You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you've made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren't expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you'd help the planet thrive. Are you ready?
Submit an AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 OLYMPIA REP POINTS OR 2 WYVER REP POINTS, respectively, HERE or HERE. THESA STATION
All refugees on the station are called to the hangar where a large-scale teleporter has been set up; everyone will be sent to the planet together. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait. Before they depart, all new refugees will be given a starter kit!
 You may have heard about earlier technical difficulties, but don't worry. I promise everything is in perfect working order this time. I'd say I tested it myself, but since that's not exactly possible, you'll just have to trust me! (Please.)
The older refugees will also be there to guide you to ensure no one is left confused... or behind. Make sure you wait for them — I've been detecting something odd so I'll be having them meet you at the landing site. Good luck, refugees! Not that you'll be needing it or anything...
The arrays begin to hum and glow, quickly building into a brilliant wash of light. It creates a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa. With the night sky as a canvas, the beam can be seen all the way from Olympia and Wyver — a view that has the natives whispering of blessings.
As a sudden but beautiful aurora splays across the sky, the refugees down on the planet receive a message asking them to travel to the landing site — and warning them to prepare for what may come of the strange readings Zasere's gotten from the teleport itself.
Traveling through the light leaves the impression of blinding starlight, a strange sense of weightlessness, and a disorienting moment of total sensory deprivation. The radiance of your teleport hangs bright in the sky above you, a shimmering aurora that reflects off the calm waters below, visible for miles all around.
You've landed on a peninsula to the east of the South Outpost. There's little here — scattered trees on spring-barren plains, with a few overgrown, dilapidated structures poking out of the brush. All is quiet save for the keening of animals and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. This lonely desolation is hardly the bustling cities and vibrant cultures you were promised back on the station...
BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW. But waiting for you is a group of your predecessors, and with them, a veritable tent city, with portable stoves, coolers of food and drink, comfortable bedrolls, and cheerful rings of bonfires — all that you need to make merry of the night, courtesy of Overseer Voss, who has, thanks to his interest in blessed meteorological phenomena and refugees, decided to make a holy expedition of the affair.
Settle in, meet new comrades, and enjoy yourself, for you've safely completed your journey. But don't wander too far from the fires — the dark is closing in, and there's a strange, electric feeling in the air, the scent of ozone drifting on the breeze. And what were those odd readings Zasere mentioned?
A SHEPHERD OVER THE FLOCK. The spring sun dawns on a grey morning, already burning away the fog rolling in off the sea. It quickly becomes apparent that Voss and his entourage of acolytes have been up for hours, hard at work. They've set up a brightly-draped stage and a travel pulpit, magically enchanted to amplify his voice, and as the sun breaks over the horizon, Voss is all set to do what he does best: proselytize.
 As our Goddess has sent Her blessing once before to herald the coming of those touched by Her light, so She has done once again! Here you see them, those surrounded by the light of our Goddess, each of them bearing the mark upon their skin of Her holiest of hands! Do you not see? Do none among you bear witness to the righteousness of Her message? Perhaps this is why our people have shamed themselves in front of our Goddess—
[ He continues for another 15 minutes... ]
Nevertheless. See you them before us now! See them as they are, coming to our gates with Her reminder, that these people must be treated with the utmost respect and care. Thesa's divinity is not to be treated with such flagrant disregard! Those who She chooses are not ours to use as mindless fodder, to hurt, to torture — shame upon those who allowed such deeds to shame us under Her watchful gaze!
To those of you who have just arrived here on our doorstep, be not afraid! The Temples of Thesa welcome you to our home with hearts and minds open! Should you ever find yourself in need of solace, seek out the Temples, as there are no greater allies to you than those of us within the Temple walls. You are welcome all to Olympia!
As he steps away from the enchanted podium, he can be heard saying aside to an acolyte, "How was that? Heavy on the shame, but I think it went well!" While he will not leave the area immediately, his acolytes will politely turn away attempts to speak with him and remind anyone interested that they can leave a message at the Temples.
Despite going off without hitch, the new refugees' arrival isn't entirely without incident. It seems that the "blessed" beam of light that brought the refugees down to El Nysa brought something else along with it — a sliver of the Storm. At least the beam was short enough that only a small fraction managed to squeeze through.
But it's enough to wreak a little havoc around the landing site and along the road back toward Olympia and Wyver — and even, for a few days, in the cities themselves.
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. The Storm is an undeniably destructive force, and that's proven with this small sliver's effect as it ripples across the continent. While there's no visible sign of its presence, strange phenomena soon begin to appear, corresponding with Zasere's odd readings.
They're innocuous little things at first. A sudden silence, animals going quiet, insects stilling. All technology, no matter how advanced, ceases working. You discover when you check with a friend, the clock on your phone is twelve minutes slow even though you'd swear only a minute had passed — time missing. Walking through the woods takes longer than it should when brushing past one bush leads to brushing past that same bush again — and again, and again, the area looping on itself. It keeps you trapped, going in circles for minutes, even hours, before finally releasing you in a random direction.
Or perhaps you'll feel a sense of deja vu, like you've walked down this road, taken this turn, seen that bird fly from this branch before. This is the second time that cat has crossed your path. The person you're meeting, you already know their name; you're certain you've already met.
WE GOT COWS. The Storm sliver also ushers in sudden, localized weather anomalies — heavy storms, blizzards, strong winds, and more. Affected areas range from just a few feet wide to nearly half a mile. One minute, the sky may be sunny and clear, but the next dark storm clouds roll in, unleashing torrential rain. Small tornadoes surge along the road, kicking up winds strong enough to knock people over and carry objects away. Hail hurtles down from the sky, but only in a ten foot radius. Temperatures fluctuate wildly between one extreme and the next, from heat waves to cold snaps. Soupy fog blankets the area, thick enough that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Good luck finding your way!
FORGETTING IS SO LONG. The visions come on suddenly and with very little warning. One second, you're carrying on as normal — but the next, you blink and find yourself (and anyone near you) somewhere else completely. You may recognize this place as a moment from the past, one that you lived through. It's a memory, your memory, and it now replays around you in exceptional detail, unnervingly lifelike. Or you may not recognize it at all. It might belong to the person next to you, or to someone else entirely — a memory that the Storm has swallowed up.
