Natasha’s crying time didn’t last long; once the guard by the door left at the news of her waking, he was soon joined by others that unlocked the cell door and approached Natasha’s huddled form. When the newfound light hit her, she quickly lifted her head and scrambled to her feet, making a fast dash for the opened entrance. Half a dozen pairs of arms halted her though, roughly grabbing at her waist and limbs. Although struggling feebly at first, between her blinding tears, aching injuries, and outnumbered strength, Natasha couldn’t stop herself from being dragged away by the guards.
Navigating around her bracelets, they locked her wrists in a tight pair of handcuffs, and they took her down the narrow hall through winding corridors. She squirmed the whole way, shouting empty threats and skidding her feet across the floor in an attempt to stop. They pressed on, though, and soon they reached a door through which led to a dimly lit room. Inside, there only stood a table with a few plain chairs, and Natasha was plopped into the nearest one. Guards stood on both sides of her.
On the other end of the table, a man sat with a pile of papers in front of him. He looked straight at Natasha, and she, teary eyed and red faced, avoided his gaze with a glare to the floor. He spoke.
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
He pulled the first folder from the pile.
“Up until this point, the Queen hasn’t had much of a criminal record; there’s been multiple spikes in recent years of small store robberies and violence in cities that she’s visited, but nothing in terms of actual charges. Then again, there’s really no records, period, on the Queen. I don’t think you know the hell we went through trying dig information from your recording company.
“But, looking at
your past history, I don’t blame them.” He opened the folder in hand. “It was only with your last few stunts that we finally heard any word from them. Let’s see.” He cleared his throat. “Charged with assisted concoction of illegal magical items, assaulting authorities, using unregistered metahuman powers,
breaking out of prison…It stops there, though, since after that you fell off the face of the earth. And then, of course, the Queen popped in out of nowhere just a few years later.” He gave a steely glance her way. “Does this all sound familiar?”
She made not a single noise. Her eyes remained fixated on the floor, and his frown tugged down further.
“Hm, well eight years
is a long time.” His voice carried no roughness, however, instead remaining eerily cool. “Your file’s not the only one we dug up, though; perhaps this will stir some memories?”
He lifted another folder from the table, and although only giving it a passing glance at first, Natasha did a double take when she saw posted on its front “Henry Greiss.” Her eyes widened, but she still kept her mouth shut. Instead of an answer, Natasha instead flashed the man an obscene gesture in response. He remained unflinched.
“We have all the time in the world, you know. It’s not like you have anywhere else to be.”
A pause. She scowled.
“If I don’t have a choice,” she growled, finally speaking up, “Who do you want to know about, me or my father?"
“Whichever will get us reason for your actions sooner.”
She hesitated again, but after a moment, lost her grimace with a heavy sigh.
“I don’t know where to start…”
“However far back as you need to go.”
She let out another sigh.
The Queen’s hatred for Heraclia hadn’t always existed inside Natasha Greiss; it was difficult growing up with such feelings for your home.
Her parents had been on the more...
traditional side, putting their faith in the natural and magical remedies concocted in their own cozy apothecary shop. Doctors and hospitals only came to consideration for true emergencies, so as the two meticulously prepared for the home birth for their first child, they saw no need for such things.
Their preparation couldn't account for all complications, though, and none of the potions or herbs on hand could recover such an amount of blood lost in so little time. Although their daughter had been born healthy, her mother held barely any life. Just a few days after giving birth, she died in the hospital bed her husband had been desperate enough to finally take her to.
Growing up, Natasha never truly felt the absence of her mother. She knew what had happened, and she heard stories and saw pictures. However, she and her father were always the ones to carry each other before, and she saw no reason for that to change.
“Ah, just one teaspoon, sweetie.”
“Oh, sorry-”
She stopped when he took a fingerful of her extra ground poppy seeds to eat, giggling as he then offered some to her.
“Keep it up, though, you’ll be making better cough medicine than me soon.”
Only on occasion did moroseness come to bite, but it had little to do with any grief. Her father did his best whenever Natasha’s birthday rolled around, and during her younger years gave her the celebration any child would want. As she grew older, though, Natasha had slowly begun to notice just how the memories still plagued him. His typically warm demeanor settled into that of quiet contemplation, and a shadow smothered the light of his expression as he pulled into greater solidarity. The few days after her birthday, Natasha barely saw him at all.
She didn't know how to help combat his demons-- if anything, her empathy always came with a sharp edge of guilt-- so, she opted instead to push them aside. Soon enough, Natasha kept insisting to her father that no, she didn't need friends over. No, they didn't need to go out. No, there was nothing special to celebrate. Anything to lessen the reminders; she couldn't let his warmth die away. Not for something she felt responsible for.
Natasha would give anything to feel the warmth of her father’s hearth. It served as her daily comfort, soothing her into the thought that, with him, things would turn out okay.
