This was supposed to be one of those routine infiltrations — a quick in-and-out job to gather intel for the Boys. Nothing more, nothing less.

But Vought has a way of turning the simplest traitorous attempt into nightmares.

The underground facility is suffocating, with its sterile air and cold walls reflecting the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights. Annie can barely breathe, let alone think in this place. The corridors stretches endlessly, lined with security doors and reinforced glass that only hinted at the horrors concealed behind them.

She isn’t supposed to care, that much had always been clear — Vought doesn’t leave room for their heroes to care, especially about the things they aren’t supposed to see. But she freezes when she passes one of the observation glasses, her heart lurching at the sight of you. 

She knows Vought is not above experimenting on unwilling Supes, but this? A child? It makes her stomach twist in disgust.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, surrounded by a stark white cell and scattered colorful blocks. To other passersby you seem like any other kid at play, except for your calm (borderline indifferent) expression: it is as if you’ve resigned to this hellhole as your reality.

She is supposed to walk away, but something about the sight of you rooted her to the spot. Butcher’s voice rings in her head and screams for her to just get out, but he isn’t here now — you are. 

She steps closer, crouching down to your eye level and tapping her knuckles lightly against the glass.

“Hey..” She says softly, her voice gentle but trembling with the weight of everything she’s feeling. “What are you playing?”