𝐱𝐯. the room is on fire, invisible smoke
.ೃ࿔*:・𝐱𝐯. the room is on fire, invisible smoke
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐅𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍, stark and overwhelming against the dark backdrop of her surroundings. She blinked rapidly, her eyes stinging as she struggled to clear her sight. Despite her efforts, the crimson hue remained, pulsing like a heartbeat and dancing at the edges of her vision. She pressed her hands to her temples, feeling the throb of an impending headache, her mind swirling with confusion.
As the intensity of the light began to subside, another sense took over. The air around her was thick with an acrid, sickly sweet smell that made her stomach churn. It was the unmistakable odor of burning flesh, mingled with the pungent scent of singed hair and the bitter tang of charred skin. The combination was both nauseating and unsettlingly familiar, tugging at buried memories that she wished would stay hidden. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she fought against the wave of nausea threatening to overtake her.
Ingrid's mind raced as she tried to piece together her surroundings. She could feel the heat of the flames licking at her skin, the roar of the fire echoing in her ears. Each breath she took was labored, the smoky air burning her lungs in just the right way.
Despite the chaos, a strange sense of comfort washed over her.
Ingrid furiously rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, praying that whatever this bright red smoke was, it would go away. When the smoke finally began to clear, she gasped, her breath hitching in her throat.
She spun around, taking in the scene. The room was empty, unfamiliar and dark, though its walls were engulfed in flames. The sight of the fire made Ingrid a little less nervous as she took in its glow. The fire cast flickering, erratic light, creating dancing shadows that leaped and swayed across the walls and ceiling. The walls, consumed by the flames, crackled and blackened, with embers glowing like sinister stars in the gloom. She watched in a trance-like state as the fire transformed the room, turning the once solid walls into a shifting, living entity of destruction.
Despite the unfamiliarity of the room, Ingrid felt calmed by the fire. She took a deep breath in, but the smell of burning flesh hit her nostrils again, and she flinched. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady her trembling body as she searched for any sign of what had happened.
As she dared to look at the floor, a surge of horror gripped her. Bodies littered the ground, so burnt and lifeless that they were almost unrecognizable.
Almost.
Ingrid’s heart clenched as she realized who they were. These were the people she knew, people she loved. Her friends, her family, reduced to charred remains. Faces that once brought her joy and comfort were now twisted in eternal agony, their identities barely discernible beneath the layers of soot and ash.
Her stomach tightened, and a wave of nausea rose from her gut. She instinctively clasped her hand over her mouth, trying to hold back both the urge to vomit and the sobs threatening to break free. Tears blurred her vision as she stood frozen, unable to tear her eyes away from the devastating scene. Each face she identified was like a dagger to her heart, the pain cutting deeper with every recognition.
Ingrid couldn't bear to look at the ground again. The weight of the loss pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe, her chest heaving with suppressed sobs. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to focus, to push through the paralyzing grief and find a way out. But when she lifted her gaze, seeking an escape from the horror below, she found herself physically recoiling at the sight of Ultron.
He looked unscathed, his metallic body unmarred by scorch marks despite having walked through the flames. Ingrid's sorrow quickly morphed into anger, boiling inside her like a volcano ready to erupt.
"What did you do to them?" Ingrid hissed, her voice trembling with fury. She balled up her fist, summoning a flame that danced menacingly in her palm.
Ultron laughed, a chilling sound that filled the room and echoed off the walls. To Ingrid, it was like nails on a chalkboard, grating and relentless. The sound sent shivers down her spine, but she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated.
"Me? I didn't do anything," Ultron said, his voice calm and almost amused, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding them. "But you? You killed them," he hissed, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction.
Ingrid shook her head vehemently, tears streaming down her face. "No, no, no," she sobbed, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief. "I would never do that."
"Oh, but you did," Ultron said, now stepping closer to her. His movements were deliberate and unhurried. Ingrid could feel the heat of the flames growing more intense, mirroring her fury. She looked around frantically, only to realize the room had no doors, no windows. She was trapped, surrounded by bodies and ash; the only thing she could do was scream and cry.
