stoneheart ; 𝐭. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 , 𝟐

07 | feels like home

february 2019

SHE KNEW ONE thing: she was not awake. She was asleep, or dead, or something far worse. But she wasn't awake. If she was awake, she would have been able to stop the flashing images from tearing into her head, making her want to end it all, so she wouldn't have to relive the horrors in her mind.

That's what they were: horrors. Nightmares, it felt like. Not all of them were saturated in blood and gore, but they may as well have been. Either way, bloody or not, they gave her the same gut-wrenching urge to tear out her brain from her skull.

Her eyelids were squeezed shut, but instead of seeing the black abyss behind them, her mind filled with images of another life, another person that she didn't recognize, but somehow felt familiar.

She stood above him, the man they called the White Wolf. She knew him only as the Soldier, an anomaly, like her. Hydra's only successful transformation in centuries, after her. 

He stared up at her, a dark look in his eyes, a deep and fiery hatred burning in their cold blue depths. 

She tutted, and when she spoke, it was her voice, yet it didn't sound like her. "Quiet, Soldat, you'll wake the Chancellor." Trailing her hand down his flesh arm, she hummed at the feeling of his wiry muscles beneath her touch. "We can't have you making him mad on your first visit with him, can we?"

The man laying on a table below her clenched his fists, gritting his teeth in a growl. He tried to lift his hands from his sides, but found that they were tightly restricted by leather straps. "What is this?" He asked lowly, "Who are you?"

She looked down at him, feeling a smirk curl onto her face. "You don't remember me? What a shame."

Every movement of his was done in quick spurts, trying to become strong enough to break out of the straps tying him down by his wrists and ankles. He lifted his head only to find a spiked collar around his neck, each movement causing them to dig deeper into his neck, oozing blood out of the open wounds. He grunted in pain, but hid his discomfort well. 

She had taught him that, years ago when they were the trainer and the trainee. Now they were different. She was the predator, and she'd just caught her prey. 

The Soldier's body may have belonged to Hydra, but she could see in his eyes that he was awake. He hadn't surrendered to her cause completely. He was trying to give off an air of furious strength, but the only thing she saw in his steel blue eyes was his fear. His complete and utter fear of her, of where he was, of what was going to happen to him. 

If she leaned down close enough, she could see her reflection in his eyes. A stranger stared back at her. 

"Wake up," he mumbled, too quiet for a normal person to hear, but plenty loud enough for someone of her talents to pick up on. His fists were still clenched, his nails undoubtedly digging crescents into his palms. "Wake up."

"You're already awake, Soldat," she purred, reaching up a hand to brush away one of his brown locks that had fallen into his eyes. "You don't have to be afraid. This is all real, you're where you belong once again. What would you be without this? Without Hydra, without me?"

"Wake up," he said again, louder this time. He kept his head flat against the table to keep the collar from stabbing his neck further, but he closed his eyes, refusing to look back at her. "Wake up. Wkae up." His chants became more frequent, and louder. "WAKE UP. WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"