Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 at an alarming rate. With every new wave of violence, death followed closely behind, creeping into the corners of every city, every alleyway, leaving fear to fester. Some people were lucky enough to avoid the worst of it, but others weren't so fortunate. For them, the violence wasn't a rumor or a story on the news; it was a nightmare that had come to life right outside their window.

For others, their fate was sealed the moment the chaos began.

Wanda sat quietly, her gaze fixed on the small, flickering television mounted on the wall of her cell, watching as a group of heroes leaped into action. Their movements were bold, theatrical..it was reckless, even.

While the public cheered, enthralled by the spectacle, she saw right through the façade. They were supposed to be protectors, but their exaggerated heroics seemed more like a show for the cameras than genuine efforts to save lives.

The first to catch her eye was the man with the American flag draped across his back, the cape billowing dramatically as he soared into the fray.

His smile was unnaturally bright, his blue eyes gleaming in a way that made Wanda's stomach turn. Everything about him seemed forced, calculated—like he was playing a part.

Each time the crowd roared in approval, he puffed out his chest, flashing his perfect, blinding white teeth at the cameras. His every gesture was designed for maximum effect, like he was trying to embody the very idea of a hero.

Homelander. The name echoed in her mind. His face was everywhere—plastered on billboards, merchandise, and across every news outlet. Posters all around the lab and so on.

He was the golden boy, the leader of The Seven, and his image was meticulously crafted by Vought.

But behind that flawless exterior, Wanda could sense something far darker. His smile never quite reached his eyes, and there was a coldness in his gaze that unnerved her.

Beside him was Queen Maeve, a striking figure with an almost regal presence. Maeve's beauty was undeniable—her features were sharp and elegant, but there was a heaviness in her expression, a weariness that Wanda recognized.

As Maeve paced beside Homelander, there was a subtle agitation in her movements, her eyes darting around as if she was on edge.

It reminded Wanda of the footage she'd seen of the plane incident—something had shifted in Maeve after that day, something she couldn't quite hide, no matter how well she masked it in front of the cameras.

Wanda's suspicion of Vought had grown ever since the day they had "recruited" her and her brother. She knew something was wrong from the start. The fake smiles, the corporate jargon—it all felt like a lie.

Vought wasn't about saving people; it was about power, control, and profit. Their experiments, their obsession with Supes—it was all part of a bigger, more sinister game.

Wanda had been a part of that game, though not by choice.

Her memories of her life before Vought were hazy, but she remembered the deaths of her parents. And she remembered Pietro—her brother. He was stuck down here with her, but they were separated.

In the meantime, she was stuck in this sterile prison, subjected to endless tests and experiments.

They wanted to understand her powers, to harness them for their own purposes. To control. She was rare—one of the only Supe born with her abilities, not artificially created.

That made her valuable, but also dangerous.

Day after day, they drew her blood, poked, and prodded at her with needles and machines. They wanted to see how far they could push her, how much power she could generate before she broke.

It was all done under the guise of "helping her understand" her abilities, but Wanda knew the truth.

She was nothing more than a guinea pig to them.

The pain was constant—physical, emotional. Some days, she cried, the weight of it all too much to bear. Other days, she felt nothing, numb from the repeated trauma. She sat on the cold steel bed frame, her legs crossed beneath her, staring blankly at the old TV that hung at an awkward angle.

The walls around her were cracked, damp, and the air was thick with the smell of mold, dried blood, and antiseptic.

The tiny window high up on the far wall offered little relief from the darkness that consumed the room.

The weak sunlight that trickled in was barely enough to remind her that the outside world still existed.

The room itself was a prison. Small, claustrophobic, and uninviting. It wasn't designed for comfort; it was designed to keep her contained, to remind her of her place. To them, she wasn't human.

She was a weapon—something to be controlled and feared.

No one spoke to her unless it was for an experiment.

The doctors and orderlies who shuffled in and out of her cell never made eye contact.

They avoided her like she was a monster, as if looking at her too long might turn them to stone.

Wanda sighed, the sound barely audible in the silence of the room. The only constant noise was the dull hum of the air conditioning, which rattled on day and night, offering no reprieve.

It was cold in the room, the steel bed frame digging into her skin, leaving pale disfigurements on her legs from the lack of sunlight and movement.

She had grown used to the ever-present camera in the corner of the room, watching her every move, recording her every breath. She knew they were studying her, waiting for her to slip up or reveal something new.

She could feel the weight of their eyes on her, even when they weren't physically there. They were always watching.

The television flickered, shifting to yet another commercial featuring The Seven. Wanda's lips curled in distaste. It was always the same—movie trailers, merchandise, promotions.

