Crave

Chapter One-Old Friends and Memories

Dark. Humid. Wet.

Sweat drips off the ends of my hair to the floor and droplets stream down my back, neck, and arms. I do nothing to impede the droplets progress. It's not in my nature to care about appearance. Metal and concrete are cold and hard on my body, but both are a relief. My limbs ache from an earlier mission, but I remain seated on the floor where I was placed. Mission complete, targets neutralized, I'd usually be put away by now.

"Hey sweetheart. Sorry to keep you waiting." I instantly stand at the sound of his voice and straighten into attention. My eyes don't dare look up into his.

"This is a bad idea." A man behind him whispers with an American accent and I don't hesitate in meeting his eyes. Green eyes, brown hair, white skin, thin lips. His clothes tell me all I need to know about his standing here, as well as the heavy sigh given to him by the man in charge. When my eyes meet his he visibly flinches.

"Pity you think so, Dane." The boss speaks with his own American accent and I drop my eyes to his boots as he steps in front of the young rookie. Usually I'm working with Russians, so this is a change. This means something is happening. "Even more pitiful is that you think your opinion matters whatsoever here. Open the cage." There's a surprising amount of hesitation before the metal bars shift and open to reveal the small group of men. I remain stone still until ordered otherwise.

"Sorry, sir." The subordinate apologizes and I nearly smirk.

"Apologies don't belong here, Dane. We don't make mistakes." He corrects him and steps inside the cage with me. "Shut the door." The metal screams as they slide it closed. I watch his slick black boots as he walks in a circle around me, white hands with red knuckles hanging loose at his sides in confidence, black cattle prod strapped fondly to his right hip. "Head up." Instantly I snap my head up and the group outside shuffles unsteadily. He keeps walking around me and I still avoid his eyes. I don't have to see his face to call it to the forefront of my memory. Wrinkled. White. Aging blue eyes. Reddish blonde hair. Lips perpetually pulled down in a frown although I've seen him smile before. Usually with the cattle prod in his hand.

"See, she's perfect." He coos and stops in front of me facing his men. "Kneel." Immediately, I kneel. "Open your mouth." My jaw drops. He turns and nods satisfactorily at me. "Good girl." He commends and I see the men outside smiling and elbowing each other. Suddenly I'm struck by a fist and I collapse to the side. My cheek thrums with pain, but I remain still on the filthy, sweat-covered floor. "We've reached perfection here. We've had great success with our two assets. One here, in America, meant to pave the way for the greatness of Hydra. One in Russia, keeping our assets there safe and furthering the cause we've fought hard to protect all these years. Now, it's time we take another step." He waves a hand and the door opens. He steps out and the group of fearful men scatter as someone else walks down the hall. Heavy boots hit the floor speaking of a weighted step. The expressions of the men outside speak of fear, apprehension, and...anticipation. "Stand." The man in charge commands and I obey, not bothering to wipe the dirt off my cheek. My eyes wait and watch for whoever is coming just like the rest. When he rounds the corner, everyone but me takes a breath. Tall, broad, and dark is the man that emerges from the shadows as if he is one himself. Dark, greasy hair falls to strong shoulders and hands barely swing at his side. Dressed in black that's a stark contrast to the white skin of his face but matches the scruff decorating his cheeks, he's formidable. I recognize the clothing. It's the same that I have on. It doesn't take long for me to come to a conclusion.

This is the asset from Russia.

He takes two steps into the cage at a wave of the man's hand, then turns back to the man in charge once he's next to me. My eyes remain on my superior's chest. "Arms." He commands and we both raise our right arms in unison; wrists up. He steps forward with a gleaming silver syringe in his hands and takes my arm first. Ripples of fear and disgust roll throughout my body at his touch, but after the small prick and the injection of a sickly orange liquid, it's done. He puts my arm down and trades his syringe for another. He injects the man to my side and once again hands the syringe off as he steps back. One of those rare smiles appears on his face and I feel unease swirl in my gut along with...something else.