I have no clue how we're already at 26

it felt like it was the s.t.r.i.k.e chapter just last week

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TRIGGER WARNING:
Violence, torture, self-deprecating thoughts, PTSD, and some gore. I usually don't put warnings, but parts of this chapter left me feeling queasy when I wrote it.

"I don't have any incentive for you not to," Ashley admitted nervously, anxiously pushing herself away from the slightly illuminated figure in the corner. "But I'd really appreciate it if you don't kill me. It's been a rough couple of weeks, ya know? Months, possibly. I've already got enough..." Her words became muted from the pain of agitating her broken bones and damaged muscles, causing an involuntary whimper to slip past her lips.

"God," the person whispered. Her voice still held the same rich accent, but her tone was far less menacing. "You're a kid."

"Normally I'd be offended by that," Ashley replied, inwardly allowing a small wave of relief to wash over her mind. As of current, the female displayed no signs of aggression. Ashley counted her lucky stars for that before momentarily allowing herself to imagine what trying to fight in her current state would've looked like. It certainly wouldn't have ended pretty for her. "But right now, it's actually nice having someone notice that."

The person slowly brought her hands together in a sphere, then closed her eyes for a moment as she concentrated on her palms. Before long, a warm red glow was emanating from them and was just enough to clear the darkness away from Ashley. Both were left stunned at the sight of the other, who appeared a lot less sinister than they imagined they would. Okay, well, the woman still scared the shit out of Ashley, but her mannerisms didn't appear hostile for the time being.

"You're young, too," Ashley mumbled, staring at the youthful and pretty face of the woman who leaned against the wall. Her hair fell against her shoulders in dark, unkempt messy waves, starkly contrasting with her pale skin and sharp features. The woman's eyes were beginning to lose their red glow and were fading back into a natural blue hue. "Who are you?"

Ashley initially thought that the silence she was receiving was because the young woman didn't want to reveal her name to her. However, as she looked closer, she realized that the person was bitterly struggling to recall the answer to the simple question. Ashley felt pity for the brunette as she trembled in efforts to recall such a personal detail. "...it's Wanda. Maximoff."

"Hello, Wanda," Ashley whispered. "My name is Ashley if you wanted to know."

"What have they done to you?" Wanda ignored Ashley's comment and instead questioned, gesturing to Ashley's crooked leg, forearm, and the droves of bruises that painted her body. Ashley spared a glance herself, growing queasy as she took in the flaws and marring of her skin. Each bruise, gash, and splotch of dried blood twisted her once admirable skin into something pitiful. She forced herself to look away, bile threatening to surface.

"I'll tell you," Ashley returned through a grunt. "But first, please help me into a more comfortable position. I don't have good control over my body right now."

Wanda was hesitant, but nodded and stood up, slowly walking over to Ashley with the sphere of light resting in one hand. Then, with a small amount of magic and the other hand, the woman was able to help support Ashley and shift her weight off of her broken leg. Together, they shuffled their way back to the wall and Ashley sat with her back propped up against the cold bricks and metal.

After she had assured that Ashley was comfortable, though, Wanda had retreated to a safe distance. Ashley frowned at the skittish and antisocial behavior of the brunette. Though, she could not necessarily blame the woman. If she hadn't been in such a vulnerable state, she likely would've been just as defensive.

"They tried getting me to work for them," Ashley explained. "Then I opted to quit and escape, but as you can see, that plan was not the definition of success," the teenager gestured to her leg.

"They also drowned me. That was kind of a dealbreaker."

"I would've not expected much else from them," Wanda sighed, regarding Ashley with pity quietly. However, despite her sentimental glance, there was a certain air to her words that seemed hollow and withdrawn. "I was not so old whenever they went against their word and tortured me."

Wanda paused, looking down at the ground as if she were living out a wretched memory of being experimented on. She rose her palm that held to flickering light with a grim smile, then forcibly snapped her hand shut and extinguished the flame. "They told me I had a gift. I never thought that gifts were supposed to make you regret your existence and cast you into a life of misery."

"That would make two of us," Ashley agreed, sinking against the wall in exhaustion. While she still held some hope that Natasha would find her, it was rapidly dwindling and becoming overcast by the pain and misery she was being drug through.

