SHOW ME A VILLAIN AND I'LL WRITE YOU A TRAGEDY

BROKEN INNOCENCE (PART 1)

LADY HYDRA
AGE: AROUND 15 YEARS OLD
BROKEN INNOCENCE (PART 1)

Giselle picked the pieces of her ripped uniform against her naked and bruised body and watched with a totally lacking of passion yet ice cold expression the corpse of the man that was laying by her feet. His head hanged in an unnatural and scary angle and the left side of his head was deformed due to the punch that sank the bones into the brain and killed him instantly. "Lady Hydra can be very efficient" the teenager thought as she walked over the body and headed to the stairs to call her masters and ask for someone to pick her up and a cleaning team to clean up the mess she left in the basement.

The girl identified herself with the stunned woman on the other side of the line and barked shortly her orders. She was quite aware of what she needed, and among her mind list of requirements wasn't the hypocrite commiseration of Hydra's telephonist. No one working under the red skull and tentacles, ever, had mercy on the tiny girl that arrived one night, scared and lost, to the underground facilities that suddenly became her home and jail, and now... now it was too late for that. Giselle that grew up entirely lacking heat and love, find a solace behind the ice cold carcase of steel that surrounded her soul, the sole way she had to survive the chaos that was her life; the violence they made her sink in. It was the only way she had to keep herself floating in the hecatomb of blood that was threatening her with drowning her.

She hanged the phone the moment she was entirely sure they could trace her phone call and took seat in the first stair right in front of the door, entirely unaware of the image she was providing with her beaten body and her beautiful face pale and haggard and the clothes so badly shaped as it was. Her mind started to wander through the previous days, making a recount of the situations that took her there because she knew they would question her and they would torture her if her answers didn't satisfied them.

Memories stuck in her memory in the same disorder they always did, overlapping each other in confusing coats that were too well placed to think that wasn't intentional. Giselle knew it was the result of messing with her head; that the machine that erased the beautiful redhead and the man of the beautiful, sad eyes so similar to hers, from her mind; messed with her memory in a deeper way, confusing everything but that her body remembered even though her mind couldn't summon anymore. That was why she never forgot how to fight. It was impossible that the sensation of impacting the soft flesh of another human being with a part of her body ever ran away from her memory. Giselle would never be capable of erasing that morbid crunch that bones made to greet the impact of her steel fist before falling apart under the pressure... That was, as well, the reason why Giselle, no matter all the efforts they made to eradicate them from her mind, could perfectly well remember her mother, her father and her uncle Steve. They weren't just a memory, they were part of the little assassin's blood and flesh. Every beat of her heart cried for them and those faces, so carefully tried to wiped out of her thoughts, were the first thing to float in front of her closed eyes whenever she was afraid.

Because Giselle was too familiar with fear. Even though she could walk across an enemy army with nothing more than her super soldier body as a weapon, the assassin girl knew what was like to curl up in a small ball in a corner of the cold and wet cell where they forced her to sleep, covering, terrified, her ears to avoid those tearful voices that claimed her for the lives she interrupted. Giselle knew that, among all those beings whose walks crashed with the Grim Reaper they turned her into, there were innocent people that didn't deserve the bloody destiny that her hand gave them, and that was the sole thing that tortured her night after night; in the silent solitude of her reclusion, when she had no one else but herself because the entire world out there forgot about her existence. It was in moments like those that Giselle Buchanan Romanoff rose from the cold tomb where Lady Hydra hid her and called, with silent screams, that mother and that father so bitterly and violently ripped away from her life. It was in moments like those when the red curls of Natasha and Bucky's sad blue eyes appeared in front of her gaze, giving her a burning nail to clench to, trying desperately to avoid the deep falling into the emptiness.

But moments like those couldn't be summoned at will, it seemed like her mind, so soiled and manipulated by Hydra's high commands, refused to give the little murderer that satisfaction, that possibility of losing herself in the memory of her father's caress, so soft no matter his glance was always so full of torment, or in her mother's laugh, that, that was so rare because she never seemed to allow herself to laugh. In that moment, Giselle could only completely dig into the filth of the previous days, in each one of those actions that took her to that point, to be sitting in some random stairs, feeling disgusting and empty and with the body as broken as her soul and as the rags of the uniform she was still wearing. While the corpse of her aggressor, wrecked like she never before destroyed someone, decomposed a couple of stores under her, in the place that should have been her tomb and that, paradoxically became the torture chamber of some monster that didn't think he would find in that broken little doll, a bigger horror than himself.