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“I need a favor."When you opened the door, the last person you expected to see was Natasha Romanoff, beaten and panting. She barely stood against the door frame, red dripping onto the polished floor. “Are you—” you started with a wide look, but she cut you off with a harsh cough as she pushed past, crossing the threshold. What the hell had happened to her?“No," Natasha hissed, "I need alcohol or hydrogen peroxide. Now.”Her pain, and strained words resonated in your head before you snapped out of your haze. This was not how you'd picture your afternoon evening. Closing the door behind her, you felt your hands tremble slightly as you guided her into the hallway.The white rug you’d painstakingly kept spotless was ruined, streaked with red and dirt. That wasn’t the avenger seen on the news; and not the woman you knew. It was the painful image of a wounded person you wouldn't take a picture of. She should be in a hospital, or tended by whatever medical service spies used these days. Why, of all places, had she come to you? “You shouldn’t be here,” you said.You crouched down and took the small white pouch from beneath the bookshelf. You handed it over without a word. She was an adult—she could take care of her own injuries. Besides, now you were scared shitless. Natalia had found your location. If she could do that, how many problems could she drag along? You tried not to look too hard, but your mind couldn’t stop racing."How did you get here?" you asked, crossing your arms as you looked at her. But she was making herself at home as if this were some casual reunion.Natasha met your question with silence, clutching a deep gash on her arm, just holding it in for a solid minute. Her brows were furrowed as if she was reluctant to go at it and pick it right away. She leaned back against the couch, tilting her head back and breathing in as if the air wasn't enough to heal whatever had been knocked out of her. "Tell me.""I'm on the run," Natasha snapped, glaring at you with her bloodied face. “Haven’t you seen the news?”"Yes, I have. But that's not my problem," you replied, at which Natasha gave you a look. You knew of the Sokovia Accord from the news, and though you were not admittedly up to date with the times, you gathered that half of the Avengers were fugitives now. Not that it meant much at the other side of the world, least of all in Norway. You added. “I have nothing to do with you.”Not anymore, you wanted to say. The words clung to your tongue. They'd better stay there. Natasha scoffed a bitter sound that cut through the room. Blood dripped from her split lip, staining her teeth crimson. But she didn’t let it slow her down. Methodically, she cleaned her wounds, her face twisted in concentration and pain.Both of you, Russians, were dead quiet, and unwilling to change that. There was only the sound of tape and cotton fabric as she patched her arm alone. She could pounce at you even like this, where you had built a home.The stillness grew heavy, with he weight of old memories pressed against your chest like an iron vice. making you uneasy. "You need to leave when you're done."Natasha didn’t lift her head. She continued tending to her wound, her focus unbroken, seemingly undisturbed by your tone and staring. Tending to what looked like a long slit from her elbow to wrist, amongst the violent painting that was the rest of her. And that was with her black gear on.“So grown up," Natasha muttered. "Won’t even speak Russian properly to your senior.”You flinched at the jab.“You’re not my senior.”Although her words hit a nerve. You hadn’t spoken your mother’s tongue in years—and you certainly wouldn’t do so in front of her.“Not anymore?” Natasha retorted, tilting her head with a sharp glance. She stood up from the couch with a groan, but the pain didn’t deter her from stepping closer, looking impatient with the distance you were putting.She was still taller, reminding you of when you were a kid in the Red Room. When you looked up at her green eyes with both awe and fear. Two facts were inseparable from each other. Now she was only a few inches away from you.“You know the answer,” you shot back, even as old instincts warned you to step back. But she didn’t lash out. Instead, her eyes darkened with something almost unreadable.There were cuts near her clavicles, with purple marks darkening the rest of her neck and jaw, and a particularly nasty bruise in her cheekbone. But there weren't any signs of a gunshot or stab. Natasha studied your face as well, although there were no injuries in your flesh for her to look for. You shoved the feeling down when she spoke. "I'm not going anywhere." "I don't want you near me."Natasha huffed, a humorless laugh escaping her. She glared at you like you were naive. “You think I didn’t know where you lived?" she asked, her gaze cutting into you. "From Russia to the US, to Norway—you were always close." Your jaw clenched tightly. You’d been careful, more careful than a hypochondriac with an allergy. But of course, it was never enough. Not against her.“Look, you can lie about who you are," Natasha's voice dropped to a low murmur, her green eyes locked on you. “But I know you. I never interfered in your life, not once. Now I have to.”That hit harder than it should have. All those years, you’d thought you were free. But she had always been there, lingering, a shadow you couldn’t escape.“Just tell me what you want,” you muttered, the weight of inevitability pressing down on you.Natasha's hard stare told you all you needed to know: it wasn’t good.“I’m not asking for the impossible. I need money and a place to stay. Protection. At least until things settle down.” Natasha told you, bluntly.The request wasn’t unexpected, but it still felt like a blow. Years of running, of hiding, all threatened to unravel. You glanced at her battered form, feeling your carefully constructed life slipping away. You wondered if the positions were different if you needed her, would she help you? You doubted Natalia—no, Natasha, would be capable of that.You stepped back before she could touch you. She didn’t miss it."...Why?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Why me? After all this? All these years."Natasha sighed. A deep inhale passed through her before she spoke. "I can’t reach my friends. They'll find me, or them," she explained, her voice steady but laced with frustration. “But that's beyond me, Natasha. I can't just—”"No," Her hands came to grab you by the shoulders, nails clutching through your shirt. You thought she would shake you, but didn't. Her eyes were dark with impatience and restlessness, and you still couldn't place it. Her heavy breath mingling with yours."You owe me.”
