WHAT IF...: Marvel OC One Shots

| Rotten Ground |

TW: blood, murder, and daddy issues.

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{ UNDISCLOSED FACILITY | New York, USA }

"Name?"

       There were exactly one million, two hundred and sixty thousand, four hundred and seventy three— two, other places Cecelia Majors would have rather been than where she was standing, including Hell, if such a place actually existed beyond the confines of the already shit world she knew. "We really doing this dance again?" The flat look of distaste was palpable in the natural pout of her lips, and the biting shade of her celeste blue eyes. She'd already taken off her shoes and her blue denim jacket and placed them into the plastic bin beside her so it could pass through the security scanner.

"Name?"

"Majors. Cecelia." She gave an annoyed flicker of her eyes to the secondary security guard that stepped closer to pat her sides down. She had already passed through the scanner, but— to her luck— not without the sensor being tripped off by who knew what, hence the guard coming to pat her down. "Would it kill you to look less eager?"

       "Any excuse to inconvenience your day like you've inconvenience ours today makes my heart flutter, Majors," the guard flashed an exaggerated grin as she patted the young woman's arms and sides briskly.

       "I don't see you on the list." The main security guard looked up from his tablet once more, dark green eyes furrowing as Cecelia's gaze flickered to steal a glance at the tablet he held. Before he could tilt it away, she had already caught what she was looking for.

       "Your thumb is covering it, genius," she clicked her tongue, "some fucking security you got here."

"Mouthy one, aren't you? Your parents must be overjoyed," the secondary security guard spoke as the first one marked her name and let her step aside.

       "What can I say? I'm their pride and joy," Cecelia didn't give them another glance as she passed the two guards, approaching the plastic bin with her belongings. She tugged on her jacket before slipping on her shoes, and pulling her hair out from underneath the jackets hood. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her jacket as she made her way down the singular hallway until she reached another glass booth with yet another guard behind it.

       "Majors, PI. I'm here to see inmate 350."

       The older man behind the glass, his deep tan skin adorned with wrinkles around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, glanced to the clipboard beside him before lifting his head slowly to take a longer look at Cecelia. "350? You sure?"

       "Yes."

       The old man glanced down to his list again, pushing his thin glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose before letting out a deep sigh. "Alright," he shook his head slightly before leaning back and pressing a call button to his left. "An officer will escort you in. I recommend listening to whatever rules he tells you to follow, unless you want another one of those nasty cuts you got on your face."

       Cecelia gave him a tight smile— it pulled on the new scab on her cheek his below her right eye, a twin of the one just before her ear. "Got it." She moved to the adjoining metal door as a new guard, younger and a lot more... well sculpted than the other three, approached from the opposite side. The man opened the door and leaned his back against it to allow her in.

       "350. Really?" the officer questioned as he watched Cecelia walk through the threshold, joining him on the other side of the stark white hallway lined with grey cement floors.