power my designs. All my designs."
He removes his goggles to look at me, his eyes gleaming with a mix of fascination and anticipation. "This will change the war," he declares, his voice filled with conviction.
"Dr. Zola, this will change the world,"
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The Strongest Avenger
Fanfiction"You know my name, not my story. You have seen what I've done, but not what I have been though ." - James Buchanan Barnes "One day we will meet again. But only when the time is right. When you step out of the darkness. I will be standing in the lig...
