Hydra Siberian Facility Zeta-9
Maintenance Shaft Sigma-7
January 19, 2001 — 02:31 Hours
The air tasted like rust and forgotten fear.
It clung to the back of Chimera's throat—thick with the ozone tang of scorched circuits and the coppery scent of his own unnatural blood.
Lena's hand gripped his wrist like a brand. Warm. Human. Terrifyingly real against the icy dread curling in his gut.
"It's… calling something," she whispered.
The words echoed in the narrow shaft, mixing with the primal howl of WS-07 tearing through the distant armory bulkhead.
Chimera looked down at his forearm.
In the flickering light of a cracked service panel, the blood wasn't red.
It was sapphire—luminous, pulsing with an eerie internal glow. It bled sluggishly down his pale skin, revealing glowing veins of bio-filament circuitry beneath the surface. Stark's neural lace. Mystique's adaptive matrix. Both fused into something terrifying. Something unstable.
"Calling something."
His mind, sharp even through the pain, worked through the implications.
Resonant frequency? Pheromonal marker? A genetic-level Hydra tracker?
Every possibility led to a nightmare.
Beneath the chaos, his X-Gene stirred—a slumbering dragon twitching in response to pain, proximity, and the sheer alien nature of what he'd become.
"Move!" Lena hissed. Her voice cracked, brittle with fear. She didn't wait. She scrambled deeper into the shaft, the crumpled S.H.I.E.L.D. map clenched in her other hand.
"Sigma Shaft drops three levels. There's an old blast door—buried, but not sealed. Hydra thinks it's collapsed."
Chimera forced himself to follow. Every step was agony.
His reshaped bones—snapped back into their childlike configuration—screamed in protest. Muscles burned like acid from the fight, from the shapeshifting, from pushing too far.
The stolen Hydra uniform hung loose and heavy, soaked in sweat, Volkova's blood… and his own glowing ichor.
He tore a strip from the lining and wrapped it tight around the glowing wound. A futile attempt to muffle the light.
It still pulsed.
Dim. Unrelenting.
Suppress. Control. Adapt.
The mantra rang hollow.
Behind them, metal tore like paper.
The screech echoed down the shaft, followed by the guttural, inhuman roar of WS-07.
This wasn't pursuit.
It was annihilation.
Level Down: Descent into the Forgotten
The shaft dropped steeply. A rusted ladder clung to one wall like a dying spine.
Lena went first, her movements fast and desperate. Chimera followed, each rung sending fresh shocks of pain through his body.
The air grew colder. Damper. It reeked of earth and stale water.
Condensation dripped steadily from the ceiling, blending with the sweat on his brow.
He kept his eyes on Lena.
Her fear cut through the air—sharp, metallic. But beneath it, something else pulsed: sheer, defiant determination.
Why?
He cataloged the data.
S.H.I.E.L.D. legacy. A father executed by Hydra. Years spent pretending to be a low-level tech.
And this… feeling she had.
Could his psychic scream—when he'd awakened—have resonated with something latent inside her?
Or was it just the shared terror of being hunted?
They reached a junction.
Lena unfolded the brittle map, its ink faded under the weak beam of a salvaged penlight. In one corner, the S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle remained—defiant through the decay.
"Left," she said, breath misting in the frigid air.
"Main access is blocked. Collapsed years ago during a quake. But there's a bypass—a service crawlspace for comms lines. Tight."
They crawled.
The space narrowed quickly—until Chimera's shoulders scraped against cold, slime-slick concrete. His breaths came ragged now, the rebreather discarded long ago.
The glow from his bandaged arm pulsed steadily, casting eerie shadows on the cramped tunnel walls.
He could feel the X-Gene reacting—the pressure, the confinement, the rising fear. It whispered to him, begged to reshape, to slip through the cracks.
No.
Steel. Ice. Stillness.
He forced the mantra into his mind, clamped down hard.
Not here. Not now.
Echoes and Whispers
A deep hum began to throb through the concrete.
Not machinery.
Something heavier.
Rhythmic.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
The impacts grew louder.
Closer.
WS-07.
It had found the shaft.
Panic coiled in Chimera's chest. Up ahead, Lena froze, her eyes wide and wild in the flickering beam of the penlight.
"It's… it's too fast!" she gasped.
Chimera's mind flared to life.
Evasion probability in current trajectory: 12%.
And dropping fast.
The crawlspace was a death trap. Too narrow. No room to run.
They needed space. A delay. A trick.
Think like Stark. Think like Mystique.
"Light," Chimera rasped, his voice raw. "Your penlight. Throw it back. Down the right fork."
Lena hesitated—only for a heartbeat.
Then she twisted, aimed, and flung the penlight into the tunnel branching off to the right.
It clattered loudly against the concrete, bouncing wildly before coming to rest—a tiny beacon in the dark.
THUD. THUD. THUD-THUD.
The footsteps quickened. Drawn to the sudden light. The movement.
"Go!" Chimera hissed, shoving Lena toward the left fork. "Fast!"
They scrambled forward.