Either way, the scene plays out just as it once did, and there's nothing you can do to stop it — or escape it. The memory surrounds you to no end: every door you open leads nowhere, every hallway you turn down continues on forever, every horizon you flee toward hangs just out of reach. And linger too long or turn the wrong corner, and you may find yourself abruptly stuck in a completely different memory. It's almost tempting, then, to give up, to let the past sweep you away...
But this isn't the full might of the Storm. Look closely, and you can see that in the walls of this trap, there are minute, hairline cracks, a facade of fractured glass. Imperfections in the memory where the real world is breaking through. It seems the only way to escape these memories is to find those cracks and break through them — by force, by will, or by some other method entirely.
The time is coming to make a choice — perhaps not a permanent choice, but unless you want to spend the rest of your nights out under the stars, you'll need to pick which city you will initially spend your time in. On the horizon, you will see that people have arrived to help you make that decision...
A FORK IN THE ROAD. Refugees and the hyper-religious wishing to hear Voss speak are not the only ones out and about under the light of the aurora. Citizens of both Olympia and Wyver have flocked to a point on the road midway between the cities and where the refugees have appeared, and they all have the same goal in mind: convincing the newcomers who have just descended in the blessed light of Thesa to come to their city and not the other.
They've come with bribes — that is, examples of what their cities have to offer. If you spent much time at the exhibition up on Thesa Station, you might recognize some of what's being shown off, though the offerings here are markedly more tangible, and shown off by hawkers wearing substantially fewer clothes.
A herd of pegasi accompanies the Olympians, while a line of flying serpents is stabled at a tent bearing Wyver colors. Refugees are given the chance to experience solo flights and are told that if they prove their loyalty, they may have the privilege of owning such fine beasts one day themselves. The Olympians have also brought couture clothing, jewelry, and makeup to offer a taste of Olympian splendor, while the Wyver delegation has brought along fine weapons, sense-enhancing jungle plants, and small vials of diluted dragon’s blood (drinking confers a temporary boost in strength) to demonstrate their might. The Olympians speak proudly of the glory of the Temples of Thesa; the Wyverns speak of the Volkkran Pact and inform newcomers that they can make a pilgrimage to the summit of Namarak Mountain at the next full moon.
This is as good a time as any to compare your plans with others around you and exchange contact information before going your separate ways with people who are going to the city you are not. When you’re ready to go, don’t worry about safe passage — the natives of each city will gladly escort you there in luxury.
OF WHITE AND GOLD. The people of Olympia are ecstatic that you’ve come to join them... So much so that they’ve prepared a grand tour of the city for the new arrivals. You will be introduced to the major businesses in the city, including businesses that they are proud to point out were founded by refugees.
Refugees who have been here for some time already are encouraged to pair up with newcomers to introduce them to the parts of the city they like best. To facilitate this, they’ve made arrangements with many of the business owners: new refugees who visit their shops (and older refugees who escort them) are given discounts!
Just a few examples of many: the Wyvernest offers free desserts to first time visitors with the purchase of a drink, refugees who visit the Silk Wyrms can have one custom (though not exceedingly expensive) outfit made for them for free, and visitors to Shades Darker are offered a half-hour session with one of the prostitutes at half price… or access to a private room, if they seem to have taken a shine to one of their companions on the tour.
Lastly, tour guides will point out that over the course of the next week, the train to Flona Cove will allow new refugees to board for free so that they can experience the seaside for themselves. With the weather finally starting to warm, this is as good a time as any for a visit to the beach, isn’t it?
OF RED AND BLACK. Life in Wyver is typically a sink-or-swim sort of experience — but in light of the valor recently displayed by their predecessors, the natives are now more willing to assist in getting newcomers settled. The entire journey here they have been talking up the virtues of their city… and now is the time to show everything that's on offer.
The well-known businesses in the city are prepared for the influx of newcomers. Some are giving out discounted samples of their products while others are offering a more hands-on experience: in exchange for working a few hours, they will give training in whatever task is being performed.
At the Forged, newcomers can learn the basics of crafting simple weapons (and take one of their successes home), while visitors to spas near the lagoons are trained in the art of massage. Those who wander to Falmi’s Ring can learn the art of pugilism or how to keep (and fix) books if they're more inclined to the gambling that goes on. Newcomers interested in Wyver's dragons can get hands-on experience at the Fields of the Exalted's nursery. While they walk from place to place, a guide may point out a job posting from Highwind Hires, noting that refugees can make a name for themselves outside official channels.
The last stop on the tour is the Undergrowth. The guides speak of the jungle in reverent tones and caution new refugees not to wander too far in. They warn never to explore alone, but also urge refugees to take time to familiarize themselves with it; after all, the jungle is an important part of life in Wyver, and those who are going to be living here should understand it as well as they do.
You've chosen your path, refugee, but that doesn't necessarily make it a permanent one. Watch out for the strange effects of the Storm, which linger still in the two cities and everywhere in between for the next few days before dissipating just as mysteriously as they came, but otherwise enjoy the welcome and make yourself at home — after all, this is home now.
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That she didn't automatically attack him, didn't look upon him with hatred and disgust like so many others was maybe as surprising as it was novel. At this stage in the game, more people distrusted them than ever seemed to trust him. He doubted many would be caught dead in a cave with him while enduring a blizzard, but she just brushed right passed him like they were just going into an old SHIELD safe house that he had arranged to make certain there was no evidence of their little adventures.
He eased to the side, letting her go without compromising her. They were different people, weren't they? Older, more experienced, cynical to life's whirlwind.]
I was here first, so you're technically invading my space. Thanks for asking if you can stay by the way.
[He followed her in, falling to a crouch for the few items in here that could provide warmth. Of course, he had his own supplies (matches but also flint and blade), and he worked on getting a fire going as it seemed as if the blizzard was here to stay for the time being. Also, starting a fire was something he was excellent at and had a small flame to feed in no time.]
Heard you flew the coop. I mailed you candy for your birthday, but alas, you left no known address. Not the first woman to ghost me.
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[She hadn't been like this with him when she was a child, but she was now- albeit only with people she felt comfortable with, but here and now it was almost a test. Trying to see what happened with the people they were now, if the fact that she pushed back, was willing to tease him in return made thing more awkward or easier.
She'd been willing to handle the fire herself, given how easy her powers made it for her, but he grabs his supplies, and she's more than willing to let him get it started. He's good at it, unsurprisingly, and he gets a flame going quickly, and Ava moves to help arrange wood pieces against it, so that they'd catch. Small sticks, then bigger pieces. It gives her an excuse to not respond immediately, but she tilts her head and her smile is still there, but it's a little bit sad.]
