𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 - [𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗼𝗻]

𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘭

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 - brave at the barrel

— 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙤𝙡𝙙 —

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 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐓'𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐍'𝐓 been able to rest, it was as though she'd pumped her veins full of sugar and caffeine; her body ran on fumes while her mind jumped to and from every conclusion imaginable.

 Where the hell were her friends? Where the hell was she? Were Dustin and Erica alright?

 Those were the three main questions, but the very first was at the forefront of her mind. Scarlet would be fine getting out alive... what, did they really think some pathetic twine bound to her wrists would stop the floodgates from opening? Stop crimson spilling from her palms? Not they could have ever known she had... abilities.

 The problem was that while Scarlet had been left in solitude, Steve and Robin may not have been. So, what if she allowed her eyes to darken and be swallowed by red? What if the sirens began to scream through the halls as lights flickered and flashed? Would she get to them on time? Or would she find them with a bullet in their skulls? 

 Punishment: it always came for her.

 The drop of a leaking pipe was beginning to irritate her endlessly. Drip, drip, drip... she wanted to tear the room apart... then, the door beeped. A card had been swiped through on the other side, buttons mashed until the lock sprung free. The door scraped open, and in walked a towering Russian with a face set like steel while a gun sat heavy in his hands.

 He was followed closely by the very man she'd sneered at, the one who gave the order to turn their lights out. A commander, a General, the big boss... she didn't much care for his title. The man held himself with confidence, and the hint of a smug smile lingered within the corners of his aged lips. He was celebrating after catching his prey.

 The man has his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders rolled as far as he could. It made him seem all the more imposing. Boots thudded on the ground, until he stood right before her, eyes only trailing to Scarlet's face once the guard had closed the door and stationed himself beside it.

 There were two choices to make here; Scarlet could scream and cry and snivel like a scared child... or she could hold her ground. She could thin her lips, narrow her eyes and swallow back her words until she knew where Steve and Robin were being held... even if it meant walking out the place with skin the shade of plums and wine. She'd suffered worse before.

 She was resolute, and to start her charade off, Scarlet copied the man's stance. Her shoulders squared, and there was a tick in her jaw as her teeth clambered together, scraping against one another. Her tongue remained ridged, pressed against the roof of her mouth, closing off any gap so that even a squeak couldn't escape.