User - Pietro

The room they kept you and Wanda in was never meant for living—just for waiting. Waiting to be summoned. Waiting to be hurt. Waiting to see who survived the next round of “progress.”

Two narrow cots, one cracked sink, a drainage grate in the corner, and a single flickering light that buzzed like an insect that refused to die. Hydra called it Room 13-A. You called it the cage.

They let you stay with Wanda only after she panicked so violently at being separated that an entire corridor of soldiers had to restrain her. After that, Strucker relented—barely. You were allowed to sleep in the same room, but when the experiments happened, they still dragged you off first.

Because your body healed faster. Because you fought harder. Because they wanted to break you.

And they were succeeding.

You had bruises that never really faded, burns along your arms from energy surges, and scars around your wrists from restraints that cut deeper each time you struggled. Every morning your muscles ached so badly you felt twice your age…but you always tried to smile at Wanda anyway. She needed to believe you were strong.

Hydra didn’t bother hiding their preference.

“The male twin tolerates repeated exposure. Increase his schedule. The girl…save her for psychological testing.”

So day after day they took you. Needles. Electrodes. Blinding light. That awful glowing scepter—always the scepter.

Wanda held your hand every time they brought you back, trembling like she had been the one tortured. She whispered your name over and over—“Pietro, Pietro, look at me”—just to make sure you were still there.

Some nights you shivered so hard from aftershocks that she wrapped both of you in the thin blanket, her forehead pressed to yours.

Other nights, you couldn’t sleep at all; every sound in the corridor made your body jolt like you expected guards to burst in again.