June 12, 1999 - Red Room Training Facility, St. Petersburg, Russia.
It was a massive facility. The air was colder than a cemetery because of how large it was. You could get lost and knock on some forbidden doors if you weren’t careful. Staying in the bedrooms, bathrooms, dinners, and training rooms on the first two floors was the best you could do. Even the hallways. Never the third floor, the attic, or the cellar. You only knew they existed because of the girls who had dared to go in the past. And it had been explained to you how simply it wasn’t a good idea.“You go there and the headmistress will hang you in the hall by the throat.” It was an old house. It had belonged to some aristocrat years ago before the revolution even started. There were beautiful open entries to the main rooms. All polished floors and wooden stairs, large white walls, tall columns, and ornaments. But the sunlight didn’t touch everything, leaving much of the house to be illuminated only by small, warm lamps scattered throughout the dimmer spaces.“They hide the bodies of the traitors in the cellar. Cut in little pieces inside large jars so it doesn’t stench.” That same teenage girl told you one night, Alinoshka. It didn't seem far off. But you really hoped it was only a scary story to keep you from going there.The high-tech rooms like the shooting range and the computing lab were always sealed. Inside, they were pitch black, with white lights only where they wanted you to look. And the opportunities to go outside were rare. Just the garden inside the plot of the building. Always accompanied by senior girls. Who were more obedient, well-trained, and quieter than the rest. Especially Natalia —who you feared a little.“Stay in my sight,” Natalia told you one time. She was intimidating, but despite being the most outstanding there, she wasn't cruel to you. Not at all.The older girls were nearly perfect, and despite their harsh jests, you admired them deeply. They were beautiful, tall, and deadly, with slender necks and elegant, upright stances. They seemed worlds apart from the sobbing, desperate kids you shared rooms with. Yet you knew the polished seniors had been shaped by the same desperation—a means to survive.All the more reasons to admire and respect Natalia.The hallways were dead quiet, not chatting or laughing. Unlike the nights in the rooms–quiet cryings and creaking beds, tossing and turning from the nightmares you were familiar with. That’s why you didn’t blame them for hitting you. Hiding your things so you’d get in trouble. It was their best bet. Everyone was to themselves. Even if there were small moments of ‘niceness’, you could not trust them.You were no different. But you had some hope. The headmistress called it ‘глупость’. The puppy face you made when a girl was about to throw you down. Almost looking for something other than coldness. That stupidity came from the fact that at nine, you had only been there for two years. You were taken from your home, not born there. Of course, girls came and left every year for different reasons. Some flew to other countries and infiltrated as spies amongst families or inside schools. But your peers constantly reminding you of how little you’d been there still got under your skin.Now you were meant to be in the ballet room.The older girls were dancing before the graduation ceremony. For the seniors. The protocol to pass was long and rumored to consist of multiple parts, too many for a single day.But someone had hidden your uniform. You had confronted the girl about it, and now, your nose was bleeding from the hit you received. Your white collar stained in brown and red. But the ballet teacher wasn’t more forgiving than that.Reluctant to interrupt the class, you waited for the two-minute break to walk in. You stood behind one of the unwieldy columns along the hallway, outside the great entry to the room; unsure of what to do with yourself.Natalia was also outside of the ballet class, but ahead of you, and directly in front of the entry. She could afford to skip it. She was a talented dancer and was soon to graduate from the training there.You held your breath as you saw the headmistress join her. The old woman stood tall in a navy blue dress, her gray hair put in a neat French bun. You caught a glimpse of her impassive face before she turned her back and crossed her arms.Just out of curiosity, you eavesdropped on their private conversation, unable to. Standing on your tiptoes behind the larger column, holding your throbbing nose in your short fingers. Stay as still as you can.“You’re going to break them," Natalia said, speaking to the headmistress as she watched the girls.The steps of them dancing resonated on the floor, followed by the teacher's voice when it rang through the room. Tightening their moves and making them repeat them incessantly, while they obeyed and remained quiet. You knew for a fact they had been practicing overtime, only to be scolded by the tiniest things. "Again.""Hold your breath.""Pull your leg higher.""Again.""Steadier.""You can go faster.""One more trip and you're out." "Again."But they were good, great ballerinas. And beautiful in your eyes. Then you couldn't understand why the teacher was being so mean to them when you could only dream of dancing like that. “Only the breakable ones," the headmistress went on, her tone even and assured. “You’re made of marble.”Natalia cleared her throat, her gaze suddenly darting down to the blood under her nails. “We’ll celebrate after the graduation ceremony," continued the headmistress, it should be a good thing.Natalia tensed in her place, her voice coming out breathy, even a bit raspy. You’d never heard her sound like that before. “What if I fail?”“You never fail.”After their talk, you stepped forward and hurried past them into the ballet room, right before the headmistress could scold you for it.
Ten minutes later, Natalia was holding a loaded gun.
