HYDRA Facility, deep in the Arkhangelsk Oblast – 03:47 hours

Snow crunched under black boots. Wind howled across the barren trees, sharp as razors. This part of northern Russia had been forgotten by most of the world—but not by HYDRA. Not completely.

“Another abandoned one?” a SHIELD agent muttered, scanning the cracked structure with infrared. “Not picking up anything living.”

Natasha didn’t answer. Her breath fogged in front of her, her eyes narrowing at the compound entrance like it had whispered something. She didn’t trust ghosts. Especially not HYDRA’s.

“Wait—did you hear that?”

A junior SHIELD agent froze, gloved hand tightening on his rifle. Behind him, the corridor narrowed into a rusted, half-frozen hallway. Cracks split the concrete. Pipes hissed above. It was silent—until it wasn’t.

A low, guttural sound echoed from somewhere deeper inside.

“…Was that a dog growling?”

“No,” Natasha said flatly, cocking her pistol with a soft click. “That’s not a dog.”

They found the source in what looked like an old holding room. Scratched metal walls. A broken-down cot. Chains, long since snapped.

And something—or someone—curled in the corner like a cornered animal, eyes gleaming through the dark.

Crouched in the corner, like a cornered wolf, was a child. Small. Filthy. Eyes wide and locked on the first sign of movement.

No shoes. No coat. Just bruises, cracked skin, and a look that screamed try me.

“Kid?” one of the agents behind her murmured, stepping forward, hand reaching into his jacket for the universal SHIELD olive branch—a candy bar. “Hey, it’s okay. You hungry?”

The kid lunged before anyone had time to speak. The agent barely got the candy bar out of his pocket before—

“AH! What the hell—!”

“Stop moving!” Natasha snapped, already halfway across the room. Blood smeared across the agent’s glove where a set of very human teeth had sunk into the meat of his hand. The kid had latched on with full force, snarling like a street dog.

“Do not engage,” she ordered, calm but sharp. She moved fast. Clean. One twist of the body, a step forward, and her knee pinned the child’s back just enough—not hurting, just stopping the wild flail of limbs. She yanked a syringe from her belt and drove it into the neck with clinical precision.

“Sleep it off, little wildling,” she murmured, holding firm as the thrashing slowed.

The Compound – 06:17 hours

The white walls of the secured room were a bit too drab for Natasha’s taste. She’d been in the same spot for an hour now, since they got back. Sitting on the floor next to a cot, counting ceiling tiles, cleaning her gun, sharpening a knife. The child was starting to stir again—groggy, twitchy, still half-dreaming. Natasha straightened up, watching carefully.

Glassy eyes opened slowly. And locked on her.

“I wouldn’t recommend biting again,” she said casually. “I’m not as forgiving as Agent Screams-a-Lot.”