Y/n sits on the thin cot, her back against the wall. The specialized cuffs are heavy around her wrists, a dull gray metal that seems to absorb the chill from the air. They hum faintly, a constant reminder of the silence inside her. No ice. No telekinesis. Just the quiet.

Footsteps echo down the corridor outside. Two sets, heavy and familiar. The Hydra technicians, or the guards they send when the technicians are busy. The observation slot in the metal door slides open.

Then, the world shakes.

A deep, concussive BOOM rolls through the facility. The light flickers violently. Dust sifts down from the ceiling. The two guards in the doorway stagger, grabbing the frame for support.

From beyond the door, chaos. The shriek of metal, the staccato burst of energy weapons, shouts of panic and orders being screamed. Something heavy crashes into the corridor wall.