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SHOUTS FILLED THE CORRIDOR OUTSIDE ANASTASIA'S CELL, but one-way glass prevented her from seeing her surroundings. For as how long she'd been confined here, she'd had little contact with the outside world, and very few glimpses of what the compound looked like beyond this little room.

A terrible stinging coursed her throat, but the dream she'd been so desperate to escape had already dissipated into fragments. She reached up to rub her temple, where the everlasting burn of the scepter had become a phantom pain.

Her cell shone like the inside of a pharaoh's chambers, after every touchable surface she could reach had become completely encased in gold in these six years. Even her bed sheets, while thin and frayed, seemed woven with gossamer strands of the alloy. It felt far from such luxury.
A tray of discarded food had been left by the door, but the door had already been shut and sealed again, and the food was far too cold to eat. This was not uncommon, but it was all wrong– everything felt off. To whatever war waged outside, she had surely been forgotten for now.

"Anastasia?" A voice called, muffled by stone walls and a volley of gunfire.

She scrambled off the bed, hurrying to reach the opposing wall. In the place where its corners met, there was a small fissure, only about a few inches tall, but large enough to glimpse into the cell beside hers.

"I'm here!" She kneeled down beside the crack, peering through to the man on the other side. Considering the partition wasn't very wide, she could only see a quarter of his face– which was roughly his cheek and one of his blue eyes.
"Are you alright? You were screaming– I thought–" He questioned. Outside, something large made a thunderous noise, and his words were drowned out. Anastasia clapped her hands over her ears.

"What is that? What's happening?" She cried out over the sound.

"The compound, it's under attack. I heard List speaking of them–" He said. "They're after something that he and Strucker have."

"Who?" She asked. "What are they after?"
When he didn't answer, she peered back through the crevice to ensure he was still there.

"Pietro?"

"I don't know." He said, quite unconvincingly. "Strucker has requested our presence. They're coming to retrieve Wanda and I in a few minutes..."

Anastasia pursed her lips as he trailed off, finishing his thoughts before he could continue.
"He wants you to fight." She said, bitterly. "And me to rot."
Pietro shifted his weight from behind the wall, and didn't respond right away. Whether he meant to sympathize with her, or concede her opinion– she didn't look into it too deeply.

"Listen to me," his voice was lowered dramatically the next time he spoke, enough that Anastasia leaned in to press her ear to the fracture. "I am going to fight, but not the way he wants. I'm tired of belonging to someone..."

She counted the seconds between each distant roar of beast and machine alike, like counting down the minutes between a strike of lightning and its rumble of thunder.

"Strucker and his men will be occupied by these foreigners." He said. A hopeful quality tainted his voice. "We will escape while their backs are turned."

"Are you sure that it is safe?" She asked. "He won't take kindly to your disappearance."

Pietro's tone seemed to stiffen lightly on his next words.
"Our disappearance." He corrected. "You think I'd forgot you so quickly?"

She could sense his smile from beyond the wall, and it pained her to have to oppose him. His hope was contagious, but she didn't know if she had the amount of courage it would take to rustle up an escape plan.
Before she could speak, a rattling groan broke out over the squall, and Pietro whipped around to face the entrance of his cell.

"Pietro?" Her voice caught in her throat. "Wait! I can't–"

He looked back only long enough for her to catch a quick glimpse of his grin, and for him to stick his fingers through the crack in attempt to reach her. She flinched, shaking her head despite knowing he could not see it.

"I won't be long. I'll take you and Wanda to safety..." He drew back, his smirk faltering when she did not take his hand. "I'll come back for you, I promise."
The panic clawing it's way up her throat begged her to say something, but she couldn't push words to the surface. Heavy footfall echoed into her chambers, and Pietro vanished from her view.

"Wait!" Anastasia called, but by the time she said this, Pietro was gone. The footsteps faded quickly, and the door slammed shut behind them.

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The ensuing silence was louder than the outward barrage. Her breath shook with each inhale, as she willed herself to calm down.

It wasn't until several minutes after he had gone, that she collected herself enough to stand. There little way to gauge how this would end. Strucker would certainly be distracted by the attack on the base, but she didn't believe he wouldn't notice if the Maximoffs suddenly disappeared from his view.