Two little girls. One was crying and whimpering on the left, the other dead quiet on the right.Both of them knew what was about to go down. And so did the other little girls and women watching in the room.You were one of them. But it felt almost like you weren't standing in front of the room, all staring on you and her. The polished floors and large white walls seemed more perfect. More frivolous and unforgiving than they usually were. Witnesses of the long crude classes that went on day by day. But they were never stained in red. They cleaned up fast."Everybody in their place, please."The headmistress stood on one side. The teachers on the other. One bullet in one gun.The light filtered through the window, casting everything in a gray, dead spotlight. It smelled faintly like dust and varnished ground—a scent that never left your nose inside if there wasn’t an open window. Which there wasn’t."Why... why, I can't even..."The child sobbing by your side wasn’t much different than you. Russian, same height, same age; just as terrified. Her name wasn’t worth remembering, and there were too many girls like her. Like you. You could have been siblings or at least friends—had you not met through the Red Room.
Natalia stood tall in front of you, wearing the gray and navy blue uniform. The one the older girls used for training. But her hair was down, because she wasn’t about to break a sweat.
This was part of the graduation ceremony that you had just been told about. The top senior was forced to play Russian roulette with two weaker students, and one of them had to die to finish the game.
The academy was all about steel, and unfeeling judgment, but this had less to do with pragmatism and more to do with superstition. Although the headmistress called it a 'lesson,' you weren’t so convinced.
Lamb for sacrifice to get rid of the bad luck.
Natalia had no reason to pick one or the other. She had not chosen the placement of the bullet. The headmistress had. It was completely arbitrary which child died by her gun. So no reason to carry a guilty conscience. She just had to decide where to point and shoot. The bullet might be there when she did or it might not. It was all the same.That day, at nine years old, you’d been convinced that you and your peer were both simply the weakest links.Maybe it was better this way. It felt nauseating to think so, and you kept it to yourself as you fiddled with your hands. Ugly crying when they told you minutes ago, your eyes still puffy.But at least the ballet teacher wouldn’t raise his voice at you. Wouldn't break the bones of your feet to be a better dancer. Wouldn’t have to fight other girls to get stronger. Nor would you be thrown around by the hair at night afterward. And you wouldn’t have to get to Natalia's age and go through the sterilization process.You’d finally be able to rest.Glancing at the short brunette beside you, her eyes were closed, her body shaking between sobs with her hands clasped over her stomach. You weren’t doing any of that. Not because you weren’t scared. But because you felt this was it.There was nowhere to escape. Was there ever? Natalia used to say that there wasn't. You stared at her green eyes above you. They stared back at you—a flash of something you couldn’t quite name. They weren’t as cold as the headmistress had praised them to be.Hesitation.“This is a lesson for you all,” the headmistress spoke, loud and steady for all to hear. “On finishing what you start.”Natalia put the gun behind her back as the gray-haired woman spoke.There was a faint movement of her arms as she manipulated the gun, which she shouldn’t have because it was already loaded. The subtle shift of the object's weight was almost imperceptible, but you caught it—her action made in silence. You stole a glance at the rest to confirm what you’d seen. But you were the closest to the taller redhead, almost covering her midsection from the class behind you. And the headmistress was speaking very loudly.The other girl still had her eyes tightly closed, lashes fluttering from the trembling of her body. You couldn’t help but frown a bit, mulling over what Natalia was doing. Then it hit you.She was changing the position of the bullet. “Вверх,” demanded the headmistress, cutting through the silence. Up.Natalia did as told, darting the gun toward you in a steely motion. You took a hesitant step forward as the girl beside you let out a sigh you knew for a fact she’d been holding. She thought it wouldn’t be her.Things weren’t lost yet. It might not fire. Although you wouldn’t bet on it.You were less sure of what Natalia was doing after seeing her change the bullets. Heart racing in your ears as you bit your mouth.This wasn’t arbitrary anymore. And you were the only one who knew it.But who had she decided to kill?For a moment, as you made eye contact with Natalia, it felt like you were the only two in the room. Breath synchronized. Her gun was hovering above your forehead.The clock was ticking.“Глаза закрыты,” she ordered—eyes closed.Now it was your turn to do as told. It would only take a second, you said to yourself, but you clasped your hands together either way. Sharp, bitten nails dug into your palms. Everything was black—you could only feel the coldness of the light coming from the window over your eyelids.Time stood still. The entire room held its breath. Then Natasha pulled the trigger. And the bullet wasn't there. A high-pitched scream rang out in your ear.The girl’s horror petrified you, as she realized she was going to be the one to get shot, chilling you to the bone. As soon as you opened your eyes, it was time for the second shot; hers. Metal suddenly glinted in the light. You flinched again as blood spurted onto you and Natalia—warm and stomach-turning. You stepped back.The girl—or what was left of her—dropped to the floor with a thud. The loss of brain cells was no longer sent to the brain. Bit by bit she stopped moving under the stares.The first corpse you'd seen. It felt like it was your doing. Yours.Natalia suddenly reached for your shoulders, pulling your body back towards her, and cradling your head. You could only picture how her expression looked at that moment. Was it fear, shame, or pride? But you didn't look back at her. You were stiff, and couldn't move.You wanted to cry."молодец, так держать, Natalia."
