Chapter 3: The Weight of Suffering
Waking in Agony
Alex's eyes fluttered open, but everything felt wrong.
He was on the cold, hard floor of a small, sterile chamber. The smell of disinfectant was thick in the air, making him gag with every breath.
His entire body ached, as if every cell in his body had been torn apart and then stitched back together, only to be shredded again.
He tried to move, but chains—thick, cold metal chains—bound him to the floor.
His hands and legs were shackled, pulled in opposite directions, forcing his body to lie flat, unable to shift even an inch. He could barely feel his fingers through the pain that radiated through his bones, a constant gnawing burn that never stopped. Every part of him felt as though it had been broken, reassembled, and broken again.
The room was dimly lit by a single flickering fluorescent light, and his vision swam in and out of focus.
He could hear soft sounds, shuffling. Movement near him. He wasn't alone.
His body trembled as he struggled to focus. To his left, he saw two figures—both appeared to be in pain, just like him. There was a silence between them, but an unspoken bond lingered in the air.
He tried to speak, but his throat was dry, raw from screaming, and his voice was barely a whisper.
The chains felt even tighter, their weight more suffocating than before.
The Unbearable Pain
The pain inside him was unimaginable.
It wasn't just physical.
It was mental. The vibranium coursing through his veins felt like fire, a raging inferno inside his bones. He could feel his nerves on fire, as if his very skin was being set ablaze. Every muscle was like a coiled spring, pulling taut with each pulse of pain. The elements he had learned to control earlier, the snow, now felt out of reach, as if his body was unable to handle the power inside him.
He gritted his teeth, his mind shattering under the weight of it all.
"Please... just let me die... I can't take this anymore..."
The words escaped his lips in a broken whisper, a plea for release from the torment.
His eyes blurred with tears, but no matter how hard he begged, no one would come. Hydra would leave him like this, like an abandoned animal waiting for death to come.
It wasn't fair.
The Silent Observers
The door opened with a soft click, and two Hydra scientists entered. Their footsteps were slow, deliberate—like they were aware of the suffering that was happening within the room, but had no concern for it.
They moved toward Alex first, stopping at his side. One of them held a tray with food, steaming lightly. But it wasn't food. It was a medicine soup.
It was meant to ease his pain—painkillers mixed with nutrients, all so they could continue to experiment on him.
The scientist walked over to Alex and, with practiced coldness, offered him the spoon.
"You don't need food, Subject 17," the scientist said, his tone clinical. "Your body is not in a condition to absorb nutrients. These medicines are to help with your pain, nothing more."
Alex's body trembled at the thought of the food. He didn't want it. He didn't want the medicine.
He wanted to die.
But instead, the scientist moved away, leaving him to suffer in silence.
Wanda's Choice
A few moments later, the scientist's words echoed in his mind. No food. No sustenance. Hydra didn't care.
But then something unexpected happened.
As Alex lay there, unable to move, he felt a gentle touch on his forehead.
Wanda.
She was standing there now, still shackled but free from the heavy chains that held him. Her face was pale, bruised, yet there was an undeniable strength in her eyes. She had been through this too, suffering in her own way, but her gaze softened when it met his.
The silence between them was heavy, but there was something else. Something unspoken but powerful. She didn't look at him with pity, no. She looked at him with a strange understanding, as if she knew his pain, knew it in ways that only someone who had been through the same hell could.
Then, without a word, she stepped forward.
The scientists had told her not to give him anything—no food. But she knew what they didn't. She knew that Alex was dying in this prison of metal and pain. The painkillers wouldn't be enough to keep him alive forever.
And perhaps, somewhere deep inside her, she wasn't sure why, but she felt compelled to help.
Wanda gently took the tray from the side table. She walked towards him, her movements cautious but filled with a purpose.
There was no hesitation in her hands as she lifted the spoon, prepared to feed him.
"You need this, Alex," she whispered. "Please, let me do this."
Her voice cracked slightly, and Alex could hear the raw emotion in her words. She, too, was struggling. But she had made a choice. She wasn't going to stand by while he withered away in this agony.
The Silent Connection
The spoon came to his lips, and though the taste was bitter, the warmth spread through him. Medicine, he realized, meant to numb the endless fire inside. It wasn't a relief, not really. But for the first time, in what felt like forever, it was a small comfort.
Her hand stayed steady, her eyes fixed on him. There was no pity there. No weakness. Only a silent understanding of the misery they both shared.
Alex couldn't speak. He could barely even process what was happening, but the act of her feeding him… it was human, in the most raw, stripped-down way. It was compassion.
And something inside him shifted.
He couldn't explain it, but in that moment, he felt a bond form. Something deeper than just the shared pain.
It was a connection, forged in the heart of the hell they both found themselves in.
Wanda didn't say another word, but Alex knew she had made a promise—to keep him from sinking entirely into despair.
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