Silhouette | B. Banner

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"Cast me down where the devil don't go

Devil don't go where I make my home"

2014

New York

A low buzz rings through the air from the fluorescent lights. There's the smallest continuous flicker in the corner of the room. The moment it's noticed it seemingly increases.

A high-pitched ringing bounces around an unconscious girl's head. Her cuffs jingle as she stirs. Her eyes snap open. She cringes at the sudden light exposure, her head pounds relentlessly. Despite her discomfort, she remains completely silent. She shuts her eyes, adjusting herself to her environment. After a moment she reopens them, completely ignorant of any pain she's in. In fact, they are completely devoid of any emotion. She finally takes notice of the dried blood staining her clothes. Blood and mud mixed in with her hair, turning it matte black.

She examines the room before her scrutinizingly. Taking in account any potential exit routes. Her head snaps towards the wall to her right in response to something. She can't quite tell what clued her in but it's a certainty that the wall is in fact fake. It's the same as a two-way interrogation mirror. Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, almost watching whoever lies behind the wall.

Moments later, Natasha Romanoff with Steve Rogers in tow walk in. The brown-eyed girl recognizes them as soon as the door opens. Her face remains stoic, watching the pair like a hawk. Rogers isn't nearly as much as a threat compared to Natasha. Romanoff wouldn't hesitate to put her down in an instant if she proves to be a threat.

Natasha folds her arms, plastering on a fake smile, "Hi, I'm Natasha and this is Steve. Don't be scared, we're not gonna hurt you."

In any other case, she would have kept a cold demeanor just as is her nature. But the lights above her head are blinding and her hearing is so sensitive she cringes at Natasha's voice. She rattles her handcuffs, to her ears it's the equivalent of standing right next to a high school marching band. She lets out a resigning sigh, cursing herself out mentally. "Do you have any sunglasses? A pair of headphones perhaps?"

"I'll talk quieter." Natasha motions for Steve to hand the teenager one of the requested items he just happened to have on him. She inspects the pair of shades with a TS engraved on the side. Natasha watches the girl carefully, "Banner figured if you woke up, you'd be out of sorts."

She puts the sunglasses on, keeping her head down from the lights. "If  I woke up?"

Natasha and Steve share a look.

Nat continues, not addressing the question. "At first, we wanted to help you-"

"We still do," Steve interrupts in his standard sincere Captain America way.

Natasha continues on, "You're a person of interest at the moment. We just have to make sure you're not dangerous." She slides over a tablet.

It plays a video of last night. A dark street with only one source of dim light from a streetlight. The teenager looked just as bad. She was covered in dirt and her clothes were being held together by threads. A few vans screech up to the sidewalk. Hydra agents pile out, surrounding the girl. She looks more annoyed than anything else, immediately moving forward to beat the ever-living crap out of them. One after one, she takes agents down. Just as she starts to go after the last one, he manages to get a shot in. A tranquilizer dart lodges itself in her thigh. Despite that, she still bangs his head against a car before dragging herself to an alley where she promptly passes out.