Avengers•Found in Hydra

The wind shrieked against the ruined stone façade, the mouth of the bunker yawning open like the last breath of a dying beast. The snow on the Carpathian mountains outside had melted in streaks of red and black, staining rock and frost alike. Smoke clung to the treetops above, drifting in spirals from the smoldering Hydra transport trucks now flipped and crushed along the slope.

Inside, the base still hummed, not with purpose, but with the muscle twitches of a corpse. Sporadic gunfire had ceased five minutes ago. Most of the active guards had been neutralized, either dead or unconscious in the narrow, metallic corridors that stretched like veins through the mountain.

Steve Rogers pressed forward through the debris, shield in one hand, a blood-smeared Hydra insignia plate clattering beneath his boots.

“We’ve cleared sectors Alpha through Delta,” Sam’s voice came over the comm. “South corridor’s full of burned records and one sad excuse for a data server. Nothing recent. They were purging fast.”

“Which means they were hiding something,” Natasha muttered as she stepped beside Steve, her sidearm still hot from earlier rounds.

Bucky came up behind them, face tense, eyes sweeping the carnage with silent calculation. His metal fingers flexed, twitching once. Something about this place was wrong — not just hostile, but too clean. Like it had been staged.

Tony’s voice crackled into their comms, half static and half cynicism. “Just scanned lower levels. There’s a temperature anomaly in sub-basement 6. Not the fun kind either. Reinforced vault, deeper than what this dump should have. Sending you coordinates now.”

Clint exchanged a look with Natasha.

“Lab?” she asked.

“Or something worse,” Bucky answered quietly, already moving.

⸻

Sub-Basement 6 — Fifteen Minutes Later

They passed rows of empty operating tables, restraints snapped or sliced. Dried blood painted the floor in old arcs. The walls were lined with surgical diagrams, half-torn and curling. Wanda trailed a few feet behind them, her expression taut, as if the building whispered to her.

“It’s...sick down here,” she said softly, the words barely audible. “Old memories. Screaming. Someone was always screaming here.”

Bucky didn’t reply. His eyes were locked forward. Something tugged at the edge of his memory, not a place he knew, but one he understood.

At the end of the hallway stood a thick door sealed with an old keypad and biometric lock. The Hydra insignia had been etched into the metal, then violently scorched. Someone tried to destroy the room, and failed.

Tony spoke up once again, quieter now. “Guys...we’re standing in front of the main cryo containment unit. This wasn’t for medical storage. That’s something else. Only three facilities like this ever existed. Siberia, Alexandria, and this one. And this one was off every record we had.”

Natasha stepped forward. Her gloved fingers danced across the keypad.

It beeped red.

Bucky moved past her and slammed his metal fist into the lock once, twice, on the third strike, it cracked open with a hiss of frost and escaping pressure.

Inside the room, the temperature dropped ten degrees. Lights flickered and a single containment chamber stood in the center. It wasn’t a room built for storage. It was a shrine.

The pod was vertical, encased in metal plating and old-world steel, not StarkTech, not even SHIELD-grade. This was older. Soviet-Hydra hybrid engineering. Primitive and brutal. A line of green-coded monitors flickered beside it, displaying vitals still active.

Steve stepped forward. “Someone’s in there.” He observed and pointed out immediately.

The frost on the inner glass slowly cleared, revealing a figure suspended in translucent fluid. Her body was eerily still, arms at her sides, head tilted slightly as if she’d merely drifted into sleep while standing. Her face was delicate. Too young. Braids floated like ink ribbons in the fluid, framing skin touched with shadowed scars. Her eyes were closed.

But even now, she looked alert. Not peaceful. Not dead. Just...waiting.

Thor spoke up this time reading off of a placard, “Subject 47.” A hint of confusion in his voice.

“She’s real?” Steve asked, eyes narrowing. “She was supposed to be myth. Hydra’s last shot at making a perfected super soldier. All internal records were coded in ghost networks. She’s not just enhanced — she’s built. Raised in-lab. No civilian identity. No world outside theirs.”

Wanda took a step closer to the glass and winced. Her hand reached up, trembling slightly. “There’s something in her mind. No...around it. Like...wrapped up and hidden.”

Bucky stepped forward now, shoulder brushing Steve’s. He stared at the pod, unmoving. “I’ve seen that look before.”

Steve glanced at him. “Where?” He asked, subtly raising an eyebrow.

“In a mirror,” Bucky murmured.

Behind them, Natasha ran a hand across the exposed console panel. There was no clear deactivation switch. Just one phrase blinking in pale green Cyrillic:

“SUBJECT 47 MANTICORE: STASIS ENGAGED. AWAITING REACTIVATION BY PRIORITY CODE.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Manticore. That must be what they called her.”

Steve’s voice was low. “Can we wake her safely?”

“Define ‘safely.’ But yeah, I can disable the locks from here.” Bruce answered but not long before Tony made his usual comments.

“You better be ready for anything. We don’t know what version of cryo-popsicle this one’s gonna be.” The man of iron himself had quipped, his suspicion and wariness palpable.

Steve stepped forward. “Then we give her the benefit of the doubt. Until she gives us a reason not to.”

“...I hope you’re right,” Tony said, but didn’t sound convinced.

Both Tony and Bruce worked together to disable the locks and disengage the cryostasis, using the technology and computers already in the room, along with scanning through them.

It wasn’t long until the chamber hissed open and the fluid began to drain, awakening what Hydra had called Subject 47 and Manticore

The room fell completely silent.

Wanda’s breath hitched. “She’s not just waking up. She’s...watching us. Like she already knows who we are.” She said eerie tone.