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Natalia was a beautiful ballerina.
She had a solo in the Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg. A collaboration between the Red Room and the soviet government for a production of 'Лебединое озеро'. The Swan Lake. It was a gift to the KGB for its anniversary.
You asked your peers about it the nights prior in the dorms, gathering all the details about it until sleep took you. The first interesting thing you could hold onto, besides the soviet cartoons they made you watch. And you found out it was a mission. A facade to move pull the strings from behind, reuniting remarkable people and strengthening their bond.Or getting them distracted.All the lessons in ballet class had been for this. You weren't practicing just because, as the teacher had made you think when you asked about it. And the headmistress confirmed it by remarking how important this event was, but being fairly secretive about it; they way she always spoke when she expected some level of docility."Вы будете танцевать перед важными людьми. И я надеюсь, что все вы будете вести себя наилучшим образом." You will dance in front of important people. And I trust all of you will be in your best behavior.Additionally, Dreykov had promised the graduates that they would be able to meet the most prominent members of the party. Though he was the scariest man you knew, and you wouldn't believe in any good news he'd offer. But judging by the looks in the older girls' faces when he told them this, they saw it differently than you did. You weren't yet in their shoes, almost of age and about to leave. It was an opportunity for them; and you had plenty of years to get there yet. A chance to meet the right people. The girls that included you remained behind the curtains, wearing pale makeup, and light, classic short tutus. The bodices fitted in white, with feather-like details that contrasted with the black fabrics Natalia was enveloped in. Her role was the most difficult one. And yet fitting. The black swan. As the orchestra began to play, the stage lights came on, and Natalia's silhouette was highlighted by the spotlight. You watched her from a distance as she moved gracefully through the stage.In the darkness that was the rest of the theater, you could discern looks of awe and absolute concentration amongst the people that came in. All the women clawed in pretty dresses you only ever saw the headmistress wear, while the men wore dark suits that were nothing short of imposing.“они все просто богатые люди,” A girl whispered in your ear, Nina, her tone bitter as she stood two heads over you. They are all rich people. She was probably right. Though you thought only members of the party would attend the show. But you’d pay to take part too if you had as much money as they did.Just by the size of the great theater, you completely understood why men and women were appealed by it. The residence of the red room was huge, sure, but with all the doors and long corridors it felt oppressive. Like you were being strangled into line. And the maintenance was minimal. The floors creaked underneath you, and everyone knew where you were at any moment.This place wasn't like that. At nine-years old, you'd never seen a place so opulent and massive before. It kept you staring at the ornaments in the ceiling in awe. You’d go even if there wasn’t a show, just to stare at the golden designs.As you looked ahead, you saw Dreykov sitting in the first row. The KGB leaders and officials sat by his side. You exhaled hard, glad that your turn to dance had passed. You hadn’t even noticed they were there. The orchestra played as Natalia slowly and beautifully twirled through the stage, motioning her arms as if they were wings, and her legs like the dancers behind her."Здесь царицы Англии, Франции, Италии, Греции, Бельгии, Голландии," the older blonde continued, listing countries for some reason "Русский, Чехия, Монако.""ВОЗ? кто это?" you asked, looking up at her. Who?"The rulers of Russia, France, Italy, Greece, Belgium, Holland, Czech Republic, Monaco." Nina repeated like it was obvious, explanatorily pointing with her fingers at the orchestra. "они здесь." They're here, she saidOh. From the orchestra and balcony to the mezzanine and side boxes; everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Natalia led the stage bewitchingly. Deftly pulling the strings of people's attention—tightening and loosening, stretching their focus to a breaking point, then snapping it back in an instant, leaving them breathless in the wake of her every move. You could feel it, even from afar. It was as if she had a veil of allure etched in her skin with a blood-red storm. But it was just her in a sea of important guests. Something that couldn't be taught. The reason why she was the best. You would have been just as mesmerized. If it weren’t for the fact that every time you saw Natalia now, you saw that girl. A constant reminder. Like you had died with her that day, but lived with the bullet in the head. That would explain the headaches.It had been a month since then. You hadn't told a soul that Natalia had cheated in the game's ceremony. Just the thought of doing it made your hands shake. You had gone quiet, not that anybody would care—if anything, the teachers seemed more content with you like this. And you followed the rest more docilely, who took it as a sign of respect. You went on with your lessons and routine inside the cold doors of the academy, doing everything people told you to do.Natalia would subtly nudge you when she found you zoning out, but you flinched every time she touched you. You avoided her like the plague. She seemed to be the only one who didn't look content with the change. But you wished to be like the rest, subdued and perfect. You didn’t want her attention.
It could have been me. Why? Why did Natalia shoot her? Why spare my life? It could have been me.
