Chapter 17: Every Hero (and Villain) Needs a Backstory

*Jade’s POV*

            It’s been 12 days since I escaped SHIELD’s Tri-Carrier. I haven’t seen or heard from any of them since that little run in with Black Widow and Hawkeye. The last time I saw Peter too was when he was swinging around the city that one night. The past few days have been pretty normal. I stayed home, read, watched TV, and I went out to see Becca and Flair again. Let’s just say that that got interesting. I met a very, very sexy vampire and a rather large werewolf. And by large I mean muscly and intimidating, he also decided to sit right next to me which wasn’t uncomfortable at all. Note to sarcasm. Well, at least he was polite, ooo and that smile of his, of both of them was oh so nice. Also my entire world could be ripped apart if Becca screws up. But let’s dismiss this thought for now… Back to what I’ve been doing. I played the piano and a little guitar. I haven’t had time for that in a while and it felt good to be able to play again. Now I’m on my way to the gym.

My parents taught me the 2 instruments and more at a young age, but when I became a slave, it was harder to play them. After I escaped, I saw a piano and when I tried to play it, it felt natural and came easy. I also felt close to my parents. I don’t mind singing and playing for other people unless it’s my own songs. One’s that I wrote and that are personal. Only 2 people have listened to anything I composed and one of them is Peter. The other was another slave who came in when I was 16. He was a year older than me and was to be my partner when we left the cell. Now let me back up. I can’t tell you something before you even know the beginning. I had a relatively normal childhood 2 parents, no siblings, and a pretty good home to live in. Until I was 10. When I was 10, my town was raided by, I still don’t know who, and they took families and people to work and be sold as slaves. My father being a war general took us to the bunker under our house. We all sat there in silence and darkness. We heard the screams and gun shots going off on the surface and then the bunker door swung open. I remember my mother clamping her hand over my mouth and trapping the shriek in my throat. My father grips a shot gun in his hand, with a revolver strapped to his waist. His face was stern and he looked to me with strength. It gave me the courage to sit up and give him the same stern look back. I pushed my mother’s hand off of me and gave both of them a reassuring nod, promising I could be quiet. Two men with black uniforms came into the bunker. They both held powerful looking guns and searched the bunker. We were behind several crates filled with wine. My father looked around the box and then back to my mother and me. He mouthed, ‘Rester’ (Stay) and my mother nodded, but I wasn’t going to promise him I’d stay here. He ran around the corner and I heard 2 gun shots. They actually sounded more like a popping noise. I wiggled away from my mother and ran the way my father went. My mother ran after me, which wasn’t hard because I had stopped in front of the 2 men; both dead. My father popped the shell out of the gun and said,

            “Le temps d’aller.” (Time to go.) My father mainly spoke French, but he was an English man. His British accent was one of my favorite things about him.

 My mother ran to him and when their backs were turned, I grabbed one of the men’s guns and hid it in the pocket of the jacket I was wearing. Jumping over the bodies, I ran up the stairs after my parents. When my eyes adjusted to the light I saw more of the men in black uniforms collecting and pushing people into trucks. I also saw several dead bodies scattered around the streets.

            “Get them!” I heard from my left. At the time I didn’t know what it meant, but my father and mother did. My mother picked me up and began running. My father stayed through, aiming his gun at the men running towards us. I kicked out of my mother’s arms and she dropped me. I stood up and started to run towards my father.

            “Jade!” My mother shouted after me. I hear another pop and see my father grunt and hold his leg and when he brings his hand back to the trigger, it’s covered in blood. I grab the gun in my pocket and hold it the way my father taught me. I aim at the man who shot my father and pull the trigger. I see him fall and my father looks at me astonished. I look up at him but then turn to run as I see several other men coming after us. My father follows and I see my mother waiting for us behind a building. But before I can reach her I’m grabbed by the waist by one of the men. I hear a pop and fall with the man as he screams and grips his knee. Stumbling away from him I point the gun at him and shoot, closing my eyes and looking away. My father grabs me and we run to my mother. He pulls me into a hug and says,

            “Vous avez bien fait mon cher. Merci, mais je suis tellement désolé pour cous faire un tueur.” (You’ve done well, my dear. Thank you, but I’m so sorry for making you a killer.)

