The room was a sterile tomb, an antiseptic white box devoid of life. Cold, unforgiving tile walls and floor reflected the single, harsh fluorescent light, casting long, skeletal shadows that danced across the emptiness. You, clad in a coarse, baggy white shirt and pants, felt utterly insignificant, a mere speck of dust trapped within this chilling expanse.

Across the room, Marie Moreau sat hunched, her shoulders slumped in despair. Born into a world of extraordinary potential, her life had taken a tragic turn. Injected with Compound V at birth, her childhood, though seemingly ordinary, was forever altered. The manifestation of her powers, a chaotic explosion of energy, had claimed the lives of her beloved parents.

The weight of this tragedy had shaped her existence. Separated from her sister, Annabeth, she had been consigned to the Red River Institute, a place of both training and confinement. Now, years later, after striving to redeem herself, to prove her worth as a hero, she found herself trapped, a prisoner within this sterile chamber.

"We're never getting out of here..." she whispered, her voice a mere breath in the oppressive silence. Her eyes, reflecting the harsh glare of the light, held a chilling despair. "You know that, right?"

The question hung heavy in the air, a grim acknowledgment of their shared fate.