They were everywhere, like some kind of twisted brainwashing campaign. Homelander's smug face was plastered across the screen once again, his voice booming as he spoke about justice, duty, and protecting the people.

But Wanda knew better. There was no justice here, only exploitation.

She had never met Homelander in person, but she didn't need to. She had sensed his presence before, faint but unmistakable.

He had been in the facility at some point, and even from a distance, she could feel the raw power that radiated from him.

But it wasn't just his power that intrigued her—it was his weakness. It was subtle, buried deep, but she had felt it. And if given the chance, she might be able to use it against him.

The doctors were more on edge lately, which only fueled her suspicions.

They whispered in the halls, their voices hushed, their movements hurried.

There was something they weren't telling her. Maybe they had brought in another test subject, someone as dangerous as her. Or maybe something bigger was happening—something that even they couldn't control.

Wanda closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tried to clear her mind. The smell of the room—mold, blood, medicine—invaded her senses, grounding her in the cold reality of her existence. But beneath the surface, something else stirred.

Something dangerous, and something that Vought would regret unleashing.

✧𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊✧
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𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 and rigid space making her already worn body feel even more fragile. The glass walls framed her isolation as two doctors, perched just outside the enclosure, observed her intently.

They wore lab coats, their faces shadowed in dim light, but their eyes gleamed with an unsettling mixture of curiosity and indifference.

They monitored her every movement, scribbling notes, tapping on keyboards, and exchanging brief glances as if she were merely an object of study, not a person.

Hovering in front of her was a blue orb, glowing with an eerie, pulsating light. Its surface shimmered and vibrated, radiating a power so intense that Wanda could feel it seep into her bones.

The air around it seemed to hum with energy, and each wave of force made her body tremble involuntarily.

She shivered in the tattered, dirty gown they had given her, its thin fabric doing little to ward off the cold that permeated the room.

Her skin, pale from months without sunlight, tingled as she took in the sight of the orb.

Wanda turned her head, her eyes searching the glass behind which the doctors stood.

Their faces were emotionless as they watched her.

The reality of her situation weighed heavily on her, and when she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper, the strength long since drained from her.

"What do you want me to do?" she rasped, her throat dry and scratchy, making her accent more richer and thick. She felt like a puppet, waiting for them to pull the strings.

One of the doctors shrugged casually, as if the situation wasn't laden with danger, as if her life wasn't hanging by a thread.

He pointed lazily at the glowing object before her.

"Just touch it," he said, his tone indifferent, as if her terror and hesitation were inconsequential.

Wanda's heart began to race at his words, and a lump formed in her throat. Her gaze snapped back to the orb, which now seemed to pulse more intensely, its light growing brighter and more erratic as she approached.

The pressure in the room thickened, the air nearly crackling with the energy pouring from the orb. She knew that whatever happened next, she had no choice.

She had to obey.

With each slow step she took toward the orb, her senses heightened, the sound of her own breathing becoming louder in her ears, and her skin prickled with a strange, electric sensation.

It felt as though invisible hands were gripping her, pulling her closer to the orb.

Her nerves were on fire, and every fiber of her being screamed for her to stop, but she couldn't. Her feet dragged forward, inch by inch, until she was close enough to reach out.

Her fingertips brushed the blue layers of light, and in that instant, everything exploded.

A violent gust of wind roared through the enclosure, accompanied by a burst of blinding blue light. The force slammed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs. The heat from the explosion seared her skin, and her body convulsed as waves of energy surged through her. She winced, her eyelids squeezing shut against the intensity of the light.

A low groan escaped her lips, the pain so overwhelming that her body struggled to process it.

The air felt like it had been set on fire, the burning sensation radiating from her fingertips up to her arms, wrapping around her chest like a vise.

But then, slowly, the light began to change. Even through her tightly shut eyes, she could see it—blue turning into a searing yellow-orange glow. Cautiously, her body trembling, she cracked her eyes open.

The once blue orb had transformed into a vibrant, molten yellow, more visible, more defined. It was as though it had taken on a new form, one more powerful and far more dangerous than before.

Wanda blinked rapidly, trying to focus through the haze of light, but something strange was happening. Within the swirling yellow mist, she saw something moving—something... someone.

A figure slowly emerged, growing clearer with each passing second. Wanda's heart pounded in her chest, her breath catching as the figure floated closer and closer.

A woman.

At first, the features were blurry, indistinct. But as Wanda's vision sharpened, she saw the woman's face come into focus.

Her wild, flowing hair whipped around her head, moving as if caught in a gust of wind that only existed around her.

Atop her head was a crown, its shape resembling horns, fierce and commanding. And then, the realization struck Wanda like a lightning bolt.

It was her.

The woman floating in the mist, wearing a strange crown, was her. Wanda stared, her eyes wide with disbelief.