“Come here, let me see it…”
She hesitantly stuck out her arm to him, wiping her eyes as he examined the bruises.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be talking to your teachers about this. No one hurts my little Peppernat.”
Beside her bed, she kept a small peppermint plant as a reminder of this. She really was his “little” Peppernat; soft spoken and shy around her peers and adults, Natasha struggled to connect with anyone outside her home. Instead, she often stuck to the back of the crowd, away from any attention that may throw her from comfort. It still came at times, though. Bullying typically stuck to strange looks or name calling, but sometimes it would escalate to the point of Natasha getting physically hurt. Sitting in bed, rubbing her now bandaged arm, Natasha took a leaf from her peppermint plant and stuck it in her mouth, letting its taste soothe her like all the times before.
Then she found out about the store’s financial crisis.
Her father never told her, but around the time she turned fourteen, she… noticed. The stressed look on his face after work hours, the heated phone calls behind his office door. Natasha knew what was happening, but she didn’t say anything. Another situation she didn’t know how to help, but this time, she couldn’t tell if she were to blame or not. In case she was, Natasha tried her best to make it up to her father. Whenever he came by, she’d throw him a smile, ask about his day, bring up a good piece of news- anything to lighten his increasingly dampened mood. As soon as she could, Natasha looked for a job.
As a few years passed, the knowledge of their store’s fate still hid under a veil of silence. Natasha’s father never speculated to her what may come of them or what he was to do, and Natasha in turn decided not to ask. As time pressed on, though, more and more started slipping through the cracks of visibility. New herbs began growing alongside their old stores in the back gardens, ones that Natasha barely recognized. When she went to her father about them, he immediately pushed her inquiry aside. His tone turned sharp. She never brought them up again.
She never questioned either the strange people that would visit their store after dark, or the way her father discussed business with them in a hushed, hurried voice. Nothing came up of the wary glances pedestrians soon threw their store’s way, or the few times an officer or two walked in, expressions hard. Natasha couldn’t do it; she and her father were always the ones who had the other. What would he think of her if she betrayed him like that?
Natasha had turned seventeen, and although she still had her father, and he the store, she had never felt as miserable as she did then. She couldn’t explain why; outwardly, everything appeared the same. However, as her father had fallen deeper into the pit of saving the apothecary, she found that she had turned away from all other things than him. She had isolated herself, leaned on him with the same weight she had to bear for him. She knew things were wrong. She couldn’t pull away, though. He… frightened her.
He asked her to help test his experiments. She didn’t want to. The tug in her heart held her tongue, though.
What am I to you? I want to be good enough…He said it was an old idea of his that he might have finally found the right recipe for. Something that would fix their finances in no time. He poured the potion into two small vials, handing one to Natasha while keeping the other for himself. She stared down at it; in the dark lighting of the back room, it resembled a murky black well, seemingly unending.
“Remember, Natasha, we gotta do this fast.” Her father threw a few nervous glances towards the door as they prepared. “No hesitating, alright?”
She meekly nodded in response.
“Alright, then ready…”
A silent count of one, two, three…
At the same time as her father, Natasha threw back her head and took the potion in one swallow.
She wretched.
Her throat burned like a heap of flaming embers had caught in it, and violently coughing, she dropped her vial and fumbled towards the nearest surface as it shattered. She doubled over against a table’s edge, desperate for air as her coughing fit worsened. As the potion hit her stomach, she grasped at her middle and tumbled to the floor, curling in on herself as piercing needles spread throughout her body. Her face turned numb, and she couldn’t think…
Something washed over her mind… A wave of darkness obscured her vision… Blanketed her memories… Shattered something in her head that left her shuddering…
Natasha laid on the floor for what felt like an eternity. She writhed under the pain, helpless to fight back against whatever slithered into her head and consumed her thoughts. All she could see before her was a blazing red haze, and her fists clenched with its spite. Her heart quickened in pace, beating to a malicious anthem that she had never known before. She wanted to hurt, to spread the pain she felt herself.
Only a minute or so had passed, though, as beating in Natasha’s ears drowned away to a sudden commotion before her. With a sudden slam of the door, feet pounded against the floor into the room, and Natasha could hear the rise of crashes, cries, and blasts.
The… the heroes… someone had reported…He knew they were coming. That was why he had been so anxious before. And now, Natasha could hear him fighting against what sounded like a whole army of them.
It took her a second, but Natasha soon recovered her vision. Rapidly blinking and body still crouched, Natasha lifted her head to see-
No…She saw just enough to know what had happened. One second he was there, the next…
The heroes huddled in the room’s center, and Natasha stared at them, wide eyed. Her first thought was to cry out, huddle in a corner, shield herself from the grief. This waned under a new instinct, though, one she never imagined knowing: she felt herself hate. The heroes apparently hadn’t noticed Natasha’s presence, something she felt infinitely grateful for; they wouldn’t see her coming, then.