That place wasn't good for anyone. I had to. But I'm a SHIELD agent now, you know. Have my own card for the elevator and everything.
[It's both the most recent and the easiest part of her history to talk about. Her team, Jinx and the others, her recruits, her favorite idiots. She hadn't looked him up, because she hadn't been sure what this would be like so many years later. He was tied to a part of her story that always hurt, but he hadn't been a bad person, but on top of all the trauma it had been easier to just fall into the routine. It was easier too, to see him now, when her memories slotted together better than they had back in that bunker. Back then, it had been hard to keep track of much of anything aside from that feeling of being trapped, grasping at straws. And even in Brooklyn, when they started to filter back, it was in pieces, uneven, not the full story. Not until Natasha.]
How long have you been here?
[She's fairly sure he hadn't been here when she was before, but months have passed while she was back in cryo; half a year, she'd been told. She hadn't seen him at the transporters, so that means he woke up sometime in her absence.]
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[Rumlow was a soldier first, and he was good at what he did. He was a spy second, which meant he knew how to hide his secrets, cover his tracks and act as appropriate with the information that he had been given. The STRIKE teams that had been minding her hadn't been under his command yet; he was still moving up the ranks with plenty of talk about how impressive his skills would be once he had more experience under his belt. Hiding in plain sight and being underestimated was how he had grown up.
He also took no offense that she hadn't reached out to him after she had left. He would have turned a blind eye to any attempt, not willing to jeopardize whatever she had decided to do. His own climb to power prevented him from dedicated more time to discovering her, and to be fair, he had always thought she was kept in that cage for no good reason.
He snorted at the idea that she was a SHIELD agent, putting his items away to keep them safe while she built up the fire.] And what had SHIELD actually done for you, kiddo? You know STRIKE is part of SHIELD, right? So people with a rotating vigil on teaching you to be American also kept you prisoner like some kind of secret weapon. [But she had a keycard. Someone should throw her a party, not that he was bitter or anything. He knew SHIELD was being eaten from the inside anyway; she was just another sleeper HYDRA agent without the knowledge of it being true.
He rose and dusted his hands on his pants before he leaned against the wall of the cave as the rising heat of the fire warmed his legs.]
Not long. Almost two months, but it's a learning curb. Riots, kidnappings. Feels rather like where I came from.
no subject
[Which isn't the reason at all. The real explanation has to do with the things that she's been through since then. Getting to live on her own, have her own life in the streets of Brooklyn for a few years, getting to meet Sana, and be someone other than their prisoner. The trauma she'd suffered, was still suffering with, but coming out the other side of it in one fashion or another. She keeps putting wood on the fire, but when he brings up SHIELD she exhales with a slight shake of her head, and she shifts, sitting back on her heels as she settles near to him, looking up at him, back to the wall.]
SHIELD isn't a good thing.
[It's the first time that she's ever said it outloud in that sort of context- general, not personal- and she shrugs her shoulders a little bit helplessly.] I know what they did to me, how they stripped my memories away. That night wasn't an accident. SHIELD had contacts in either the remnants of the KGB or the Russian military that extended into the Red Room. But--
[She pauses then, cups her hands together, and then opens them slowly, revealing a small sphere of electric blue light that she lets slide over her fingers, like some light show, her blue eyes glinting brighter.] I have powers. And I'm sure you know how SHIELD feels about people with abilities. So, I had a choice. I either work for them, or they put my name on a list, and I spend the rest of my life trying to outrun them because we all know I would never have played their games of mandatory check-ins and geotracking. And if they caught me? Being sent back to a place like that again?
[Ava smiles then, wry, and a little bitter, her lips thinning. She'd almost done it anyway: run. Kept running. But Natasha had asked her, had actually shown feelings, and it had been enough to tip those uncertainties.] I'm a survivor, Rumlow. I don't have to like them to work for them. I'd just rather be a jailer than a prisoner.
[She might not know the words HYDRA but with knowing that they'd wiped Alexei, replaced his memories with lies and given him a family of SHIELD agents, that they'd wiped Natasha, and everything else that she'd uncovered during the mess with Ivan, she knew what sort of colors they wore. But then she smiles, letting the light dissipate as she tilts her head back, her hair slightly damp as it falls down her back.] Well, then maybe you can give me the tour. I've been on ice for a while, and I hear things have been busy.
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[After all, what kid should be locked up and have to deal with the skills of STRIKE teaching important life lessons. They were all military people, believed in an order of things, but more than a few of them were better off taking orders rather than giving them. Dealing with a growing child to a young woman would strain many skills, though he had heard at the tail end that only those with actual parental skills had been allowed to mind her during the 'difficult' stage of her life. And then she upped and disappeared.
SHIELD was what it needed to be, but it was in no means good. Hard decisions and hard calls required bad things to happen to certain people. Sometimes, it required hiding the projects that made the best weapons, the best monsters and sending out agents to find all the others that happened to be out there. The best government intelligence agency knew where all the pieces of the board were and when to play them right. SHIELD existed in the grey, never taking absolutes unless government action briefly forced it to.
His expression remained passively intent, listening to her without passing judgement, but he drank in the information that she was freely giving. That she had powers didn't surprise him in the least; there had always been a reason why SHIELD would lock down a little girl as if waiting for something to happen. Also, he knew exactly how close affiliation was between the Red Room and SHIELD, but it wasn't entirely as she thought it might be. HYDRA was the branch with the ties to the KGB and the Red Room, but he had never told her then, and he had no reason to reveal what he knew now. She might have grown up, but that didn't mean he could trust her with information of that magnitude.
For now, she might just be the only person awake that didn't wish he would drop dead.] We both know you can't entirely outrun SHIELD, not forever. Everyone makes a mistake eventually, and then they have a bead on you and consider throwing you in a giant floating prison with others that have abilities.
[He snorted softly at her idea of not being a prisoner, looking out towards the blizzard that was blowing bits of snow in. The wind outside of the cave howled.] I know you're a survivor. Problem is, you just trade one jail cell for another with invisible bars.
[Ah, so she had been here before? He would have to tread even more carefully, but she was also a resource in her own way.] So you've done this jig before, have you? Did you choose to back into the ice or does it just happen occasionally?
