BOOM.
Evelyn gasped awake. Sirens wailed, signaling an attack, and the thud of boots echoed down the hallway. She blinked in the darkness, awareness returning with the cold sting of metal against her wrists and ankles. Still strapped to the bed. She strained against the restraints, her muscles burning with the effort. The sounds of fighting – shouts, impacts, the crackle of energy weapons – were getting closer.
She’d prayed for this moment, for the Hydra base to be found. She’d almost given up hope. She screamed, a raw, desperate sound that tore from her throat, and pulled again at the cuffs. Weak. Too weak. The last round of torture had left her hollowed out, a husk.
“Help… someone, please…” she rasped, her voice a threadbare whisper. *They won’t hear me.* The tortures had stolen her voice, reduced it to a fragile breath. Tears welled up, hot and stinging. She was going to be left behind.
Closing her eyes, Evelyn let the tears flow. She hadn’t thought she had any left. She saw her family – Dad, Mom, little Lily. It had been so long. A fresh wave of grief washed over her, threatening to drown her in despair. Alone. Utterly, irrevocably alone.
“What *are* these rooms?” A voice. Not a guard, not a soldier. A new voice, unfamiliar. Evelyn remembered the guards’ orders: silence. But this voice… this voice didn’t know what the rooms were *for*. Her heart leaped.
She began to shake her wrists harder, to kick her legs, a frantic, silent plea. But her body wouldn't respond. "Help!" she breathed, her voice cracking. She heard footsteps moving further down the hall.
"No, no, please don't go," she begged, her voice raw with desperation. "I can't stay here… I don't want to die here." She felt her chest tighten, her lungs burn. The footsteps faded, swallowed by distance.
"No!" she screamed, a primal roar that ripped through the silence. She arched her back off the bed, forcing every ounce of pain and despair through her throat. The lights above flickered, threatening to extinguish. A pop, like a bone snapping. The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth.
"It came from this room," a voice said, closer now. "I need some help here, Cap – I can't get the door to open."
Evelyn’s eyes fluttered shut. She felt darkness creeping in, her body giving way to exhaustion. She was losing consciousness, the scream having emptied her of everything. The door burst open, flooding the room with blinding light. She squeezed her eyes shut against the glare. "Help me," she managed to choke out, but the words wouldn’t form.
“Oh my God!” A woman’s voice, laced with shock. Evelyn felt hands on her restraints, gently, carefully undoing the buckles.
She felt her body lifted off the cold metal, cradled against a warm chest. "Stay with us," a soft voice murmured.
Then, darkness.
------------
On board the quinjet, Evelyn lay on a secured medical bed. The Avengers were strapped into their seats, battered and bruised, utterly exhausted.
Natasha Romanoff rubbed her hands together, flexing her fingers. Her gaze was fixed on the floor in front of her. "So much for this being an easy recon mission," she muttered.
“Intel said it was an abandoned base,” Steve Rogers said, leaning back against his seat. “We were just supposed to make sure there wasn’t anything we could use left behind.”
Natasha tilted her head, her eyes fixed on the girl on the bed. "Safe to say the intel was wrong." Steve nodded, rising to join Tony Stark in the back, studying the woman they’d rescued.
“Cap,” Tony said, his voice low.
“Tony,” Steve replied, nodding. “How are her vitals?”
Tony’s armored hand moved over her body, scanning, collecting data. “She’s stable, but she’s been through hell.” He looked at the bruises, the thinness of her limbs. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. can’t get a clear age – malnutrition’s scrambled everything. She’s not in any database. I’m optimistic we can figure out more in the lab with Banner’s help.”
Steve examined her closely. Tattered scrubs, matted blonde hair. Bruises on her wrists and ankles, the scars from fighting the restraints. He knew there would be more, hidden beneath her clothes. Bucky had described the tortures – varied, cruel. He remembered her scream, the sound that had alerted Natasha. He knew he wouldn’t forget it anytime soon. It was a sound that burrowed into your core and never let go.