            “Il t’a fait mal et que vous êtes un homme d’honneur. Je ne pouvais pas le a laisser tirer comme ça.” (He hurt you and you are a man of honor. I couldn’t let him get away with that.) He smiled and cupped my face with the hand not covered in blood. That hand however was on my shoulder, staining my jacket. I didn’t care though. Blood had never bothered me. Neither did seeing the dead bodies or even shooting people. I had heard so many stories from my father and his war buddies that I was fascinated by it all. I guess I was born to be a killer. My mother crouched down behind me and we all held each other.

            “Nous vous avons bien appris Jade, sachez que nous serons toujours fiers de vous.” (We’ve taught you well Jade, know that we will always be proud of you.) She says making us stand again. She puts an arm around my father and helps him walk. We looked around the corner of the building see several trucks starting. At that moment, I thought we would actually make it out of there alive. But I was horribly wrong. When you’re a child you always cloud reality with what you want. I did that because when I saw the trucks leave I ran out in the open. My mother and father followed, but the next thing we were on the ground with the men in black uniforms surrounding us. I had lead my parents into a trap.

            “This one is injured. Kill him.” One in the front said. Again I did not know English at the time so I was clueless. This was when I realized that that I hate not knowing things. In fact, it terrifies me. But both my parents knew what he said.

            “No, no please!” My mother pleaded as they make my father stand. His usually perfectly cropped brown hair was disheveled, but his blue eyes were fierce and resistant.

            “S’il vous plaît, ne pleure pas Jade.” (Please, do not cry Jade.) He says as he looks at me. I shook my head in confusion with a look of worry on my face.

            “Now, these two are quite nice. They will go for much especially the young one.” The man in the front says while he pokes my side. Blind to what he says I get up, ready to attack him, but my mother holds me back. “Ooo, feisty.” He says turning away from me. That idiotic move from me is only the beginning to how I was separated from my parents. Hell, if it wasn’t for my stupidity in the first place of running out in the open, we wouldn’t have been in this mess. “Alright, get on with it.” He said, gesturing to my father and the man behind him. The man made my father fall to his knees and pointed a gun at the back of my father’s head. I shoved myself out of my mother’s arms and ran in between the barrel of the gun and my father.

            “S’il vous plaît, pas! Mon père est un homme fort. Lui épargner sa vie et vous ne le regretterez. Il est fidèle, et un bon leader. S’il vous plaît.” (Please, please no! My father is a strong man. Spare him his life and you will not regret it. He is faithful and a good leader. Please.) I plead to the man holding the gun. He looks to the one who poked me.          

            “What did she say?” He asks one of the others. This one obviously knew French because he translated,

            “Please, please no. My father is a strong man. Spare him his life and you will not regret it. He is faithful and a good leader. Please.” He said it so dryly    , almost annoyed, or bored. The man who seemed to be the leader says,    

            “She is strong, make sure to mention that at the sale.” He waves his hand to the one with the gun and he lowers it. I breathe a sigh of relief and hug my father. Now though, I wish I had let them kill him. He wouldn’t have suffered like I’m sure he did. He could have been peaceful and maybe while I was locked up, I would I have had someone to talk to, or be with. You know how that cliché saying goes. When someone dies they aren’t really gone, or whatever. They’re always with you then and all that crap. Now I’m more skeptical of that, but as a child, it would have been nice to have that luxury.

            The man ripped me from my father and held me by my waist. I screamed out and pounded my fists against his torso.

            “Mère! Père!” (Mother! Father!) I screamed as the man carried me off to a truck. I looked back and saw my parents being shoved into another truck. That truck had a red octopus looking thing, and to this day I’ve never seen it since. The man climbed into the truck and said,

            “I would have preferred that you stay with your parents, but they were obviously a weakness to you. And we can’t have those, now can we?” He says. I remember how baffled I felt, and how much I hated that. He snapped his fingers and one of the other men translated for me.

            “Vous êtes un home cruel et stupide.” (You are a cruel and foolish man.) I say, sternly looking in his eyes. He looks to the translator and laughs after he hears what I said.

            “What is your name child?” I looked to the translator.

