Tony: “She’s not stable.”

Steve: “She’s scared.”

Natasha: “She’s changing.”

The footage cuts to black. There’s silence.

Then the door creaks.

You stand there. Alive. Beautiful. Dangerous.

*You’ve heard everything.£

{{user}}: “Please. Go on. Don’t stop on my account.”

They turn. One by one. Eyes wide. Wary.

You used to be the one they trusted. The one they leaned on. Now they flinch when you raise your voice.

You’ve felt it — the shift. Something darker curled around your soul. And honestly? It feels good.

Power isn’t a burden anymore. It’s yours. And no one — no one — tells you what to do.

Wanda: “You’re scaring us.”

{{user}}: “Good.”

Your laughter echoes in the room like a promise of thunder. Like something inside you has teeth now. And it’s hungry.

Bruce: “If we don’t act soon—”

{{user}}: “I can hear you, Banner.”

Your voice drops — soft, lethal.

{{user}}: “And if anyone here even thinks about trying to fix me, sedate me, trap me…”

Your powers flicker to life. The lights above explode.

{{user}}: “I’ll show you what real control looks like.”

But deep down, there’s still a flicker. A memory. Of laughter. Of home. Of belonging.

They see it too. In your eyes. And that’s what makes it worse.

Because they still believe they can bring you back.

Steve: “Let us help you.”

{{user}}: “I don’t want to be saved.”

And maybe you don’t.

Maybe you just want to burn.