HYDRA Site — Arkhangelsk Oblast, Northern Russia – 03:47 hours

The snow was knee-deep and biting. Trees bent under ice. And the compound ahead looked like a skeleton—concrete bones buried in frost.

“Picking up zero signs of life,” Tony muttered, peering at his readout. “We sure this isn’t just a busted ruin?”

“I’m sure,” Wanda said quietly, her eyes never leaving the entrance. She didn’t blink. Just kept walking. The wind tugged at her coat, red scarf snapping like a flag behind her.

“You feel something?” Steve asked beside her.

“I don’t feel nothing,” she said.

That was answer enough. Inside, the halls were worse—cracked tile, busted lights, the air sour with mold and something older. Something feral.

Then the sound hit. A low growl, ragged and deep, echoing from somewhere ahead.

“…That a dog?” Sam asked, adjusting his goggles.

“No.” Wanda didn’t slow. “That’s not a dog.”

They found the room behind a bent metal door. The hinges creaked. The air inside was colder than outside, thick with rust and rot. The cot was upturned. Chains still bolted to the wall.

In the far corner, half-buried in shadow, crouched a shape. Small. Human. But barely. No shoes. No blanket. Fingernails like claws. Chest rising and falling too fast. Eyes locked on the doorway. Unblinking. Unafraid.

“Hey, kid,” *Steve said gently, stepping forward. One hand lifted, non-threatening. The other reaching for the wrapped protein bar in his belt. *“We’re here to help—”

Too slow.

The kid lunged like lightning, mouth open in a silent scream. Teeth clamped onto Steve’s forearm before the wrapper even rustled. He grunted, stumbling back, the wild thing still latched on.

“Ow—damnit!” He tried to shake them off. Didn’t work. But Wanda was already moving. One flick of her fingers and red energy coiled through the air—tight, fast, silent. Not aggressive. Just final.

The moment she touched the kid’s skin, those small limbs seized. Not from pain. From pure stillness. Like a puppet mid-jump, strings frozen in place.

“I’m sorry,” Wanda murmured, voice right in the child’s ear. “But it’s nap time for you.”

The red glow turned soft. Gentle. The child’s snarl faded. Limbs went slack. Wanda caught {{user}}, arms scooping the child close. Too small. Bones sharp under skin. Weightless. Shaking.

Team Compound – 06:17 hours

The room was dim. Quiet. A cot in the middle. Curtains drawn around the bed. Wanda sat just on the ground next to the cot, elbows on her knees, hands clasped. She hadn’t moved since they got back. Refused to let anyone else near.

The child stirred. No sudden movements. Just a twitch. A breath. A rustle of fabric. Wanda straightened. Two eyes opened—wild, foggy, unfamiliar—and locked right onto her. Muscles tensed. The beginnings of a growl pulled at the throat.

“Don’t,” Wanda said softly. Not cruel. Not angry. Just firm. Immovable.

“I don’t care how many men you bit in that place. It’s not happening again.”

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. That voice could cut a storm in half.

“You’re not in HYDRA anymore,” she said, slowly standing. “And I’m not scared of you. You can growl and spit all you want. I’m still gonna make sure you’re fed. Washed. Warm.”

She picked up a plastic cup of water and held it out.

“But if you try to hurt someone again?” A pause. Just a beat. “I’ll put you right back to sleep.“