HER THOUGHTS WERE MUTED WHEN SHE SLIPPED ON HER UNIFORM, the tight material reminding her of a straight-jacket.
But she did not mind, nor did she care.
The mask was a requirement, and she pulled the hard material over her mouth and nose so there was only two eyes peeking out. They told her it was a requirement of safety, as no one person would know the identity of the other.
She did not mind, nor did she care.
During the night the loudspeakers would whisper stories of their predecessors, a frequent mention was the original Winter Soldier. They told her of his success, but it was friendship that dragged his mind from the compound and out into the dangerous world.
She did not mind.
As she slept a strange boy continued to fill her dreams, he would laugh and tell her a funny joke where she would respond, the voice foreign on her tongue. There were other faces too, of a blonde woman who spoke like Doctor Petrov, her words formal and expressions professional. A shorter boy with a mop of dark hair would follow the pair around, his eyes twinkling as he talked.
And finally, there was a figure in red and blue. He swung around a city she did not know the name of using a device she could not comprehend.
She did not care.
Doctor Petrov entered her small room, smiling as he saw her blonde hair tumble out from under her hood. He liked her, he had said, and he reminded her of a strong young woman he used to know. He would often lead her down the hallways to the room she first remembered, the bare walls, the unfamiliar clothing.
She had not yet met another like her, another that had a matching purple scar and powers beyond comprehension. The only other person she would see was the expressionless mask of her guards face, who would hand her rations through a slit in the bottom of the door.
She did not mind.

Doctor Petrov motioned for the guards to step aside as he lead her down an unfamiliar hallway.
She did not question his actions, she was taught to not speak unless ordered to, and follow any order her superiors gave her.
She did not have a name, only a number which she would repeat in her mind until it was second nature.
024
When she first received her number, she was told that it meant she was the twenty-fourth to be given the same treatment since The Winter Soldier. But, according to Doctor Petrov, she was the first to survive.
There was something special about her that they could not understand. Whether it was the colour of her eyes to the nature of her power, she would not know. She would never understand what was so special about this one girl, who didn't even have a name.
Doors were pulled back to allow Doctor Petrov passage into a large circular room. A man— who she was to call father — stood in the centre as others dressed like her stood before him. Underneath her mask, she frowned, wondering why she was last to be brought out.
She did not care.

Father smiled when he saw her. Whenever she was near him, he seemed to have a soft spot for her. 024, he would call out as she passed a cell, halting her in her tracks. He would ask how she was, permitting her to speak, and she would reply gruff answers in her toneless voice.
The others shuffled on their feet as she pushed through the crowd, bowing her head to father when she halted at the foot of the podium. A smirk formed underneath her mask, clearly these kids were new here. Their scars still fresh, their minds still together. It would be her pleasure—

Bronwen, what are you doing?

She froze, hearing the small voice call out in her mind. Her face was a mask of neutrality as she began to panic inside. She could not let them see, let them know, that she was malfunctioning.

Bronwen, this isn't you. Please!

She blinked, and the boy's voice was gone from her mind. Father was staring down at her, "Is there a problem?"

She shook her head, keeping her gaze trained on her feet.
It would be her pleasure to break these foals in, and she was content to.
Father had decided to throw these new kids to the lions. She was already programmed, so she would be the one they would fight. From her knowledge they knew nothing about fight patterns, or fighting in general.
This would be fun.

∆ ∆ ∆

She stared down the wide-eyed boy before her. He was frightened, she could smell it. He was the youngest here — his number being 221. It did not shock her that over two hundred children and adults alike had been tested and treated the way she had. They had been cut open, and only the strongest would survive.
It was pathetic that he was here. Absolutely pathetic, and she would not go easy on him.
He cowered at the edge of the ring as she punched him to the ground, not damage being done as she and her power were one and the same. Instead of her fist making contact, it was the ball of energy that wrapped around it.
He was the last for the day, and with that, Doctor Petrov reentered the room and took her back to her cell, rewarding her with a fresh set of clothes.
They had transferred her to a different cell since she arrived at the compound, this one including security cameras and a shower.
She did not care as she peeled off her clothing, taking her mask off and stepping under the trickle of water that she considered refreshing.
She did not know how long she had been inside the compound. Time was irrelevant when there were no windows for you to see the outside world.
She stood under the shower for more than enough time for the sweat to wash off her. There was no bar of soap for her to use, as they thought there'd be a way for her to escape using it.
Pathetic.
She hummed, her hoarse voice causing it to sound more like a broken guitar than anything else.
Peter! I know you're there.

