[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=bc8dbf]Zoya Nikolova[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://78.media.tumblr.com/b9d2804993643b022801f25a4fd9b345/tumblr_inline_oaqezjKQuj1rifr4k_500.gif[/img][hr][hr][b][color=bc8dbf]Location:[/color][/b] Sci-Tech Building 4 - Phase Three HQ: Medical Ward [b][color=bc8dbf]Skills:[/color][/b] Unknown[/center][hr] Z was nine. She was no longer the sickly child she'd once been. But that didn't matter now. It didn't matter, because her parents weren't there to rejoice in their child's health. The small girl stood stoically in front of the pair of graves. And although she was not alone there, she felt like the only person in the universe at the moment. She couldn't feel the arm of the other girl next to her, clutching her waist in a desperate childish attempt at support. Nor the two adult hands lain on each of her shoulders. Her parents were dead! They'd told her they were among the victims of the terrorist bombings of the London Underground. She had a vague idea of what terrorists were. She understood the concept fine enough. She just couldn't understand why people would want to be this cruel to strangers. Z knew well enough she was way too little to comprehend it all right now. She knew one thing though. A great evil had occurred on the day her parents died and she would not stand for that! She would give it her all to prevent a thing like that ever happening again. As little Zoya stood calm in front of the graves of her parents, supported by her guardians and their daughter, a new emotion was given life within her. For a fraction of a second it gripped the entire being of the girl and her hands clenched into fists. And just as the feeling had emerged, it was gone. Or rather, it had simply released its hold over Z. Settling deep, deep, deep within the psyche of the small child. Waiting. Growing. Preparing. [hr] Z snapped awake with a gasp. The recurring dream of her standing in front of her parents' graves was a constant in her life that never left and never failed to dim the light of that particular day. People often mistook her innate calmness for coldness or even worse, apathy. When in fact, the death of her parents had wounded her deeply, leaving her scarred for life, but also spurring her determination to prevent something like that ever happening to anyone else. As Zoya shook off the last tendrils of the nightmare she began to take stock of her surroundings. She was in the medical ward. [i]That's right. The experiment![/i] Z looked around. Not even a dozen people lay in beds like her. [i]So few survived!?![/i] Z looked down her body, turning her hands palms up and down and then she ran them over her hospital gown clad figure. She didn't feel different. And there were no obvious physical mutations. Then why was she here? Before her inner monolog had a chance to continue Director Fury entered the room, accompanied by two other individuals, and greeted the survivors with his usual bedside manner. [i]Tony Stark, Agent Fitz, Framework... Wha...[/i] Z's mind raced as Director Fury inundated them with information. Her focus shifted on Agent Kennedy, lying on a bed like her and the others, trying to diffuse Fury's usual I-don't-have-time-to-coddle-agents attitude with a few words of encouragement. Z looked around the room, uncertainty and confusion whirring in her brain as she surveyed the beds occupied by other agents. Some still asleep, some awake, others just now awaking. And then all of a sudden the world went still. The noise vanished. All that remained was clarity! Her fists clenched and she stared at the Director with grim determination, a cold fire burning in her eyes.