Blood, sweat and tears is not an expression.

You sat, confined in your cell with not a sound, but stared at the blood that dripped off your knuckles. The sick smell of sweat also joined in the smell of the scarlet drops, and an angry tear hit the ground.

Only moments before you had been standing, rage pulsing through your veins.
An ice wall created by yours truly stood before you, daring you to make your move.

And you did.

You punched the ice, hearing the satisfying crack of the frozen water. Again and again you attacked it, with not a care in the world who was watching or who thought you were mental.

Not long after, the wall lay in pieces at your feet, broken beyond repair.

Like me, you thought. Broken, shattered. What a perfect description.

Your knuckles weren't the only part of you injured.
Your lips were cracked, your stitch had re-opened the wound above your eyebrows; your body in general was a bruised, raging mess.

Ice littered the floor, some had been shot at the walls during your restless sleep. Your clothes were in disarray, and your shoes were placed in the corner. The red laces were only a reminder of your betrayal, just like your hat which was in a frozen block of ice, because somehow, freezing things made you feel better.

Two months.
It'd been two months since John Garett had walked out, leaving you to ponder with every living breathing moment how to break him.

Now, revenge wasn't usually your style. You were insane, yeah, everyone knew it. But even after you had lost your parents eight years ago, even when you wanted to put on a show for the world, you hadn't wanted revenge.

Even now, you didn't want to get revenge.
Instead, it was Ian's words that echoed in your head.
"We're going to burn the heart, out of you, (your name). Just. You. Wait."

That was it. Exactly it.
They wanted to burn you. Break you to the point where joining them was your only option. They wanted to prove that they could smash even the masterminds, the special, the broken.

And that was their problem.
Clearly, they hadn't done enough homework.
Why?
Because, of course: you were going to get to them first.

You'd resolved only days after being shut inside the Fridge that Garett was going to hear your broken insane voice, no matter how far he ran. No matter who he had on his side, you were going to twist his mind until there was nothing left.

Quietly, the rage inside began to build again. Standing to your bare feet, your fingers twitched. You blinked and finally let out the roar you'd been holding back for two whole months.

"I AM ICE. YOU WILL FEEL MY WRATH!"

Right when you thought you couldn't have been more clear, something caught your eye. And whatever it was, it was small.

"Easily breakable." You seethed, not in the mood for some random speck of dust to interrupt your rant. "Easily destroyed by a snap of my fingers."

Turning, you snatched the item of of the air and surprise flickered through your being. "Paper?" Smoothing out the surface, you spotted numbers scrawled into the yellow page. Latitudes? Longitudes? Coordinates?

Odd.
It wasn't any of those.
It was a series of numbers.
Someone's phone number.
Someone was sending a message.

Who would give you their phone number? Why would they trust you, of all people? Then again, you were probably more trustworthy than half the criminals here. And how did they send you the paper?

Glancing up to the roof of your deranged cell, your (eye color) eyes flickered back and forth for an opening. Yet all you could see, was the air vent.

It was small enough for the dang piece of paper, but to go to such lengths to deliver it?

You would just have to watch your back.

Laying down on the cot, you stared up and with wisps of cold drifting from you fingertips, you scrawled into the air, writing your own message to them whether they could see it or not.

What's in it for me?

Closing your eyes, you waited.

Less then an hour later they snapped open, and you felt a second paper slip resting on your nose.

This time it was a real message and you grinned while reading it. Whoever this person was, they had a sense of humor.

Because this is what it read:

A fall.

***

When you awoke from your sleep, you knew something was wrong. Or, that is, possibly right.

The cell lights, usually bright and annoyingly white, were dark. A weird haze drifted through the room and you wrinkled your nose.

Thump.

Tipping your head, you listened.

A crackling, a zap. A bang of a gunshot.

The day had come.

Another shock went through the building, shaking the structure.

Someone was doing it.

Thump.

A prison break.

Smirking, like a child on Christmas, you sat up and cracked your knuckles, something that had become a regular habit.

"Don't forget me, boys!" You sang to yourself, whistling. The thumps and shocks continued to get closer and still you didn't move, only muttering and waiting.

Finally, a voice spoke from behind a door. And although you'd been expecting it, you felt half of your body tremble. He was here.

"Move to the left, we're blasting it open." They said. You nodded, moving to the left.

