epilogue
date unknown
IT WAS DARK where they took her, where she finally opened her eyes and found nothing familiar surrounding her. Only shadows greeted her in a dimly lit room.
The first thing she felt was the floor beneath her. As cold as ice and hard as stone. Unbreakable.
The first thing she saw was a single bulb, hanging from a thin wire embedded in the rock ceiling above her. The light cast a gentle glow on her and her surroundings, but the corners remained in shadow.
The first thing she smelled was the dank humidity of the stone room. It smelled wet, as if there was water nearby.
The first thing she heard was the hum of electricity—obviously from the light source above—and the drip, drip of water, confirming the close proximity of nourishment.
The first thing she tasted was a metallic substance in her mouth, and she recognized it as blood. But the flow had stopped, and she spat the red stuff out onto the stone floor next to her, watching it splatter across the hard surface.
She coughed violently, her throat scratchy and rough when she swallowed carefully, trying to catch her breath. Pushing herself up to rest on her elbows, she looked down at herself: thin, yet lean legs splayed out in front of her, unfamiliar clothes draped over her small frame, filled with dirt and drenched with sweat. Her feet were covered with white socks, the clean color catching her off guard. They seemed to glow in the yellow light overhead.
Her hands found the solid ground, pressing against it to bring herself to a sitting position. Squeezing her eyelids shut for a few seconds, she felt the pressure leave her head and the blood return to the other parts of her body, but it left a slight throb in her skull, an ever-present pulse that refused to die down.
There was nothing but dead air surrounding her frail body—pile of bones, more like—the only sound coming from the light bulb and the constant sprinkle of water droplets onto the floor. She felt as if she should hold her breath, only letting herself inhale small bits of air at a time.
Water.
The presence of a voice in her head startled her, causing her eyes to widen, scanning the cellar for another person in her midst. But there was no one, and nothing, to be found. Just a voice that might have sounded like her own—if she knew what her voice sounded like.
Water, the voice insisted, water.
She pricked her ears for the location of the drips, and saw a minuscule puddle forming near the edge of a shadow behind her, merely the size of her fist. It was about five feet away from her, which meant she'd have to move. She didn't know if she could hold herself up—in fact, she didn't know anything right now.
It was painful and tedious work to fold her legs up underneath herself, forcing herself to her feet. When she was on her hands and knees, she reached out to feel for the rock wall beside her, and once she could feel the cool stone against her palm, she tightened what little muscle she could find in her fingertips to push herself up to her feet.
This position didn't last more than a second before she collapsed against the wall, her legs giving out. Sliding to the floor, she felt the skin on her palm rip from a sharp edge, and soon the metallic smell of blood filled her nostrils, overwhelming her senses. She gagged at the stench of the boiling red blood, and keeled over, heaving nothing out of her empty stomach. Dissatisfied, but managing to lift her head up again, she took one glance at her bloodied hand and flinched, pressing the wound to the hem of her shirt. Now with only one working hand, she decided the only way she would be able to reach the water would be to crawl on her hands—hand—and knees.
Inhaling a deep breath, she tried to ignore the scent of fresh blood and turned onto her three remaining limbs, crawling at a glacial pace to reach the clear water, every thought a fantasy of the taste.
After expending her utmost effort and energy into the task, she collapsed by the puddle, and leaned as far forward as she could in an attempt to touch her scalding, dry tongue to the water. She could practically taste the sweet water on her tongue as she leaned closer, closer—
There was a sharp pain to her skull as she was yanked back by her hair, her breath hitching in her throat. With a tsk, tsk there was the deep voice of a man that spoke. "Now, that wouldn't be much fun, would it?" She could hear a smile in his voice as he continued, "No, we're going to play a game, 53. We'll see if you're...worthy of such luxuries."
A pitiful whimper fell from her lips as she registered the pain and what the man's words meant for her. She wasn't going to be getting out of this situation very soon, it seemed.
She would have looked up at the man holding her hair in a death grip if it was possible, she would have spat in his face and torn herself out of his presence if it was possible. She would have done anything to get back to the last thing she remembered.
A man with knowledge unlike any other man's, a man with too much responsibility on his plate. A man that looked at her in earnest, a man that looked at her like she was human. A man with whom she felt free.
Black boots stepped into her vision, making a thick clunk on the rock floor. She tried to scurry away from this new stranger, but the man holding her hair had a tighter grip than she'd thought, holding her in place.
"It's a shame we had to go through all this, 53," the faceless man tutted, his words warped around an accent, that, had she been at full capacity, she might have recognized. Now, with everything swirling in her head, it was foreign to her. Her capturer kept his face in the shadows of the small room as he went on. "Now, if you don't mind telling me about these?"
A light object fell from his hands and landed on the floor between them—a thick folder, it's contents slipping out of it from the impact. Her memory was tripped as she looked closer at a picture of a long-haired blond man with scales on his arms and a billowing red cape behind him.