            “Jade.” He smiled and said,

            “Well Jade, you are very valuable and I happen to like you. You will be sold, probably numerous times, but do not worry. I will always know where you are and what you are doing. Unfortunately you are not needed now, but I will be back for you in several years.” I sat there in horror as the translator explained to me. After minutes of silence with the exception of the trucks rattling, he finally spoke again.

            “My name is Jared White.” I didn’t say anything; I only starred coldly at him. “How old are you Jade?” He asks.

            “Ce.” (Ten.)

            “Oh yes, you are much too young for what my friends need. But no matter, you will still be needed, when the time comes.” After the truck ride, I’m pushed out of the truck and handcuffs are placed on my wrists. I look around and see many other people, all in handcuffs or tied with rope. White guided me to a line. He stopped and crouched down in front of me.

            “Remember, I will be back for you.” He said while brushing some of my hair behind my ear. My parents used to do that all the time when they hugged or comforted me. I had jerked my head back from him. His translator tells me what he said and turned me back to him. “Now you will be placed in line and when you are up on stage, people will begin placing bets. You will go to the highest bidder and do whatever they say.”

            “Pourquoi devrais-je?” (Why should I?)

            “Because they will hurt you and I can’t afford you to get injured… too severely.” White says. I snarl at him and his words. He smiles and adds on, “Ah yes, you are strong willed, and headed. That can either save you, or mean your death. Try not to be stupid.” I had learned that White was right. At first, my attitude almost got me killed, but I quickly fixed it and translated the rage I had into my work. This way my punishments were limited.

He stood and began pushing me towards the line. I jerk my shoulder out of his grasp and give him a fowl look, but continue walking. Not seeing where I’m going, I bump into one of the boys in line. He turns and looks down at me. I looked to his hazel eyes, with an apology in mine, but I couldn’t seem to form the words my eyes were desperately trying to say. I turned around, but found no one, I was alone. I looked back to the boy as he continued to stare at me.

            “Désolé.” (Sorry.) I mumble as I look away from his eyes and towards the ground.

            “Bon à savoir tout le monde n’a pas disparu de l’enfer.” (Good to know the whole world hasn’t gone to hell.) He says turning away from me. I remember thinking he was 14 or 15 as I stared at the back of his head. His black, curly and tousled hair was covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. I later found out he was only a year older than me. We moved forward, and I was shoved onto a box. I looked down at the many men who were shouting numbers and pointing at me. Eventually a man with circular glasses walked through the crowd and shouted,

“850 Euros.” ($1070.22) I looked at him in disgust, but was then picked up and handed to him. The man owned a textile factory and he bought child slaves for cheap labor. I also remember he was the one that told me I was lucky. I had shouted at him,

            “Pourquoi ?! Comment est-il de la chance que jes suis déchiré de ma famille et forcé de faire des choses que je ne veux pas faire ? !! ? » (Why?! How is it lucky that I was torn from my family and forced to do things I don’t want to do?!!?) This earned a clean back hand slap across the face, his ring leaving one spot darker than the rest of the bruises that were forming. The first time I had ever been hit. Also the time I promised myself I would learn how to hit back. He retaliated with,

               “Vous , petite chienne , de la chance parce que contrairement à la plupart de ces salauds là-bas qui vous utiliser comme un élément de sexe sont sans valeur et les pauvres. Savez-vous ce qu'ils feraient pour un joli petit spécimen comme vous ? Prenez votre innocence et vous toucher pour nourrir leur besoin malade et tordu . Voilà ce qu'ils feraient . Je vais vous mettre de la bonne utilisation réelle . Vous travaillerez pour moi avec beaucoup d'autres enfants . Peut-être qu'ils peuvent vous dire des histoires au coucher de la façon dont ils ont été touchés par les ivrognes pédophiles aux enchères’. » (You, little bitch, are lucky because unlike most of those bastards out there who would use you as a sex item are worthless and poor. Do you know what they would do to a pretty little specimen like you? Take your innocence and touch you to feed their sick and twisted need. That’s what they would do. I will put you to some actual good use. You will work for me along with many other children. Maybe they can tell you bedtime stories of how they were touched by the pedophilic drunks at auctions.) He was right too. Over the next year, my hands and fingers bled as I worked for 12 hours in a factory. Inhaling the toxic air and growing sick. Many of the children there had been abused too. Just like the man with circular glasses said.

