The Raid
The first sign that something was wrong was the alarm.
Y/N had lived in this hell long enough to recognize the different sounds—from the short, sharp blares signaling a test to the wails of a poor souls being experimented on. But this one was different. Loud. Urgent. A siren that sent every HYDRA agent scrambling.
An attack.
She sat up slowly, swinging her legs over the edge of the cot. Her body was stiff from inactivity, but she ignored the discomfort. Through the small, reinforced window in her cell door, she could see the flashing red emergency lights casting long shadows down the hall.
For the first time in years, she felt something close to hope.
Gunfire echoed in the distance. The shouts of guards, the crackle of comms the frantic fight. She knew hydra was losing.
Who the hell is attacking them?
Her mind ran through the possibilities. A rival organization? A rogue faction? Or…
The Avengers?
The thought sent a strange sensation through her chest. She had heard of them, of course—heard the guards talk about them, cursing their interference. But she had never believed they would come here.
More gunfire. Closer this time.
Y/N stood, her muscles tensed as she debated her next move. If the base was being overrun, she could use the chaos. But breaking out of her cell wouldn’t be easy. She had spent years testing the limits of her own strength against the reinforced steel, and HYDRA had made sure she couldn’t escape on her own.
Then, suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the building. The walls trembled, and smoke seeped in from the hallway. Her ears rang, and she coughed against the dust that filled the air.
And then she heard voices.
“Clear the hall! Move!”
“Check the cells. Make sure they’re not holding anyone else!”
Boots against concrete. The click of a gun being checked.
And then—
“Wanda, over here!”
Y/N’s breath caught as a figure appeared in front of her cell. Red hair. Green eyes. Tactical gear. A predator’s grace.
Natasha Romanoff.
An Avenger.
For a moment, Y/N just stared, her heart pounding.
Then another figure appeared beside her—dark hair, striking features, fingers glowing faintly red as she reached out toward the cell door.
Wanda Maximoff.
Something deep inside Y/N stirred.
Panic. Recognition. Instinct.
She took a step back before she could stop herself, pressing against the cold wall as her breathing quickened. The scent hit her first it as sweet, intoxicating, familiar.
Her soulmates.
She knew them.
And worse they knew her.
Wanda inhaled sharply, her fingers stilling in the air. Natasha’s eyes darkened, a flash of something sharp passing over her features.
“Oh,” Wanda murmured, eyes locked onto Y/N’s. “It’s you.”
Before Y/N could move, before she could even think, the cell door was ripped from its hinges.
And her world shifted forever.