"AAAAAAAH!"
Pietro Maximoff's scream echoed through the darkness as panic finally overwhelmed him.
"That's enough," one of the Zoanoids said while watching the surveillance feed. "Keep him in there any longer and the kid's actually going to lose his mind."
They were experienced with this kind of "discipline."
Solitary confinement had always been one of Jormungandr's favorite correction methods. Most people only needed a few days in total isolation before they came out obedient and broken in all the right places.
Many of the Zoanoids themselves had endured similar treatment during training, which meant they understood exactly how terrifying the process was.
And more importantly, where the limit was.
Pietro was still just a high school student.
Mentally, he wasn't even close to the hardened soldiers guarding him.
Push him too far, and his mind might snap completely.
So they dragged him out.
The moment sunlight hit his face, Pietro experienced something almost surreal.
He had never realized sunlight could feel this beautiful.
Then they beat him again.
"Wha…!"
A fist smashed into his face before he could even finish speaking.
The men showed no emotion whatsoever.
Punches hammered into his ribs, stomach, jaw, and face with mechanical precision. Pietro's cheeks swelled almost immediately, and several teeth broke loose under the assault.
Eventually he collapsed onto the ground, too weak to move.
"Give him bread and water," one of the men said coldly. "We continue tomorrow."
Pietro barely remained conscious as they dragged him back into the dark room.
A piece of bread and a bottle of water were tossed in front of him.
Then the iron door slammed shut.
Darkness returned.
Pietro lay facedown on the freezing damp dirt, muddy water soaking through his clothes. The cold stripped away the last traces of warmth trapped beneath the fabric until his entire body trembled uncontrollably.
Only his eyes remained fixed on the bread and water ahead of him.
Bloodshot.
Swollen.
Desperate.
Suddenly his stomach convulsed violently.
Burning acid surged upward from his empty stomach into his throat, carrying a sharp corrosive taste that nearly made him vomit. Pietro swallowed it back down with painful effort.
The hunger became unbearable.
His body somehow found enough strength to crawl forward.
He grabbed the bread and shoved it into his mouth frantically.
Dry crumbs scratched against his throat as he chewed too fast. Several pieces went down the wrong pipe, triggering violent coughing that nearly suffocated him. Gasping, he twisted open the bottle and desperately poured water down his throat.
Once the food hit his stomach, the burning pain eased slightly.
Then Pietro started crying.
He didn't understand any of this.
What had he done wrong?
Why was this happening to him?
What was he supposed to do now?
Would Wanda realize he was missing?
At first, hope still lingered.
But reality caught up quickly.
Even if Wanda noticed he was gone, it would take time. And even if she did notice, what could she actually do?
Call the police?
If the police could solve disappearances so easily, thousands of people wouldn't vanish every year without a trace.
Am I going to live like this forever?
The thought hollowed him out from the inside.
He didn't even know why these people had taken him.
And maybe "forever" was optimistic.
Days later, Drex Valen was working inside his laboratory when Wanda Maximoff finally came to see him.
"Mr. Hiss… something's wrong."
Wanda's voice trembled with panic.
"Pietro disappeared."
No matter how reckless Pietro became, he always came home eventually.
But now three full days had passed without any sign of him.
Wanda had worked up the courage to question the delinquents Pietro usually hung around with, but every single one denied knowing him.
That was when she realized something terrible had happened.
Pietro hadn't just disappeared.
Someone had made him disappear.
She went to the police first, of course.
They told her to wait.
Then she waited several days and went back.
And they told her to wait again.
Wanda had nobody left except Pietro.
There was no way she could abandon him.
So in the end, she came to the only person she believed might actually help.
"Wanda?"
Drex looked mildly surprised when he saw her.
Didn't Urd stop her downstairs?
In truth, Urd had tried.
But Wanda refused to explain anything unless she spoke directly to Drex himself. Since Urd still wasn't entirely sure what Drex's intentions toward the girls actually were, she eventually brought Wanda in personally.
"Please help me, Mr. Hiss."
Wanda's eyes were red from stress and exhaustion.
"I'll pay any price."
She knew she had nothing valuable that could truly move someone like Drex Valen.
So she left the choice to him.
Even if he wanted her body, she was prepared to accept it.
After all, unlike men such as Tony Stark, Drex's reputation was almost unnaturally clean. He wasn't known for chasing women or indulging in scandals.
And because Urd never spoke publicly about herself or Esdeath, most outsiders had no idea about Drex's actual relationships.
From Wanda's perspective, the pattern looked obvious.
Jessica Campbell.
Emma Frost.
Herself.
Beautiful young girls supported and protected by Drex Valen.
Meanwhile Morgan had vanished overseas for "schooling."
After browsing enough internet forums and gossip sites, Wanda had slowly convinced herself of a theory:
Drex liked raising girls into the kind of women he wanted.
Drex read her thoughts instantly and nearly sighed.
So that was his public image now?
Apparently being sexually disciplined in Western culture translated into secret grooming conspiracies.
Fantastic.
The irony was almost painful considering Drex's actual preferences leaned heavily toward mature women and older elegance.
He simply disliked sleeping around.
The thought of sharing a bed with models who had already circulated through half the upper class made his skin crawl. He had standards. Possibly unreasonable ones.
"Why come to me only now?" Drex asked.
"I… I didn't want to trouble you."
Wanda lowered her eyes.
"But the police aren't helping. I didn't know what else to do."
Today, Wanda had dressed very differently from usual.
More revealing.
More deliberate.
She had clearly prepared herself mentally before walking through that door.
"Urd," Drex called calmly, "bring her something proper to wear. A kid shouldn't be dressing like this."
Then he looked back at Wanda.
"As for Pietro, stop worrying. I'll bring him back."
Urd entered almost immediately, already carrying a coat as though she had expected this exact situation.
"Mr. Hiss, please… I really can—"
Wanda tried desperately to continue.
Then Drex pressed a finger gently against her forehead.
"Go home and wait," he said quietly. "This is something adults will handle."
He stood.
Urd draped the coat over Wanda's shoulders.
"Take her home, Urd."
Without another word, Drex turned and walked away.
Urd watched him leave before speaking softly to Wanda.
"Relax. There's nothing in this world he can't handle."