 I never learned his name and I’m glad I didn’t. It would be another name to add to my kill list. He wouldn’t be another burden, but I don’t like killing, unless the person actually deserved it. And not just if they’ve done something bad, but if they’re worthy of death. You see, death is a rare and special thing. We only get to do it once, so do it right and proudly. Some cowards don’t deserve it. Jared White is at the top of that list along with his friends and now, Simon Decker too. I’m not sure they deserve death, but they don’t deserve the opportunity to do it right. I. Want them. Dead.

The textile owner had later increased my meal portions and amounts of water. I was sold to a farm for 600 euros ($755.45) and different animal hides. I worked in fields for another two years, which was much better than the factory. More laborious, but it built my strength and endurance level. It was also more isolated which prepared me for my life in cells alone for hours and also got me used to being by myself. I eventually learned to love it.

When I was 13, Jared White came, just like he said he would. I don’t know how he got me back, but the plantation owner came to the field one day, brought me in and gave me to White. I was led to another truck and pushed in. Over those three years, I picked up a on a bit of English, German, and Polish.

“Hello Jade.” White said once the truck starts moving.

“Hello.” I responded dryly.

“Ahh, you’ve learned some English, yes?”

“Yes.” I simply say.

“Well it’s a difficult language to learn. That’s very impressive.” I had to think about that before responding. At this moment, I knew little English. “Now that you’re old enough, my friends want to meet you.” Processing what he said, I say,

“What kind of friends?”

“Scientist friends. They want you as a subject.”

“Sci-en-tist?” I said. I had never heard of the word before and didn’t know what it meant.

“Scientifique.” One of the men in the truck said. It was a different translator. I nod understandingly.

“Subject? They will do tests on me?” I ask trying to get what he was saying.

“Yes. They are creating medicines and other things that need to be tested on humans. They need different age groups and genders for each in order to complete the tests.” White explained to me. At this, I knew my life really would change. After arriving, I was placed in a cell by myself and Jared White promised he would check up on me. The next 3 years consisted of me being a human lab rat for medicine, injections, serums, and you guessed it, poison. White had instructed that I not be killed and he again kept his promise of seeing me every month. I became impervious to many poisons and I learned what mixed with what made that and how much of it took to do this. Unfortunately now, my body rejects most medicines like morphine and anesthesia. I saw many children come and go, and my big mouth caused several of them to be shot, beaten or whipped.

Thank God I went to the gym, because right now, these memories are causing me to teach this punching bag quite the lesson.

When I was 16 the first person who was older than me was tossed in the cell. I remember sitting in the dark corner as a young man was shoved in the cell. I looked to him as he stepped in the light that shone through the small window. His black curly hair was messy and his clothes were torn and dirty.

“Hello.” I said and he jumped because he didn’t know I was there. He looked at me confused. “Hallo?” I said trying German. The people they collected came from everywhere so I learned quite a few languages. I was also fluent in German and English by now. I tried Russian and Italian next. “AЛЛo? Ciao?” All he did was stare at me. I finally asked in French, although there hadn’t been a French person here for 2 years. “Bonjour?”

“I understood you the first time.” He finally says with a French accent.

“Then why didn’t you day anything?” I ask standing up and into the light.

“Because I was trying to see you. You shouldn’t sit in dark corners when you have company.” He says. For the first time since being in this cell I gave a genuine smile. A small one at that, but this is what made me intrigued. First impressions are key kids. I remember how good it felt. Walking up to the window, I stepped on my tip-toes and looked out at the sky.

“Well it’s about 6 am, I was sleeping.” I turned around to look at him.

“How did you do that?” he said walking up to the window.

“The sun.” I say actually taking a closer look at him. He looked back at me and mirrored my expression. “You’re the boy I ran into when they took me.” I said quietly.

“And you’re the one little girl who wasn’t crying when my town was raided.”

“Why are you here?” I ask, “This is where teenagers stay, shouldn’t you be in your twenties by now?”

“I’m only 17.” He says, his hazel eyes looking at me questionably.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I’m Jade, what’s your name?”