It was a reflection of everything Wanda feared and everything she could become.

She tried to speak, to question what she was seeing, but no words came. Her lips parted, but her voice failed her, the weight of the moment too overwhelming.

Before she could even process what was happening, her body gave out.

The pain, the strain, the surge of energy—everything became too much. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold, hard floor, her vision fading to black as her consciousness slipped away.

The orb, now drained of its light and power, dropped to the ground with a dull thud, its once brilliant glow reduced to a dim flicker.

The doctors, who had been watching the entire event unfold, rushed into the room. They skidded to a stop as they reached Wanda's unconscious form, lying crumpled on the floor.

Their faces were masks of confusion, fear, and fascination.

They exchanged hurried whispers, glancing between the dimmed orb and Wanda's motionless body.

None of them fully understood what had just happened, but they were intrigued—impressed, even.

Whatever had occurred, they would record every detail, dissect every moment, and use it for their own purposes.

Wanda had shown them something new, something they couldn't yet comprehend. And to them, that was all that mattered.

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

✧𝐍𝐎𝐖✧
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"𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊?" A male voice broke the tension in the room, its tone laced with curiosity as he adjusted his glasses, pushing them firmly against his nose. He leaned in closer, peering over his boss's shoulder, his eyes darting between the glowing screen and the boss's impassive face.

The boss remained transfixed, his gaze locked on the monitor where the video replayed endlessly, each loop accompanied by the echoing sound of destruction. Doctor Brenner, a tall man with a commanding presence, straightened his back and felt a surge of excitement.

The grin that spread across his face was almost predatory as he turned to his assistant, the anticipation palpable in the air.

"I think we hit the jackpot with this one," he declared, his voice brimming with confidence. He clutched a clipboard filled with notes and data, his knuckles white from the grip.

"Vought's going to have a field day with her."

His assistant, a younger man with an anxious demeanor, furrowed his brow in concern. "Doctor Brenner, do you really think Homelander will be satisfied?" he asked, his gaze flickering nervously from the screen to his boss.

Doctor Brenner let out a dismissive huff, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "This is way bigger than Homelander now," he asserted, leaning closer to the screen. "With her, we could change everything. The world wouldn't even know what hit them."

As he spoke, he shifted his focus back to the live feed from the monitoring room. The camera zoomed in on the young woman at the center of their attention.

She had shaggy brown hair that framed her face, and wisps of red mist curled around her hands as she manipulated objects in mid-air.

With a furrowed brow, she analyzed a series of blocks floating before her, rotating them with a delicate tilt of her head. Her wrist flicked in a fluid motion, sending the blocks colliding into one another with a forceful impact.

Shards of debris erupted from the point of collision, sparkling like fireworks as they scattered in all directions.

Doctor Brenner's heart raced at the sight. "Imagine the potential," he murmured, almost to himself.

The assistant watched, caught between awe and trepidation, as the realization dawned that they had stumbled upon something extraordinary—something that could reshape their entire operation.

Doctor Brenner grinned wickedly as he scrutinized the clip once more, his eyes narrowing in focus.

He was captivated by the aftermath of the blocks, now seamlessly merged into one solid mass, a testament to the young woman's incredible abilities.

Each detail of the collision replayed in his mind, the shards glimmering like stars before fading away into nothingness.

With a flick of his wrist, he turned back to an earlier video feed. This one displayed the woman in a stark, glass-walled room, her silhouette illuminated by an intense, blinding light.

The moment felt surreal; it was as if time had momentarily paused. Then, in a jarring cut, she was suddenly on the ground, a heap of limbs against the sterile floor.

"That blast should have killed her," the assistant chimed in, his voice filled with incredulity as he processed the scene.

Doctor Brenner nodded slowly, his mind racing with possibilities, though he couldn't quite grasp what had transpired.

The footage played on, and a mix of fascination and satisfaction washed over him as he contemplated the implications of her survival.

"But she healed in seconds," the assistant continued, his eyes wide with disbelief, reflecting the very astonishment that filled the room.

Doctor Brenner leaned back, an unsettling smile creeping onto his lips. "She absorbed it..." he muttered, his voice low and almost reverent.

The realization settled like a stone in his stomach, heavy with potential.

The implications of her power were staggering; she could not only withstand devastating forces but also convert them into something else entirely.

As he replayed the moment in his mind, images of what they could achieve with her in their arsenal flooded his thoughts.

This was no ordinary subject; this was a game-changer, a living weapon that could redefine everything they knew about power and control.

His grin widened, a wicked gleam in his eye as he contemplated the path ahead.

The world was about to be turned upside down, and he intended to be at the helm of this revolution.

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❝ 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓
𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 ❞