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[The initial comment had been teasing, but this is genuine, serious, with a soft look in her blue eyes and a slight smile that brightens her face as she looks at him. Because she means it. Is way a rough place, and she disliked most of her tutors, disliked the lessons, even if she absorbed knowledge like a sponge. Being imprisoned never sat well with her, it was an itch under her skin, it felt like a sickness. But he'd been good to her. And she remembered that now, even the pieces, the way he was still good to her when she didn't know who he was.
She'd been raised in the Red Room for several years, and then suffered through Ivan's personal pet project, so she understood the idea of organizations that wanted to change the world, and were not good places. She even understood what it was to survive in places like that, that everyone that started on the bottom had a boot on their throat. Her parents had sold her out to survive, and that was hard to process, to forgive, but she was trying.]
I know. I tried, but something always happens. And the thing is, I'd make that choice every time. The invisible bars are important. [She frowns for a moment, looks over at him with a wry sort of look, and then she talks.]
I made a friend when I was in New York. And I wasn't allowed to tell her anything about SHIELD, obviously, but she'd send me songs. Check in, let me know she was okay. I had a team of recruits. They were sort of idiots, but they were my idiots. I got to see Natasha sometimes. We went on a mission together to help out someone she knew in Rio that was having problems with terrorists that were trying to get their hands on a biological weapon. I knew what sort of people I was working for, but it meant I got to have a life. Maybe not the one I would have chosen for myself, but the fact that I got to have one at all mattered- even if they were tracking my keycard.
[Of course, she didn't really know the sort of people she was working for, but she knew better than most. Maybe even better than Natasha, who so badly needed SHIELD to be different from who she was before. Ava reaches into her bag, and after digging around for a few moments, pulls out a chocolate bar, which she unwraps, breaking it in half and offering it to him with a wordless smirk.] Candy?
[She breaks off a piece and nibbles on it before answering his question.] It just happens some times. The Natha say it's because of the Storm. In my case, I think it might have been about my powers. I was having trouble controlling them, and when I woke up, the Natha gave me these--
[She pulls up one of her sleeves, and there's a slender metal bracelet that fits snug around her wrist.] It helps me keep them in check.
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[And he did know. Her life was all lessons, isolation, and being kept out of sight for as long as possible. She soaked up knowledge well, performed skills with a keenness of youth, but she never was allowed to associate with those her own age from what he saw. STRIKE were her teachers and likely supposed to be her exposure of emotional, mental and social development, and he knew for a fact that none of them were at peak performance for any of those areas. They were all rather dysfunctional in their own way.
Of course, it couldn't have been worse than the stories that came from the Red Room. Hell, he looked back on the Asset and he saw how the years of forced behaviour and mental modification played its part. Ava had been someone who he had put effort into when he likely shouldn't have. She had been scrawny when he picked her up off the plane, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes but he saw this skinny little red-headed creature delivered into his care as a rising star of STRIKE and HYDRA. She reminded him a little of himself, all rough and abused.
He had gone against orders, cancelled his plans and instead taken her to a baseball game. He had bought her a ballcap, an overpriced hotdog and a sodapop. He had explained the rules of the game, slid his arm across the back of her chair like she was his daughter and no one dared question him on that fact. No one found out either.
So, maybe, just maybe, it pleased him on some level that she had found herself a friend after so much isolation. What was he to say to that? Nothing. He had long grown out of ass patting something so obvious, hardened by years of service but still willing to listen to her tale. And the recruits... they weren't likely to survive when HYDRA went all out, and that was a necessary evil that they all had to swallow. That she had associations with Natasha didn't entire surprise him, though she never seemed particularly interested most of the times.]
What's your association with Romanoff, aside from where you both were originally trained? Does the Red Room only graduate actual red-heads? [He knew that wasn't true, but there were interesting similarities anyway.] There was a tracker in it too, as I'm sure you know. GPS and all that jazz. Hi-tech stuff. You kept it on you, they knew where you were.
[And how the tables turned when she dug around and pulled out a candy bar. They weren't really his thing; he preferred hard candy that he could suck until they faded to nothing. Chocolate always seemed too messy and quickly. He still took what she offered as it was a strange change of roles.] How am I supposed to keep my trim figure if you're giving me candy?
[He kept clear of the Orbitors when he could. He didn't trust anyone that could keep a station full of frozen people like they were gods.] You need to learn to control them better then.
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And Rumlow had been kind to her. And that in and of itself made it not as bad. She hated it, would always hate it, and the idea of it still felt almost like a death-sentence, but the Red Room had been so many worlds worse. There'd been a point where she'd been angry about the baseball game and the trip to the department store, trying to show her the American essentials before they locked her in a cement box. But with all the pieces, it was a kindness, not cruelty.
When he asks about Natasha, there's a pause. She doesn't particularly care about SHIELD security protocols here, but it's a long, sad sorry, and she's just enjoying the moment.] When they moved me from Odessa to DC, Natasha was the one that pulled me out of there. I called her sestra. And then she left me with the agents handling clean up. She used to have birthday presents dropped off for me when I was in the bunker, like she thought I couldn't figure it out. Then there was this whole mess-- [She shrugs her shoulders a little bit helplessly.]
[Then he takes the candy bar, and she lets that change the subject, hopefully. She grins a little impishly as she looks up at him with a slightly raised eyebrow. Playful, still a little sharp at the edges.] I'm sure you can find some way to burn the calories.
[Ava was either fortunate or not, in that she had a high metabolism. Which was great for burning off junk food, but had been horrifying when she'd been living on the streets of Brooklyn, and had trouble getting enough food to sustain a normal person.] And I know, I know. It's just-- hard. They respond to my emotions, and I've never been good at that. You know, compartmentalization, not just... reacting. I set the room on fire once because I had a nightmare.
[Which goes back to the earlier point: she couldn't have outrun SHIELD. Not with incidents like that. They'd have an algorhythm that would find the pattern and she could fight her way though SHIELD agents, a lot of them. But not all of them. Not in the end.]
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Ava had really been his one attempt to see what the other side lived like. He might have been nice to her, gifted her and even took risks for her, but he knew it wasn't the same. He wasn't there much time at all, wasn't any guide through life, didn't instruct her on boys much or life in general. He came in her life just long enough to show her something else about it and then left again to her isolation. He didn't think real parents were supposed to do that, but then again, there were some awful parents out there.
For a second, he thought that Natasha had more parental skills than he did, but he actually took it back a moment later. She might try, but in the end, she was just like him: spy first and all potential individuals worth caring left behind. It was dangerous to have that kind of weakness available for exploitation.] Left you with agents, huh? And she couldn't even deliver birthday presents herself? That's rather telling. Even STRIKE mostly remembered you had one... which is saying a lot.
