The surgical theater's fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I methodically strapped Dietrich Voss to the table. Cold steel restraints clamped around his wrists and ankles with satisfying clicks. His breathing came in ragged gasps - the bastard was already terrified before I'd even begun.
Good.
"Let's start with what you know about HYDRA's current operations in Europe," I said calmly, selecting a bone saw from the instrument tray. The blade's teeth gleamed under the harsh lighting. "We'll move on to your mutant gene extraction experiments afterward."
That first cut was clinical. Precise. Just deep enough to make him scream without compromising my interrogation. But then something... shifted.
The way his blood dripped onto the stainless-steel table. The way his muscles twitched under my tools. The raw terror in his eyes when he realized I wasn't just another interrogator - I was the ghost from his past come to collect.
Let him feel it.
That thought slithered into my mind like smoke, curling around my better judgment. The next cut wasn't just for information. It was for the way his voice cracked when he begged. The incision after that? For every mutant who'd screamed on his table.
By the third day, I'd stopped pretending this was just an interrogation.
My hands moved with practiced cruelty; each procedure designed to maximize agony while keeping him conscious. I tested nerve clusters, explored pain thresholds, mapped the exact moments when the human body tries to shut down from trauma. All while maintaining perfect vitals.
Magina's voice occasionally filtered through the haze. "Father, your cortisol levels are-"
"I'm aware," I'd growl, never taking my eyes off my work. When exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me, I'd simply stand by the door, watching his chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. Counting the seconds until I could continue.
A week. That's how long Magina said I spent in that room. No sleep. No food. Just the rhythmic sounds of surgical steel and suffering. Now, slumped in the control room chair, the adrenaline crash left me hollow. My fingers still smelled of antiseptic and copper despite scrubbing them raw.
"Hah~" I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "We really need to experiment with my power, Magina."
Her holographic form shimmered into existence beside me. "That would be prudent. Your pheromones appear directly tied to emotional states - and emotions remain one of the most complex human variables to quantify."
I rubbed my temples. The old Sai's rage had been... intoxicating. Like pouring gasoline on smoldering embers, with each pain I inflicted on Voss the satisfactions spiral and then turned wild. I'd wanted to help lay his ghosts to rest, but instead I'd let them possess me.
"The debt's paid now," I muttered. "Dietrich Voss is dead. This body, this life - it's mine now." The words tasted like absolution.
Magina hesitated before speaking again. "I'm suggesting professional therapy, Father." When I didn't immediately protest, she continued. "Given your power's emotional volatility and recent... episode, mental healthcare appears statistically imperative."
I barked out a laugh. "Yeah, this need to be cured…or dealt with." Running a hand through my greasy hair, I sighed. "Find me a reputable psychiatrist. Someone clean - no telepaths, no hidden agendas."
"Of course!" Her avatar brightened noticeably. "I'll compile dossiers by morning."
The first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one. And after a week-long torture bender? I had several. My fingers tapped an uneven rhythm on the armrest. The surgical theater's cameras still showed Dietrich's... remains. What was left of him, anyway. A fitting end, but the road there...
"Magina? Scrub the footage. All of it." I stood abruptly, suddenly needing to be anywhere else. "Then burn this facility to the ground."
As I walked toward the exit, my reflection in the glass showed dark circles under bloodshot eyes. The Wraith's mask had slipped, revealing something far more dangerous beneath. But tomorrow? Tomorrow I'd start putting it back together. Properly this time.
The Ancient One's unexpected visit had been more than just a check-in—it was a warning. A polite warning, a reminder, wrapped in cryptic wisdom and that infuriating half-smile of hers, but a warning nonetheless.
She wasn't treating me like some lost cause or potential threat. No, she was wary but friendly, which, coming from her, was practically a declaration of trust. That alone told me everything I needed to know.
She had spoken to my variant.
The idea that there were other versions of me out there—some of whom had apparently done enough damage to make even the Sorcerer Supreme cautious—was both unsettling and weirdly validating. It meant I wasn't some anomaly. I was just another variable in the multiverse. A normal one, by cosmic standards. And if some versions of me had gone off the deep end? Well. I wasn't surprised.
The Ancient One knew what I was capable of. She knew that, unlike most people, I didn't need magic to fight a sorcerer. I had anti-mage gear. Runes. Countermeasures. To me, a wizard was just a person with a fancy light show—one I could shut down with the right tools.
And yet, she chose to be civil. I wasn't going to complain. If she wanted to stay on good terms, fine. I'd take it. But I wasn't naive enough to think that meant she wouldn't act against me if she deemed it necessary. People like her—powerful, ancient, crafty—always had layers to their actions.
For now, though? I'd play along.
My fingers tapped an absent rhythm on the control room table when the doors slid open, revealing Shadow Henry—formerly the third-in-command of this HYDRA base, now one of my most loyal servants.
"My lord," he intoned, bowing slightly. "Everything has been secured and is ready for transport."
I nodded. "The Meta-Human survivors?"
"While you were... indisposed," Magina cut in smoothly, "Henry and the other Shadows tended to them. They're stable."
A breath I didn't realize I was holding left me. "Good."
I hadn't even thought about the survivors during my... episode. If I'd recalled my Shadows in that state, if I'd left those kids unattended—No. It didn't bear thinking about.
Logan, Michelle, and the Ancient One had left before I could even suggest they take the survivors with them. Not that the Ancient One would have lifted a finger without being asked. Typical of her. Helpful, but only when she decided it was time.
"Alright," I said, standing. "Let's meet them. They deserve some answers."
I grabbed a black face mask from the console—my helmet was still a biohazard—and secured it over my face. The survivors didn't need to see the exhaustion in my eyes.
The walk to the holding cells was quiet. Too quiet. The base was a ghost town now, stripped of everything useful, its former masters reduced to nothing. Dietrich Voss, Peter Haggs, every last scientist and guard who had laid hands on me—all of them had been turned into Shadows, their knowledge extracted, their usefulness exhausted. And then I unmade them.
Even as loyal Shadows, their existence had been a reminder of everything I'd endured. So, I erased them. Not out of mercy, but because I refused to let their presence linger in my mind any longer, I hated to see them even have the opportunity to live from my power.
The door to the survivor quarters hissed open. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut. Dozens of them. Most barely out of their teens, some even younger. Gaunt faces, hollow eyes, bodies marked with scars from experiments they never asked for.
This was where I had been kept. Where I had been strapped to a table and treated like lab equipment. And now, standing in front of them, mask hiding my expression, I realized something cold and heavy settling in my chest.
They were looking at me like I was their savior. And I didn't know if I deserved that.