Inside the dimly lit dungeon of Hydra's secret base, the air hung thick with dampness and dread.
A woman with golden-blonde hair and storm-gray eyes sat curled against the cold stone floor, her burgundy leather jacket pulled tight around her like armor. She hugged her knees, gaze fixed on the corridor beyond her cell—waiting, hoping.
Then, the heavy iron door at the end of the hall groaned open. A shaft of harsh light sliced through the gloom as several burly guards dragged in a limp, soaked figure and hurled him into the opposite cell like discarded refuse.
The woman shot to her feet, fingers gripping the iron bars until her knuckles turned white. "Pietro!" she cried, voice raw with fear. "What have you done to him?!"
She rattled the bars in desperation, but the cage held firm. All she could do was watch as her brother—Pietro Maximoff, Quicksilver—struggled to draw breath, his chest rising in shallow, ragged gasps.
"Don't worry," one guard sneered, turning to leer at her. "He's too valuable to die. Not yet, anyway."
"You monsters!" she spat, eyes blazing with fury. "I'll tear you apart with my bare hands!"
The men only laughed, their amusement turning predatory as they approached her cell. One jingled a ring of keys. "You're next, witch. Might as well enjoy your last moments."
Terror coiled in her stomach, but Wanda Maximoff refused to cower. She snatched a loose stone from the floor and hurled it at the nearest guard. He dodged with a chuckle—but before he could take another step, a deafening crack split the air.
The ceiling above them exploded inward in a shower of concrete and dust.
Through the smoke and debris, a figure dropped silently into the corridor—tall, clad in sleek black tactical armor, face partially obscured by a high collar and shadow. Without a word, he moved.
The guard who had mocked Wanda barely had time to turn before a single, brutal punch crushed his skull like overripe fruit. Blood and bone misted the air, and he collapsed without a sound.
The armored figure flexed his gloved hand once, then spoke in a calm, cold voice:
"You asked to be killed. Consider it done."
The remaining guards froze, their bravado shattered. This wasn't a rescue—they'd invited a demon into their den.
Paralyzed by fear, they couldn't flee. Couldn't even scream.
The stranger ignored them. Instead, he turned to Wanda. His eyes—sharp, unreadable—met hers through the dim light. There was no lust in his gaze, only purpose.
He reached into his coat and produced a slender dagger, its blade etched with faint, glowing runes. He held it out.
"Want revenge?" he asked, voice low but steady. "Take it. And make them remember why they should've feared you from the start."
Wanda didn't hesitate. She seized the dagger, her fear hardening into resolve. With a cry that was equal parts grief and fury, she lunged.
What followed was swift. The guards, already broken by terror, offered no real resistance. Within moments, the cell floor was slick with blood, and Wanda stood panting, weapon in hand, eyes burning with grim satisfaction.
The armored man watched, silent, then stepped closer.
"Feel better?"
She nodded, breathless. "Yes. Thank you."
But her relief vanished the moment she remembered Pietro. She rushed to his cell, dropping to her knees beside him. His skin was clammy, his pulse thready. Hydra's experiments—those cursed chemicals—were poisoning him from within.
"He's dying," she whispered, voice cracking.
"Not yet," the stranger said, kneeling beside her. "Baron Strucker flooded his system with experimental serums. Without treatment, he won't last the hour."
Wanda's eyes flooded with tears. "Please… you saved me. Can you save him too?"
She looked up at the stranger—this enigmatic savior who had appeared from nowhere—and made a choice. She bowed her head.
"I'll do anything. Swear my life to you. Just… save my brother."
For the first time, the man's expression softened—not with desire, but with solemn understanding. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I don't want your life, Wanda Maximoff. I want your strength. Your will. Your loyalty. If you give me that… your brother lives. And Strucker dies."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "I swear it."
"Then stand," he said, helping her rise. "From this moment, you are no longer Hydra's prisoner. You are your own weapon. And I am your shield."
He turned toward the exit, energy already humming in th
e air around him.
"Let's go burn this place to the ground."
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