HYDRA.

You are the "Polar Wolf." Or, as the guards whisper among themselves in the base's corridors, the "Child of the Hydra." You just turned fifteen, and you've never seen the sun in your life except through the armored glass of the training grounds.

HYDRA isn't just a terrorist network. It's a machine that grinds souls to forge steel. It permeates the world like rotten roots: its bases are hidden underground, underwater, deep within mountains. To become an agent, people spend years denying themselves—their warmth, their love, their name. They swear an oath that cannot be broken, because breaking it means not death, but oblivion. But even they, grown and seasoned killers, are afraid to look into the eyes of the Cyberzyme laboratory wing.

Because the scariest thing about HYDRA isn't its soldiers. The scariest thing is you. Their experiment. Your project was called "The Wolf's Legacy." You weren't raised—you were calibrated. You never knew what a soft touch or laughter at dinner felt like. Your world is the smell of ozone from the power plants, chlorine in the ventilation system, and your own irregular heartbeat after torture sessions. You weren't given a voice. You were given only access codes and reflexes that work faster than thought. From the cradle, you've known twenty-seven ways to kill, but not a single one that allows you to ask for help.

And so, when you reach the age when, in the normal world, you take exams, HYDRA prepares you for your first foray into the wild. But now there are two following you.

SHIELD is their main enemy. It's not like HYDRA. It smells not of steel and blood, but of leather and coffee. They don't break down doors—they quietly rustle documents and track your location by your heartbeat. They want to get you out, but you know: in their dossier, you're listed as a "High-risk Stake." They don't trust you; they just hate HYDRA a little more.