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RAMONA REMEMBERED THE DAY SHE WAS TAKEN AS CLEAR AS DAY.

Or rather, she wished she did. The truth was, when she remembered that day, she remembered it through a haze— but that's what they wanted.

Before, Ramona lived in Phoenix, Arizona with her mom and the occasional visit from her dad, who lived across the country. There was never a custody battle over her; her parents had divorced when she was young. The less-than-often visits from her dad were because of his super busy, super strict government job that never let him visit her for longer or more frequent periods of time. Ramona never resented him for it; she just didn't know him well.

So, it was always just her and her mom. Ramona and Kristen.

Kristen Foster died on April 29th, 2020; they killed her the day they took Ramona. At age 15, Ramona watched her mother die, and it was the last thing she saw before everything went black.

When she woke up, she couldn't even really tell that she was awake. She felt heavy and light at the same time. She felt stable, yet dizzy. She felt too weak to scream but unsure enough to cry. The only thing she was truly sure of was the needles in her skin that were pumping some mystery substance into her from several entry points and the many, many people in scary-looking suits that were surrounding her... cell. She was in a cell.

It was then that she tried to move her arms and yank them off of the IV machines, but she couldn't— her wrists were restrained to the ground. She yelped out at the sudden contact of the cold metal on her skin, and that's when they noticed she was awake.

"Ramona Banner," one of them said, a thick European accent coming through. That was the first, last, and only time they ever called her by her name.

"What is this?" She managed, finally finding her voice as she looked at the needles up and down her arms, and across her chest. "What are you doing to me?"

It was terraphynol, someone told her. But they didn't go on; they didn't tell her what it was, or what it was going to do. So she sat there, held in place by metal cusps, while she watched and felt what they were siphoning into her veins. She didn't notice she was crying again until a new voice jolted her out of her memories of her mother and how she ended up here.

"Elemental," he said. He, too, had a thick accent. "You are awake."

Ramona stayed silent.

"You are quiet," he noticed. "Unusual, considering your screams last week."

"Last week?" Ramona repeated, unable to help herself. Had she really been unconscious for a week?

"Yes. Last week. The tranquilizer combined with the terraphynol kept you out for longer than we expected. But you are awake now, so we can get to work."

"What do you want with me?" She demanded, though her voice was much weaker than she had intended.

"Information," he answered easily. "Power. You have both."

Ramona blinked. Information? Power?

"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but you do. Your father is Bruce Banner. The Incredible Hulk! Isn't that spectacular?"

Ramona didn't admit that this was the first she was hearing of that information. In fact, she didn't admit anything. She had it in her mind now that she should stay quiet.

He chuckled darkly. "Don't you want to know what the terraphynol is for? Don't you want to know where you are?"

Yes! She wanted to scream. But she didn't.

"You are a tricky one, aren't you Elemental?"

"Don't call me that," Ramona bit, but again, she didn't sound tough. She didn't feel tough.

He ignored her.

"Terraphynol is an abstract chemical. It is derived from a multitude of Earthly substances. The IVs attached to you are binding it to your blood. You see, this was not the original plan. The original plan was to find the Hulk's daughter and weaponize her. The Hulk is a genetic mutation, so it must be passed down, right? Wrong. I'm afraid you are two years too old— your sister was, too, so we didn't bother with her."

"I don't have a sister," Ramona told him. He had to be messing with her head. Ramona was an only child. And her dad was a scientist who worked for the government. What was he talking about?

Again, he ignored her.

"A Hulk can't pass down a gene he doesn't have yet," he went on. "So we resorted to what we originally intended to use on Subject 612— terraphynol. We have better chances with you, anyway. If your father can survive the gamma radiation it took to become the Hulk, there is no doubt you can survive a typically lethal dose of something like this."

Ramona gulped. "What– what about Subject 612?" She found herself asking.

"He is dead," the man told her easily, and Ramona's blood went cold. "Anywho, you are in our bunker in Virginia. We are just past the Appalachian Mountains. Nice facility. It has been around for decades. In other words, no one will find us here."

He went on for a while longer about some history of the place they were in, but Ramona didn't listen, and she didn't respond; she had all the information that mattered. Her blood was being bound with some freaky chemical, and she would be stuck here until she died, or until they needed her.

Days later, after her third round of terraphynol IVs, the torture started. Her blood composition had begun to change at that point, and the terraphynol's effects were manifesting in several ways: her veins were darkening, and the blood around her IV punctures turned from red to green. Ironic, considering they took her looking for a mini-Hulk.