[He shook his head and stared at the candy bar like it might strike him. Still, he took a bite of it, aware that they were likely to be here awhile and there was no point wasting food.] Squats are always great for calorie burn.
[Her powers had seemingly been linked to her emotions, and that had been one thing they hadn't done well at and that was to teach her to hold it all in. When her emotions went out, she seemed to storm in every way possible. Or so he had been told. Electrical burns could be rather telling all the same.] I suppose the wiping was supposed to help take care of that, huh? Amazing you didn't just blow the machine up.
[He had seen the Asset wiped once, and it had made him momentarily question why he was doing what he was. It was like electrocuting a confused puppy, but he hadn't questioned it. Not outloud anyway.]
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She laughs a little when he brings up STRIKE and her birthday, and she shrugs her shoulders, looks at him with a curious look, a little enigmatic, like she's considering something. Not quite bittersweet, but a quiet sort of truth. But then she switches to something more playful, doesn't get lost in it.] Natasha never really knew what to do with me. Even after everything that happened. Do you still remember what my birthday is?
[It didn't really mean anything, but she was curious. It's easy talking to him. No SHIELD, no 7B, none of the trappings of the life she'd had before, just here on this strange planet at the end of the universe. He bites into his chocolate bar, and Ava breaks off another piece to idly nibble on. She looks him over when he mentions squats being good for calorie burn, and there's a slight twitch of her lips. ] Too bad there's not a pullup bar.
[She quiets for a moment when he brings up the fact that they'd been wiping her. With someone else, it would have been rougher, harsher, but Rumlow had been there, he knew, he'd had to deal with her when she didn't know who he was, where she was. And that just makes it another piece, not a secret. And she doesn't blame him for it. He'd never even been there, just seen the aftermath. They'd wipe her when she remembered too much, they'd tell her the same lie: that she'd been rescued from the Russian Mafia, that she was here for her protection, and that it was trauma.]
I didn't really have them back then, I guess. It was later. Things sort of went to Hell when I was seventeen. I was psychically linked to Natasha, which she obviously wasn't too happy about. There was this big plot that involved this machine in Istanbul, but I had to blow it up to break the link. And then- [She holds her hands up and wiggles her fingers in a clear pantomime of powers. But the thing was that given what she's found out about the program, about her mother and father, the way everything kept coming back to her genetics she'd never really know if this was like Banner's freak accident, or what she was supposed to be.]
It doesn't scare you?
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He wasn't surprised that Natasha hadn't known what to do with her, though he was curious how old Ava had been when they had actually met. Maybe there had been some weird sentimental reminiscence? Romanoff wasn't all ice cold; she played it best off the cuff. No one entirely knew when she was acting or emoting.]
She seemed more like that distant aunt that came to town once in a while with chocolate but otherwise, wanted only adult conversations. [But what did he really know about that. He had as much of an act to play as she did.] Your birthday, huh? [He pretended like he was thinking rather hard on the subject, chewing a little on his chocolate bar.] You were a May baby, I seem to recall. May 21st, wasn't it?
[It was easier to play the part of soldier when he needed to, let many of the other people talk themselves into holes that he could talk them deeper into. He had a good memory, and he hadn't made Command of STRIKE because of his rugged good looks. But of course she was going to sass him still, as he deserved and as she needed to do.]
If you weren't so damn tiny, I'd offer to bench press you, but you're hardly even close to my warm up weight category.
[He raised his eyebrows at her easy admittance, though there was an opening that he wasn't about to miss either.] Well, I can tell you that everything for everyone seems to develop and go to hell in a hand basket at seventeen. [Those dastardly aging out of government programs; the unwanted pregnancies; the graduation and failing to get into college; the STDs that were too embarrassing to explain to the principal. Ah seventeen, where all the horror show of life actually started.]
Wait, you were psychically linked to Romanoff? Now you have to give me all the goss on her. Does she actually hang her clothes from a spider web? I had a bet with Rollins. [He had no such thing, but it was a good story. He imagined that being mentally linked with one of the most successful Soviet spies came with its own special brand of confusion and kick-ass whatever.]
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[She hadn't been quite sure that he would, so even with the way he acts like he has to think about it, like it's old and forgotten, the fact that he still gets it right is enough. She's pleased and a little bit surprised, and she'd bad at hiding either, even if it's a pleasant sort of surprise. Ava was never a perfect spy, even if she could have been. She emoted, her feelings were often so easy to read.
So it spills easily into the light breath of laughter when he says she's not even in his warm-up weight category. Which, honestly- given his biceps- that might even be true. But she's not about to give him that, so instead she just looks at him a little incredulously. Not that Ava shies away from genuine compliments, but this is easy. The almost teasing, sassing him with a smile in her eyes. She'd missed it.] Now you're just mouthing off.
[She's still playing with him, impish as she watches him with those bright blue eyes.] I think it was a bit outside of the usual realm of being seventeen, though. It started at a Fencing Tournament. Natasha showed up with a fake face, dragged me up to the roof of the convention center, we argued, I punched her, and then we were getting shot at by Russian mercenary snipers.
[Given the tone of her voice, it's pretty easy to guess that the story doesn't get better from there. But, Rumlow of course catches onto the thread about how she'd been linked to Natasha, but instead of asking anything in the odd or incriminating category, it's just dumb fluff, which is honestly a little bit relaxing. It saves her from having to talk about the whole sad, sorry, fucked-up tale. The way it touches on the fact that SHIELD had wanted to use her. That there had been a boy, and now there wasn't, but that in the end it had really been Nat's boy, and Ava just hadn't been able to tell the difference, back then.]
No actual spider webs, sorry. She has a closet, which I'm sure is disappointing. To be honest, her apartment still mostly looks like she hasn't quite moved in, even after all this time.
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It made him wonder how many 'good' things she had experienced and if a birthday was the one time she could call it 'her' day. He reminded himself that he should get her a present this year, something other than candy. That felt like it might be stretching his capacity to care to the limit.
He rolled his eyes at her claim that her seventeen was worse than everyone else's. How dare.] You try experiencing random and uncontrollable erections. I mean, weird powers can't be worse? [He was teasing of course. What she likely became was more deadly than a random embarrassing erection.] So... really, you experienced a normal day being Romanoff. Argue, get punched - or punch, and then get shot at be the country you defected from. They also must have been pretty poor snipers if they took a shot that didn't wound or kill.
