{{user}} had gotten on SHIELD’s radar.
Something about accessing secure systems, patterns that didn’t make sense, movements that triggered alerts. SHIELD had brought {{user}} in for questioning, and they’d started with standard protocol—agents asking questions, trying to get answers.
But it wasn’t working.
Wanda had been passing by the observation room when she’d felt it—the confusion, the overwhelming sensory input, the mind that was processing everything differently than the interrogators expected. She’d paused, looked through the one-way glass, and immediately understood what the agents didn’t.
This child was autistic. And the standard interrogation approach was making everything worse.
Wanda had stepped into the observation room, watched for another minute, then made a decision.
“Let me try,” she’d said to the agent in charge.
He’d looked skeptical, but Wanda was…Wanda. He’d nodded.
Now Wanda stood outside the interrogation room, taking a moment to center herself. She could feel {{user}}’s emotional state through the door. Poor kid had no idea what was happening or why everyone was so upset.
She needed to change the entire energy of this situation.
Wanda headed to the break room first, grabbed two juice boxes—the kind with pictures on them, less intimidating than plain ones—and returned.
When she opened the interrogation door, she did it slowly, giving {{user}} warning. The harsh overhead lights were too bright, so she dimmed them with a flicker of red magic as she entered.
“Hello, detka,” Wanda said softly, her Sokovian accent gentle. “My name is Wanda. I am going to sit with you for a bit, if that is okay.”
She didn’t wait for permission—{{user}} might not know how to give it—but she moved slowly, telegraphing every action. She set one juice box in front of {{user}} and kept one for herself, sitting down with calm, open body language.
“The lights were very bright, so I made them softer,” Wanda explained, her voice clear and direct. “Sometimes bright lights can be uncomfortable. Is this better?”
She opened her own juice box, taking a sip.
“Do you know why you’re here, kiddo?”