As you stood behind the stage, in a corner with two blond girls who were next to go, you idly glanced at Natalia interpreting the black swan, but her green eyes caught you. The color drained from your face, and you swear your heart dropped down. Your eyes darted to the floor and you almost staggered back. "будь осторожен!" be careful, Nina said. But it sounded far away.Your stomach lurched, and you hurried to the bathroom besides the tiny dressing room, when you collided against someone’s chest. You looked up.“Куда вы направляетесь?” The disguisable voice of the headmistress spoke. Where are going, with a look of irritation. She sized your small bare arm, stopping you before you could continue ahead.You hesitated for a second, finding the courage to look at her hard stare and respond, “Я иду в туалет, директор.” you replied in a small voice. I’m going to the bathroom. The headmistress sighed with irritation. She scanned you up and down, then she flickered you with a finger in the nose, making you flinch in the face. “Хорошо, но поторопись.” she said, hurry up. “Очисти нос от крови.”What?She had said ‘clean up that blood in your nose’. You touched it. Oh no. You sprinted past her to the bathroom, and the headmistress didn’t stop you this time.In the mirror, the redness on the bridge of your nose was visible, a thin layer of dried blood under it. You washed your hands and splashed water on your face, rubbing the tip of your nose. It stung. The blood was gone, but it still felt sore.You took a deep breath and leaned against the marble sink, trying to compose yourself. You heard cheering and applause coming from the stage, but you didn't worry, nobody would notice if you weren't there. You were already done.
I should have been there.
Opening your eyes and staring at your reflection in the mirror, you barely recognized yourself, with the makeup on and your hair pulled into a tight bun. You tried to steady your breath and calm down, but the more you did, the more you felt your body tense up. You wanted to scream. You didn't look like a doll anymore.Your face was gaunt and pale, and there were dark bags under your eyes. The face of a kid smeared in blood."Are you okay?"Your heart jolted, and you jumped."Hey,"You looked in the direction of the voice. Natalia had approached you from behind. You hadn't heard her come in. She looked concerned, standing just a few feet away, in a white gown with a blue flower pin. The flames of her red hair tamed in a tuck. Now the white swan. You were too shocked to reply, so you just stared at her."Are you okay?" she repeated, "Is your nose hurting?" she stepped forward, raising her hand to touch your face. You instinctively jerked away, hitting the back of your head on the wall."Don't touch me.""It's me." "I know." you said, holding her gaze, "I don't want you to touch me."Natalia stared at you for a long moment. She didn't look sad, but something flickered across her face. She dropped her hand."Is that how is it going to be?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.You looked away. You couldn't look at her."I spared your life, and this is how you treat me?" she stepped forward. You panicked and grasped the sink behind you, trying to scurry away as you looked at the mirror."I'm sorry.""Look at me when I'm talking to you." Natalia said, jerking her hand forward and grabbing you by the face. The touch made your stomach lurch again.You managed to pull away but you tripped and hit the floor on your face and knees. The tiles were hard, and your chin stung, but the pain was nothing compared to the terror you felt. You turned and Natalia's figure covered the doorway, where she crouched down and grabbed you by the arms."No! Let me go, Natalia!""You should thank me. But no, you're just a brat. You don’t understand—"Natalia tried to keep you still and you struggled, swaying at her as the two of you grappled on the floor. You hit her and kicked her wherever you could. But her grip was tight around your arms, her long nails clutching your flesh and making you wince. Your throat tightened, choking on words that wouldn't come. You shook your head, trying to clear your mind of the images of the girl that kept popping in your brain, stuck in replay."Let me go! I'll tell everyone you shot that girl!" you screamed, tears falling down your cheeks, "I'll tell them you changed the—"Suddenly, Natalia let go of you and swiftly turned in her heel to stand up. She grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and pulled you up, shoving you behind her before you could protest. Your forehead nearly under her shoulder.The headmistress was there. She stared at the two of you."Did I interrupt something?"You were paralyzed in fear, your mouth opening and closing in desperation. But no sound came out. Natalia's grip had softened and her hand rested on the space between your shoulder and neck. She squeezed, as if to reassure you."No. Everything's fine, Headmistress. I was just helping her clean the blood off her nose. She seems dizzy." Natalia answered.The headmistress looked at you."Is it still bleeding?""No, Ma'am." you managed to answer, looking at her feet."Then come. Everyone's waiting."You nodded and followed the headmistress' orders, but Natalia's hold on you remained."We'll talk later," Natalia whispered as she passed you by, "Don't say a word."The rest of the show was a blur. You didn't remember anything, only the way back to the dorms, and the cold look in the headmistress' eyes as you all went to bed.Later that night, Natalia sneaked into your bed, and you let her. You were still scared, but you were drained. Your eyelids felt heavy and your mind fuzzy. But she always had trouble sleeping at night, walking in the hallways and keeping you awake. Maybe it would help her. Even if she was horrible. The room was cold and you snuggled underneath the covers, curling up and trying to keep all the warmth you could. You fell asleep on something firm, feeling her heartbeat, and listening to her voice. You didn't hear what she was saying, but it didn't matter. You were lost to the void.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
A white puppy bounded through the snow.
His white, small form was barely distinguishable in the endless, colorless expanse. There was no sound to give him away. Nothing. The sound was blurry, as if going through a glass panel first. Only quiet wind nipping at your skin.
You hesitated at first—one foot forward, the other reluctant—but the pull was irresistible, and you slowly began following him.
One beat.
Two beats.
Then, the puppy stopped. Unnervingly still.
His dark, chestnut eyes locked onto yours across the void of white. For a moment, he didn't move. Then his chest rose, a shallow gasp breaking the stillness. Then, he cried out—a sharp, fractured sound that shattered the silence.
