Captured, Tortured, Lost

Chapter 1 - Capture

That was it. There was no hope left. No exit that would prevent what was about to happen to me. Nothing. I couldn't do anything at all.

I was stood in a darkened alleyway with my back to a wall and four shadowy figures stood in front of me. I could barely make out their faces but I knew who they were already.

To any normal person, this might sound like a situation in which a mugging would occur, or some abnormal gang meeting. But this wasn't anything of the sort.

The four people that stood in front of me were part of an elite team of 'superheroes': the so-called 'Avengers'. There were six of them in total, and four of them stood in front of me now. I knew from the shadows that the Black Widow, Hawkeye, Iron Man and Captain America stood in front of me. The other two (Hulk and Thor) were probably back at HQ.

I backed up slightly, glancing over my shoulder at the wall and calculating how much energy I would need to get over it. It would take a lot, but if I was desperate enough (which I was), then it could be done.

I guess they understood what I was trying to do and began advancing towards me slowly. I stumbled backwards, closer to the wall. They were closing the gap faster and faster. This was my only chance, I absolutely had to try and get over that wall now, or I was going to be captured.

I knew what would happen if I got taken back to S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ; I would be tortured and interrogated and humiliated. It would probably last for months on end, maybe even years. It just depended on how much information I gave up and how much use I was to them.

If I'm honest, I wasn't entirely sure what they were doing coming after me. I understood that I was some sort of evil villain-type person that they wanted to eliminate, but why now? What's so important this time that I have to be captured?

I ran through possibilites in my head, but none of them connected. I was just going to have to make a dash for the wall and hope I got over it in time. Holding tight to my last shread of hope, I counted to three under my breath, slowly and deliberately, taking a pace backwards each number. The Avengers were still walking at the same pace toward me, though Tony (Iron Man) was a little ahead of the others (probably something to do with him having a huge ego).

I reached three and, all at once, spun round and sprinted at the wall. My shabby trainers crunched on the concrete, not gripping the floor which meant that I didn't have as much speed as I wanted.

I flung myself at the bricks and clung on for dear life. They had (obviously) seen what I was doing but still kept the same pace, walking the length of the dark alley. They were at about 2/3s of the way now and would be on my heels in no time. I began scrabbling, fitting my fingers into every tiny gap that I could, clinging on and trying to pull myself further up.

It was quite a tall wall, considering, so it would take a little time. Time that I didn't have.

Gritting my teeth, I swallowed the yelps of pain that threatened to come tumbling from my mouth. The brick grazed my fingers and pushed back my nails into the skin. I reached up and clawed at the wall, trying to find some way of pulling myself up.

I put all my energy into heaving my body up the wall, to the top. At the moment, I was about 3/4s of the way there, another three grabs and I would be close enough to the top to fling myself over.

But the Avengers were closing fast. In fact, they were practically underneath me. I reached out and tried to claw at some bricks higher up but lost my grip and got nowhere. I glanced back over my shoulder to check where they were and saw them staring at me, like zombies.

For a moment, I hung there, clinging to the crumbling brick, my escape ruined. Natasha pulled out a gun and pointed it at me. I panicked and started scrabbling even more, pushing my feet against the wall in a desperate attempt to push my body up it.

Some people might have panicked because they thought they were going to die. I didn't. I knew that if Natasha shot me, I would fall to the ground, they'd drag me off and I'd wake up in some cell somewhere. I would be experimented on, interrogated and tortured which was what frightened me the most. That's why I panicked. Because I knew that I'd spend the rest of my life in some dingy cell, dreading the moment when the key scraped in the lock and Nick Fury stood in the doorway, waiting to take me away. It had nothing to do with death.

In fact, I would have almost welcomed death. At least if she shot me and I died, I wouldn't wake up again. But I knew that Natasha was too good a shot and I would just sustain a gun-shot wound. They'd probably sedate me when I hit the ground... And in any case, if I did 'die', I would just wake up again. So either way, I have to deal with a life of endless pain.

I heard the small click, signalling that she'd cocked the gun and was ready to fire it at me. I dug harder into the brick, scraping my fingers and making them bleed with the effort - it was no use. I managed to get a foot closer to the top of the wall (and freedom) before I felt the searing, hot pain of a bullet ripping through my flesh. It tore its way through my arm, causing me to yell out and (reflexively) grab it. I knew as soon as I did it that I shouldn't have done. I began falling and hit the concrete of the ground with a large 'thud'. Clint (Hawkeye) was immediately on me, holding a needle. The small scratch I felt from the needle was nothing compared to the gun-shot wound. It was a bit of a relief actually.

I attempted to concentrate on the jab of pain from the needle, but felt myself slowly slipping away into blackness. My surroundings and the faces of the four Avengers in front of me swiftly faded... and I was under.

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