And there, in all smiles and grins, was John Garett. "Hey kid." He said, tossing a machine to a person behind him, who, as you stepped forward you recognized as Grant Ward.

Humph. Surprising, but predictable.

You said nothing and moved towards Garett, soon eye to eye with him, nose to nose.

Gritting his teeth, John pushed you away and motioned to Grant. "You know, I could have you shot on the spot, kid, if you don't cooperate. Because I bet you've figured it out by now. What we want."

Shaking your head you paced around the man, making yourself sound disappointed. "No, no, no, no, no, no! This is too easy!"

Confused, Garett and Ward shared a look before you loomed in front of John's face with a snarl. "DOOFUS!" You yelled, almost making it a scream. "You think, that just because you broke me that I would join you?"

No answer.

"Well you were wrong." With a snap of you thumb and forefinger, you reached into your pocket and waved the two pieces of paper in his face. "I have these. And that means I have another way out; another connection." And then, continuing with your deductions: "Because I know if it was you, that wouldn't be your method of communication."

Walking away, you stole a gun from Ward's back pocket rather sneakily, if you did say, pointed it at them and grinned. "Well. So nice to have had a proper chat." You mimicked. "Ciao, John Garett."

Then you left, hearing his own words to you, ones filled with spite. "Catch...You....Later."

You laughed, breaking down a door and shutting it, getting out of earshot after your last words.

"No you won't."

***

Prisoners were all over the place, some running away, some walking. But as time went on and you watched them scatter, you knew something was going on.

Something....special.

Jogging over to a escapee, you tapped them on the shoulder nonchalantly. "(Your name). Hi." You said, guessing they ought to know your name.

They did.
It had been a shot in the dark, really.
A good one, though.

They spun and their eyes widened in reply. "Oh! It's...um...you."

"Yes, yes. It's me. Now, what's going on, hmm?" You watched them and decided to impress the lady since she said nothing at first. "Listen. I know you were placed here on false accounts. I also know you've only been here for five months and a few days, by your clothes and because if was a false charge you've been an outcast don't have many 'friends' here because no one believes you. You're around thirty-three, and you have a brother." Finished, you brushed off your sweatshirt. "Am I right?"

"On all accounts." The girl sputtered, looking up at you in wonder. "Alright, fine. I'll share."

Leading you down a hall, past several other men and woman who were running the opposite direction she began to explain. "As far as I know, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been attacked by Hydra. From the inside."

Glancing at her, you nodded. "And?"

"Took it down. Sure, the agents survived. What's left of them anyways. But it's a broken facility. I guess Hydra took their chance and broke into the Fridge too. I'm grateful for that, but I know what Hydra is made up of. And I want no part in it."

At her words and confidence you smiled softly. Almost reminded you of-
No. You couldn't think of them now. You had to go. Sticking out your hand, you bowed. "May I ask your name? I'm (your name)."

She nodded. "So you said. Caught everyone's attention a few years back."

You scratched the side of your neck, and frowned. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?"

Laughing she shook your hand. "Jamie. Jamie Randell. If you ever need help," she coughed, "not that you will, but, if you do..." She stood to straight, saluted and turned, walking away. "Call me."

A third piece of paper fluttered through the air and you caught it.

What, people just had pieces of paper and pens in their pockets? You hadn't even seen her write it down for Pete's sake!

Sighing you read the number out loud. "000-745-1209." Once it had bounced around in your head for a bit, you shrugged.

"Sounds legit."

Breaking for the door ahead of you, you crashed it down and burst out to find a road, quite a few cars speeding away, and one empty helicopter.

You had no idea how to fly one, but you had places to be. "Well, one good point. If it crashes, I don't have to pay for it."

Hopping in, you found yourself flicking on buttons of sorts and strapping on a seat belt and earmuffs. That was as far as your knowledge went.

"Okay." You breathed and bit your bottom lip. "Plan A."

"Wing it."

***

Luckily for you, no crashing occurred.
Unluckily for you, you were hungry and thirsty.

And unfortunately, first things first: Finding a pair of shoes like the other pair, and a phone.

Then food.

Finding a Converse store wasn't hard. But getting a kid to pop in there and pay for a shoe your size with those colors and such was.

