Hellfire▹w.s.|✔[Wattys2016]

prolouge

Inhale. Exhale. She struggled to draw in each breath, the shallow ones she could manage shaky and uneven. Her eyes weren't covered, but her eyelids screamed in protest as she tried to open them. As the rhythmic sound of her own heartbeat faded out of her ears, even louder voices replaced it. Some of it was blurry, slurred together—what little she could understand, was in a different language. Glimpses and choppy English surfaced, to which she tried to move again. She quickly found herself restrained, the fabric of a hospital gown slicked against her skin with sweat.

"God? God! Who is God? God is in the pits of our minds to.." The words faded into something she couldn't understand. Her head throbbed painfully, a final prod for her eyes to shoot open with a sharp intake of breath.

She quickly found a great deal of things—none of them being pleasant, whatsoever. Her throat was on fire, she was so, so thirsty, but she couldn't say anything, couldn't speak. There was a muzzle on her face, and she could barely breath as it was. The girl finally stopped struggling, staring at the people around her with calculating eyes. Too bright. The lights around her were blinding, made her head swim even more.

She screwed her eyes shut, letting out what could've been a small gasp of pain as her head throbbed again.

"Oh, good, our subject is awake," someone said. His voice was thin, producing such a scratchy sound she could only whimper in response. The girl opened her eyes wholly, avoiding looking up, and glanced around. It hurt. The man in front of her was short and round, for lack of better words, but he didn't look very peaceful. He had a wicked glint in his eyes, something she'd seen before but couldn't quite place where.

"Where am I?" she tried to say. Her words were drowned out by the mask, molded tightly to the angles and shape of her face. The man seemed to understand.

"You, my dear, are where you probably never wanted to be," he began, a small, worrying grin on his face. "Hydra." The girl started kicking again, ignoring the pain from the restraints on her legs, ferociously trying to get free. No, not after this. Not after him. A whole new wave of nausea washed over her, making her stick back to the table. Her heart skipped a beat, as she started to struggle for breath.

"What do you want with me?" she yelled. It came out as a slurred cry, the mask made of a thick material. Tears pricked her eyes, for she was starting to remember why and how she'd ended up here. The train. The Alps. Barnes. Rogers. The man, who's name she never learned, smiled again, that wicked light shining furiously in his beady eyes. "We want... To show everyone, that there is no God. By making one of his most famed servants from a lowly girl born in Brooklyn."

EDITED 10/2/16