Ashley couldn't help but wonder what her life would've been like if she hadn't been cursed with her abilities. Sure, she wouldn't be able to work alongside Spider-Man, be a SHIELD agent, or even do as well in school, but she'd be able to lead a life where she didn't have to watch over her shoulder all the time or get kidnapped by psychopaths.

"I'd take homework over this, honestly."

Even though Wanda remained silent,  the white-haired teenager could tell that she agreed.

"It makes it feel like a dream. Not a perfect or happy one, but one that I'd go back to sleep for so I could continue it," Ashley added.

Wanda murmured her agreement but had seemed to run out of any questions she wanted to ask Ashley about. If Ashley was able to see through the darkness, then she might've caught a glimpse of the young woman's dejected and exhausted face as she slightly slumped forward.

After Wanda had made her remark about her unfortunate 'gift', it seemed as though the brunette had decided she had shared too much with her. The woman grew tense and guarded, her face now void of emotion, though she was inwardly scolding herself for being so transparent. Wanda did not know Ashley. She could not trust Ashley, no matter how good-hearted the teenager appeared. It would not have been the first time Hydra had hired an actress to bring pain and trauma to her.

The cell remained somber and silent as time passed on. Aside from the occasional rustling of Ashley shifting around and trying her best to tend to her wounds, you could hear a pin drop. Wanda had even managed to regulate and steady her breathing so well that even it was silent. If Ashley's mysteriously returning senses didn't alert her of Wanda's presence, then the teenager wouldn't have been able to tell that another person was sharing the pitch-black cell with her.

The cold of the concrete and the stale, damp air kissed Ashley's skin, causing her to tuck her arms in retaliation to the chill. She cursed the soldiers for only giving her a thin black shirt and athletic shorts to wear, leaving her with not much to keep warm. She suspected some of them had corrupted and perverted views, which would explain why they had been stingy with the amount of clothing she was permitted to wear daily. Though, Ashley didn't prefer to ponder on it for too long. Any additional minutes of thought would surely lead to her growing sick.

"I think we'd fare better if we used each other's body heat," Ashley suggested, shattering the uncomfortable silence (at least it was for her, but she genuinely had no clue how it affected Wanda due to the darkness. Which, if she was being honest, was certainly frightening, because she had no idea whether the enhanced was going to surprise attack her or not) that had formed between the two. Her muscles trembled from the pain and cold as she spoke, so much to the point that her teeth began to chatter.

After several moments of continued silence, Ashley was about to repeat her question under the presumption that she was Wanda hadn't heard her. However, right as she opened her mouth, the other female cleared her throat.

"No."

"No?" Ashley echoed, clearly not expecting that reaction. She had figured that since they were kind of in the same boat together, Wanda might agree to help each other out. She guessed wrong.

"Is it necessary that I repeat myself?"

Ashley bit her tongue at Wanda's snarky response.

"The last person I thought I was close to stabbed me nearly to death," Wanda monotonously replied, her voice dull and feigning amusement. She slowly ran her tongue across her dry lips before adding, "They thought the betrayal would make the pain sting a little more. Douse the gash with some salt, I suppose. That's not going to happen again."

Ashley stared at Wanda in both shock and pity. How does someone even respond to something like that? She couldn't believe someone who was only a few years older than her had to go through such trauma.

Even though Ashley wanted to reply to Wanda with pity and comfort her for her trauma, it was clear from the detached tone in her words that she wished to remain in solitude. The isolation in her time of agonizing pain and anxiety stung quite a bit, but she respected Wanda's wariness and resigned to remaining distanced.

The teenager pored over hundreds of scenarios in her head to distract her from the pain of her distorted leg and countless other injuries. There had even been a point where she started vomiting uncontrollably, which didn't even gain a grimace or sliver of sympathy from Wanda. Ashley assumed that the girl had probably already been in her situation plenty of times and had grown accustomed to it.

Ashley was hours in, out of letters in the English and Greek alphabet to name her plans with, and exhausted of ideas. Each plan she ran through mentally all resulted in the same failure, generally due to her weakened state or the lack of faults in their security. Even factoring in Wanda as an ally in her escape didn't improve their chances much. She groaned and threw her head against the wall, partially hoping that it would give her a headache to distract from the throbbing of her leg and arm.