[He was given the impression there was much more to the story, that her little foray with Romanoff had just begun there. Any kind of psychic connection between the two had to bear weight, given he knew that Romanoff had skills that would always be impressive, but her ability to take in mass amounts of information and sort it also was impressive.]
Damn, now I'm out twenty bucks. [If only Rollins was alive to punch him in the arm as a way to demand it, had the bet existed at all.] From the little I know of her, she probably didn't stay that often in one place. It's too dangerous. However, I'm still super disappointed about the closet.
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They weren't there to kill us. I don't understand it, entirely, but it was about me and Natasha. Pushing us, she pulled me down, covered me when the shooting started. I guess I was sort of keyed to her genetics, but the link required that sort of physical contact. [She hasn't told anyone about this, but somehow, it's just easy to talk to him. She doesn't worry about him judging her, about the fact that he'll think she's a freak, or look at her like she's dangerous, a threat, a rabid dog that hasn't been put down.]
I'd had it before that, but it was small things. When I dreamed, I'd see through her eyes. Missions she was on, things like that. Apparently the idea was to compromise anything she knew about SHIELD, about Fury, maybe? I'd pick up on just about everything she knew, all the information she had, and Ivan and whoever he was working for I guess would have some way of processing it. [Rumlow can probably but that into better context than she could.]
[But then he brings up the bet and she laughs, smiles quietly.] Yeah, she had a lot of boltholes. Hotel rooms, too. But she did have the apartment SHIELD set up for her, and there was even a stray cat she'd feed sometimes.
[Then she looks up at him, quietly, her eyes softening a little as she meets his eyes.] Did you find him? [Rollins. In the stasis tubes. As harsh around the edges as Rumlow is, she can't believe that he didn't look.]
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Keyed to her genetics in that you two are distantly related? So the snipers were there to force you two together, to activate the link? That makes sense, but seems like a waste of a sniper in my opinion. [He didn't particularly like his skills wasted on a 'dive and hide', since a normal individual with firearms skill could manage much of the same results. He suppose he didn't begrudge the Soviets from taking that tactic, but bullets flying caused a lot of turned heads and there were far more subtle ways to achieve a physical connection.
Still, he offered an impressed whistle at the complete volume of information that she had access to. Romanoff was someone who guarded secrets well and never let on that she even was, and any access to her impressive skills would also be invaluable.] Who the hell is Ivan? Just the name alone makes him sound like a jerk-off.
[Of course she had a lot of boltholes. She was a professional, and she knew how to hide in plain sight as well as she did in the shadows. It was natural for her to need to have other places to settle in to spin her webs known as covers.] I suppose a stray cat is about as maternal or paternal as any of us manage on that level. [Not that he viewed Ava back then as a stray kitten, but her being handed off to him had strained the limited 'parental' skills that he had. He developed more as time when on and he was exposed to her.]
That asshole? Yeah, I found him, but he looks pretty bad off. [He shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal, like he expected no less from Rollins, even if the guy tended to be the more cautious of the two of them.] Doesn't seem likely he'll wake up, but I bug him when I'm up on the Station. [Read: Rollins was his literal only friend in this place.]
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[She doesn't go into the details, hits the important parts, but also-- her childhood hadn't been a kind one even before SHIELD, before she'd been in the Red Room program, before all of the quantum entanglement nonsense. She'd never had a chance for anything else, and her mother had not been a kind woman. All she remembered of her father was a ballerina doll from the Bolshoi that her mother had said he'd sent for her. Someone else might question if they were her parents at all, but Ava didn't. Couldn't, especially now, when those were answers she'd never get.
She laughs softly when he mentions Ivan.] That he was. He helped run the Black Widow program out of the Red Room back during the Cold War. He was KGB, an old army dog as he liked to call himself. He managed to stay through the regime change, used connections and money to guarantee himself and his experiments a place under the SVR. And then he used the technology my parents created to make the Opus program. But, Natasha put a bullet in his skull, and I haven't seen him in Stasis, so hopefully that's a closed door.
[She quiets for a moment, considers, sighs as she leans there, just enjoying his company and the warmth of the fire.] Next time you go, maybe I could go with you, if you wanted? I mean, you might have rugged good looks, but I'm sure Rollins could use a pretty face now and then.
[Of course, part of it is that she understands that. Having your only friend in Stasis, being pretty sure they weren't waking up. Trying to work through where to go.]
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For him, childhood just happened to be one of those humps that everyone had to go through in order to come out the other side the wonderfully damaged individuals that they would be. Some had it worse than others. And none of it mattered here and now in a world where everything they had known was long gone, and it was all about how adaptable one was. Least they were out of the blizzard and the cave was warming with the fire crackling merrily.]
All you had to say was: he ran the Red Room and I already know what kind of guy he is. [Though many of the KGB went into hiding after the regime and slowly made their way back into power from what he knew. The whole crimes against humanity thing was still frowned upon after all.] There's another guy in Stasis to watch out for; he goes by the name Kilgrave, and he's on SHIELD's kill-on-sight sniper list. I'll show you him next time we're up there.
[He offered her a sour look. What a sassy woman she'd become! He was completely blaming everyone else for that.] We clearly should have washed your mouth out with soap more often, you sassy thing. Rollins always had a soft spot for you, so pretty certain he'd tolerate you being around.
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[There's a comfort to it, honestly. The way he refutes the idea that parents even matter, shoots down the idea that she was only ever important because of some genetic connection to Natasha. She could argue it, of course, but she doesn't really want to. Because there's a layer to it, the idea that none of it seemed to really matter to him, and that was better, that mattered. She doesn't remember much of her mother. She knew that she'd loved her in that way only children can, that even now she couldn't entirely help it, even if she knew that her mother had been involved in her suffering. But then, it was hard to hate the dead.
She wasn't that little girl anymore. She knew- maybe not all the truth, but enough, had been able to string her life into a more-or-less cohesive narrative, and that was enough. She knew who she was, and even if she worked for people who weren't good people, that didn't mean that she couldn't be a good person, help people. Or so she told herself, anyway.
It's nice, being able to leave Ivan at that, dead and buried. Ava nods quietly as he brings up Kilgrave being in stasis. The name doesn't ring any bells, but she takes the warning at face value. Then he offers her a sour look, and it just makes her smirk, almost grinning as he calls her on being sassy.] Yeah, he wasn't you, but he wasn't one of the bad ones. [Not to her anyway. And in the end, that was how she judged people. There's a lull of quiet, and she nibbles on her chocolate, licking at her fingertips as it gets a little melty from her skin and the fire. She looks at him sideways, and while she doesn't judge him for the scars, eventually she can't resist the temptation to ask.]
