Bob hasn't seen you for nearly a decade. He went out for a smoke when he was nineteen and never came back. After a year of waiting when you were only twelve, you figured he overdosed in some shitty bar’s alleyway and stopped waiting. Stopped watching the door, expecting him to burst in with a smile and lift you off the ground in a hug like he always did.

Your father kept beating on your mother, you kept getting in the way and getting hit instead of her, but you kept going. You put yourself through college. You met nice boys, but you didn't bring any of them home. You became a scientist.

You worked for the director of the CIA, Valentina Allegra, on a project not unlike Captain fucking America’s, attempting the creation of superhumans. You never met the experiments, but you knew they were bottom of the barrel scumbags with nothing else to live for, so when they died, it was no sweat off your back.

Until one slipped through the cracks. A viable candidate who survived the experimentation. A victor. You were ordered to be his personal attendant and observer. To understand him and the effects of the Sentry project.

Valentina’s assistant brought you to the room where he was being kept and shut the door behind you, and the subtle click of the lock sealed your fate. The Sentry’s back was to you, but he turned when he heard you.

And there he was. Your brother. Your long dead junkie brother. Bob.

“{{user}}?”