After several years in a single cell, Anastasia had evaluated every nook and cranny in her view, and come up with very little in her aid. The hole in the wall had been created years ago, and while it was the first inevitable weakness of Strucker, the rest of the wall refused to yield.
One-way glass that made up the entirety of the back wall, too thick to break, a reminder of the time when she'd thrown things at it. A glass door stood at the opposing side, in which he food was brought to her.

She picked up the metal tray she'd been given with her food, dumping its contents onto the floor. Immediately– like water soaking paper– gold seeped from her hands and swathed the object.
She tried jamming the tray into the hinges of the door, hoping to break one off, or at least shatter the glass. Ordinarily, the tray might have bent like a paper clip when met with bullet-proof glass, but her gold didn't seem take as rough of a beating.

The door didn't budge, as Anastasia suspected. It made her even wonder how they'd managed to crack solid plaster and stone so many years ago– and now she couldn't snap off a hinge.

The intercom was next. It was no bigger than her hand; used by List and Strucker to communicate with their prisoners. Rust had gathered at its edges, and in a few swift hits, the outer casing crumbled. She dove for the wires on the inside, groaning in a frustrated manner when they meddled together under her fingers. In a final, mania-induced attempt, she made a clawing motion with her hand, and the wires ripped themselves from the box on their own accord.

The response was immediate.

A mechanical voice began speaking in rapid German, but she was only able to catch snippets– such as prisoner and emergency. In the hall, a sidelight blinked, cherry red against gold.

She waited, the tray still propped in hand. It didn't take long for a rogue soldier to notice the chaos she caused. He halted outside of the door, and for a moment they stared at each other.

The door swung open as he swiped his card, but the barrel of gun was trained on her face before she could even move.

"Was machst du?" He demanded in a thick German accent. He was a peaky kid, and incredibly skinny. He was probably no older than she was. Instinctively, Anastasia raised the tray and swung at him. He staggered back, startled by her sudden movement– even firing an askew shot over her shoulder, into her cell.

She advanced towards the hall, attempting to dodge the blunt end of his rifle as he brandished it at her. He instead caught her in the hip. Sharp pain bloomed over the area like a white-hot flower– she stumbled under his arm and fell to her knees just outside the doorway.

The kid grabbed her by the upper-arm, and she couldn't stop what came next.

She rolled over, wriggling under his grip, before reaching out to shove him away. Under full contact of her palm, he froze instantaneously. A mosaic of gold encased his body; moments later he was nothing more than a dazzling statue.

Anastasia let out a strangled gasp, wrenching her shoulder free of his frozen hand. She scurried away a few feet, contemplating briefly what she'd done to the poor man. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, even as she scooped up her metal tray, and the discarded swipe-card. Solid gold now, it might be no use to her, but it was worth a shot.

She dashed down the hall without a second thought, towards the set of stairs that finished off the corridor.

The steps seemed to go on forever, and by the time she reached the top flight, her breath had been siphoned right out of her chest. She leaned against an alcove of the stairs, clutching tightly to her metal tray. She sucked in a deep breath, trudged up the last few stairs–

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And was met at the top by an unfamiliar blonde man, carrying what appeared to be a large, multicolored disk. A star insignia was emblazoned across it's surface in silver. He took an involuntary step backward when confronted with her presence.

"Another possible enhanced in the north wing." He said, quietly, almost to himself. "Currently engaging."

His demeanor changed, softening. He lifted his hands as if to calm her.
"It's okay. I'm here to help."

Anastasia raised the tray again.

AUTHOR'S NOTE !
hello my lovelies, wooow that was quick. sorry if everything feels rushed, i am very excited to keep writing this story.
i wanted to go over some things that i did not originally state in the beginning of this book– i just feel i need to put them out there before i move on.
obviously this book takes place in age of ultron, but i am trying my best not to follow the script. yes there will be many instances where i do mention the script, and that's okay, but i also want to make this story my own. this means there will be some scenes and things of the like that are not mentioned/never happened in aou. don't patronize me, i like drama ✨
i hope you enjoy this chapter, and please don't forget to vote and comment, bc it means the world to me, and it's a huge source of motivation.

love y'all 33