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The grip of a gun felt strange in my hand. Pulled on distant memories. Memories that both empowered and frightened me.
But I was definitely glad for the gun, as Loki, Steve, Nat, and I rolled up to the warehouse. Nat pulled up out of view of the cameras that surely lined the walls, and the four of us slipped from the car, making for the front entrance.
Unlike a regular warehouse, there were a pair of guards posted outside the doors.
"Don't kill anyone you don't have to," Nat said, seeming to know that Loki was already reaching for his daggers at the sight of the two men.
"Helping you lot is no fun at all," he said, as Nat coyly approached one of two men.
"No one but the boss has clearance here today, ladies," he said gruffly.
Nat nodded pointedly at me, and the two of us lunged at the guards, taking down one each. I was sufficiently practiced in hand-to-hand combat now, having been practicing for a handful of years. I ducked out of the way of his swing and came back up with the my gun in hand, slamming the grip into his head.
Nat had made quick work of the other guard beside me.
"I stand corrected," Loki said, as we stepped around the bodies.
"You shouldn't come across anyone inside," Nat said, "Guards said the boss was the only one with clearance, probably to stop us slipping in as workers."
"So we opted for brute force, instead," Loki commented, "I see why my brother enjoys working with you all."
Nat ignored him. "Sweep the rooms," she ordered as we turned into a hallway, "Be thorough, but quick. Take all records with you that you can. And remember to look out for ones dated in the nineties."
I nodded, as eager anticipating shot through my blood.
And I began to search.
Room, after room, after room. I flipped through and scanned dated records, but none so far back as the nineties. I hoped beyond hope that when Van Leer had relocated to the Netherlands, he hadn't trashed his records from New York.
After turning down several hallways and searching all the rooms, I descended down a set of stairs.
There was a single door at the end of the hallway once I reached the basement level. I approached it slowly.
There were no windows dotting the hallways, and the only light was flickering overhead fluorescents.
I pulled open the large steel door. My stomach bottomed out.
There was a table in the centre of the room, to which there were straps fastened that I knew were intended to restrain hands and feet.
A desk was pressed against the far back wall, and I approached it. Spilled out across the surface were a series of notes written in Dutch.
I swallowed back my wariness, and scanned through them, translating.
And then, I began to read:
September 4th, 2012, Test Subject 105
Administered third dosage of the Vlacht-54 formula twenty-four hours ago. Subject displays no signs of fatigue or aggression as in previous experiments. Body temperature rose twenty degrees overnight.
I frowned, confused, as I continued to scroll through the translated notes.
September 6th, 2012, Test Subject 105
Subject has fully recovered from final dosage, and has reached a constant body temperature. When prompted, subject was able to create uncontrolled fire at will.
My breath hitched. This 'subject', whoever they were, had my powers. But this had been a mere year ago. Frantic now, I kept scrolling, all the way to the final document. My breathing stilled at the date.
December 17th, 1991, Test Subject 001
Subject is a Black female of unknown age. Genetic makeup indicates an inhuman being. Subject displays abilities to wield flame, and possesses unnaturally high body temperature. Remains uncooperative. Tests will commence to determine source of powers.
January 3rd, 1992, Test Subject 001
After failed attempts to locate and extract DNA structure or genetic trait of subject's fire-wielding abilities, subject displayed signs of fatigue, lethargy, and nausea. Subject was placed in testing room for the evening after dosage of Khuul was delivered, awaiting effects. Last evening, subject escaped custody and is yet to be found.
My heart thrummed. My breath came out in short bursts, as my eyes flew back up the page.
June 15th, 1994, Test Subject 43
Subject 43 is deceased of causes the same as previous subjects after dosage of the Vlacht-3 formula was administered.
There was a note scribbled into the margin here. My chest tightened as my eyes scanned over it.
I've concluded that test subject 001 has died of the same causes, her death being delayed due to her otherworldly genetic makeup.
And everything pieced together, in a big, ugly picture that hurt to look at.
My mother had somehow been discovered by CELS. She was 'Test Subject 001'. Her genetic makeup was inhuman because she was Asgardian.
It all made sense. She'd been tested to find the source of her powers, and CELS had tried to create a formula that replicated it. They'd tried to administer it to others, and had failed numerously. But, only last year, they seemed to have been successful.
My powers. They'd come from her. They'd come from my mother.
But one thought resonated above all others: they'd killed her. Whatever they'd done in their experiments had left her permanently sickened, weakened. She'd died birthing me, because of what they'd done to her.
My rage boiled over.
And suddenly, the papers in my hand burst into flame, turning to ash in my grip.
That loss of control should have scared me. It didn't.
Because I was going to burn this place to the ground.
The back of my neck bristled at the sound of the steel door swinging closed behind me.
I spun around.
Looking back at me, with a delighted smile on his face, was Van Leer.
But my attention was focused on the person in front of him. The person with two twin flames alight in his hands.
Alessandro.
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Fanfiction"You are unimaginably precious when you're flustered, my dear," he said lowly, "And I can assure you that while I often find you distracting, you are much more than just a distraction to me. Why do you think I haven't killed you yet?" "Because you'd...