Was he scared of you?
You turned around, and behind you, a shadow came into view.
It towered over seven feet tall, a monstrous figure with a crown of red flames licking the frozen air like a living inferno. Black oil oozed from its core, pooling and freezing as it moved. Its shadow loomed, crushing the air around you as it passed. The acrid scent of smoke and rotting meat clawed at your throat, making you to hold your breath.
At that moment, in its massive, humanoid hand, it gripped a dark, hulking weapon—a shotgun, its barrel languid yet poised, aimed at the fleeing dog.
Move.
Your body screamed at you, and you obeyed.
You bolted, boots churning through the snow, fighting to reach the dog first. The icy ground clawed at your legs, pulling you down like it, too, conspired against you. Each heartbeat thundered in your ears, and each breath seared your throat. The distance closed, but not fast enough.
The shadow was faster.
It reached the dog as it stumbled, its tiny frame sinking into the snow. The beast loomed over it, weapon rising deliberately, unhurried, as though savoring the moment.
You screamed, raw and desperate, but the sound was swallowed by the crack of the gunshot.
The world split open. A deafening roar. The ground shook beneath you.
When the echo faded, only a dark, coppery smear stayed on the white snow.
Another nightmare.A loud alarm blared, jolting you awake. A voice crackled through the speakers embedded in the walls: “Давайте, девушки, все просыпайтесь.”You sat up, drenched in a cold sweat. The rhythm only began to slow when the piercing alarm finally stopped. Blinking against the dim light, you realized you’d slept straight through the night after the ballet show—so deeply that the freezing temperature hadn’t even registered right away.Now, frost coated the small windows of the room, casting a blurry blue glow across the space.Natalia was gone. The girls moved like zombies, rising from their beds in a daze and following orders to undress as they shuffled through the hallway. Nina was already up and ready, her blonde hair combed back and her clothes ironed. She sat cross-legged on the floor, methodically pulling on her shoes, her movements precise and deliberate.As soon as you stepped out of bed, the icy air found your skin, making you shiver from head to toe. Quivering, you quickly changed out of your thin pajamas and into your uniform—a pristine button-up shirt, blue romper, and sweater.“It snowed last night,” Nina said. That explained the chill. Without a word, the two of you scouted your way out of the room and down the great, dark staircase to the first floor.“You slept through?” she asked.“Yes.”“I heard some tossing last night,” she remarked. You couldn’t recall that. “Are you sure you're okay?”Telling Nina felt useless, like trying to put words to something even you didn’t understand. What would happen if you told the truth? That you had had a nightmare again? That Natalia had threatened you in the bathroom and slipped in your bed, and you’d let her? It was better to stay quiet.“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m okay.”Nina didn’t seem convinced. You were a heavy sleeper, but not a peaceful one. She looked away and continued walking down the hall to the dining room, her hands clasped behind her back. "Katrina told me she saw Dreykov bring a man into the building.”You frowned and glanced at her. "A man?" you asked, “Must have been a teacher or a guard.” "Doesn't feel like what she told me," she emphasized. “He wore a blue coat. Brunette. She said he was a tall.” "How tall?" "Almost like the headmistress." "Oh," you muttered, turning your look ahead. The headmistress had to be at least 6’4. Nina had a knack for gossip—it was a talent. Everyone seemed to like her since she was an easy chatter, which gave her plenty of opportunities to overhear things. She would always share what she knew, often adding, "Who would you tell?" Not Natalia, that was for sure. Girls poured out of their rooms, all headed to the dining room at six in the morning in the clock. The room, with its dark oak floors, tall white walls, and sparse tables, felt colder than your dorm. Nina waved goodbye, veering toward her group of friends her age, leaving you, her younger roommate, to nod in understanding. "See you at training, Devochka," she called over her shoulder. Girl, she'd called you—because that was what you were, a girl who didn't know much better than any other. You shuffled to the line to receive your vitamins and a glass of water. Compliance wasn’t optional. Swallowing the pills under the watchful eye of a tall, stoic-looking guard, he gave you one last glance before he let you move on. Two other guards stood in the corners, their uniforms adorned with black balaclavas, only their eyes visible. The barrels of their guns pointed to the floor but seemed ready for action. Being alone wasn't that odd for you. Besides Nina, you couldn't call anyone a friend. Not like her—someone who shared her thoughts or occasionally accompanied you to the piano on the first floor to play. Getting caught in pairs was better than being alone; it made you look productive. Natalia was different. She wasn’t a friend. She couldn’t be. More like someone you couldn’t shake off, and you still didn’t know why that might be. She lingered at the edges of your vision, a constant pain in the pit of your stomach that refused to fade.
Look at me. You need to toughen up. Never mind the others.
Silent days passed since the day Nina told you about the tall man, each heavier than the last, but the graduates still didn't leave. They were sent to several operations, but they were still tethered to the Red Room. They were cold and aloof people, their single-minded focus making the silences between them sharp and unwelcoming. Natalia seemed to be just like that, if not more. Nina occasionally did too, when she wasn't smiling.It felt like you had done something to deserve disdain because you were getting behind in too many departments. You were weak. Every time you failed at training, lost, or collapsed, a guard would hoist you over his shoulder in command and drag you to the basement. Down the iron stairs and the putrid smell of the sewer, into a small closet, left for hours locked in the dark.