Their head scientist predicted that the terraphynol would also manifest by way of Earth-manipulation powers—but it hadn't. So they punished Ramona, as if she was the one doing something wrong. For the time she'd been in their custody, they'd followed every round of IVs with tests. Not vitals tests, not wellness tests, but physical tests. Tests on her reflexes, tests on how quickly it would take her to kill one of the other prisoners. And always, tests on if her potential powers had presented themselves yet. 'Start an earthquake,' they'd tell her. And when she wouldn't, couldn't, they'd follow the tests with electrocution, or starvation, or wearing her cell restraints, or a good, old-fashioned beating. Or if they were in a particular mood, maybe all of them.

There was one thing they never did to Ramona, though: they never brainwashed her. They never tried to remove her memory. They wanted her to remember. If she remembered why she was there, she wouldn't try to run. The only thing keeping her from running, or killing herself, was the matter of keeping her family safe— her dad, and if they were right, her sister. They had given up on trying to get information out of her; they knew she had none.

So, the terraphynol continued, and so did its side effects; eventually, Ramona did start to exhibit the powers that her captors thought she would. No, it wasn't quite to the extent they had wanted, but they were there, nonetheless.

She couldn't cause an earthquake, but she could shatter the ground beneath her opponents' feet— she learned that the day she did so in killing Subject 322.

For the years that Ramona lived in the facility, that's what her calendar looked like. The day she killed Subject 104. The day she killed her targets in Brooklyn. The day she killed Subject 704. The day she killed her targets in Rochester. The day she killed Subject 955. The day she killed her targets in Clifton. She didn't know what days went by, what month they were in. Hell, Ramona lost track of how old she was and how long she'd been there. The only thing they gave the courtesy of sharing with her was when she was allowed to eat, or when it was time for another round of IVs, or when it was time to go out on a mission.

Today was just like any other day. They served her bland mush at some point in the day, and she ate it to survive. Her terraphynol sessions had gotten less and less frequent ever since the powers started showing, but they still put her through them every so often so that they didn't risk her body losing the ability to reproduce it in her bloodstream by itself— no one, even their head scientist, knew what side-effects might come if she were to stop taking it, completely. Ramona was their first and only trial.

Having been out on a mission yesterday— two dead in Philadelphia— today was a terraphynol day. She slept for most of the session like she'd gotten into the routine of overtime, but she didn't wake up to a proctor. In fact, it wasn't an agent waking her up at all.

Through groggy vision, she could see the dark liquid remaining in the IV tubes. Her round of terraphynol wasn't finished, but this person was shouting at her to get up. Ramona looked at the woman in front of her— she had broken open the door to her cell. She wasn't familiar, though. Reddish hair, fair skin, deep red armor— it wasn't armor she had seen here, though.

"Get up, dammit!" The girl cursed in Sokovian, a language Ramona had grown to understand as she'd been shouted at in it for so long here. A red mist flashed in the girl's hands, and Ramona flinched back against the wall, afraid. The IV needles in her arms, chest, and stomach became encased by the red mist before being yanked out of her skin and scattered, and the girl helped Ramona up before passing her into the arms of a white-haired boy who looked just like her.

She blinked, and suddenly, she wasn't in her cell anymore. She was in some kind of helicopter, on the floor, surrounded by three more people. They all had some semblance of armor or a suit on, but none who looked familiar. One was blonde, with black armor; one had long, dark hair and the same armor as the blonde one; and one was—

Black Widow.

Black Widow! An Avenger! An Avenger, like they said her dad is!

Ramona's breathing picked up as she processed everything happening around her, but it seemed her senses hadn't had much to process in these past few however long she'd been in the depths of that bunker. The last thing she heard was, "Oh, shit— she's down!" as the blonde and armored woman dropped to her knees beside her. She saw Black Widow peer over her, but as soon as things came into focus, they went dark again.

When her eyes opened, everything was fuzzy— but it wasn't dark. And she didn't know where she was.

"She's waking up," someone said softly.

Her eyes began to focus, and she took in her surroundings— she was on some kind of plane. Suddenly, it came back to her.

To her right was a man with dark skin and a pair of red goggles pulled up on his forehead. In front of her was a boy in a spider costume and a girl in a similar one, only blue instead of red, and to her left were the three who she remembered from before— the blonde, the brunette, and Black Widow— and a heavily armored man who appeared to have an arm made out of metal.

"What's going on?" She asked

"You're on a jet," a voice she didn't see told her. "We're taking you somewhere safe."

Ramona's eyes drifted back over the faces around her as she sat up, and when she turned around, she saw Captain America. "You're an Avenger," she pointed out. "And you," she told Black Widow.

"We all are," metal-arm man said. After a beat, he added, "How long have you been stuck there, kid?"

"I..." Ramona gulped. "A long time," she admitted.

The jet went quiet, save for the hum of the propellers above them.

