Changing the Bullet to Human

The Beginning

Eyes blinked at the people surrounding the mangled body. Green eyes dulled by exhaustion gazed at the Avengers, surrender to what would come glistening. The Avengers stood, shocked at the state of the….person? tied up, and held down by massive chains. The sad green eyes slowly closed from exhaustion, and the world went black.

The same eyes blinked awake, a frown forming on lips, wincing at the brightness of lights. A person muttered words, incoherent, and the lights dimmed. Eyes glanced around the room. Standard hospital dress, two humans occupying the room. The feminine one was pointing to things on a hologram. The masculine was approaching, holding a cup of water. There was no visual reaction, except the slightest widening of those leafy eyes.

The masculine turned away, speaking incoherently to the feminine. With no eyes observing, a shakey, weak hand reached for the cool water. Slowly, the savory liquid approached parched lips. Once touching the lips, the water all but disappeared. Eyes glanced around the room again, watching the humans.

The feminine returned the gaze, speaking. The eyes just blinked, head tilting a bit, unsure what was being said.

The masculine walked up, pointing to themself, “Bruce,” they turned the point to the feminine, “Cho.”

Eyes blinking, the meaning was understood. Handlers, names. Names of Handlers. Unnecessary, but if Handlers required it.

The two stood, as if awaiting something. Shouldn't they know that if they felt names were needed, they could simply assign one?

So, the head tilt switched directions, slowly. Handler Bruce pointed, a hand going to mirror, pointing to a chest.

They spoke again, incoherent. They were just blinked at. They frowned, and seemed to ask a question. What did they say? Focusing, the words were more discernible.

“□□□ name?”

Name? Were they asking to assign one? Were they asking for one to be assigned? Why would they ask me-

Pain. The cup fell, shattering on the ground. Handler Bruce lurched forward, grasping, touching, pushing arms from head. Handler Bruce was pushed away, a bit too harshly, sending them stumbling. Handler Bruce and Handler Cho may enforce punishment, and the trembling stopped.

Eyes looked up, fear clear in them as they drifted to Handler Bruce. Handler Bruce slowly approached, speaking, soft tone. No Handler used that type of tone.

The pain remained, not as severe. Handler Cho was sweeping the glass. Energy was depleting, but there was no way of communicating to request rest time. Handler Bruce rested their hand on a knee, turning those blank green eyes to them.

Handler Bruce was, again, speaking incoherently. A frown danced on parched lips, focus attempting to aid in communication. Futile.

Handler Bruce gently started to push back on a shoulder, just enough to convey that they wanted a different position. Eyes stared up at the white ceiling, blinks slowing until eyes were closed, opening occasionally. With no punishment for those actions, the eyes closed for the last time in a while.

“-should be fine, kid was banged up, but seems to have healed fine-”

“She's still not in good condition. She looks like she'd fall over if someone poked her!-”

Eyes remained closed, listening to the words. It had been a long time since they were coherent. The two voices kept speaking, speaking of injuries and recovery. The want, the urge, to just lay there until the flesh adorning bones rotted. Until the reminders of the pain, anger, hurt, and hate drifted away.