SHE WATCHED THE SCREEN WITH CALCULATED EYES. She was never allowed contact with the outside world in any way, only told new information when necessary, either through files or carefully edited news footage; her masters would have easily preferred verbal explanation, but her mind retained information better through visual means and an accurately completed mission outweighed their concern of her becoming too aware.

She watched footage of a man with a shield taking down strange creature after strange creature, moving at a superhuman speed, the kind her masters had been trying to perfect when gifting her with her mutations; they had been trying to find a way to unlock the deeply imbedded genes within their subjects but when it proved a failure, they resorted to higher extremes. She could easily take him down; his tactics could be rather unconventional, but they were simple to pick up on.

A woman with a gun. She barely batted an eye; she could take her down easily. She never used guns, as they brought upon nothing but trouble; there were better means to murder than a weapon for the weak-minded. A man with a bow was even more pathetic. The man with the hammer seemed to be more of a challenge, but according to her masters, he would no longer be a threat.

The mutant, however, would be a problem. While young, her powers were great, hands glowing purple as she lifted rubble and wreckage, saving civilians and taking down the strange creatures. She struggled greatly, however, and her powers still had yet to be fully realized; she could use this to her advantage.

The man in the suit, he would be a challenge. While guns were primitive, she had to admit that machine guns strapped onto armor able to maneuver in the sky were a force to be reckoned with, but she was assured that, if she was careful, she would catch him vulnerable.

The same went for the giant green monster. It was what she truly feared, if she could even feel fear when under secondary drug—she had been given a larger dose before entering the room for debriefing. She was assured the same as before: if she was careful, she would catch its human form, a weak scientist with no means of defense, though she had to work quick, otherwise its other form would appear. According to her masters, there was yet to be a true way to kill the man and the beast, but they had perfected a formula for her to inject into his skin, rendering him immobile and mortal.

"It's interesting, we have an entire group of clients," one of her masters drawled, resting his elbow against the table as he looked at her, as if expecting her to laugh with him, "People hate them. I have to admit, it's strange, they did save the world, but money is money."

"Where are they located?" she asked, reading the individual files on each team member, memorizing every fact and notation given to her, searching for weak spots and kill points.

"That's less concrete," one of her newer, younger masters said, his tone more informal than the others, grating against her skin as his human tone seeped through, searching for the person inside who had given up struggling, too tired to try and break free.

"We have reason to believe they all currently reside in Stark Tower," he continued, "For the alien, he doesn't have any relevance to the mission. But the assassins, their position is unclear, though they have been seen coming in and out on occasion."

"Is there a clear pattern?" she asked, the extra dosage keeping her still as unclear of her surroundings or anything else except her tasks as usual.

"No," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "But the clients are much more lenient. They have a specific hit list. The assassins, while strong, are not necessarily the threats, at least in the eyes of the client. They hold weapons any other person can. All the ones living in the tower, however, are the main targets."

One of her original masters stood then, pointing towards the pictures at the front of the files. "Anthony Stark. Steven Rogers. Arabella Rivendell. Bruce Banner."

"How much time?" she asked, focused on the files and the photos; she never looked at her masters, the drug made it so, even if she did raise her head, she would never be able to focus on them.

"Three months," another of her original masters laughed; the laugh was the kind she was used to, a laugh tailored to the manipulation of another, a laugh that let her know the clients were severely overpaying.

"I doubt you'll need that much time," another man said, and she could hardly keep track of just how many were in the room with her, focused only on the information presented to her, "You're not doing reconnaissance. One of our new projects will be staking out the scene, you're simply taking the hit."

She faltered at that. "New project?" She had been the peak of their experimentation, she didn't think they made more after they were successful with her.

They ignored her question entirely, simply dismissing her to go to her training, now tense. She did wordlessly, her mind taking in the new information she was given; she was filled with a controlled curiosity, which could hardly be counted as curiosity at all.

The training room was a place she had become incredibly familiar with, but was only able to reach it when escorted, as she was made completely unaware of where she resided and what could be found. She hardly ever noticed the others that trained alongside her and against her, and the assumption could be made vice versa. All that mattered was the perfection of her technique.

She walked into the spacious area, immediately making her way towards the scanner, a machine that sets up an area tailored to her abilities and synthesized mutations in order to properly prepare her for what missions she would be given.

It had taken much trial and error on the part of her masters, but at the end of their experimentation she had been given enhanced senses that alerted her to danger, as well as enhanced physicality, keeping her swift and agile no matter how long and strenuous her work became. The physicality came with eidetic memory and faster processing time, though this was often negated on account of the drugs.

She crouched into position, eyes darting about as she waited for her mechanized adversary, vaguely aware of the others also practicing in the room, the background a blur in her mind and eyes.

The part of her that laid silent and dormant, however, was able to clearly see the only other person training in the room, as careful and calculated and deadly as she had been trained to. She never expected that her masters would have someone else doing other missions, but she did understand their objective; all the others she had ever seen, however, were never similar to her.

She didn't register this thought, however, focused solely on her objective, moving with the precision she had been drilled to achieve, her movements silent and swift as she destroyed projected machine after machine, barely breaking a sweat.

Parting her focus, she began to plan for her mission, calculating the strength and skill of her targets. She reminded herself to work on dodging projectiles another time, now focused simply on accuracy and power; Steve Rogers would be an equal in terms of strength, but like every other person, he was most likely a creature of habit. Taking down the others was all a matter of finding weaknesses. It was as simple as everything else she did.

She was given a job and she would finish it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

For those who don't know, the mutant with the purple glowing hands is Arabella Rivendell, my Wanda Maximoff fic OC

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!