𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌

𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

- ⧗ ZARIAH PETROVA ⧗

   ZARIAH'S HEAD HURT. Fuck, everything kind of hurt. The pain was the first thing to register, the aching throb behind her eyes. It came to her before full consciousness did, guiding her back into the real world.

She reached for her head, wincing. But as she came to, she was thankful for it. Pain was good. It meant you were alive.

Her eyes opened slowly, desperately trying to adjust to the bright light shining down on her. She had awoken in a cell.

The walls were a clean grey, each identical to the next, barring one which held a door in the corner. It held no lock, simply a keypad on the wall next to it. The floors and ceiling were the same colour, a light beaming down from above.

   As Zariah came further to, she realised she was in a bed. A small metal frame, bolted down to the floor and walls. It was the only furniture in the room besides a small metal desk in one corner.

Zariah's mind came back to her quickly. Alert, she rose from the bed. She scanned her surroundings quickly, taking in any information she could get. There was an opening to her left, leading to a small bathroom with just a toilet and sink inside. Two opposing corners of the room contained cameras, preventing blind spots. Yet, there were none in the bathroom.

Stupid.

The redhead looked down at her clothes. Her suit had been removed and swapped for some highly unflattering, plain grey tracksuit. She'd been left completely weaponless. Although, that wasn't entirely true. She was a weapon in herself, guns or not.

Zariah didn't know exactly where she was but she knew it was bad. She was a prisoner. The enemy had taken her, the stupid fucking Avengers. God they made her sick.

She'd heard all about them at the Red Room. A bunch of egotistical halfwits who claimed to be the protectors of the earth. A bunch of bullshit.

When she'd first caught sight of them at the Ohio base, Zariah had been so ready to take them down.

Steve fucking Rogers. America's biggest narcissist. Guy had some muscles and called himself a hero. Zariah was eager to kill him.

But she hadn't.

She'd...

Her legs suddenly felt weak. Zariah sat on the bed.

Steve fucking Rogers, stronger than she'd thought he'd be. But he was sloppy, no technique to his fighting. Zariah could have brought him down. She almost had.

Then someone else had stopped her.

Zariah didn't even want to think of her name. It made her blood boil.

She had to come in and ruin everything. It was her fault she hadn't taken down Steve Rogers. Her fault she had lost the fight.

It was her fault she had...

No, Zariah told herself. You don't do that. Never.

A slip up was all that had happened. When she'd woken again, in a strange place unfamiliar to her, she'd restarted on her mission. The doctors were easy to kill, the agents easier to take down. Then she'd shown up again.

The fucking traitor.

Zariah had almost had her. She had almost watched the light slip away from her eyes. What a beautiful sight that would have been. She'd been almost drunk on it. How proud Dreykov would have been if she had just...