"Go to sleep," Wanda instructed in too sharp of a tone. "You'll need it for when they come in the morning, and you're keeping me up."

"What happens in the morning?" Ashley questioned, forcing herself to swallow the lump in her throat at Wanda's ominous words.

"The things that made me like this," Wanda simply stated, then made a sound that Ashley presumed was the woman rolling over. She began to feel Wanda's presence dim, meaning that the brunette was drifting off to sleep.

Ashley hadn't intended on joining Wanda in resting, but before she could restrain herself, she slipped away from the real world and into her dreams.

(Just to clarify, the words in bold are not Ashley's thoughts. It's up to y'all to figure out whose they are, though)

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It never should've gone this way. It was never meant to be you. It should've been me.

Blue drenched her sight, suffocating her senses. Her thoughts were muddled; twisted by the trauma associated with this shade and the pain brought with it. Her lungs burned, pleading for air, clawing at her throat and constricting her muscles for the sweet relief of oxygen. She yearned for it, needing it more than an addict lusted for a high. Control of her limbs slipped from her grasp, fading away from her senses and leaving her with only the searing agony tearing through her chest and seizing her head.

She couldn't even control her own body, let alone, her fate. She couldn't control her seizing muscles, her clenching lungs, her collapsing throat. She couldn't control the way her legs thrashed, pleading for mercy that the water would never give her. She couldn't control the way her legs grew paralyzed from the cold, or how the ice stung her from within as the chlorinated water overtook her lungs, killing her from the outside in.

She couldn't control the pain she was forced through. Strucker and his men had always told her that. She was their weapon, no more, no less.

She was losing the strength to deny those words. She was losing the will to try.

Maybe her life was never hers to control.

Her body was going into cardiac arrest now, she could feel it. The organ that had previously been working at double the normal capacity seized from functioning, leading her head to become even dizzier and nauseous The weight chained to her ankle seemingly doubled in size, pulling her away from the surface—from freedom. The desperation once laced in her eyes was being overtaken by hopelessness, defeat.

As her consciousness slipped from her grasp, and her body grew limp, she could only focus on two things through her blue-shrouded surroundings.

Submission. Suffocation.

Love in this life is their makeshift game.

How much to give, how much to take?

If things don't go the way they're supposed to be,

how much more will I have to fake?

Red showered her vision now. Her knees trembled as she lowered herself to the ground, biting her lip to hold back her cries. A monster stood before her, running his calloused fingers down the length of the cold, leather whip in his grasp. Its winding length curled at his feet, a viper poised, ready to strike.

Failure. That's all the monster ever called her. Unworthy of their attention, unworthy of human rights.

They had been training for weeks now, yet she couldn't find it in herself to succeed. Time after time, he bested her in combat, ramming her spine into the ground a little bit harder with each time she lost. As days passed, she found it hard to breathe, her lungs damaged from her bruising ribs and disoriented spine.

The monster grew more and more raging and resentful, even resorting to choking her and striking her across the face as he ripped apart her confidence and insulted her fighting form. What was once an instructor that Strucker provided her with transformed into something much worse, something she dreaded in and out of their sessions.

Blood trickled down the side of her bruised and disfigured face, leaking from a dented gash on her temple. If only the hit had been just a bit harder. If only his metal knuckle had dug into the vulnerable spot on the side of her head just a centimeter more. Now, here she was, kneeling before the monster as she shrunk under his glare. She felt small, like an ant against a rageful man in steel-toed boots. In many more ways than one, she was.

Never had she known so much hatred, so much anger.

Violence.

Malice.

Aggression.

Red.

The first strike had burned the least. She had sensed it coming, and even felt the pain before it made contact with her exposed torso. Fire danced across her skin as the leather slashed into it, leaving a bleeding welt in its place. The next one was worse. The monster snapped the whip with as much force as his arm and shoulder could conjure, cleanly slicing through the bruised flesh across her shoulder and collar bone. A sob spilled from her lips as blood dripped from the angry, searing wound. The sound stopped as quickly as it had begun, though, because it earned her a swift kick to the gut from a metal-reinforced boot. Any oxygen she had immediately abandoned her body as she laid on the ground, gasping for air. Cold, metal fingers snaked around her neck and threw her back onto her knees, leaving bruises across her delicate skin.

