Purgatory and Hell

Bad posture earns you a swift slap with the wooden rod.

Bad performance means a swift slap with the wooden rod. And then a month in conditioning.

Conditioning is 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭.

"𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳." 𝘔𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘮 𝘒𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘧, 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮. 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴. "𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭."

Her praise had no right to be so validating.

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘐 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘔𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

My filed nails dig into the solid metal rail attached to the mirror. I take in the girl staring back. Cheekbones prominent, more so than they should be. Veins worming beneath my skin, disappearing then reappearing with every subtle movement. "Christ." Is the only word I can manage to form. Surprise floods my empty eyes when I see the figure in the mirror move her mouth in time with mine.

I'm too thin to be properly healthy. I know that.

But in conditioning they don't allow you to eat.

𝘐 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭

𝘖𝘯𝘦. 𝘛𝘰𝘰. 𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘺. 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴.

Chills rise on my spine.

I'm not new to conditioning. But every time it never fails to scare me how different of a person I become.

𝘔𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘮 𝘒𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘨.

Wood stings.

Stinging turns to itching.

My fingers twitch, aching to scratch that itch.

Sixteen years I've been walking between Purgatory and Hell.

𝘐𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘦.

"𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯." 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴.

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘴, 𝘐 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘰𝘦𝘴. 𝘉𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘦𝘴.

"𝘋𝘰𝘸𝘯."

"𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯."

𝘐 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦.

𝘔𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘮 𝘒𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘺. "𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮."

Inhaling deeply, I rotate on my heels and exit the main conditioning room to return to my barracks.

Despite having a kill streak, and an extensive federal record, I was still suffering through experimentation.

Dreykov looked to me when any new scientific discovery was made.

"That one." He would point.

My body reaped both the benefits and the restrictions.

I could feel myself fading away. Wearing down to a creature bearing no resemblance to the soul I once was.

I still feel that.

It's in my bones, my blood, my flesh.

I've been practically poisoned by these people.

But it's ok. Because I can kill for them.

My life still holds some value, though my body is just a machine for them to direct as they please.

"He wants to see you." A younger Widow intercepts me in the dark hall. "You should get dressed, here's your barrack key." She rushes off. Making not a sound against the marble floor though she has bare feet.

Absently, I turn over the last week in my mind. I wasn't a child anymore, the instructors didn't take it easy on me. Tears in my muscles will be agony for weeks.

Treading carefully past dorm rooms and open barracks, I find my bed and hurriedly change into my tactical clothing.

I make a point to avoid the younger girls going back and forth between classes. Sticking to the right side of the hall, closest to the wall.

They look, but do not dare utter a word.

"You called?" Hands behind my back, I step forth into Dreykov's office, turning sharply on my heel to face his desk.

He grunts, and motions lazily for me to look at the screen behind me.

I obey.

Like a trained dog.

I obey.

Images fall into place. I recognize faces, four, to be exact.

"Those are your targets." The light brush of skin on skin tells me he's folded his hands together. "Three are old Widows of mine. Do not underestimate them."

"Yes sir."

I don't ask about the fourth woman.

"You'll have competition, HYDRA has deployed their Winter Soldier project to take care of these girls before you can. Make sure all he finds are cold bodies."

With a firm nod, I exit the room.

Before an assignment, all field Widows are required to have an injection.

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦.

All the girls in Dreykov's arsenal would do anything he tells them to.

Because they have no other choice.

He says jump.

They say how high.

I, am they.

But the injection is a precaution. In case something goes wrong.

Nothing ever went wrong.

---------

Blood coats my fingers, my leg, and the blade clutched tightly in my fist.

Lucy lies in front of me.

Still warm.

Though very dead.

Salty tears trickle down my flushed cheeks, mingling with the red liquid pooling at the old Widows head.

I crushed her skull.

I pushed her from a rooftop, and pulverized everything above her eyebrows. "Oh god." I moan, trying to wipe my stained hands on the leather suit, but everything just smudges further.

Shaking hands reach out, leaving red fingerprints on Lucy's eyelids as they close them. "You can rest now."

Lucy was lucky. She got out of the Red Room, figured out how they were controlling girls, and found a counteragent.

That's what she used on me.

"Ok," I run my fingers through my hair, red dust scatters around me, leftovers. "I'm ok, I need to get up now."

He's approaching.

I 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 it.

"I need to get up now." Repeating the words does nothing.

My brain understands, but my body does not.

Shoving away from Lucy, I command myself. "Get up."

I'm gone before the Winter Soldier arrives, taking any evidence of my presence with me.

Only leaving a now long cold corpse in my wake.

----------

Coffee warms me from head to toe.

Greedily, I suck in large sips from the mug and practically drain it before I take a moment to breathe.

I'd been on the road, and in the sky, for six months.

My journey to America, to find my sister, had not been as simple as I thought.

The Winter Soldier tracked me.

He was too good and I succumbed.

Had I not been fresh into a new world, I might have won.

But I didn't.

HYDRA took me in like I was one of their own. Another prize on a different shelf.

They did their experiments and I was tortured, both physically and mentally, exposed to an unknown object that gave me otherworldly abilities, then exploited for those abilities.

So now, as I stare blankly out the window of a small, out of the way diner, I'm left unsure of what to do. Ninety percent of my life has been captivity. Freedom isn't a concept I really comprehend anymore.

Nonetheless.

I remove a ten dollar bill from one of the many pockets in my coat and place it on the table on my way out. It's winter now, close to Christmas I think, and I'm trying to head to the west coast to find Natasha. When I drive I like to have the radio on to keep me company, and many times news of Tony Stark's assistant, Natalie Rushman, was broadcasted. Something she said or did on Tony's orders.

Tony Stark, I was beginning to learn, was very important to America and he valued his assets.

I suppose Natalie Rushman doesn't mind being another asset for some rich man.

As I drive, I decide to turn on the radio.

If just to torture myself.

"Starks intern, Ms. Natalie Rushman, has declared he will be fighting against Hammer Industries and their new employee. A man going by the alias of "Whiplash" due to the electric whips he uses as weapons."

"Hammer?" The volume rises.

"Whiplash has made no contact with any authorities as to why he's causing panic and destruction, but with Hammer industries on the rise, we can expect new information will be leaked soon."

The car almost swerves off the side of the road with how hard I brake. "Holy fu-" My swear is cut off by an elderly lady honking behind me. "Move!"

I abide without another word.

Hammer industries was popular in Russia a few months ago, for it's acceptance, even appreciation, of deadly weapons and missiles. "Oh god, oh no." My head hits the steering wheel as I groan in frustration. Tony Stark is going to challenge Hammer industries. And with the help of their new Russian friend posing as "Whiplash", it won't go to the formers favor.