[ 𝟏 ] 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 | 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

𝟎𝟏.

[ Somewhere in England ]

[ FIRST PERSON POV ]

[ 12 years later ]

The school bell's sound had slipped from my memory, a distant echo lost for the past twelve years. In its stead, the abrasive daily buzzing at 6 AM had become my morning 'bell.' Once a ten-year-old girl driven by the curiosity to explore the world's beauty, I had transformed into a twenty-two-year-old woman, harboring a grim resolve to embrace death if escape proved impossible.

This subterranean metal cell gradually coerced me into accepting it as my home. The memory of having over 6,000 square feet of living space had faded, replaced by the stark reality of my confined 10.5 square feet. Genuine smiles were a distant memory, overshadowed by the unsettling remarks of HYDRA soldiers urging me to smile for preferential treatment: "You'd get special treatment in here if you smiled more, princess." Forgotten were the joys of witnessing the sky, feeling the rain, or playing in the snow; instead, my metal confines loomed overhead, a constant reminder. The once-familiar sounds of birds, dogs, and children playing had given way to the agonizing screams of fellow detainees fighting for their lives. I had forgotten, forgotten, forgotten...

My daily routine was an unvarying and exhausting cycle. Awakened at 6 AM, I would receive a meager portion of orange juice and eggs, purportedly to fuel the ensuing training. Following this, I'd be escorted to the training room, where a relentless five-hour combat practice awaited us. Compliance was non-negotiable; failure meant reduced rations for lunch and dinner. The regimen included exercises with punching bags, precision drills like throwing knives at wooden targets, and developing both upper and lower body strength. The day concluded with acclimating ourselves to the 'new abilities so generously given to us' in the experimentation room. Approximately twice a week, we engaged in combat with fellow detainees. The haunted expressions on their faces as I was compelled to attack them became etched in my memory. I longed never to harm them again, but the chilling consequences of defying the rules outweighed the haunting memories that tormented my mind.

From around 10 AM to 2 PM, we were ushered into classrooms to delve into the study of various languages. Though we covered more than 20 languages, our primary focus centered on German, Russian, and English. Alongside language acquisition, we were imbued with the belief that anyone not aligned with HYDRA constituted a threat and warranted targeting. Fortunately, my age and innate defiance prevented me from buying into such propaganda. If HYDRA succeeded in convincing me of anything, it was to cultivate a profound sense of distrust.

As the classroom sessions concluded, we transitioned to the experimentation room for the day. Among my fellow German detainees, we colloquially referred to it as the 'Seelen-Entfernungs Krankenhaus' ('Soul-removal hospital').

Twelve years ago, upon my arrival, I was immediately thrust into the experimentation room before being confined to my cell. Every newcomer to the base is assigned two specific doctors, and others considered mine to be the 'least brutal,' a statement that astounded me, given my harrowing memories within that room with them. One of my doctors, Amott Beringer, displayed no emotion and exhibited no empathy for pain or suffering. The other, Normand Haas, possessed a slightly more sympathetic demeanor but derived occasional amusement from slapping my face when I showed signs of pain.