The Unknown Enemy ∘ Marvel [3]

Chapter 14: Old 'Friends'

Far away from the bustling sounds of the street and the politicians of DC, a man sits in a metal chair. A contraption of sorts, but to him all it is a weapon. A weapon he only knows will take away his free will and return him to their puppet.

He knows they'll do it soon. When he is around, they whisper. They must think him deaf if they believe he does not hear what they say. They lower their voices, but not low enough. They talk of the things he's done. The things he will do. The things they will make him do.

But what is he to them? A mindless gun they fire at their enemies. To them, he does not process what they say.

But now he's knows for sure they'll wipe him. He asked about the woman yesterday. The one with long dark hair and deep hazel eyes who escaped just to talk with him. The one who called him James. They told him to stop her and put her back in her cell, so he did.

She told him she'd been trying to get out to talk with him. She told him they'd met a few months ago. She told him that he, a mindless vessel they used to annihilate those they saw harmful, had a friend. She told him they needed to run.

She became so confused when his hands wrapped around her neck. The shock broke quickly and she began to fight against him. She was trained yes, but she was so weak and her bones felt hollow. Her skin was too pale and her eyes begged for him to stop. Her irises were filled with a seemingly eternal sadness that had begun to swallow the rest of her whole.

Just when he thought she'd give into the misery flooding her face, she became erratic with animalistic violence. Her attacks became sloppy, because she understood she was of very low strength and would be put right back in her cell. So she clawed and scratched, and she transformed into a being of desperation. Her depressive demeanor became fuel for the rabid wildfire she became. Blood dripped from her fingernails and lined her lips when she was finally locked up again in her clear box.

He realized one thing about her distinctly; she'd given up hope. They'd broken her, just as they did with him. The way she walked up to him told of her years of experience, but her attacks were not meant to free her or help her get out. They were meant to shed as much blood as possible. She knew she was on the road to a forgotten grave, and she was intent on bringing as many people as possible with her.

Even after her blood was wiped of his face, he was still pondered what she said. The more he thought, the more he became confused. They didn't like it when he was confused. They didn't like it when their favorite weapon malfunctioned.

The door in front of him clicked open, and he knew it was time to forget. Time to be wiped and emerge once again as their machine.

And he'll never remember her again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sienna POV

"You know what I think I missed most about the world after five months? The evolution of stupid Internet memes. The dress is obviously black and blue!"

Layla shook her head, taking back her phone, "Is not- hey, this picture shows it black and blue. You edited it!"

I shrug, fighting off a smile, "Nope, it's really blue."

"No, it's not! It was gold just a second ago." She fired back quickly, flipping through her photos fast, then going back to the picture of the dress, "You rigged it."