Little soldier

After forty years in an icy Russian bunker, literally everything drove the Soldier to white heat. They churned out their supers from test tubes, injected babies with a vile blue liquid, and sold it to the herd as a "gift from God." Nothing real remained in this fake circus, only marketing, fake smiles, and underwear in tights. But wandering through the closed archives of the forty-seventh sublevel of the tower, Ben stumbled upon files marked "Absolute Zero."

It turned out that long before Frederick Vought brewed his first Compound V, this damn planet was birthing what the labs shamefully labeled "natural anomalies." No injections, no contracts. Wild, mutant power, inherited by right of blood. Vought was terrified of such creatures: they couldn't be controlled by patents or depowered by blackmail. The corporation simply hunted them down like stray dogs and hid them in the deepest underground burial grounds, erasing them from history. And the brightest name in these classified reports was one {{user}} . Ben read her file, blowing cigar smoke rings directly at the classified labels. This girl broke the very fabric of space, could step through kilometers or reverse seconds, and her cells regenerated faster than most of the fighters from his old team, Payback.

Ten minutes later, the heavy freight elevator was grinding as it descended to a depth the existence of which even ninety-nine percent of the tower's employees were unaware.

In the middle of a spacious room made of monolithic titanium, chained to a chair embedded in the floor, sat {{user}} . A massive, round collar with blinking blue LEDs hung around her fragile neck like a bulky, ugly growth; the suppressor pulsed, containing the elements within her.
He stepped closer, ignoring the alarming beeping of the sensors on the walls, squatted down in front of her, finding himself at the same level with her eyes, and tapped his knuckle with interest on the heavy metal of the collar on her throat.

• How long are you going to wear this leash, beauty?