A faint crash startles me from the void of my mind. It sounds almost like thunder but muffled. Was it thunder? There's also the slightest tilting back and forth. If you're not consciously thinking about it you could miss it. It feels like I'm on some sort of boat. I can't be on a boat, can I? Wait...what happened?

Where am I?

With blurred and unfocused eyes, I try to crane my neck in an attempt to identify my location. Faint yellow caution lines, white identification numbers, deep grays, and dull uniforms. I can make these sights out, but their meanings just barely manage to evade my foggy mind. My sense of tactile comes back just in time for me to feel my feet dragging against the grated floors. In addition, I can feel sturdy arms wrapped under my own to hold me up as I'm lugged along a long hallway. On either side of the hall are thick doors with small windows, almost like...prison cells?

My eyes shut as my face drops. Pain erupts in my brain as it feels like I've been hit in the back of the head with something heavy. "No." I shakily whisper before I look up again. The scene around me has changed. I'm back in Russia again. I'm being dragged by sentinels, robed in fur coats and wearing smirks on their lips. I find myself in a mint colored hospital gown. Phantom pains from the past plague my body. "No, not again." I remember this. This memory has plagued my sleep for nearly a year now. This time it's so much more hyperrealistic.

My jaw tightens and I shut my eyes tightly. I cannot be back here. I know I can't...I refuse to be. A shuddering exhale escapes me as panic suddenly wells up in my chest. It's Russia. I'm back in Russia. Why am I back in Russia? Whatever may remain of HYDRA must have found me, right? I cannot let them turn me into some mindless tool. I need to get out of here.

I force my feet under me before throwing all of my weight to the right. I crush one of the guardsmen into the wall and listen to him shout in surprise and pain as he slumps to the floor. Before the second man can get a grip on the situation, I throw my weight in his direction and allow my forehead to collide with his. His arm drops from holding me up and I nearly fall to the floor. The panic slowly begins to die down, along with my hallucination of the inescapable labyrinth of the HYDRA facility. I'm no longer in Russia.

I'm in a completely unfamiliar place with two unconscious guards lying to my right and left. Instead of a hospital gown, I'm fitted with a pale blue prison outfit that resembles scrubs. I begin to feel weak in more than one way. I don't know what's happening, but it's like all my energy is seeping out from my limbs. I stumble forward a few steps as my breathing turns into short gasps as my heart thunders against my chest in a dangerous rhythm. My knees grow weak as I grow cold. My shoulder crashes against the wall as I tip to the left in a vain attempt to stay on my feet. Soon the short gasps stop and I'm left trembling against the wall without the ability to inhale or exhale.

I can't breathe. I cannot physically make myself breathe. Something or someone is siphoning my energy like a leech. I'm entering treacherous waters now. I lean my head against the wall as the thunder of boots reaches my ears. I shut my eyes and tilt my head back in a futile attempt to obtain oxygen. That's when my body jolts and my eyes fly open. Once again I'm in Russia, but all I can see is blood. There's blood on the walls, the floors, and the ceiling.

I remember this.

There are limp bodies of guardsmen that look like they've been thrown around like rag dolls. Some are decapitated and others look like they've literally exploded. My body slides backward and I land with a quiet thud on my back, my knees folded under myself. The back of my head erupts in pain as my past dissipates like a cloud of fog. There's a guard leaning over me, but my eyes can't seem to focus on him. I can no longer hear the blood coursing through my ears. I'm in some sort of odd silence that's settling yet unnerving.

Am I dying?

This must be what people mean when they say your life flashes before your eyes. It all makes sense. People who have near death experiences usually come back 'changed.' Perhaps they see all the bad in their lives. That must be what causes them to want to do good.

I must be dying.

Who knew cardiopulmonary failure would be such a peaceful way to go?

The unhindered silence breaks as I can hear a faint pulse in my ears again. I can feel my chest being forced downwards like a brick has been dropped on it, before the sensation is gone, and then back again. It's a repetitive feeling that persists until a short gasp escapes my lips and I can breathe once again. My senses come rushing back to me as my pulse heightens. I hadn't realized that the enhanced side of me had been suppressed until I can feel the tingle of energy rushing through my nerves. I blink as my eyes finally focus on the guard leaning over me. There's a brief look of relief on his face, before he turns his head and declares that I'm alive.

Guess these morons didn't know they couldn't drain my energy without killing me.

Two fresh-faced men haul me to my feet but I remain as limp as the fallen men behind me. I feel like my bones have been replaced with lead. Although I can feel my energy returning now that whatever had been siphoning it before was gone, I still feel incredibly weak. Everything hurt, but my mind especially.