She'd forgotten about the existence of this. She could hardly remember where she'd gotten it.
"Where does a nice, obedient soldier like you find something as...monumental as this?" He interrupted her thoughts with an eerily nonchalant voice.
When she tried to speak, only a hoarse whimper came out. She licked her lips and forced her vocal chords to work as she whispered, "Water."
Her vision went black for a moment or two, she couldn't tell. Her cheek blossomed in pain and blood bubbled at her lips. The other perpetrator holding her head tugged her back in place, staring at the folder at her feet.
The man in front of her huffed a breath, inhaling sharply and letting it out shakily. "You'll get water once you've earned it," he hissed, losing his patience. "When were you going to turn these documents into your superiors, huh?" A steel-tied boot nudged them closer to her. "What, you planned on stocking up on information that was crucial to the good of the world? And then what, you were going to...rebel?" He let out a breathy chuckle, but the amusement was stale in the dank room.
She opened her mouth again, but her head jerked to the side once more as her cheek went numb with pain. "I..." she rasped, "I don't know what that is."
Skjulestedet for torden gud. The hiding place of the God of Thunder.
The man in front of her let out a frustrated roar. "Bullshit," he bellowed, "you were hiding this in your chambers for months, refusing to turn it in. You are a danger to us all, 53. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Her next few breaths were ragged, heaving in and out of her wrecked lungs, her sore throat. I'd forgotten it was even there, she told herself, thoughts racing. I must have left it on my bed before going on my next mission.
"It's a damn good thing we found it before Hydra went down in flames, though." He took a step back, further into the shadows of the room, darkness enveloping his face. He sighed, crossing his arms. "You know, 53, I like you. You've got the potential to be useful. You're the only remaining Hydra agent, and that's got to count for something."
The only one? "I'm...I'm what?" Her voice was still scratchy and hoarse. Last time I checked, Hydra was full of agents, booming with business and countless people who wanted to save the world from itself. Now he's telling me I'm the only one left?
She was sure her hair would start to pull from the roots if this guy behind her didn't let up on his grip. "You're the only one left of those fuckers," he hissed, bringing his head closer to her ear, his rank breath shrouding her face. "Things had to change, so we took it into our own hands. The students became the masters, if you will."
Things were changing. That's what that woman, Emile Boucher, had told her.
In front of her, the stranger sneered. "It was a personal pleasure to see your precious Mr. Smith go down with the rest of them." Sighing, he continued. "I was surprised, really. I thought he'd want to get the hell away from the people who'd put him in your hands. But it seemed as though he had a bit of an...attachment to his former employers."
Her head was spinning with all this new information. Mr. Smith, the pet-like man she'd kept in her room for what felt like forever was dead. Hydra was dead. Everything had changed, and she was in the middle of it, with no idea how to get back on track.
You're a real question mark, 53," he said, clearing his throat. "But we'll just have to manage." When he spoke again, he wasn't talking to her, he was talking to his companion. "Let go of her," he said, and the back of her scalp went momentarily numb as the pressure was suddenly released. "We need to separate ourselves from Hydra and everything it stood for. We are not our predecessors. For you," he pointed at her withering figure on the ground, "that means we need a fresh start."
She sat there, chest rising and falling in the damp cellar, confusion riddling her head. She tried to remember how she got here. Everything was different, but she didn't know how long it took for everything to get this way. She couldn't remember anything past those men in black coming to get her and bring her—here?
"Prep her," he told his partner. "We need to get this show on the road." He picked up the folder at her feet and blew a tense breath out of his mouth. "Looks like we've got a head start, fellas. Let's go to work.
"It's time for the Avengers to fall."
The two men stalked out of the room, leaving her in the dimly lit area, her heart rising to her throat and her stomach sinking to her feet. She brought her hand to her mouth and resisted the urge to vomit. This is not good, she screamed at herself, this is so, so, so bad. He doesn't know what's happening, he doesn't know anything, is he even still alive?
She didn't know who she was anymore, but she knew one thing. He had to be warned. She put her head in her hands and frantically tried to call out to the one person she could remember anymore. She knew it wouldn't do anything. But it was all she had left.
Tony, they're coming, they're coming, Tony, be careful, you have to warn the others, Tony, Tony, Tony...
Stay safe, Tony. I'll find you.
————————————————————
whoa, that's it! heartless is officially completed!! what did you guys think?
like i said, there will not be a sequel, but this is definitely not the last you will hear of jack and tony, sooooo that's good news! UPDATED JULY 25, 2019: this is false, there is actually a sequel coming after salvation is completed!
the next story i will be updating is salvation, the sequel to haven! go read it if you haven't!
thank you from the bottom of my heart for following me along this journey of jack and tony, it literally means the world to see all of your kind and supportive comments on each chapter.
much love, lola
published: july 11, 2019
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top