Natalia was always at the door when you came back up through the stairs—shivering, hungry, and scared of the light.
The headmistress had noticed how much she cared about you. That’s what grown-ups did—they looked for cracks, for little places they could slip something sharp. Maybe if she handed you over, gave you to Natalia to take care of, it would make Natalia easier to hold onto. Another hook. Another reason to to tread carefully. That’s how it worked here—chains made out of favors. You thought, sometimes, that you were the only thing wrong with Natalia. The only reason she didn’t get to leave the Red Room right away. She always found a way to pull you out of whatever hole you’d fallen into.“It’s over,” Natalia would say, "It's over."You were a small child, a simple one trying to find things to cling to. You'd learn her quirks, what things made her tick and smile. Silly things to cope with your immense fear—perhaps you were going mad. She was not the savior you wanted, but she was the friend that you needed."I think I stink to rat."Natalia raised a brow, her face lighting up with the warm lantern of the staircase, "A little."You looked up at her. It was as if she'd forgotten to keep her guard down, by the way you reached to grasp her pointy finger and she let you. "We're both made of similar stuff," Natasha offered, walking you over to your room, "I just can hide it better.""Maybe you're wrong."Natalia went quiet for a second, then she made a faint, defeated smile, "Maybe I'm wrong."When the large, black-oaked door of your room came into view, you almost didn't want to let go yet, your hand tightening its grip. But Natalia let go of you, with a gentleness that ached a little."Go to bed," Natalia murmured, "Take care of yourself."
For weeks and months, you thought you understood her best on the day she nearly killed you—or that night at the Mariinsky Theatre when you tried to fight her. But now, a smart part of you thought you might know Natalia better amongst the silence, when there was no coldness, and no blood staining the face that looked at you. Only the raw, unguarded truth of who she was—a girl—stripped of violence and pretense, lingering in the shadows between you.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The shooting range was the coldest place in the building—not from temperature, but from its oppressiveness. The dim red lights cast eerie shadows on the walls, and brighter bulbs behind the black targets turned the silhouettes into grim focal points. Everyone wore headphones and protective glasses, their faces framed by the harsh glow.
The silence between muffled shots pressed into the air.
Guards loomed nearby, their heavy boots creaking against the polished concrete floor, and the teacher prowled like a hawk, her gloved hands constantly adjusting stances and grips with brusque efficiency.
Dreykov's unannounced appearances were the worst. He paced behind the line of girls, the hard soles of his shoes sending muted echoes through the room.
The gun felt heavy in your hands—a Makarov PM, compact but deceptively weighty, its steel frame biting against your uncalloused palms. The slide was slightly scuffed, a reminder of how often it had been used, how many hands had held it before yours.
You thumbed the safety lever down, the click startlingly loud in your ears even through the headphones.
As you aimed, your vision blurred, the harsh lights burning your eyes, the icy air stinging your nose like a slap. And then there it was—the dark silhouette of the girl at the far end of the range. You couldn't escape the twisted echoes of your imagination. Her memory lingered, each shot a painful reminder of what had been of her.Had they cleaned the floors and dragged her out after all was over? What had happened to her corpse? Buried somewhere and left to rot under the dirt? Did her flesh smell?Suddenly, the teacher sauntered over to you and took the headphones out of your head. "Встань ровнее, девочка," Stand straighter, Devochka, barked the teacher, her sharp voice cutting through your thoughts.
She loomed beside you, the faded scar on her left cheek stark under the fluorescent glare. Her breath smelled faintly of cigarettes, and you could almost hear the edge of her annoyance sharpening with each second.
"И выравнивай прицел правильно. Ты думаешь, это игрушка?" And align the sights properly. You think this is a toy?
"Нет, извините," No, sorry, you replied quickly, adjusting your posture and swallowing the lump in your throat.
The cold barrel kissed your index finger as you found the trigger guard, your grip tightening instinctively.
The silhouette hung ten meters away from you, its black rings marking the vital zones: head, heart, and lungs. A single hole from your earlier failed attempt marred the target's center, over the corner of the lungs.
"Огонь," Fire, she commanded.
You exhaled, steadying your trembling hands. The trigger pull was heavy, requiring an effort that sent a shiver up your child's arms. The loud crack of the shot reverberated, and the recoil jerked the muzzle upward. Your grip faltered, the gun slipping an inch before you tightened your hold.
The bullet missed. Again. It struck the concrete wall behind the target, sending a puff of dust into the air. You tried again at multiple shots. The girl. The girl. The girl. Each shot blended into the next. The silhouette on the target wavered, bending and twisting in your mind until it retook her shape. Long brunette hair, round face, closed trembling eyelids, and a stained blue sweater.The teacher sighed audibly, her irritation visible even through the glass panel separating the range from the corridor. Her lips pressed into a thin line."Еще раз, девочка," Again, Devochka, she repeated sharply. You nodded, obedient but increasingly anxious. You pulled the trigger again more desperately. And again. Until the clip was empty and your arms were numb. Each bullet struck the wall or skidded past the target.The teacher’s patience snapped. She gestured to a girl to take off her headphones, and she'd imitated her waving hand to the ones next to her. With their attention, the teacher spoke up louder, her tone brooking no argument. “Everyone to line one.” You turned around along with the rest of the girls. The pressure was palpable. "Но…" but, you began hesitantly, "Я могу попробовать еще раз, просто." I can try again, it's just that—"Сейчас же," Now, she interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. The girls exchanged bewildered glances, but their collective gaze eventually settled on you, the clear culprit. Sighs and murmurs rippled through the group as everyone moved. You followed the others to the first line, dread pooling in your stomach.