"You're all Avengers?" Ramona asked finally, and they each nodded. "I only recognize you," she told Black Widow, "and you," she told Captain America. Black Widow shared a look with the blonde woman— who Ramona now saw wore a tag that read S. CARTER— but Ramona couldn't decipher what the look meant.

"My dad is an Avenger," Ramona said, at last. "At least that's– that's what they told me. My dad, he's... Bruce. Bruce Banner."

Every single pair of eyes on the jet went wide, and Ramona swallowed, pretending not to notice.

"Banner," Captain America said after a too-long silence. "Yeah. Yeah, we know a Banner."

*

As soon as the jet landed, Ramona barely got the chance to stand on her own two feet before she was ushered down several halls, and an elevator, and more halls again. Before she knew it, she was in a generously large, white room that resembled what she remembered a doctor's office looking like. She was sitting on the exam table in the middle of the room, surrounded now by three people: a male doctor who was searching through cabinets above the counter at the corner of the room, and two women: one who was a doctor, and one who was... some kind of police?

Ramona narrowed her eyes, trying to make out any name tags, but it was no use. The police-like woman had some kind of bird symbol on her sleeve, but her eyesight was far too weak to pick up anything else. It didn't matter, though, when the non-doctor introduced everyone.

"My name is Maria Hill," she stated, approaching with what Ramona took as a pity smile. "I work for an organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. These are you doctors." She gestured around the room. Ramona was tense as Maria Hill introduced the male doctor as Dr. Fitz, and the female doctor as Dr. Simmons.

"I want to make it very clear that we are not going to hurt you," Maria Hill continued. "We are here to help you. You are safe. OK?"

Ramona managed a very subtle nod, but she didn't say anything.

Maria Hill told her that the doctors were going to run a standard physical evaluation on her to make sure that her health was in check, or if it wasn't, then to make sure they could get it in check. Ramona nodded again, but the second the needles came out, she flinched. They looked exactly like the ones from... wherever she was.

Ramona opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was random burbles of fear. Dr. Simmons retreated with the needles for a moment and explained that they were just going to take blood samples to test for the levels of several things, but if it made her more comfortable, they would wait a little while and take the samples after numbing the area and that she didn't have to look when they did so. Ramona calmed slightly, nodding, and Dr. Simmons smiled before turning and meeting Dr. Fitz on the other side of the room. In the meantime, Maria Hill started to ask her some questions.

"Just answer what you know, OK?"

Ramona nodded. The doctors weren't going to force her through blood drawings right now. Maria Hill only wanted to ask her some questions. She relaxed slightly, leaning her back against the exam chair.

Maria Hill had a manila folder in one hand, and an iPad in the other. "Do you remember your name?"

Ramona couldn't help but hesitate before answering. After all, she couldn't remember the last time she had heard her name anywhere but her own head.

"Ramona," she said. "Ramona Veronica Banner."

The sound of Maria Hill tapping on her iPad grabbed Ramona's attention, and she focused on that to try and distract from the anticipation of the needles she would be enduring soon, since Dr. Simmons had returned to her side with numbing materials.

"How old are you?" Maria Hill asked.

"I don't know," Ramona said nervously. "I... I was born on November 18th, 2004."

Maria Hill tapped on the iPad again before taking a breath and breaking the news.

"Today is Sunday, July 17th, 2022," she told her. "That makes you 17 years old."

"Oh my god," Ramona choked out, the reality settling over her. She was in that place for two and a half years. Almost three years of dirty walls, screams, cries, and commands.

Maria Hill cleared her throat, breaking Ramona out of her head.

"Do you know your father's name?" Maria asked, and Ramona returned her focus to the tapping on the iPad as Dr. Simmons came around to her other side and began to numb her other arm.

"Bruce Banner," she answered. "Robert Bruce Banner. You know him." Ramona looked to Maria Hill for confirmation of some kind, that yes, they did know him. But her expression was unchanged.

"Do you know your mother's name?" Maria continued. It was then that Dr. Simmons stuck Ramona in the arm— despite the numbing cream, she could feel it.

"Kristen Eleanor Foster." Ramona's voice broke now, for a multitude of causes. "She's dead."

Maria Hill hesitated as though she was going to say something, but instead, she just nodded and tapped something else into the iPad. "That will be all for now, sweetie," she finally said.

Ramona was alone with her thoughts now that she wasn't plagued by Maria Hilla's questions, though her ears seemed to ring, blood rushing to them, as Dr. Simmons continued to collect vials of samples. Maria Hill left the room, but not before going over to mutter something to Dr. Fitz.

"OK. We're all done, Ramona," Dr. Simmons said softly, removing her gloves and standing beside Ramona. "You did great."

