Chapter 8
Years ago, somewhere in Russia or
maybe Sokovia.
The cell was cold, like it always was. The air smelled like damp concrete and metal. There was no comfort here, no softness, no warmth—except for the quiet space Wanda and Anya had carved out for themselves in the corner of the room.
Anya sat with her back against the cold stone, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out. Wanda was curled against her, head resting on Anya's shoulder, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. They weren't supposed to be close like this. If HYDRA found out, they'd separate them, punish them. But neither of them cared. If this was all they had, they'd take it.
"Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw any sitcoms?" Wanda murmured, her voice soft and distant.
Anya glanced down at her. "Yes," she said.
Wanda huffed a small, amused breath. "I'm telling you again."
Anya didn't protest. She never did when Wanda wanted to talk about her life before. Wanda was a daydreamer, always clinging to what was, what could have been, while Anya had long since accepted reality for what it was. But she let Wanda talk anyway, because if anyone deserved a little happiness—even if it was just memories—it was her.
Wanda shifted slightly, her fingers tracing small, absent-minded patterns on Anya's arm. "We had an old TV. It barely worked, the picture always flickered. But when we watched, we didn't care. We would sit so close to the screen, me and Pietro, just so we could see it better." Her voice took on a soft, wistful tone. "Mama would hum while she cooked. The smell of bread filled the whole house. Papa would sit in his chair, pretending not to watch, but he always laughed first at the funny parts."
Anya listened, her fingers reaching up to brush Wanda's hair out of her face, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. It was an unconscious habit at this point, something she did without thinking.
"You watched it every night?" Anya asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Wanda smiled. "Every night. Until..." She trailed off, the warmth in her voice dimming.
Anya knew how that sentence ended. Until the bombs. Until everything was gone.
She didn't say anything, just kept running her fingers through Wanda's hair, slow and steady. Wanda leaned into the touch, closing her eyes for a moment.
Then, as if sensing Anya's thoughts, Wanda nudged her playfully. "Your turn."
Anya's fingers stilled. "No."
Wanda huffed. "Why not?"
"Because there's nothing to tell."
Wanda lifted her head slightly, looking up at Anya with narrowed eyes. "Liar."
Anya smirked faintly but said nothing.
Wanda let out a soft breath, resting her head against Anya's shoulder. "Okay," she murmured, not pressing the subject. Instead, she tilted her head slightly and asked, "What's your favorite color?"
Anya huffed, but answered anyway. "Red."
Wanda smiled, already expecting that answer. "Of course it is."
Anya glanced down at her. "And yours?"
Wanda paused, as if considering, then shrugged. "Red."
Anya gave her a look. "You just picked that because I said it."
Wanda smirked, not denying it. "Maybe. But I do like red." She leaned into Anya a little more, her voice quieter now. "It reminds me of you."
Anya didn't respond, but her fingers gently tucked a stray strand of Wanda's hair behind her ear, lingering there for a moment.
After a beat, Wanda spoke again, her tone lighter. "Okay, next question—if you could have any food right now, what would it be?"
Anya's lips twitched slightly. "Anything that didn't come from HYDRA's kitchen."
Wanda laughed softly. "That's cheating."
Anya shrugged. "Still true."
Wanda playfully nudged her knee against Anya's. "Fine. But if we weren't here, if we could eat anything—what would you pick?"
Anya thought for a moment before answering. "Pelmeni."
Wanda's smile softened. "I've never had it."
Anya glanced at her. "Then you're missing out."
Wanda let her eyes close for a second, picturing a world where they weren't here, where they could actually sit down and share a real meal. "One day," she murmured. "When we're free, you'll have to make it for me."
Anya didn't respond. She wanted to believe in that future, but she had stopped dreaming a long time ago. Still, for Wanda, she didn't argue. She just brushed her fingers through Wanda's hair again and let her talk.
They eventually fell into a quiet lull, the sound of distant footsteps echoing from down the hall. Anya didn't flinch, didn't move. She was used to it. Wanda, however, tensed slightly before relaxing again, her body pressing just a little closer to Anya's.
"You think we'll ever leave this place?" Wanda asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Anya hesitated. She knew the answer Wanda wanted. She also knew the truth. But she couldn't bring herself to say it.
So instead, she said, "Yes."
Wanda turned her head slightly, looking up at Anya. "Really?"
Anya gave the smallest nod.
Wanda's smile was small but certain. "Then I'll believe it."
She shifted, curling closer against Anya as if trying to hold onto the warmth between them. "When I get out of here," she continued, her voice filled with quiet determination, "We'll be free—really free. No more HYDRA, no more orders. Just... life. And you'll be there too, of course."
Anya didn't say anything, but Wanda could feel her fingers brushing gently through her hair.