The whip transferred from the monster's organic arm to his prosthetic, causing dread to pool in her stomach and fear to flood her heart. She couldn't even steel herself for the force that the leather came crashing down to her on this time, and instead, could only vomit from the pain as a deeper gash crossed the previous one on her torso. As she doubled over in agony and sickness, he took the opportunity to lash her back and shoulders repeatedly. Toxic warmth radiated across her skin, a thick liquid cascading across her back and spilling onto the floor beside her. Its crimson pigment stained the white concrete, pooling until it was an elongated circle surrounding her breaking body. Time after time, he struck the sharp leather across her tender and bleeding flesh, repeatedly assaulting her with words and tearing down her esteem until she believed the poison coming from his mouth.

She was a failure. She was a disappointment. The world had no place for her, not with the Avengers, not with Peter, not even simply in government records.

Her only place was with Hydra.

The pain took control of her senses, rendering her motionless as she received the lashing. Soon, she collapsed entirely against the concrete, with only two things she was able to see through her red-shrouded vision.

The monster. The blood.

Could things ever become the way they were before?

Is the past something we can feel again, or simply a whisper long since carried away by the wind?

Yellow glazed over her eyes. What was once an illuminated, vibrant blue was now lifeless and forlorn.

How many times had she been killed, only to be revived and tortured all over again? Sometimes she wished she wasn't keeping count.

At this point, she no longer believed the training was designed to benefit her. Or that it had any purpose at all. Except, perhaps, to entertain her captors.

Now she was laying in the corner of her room, a bin beside her to contain her vomit from her throwing up every ten minutes. Her muscles shook violently from chills, her body ached as though blades were running through each of her joints. Blisters, hives, and rashes spanned the length of her otherwise yellow-tainted skin, and sometimes, when she was lucky enough, the pain of them scratching against her clothing or the floor was enough to distract her from the skull-splitting migraine burning her head.

Of course, she received not a single drop of medication to aid her in overcoming her illness. It was them who gave it to her, after all, in a twisted method they used to improve her immune system and expose her to any potential sicknesses, diseases, and parasites that could inhibit her abilities. In the end, she was simply their weapon, and any exploitable weaknesses were unacceptable.

This variation appeared to be some sick version of the most intense case of influenza you could receive in conjunction with a parasite that loved to destroy your organs' ability to perform. Her lungs felt as though she was being drowned in boiling water. She had been battling a psychosis-generating headache for countless consecutive hours now.

As she sat, curled up tightly against the wall and shivering, she realized it was times like these where she could use company the most. After administering the drug, parasite, or whatever form of agonizing sickness they came up with this time, they had locked her doors and forbidden anyone from entering. She hadn't seen Fitzsimmons in over a week. Shoot, she hadn't seen a living being in over a week. The most interaction with a human she received was when they slipped food and water, which she presumed were laced with more of the sickness, through the slit in her door. If she wasn't queasy from hunger and dehydration, she would've listened to her senses and left them untouched.

Unfortunately, that wasn't an option for her. Her body needed every drop of nourishment she could receive to fight off her internal attacker and stave off death. She had already faced it too many times, only to be brought back to life so she could continue to 'train' her body to deal with sickness more efficiently. She couldn't even imagine how bad she was putting her body through the wringer. Even if they had the means to cure her body from whatever they drugged her with, she was wiser than to believe that this wouldn't affect her long-term health. She'd probably be lucky to make it to 50, at this point. She might not even be able to bear offspring by now.

One single tear slid down her cheek, trickling across her cracking and blistering skin before hitting the ground with a soft patter. She missed the times when she could talk to the people she could trust about her problems. Now, she had only her thoughts to share the time with in these painful, never-ending hours. A burning sensation spread throughout her veins and organs, making every sliver of movement even more excruciating. Bile rose up her throat once more from this addition to her pain, and she had no choice but to lean over and vomit her guts out into the trash bin once more.