With her fist, she pounded it into the wall once. She grit her teeth, shutting her eyes as voices flooded her mind. She could not show them. They would drag her back—
The door to her cell flung open, and the guards latched onto her arms and dragged her down the familiar path. No one cared whether she wore clothes or not, not even herself as they strapped her to the chair.
A hand held out the bit, and she clamped her teeth over it.
She was dripping wet, her hair was plastered to the pale skin of her body. She stared at the open door as Father came inside.
"She is malfunctioning?"

Doctor Petrov nodded, "I am not sure where this is coming from, but another erasure would fix the problem."

Father nodded, taking her chin in his hands, "If anything is off, 024, you must tell us right away. There can be no room for failure. I am not going to fail like my predecessors did."

He stepped back, and the pads came to clamp themselves over her temples. She screamed, the sound was muffled by the bit in her mouth.
She could feel her mind being torn apart by the machine, replacing her thoughts with commands. The sounds of her screams would be heard by the others in cells down the hall, where they winced, having only felt the torture only once.
They were perfected, she was not. She was only kept alive because she was a trophy of their success. Without her, their perfect soldiers would not be here.
She panted as the machine halted, the pads rotating away.
Father leant down, stroking her damp head, "Better?" He whispered.

She nodded slightly, eyes shut while she took deep breaths, filling up their lungs to their full capacity.
The guards took her back to her cell, her mind was still blank when she stepped under the stream of water once more. The ice water ran down her back, alerting her.
She slipped into the calico material of her new set of clothes, a reward, they reminded her. Her number was branded over her chest, and she traced it before laying back down on her bed.
The thin blanket scratched her bare skin as she laid on top of it, the feeling unusual as her arms and legs were usually covered by her other clothes, which currently were folded at the end of her bed. She did not dare speak as her mind reset itself, her thoughts in pieces as she slowly counted from zero.
It was a practice she began after her second erasure. If she got to one hundred, she knew she was all right. If she stopped halfway through, then something was wrong and she had to investigate it.
Her mind drifted when she got to fifty-three.
She sat up, running a hand through her damp hair. She assessed herself, pulling up her shirt to feel around, wondering whether something had moved internally, as she hadn't spotted any blood on the tiles.
It was only until she pulled down her pants where she spotted the trickle of blood running down her leg.
She swore, wiping it off with her hand. She'd never seen this before — was she internally bleeding?

There was a moment of silence before a woman entered the cell, a package in hand. She wasn't surprised that the compounds response to her discovery was so prompt — they were watching her, after all.
The woman instructed her to take off her underwear — which she did — and the woman applied a tissue-like substance onto it. Once she was cleaned, the woman left, leaving more packets of the tissue-thing with the guards.
They didn't trust her with anything, especially not with things that she was able to hurt herself with. They needed her in prime condition, like a prize animal.

The lights dimmed once she sat on her bed once more, and the speakers began to play the brainwashing stories of her predecessors.
She closed her eyes, listening to the droning voice in a language she understood perfectly, it not being English.
She was content here, even through the torture and the silence, she was content.

∆ ∆ ∆

The next day brought the same bunch of kids she was to fight, until they could not bite back their anger and would attack her back.
There was only one kid, a girl, with the number 075, who attempted at a weak punch to her torso. She blocked it in a moment, and the girl whimpered before becoming pummeled under her power.
She saw that the kids were slowly learning how to harness their own power, their colours ranging from each spot in the rainbow. It was the only colour in the compound, yet they all wore similar clothes, designed to keep them at bay.
She was the only one who's mask covered majority of her face, the others had them right across their mouths. She was treated like their superior, which was accurate. Though she wasn't the oldest, she had her power the longest, her training was further than any other.
She snarled from behind her mask as the girl lunged, slipping through her grasp and knocking the corner of her mask. In her mind, she swore as it came loose, showing a peek of the top corner of her mouth.
She bent over, fastening it, before crushing the girl.
The girl squirmed under her as she leant down, whispering, "If it came off, I would look like more of a butterfly than to what you'd be faced with."

Her accent was thick, with the language she could not name flowing through her, much like her energy. It was second-nature to speak it, instead of English.
"Well done, 024, well done." Father clapped his hands, the action making her step away from the girl, "075, you've got much to learn. Hurry up about it." He snarled, pulling the girl roughly to her feet.

"024." He turned to the blonde, her gaze directed to the floor, "You've done enough for today."

She nodded, stepping back against the wall while the others began their one-on-one trainer. She did not need their pitiful training, where they moved sluggishly while techniques were taught.
She watched, criticising them in her mind. She had nothing else to do, and as she leant against the wall, her mind began to drift off.
Fragments of memories began to surface, those from her dreams, where she was a pretty girl with full hair, and she had friends who cared for her.
She forced the memory to the depths of her mind. She was not getting distracted today.