The Mimic - One-Shots

Showcase

Overview: Hydra takes y/n to the Red Room for a showcase, and Dreykov seems to be showing interest. (I know my timelines are fuzzy, but y/n would be a young adult at the least. Yelena and Natasha would still be young around this time, with Natasha probably being more in her teens.)

Word count: 1,620

Warnings: Mention of abuse, murder, slight gore, manipulation.

*****

"Follow, Soldier."

*****

The Red Room. A giant, extensive compound. Much larger than the one y/n lived at, but it also housed far more people. Hundreds of girls, some older, some younger - well, they were all younger, but basing it off of the age y/n looked, there were definitely some older women there.

Y/n was very rarely picked for showcases, and, if she did, it was only to some Hydra higher ups. However, the Red Room had specifically requested her. Maybe it was because she was a girl, or maybe it was just because the Red Room thought that they could defeat her. Hell, it was probably both. Imagine the embarrassment of training up hundreds of girls, and one can walk in and defeat them all.

Y/n was only aware of the showcase because she'd been prepped for the day. That typically never happened. Hydra would happily leave her with matted hair and blood stains on her skin, however, today was different. She was dragged out of her cryo-chamber and forced into a chair where several people started to work on her appearance. De-matting her hair, washing every inch of skin, applying light makeup, everything. It was a dewy look, desperately trying to maintain a form of childlike innocence that y/n used to have before her brain was fried. They'd even washed and stitched up her mission suit.

Hydra was all about exuding class, even if they were the furthest from it. That classiness had definitely wavered over the years, now it just seemed to be a front whenever they made public appearances. During the man in the suit days, y/n's hair would never become matted. She would be taken care of, even after they put her brain in a blender for the first time. But after he died, that care seemed to stop. Her handlers were never as ruthless as the man in the suit, but they never upheld the class that he had.

*****

Y/n was currently walking behind her handler and Dreykov, the man behind the Red Room. Her face was one of zero expression. Cold, empty eyes with not a single autonomous thought going on behind them. She was told to follow, and that was exactly what she did. Her classic deathwalk. Perfect posture and chin held high.

The widows and trainees lined the hallways, all stood in the same position, all watching the visitors. The children's eyes were wide, still full of hope and innocence, just like young y/n. They still had the hope that the visitors could save them, but that quickly disappeared at the sight of y/n. Shock collar around the neck, mask covering the lower half of her face, and walking with perfection. They weren't going to be saved by the visitors. Hell, they seemed to be worse.

Y/n hadn't even looked at the widows lining the walls. Her eyes stayed fixed forward, completely focused on her handler. The shock collar around her neck was uncomfortable. Tight enough to restrict a deep breath, but it was just another precaution that was put into place after the man in the suit's death. Even if y/n was as loyal as one could be, they were terrified of what she could do. She was their perfect weapon, like a nuclear missile that Hydra could just aim at shoot at whoever they pleased. However, if that missile wasn't stored properly, it could kill them instead.