Jerking to her feet, Natasha pulled a grimace and shouted as she took a running start towards the closest hero, reaching out her hand to-- she didn’t know what happened, but the next thing she saw, the hero had a fresh gash in their shoulder that they clutched in pain. Another hero pushed her away, and she knocked into a table of empty vials, breaking a few on impact. She groaned when the glass cut through her skin, and pulling her arms away, she saw cuts lacing down them. She flashbacked to the bruises she received from the bullies at school. That’s what this was… That’s what they were. To her father, and now to her… Natasha scowled.
Outnumbered, her fight lasted only a minute more, and before she could understand what was happening, Natasha was whisked away to the city prison. Expecting the normal correctional institute, Natasha had to take a second glance to realize they arrived at ADMAX. But she wasn’t a metahuman…
Regardless, they threw her into an isolated cell and left, not giving her a second thought. As the days passed, Natasha felt her mind worsen. The darkness that had infiltrated bred into greater numbers, sneaking into the finer nooks and crannies of her memories and conscience while she hopelessly witnessed. She had to get out, and soon…
“And you did. Records don’t give an exact description, though, since your escape was apparently a bit of a mystery to the prison.”
“... The potion worked. He wanted to make something that’d give normal people powers. It didn’t take long for me to figure out just what I could do.”
Natasha bleakly glanced at the locks on her wrists.
“I learned faster than they did, and they didn’t expect it when I disguised myself during recess. I was probably out before they even realized what I did.”
“And now here you are again, eight years later.” The man curtly straightened out the papers. “Funny how things work. But about that time in between: where does the Queen come into play?”
Natasha gave him a hard glare, keeping silent for a moment. She took a breath, and then explained.
“After I escaped, I headed to the closest family. My cousin, Deric, was living with his fiance outside of Heraclia, and I felt like I could trust him. My aunt helped Dad after my mom died, so I saw Deric a lot growing up. He’s ten years older, but we were still close. I saw him a lot less once he moved out, I still knew where he lived.
“He wanted to help me, but his fiancee… She thought I was just a monster. She tried to get him to kick me out, but when he didn’t, she left herself. Deric tried to tell me it wasn’t my fault, even though I knew it was. He, he did that a lot. Told me I was okay, even though I did something… I don’t know what he saw in me to want to help.”
Natasha seemed to mutter this last sentence just to herself.
“He did, though. I told him I was in choir before, and since he was in the music industry, he thought practice would bring out the… “good” in me. And from there…”
Trailing off, Natasha suddenly looked weary.
“You can probably guess. And it did work-- a little. Sometimes, I almost felt
normal again. It’d never last long since I’d have to be alone at some point after, and I’d have nothing to distract myself from the thoughts in my head… But, I could at least feel myself getting better from when I first took the potion.”
Her shoulders hunched as she turned uncomfortable.
“... Things got worse again, though. Deric wanted to take me back to Heraclia, even though I couldn’t. Not after what had happened… We argued about it, and it got to the point where we weren’t speaking as much. then
she showed back up.” Natasha gritted her teeth. “She wanted to try and get Deric back after seeing how successful he got. And I know her leaving was all my fault, but… I still
hated her so much. We fought, and Deric just got more upset with me.”
She covered her face with her hands.
“The worst part, though… Along with the music, Deric wanted me to, to help myself. He wanted me to try and find a cure for Dad’s potion. I didn’t know how without the original instructions, but-” She swallowed hard. “I still tried. I remembered a few of the ingredients, so I stuck to it as best I could. After everything with Deric and his fiancee, though, I realized I… I couldn’t do it. I hadn’t made any headway in eight years, so…” She sniffed, speaking suddenly becoming difficult to do. “I got mad and smashed my stuff… and I decided since I couldn’t get rid of the potion’s effects, I’d get rid of the next best thing.”
“The heroes, I presume? Why did you feel the need to target them specifically?”
“They… took
everything from me…”
“...I’m not sure they’re the ones to blame.” The man stood up then, papers in hand. “Sounds to me like they were just doing their job.”
Natasha is taken to an interrogation room upon which she's questioned for the reasons behind all her recent actions. What entails? Basically her whole life story XD
Uh, main takeaways are that she drank an experimental potion of her father's that gave her metahuman powers, but also corrupted her mind. The first thing she witnessed after taking the potion was her father getting killed fighting back against the heroes (not like they tried to kill him, in reality it was ambiguous just who or what made the final blow in all the chaos), and from this she forms her hatred for the city and its celebrated metahumans. She was sent to prison, but she escaped, ran to her cousin Deric, unintentionally started a music career, and unsuccessfully tried to find a cure to reverse the mental damage her father's potion caused. After a series of trying situations, her mental state took a severe remission, and she gave up on a cure, instead deciding to target the heroes that ruined her life.