Just Him&I: In a Universe of Cruelty

Part 11

I remembered how, in early childhood, I accidentally read Pierce's thoughts. I saw his memories, desires, feelings, and mood. This is probably a more advanced telepathic ability. For instance, I can fully dive into someone's mind and see whatever I want. I thought it was simple; they call them "false memories"—when someone remembers things that never happened. I blamed it on a child's wild imagination and didn't think about it. Now, I can't control these abilities; in fact, they don't exist at all.

I don't know how long I'll stay here—a day, two, or a few hours. I'm still sitting in this damned chair, bleeding. Rumlow comes to me now and then, beating me until I lose consciousness. They bring me back with a splash of cold water, then leave again. This cycle has repeated several times, following the same script.

All my clothes are wet and dirty, I'm shivering from bruises, cuts, and cold water. My fingers are numb, and my head spins.

This time, it's not Rumlow who enters, but that doesn't make me feel any better. He could keep me here for a month or even a year.

A man of short stature, average build, with a pale, marble-like face, gray hair, and deep wrinkles.

He walks up to me, opening a small black case. I don't look his way—I don't want to see what he'll do next. He pulls out a syringe, inserts it into my vein, drawing blood—an eternity seems to pass. At last, he's done.

— Why are you doing this? — I squeeze out the words, my voice hoarse. I whisper, very softly, and clear my throat. I'm thirsty and hungry. He says nothing; they're like robots here. Walking corpses, showing no emotion, just following orders. I see Barnes in each of them, acting the same way.

I'm waiting for him, waiting without stopping. Every time the door opens, I pray it's him, that he's come to take me away from here.

I can't endure this anymore; I've cried out all my tears, and it feels like there's no blood left in my body. I can't imagine what I look like now, what scars or wounds I have.

Maybe I'm already dead, and this is the hell everyone talks about. I must have lived so poorly for God to punish me like this.

Maybe it's just a dream; yes, I'll wake up any moment now, but nothing changes. This is harsh reality.

He just walks away silently, his steps echoing on the cold floor. I'm already losing my mind.

Rumlow enters and nods briefly to two guards. They approach me, expressionless, and unfasten my legs and arms. Hoping he'll let me go is pointless; he's not easy to shake off, and, unfortunately, I realized that too late.

One of them lifts me, sets me on my feet; I can't stand. I collapse as soon as he lets go, and they grab my arms again. I sway, breathing heavily. They tie my hands and then wrap a tight black cloth over my eyes, effortlessly throwing me over a shoulder.

— What are you doing?! — My strength left me long ago, but I dare to ask. They're all silent, as if they've swallowed their tongues. The blindfold painfully presses against my face; I adjust it slightly with aching hands.

We drive in the car for ages; I can't understand where they're taking me or what they'll do next. I can't do anything; I can't even stand on my feet.

The car stops, and they pull me out; I manage to stand better on the ground now, but I still need support. The scent of pine needles hits my nose. I inhale the fresh air, filling my lungs, and start coughing. Rumlow steps on twigs, pine cones, and leaves, crunching as he walks. I wince involuntarily, gripping the man leading me tighter. Walking is hard, so he practically drags me. My legs, unaccustomed to movement, begin to ache, and their steps feel like a run. But I keep going, hoping for salvation.

We're headed somewhere specific; I'm sure of it. Why is it taking so long, and what will they do? I still don't know. Not a single one of them has spoken a word, though Rumlow usually has plenty to say. This realization sends chills down my spine.

We finally reach a spot; they remove the blindfold gently and untie my hands. I rub my wrists, wincing, and squint in the bright sunlight. It's likely around noon, but I'm not sure; the sun is intense. I look at everyone present.

Rumlow stands inconspicuously to the side, playing with matches. He's wearing the mask again; I noticed he only does this around others. I bite my lower lip, already bloody; it stings, but I ignore it.

Four guards in special uniforms, two behind me, two in front. Their stares go right through me, eyes foggy and lifeless. It's as if they were the ones interrogated here, not me. I smile to myself and wait for them to act.

— Dig! — a firm voice behind me startles me. A shovel is handed to me. I look at it skeptically and take it in my hands. I didn't think I'd die like this, oh no. But I assure you, it's far better to die than to serve him until the end of my days. My hands tremble from the shovel's weight, and I begin digging, piling the dirt to the right.

— This is your last chance to confess where the serum is. — I stay silent, focusing on digging my own grave. My own grave—this sounds funny, almost absurd. I hope they at least put up a headstone or bury my body properly.

I've dug a deep grave, just the right size for a person. I toss the shovel aside; it clatters to the ground.

I think about saying goodbye to James; we barely know each other, but he's the closest thing I have to family. Our life paths are similar, and I'm grateful for everything he's done for me. I once said I'd be grateful to him until my last breath—that moment has come. I know he's alive; I feel it. I hope his life turns out much better than mine, and that he finds happiness.

— Then you're of no use to us. We have your blood, so we can create the serum from your abilities. And believe me, there are people eager to test it on themselves — I sense his sneer behind the mask. I lick my lips and await my fate.

— Or will you force them to test it? — I no longer care what I say, and I didn't care before, but now it's different. I feel nothing but sadness. There's no fear, and there never was.

— What will your last words be? — he asks, tilting his head to the side. His eyes dart over my face.

— Drop dead, you bastard! — I shout and smile. The gun is aimed at my chest; I stand on the edge of the grave. I silently count down to the end. He pulls the trigger effortlessly, and the bullet pierces my heart. At first, I feel a burning pain; I close my eyes, then nothing.

Everything I remember flashes before my eyes.

I'm dying.