December 29, 2012

Waking up from cryogenic sleep is like waking up from a living nightmare. A nightmare in which everything is frozen: your mind, your body, your cells, time, even the neurons firing through your brain. Yet somewhere in the back of your head is this tiny little itch of mental awareness, screaming into the depths of Lake Cocytus that yes, you are alive, yes, you do exist. Unfortunately there is nothing you can do about that small voice drifting aimlessly through your head — until the machine's power is cut.

"What is it?"

"Who is it, would be the correct question."

"Alright then: who is it?"

"I do not know, but it appears to be female."

"No shit. Even your hair isn't that long, your highness."

"How many times must I inform you, Stark, I am a god, not a mortal, earthly king."

"This is no time to argue over trivialities."

"Oh please accept my humblest apologies, Mr. Star-Spangled Banner, do you know who we're looking at?"

"No, Tony, I don't. But I'm sure we would all appreciate it if you could lower your voice and lose your tone."

"I'm sorry, I was under the impression this was no time to argue over so-called 'trivialities'."

"Shut it, Stark. This place was one of the most heavily guarded Hydra facilities, this is no time for your bullshit."

"Okay, so what that response tells me, Miss Know-It-All, is that no one knows who this is."

"Then maybe we should stop talking about it and find out."

She hadn't opened her eyes yet, but she could tell from the sudden wheezing of air around her that the front of the cryogenic machine had been opened, and suddenly there was a loud banging on the metal encasing her arms, and the bindings on her other limbs sprang loose. It was after this that she flicked open her eyes and found herself staring directly into a pair of tortured blue eyes, similar to the one's she could recall last seeing, but these were shrieking with curiosity and caution, not despair and horror.

She stumbled forward, her first movement in over a decade. And she fell towards the ground below; several hands reached out to grab her before she could land face-first before them.

"Holy shit," her voice cracked when she spoke. Caught by many different pairs of hands, she pulled herself upwards, wincing as she straightened out her stiff muscles and creaking bones. Tendrils of phantom pains were shooting up and down her limbs, making her body feel tender and sore.

"My God, this kid must be a legend, her first words out of cryo are 'holy shit'."

"Stark!" Several voices shouted this at the member of their group who'd spoken, and she took the moment to study the motley collection of people around her.

The first she'd seen, with the pained blue eyes, was supporting her tiny frame with a steady arm, looking down at her with wary concern as though trying to determine what level of threat she presented. His face was confident and determined, crowned with honey blond hair that contrasted eloquently against the cobalt armored uniform he wore, which complemented his muscled body dramatically. He emitted the aura of a leader, and the others seemed to accept him as theirs. A round, colorful shield was in his other hand, decorated with red and blue circles around a white star. She stared silently at the star for a moment. There was a matching one on his chest, but she didn't know why it made her pause like so.

Next to him was another man, about the same height, but remarkably different in bearing. He was wearing a maroon and gold suit that appeared to be made of some sort of metal, lights glowed from it at several different spots, but his head and face were bare, boasting a well-groomed goatee and intrigued brown eyes, a slight feeling of arrogance was hovering around him; yet something about him seemed vaguely familiar to her. She immediately identified him as the one who had been talking the most.

Beside him was another; taller, he had long blond hair, an ethereal outfit, and was loosely clutching a large hammer. There was something superior in his bearing, and she assumed this was the one who had named himself a god. He was eyeing her with both confusion and interest, tilting his head slightly to one side like an overgrown dog.

Opposite him were two others, both possessing more subtle auras, but neither less notable than their companions. One was a man, appearing older than the others, he had sharp eyes and a bow and arrow that hung from his hands with an agile ease that suggested unparalleled competence. Immediately beside him was a redheaded woman, in a flattering skin-tight black outfit that contrasted against her pale skin and bright hair, lending to her intimidating mien. Several different types of weapons could be identified on her person, and it was to be assumed that many more went unseen until needed.

"Who the hell are you all?" She coughed, standing up straight and giving a slight glance at their leader in the blue uniform, who, seeing it, released his supporting grip from her arm and took a slight step backwards, as though to get a more accurate look at her.

None of them responded to her question; they stood staring silently at her, as though sizing her up and being more than a bit baffled by what they observed.