"Alright, listen. I'll pay you back. I promise. You remember me? I made a spectacle but I didn't steal anything. I absolutely promise I won't break into your account, I'll pay you back."

The young teen stared at you with narrowed blue eyes, frowning. "Why would I do that?"

You growled and threw up your hands. "Because I want to make pancakes! No, I need a new pair of shoes, why do you think?"

Shaking his head, the boy chuckled. "Okay, okay. Calm the clam down, and I'll get you the shoes." He jogged away and you sighed.

Good.
Someone had the sense to listen. Getting a phone...that would be harder.

Half an hour later, with shoes and socks on your feet just like the other ones, you made your way over to a coffee shop, where many people were likely to have phones. Only there was a slight problem. What to bargain with?

Entering, you looked around and spotted the last person you expected to see.

Jamie Randell.

"Jamie!" You called, coming over to her table. "Wow. Didn't take you long to get places."

She smirked. "I could say the same. So, you need something, don't you?" You opened your mouth to reply but she wagged a finger. "I wasn't finished. Now I bet since you didn't call, you need a phone, right, (your name)?"

"Right."

"Well, here. Take mine. Nothing much on it, it's new. I can get another one. And, don't ask me how I got a phone. I have connections who don't believe I was falsely accused."

You caught the phone she tossed to you and backed up. "Thanks. So, um, I'll call you?"

"Yeah. Call me."

Walking down the street, you entered in the two numbers into your contacts. Jamie's, and the mysterious messenger.

When you looked up into the sky, finally done, you sighed, thinking of the team.

You hadn't betrayed them. They hadn't betrayed you. And yet, you were still pulled apart.

Funny, you didn't think of yourself as a person to want to join S.H.I.E.L.D. But as you'd spent time with them, they'd grown on you.

Fitz. Skye. May. Coulson. Simmons. Triplett. Even Ward and Garett, even though they were traitors. Someday, you would explain what had happened.

But it will not be be this day, you thought, rather sadly. And maybe not for a while, eh.

Dropping into an abandoned alley, you found a trashed, yet non-smelly blanket and pulled it around your shoulders. You wondered what to do when you heard a crack.

Crack.

It was silent, but you'd definitely heard something suspicious.

Another one.

Crack.

Standing, you faced the alley entrance. "Hello?" You whisper-yelled, boldly. "Who's there?"

A voice cut you off, speaking from the shadows behind you.
This time is wasn't a Shield agent, but a different voice. One that surprised you.

It was sing-songy; a mechanical touch to it, like a mental person.

Someone like you.

"I gave you my number." They sang, coming closer all the while. "I thought you might call."

Your blood ran cold, ice seeping from your fingers and smashing to the pavement. You felt your fists clench and the nails bite your skin.

"But you, you're-" you said, your voice shaking and you managed to spit it out. "You're not real."

"And you're obviously wrong." They replied, leaning next to you, so close you could feel their breath on your neck.

"Miss me?"

***

[Through the eyes of ???]

Place: The Hellicarrier
Location: Restricted

"This is (your name). They have escaped the Fridge. And you've known for a long time how vital it is that they are on our side." A man spoke gesturing to a computer projection of you to others seated there.

Nods were exchanged, glances flashed between members and one participant raised their hand. "But, sir, with all respect-"

A second broke in. "They're just a kid."

A few more nods.

"Compared to the rest of us," came the response. "But don't underestimate their skill or wit. And your job is to find them." The meeting was dismissed, the man exiting.

Only before he left, one more person in the group asked a final question. "Why is it so important to find them, in such a short time?"

The man faced the questioner, a black eyepatch covering one eye. In all seriousness he locked gazes.

"Because someone else may have gotten to them first."

_______
A/N:
Hey.
Yeah.
Yeah, it's been while.

BUT NO LONGER DO YOU HAVE TO PRAY TO THE WRITING GODS FOR I HAVE COME

yeet

I admit, it's likely there are mistakes, (in fact there undoubtably are), but.
But I updated

I am proud. Be proud of me

Also, if you were a bit confused, this is not a crossover with Sherlock, definitely not.
WhoO it's someone else.
Guess who? or don't I mean I don't control you do what you want who am I to judge

Anyways I'll leave now, to let you ponder what's going on and where you're at, yeah?
Comment, Vote, Share and complain about the plot twists freely.

here comes the general,
Styx