genequeen:

Awareness.

It comes in fits and spurts.

She has no idea how long she has been here. Or how long it has been since her last moment of wakefulness. She remembers reaching out and touching Rachel. Or, did Rachel reach out and touch her? There was pain.... and she pulled back again.

When she first tried to open her eyes and all she got was pain. There was a small glimpse, through a thick liquid, of a container this body was in - thick metal and industrial. There was a small window, almost a port hole, but there was little else she could see, even when she could see out of the thick glass.

All of the memories of before are mixed and difficult to sort out, though they've slammed into her all at once. There are bits and peices and none of them seem to add up together. There are lives of happiness and lives of despair - insanity and rationality. None of these lives make sense together - as if they can't all be from the same person. At the same time, she /knows/ they are all her life.

She is beloved and reviled. She is powerful and weak. She is mother and sister, wife and seductress.

And as she goes through the memories one more time, she knows.

She remembers who she is and she knows how all of the peices go together, though she doesn't know why she keeps coming back.

Gathering the scintilia of her will, she exerts herself outward.

At first, all she can feel is the gel surrounding her moving. So very unimpressive.

Forcing outward again, she hears the screeching strain of metal, before a loud pop of pressure being forcibly released. Suddenly, the world is cold and painful. The liquid rushes away and she is gagging on air, expelling the liquid that had been in her lungs. Her limbs are weak and as she tries to get out, she collapses.

Sprawled on the ground, she stays there, her hands, elbows; knees and shins scraped and bleeding. As she crawls and staggers out of the fascility, seemingly abandoned, she sees other faces in similar containment pods. There is one that tickles the back of her thoughts but she doesn't stop to investigate. It takes her innumerable minutes to make her way out of the mostly abandoned facility. She reaches the edge, the liminal point, the entrance. Or the exit.

I am Madelyne.

And with that thought, she extends her thoughts out into the currents, a much more formidable force than the pale, malnourished naked weakness of her body would connote.

I am Madelyne!

Now, she just needs to find some way to get to civilization, to find clothing and shelter.

dodge_this_shot:

Monday morning, Clint Barton has his bags packed and ready to go. He left word with Hank that he was going out of town for a few days and waited for the courier to arrive downstairs.

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