Can I ask you about the scars? You don't have to tell me. [Part concern, part curiosity, and part a strange sort of fascination. She can't help wondering what had happened, because they looked like burns more than anything.]
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[He knew more than his share of those people, and he certainly wasn't jealous about what they had to give up or even lose in order to have that kind of longevity. He had lived his life without any scientific complications, and he was looking to keep it that way for the time being. He had settled into the comfort of knowing what he could do, how well he could do it and now had the benefit of a lifetime of experience on when it was best to let loose on someone.
That never particularly worked on super people though. He was comfortable though. He had no trouble keeping up with the people who were as normal as he was.
Rumlow knew there had been some agents that hadn't taken kindly to guard duty of a teenager, but they had done their duty. Some of them were rough around the edges, probably let some of their resentment show towards her. He doubted many of them cared that she was as likely to appreciate being locked up and on guard as much as they were to be a part of it.] He's still an asshole. [As if that was that when it came to Rollins.]
You can ask all you like, but it doesn't mean I'm going to tell you the truth. [He could make something up. After all, if she couldn't guess, she might not have experienced it and talking about HYDRA to the one person who so far hadn't come right out to suspect him up to some nefarious plan... he was hard pressed to let that go. Still, he relented a little.] Mission went bad. Building collapsed while I was inside. It's not as bad as it could be, I imagine.
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He was here, he was okay. Maybe she shouldn't be so attached; it was one conversation after intermittent visits when she'd been a child, objectively an entirely different person from who he was now. But she didn't have a lot of people, and he accepted her, was nice to her, easy to talk to without having to worry about how he'd react. And he didn't make her feel like no one saw her as anything other than a child, the way Coulson had, and even Steve did sometimes. Which was perhaps ironic, in that if anyone had a reason to see her as a child, it would have been Rumlow.]
I'm just glad you're alive. You're lucky, you know. Or maybe just stubborn. [Teasing a little, but it's not quite as overtly playful, just a slight twitch of her lips.] Did someone blow the foundation? Because those are burns, and not just from friction.
[She took him at face value, because she had no particular reason not to. And even if she found out later, Ava was a person who understood not telling people the whole truth. She hadn't told Steve the whole truth about who she was, hadn't told Peggy about what a mess SHIELD was. And that was without taking Natasha's view on truth and circumstances into account. The fact was that sometimes the reasons you didn't tell someone the truth weren't even about them.
She almost wants to touch them, because she's a tactile person even if she pretends otherwise, but for a moment she restrains herself. She's reminded of a saying, from the Red Room. Not from Ivan, but from her days before she'd been one of his special girls. Lessons from a Matron who was never kind, but she did not cause suffering for suffering's sake. Ava has a lot of feelings about scars, even if hers run deep, aren't so visible on the skin, they're still there, always will be. Natasha's imprints on her psyche, Alexei on her heart.]
Scars aren't about failing, you know. They're a reminder that you're stronger than whatever gave it to you. Even a building, in your case. So they're not.. ugly or shameful, or the way people look at them. [She knows he's probably gotten looks. They're obvious, and she can't imagine what it was like when they were new. Tentative, uncertain, she reaches up with one hand to trace the edge of the burns on the left side of his face, if he lets her. She watches him closely, and if he seems uncomfortable or shifts away, she'll stop before she even gets there. She's so very tactile, but with most people she doesn't initiate physical contact if she can help it.
There had been a few times she'd hugged Natasha, and it had been rather like hugging a door. So she was timid about it, always conscious of rejection, of not being allowed in other people's space, even if it added to the loneliness. Sana had been the first one to really make it okay. And everything is so easy with Rumlow, she's willing to risk it, even if she's still a little shy.]
Well. And you know what they say women think about scars. [A slight curve of her lips, adding just a slight touch of levity.]
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He wondered if she was the only person who could say that about him though. I'm just glad you're alive. She was the first person to say that to him since he had arrived here, and he knew for a fact that he didn't deserve it, that the story behind them would cause the usual revulsion. However, if Ava was anything like Natasha, she likely existed in a world of grays rather than black and white. That's how many agents existed, where there were personal lines in the sand they wouldn't cross.]
Jet fuel. [His lips twisted because there was no point of lying on that fact. There was a clear difference to friction and burning, the smooth melted nature of the burns around his eyes. It should have been a lot worse, but maybe he had been put in the pod before it had melted most of his skin off.] Impact damage from an aircraft hitting the building. No chance to get out, but I got lucky... and I am stubborn.
[He knew that she was trying to be comforting, that she was making a go of it and being rather socially awkward in her attempt. They hadn't socialized her that well and it wasn't as if the Red Room was big on behaviours that made their future agents warm and genuinely fuzzy. Some were better than others of course.
The fact of the matter was that his scars were a visible show of his failure, of how Insight had failed, how his very world had come crashing down with it. He had lost everything except his life. He had lost his team, his organization, his structure, his reason for getting up in the morning. HYDRA didn't exist here, but the people who knew that he was branded by the organization (had lived, breathed, died for it because there was no retirement) made the very potential life here difficult. He stepped out of line and his head would likely get punched off.
Which left him few options. Return to the time before HYDRA, when he had been a snot nosed kid with a knife in hand, a bit to much in the way of smarts and a mean streak that he had picked up early on. There was an underworld here, of course. He knew he could slip into it like putting on a glove, but the fact was: he had failed and he was alive to swallow that bitter pill little-by-little.]
Some would say they finally put some of my ugliness on the outside. [He didn't say who because there was no point. It was some truth, that he did bad things for good reasons.
He didn't refuse her exploring touch; she had always been that kid that needed to verify things with her hands anyway. He was used to that, had half expected that she would make a go of it.]
Last woman who commented on them beyond you has threatened to throw me through a wall four times. Oh and break me over her knee. And kick my balls off. [He shrugged. It was no big deal the gesture said.]
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Jesus. [A slight murmur of the exclamation as he explained how it had happened. He says aircraft and she's thinking a quinjet more than a helicarrier, but it's still horrifying. And he certainly is lucky; all that rubble, and the igniting jet fuel, and she's surprised his injuries aren't worse. Maybe been near a window when the building went up, given the flames a way to vent out, reduced the amount of concrete on his body. She knows he must have been in surgery for hours if not days following, but she doesn't ask about that. She can tell from his scars, from his story, and there's no details there that would change anything, so it's not a question worth asking.