Behind them, the Winter Soldier's roar echoed like a beast betrayed, crashing into the wrong tunnel—the one with the mocking light and dead end.
The Ghost Outpost
The crawlspace suddenly widened, spitting them into a larger room—still and silent, frozen in time.
Dust lay thick across every surface.
Lena's breath hitched as her penlight swept across the ghostly remnants of a forgotten war room.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Outpost Sigma-7.
Desks overturned. Monitors shattered like hollow skulls. Filing cabinets had spilled their contents—yellowed documents strewn like bones.
On one wall, a faded poster peeled under the weight of time.
"Protection, Not Punishment."
Ironic.
Tragic.
Dead.
In the center stood a massive, dust-covered communications console—ancient but intact. At the far wall, half-buried beneath debris, loomed a heavy circular blast door.
Their only way out.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Outpost Sigma-7
Time had died here.
Desks lay overturned.
Monitors shattered, their old cathode-ray tubes staring like dead eyes.
Filing cabinets had spilled open—papers yellowed and brittle scattered across the floor like forgotten memories.
A faded poster peeled on the far wall, showing a stylized globe beneath the cracked words:
"Protection, Not Punishment."
The irony hung in the air like dust.
At the heart of the room stood a massive, dust-covered communications console. Ancient. Obsolete. Possibly still alive.
And across the far wall—partially buried in debris—loomed a heavy, circular blast door.
Their way out.
Lena rushed forward, brushing dust off the console with frantic hands.
"Father said… there might be power. A geothermal tap they couldn't sever..."
Chimera staggered toward the door. It was massive—reinforced steel, sealed tight with a rust-crusted manual wheel lock. Its seams were clogged with thick Hydra Sealant Foam, gray and heavy, like a tomb's final lock.
He pressed his ear to the cold metal.
Silence.
Beyond it, the true Siberian night waited. Endless. Frozen. Free.
A low hum broke the stillness.
Lights flickered weakly to life on the console as Lena yanked open a hidden panel and slammed her fist onto a massive EMERGENCY OVERRIDE switch.
Ancient vacuum tubes flared to life—glowing orange, casting strange, flickering shadows around the room.
The main screen came alive with static… then resolved into a monochrome grid:
Local systems diagnostic: Online (Partial).
"Partial power!" Lena gasped, fingers flying over the cracked keys.
"I can try to cycle the hydraulics… override the foam seal..."
Petrov's Gambit: Project Thanatos
Deep within Zeta-9's central command hub, harsh light from dozens of monitors cast sharp shadows across the walls.
Dr. Petrov stood at the center—calm, cold, and furious.
On the main feed, the armory was unrecognizable. A blood-soaked ruin.
Volkova's remains were scattered like shredded meat.
WS-07's vitals screamed in berserker overdrive.
And Chimera…
Gone.
Vanished into the labyrinthine shafts below—dragging a traitorous tech with him.
Another monitor blinked red.
SUBJECT CHIMERA: GENETIC INSTABILITY DETECTED
OMEGA-X PROTOCOL TRIGGERED
Petrov's lips curled into a thin, cruel smile.
"So... the spliced genome finally frays."
"Schäfer's masterpiece... unraveling."
He turned to his subordinate.
Chen, pale and trembling, clutched a datapad as if it could shield her.
"Initiate Project Thanatos."
"Authorization: Petrov-Zeta-Omega."
Her eyes widened in horror.
"Sir… Thanatos? But the containment protocols— the risk to the facility—"
"Do it!"
Petrov's voice cracked like a whip.
"That thing is a walking biohazard now. Its blood is a beacon. Its DNA, a cascading failure."
He stepped closer, towering.
"We contain it… or we sterilize the sector. All assets are expendable. Deploy the sweepers. Activate the resonance field emitters."
"Target frequency: Stark-Mystique Hybrid Genome — Instability Harmonic."
Project Thanatos
A theoretical failsafe.
Designed by Schäfer, never tested. Never meant to be.
A localized resonance field, tuned to shred unstable genetic material on a cellular level. Precise. Lethal. Devastating.
It wouldn't just kill Chimera.
It would unmake him.
And it came with risks.
Unpredictable mutagenic effects. Collateral DNA destabilization.
Nearby enhanced operatives—like WS-07—could suffer catastrophic consequences.
But Petrov didn't blink.
Chen's hands trembled as she tapped in the final command.
Across the facility, hidden emitters hummed to life—
Targeting vectors locked—
Converging on Sigma Sector.
The Door and the Storm
The blast door groaned.
Deep, metallic, tortured.
Hydraulic pistons—dormant for decades—strained against the hardened Hydra Sealant Foam.
Metal screamed. Rust flaked like old snow.
The wheel lock turned, inch by agonizing inch.
"It's working!" Lena cried, breathless. Hope lit her eyes for the first time.
Then—
The lights flickered violently.
The console's hum surged into a sharp, shrill whine.
And then came the vibration.
Not sound.
Feeling.
It rose from the floor like a tidal wave.
A subsonic thrum that burrowed into bone.
Into blood.
Into Chimera's DNA.
