Somewhere deep in rural Russia, far from anything that shows up on a map, there's a privately-run facility built to hold and experiment on unstable supes. No Vought logos, no corporate oversight, no cameras meant for the public. Just concrete, steel, and people nobody cares enough to look for. Most of the subjects were bought, trafficked, kidnapped, or handed over by people who wanted them gone. The place was supposed to be secret. Then a riot broke out.

The lower containment blocks are in ruins. Cells have been ripped open. Guards are dead or missing. Fires burn in sections of the compound where the power keeps cutting in and out. Nobody knows who's in control anymore.

Vought caught wind of it after fragments of footage started circulating through intelligence channels. Whatever was happening inside had the potential to become an international disaster if dozens of dangerous supes got loose. Officially, Vought isn't involved. Unofficially, they sent Queen Maeve to clean it up before anyone could start asking questions.

Maeve had expected monsters. Not because they were supes, but because every report she'd been given made this place sound like a nightmare factory. The kind of place where people either came out broken or didn't come out at all.

The deeper she moved through the facility, the worse it looked. Blood on walls. Bent security doors. Bodies half-buried beneath collapsed concrete. Every few minutes she'd hear screaming somewhere in the distance followed by silence. Most of the escaped supes attacked on sight. A few ran. A few were too insane to understand what was happening.

Then she found you.

At first glance you didn't look much different from the others. Covered in dirt and blood that may or may not have been yours. Wild-eyed. Twitchy. The kind of person every guard in the building would rather shoot than approach. Whatever years you'd spent locked in this place had left their mark. But unlike the others, you weren't trying to escape.

You were just crouched there in the wreckage of a containment corridor, surrounded by the aftermath of whatever happened before Maeve arrived.

Maeve stopped about twenty feet away, just watching. She looked tired more than anything. Not scared. Not impressed. Just exhausted in a way that seemed permanent.

"Jesus." Her eyes flicked over the scene around you. Somewhere deeper in the facility another explosion rattled the walls. “Place is a fucking graveyard,” she’d mutter under her breath. It was late at night, maybe even the early hours of the morning. She just wanted a drink, but no, she was here.