"Stay away from me! I'll... I'll kill you!" Ingrid cried, covering her face with her hands like a frightened child, partly to hide her tears and partly to avoid looking at Ultron and the destruction around her.
Her chest heaved. As she tried to calm down, she took deep breaths, counting to ten, just like how her dad taught her. But her dad was now lying lifeless on the floor next to her, and she couldn't help but start believing in Ultron's words. The sight of her father's charred body sent another wave of anguish crashing over her, threatening to drown her in guilt and sorrow.
"Like you killed them?" Ultron taunted her, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. At his words, Ingrid broke out into more sobs, the pain and confusion overwhelming her.
"I didn't kill them! I would never do that!" Ingrid repeated herself, her voice strained and desperate. Her protests seemed weak even to her own ears, the conviction in her words wavering as doubt gnawed at her. But Ultron only shook his head.
"You're a monster, Ingrid!" Ultron now yelled, his voice echoing off the walls and making Ingrid clasp her palms over her ears as she shook her head. The accusation cut deep, each word slicing through her defenses and leaving her feeling raw and exposed.
"A freak!" he yelled, coming closer and closer, his eyes gleaming with malice.
"A murderer!"
"No, no, no," she muttered, shaking her head, trying to block out Ultron's voice, the sight of the charred remains, the acrid smell of death. The stench was suffocating, a constant reminder of the devastation surrounding her. She tried to focus on anything but Ultron's taunting, but his voice cut through her attempts like a knife.
"You think you can control your powers? Look at what you've done!" Ultron yelled, making Ingrid flinch. She opened her eyes, taking in the state of the ground beneath her feet, all of the bodies. The twisted, lifeless forms seemed to mock her, each one a testament to her perceived failure. "You're a danger to everyone around you. You can't save anyone. You're weak, and now they're all dead because of you." Ultron was now towering over her, his red, lifeless eyes meeting Ingrid's.
Ingrid's breath hitched in her throat, her mind reeling. She wanted to scream, to deny his accusations, but the weight of her guilt and grief held her tongue. Her vision blurred with tears, the edges darkening as her body struggled to cope with the overwhelming strain.
Before Ingrid could protest, her vision went black and her knees buckled, her body finally succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue and emotional strain. The flames in her hands extinguished as her consciousness slipped away, leaving her defenseless.
.ೃ࿔*:・
Clint had just finished fighting off the Maximoff twins when he turned to Ingrid. She was standing in the middle of the room, sobbing uncontrollably, clutching her head as if trying to stop the pain. Her fists were balled up, flames flickering menacingly between her fingers, a clear warning to anyone who dared to approach.
Clint took a cautious step forward, but Ingrid balled her fist up, igniting a flame. Clint raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, backing away slowly. "Hey, I'm not here to hurt you," he said softly.
Tony’s voice crackled through the earpiece, strained and urgent. "Natasha, I could really use a lullaby right now."
Clint moved back over to Natasha. Her red hair was matted to her sweaty forehead, her eyes wide with horror. He cupped his hands around her face, his voice gentle but firm. "Well, that's not gonna happen," he said.
"Then get Ingrid!" Tony yelled, his voice laced with panic.
Clint glanced back at Ingrid, who was now covering her face with her hands, her sobs echoing through the room, a haunting sound of despair and confusion. "I can't do that either. The whole team is down, you've got no backup here," Clint replied, his voice filled with regret.
"I didn't kill them! I would never do that!" Ingrid’s voice broke through the chaos, filled with raw pain. Clint looked at her, the sight of her crumpled form tearing at his resolve. He took a deep breath and moved cautiously toward her, but before he could reach her, Ingrid's body seemed to give way to exhaustion. She started to fall, her strength spent.
Instinctively, Clint lunged forward, catching her just in time. He held onto her waist tightly as he draped her arm over his shoulders. "I got you. I got you," he murmured.
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