Project Elemental

Chapter 1

***Hydra Facility, World War II***

The American is screaming again. I curl up against the cold metal wall, hands clasped tightly over my ears. Next to me, my friend F/N sits, and she too covers her ears. But unlike me, her eyes are closed, squeezed shut, blocking out everything. The wall behind her is covered in frost.

I feel bad for the American. They make him forget, but it doesn't last. If he shows us an ounce of compassion, he is punished. They took him apart too. Gave him a metal arm, and made him obey. He said his name is Bucky. I don't remember my name. I reach into my shirt, taking care that the guards outside don't see me, and I pull out the dog tags. Bucky's dog tags. He gave them to me, I don't know why. I'm sure he told me, but I couldn't understand him. He spoke only English, and I speak only German. I run my finger over the metal before tucking the tags back in my shirt. We are all prisoners, and our minds are no longer our own.

From the other side of the glass, I can see the two guards laughing at us. F/N opens her eyes and glares at them. Beneath her, the cot we share is coated in ice. He mutters something in Russian, a jest at our expense, and a man walking past chuckles.

The screaming continues. At least it's not me. I think. The only time we have peace is when he is screaming. The guards call us malen'kiy ptitsy. My Russian is poor, but my friend said that she remembers a little from school. Little birds, she says it means. Because we cry like baby birds. We are kinder, children. How could they expect less when they took us away from our homes.

I still remember the day that we left. It's one of the only things I remember. We were nearly eight. Hitler himself visited my home in Berlin. F/N lived right next door. They promised our parents that we would win the war, and that we would be treated well. They said that they needed us. Something called... Project Elemental. That there would be the best doctors and best teachers and best facilities in all of Germany, all of the world. That we would remembered for all of history as heroes. Our parents were so proud.

They came during an air raid to save us. Like angels, my mother had said. To take us away to a haven. A place of safety and refuge from the fire that fell from the heavens.

Some haven.

It doesn't matter anymore. None of it does. I heard that they found a way. To make us forget. Forget our names, parents, everything. Who we were won't matter, and we will be blank. Canvases for Hydra to paint, clay for them to mold however they desire.

I glance at the wall, where F/N and I have drawn tally marks. One for each day. They cover the wall, spreading day by day like an infection. There are two thousand and ten tally marks on that wall now. Two thousand and ten days of pain and suffering. I lean against F/N, whose skin is colder than the steel wall. But she feels warmer than normal.

Across the room, a waste basket stands, full of vomit. She has been sick for weeks. They don't know what's wrong. They won't give her medicine or even a blanket. I pray every day that she doesn't die like the other one.

The wall is hard behind my back, a stark contrast to my constant fever. The walls were made of steel because is takes 1,510 degrees to melt it. My fire can only reach 1,130 (so I've heard them say) and believe me, I've tried.

The screaming has stopped. I uncover my ears, but my body stays tense. Anytime Bucky isn't screaming, we are.

"002 и 003, время." Time to go. Says the guard as the glass door slides back.

I wince at the harsh tone of the man's voice. I know better than to reply. F/N and I stand, and follow the guard out. One of the reasons Hydra took us was our link. We can feel each other's emotions, find each other by simply feeling. I'm sure she can feel my terror. From her I can feel... Nothing. After the procedures, F/N was becoming distant, colder. It was like she was becoming numb to pain and fear, as if she wanted to die. I'm not sure which was worse. To feel the fear and resist it or to feel the fear and accept it.

We follow the guards, knowing better than to try anything. People walking down the hallway gave us a wide berth and cold stares. As if we were less than nothing, a pipe dream a mad scientist had come up with. Yet they can feel our power. They are terrified of us, terrified of what they have created. F/N sways and stumbles as she walks now, clearly ill. The guards don't help her when she trips and falls. She struggles to her feet, and I force myself not to help her. I know if I do it will mean suffering for both of us.

At the end of the hallway we had turned down there were two rooms, one on the left and one on the right. Realization hits me as I remember these rooms. An earsplitting scream pierces the air, and I see that F/N's icy facade has shattered.

"Helfen sie mir!" Help me! She screams as one guard pushes her into the pristine room on the left. I watch as she falls, sprawling on the floor after being pushed by the guard. He laughs. She murmurs frantically in German, and for a moment I wish I couldn't understand her. While on the ground, she vomits, throwing up the little water and less food she had today. The guard wrinkles his nose and kicks her.

"Hör auf!" Stop it! I scream, and my throat feels like it's filled with glass.

I've said those words- screamed those words- at the top of my lungs for days, and they shred my voice to speak them with no avail. I hate that word. Stop. It's a weak word. It means nothing here. I scream it over and over again, and yet they never listen. They understand, but never... never...

With wide eyes, I am yanked into the next room, and shoved into the chair. Metal cuffs secure me to the seat, binding me hand and foot.

"Он скоро будет здесь." He will be here shortly. The guard says before he leaves. He mutters something about making the birds sing, and I feel fear rising in my chest, like a breath of factory smog in my lungs.

As soon as he's gone, I panic. My hands burst into flames, but the steel cuffs don't budge. I scream, shouting in German, demanding to be let go. It has been six years, but I've never learned. I know what is coming, and I don't want it. I cling to what little I have left, repeating the words to myself.

Best friend, F/N. Home, Berlin. American, Bucky. Hydra, evil.

I know that despite everything I do, in a few hours I will remember nothing. I will know nothing. Nothing but what's on those dog tags. I will lose everything that makes me human, and so will F/N.

Today. Today is the day I have been fearing. Today is the day that they will make us forget everything. For good.