Snapshot (фотография)

XIII

"Have you come to kill me then?" The prisoner- a mere boy- asked, with the bravado that men four times his elder lacked. He shivered at the strange cool wind that swept through the small musty room. A pungent smell reached his nose, the lurid scent of blood, urine, pus and excrement. The door slammed shut behind the man as he examined the tortured body. The boy was a canvas of different scars- some red and inflamed, others bloody, and hundreds from years past. It looked like they had harvested one of his kidneys- maybe a liver; after all, if he wasn't useful for his intended purpose, he could be made useful somewhere else. The boy's mutation would have him regenerate one soon.

It was such a shame that Noir would have to be wiped, especially considered the work that they had put into him. He was sold for a high price by the woman who had been meant to keep him safe. All the better for them. Éclater- the flare, a flash really- was another brainwashed assassin that believed that it could become the new pet. It had flipped through Noir's file before coming in, recalling that they had injected the boy with a mutated version of the serum used on Natalya Romanova. Noir- it- was supposed to be the better spy. They had controlled it with the same tricks as the White Wolf, deciding that if Noir proved itself, it could become the next Winter Soldier.

"I think that you should be pampered first. Hm? Do you not agree?" Éclater sneered, drawing out some grotesque looking tweezers and looking forward to releasing its anger on the creature that it perceived to be unworthy of the honours that had been bestowed on it. It was jealous, truly, in only ways that bloodthirsty, ambitious and Machiavellian beasts could be. It blamed Noir for taking away things that could have been Éclater's- the serum and the mission. It thought that it could have killed Tony Stark, and had dreamed of being lauded by the handlers.

Peyta screamed as the other boy pulled on his fingernails, slowly ripping them out of their homes as blood streamed down his fingers. The toenails came next, Peyta trying to maintain his dignity as he resisted the reflex of kicking and tears came to his eyes for the first time in years.

"Did you know that she gave you up?" Éclater said coldly. It wanted Noir to be broken. The Flare left behind only destruction, and it wanted to make sure that Noir could never supplant it.

"What?" Peyta croaked.

"Your aunt. She sold you to the handlers. You were so useless that even they did not want you. You are even more useless now, and you have disappointed the handlers."

"And what of you?" Peyta shot back after a moment, spitting blood onto the crusted floor. Éclater gave a laugh that was more akin to a cackle. He was about the same age as Peyta, with tanned skin and the same locked brown eyes. He covered up his scars with barbs and tried to drag those higher than him down with cutting words and insults. But it was clear that Flash had not anticipated that.

"N-never you mind that." It stuttered in the face of Peyta's glare. Truly, it had never considered a life outside of the imagined glory of HYDRA. Would someone be looking for Flash? Was someone looking for Peyta? Did anyone care about the kids who were gone in a second, never to be seen the way they were again?

"You are a failure." Éclater said, taking a knife and savagely slicing a line diagonally down Peyta's face. He cut and he cut, but Peyta refused to break. Beauty meant nothing to him, though it did help him occasionally. However, Peyta was just seventeen, and though the scarce baby fat had melted off his cheeks, he had not yet become a man. Perhaps he would never get to see his face grow to resemble something normal. Vanity is a black hole and so is a mirror, so Peyta had been made to never see himself for longer than five minutes. Flash had never been that fortunate in ways of modesty. It had been drawn to the reflective surfaces of puddles and glass from the moment it had arrived at the training center.

"Less so than you." Peyta shot back, his face forming into a tired grin that stretched the grotesque and syrupy lacerations on his face. Éclater snarled, raising the knife up, ready to strike, looking like Cain with Abel at his mercy. Its hand was taut around the handle of the blade, its armed tense and prepared to puncture and his teeth bared. It looked almost like an animal. Peyta took a deep breath in, staring Flash in the face and daring the assassin to do it.

The moment was shattered as the door banged open and Flash was picked off with an arrow. Peyta's breath was still being held, his heart in his throat and his head leaning back in the chair. He had faced death a million times, but he had never been that helpless before.

"Hey, kid!" A voice called out to him, and he flinched at the hand that began to undo his bindings. He couldn't make out a face- his eyesight was blurry, a ringing sound in his ear. His breathing became slower as white spots started drifting across his sight and a faceless man grabbed him.

"No!" Peyta realised himself, jerking as he tried to get away. They were trying to kill him. The monsters haunted his psyche, whispering traitorous thoughts. He trusted no one. That is what he had learned. But what if they were wrong?

"Kid!" The man shouted, holding him tighter. A breath of fresh air hit Peyta's face, acting like a stinging slap against the cuts. He took a deep breath, ceasing his fight.

"Nat!" His presumed savior called out. After all, the man had killed Éclater. Peyta stiffened slightly. Could the faceless man be referring to Natalya Romaonva? Was this Clint Barton, who Peyta had impersonated before? His thoughts went wild, deeming him too insignificant for the avengers to come after him. A voice above him cursed in Russian. He could no longer see with the blood crowding his eyes.

"Здравствуйте?" Peyta called out, cursing inwardly at how weak his voice sounds. A sound that reminds him of the rush of water fills his ears, but before he succumbs to the darkness, he heard the sound of gunfire, screams and explosions. A statement was whispered into his ear.

"Don't worry, kiddo. You're safe now with us. We're the Avengers." He relaxed and gave into the dark, trusting in those words.