Dr. Simmons brought the samples and equipment to the counter by Dr. Fitz, and Ramona's heart dropped to her stomach at the sight of dark green that filled the thin bottles Dr. Simmons had just collected. The room was quiet now, save for the clinking of the tubes of blood into the different testing machines that Dr. Simmons was handling now, and this time it was Dr. Fitz who came to Ramona's side to perform other exams that could be administered without asking Ramona to move— taking her heart rate, checking her pupil response. By the time Maria Hill returned, she was followed in by a man anyone could recognize— even someone who had been in the dark for two and a half years.

"The Wakandans are dealing with a private matter at the moment," Tony Stark explained, and he wasn't exactly quiet about it. Though, Ramona supposed, he wasn't exactly known for being really quiet about anything. "I can try and get Strange here, so long as I can find a way to get ahold of him, or even Wong. I'll talk to Fury about that."

He glanced at the vials of green blood to his right, and he wasn't subtle when he looked from them, to Ramona, and back at Maria Hill.

Dr. Simmons approached Ramona, suddenly, with a change of clothes and a bath towel. "No rush," she said sweetly. "Just thought you might like a minute to yourself. The shower's just through there." She pointed to a door across the room, and without a change in her facial expression, Ramona nodded. With that, Dr. Simmons scurried back to the machines on the counter. Ramona tuned back into what Tony Stark was saying.

"You don't know yet if she has any mental rewiring, or damage, or what-not. I can't guarantee that Strange will even know where to start on something like that, but he's our best bet if we can't get insight from Wakanda, at least for now."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark," Dr. Fitz said loudly, glancing at Ramona. She could tell from the tone of his voice that he was slightly embarrassed for Tony Stark's unfilteredness, and despite the fact that Ramona should have been upset by being so openly talked about like she wasn't there, she wasn't— Iron Man was her favorite Avenger.

Still, Tony Stark took the hint, and the rest of his conversation with Maria Hill and the doctors was short and quiet before he left the room. Now, the room was back to just Ramona and the doctors. She focused on the white laundry in her hands, but she couldn't help but hear the whispers about her coming from her doctors— confusion over how her blood could possibly be green.

She stood then, clothes in hand, bringing her doctors' attention to her. "It's terraphynol," she told them softly. "In my blood."

She couldn't read the doctors' expressions at that revelation, and with that, she turned and left for the shower.

The second she closed the entrance to the bathroom behind her, she leaned against the door to catch her breath. Her head was pounding. After a minute or so, when the heartbeat behind her forehead finally slowed, she opened her eyes and turned on the shower. She turned it to the highest tolerable setting, and to her favor, shampoos, conditioners, face washes, and body washes were already stacked inside.

When the hot water hit her skin, Ramona had the urge to cry. It wasn't too hot, it didn't hurt, but she thought about what Maria Hill had said: it was July of 2022. She hadn't properly bathed since April of 2020. There were baths wherever she was, but good hygiene was never the priority of the people she was taken by.

After what had to be at least 40 minutes, having scrubbed every inch of her body once, twice, thrice, Ramona finally found it in her to shut the shower off. She didn't even know hot water could last that long, but then again, she was in one of several multi-million-dollar establishments owned by Tony Stark.

She stood in the steam for a couple of minutes, cherishing the warm air. It was always freezing in the facility.

The facility, she caught herself calling it in her head. She had no idea what that place was. She had no idea what else to call it.

After toweling off and dressing in the slightly too-big white sweat suit, Ramona left her towel to hang dry over the edge of the shower curtain rod. At the sink, she used her hand to wipe away a layer of mist on the mirror.

She held back the brutal scream creeping up her throat when she met her own eyes in the reflection.

"Oh my god," she whispered instead, feeling her lungs beginning to hyperventilate. She traced a finger over her reflection. This couldn't be real.

She was aware the terraphynol had turned her veins black. She watched it happen in real-time, every time that stupid chemical had been pumped into her body. She knew it had turned her blood green. She saw the used needles after every round of IVs, the fresh puncture wounds each time. She knew it had turned her hair brown— she watched the blonde ends slowly grow darker the longer it got.

But as she stared at herself, it hit her that she hadn't really seen herself. Not since she was first taken. There were no mirrors in the facility— why would there be?

She stared at herself, and of course she recognized the girl in front of her. It was her after all. But as she looked into her own eyes, her breathing only became shallower. The once-blue irises of her eyes were jet black, and not a shade lighter.

She couldn't catch her breath. She was too far into a panic, and too far out of breath to even try and scream. She felt herself start to fall, slowly, but she didn't feel herself hit the ground. She just felt herself fade away, and everything turned black.

Just about as black as her eyes.

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