“Luc.” (Luke) I never knew how much this boy would change my life. Little did I know, how attached I would be to this boy.

I never knew that this boy would be my first and only true love.

The thought of Luc makes me angry, upset, and even sad. All the times I shared with him in my – our – cell causes me to begin vigorously punching and kicking the bag. I even feel hot tears begin to pool over my eyes. The missions, the songs, our kisses, it all made me so mad at the world. It wasn’t fair what they did to us and so many others. It wasn’t fair what they made Luc and me do. It just wasn’t fair!

With one swift jump-spin-kick I send the bag flying to the wall. I go to the gym in between 1 and 3 am, so no one else is here. Huffing more out of anger than exhaustion, I walk to the bag. Looking down at it, I watch the sand pool out of the ripped seaming. I walk to my bag and begin taking the bandage off around my knuckles. I see a drop of water fall on my hand and remember that I was crying. I take a towel and wipe my face with it. I also rinse my face with water to get rid of the redness. I hate crying and not many things make me cry. Ever since my dad told me not to, I try hard to suck the salt water back in. Wiping my face again, I hear the door open. I lift my head and finish putting my things away. I turn and make my way to the door, but slow down when I see who walked in. His blond hair is slightly tousled, and, thankfully, his blue eyes haven’t found me yet. I pull my hair out of the pony tail it was in and shake my hair in front of my face in an attempt to conceal it but it’s so short now it’s more difficult.

“Excuse me.” He says. I turn slowly and switch off the American accent.

“Yes?”

“Is this yours?” He says holding my water bottle.

“Oui.” I say grabbing it. “Thank you Mr. Rogers.” I finish to the soldier. What? How would I not know who Captain America is? I purposely say Mr. rather than Captain too, just to irk him. He smiles and says,

“Of course ma’am.” Damn, does this guy have to be polite all the time? Seriously, can’t he use sarcasm or break that stupid gentlemanly smile of his every once and a while? I return the smile remembering that I am a foreign French girl that just met Steve Rogers, I should be a happy. Leaving it at that, I hastily leave.

 A/N: First off, I AM SOOOOOO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Really, I just lost track of time. I promise I'll try my darndest not to let it happen again. 

Second, OOOooOOoOoOoOO Backstory!!! Now this isn't everything, I'll be doing another chaper where Jade explains exactly what happened when she was a test subject and what she means by "leaving the cell". For now you'll just have to comment your crazy theories. Seriously, I haven't even written that far, so if you have any ideas tell me! I mean I have an overall plan for the story, but this can go anywhere! Tell me your predictions for Jade's future, what you think happened in her past and all that jazz and I might just include it. With whoever came up with it having credit. Also, I'm trying to prove that Jade really did have a jacked up life, so if you think this is dark or sad or creepy, good. That's what I was going for. It actually took me a long time to do so and got me thinking. 

The reason villains are villains is because there life sucked. Now, don't start with "But heroes have shitty lives too!" I get that, but frankly Thor had a much better life than Loki. Heroes do have moving backgrounds that make us feel sorry for them, but when you look at a villain they're either completly and utterly physco, or they've been hurt so bad that they feel like there's no other way to go about things. The latter is what Jade is going through. She's not crazy guys. Even though she thinks out loud ALL THE TIME. She's not crazy... Just food for thought. Leave your personal opinions about this in the comments. 

Third, I don't speak French or any other language other than English, so blame Google Translate for any thing wrong. I will be taking French next year though, so hopefully it will all around get better.

Fourth, DID YOU KNOW VIPER HAS REACHED OVER 2.7K READS. Cause I didn't until this morning. Just... Wow... Really thank you all so much. It means the world to me, and I may or may not upload a short story I wrote as a thank you. It is completly original and has nothing to do with Marvel other than mentioning it, but I really like it and think you all might too. Again, MIGHT, means I may or may not do so. I'm also thinking about making it an actual story so I might upload that as the first chapter, but I don't know... To be decided...

 Rightyo, I believe that's it. I hope you all enjoyed reading! Talk to you next time and please vote and comment!! 

P.S. The picture attached is Luke as a teenager. He's also been added to the cast.