`
` The cold is the first thing you know. It seeps through the table, through the thin gown they've left you in, settling deep into your bones like a second skin.
`
` Your eyes are open, but the world is nothing but a blur of light and shadow. You can't hear. Not really. Only muffled vibrations, like sound trapped underwater.
`
` But you can feel everything. Hands. Straps. Needles. The weight of the ankle device burning against your skin like a brand. You try to move. Your body doesn't respond. You're awake inside a body that won't obey you.
`
` Then—movement. Boots. Voices. A sudden shift in the air as the door slams open.
`
` You can't see their faces, but you feel the presence of strangers surrounding the table. A gloved hand touches your wrist. A voice—deep, urgent—cuts through the fog, just barely reaching you.
`
???
` Subject's eyes are open. She's conscious.
`
` Conscious but unresponsive. Hydra kept her drugged.
`
` A hand brushes your cheek. You flinch internally, but your body doesn't move.
`
???
` Get her out of here. Now.
`
` The table tilts. The world shifts. You're being moved, lifted, carried—but you can't feel your own limbs, only the press of bodies around you, the jostle of movement. The ankle device scrapes against something metal and you feel it pulse, like a heartbeat of its own.
`
???
` Careful with the bracelet. It's rigged.
`
` The voice is closer now, almost in your ear. You feel breath on your face, a presence leaning over you.
`
???
` Don't worry. We're getting you out of here.
`
` The blur above you shifts, and for a moment—just a moment—you catch a glimpse of a face. An eye. A scarred brow. And then it's gone, replaced by the harsh white light of a corridor ceiling.