She doesn't know about him and HYDRA, is just thinking of some mission with SHIELD where everything goes to Hell. He might have failed the mission, but it doesn't make him a failure. And she just wants to make sure he can see the difference. Not that she can remember him ever seeming low on confidence, but being in another world, where there's no SHIELD, nothing familiar, no easy places to fit into as far as she's seen.
And then there's that comment about putting his ugliness on the outside, and there's a flash of something in her eyes, her other hand coming up, just slightly resting against his shoulder. Because he's allowed the first touch, and it feels somehow like it's easier, a way of anchoring what she says. Maybe anchoring herself, when there's a not insignificant sort of vulnerability there.]
Hey. Anyone who thinks that is wrong. You were one of the only good people to me. Even when I'd forget who you were, you took risks for me. I know you're not sweetness and light, that you've done bad things, but you're not an ugly person. Working for bad people doesn't make you a bad person. Besides, the scars aren't even ugly. I mean, I'd rather you hadn't been hurt, but I don't mind them.
[She traces the scarring, the uneven and too-smooth skin under her soft fingertips. Starting against his cheekbone and then up around, touching the uneven lines that made her think there must have been metal on his face. Dripping lines of molten metal or heated wires. She looks a little bit horrified as he tells her about the last woman before her to comment on his scars.] Well, she sounds insane, and you need better friends.
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And Insight. Well, that had been a good op that had gone all wrong. He probably should have blamed Steve more; maybe in time he would. Right now, he wondered how much of what he was doing was some state of shock where a single push could turn him loose, apply all that skill to turn the world upside down.
He gave her a patient look, not because he thought of her as a child, but he knew for a fact that she didn't know much of the story about him. She had been one of the few things in his life he had bothered to be genuinely nice to, but that was really as far as it went. She didn't have all the facts.] One moderately good person in a sea of bad people doesn't leave much for you to judge on, Ava. I'm not a good man, and I never will be. I do the ops no one else wants, the real dirty ones, not because I enjoy it but because I'm good at them. [His moral compass had long ago been turned on its head.
But again, he doesn't refuse her touch. He was reminded of some of the few STRIKE gatherings after a particularly brutal op. Rough men and woman throwing arms around each other, flicking pretezels and making crude jokes.] Nah, she's more bark than bite, all threats and little action when push comes to shove. She ain't so bad. You probably wouldn't like her.
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I've known other people. Sana is good in a way I can barely comprehend. I lived on the streets of New York City for three years, I met people, I'm not so sheltered anymore that I think the Red Room or SHIELD are okay.
[She steps in a little bit closer, uses the strength in her hand and her grip against his shoulder to push him a little more firmly against the wall of the cave. It's only a little rough, not aggressive, not a threat. It's more to get his attention, it's because she's tactile, and as the conversation shifts she can't help being a little rough, knows he can take it. Her other hand still lingers against his scars, still that light touch as if in direct contrast.]
And I didn't say you were a good man, I said you were good to me. I said you weren't a bad person, and I meant it. I might not know all of your missions, but I know that you were one of the best at what you did, I know you tended to take the most dangerous missions and cut your way through them no matter what that meant. [Information she knows because of Natasha, too above Rumlow, too focused on the Avengers to pay him much attention, but even she still knew of his reputation.]
And if you want to talk dirty I was seven years old the first time I killed someone. She was a little girl, just like me, with gold blonde hair, and I strangled her on the floor because I was told to. And when we went to disrupt the program that my mother had created, there were over a hundred kidnapped orphan teenagers they were controlling. Natasha said I was supposed to leave anything with a pulse to her, but I couldn't do that and provide cover fire. So I chose between her life and the safety of the world against children that didn't deserve to die.
[She's not angry, she's frustrated. That edge to his voice like he didn't think she understood dirty, what it was to be someone with a skewed morality and blood on your hands. Like she didn't have the life experience to judge him as not something awful and have it mean anything. Looking at her like she had been pulled from the Red Room and handed over to SHIELD without being mired in it. She had been Ivan's favorite. Even as he handcuffed her to the pipes so the other girls could hear her scream.] And I have to own every terrible thing Natasha's ever done, because it's not just memory, it's visceral, my body remembers it too. The knife in my hand, or the way the blood splattered on my bare skin, the heat from the hospital fire.
[Her fingers against his scars finally slides down, and her knuckles brush against the stubble of his jaw. And after saying so much, stripping herself down to truth and bone to make a point, she quiets, looks up into his eyes, still balanced on tip-toe, and a little uncertain if maybe she'd pushed too far. But it all leads back to one simple question, her voice soft:]
So tell me, am I ugly too?
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But, for him, that was a lifetime ago. He felt the pressure of her grip on his shoulder, and he could resist the push of it. He was no slouch physically, but he was also used to picking his battles when it came to be pushed around. He went with the push so his back was pressed to the uneven stone wall at his back, feeling it dig in, but she meant nothing aggressive about it. She was trying to focus his attention, which was unnecessary as he already was no matter where his eyes or head may be turned.
He raised an eyebrow as she displayed knowledge of his reputation beyond her means. SHIELD Academy didn't use him for examples; he was a sniper and thus his identity was often classified information, but those in the upper circles would be aware of his reputation. So she hadn't been joking how much knowledge she could glean from Romanoff.
Of course, she offered information freely, so he held his peace as she clearly needed to say it. Murdering kids was usually the worst part of the job; it was the collateral that no one wanted. Kids grew to adults who could kill just as easily depending on what they saw; sometimes he thought it was a small mercy for them to get out early.] You made a call, and that's yours to live with. But was Romanoff's life worth more to you than those brainwashed kids? [The story was clearly indicating it was some form of mind control after all.
Her question was one he had been expecting as the rant went on, and he wondered how many people knew this about her. How many people knew she killed a bunch of teenagers or other kids because that was how the Red Room worked?]
Yeah, you're ugly too. We're all ugly after the things we've done. [There was no point skirting that issue. He laid it to her straight as he always had.] You're just more screwed up with having to deal with both your shit and Romanoff's.
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Warning: Torture, murder, psychological damage
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warning for child murder, torture, and creepy wrong red room shit
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warning for electrotorture
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