Dancing For Demons

Forgotten Memories

The door is swung open and a man staggers in, his face swollen and his knuckles bloody. He mutters to himself with slurred speech.
It's your fault. It's your fault.
The concrete block of old communist homes where he lives is cold and damp. The mouldy wooden door, opens up to a plain room with wooden chairs and a kitchen to one side. Off this room is a small bedroom that features an unmade bed. A pile of blankets in one corner indicates another person lives there and sure enough the inhabitant, a young girl, pokes her head around the door and in a soft, innocent voice, greets this man.
Welcome father.
He looks at her and his mumbling grows into a chant. Aware of what is going to happen, the little girl scurries across the room to her corner of blankets. Clumsily he lunges at her and grabs a fistful of her coal-black hair. She is relentlessly dragged across the room and screams loudly.
Stop it! I'm sorry, father, I'm sorry!
But no one will come and help her. They're all scared of her father, the infamous russian assassin and spy. Anyone who get in his way, drunk or sober died. And the police always turned a blind eye. They never wanted to end up as his next victim.
She lands in a crumpled heap next to a greasy cluttered kitchen, after being flung across the room. Though clumsy and dizzy from a night down the pub, his years of training make him a formidable opponent and the little girl knows not to fight back. Instead she cowers in fear, watching her own father heavily stagger towards her. He begins to shout, agitated and uncontrollable.
It's your fault! It's your fault!
Wildly diving onto her, his filthy hands close around her neck and she gasps and splutters as her oxygen is cut off. Her arms desperately wave around until her right hand grasps onto a 10 inch steel blade. In one clean sweep, she brings the knife up and stabs her own father in his chest, desperate for the precious air eveyone takes for granted.
His hands unclench from her throat and a wave of air floods her body. Sitting up, she notices a figure peering in through the doorway. She is too shocked, however, to look at the figure properly, as her eyes are transfixed by her father's body.

Groggily, her eyes flutter open to reveal a room that seems otherworldly to her. Everything is clean white with no trace of the usual mould and dust she has grown up with. Looking down, she see that someone has changed her tattered grey dress into a white vest top and white trousers. She is lying on a surgical chair and as she glances around there are strange machines that she has never seen before. Confused, she tries to remember who she is and what she is doing there, but no memories come to her. She is so deep in thought, she doesn't even notice the door opening until a tall, imposing woman in a crimson red dress enters, followed by a man in combat wear and two men wearing white lab coats. They all ignore except for the lady who trains her eyes on her, examining her like she is at the market.
Due to her lack of memories, a million questions swirl around in her mind like an angry storm and so she blurts out a few of them.
Where am I? Who are you? What happened?
None of the respond, but instead the lady turns around and looks straight at her, giving her a chilling, but reassuring smile.
Hello, Anastasia. We are very glad you are feeling better. My name is Madame Orlov. You are safe here.
The words rolled lightly off her tongue in a well practiced response.
But the girl is confused. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she can feel a memory of another name. She is sure she isn't called Anastasia, so she does the logical thing and tells this lady that.
The surprised expression that was immediately hidden behind a mask of calm was easy to miss, but the tension that flooded the room was unmistakable. She realised that what she had said was the wrong answer and the response is instant. Madame Orlov picks up a gun, she clearly carries around with her and points it straight at one of the scientists. A deafening blast is followed by a look of absolute horror across the man's face. His coat turns a scarlet-red and he collapses on the ground, twitches slightly, and then is still.
Then Madame Orlov speaks in English to the other men. "Wipe her again and call someone to dispose of this mess."
Then she finishes with two words that would stay with Anya for her entire life.
"Hail Hydra!"

....................

Only an hour after Steve was attacked, the Avengers met in the lounge to discuss the situation.
"Tell me what you saw in her mind," Vision started the conversation with.
Wanda picked up her mug of tea and took a long sip, trying to come up with the words to explain. Eventually she spoke. "It was strange. Usually when I look into someone's mind, I can find out their whole past, but with her it was different. She is fifteen, but there are only six years worth of memories in her mind. The rest were locked away, however I managed to grab one memory before you pulled me out."
After a few minutes of silence, Sam Wilson piped up. "What was this memory?"
"I'm not sure," Wanda replied. "A little girl being beaten up by a man, I think. I didn't see it very clearly."
Aware that this conversation was affecting her, Vision walked over and put his hand on her shoulder. He politely asked her if she knew who the assassin was. "She works for Hydra," answered Wanda. "I believe her name is Anastasia."
Just then, the doctor walked in. Everybody turned to look at him with anxious faces and he felt glad the news he had do give was good.
"The bullet in his leg just nicked an artery and the bullet in his stomach missed anything vital. He is going to be fine," the doctor informed them, hearing a sigh of relief as he finished. "As for the girl," he carried on. "She should be dead, but her body is healing at an incredible rate, in fact she is already fully healed. We did some blood tests and discovered she has an extremely high count of microphages. When you want to talk to her, just let me know and I will wake her up." When they didn't reply, the doctor took that as a sign to leave and walked back to the lift.
Meanwhile Natasha addressed the team. "If she works for Hydra then she will be trained no to talk. She will tell us nothing. The best thing to do is to tell Fury. He can find a suitable location to keep her locked up."
This shocked Tony and he exclaimed "She is a fifteen year old girl and you want to lock her up for being brainwashed."
Natasha tried to explain how dangerous she was, but Wanda cut her off mid-sentence. "I think I can get her to talk."