She looked down at the solitary teardrop on the ground, a shadow of a hollow smile spreading across her lips as she bitterly realized the resemblance between the two of them. Hysterics from the sickness began taking over, and soon she could not control the words spilling out of her mouth as she spoke to the drying teardrop. She rambled on about her pain, her anger, her wish to let go. Hallucinations plagued her mind, momentarily letting her believe that she was back in Queens, ranting to Peter about an annoying kid in her class, or how a modeling session from earlier had turned into a debate between her and the photographer. He'd laugh in response to her rambling, only shaking his head and telling her that she was overreacting. They'd then proceed to gossip about every person in the school (save for Ned and MJ, the latter would definitely hang them if she heard that they were talking about her) and finish their homework in record timing.

When her old bedroom faded back into her living quarters, she felt all the emotions she was screaming about to her hallucinations drain from her body. She couldn't feel the anger any longer. The sadness, the aggravation, the fear; they all abandoned her, just as everyone else in this base had.

She was simply numb.

She realized then that her life was slipping from her grasp once more. It was a feeling she could recognize now. She slumped over, resting on the ground entirely instead of sitting against the wall, and waited in hopelessness as her organs started failing. She only had a couple of minutes left now, at best. Though, she was wiser than to believe that the pain would stop then.

They had the antidote. They always did. They just wanted to see how long her body could withstand each concoction from hell that they fabricated. Then, as soon as she flatlined, they'd inject her with the cure and the torturous cycle would start all over again.

Slowly, the pain racking her body gave way to numbness. Her heart wasn't pumping blood into her arteries. Her lungs weren't providing her body with oxygen. Her liver wasn't filtrating out the toxins. Her brain and spinal cord lost control over her torso and limbs.

'Do it for the people,' she thought selflessly to herself. 'You're going to save them. It doesn't matter what happens to you.'

Her lifeless eyes slowly blinked, but even they were too tired to remain closed. So there, laying on the ground in the corner of the room, her dried eyes still open, she died.

Her yellow, jaundiced thoughts could only focus on two things.

Sickness. Isolation.

Would you ever love me the same way? Laugh with me late into the night, like we once did?

Could I ever love you the same way? Or does this curse run deeper than what our troubles hid?

A light, far too bright to Ashley's liking, pulled her out of her sleep. Whether she should be thankful or not, she was unsure. Even in her rest, she could not find peace. Though, her waking hours were not much better. She could assume they were going to be even worse now that she had attempted to escape.

How could she have been so naive? Strucker obviously never had good intentions with his deal.

She was stupid.

Foolish.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Wanda sarcastically quipped, seeing that Ashley had finally begun to stir. "I don't know how you managed to sleep through the night. You were crying and screaming the whole time."

Several silent moments passed as Ashley adjusted to the lighting and registered what the brunette said. After recounting the memories and terrors that she had experienced last night, a growl sounded from her throat. Her sounds bore more resemblance to a feral animal than a female human being.

"And you didn't bother to wake me?" She hissed, flipping over to Wanda with a glare. The brunette didn't falter under Ashley's hard stare, only shaking her head.

"I tried to, Ashley," she responded, but this time, the sharp tone was missing from her words. It almost seemed as though she was... sympathetic? It was a weird look on the reclusive woman. "I've had more nightmares and visions in my sleep that you could imagine. I don't even remember when the last time I was able to sleep through the night was. But I couldn't even get close to you. Something, something protecting you, wouldn't let me. You're an enhanced, aren't you?"

This arose confusion in the teenager. Being an enhanced was something she was already painfully aware of, however, Wanda's comment puzzled her. Why would the brunette not be able to get close to her? The power inhibitor Strucker had installed in her should've restrained any of her abilities. Besides, having a protective field was never something that had appeared in her powers before.

Ashley opened her mouth to prod Wanda on her words, but an entirely different question took its place when she noticed something.

"Wanda, why are your eyes grey?"

I apologize for how dark this chapter was, but I felt like it was necessary to incorporate just how badly her experience with Hydra has been to generate character growth.

Also, did you enjoy my play on the primary colors? Or have any guesses on who the person's thoughts are? Or who/what the monster is?