𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑, avengers [discontinued]

40

ᶠⁱᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘˢᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵒᵒᵗˢᵗᵉᵖˢ ⁱⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʷᵉᵗ ᵈʳᵉˢˢ
ᴮᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵃʳᵐˢ ʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵐʸ ⁿᵉᶜᵏ
ᵂᵉ ᵈʳᵃⁿᵏ ᵖᵒʳᵏ ˢᵒᵈᵃ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗᵃⁿᵍˡᵉᵈ ˡᵉᵍˢ
ᴵ ʷᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵉᵗ ʰᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵗʰᵉⁿ
ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗ ᵖʳⁱⁿᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ˡᵒᵛᵉ

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

YEAR 1950 | JANUARY

It was cold in Siberia, but it wasn't like that mattered or anything. The only heat provided was from the coats soldiers were given, as well as scientist and ''therapists'' in the area.

As always, the cries of the power-hungry organization's victims echoed throughout the building. Most of the people in the facility were used to hearing it. To some, they were even like prayers, others falling deaf upon ears.

He still couldn't get over it on some days. A small pit forms in his stomach as he desperately wanted to break out and save whoever they were, but then there was that part of him that already knew that they were long gone and their time of death was near. Whether it be that there were about to die, or the loss of sanity after. The first option seemed to like a blessing, to be honest.

''Windows'' were actually small openings with thick bars so couldn't really look through them without having an obstacle in your way. Even with saying that, they're way too high up to even reach. Though, he did like it when light shined through the cracks. It was better than the beaming yellow artificial light in his face when he sat in the godforsaken chair.

He was out of the ice chamber, or whatever it was called. He didn't know why, nor did he know how he even got there, but something inside him told him it was better to not ask questions at all. They'd thrown him into a dark cell with nothing. No blanket or even place to start a fire. Nothing.

So even added with the Siberian cold, it was worse. It nagged away at him like a mouse with cheese, not planning on stopping. At one point, he wondered if he would die from the cold rather than neglection and starvation.

Food was small, not to mention stale. It looked like soup that had all basic nutrients thrown into it so you could survive, but it seemed like the chef didn't care if you liked it or not. The stale bread that held no flavor just added onto how horrible it was.

Blue eyes looked up when the rusted, metal door was opened. Maybe I won't die today, he thought, sighing. He watched as 5 men with rifles entered the room, eyes scanning around the decently sized cell before landing on him. Their eyes basically screamed order.

''Get up,'' the one in front of them all spat, the others behind aiming their guns at him. He didn't know why, though. He hadn't even done anything! Nonetheless, he stood up from the cold ground, feeling his lower half numb, leaving an annoying buzz there.