The girl stood before the Avengers in a black combat uniform, although her forearms had silver chainmail-like material covering them from fingertips to just beneath her elbow. Her dark chestnut hair was pulled back in a tight French braid that trailed down to her lower back. Her blue eyes dominated her pale, gaunt face; they drew an onlookers eye to them immediately, with their whirlpools of deep color, they hinted at some mystery lurking just beyond their azure depths. A white oval-shaped scar of a birthmark lay in the hollow of her throat, making it look as if she was perpetually wearing a necklace. She looked bewildered, fear was flashing across her face like a cornered animal and she seemed to be nursing her right side, but her features were sharply defined and undaunted, and her exceptionally short stature added to the fact that she couldn't be more than twenty-five years old.

"Who are you?" The man — no, the god, spoke up, his voice supercilious and demanding, an odd expression on his face, he was staring at the girl before them as though she were some sort of supernatural apparition.

She frowned, confused as to why none of the group could answer her question but they felt compelled to interrogate her. Then she turned her mind to the question, and found she couldn't answer it. Her mind was foggy, faint memories and recollections drifted around it, lost and without direction. She could hardly think, much less remember. Her neurons were indolent, refusing to fire across her brain. "I… I'm…" She paused, her eyes drifting downwards, "I don't… know…."

"Sounds suspicious," the man with the bow and arrows piped up, his arms flexing as he raised his bow, "and it's probably a lie."

"Clint, relax," the leader in the blue uniform held up a hand and the man he addressed lowered his bow, yet didn't bother hiding his irritation.

"I know who she is," the one in the metal suit said suddenly in a quiet voice, his tone having completely changed from the arrogance before. The emotions flickering behind his eyes were completely unreadable. "She's supposed to be dead."

"What?" Several of the others exclaimed simultaneously, turning to stare at him.

He gazed directly at the trembling girl, his deep brown eyes scrutinizing her face with the intensity of a presiding judge. Then he stated her name as though he was announcing the jury's decision.

"Bellona Drager."

At the pronunciation of this name, her eyes widened and she took a step back, stumbled against the cryo machine behind her and sank down to the ground with a clumsy movement. The name triggered flashes of memory, like lightning from an approaching storm; she dropped her head into her chainmail-encased hands and attempted to massage away the headache this produced.

"Drager?" The man with the arrows asked, "like the Dragers?"

"Yes."

"But-"

"Who are the Dragers?" The god wielding the hammer interrupted.

The one in the red armor inhaled deeply and blurted out a quick explanation, all the while staring down at the girl. "James Drager was the most renowned lawyer of the twentieth century…. extremely wealthy and incredibly skilled, he could get Jean Valjean hanged for stealing bread or Adolf Eichmann acquitted of all charges. He helped found SHIELD, working out any legal complications they came across when it came to government authority. Besides that, he was a good friend of my father's, and dabbled in business…. He was a major stockholder of Stark Industries…. His wife, Maria, was a famous archaeologist, and grew up alongside my mother…. They were best friends... Anyway, the Dragers were murdered in their Boston home back in 1991. That same day, their only child, who was also my parents' goddaughter, was thought to have been killed in the explosion that rocked the oldest high school in the nation. The two events are believed to be unrelated, but it was still an international scandal…. I've known Bellona since she was born…. We practically grew up together…." he stopped speaking when he saw the girl's expression. She was staring at him with a blank face and mystified eyes, as though unsure if what he was saying was the truth.

"Who are you?" She demanded sharply.

"Bella…. I'm…. Tony Stark."

"How did you survive the explosion?" The man with the long blond hair and godly aura broke in, before she could ask another question. He appeared to be even more doubtful of Stark's explanation than the girl before them.

"What explosion?"

"The one that allegedly blew up your school."

"Oh…" She frowned, her lips curving downwards as she wracked her brain, trying to remember what exactly had happened on the day they were referring to. "If that actually happened, which I…. Can't really recall, it would have to do with Hydra."

"What do you mean?" Navy blue suit with the shield asked suddenly.

She ignored this question and instead extended her left arm out towards the group. The silver chain metal covering it flashed and glinted even in the flickering lights of the facility. "Someone take this off."

Everyone facing her glanced around at each other before Tony Stark stepped forward, and held his own metal hand slightly above the metal covering hers. A beam of light shot out and a crack appeared in the chainmail, then he flicked it off her arm as though it were made of paper.

"Here is the answer to your question," she looked up and around at the group, and pointed an accusing finger at her now bare left wrist. Glaring out from her pale skin were two ugly symbols, branded onto her very flesh; a bloody hydra head and a scarlet Soviet star. A shudder passed through most of the group. Their leader with the shield inhaled sharply, a disturbed look coming over his face. The redhead took a step back, her green eyes were wide with shock and a touch of fear. Tony Stark's jaw was slack, gazing down at her wrist in quiet agony. "And before you ask — this is the nicest thing Hydra's ever done to me."