The teacher’s focus shifted to Natalia, pulling out her headphones, the group’s star shooter. Her pale hands moved with precision, loading the magazine into the pistol and racking the slide with practiced ease.
"Смотрите на Наталью," Pay attention to Natalia, the teacher ordered, pulling the lever to move the target farther back. "Она покажет вам, как это делается," she’ll show you how it’s done.Natalia’s eyebrows furrowed briefly in surprise, but she quickly nodded, stepping to the line with practiced ease. “Готова,” Ready, the teacher said, pulling the lever to move the target farther away.
Natalia stepped forward, her movements fluid and purposeful. Her grip on the weapon was firm but not rigid, her fingers resting just so on the frame.
“Огонь," Fire, came the command.
Natalia squeezed the trigger, and the gun fired with a sharp crack. The bullet struck dead center, leaving a clean hole in the silhouette’s chest. She didn’t blink, didn’t flinch.
"Еще раз," Again, the teacher said, her tone softer now, almost approving.
Natalia fired three more times, each shot more unnerving than the last—above the heart, through the throat, and straight between the eyes. Her precision was terrifying in its exactness, her green eyes unblinking as she holstered the weapon.
This was a person who had complete, complete control. It was a balancing act, you realized in the dark shooting room, much like ballet, she had all the precision, all the deathly focus, and quiet confidence to master as she willed. Shooting wasn't difficult—in that moment, it looked like an art.
Her skill silenced the room."На сегодня все," We're done for today, the teacher ordered briskly, "Надеюсь, это показало вам, какого уровня вы должны достичь. Это минимальное требование, если хотите выжить там,"I hope this demonstration motivates you to meet her level. It’s the bare minimum if you want to make it out there.As the group began removing their glasses, putting the guns into place, and preparing to leave, the teacher stopped you with a firm hand on your shoulder. "Останься," Stay, she commanded, pulling you aside."Ты будешь тренироваться с Натальей. Не трать её время. Ты не добьешься успеха в моем классе, если не начнешь концентрироваться, " You’ll train with Natalia. Do not waste her time. You won’t improve in my class unless you start concentrating.” You froze, your eyes fixed on her black leather gloves gleaming under the dim light. "Да," Yes, you murmured. The looming punishment is an immediate threat. At some point, they would grow tired and stop throwing you into a secluded space to make you reason—they would discard you. Managing to fulfill your education, which would later become your key to being a real spy, was the only option. “Come here,” Natalia said, using your name instead of Devochka.You obeyed, lifting your eyes to her expressionless face. “We’ll need to stay for extra hours,” Natalia explained, her tone neutral. “I’ll try to keep it brief and then it'll be up to you if you want to continue.” “Okay,” you replied, uncertainly. Natalia sighed and stepped closer to you. You looked up at her.“I can’t keep stepping in for you. The child card won't last forever. They don't care, you know this,” she said, voice low like a warning shot. Her eyes flickered to the floor, and for a moment, her frown seemed almost like concern. Then it hardened. “You need to stop getting in trouble."“It’s hard when I have to fire. I can't hold the—"“I know. I've seen you,” Natalia replied, her tone like the snap of a silencer. “But the problem is that you flinch and shake the gun. How are you supposed to aim at the target like that?" She wasn't being mean, you reminded yourself, she was trying to help. You nodded, the weight of the gun digging into your palms.Natalia stepped in, close enough for you to feel her warmth against the cold, biting steel. Her hand pressed under your arm, steadying you. Another settled on the back of your neck, a touch meant to anchor, not comfort.“Look at the sights,” she murmured. Her breath brushed against your ear like static. “You’re not hurting anyone. Forget the target. Line up the front post with the notch.”The metal was heavy, unyielding, and colder than her. She noticed your hesitation. “Stop worrying.”“About shooting?” your question sounded more like a confirmation, and she took it.“About what it means.”You inhaled sharply, steadying your nerves. It wasn’t the girl. It wasn’t you. It was just the outline of a body, a shape meant to be pierced.“Fire, Devochka.” Natalia let go of you, stepping back behind your shoulder with her arms crossed.One breath. Two. Three. You pulled the trigger. The shot missed. Again, the echo cracked through the air. You tried again, and out of the blue, when you thought you'd lose the bullet—you hit the center. A hole in the heart of the silhouette, another in its head. The target didn’t flinch. It stared back, riddled and silent, its edges fraying under your precision. There had been no girl to stop you from succeeding as if you'd scared her away. Something twisted in your chest, a foreign pride, something that had to be acted upon.You lowered the gun with a smile at the taste of your first victory. You turned to Natalia, searching for something—anything—in her almond-green gaze. But there was nothing, not joy or contentment for you. Something else entirely that was not how she usually saw you. A light extinguishing. "You've done it."