"We'll go somewhere far away," Wanda murmured, eyes drifting shut as she let herself picture it. "Somewhere safe. Maybe by the sea. Pietro would love that. And we'll just... live. Eat good food, sleep in a real bed, wake up without someone barking orders at us."
Her voice softened even more. "And we'll be happy, Anya. We will."
Anya didn't tell her the truth. That even if they got out, it wouldn't be the kind of freedom Wanda dreamed of. That people like them didn't get happy endings. That the world was cruel, and HYDRA's grip reached farther than either of them could see.
But for now, she let Wanda dream in her arms.
Two Hours Later
The sound of the heavy cell door unlocking sent a jolt through both of them. Anya and Wanda tensed instantly, muscles coiling, instincts taking over. They had learned to always be ready.
The metal door groaned open, and a HYDRA guard stepped inside, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. Another figure lingered behind him.
"Maximoff," the guard barked. "You're being deployed."
Anya felt Wanda stiffen against her. The words hung in the cold air, heavier than they should have been. Deployed. It wasn't the first time they had sent Wanda out, but something about this felt off.
Wanda sat up slowly, hesitating before standing. She glanced back at Anya, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. Anya kept her expression calm, unreadable.
She hated this. She hated how they controlled their lives, how they ripped them apart at will, how they never told them the full truth about anything.
The guard stepped forward impatiently. "Move."
Wanda swallowed hard, then crouched slightly, bringing herself level with Anya. "I'll be back soon," she murmured, a small, forced smile on her lips.
Anya didn't smile back. "Stay focused."
Wanda nodded. "Always."
Still, she hesitated. And then, as if making a decision, she reached out and took Anya's hand, squeezing it just once before letting go.
Anya watched as Wanda turned and walked toward the door, her heart hammering in her chest. The guards grabbed Wanda's arms, roughly pulling her forward.
And then she was gone.
Anya sat still, her fingers curling into a fist as the door slammed shut.
Something felt wrong.
-
Anya had spent the last few hours in silence. She wasn't pacing. She wasn't restless. She was waiting.
She was always waiting.
Then, the door unlocked again.
This time, there was no warning. No words.
Two guards stepped in, their heavy boots thudding against the concrete.
Anya's eyes flicked up, sharp and wary. They weren't usually this aggressive unless something had changed.
And then she saw the look in their eyes.
Something was wrong.
"On your feet," one of them snapped.
Anya didn't move.
The second guard took a step closer. "Did you hear me?"
She didn't respond. She was processing. Calculating. Her instincts screamed at her.
"Maximoff's dead."
Anya blinked, her eyes widening, her body going cold.
No.
No, that wasn't right.
That wasn't true.
The guard's grip landed on her arm, yanking her forward. "Let's go. You're being transferred back to the Red Room."
The Red Room.
Wanda was dead.
Something inside Anya snapped.
She jerked violently, ripping her arm away from the guard's grasp. Her other fist swung before she could think, slamming into his jaw with bone-cracking force. He stumbled back, cursing.
The second guard grabbed her from behind, locking an arm around her throat. She snarled, slamming her elbow back into his ribs, twisting, kicking, fighting.
She had always cooperated before. Always followed orders, even when she hated them. But this—this was different.
They were lying. They had to be lying.
But if they weren't—
She thrashed harder, every muscle in her body burning with the need to escape.
A baton cracked against her ribs. Her vision blurred for a second, but she barely felt the pain.
Another strike hit her shoulder. She stumbled but didn't go down.
Her heartbeat was a war drum in her ears.
Not Wanda. Not Wanda.
She snarled like an animal, launching herself at the first guard, grabbing for his gun—
Something sharp plunged into her neck.
The world tilted.
Her limbs went weak.
No.
Not like this.
She gasped, trying to fight, trying to move—
The strength drained from her body so fast.
Her knees buckled.
A hand caught her, shoving her roughly to the ground as her vision darkened.
She could barely feel herself being lifted. Dragged.
Then—
Nothing.
-
She woke up in the familiar rooms of the Red Room.
Anya's body felt weightless.
Or maybe it was too heavy.
She couldn't tell.
Her mind swam through fog, trying to wake, trying to move.
But she couldn't.
Something cold pressed against her skin. Restraints. Leather straps across her wrists, her ankles, her chest.
A harsh, sterile light glared down at her.
She tried to turn her head, but even that felt impossible.
Her body wasn't hers anymore.
Distant voices murmured around her. Machines beeped.
And then—
A hissing sound.
A click.
The scent of something sharp and chemical filled the air.
Red.
A thin mist descended over her face.
Her body twitched involuntarily.
She tried to hold on to something, anything—
But her mind was slipping.
A command whispered in her head. A voice she didn't recognize.
Then—
Nothing.
Nothing at all.