WARNING:
RESONANCE FIELD DETECTED.
FREQUENCY SYNCHRONIZATION: 98.7%
THREAT LEVEL: CATASTROPHIC
The analysis hit his mind like a blade.
Project Thanatos.
They weren't trying to kill him.
They were trying to unmake him—from the inside out.
He felt it.
A sickening twist deep within his cells.
The glowing blood under his bandage pulsed brighter—hotter.
The bio-filaments in his skin lit up like overcharged wiring.
Nausea. Vertigo. The world spinning.
"No!" Lena gasped. She clutched the console as the vibration overtook the room.
"What is that?!"
"Petrov," Chimera spat, his voice barely holding together. He leaned hard on the door wheel, knuckles white.
"Trying to tear me apart. Hurry!"
The wheel finally gave.
With a final groan, the seal cracked.
Beyond the shredding foam—
A sliver of Siberian night.
Endless black.
Frozen wind.
And a storm waiting to be unleashed.
Then, the wall behind them exploded.
It didn't crack. It didn't bend.
It simply ceased to exist.
**WS-07 didn't take the crawlspace.**
It **made** its entrance.
A vibranium-alloy fist punched through reinforced concrete like it was plaster. The outpost shook. The shriek of rending steel and collapsing rock swallowed the hallway. Debris filled the room—dust, shards of wall, shattered equipment. The temperature dropped instantly as the cold poured in.
Through the haze stood the Winter Soldier.
A monster, half-man, half-weapon—its chest heaving, steam rising from its skin in the freezing air. Its blue eyes burned with artificial fury. There was no recognition. No hesitation.
Only focus.
It saw Chimera. It saw the pulsing blue light in his arm. And it charged.
Its roar—inhuman and primal—shook the remaining monitors from their mounts. The ceiling groaned.
Lena screamed.
Chimera moved on pure instinct.
No thought. Just survival.
He lunged for the blast door wheel, ignoring the pain searing up his injured arm. Blue light burst from beneath the bandage as his muscles tore and reshaped. **Mystique's power** surged—wild and terrified. He didn't try to change form.
He channeled it into **strength**.
The wheel screamed against years of rust. Hydraulic pressure fought back. Chimera fought harder.
It turned—just enough.
With a deafening blast of air and tearing metal, the **blast door flew open**. The hydraulic pistons slammed backward. The world howled.
**Siberian night.**
The cold hit like a physical wall. The wind howled like wolves, dragging the scent of snow, pine, and blood. A short metal platform stretched forward—ice-coated and deadly—ending in a sheer drop. Below that, darkness. Beyond it, a moonlit hell of endless tundra.
But they weren't free yet.
WS-07 charged.
Lena was closer to the door. Chimera, off-balance from the shove, was between her and the Soldier. The creature raised its fist—vibranium cutting through the air like a guillotine.
**Choice.**
Time fractured.
Noah's memories—his mother's face, the smell of instant noodles, the soft hum of a computer fan while cramming for finals—flashed in crystal detail.
Then came the Stark intellect:
> _Survival Probability — Lena: 74% (if shielded)_
> _Survival Probability — You: <5%_
He didn't think. He moved.
Chimera hurled himself toward the blow. Not away—**into it**.
He ducked under the sweeping arm and slammed into WS-07's midsection like a missile. Bone met alloy. Pain bloomed white-hot. Something snapped.
The Soldier staggered, thrown off by its own momentum, and crashed into a bank of dead servers.
_"GO!"_ Chimera roared, blood—**blue and burning**—flecking his lips.
Lena didn't hesitate. She bolted for the platform.
_"Come on!"_ she screamed, eyes wide with terror and something worse—**hope**.
Chimera turned to follow—
And a vibranium hand clamped around his ankle.
WS-07 pulled.
The Thanatos field surged—resonance screaming. Chimera's cells **vibrated apart**. Every thread of his being unraveled.
His mind splintered.
And in the collapse—something woke.
Not Stark. Not Mystique.
**Something older. Wilder.**
The glow in his veins turned blinding white-blue. Time cracked. Reality groaned.
His X-Gene **detonated**.
---
A **telekinetic explosion** erupted from Chimera's body.
Not a pulse.
Not a flare.
A **cataclysm**.
One kilometer vanished in an instant.
The outpost. The resonance emitters. The steel and stone. The Winter Soldier. The corridors. The command staff.
All of it—**gone**.
Vaporized.
Ash scattered into the wind.
**And Lena…**
She was mid-scream. Reaching back for him. Trying to pull him free.
She never made it off the platform.
The blast erased her before her body ever hit the ground.
Then—silence.
Snow fell again.
Where once stood Hydra's fortress, now there was only a crater. Blackened. Glassed over. A scar on the tundra.
And in the center, floating inches above the scorched earth—
**Chimera.**
His body cracked with glowing veins, lightning crawling beneath the skin. His eyes closed. Unconscious. Broken.
Above him, Hydra's surveillance drones short-circuited midair and fell like snowflakes—dead.
The world had come hunting.
But Chimera... was no longer prey.