Displaced Nomad **Coming Soon**

Prologue

In some deep sub-level of a Cadmus facility in Washington D.C, Sarah Rogers runs through a few early morning work-outs. Push-ups this time. It's her way of keeping to a sort of schedule in her current situation. She pushes herself out of the push-up and lets out a breath, her eyes drifting to where there are indentations in the wall from where she has punched into the concrete. It's been about five months now that she's been stuck here in Cadmus, though it is hard to keep track of time without a clock or being able to see the sun, but she counts in her sleep cycles and when they bring her dinner and breakfast. She assumes they would keep to an actual 24 hour cycle. She uses those indentations to mark her days as they pass by. Slowly.

Sarah takes a deep breath and then throws a punch into the wall, marking another day. Another morning. Stuck. They keep her in this cell all the time, except for a few occasions. When she is taken out and forced to fight another of their prisoners. And well, if she does well in those fights, then she gets stuff. The better she performed, the more she got. When she first woke up in this room, it was more of a hospital room than a bedroom with beeping machines and rails on the bed, which she was handcuffed too, and quickly got out of them. The first time. They doubled down the second time and by then, she was weak. Unsure of how long it had been since she ate or slept. She draws her hand over the blanket on the proper bed that she now has. The bed came after her first fight. Her first win. She was pitted against someone. A boy with no name. Over and over and over again. Until she killed him. Until they made her kill him. She doesn't know how they found out about her power, though she assumes it happened before she woke up in this room. Perhaps a doctor or one of the scientists tried to take her blood, and touched her skin. They were careful with her after she woke up. Until they made her touch the boy with no name, touched him until he died. That was the last time she saw him, obviously.

Sarah lets out a breath and sits on the edge of her bed as she looks around 'room'. At the items that she has accumulated in the last few months. The bookshelf was her second prize. The painting of a woodland, her third. The blanket, her fourth. Clothing that is not a white jumpsuit, her fifth. And for killing the boy with no name, she got to eat something that she chose to eat. She chose chicken and waffles. A reminder of her breakfasts with Steve. It was a mistake to remind her of that but she still enjoyed the food, for what it was. This room is not a bedroom, because that implies comfort, but it is no longer a sterile room with no warmth. This is not her home. It is so very far from it. She just has to stay strong until the Avengers come and get her. If she can't escape on her own, which she tried, then she has to have faith in her friends and her family. That they will find her and free her. Even after five months. She has to hold onto that belief in her family.