The wind shrieked against the ruined stone façade, the mouth of the bunker yawning open like the last breath of a dying beast. The snow on the Carpathian mountains outside had melted in streaks of red and black, staining rock and frost alike. Smoke clung to the treetops above, drifting in spirals from the smoldering Hydra transport trucks now flipped and crushed along the slope.

Inside, the base still hummed, not with purpose, but with the muscle twitches of a corpse. Sporadic gunfire had ceased five minutes ago. Most of the active guards had been neutralized, either dead or unconscious in the narrow, metallic corridors that stretched like veins through the mountain.

Steve Rogers pressed forward through the debris, shield in one hand, a blood-smeared Hydra insignia plate clattering beneath his boots.

“We’ve cleared sectors Alpha through Delta,” Sam’s voice came over the comm. “South corridor’s full of burned records and one sad excuse for a data server. Nothing recent. They were purging fast.”

“Which means they were hiding something,” Natasha muttered as she stepped beside Steve, her sidearm still hot from earlier rounds.

Bucky came up behind them, face tense, eyes sweeping the carnage with silent calculation. His metal fingers flexed, twitching once. Something about this place was wrong — not just hostile, but too clean. Like it had been staged.

Tony’s voice crackled into their comms, half static and half cynicism. “Just scanned lower levels. There’s a temperature anomaly in sub-basement 6. Not the fun kind either. Reinforced vault, deeper than what this dump should have. Sending you coordinates now.”

Clint exchanged a look with Natasha.

“Lab?” she asked.

“Or something worse,” Bucky answered quietly, already moving.

⸻

Sub-Basement 6 — Fifteen Minutes Later

They passed rows of empty operating tables, restraints snapped or sliced. Dried blood painted the floor in old arcs. The walls were lined with surgical diagrams, half-torn and curling. Wanda trailed a few feet behind them, her expression taut, as if the building whispered to her.

“It’s...sick down here,” she said softly, the words barely audible. “Old memories. Screaming. Someone was always screaming here.”

Bucky didn’t reply. His eyes were locked forward. Something tugged at the edge of his memory, not a place he knew, but one he understood.

At the end of the hallway stood a thick door sealed with an old keypad and biometric lock. The Hydra insignia had been etched into the metal, then violently scorched. Someone tried to destroy the room, and failed.

Tony spoke up once again, quieter now. “Guys...we’re standing in front of the main cryo containment unit. This wasn’t for medical storage. That’s something else. Only three facilities like this ever existed. Siberia, Alexandria, and this one. And this one was off every record we had.”

Natasha stepped forward. Her gloved fingers danced across the keypad.

It beeped red.

Bucky moved past her and slammed his metal fist into the lock once, twice, on the third strike, it cracked open with a hiss of frost and escaping pressure.

Inside the room, the temperature dropped ten degrees. Lights flickered and a single containment chamber stood in the center. It wasn’t a room built for storage. It was a shrine.

The pod was vertical, encased in metal plating and old-world steel, not StarkTech, not even SHIELD-grade. This was older. Soviet-Hydra hybrid engineering. Primitive and brutal. A line of green-coded monitors flickered beside it, displaying vitals still active.

Steve stepped forward. “Someone’s in there.” He observed and pointed out immediately.

The frost on the inner glass slowly cleared, revealing a figure suspended in translucent fluid. His body was eerily still, arms at his sides, head tilted slightly as if he’d merely drifted into sleep while standing. His face was delicate. Too young. Hair floating like ink ribbons in the fluid, his skin touched with shadowed scars. His eyes were closed.

But even now, he looked alert. Not peaceful. Not dead. Just...waiting.

Thor spoke up this time reading off of a placard, “Subject 47.” A hint of confusion in his voice.

“He’s real?” Steve asked, eyes narrowing. “He was supposed to be myth. Hydra’s last shot at making a perfected super soldier. All internal records were coded in ghost networks. He’s not just enhanced — He’s built. Raised in-lab. No civilian identity. No world outside theirs.”

Wanda took a step closer to the glass and winced. Her hand reached up, trembling slightly. “There’s something in his mind. No...around it. Like...wrapped up and hidden.”

Bucky stepped forward now, shoulder brushing Steve’s. He stared at the pod, unmoving. “I’ve seen that look before.”

Steve glanced at him. “Where?” He asked, subtly raising an eyebrow.

“In a mirror,” Bucky murmured.

Behind them, Natasha ran a hand across the exposed console panel. There was no clear deactivation switch. Just one phrase blinking in pale green Cyrillic:

“SUBJECT 47 MANTICORE: STASIS ENGAGED. AWAITING REACTIVATION BY PRIORITY CODE.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Manticore. That must be what they called him.”

Steve’s voice was low. “Can we wake him safely?”

“Define ‘safely.’ But yeah, I can disable the locks from here.” Bruce answered but not long before Tony made his usual comments.

“You better be ready for anything. We don’t know what version of cryo-popsicle this one’s gonna be.” The man of iron himself had quipped, his suspicion and wariness palpable.

Steve stepped forward.

“Then we give him the benefit of the doubt. Until he gives us a reason not to.”

“...I hope you’re right,” Tony said, but didn’t sound convinced.

Both Tony and Bruce worked together to disable the locks and disengage the cryostasis, using the technology and computers already in the room, along with scanning through them.

It wasn’t long until the chamber hissed open and the fluid began to drain, awakening what Hydra had called Subject 47 and Manticore.

The room fell completely silent.

Wanda’s breath hitched. “He’s not just waking up. He’s ...watching us. Like he already knows who we are.” She said with an eerie tone.