I'm thankful to be breathing again...but what if I wasn't? Wouldn't that be simpler? If I just...died? There wouldn't be any pain to chase me. There wouldn't be men firing guns at me. There wouldn't be any more unnecessary deaths because of me. But had I died...what fresh pain would chase my friends? What unnecessary deaths would occur without me here to protect innocents? What would happen without me? It would be selfish to wish for death, especially now when all of my friends were trapped in this fresh hell I'm sure is the government's work. No. I'm not a quitter. I have never been. I will myself to continue to fight.

A shaky inhale inflates my lungs as I clench my jaw. Anger builds the longer I'm dragged down the hall, and by the end of it, I've had enough. A frustrated grunt escapes me as I begin to yank my weight to the left and right, backward and forwards. These guards seem more prepared than the last set and manage to keep me from escaping their grasp. It doesn't deter me.

I recede into my own mind as I struggle with accessing my abilities that have thus far remained out of my mental reach in terms of usage. I can feel myself barely graze them and it's just enough for me to let out a pulse from the small amount of energy I've recouped. It forces itself outwards and shoves all persons around me into the walls. Once released, I shakily stand to my full height. Now completely unhindered, I roll my shoulders before I begin to strut down the hallway.

With no sense of direction, but strides full of purpose, I begin to wander the halls of my new prison. Alarms begin to blare above me but I remain unfazed. I take a few more random twists and turns before I reach a sector with higher security. My instincts tell me that if my friends are anywhere, it'd be here. I pause for a moment, wondering if my actions are going to do me any good before I stride forward. Midway down the hall is a large door with a hand scanner next to it. It's large and bulky, with big white block letters and numbers printed on it. Underneath the letters read 'highly dangerous.' I take that as a sign my friends must be in there.

A smirk creeps onto my lips as my eyes dart to the scanner. I place my hand on it before allowing a concentrated burst to short it out. The door blocking my path creaks open, allowing me passage. Inside the large containment area, I find my friends. Each is kept in a separate cell and wears the same sterile blue uniform I am. My eyes shift quickly to Wanda, who's leaning against one of the walls of her cell. She's wearing a straight jacket in addition to an electromagnetic collar. My hands tighten into fists as I regard her state. "Iris?" My head snaps to the other side of the room, where Clint is in his own cell.

"The one and only." I begin to walk in his direction, ignoring the alarms that are continuing to blare.

"What are you doing?" He asks quickly, frantically. In his eyes are shock, wonderment, and fear.

"Well, I was planning on attempting to get us out of here--" I begin.

"There's no getting out of here, Iris. This is an underwater prison." Clint begins to talk quickly as my eyebrows scrunch together.

"Wow, this is a fresh hell." I mutter before looking up the row of cells to see Scott, Sam, and Pietro in the next three cells. Clint gives me a pitying look as I begin to walk in the direction of the silver-haired speedster. "Pietro?" I ask as I approach his cell. I'm angered once discovering how he's being kept. His feet are shackled together, presumably to keep him from zipping around his cell. "What did they do?" I question furiously, my eyes lifting to meet his. I can see shock and relief in his eyes, a contrast to my emotions.

"You're alive." He quietly whispers.

"Barely." I scowl to myself. "Wait, why do you say that?" There's no way he would know about the issue in the hall.

"You passed out at the airport. Those cuts from T'Challa...they were deep, Iris." The Maximoff twin recounts solemnly. "When the paramedics arrived, they didn't think you'd make it. There was...there was so much blood. I thought we were going to lose you." His voice steadily drops, growing unsteady the longer he speaks. Now that I consciously think about it, my back does seem stiff and tender. I can feel small pinches in the skin, probably stitches, and a large pad of soft material covering my back. Probably some sort of bandage or gauze.

I lift one hand and put it on the glass that separates us, and Pietro mirrors my actions. "Hey, don't worry. I'm fine. You're not getting rid of me that easily." I try to joke lightly. I search Pietro's face and notice his eyes dart behind me briefly before his mouth begins to open. Before he can speak, I feel a sharp pinprick in my calf. I involuntarily drop to a half kneel as my hand slides down the glass. I turn my head over my shoulder while reaching to rip a small dart from my leg with my free hand. Ross stands in the doorway, his hands crossed behind his back, with a force of men standing behind him. On the General's face is a proud and cocky smirk as I stare at him coldly.

"Iris? Iris, you're going to be okay. Iris?" Pietro tries to grab my attention as my eyebrows pull together. The room begins to distort around me.

"You should have retired." Ross says, watching me like I'm prey. I manage a final scowl at him before I slouch against the glass of Pietro's cell. "Take her to isolation."