231. The Monster and the Widow. (Patreon)

Natasha POV:

I wear Melina’s face like a second skin but it doesn’t sit right. These masks never do.

The texture is perfect, the bio-signal spoofing flawless, the voice modulation indistinguishable even under intense scrutiny but there’s something deeper than skin that no technology can replicate. Body movement.

And standing a few feet away from me is a living reminder of that.

Antonia Dreykov now Taskmaster.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. She just… watches.

Her helmet tilts ever so slightly, like a predator analyzing prey or maybe like a broken daughter trying to recognize something familiar through layers of conditioning and pain. I don’t know which one hurts more.

Behind me, I hear the slow, heavy pacing of a man who once dictated the fate of thousands and he is yet to understand that he doesn't do that anymore.

General Dreykov.

His footsteps echo in the metallic chamber like a ticking clock that's irritated, restless and absolutely unstable.

“This chemical warfare of Parker…” he mutters, voice low and venomous. “It’s making things… difficult.”

He stops. I feel his presence before I see him and then suddenly he’s right in front of me and he's too close.

His breath smells like stale Borscht and Vodka, his presence a discomfort to my very being. His face hovers centimeters from mine, eyes scanning, dissecting, calculating.

“I want you,” he says slowly, almost conversationally, “to do Natasha and Yelena like one of your pigs.”

“What do you say, hm?” he continues, tilting his head. “Put a chip in their brains… control them like puppets.”

He smiles. “Marionettes, if you want to be fancy.”

For a moment, I say nothing. Because if I speak, I might not be able to stop myself.

And then, he pulls back albeiit just slightly.

“I know my creations when I see them,” he says. “And…”

His hand snaps forward. The mask is ripped off.

“You’re not Melina.”

He turns toward Antonia. Slowly and then he removes her helmet.

I look no I forced myself to look and it’s worse than memory.

Her face is riddled with scars, burn marks and metal grafted into flesh.

A face that should’ve been allowed to die but now is forced to live as something else entirely.

My gaze falters and I finally look away.

“DON’T TURN AWAY!!!”

His roar slams into me like a physical blow.

I flinch but I don’t step back.

“I want you to look at her,” he growls, pacing again, his voice rising with manic energy. “Look at her and tell me your honest opinion about your handiwork.”

My hands clench and voice comes out quieter but steady. “She should’ve died.”

“You should’ve let her rest,” I continue, my throat tightening despite myself. “Not turn her into this. A prisoner in her own body.”

Dreykov stops pacing and then says, “What can I say?” I’m a monster.”

No denial, no justification. Just… acceptance. The making of a true monster.

That chills me more than anything else. Then the world erupts and at the right time. Klaxons blared, red lights flash. In response Dreykov turns sharply, activates the CCTV feed and suddenly the war is on display.

Steve’s shield ricochets across the screen, smashing into soldiers, bouncing off walls, returning to his hand with brutal precision.

Clint’s hardlight arrows pierce through armor like it’s paper

.

Thor... Thor is a storm given form.

Lightning crashes like the boom of a cannon through the corridors while Mjolnir rises and falls like divine judgment.

And Gwen... She’s not even trying.

She moves like gravity itself bends to her will, tossing soldiers aside, dismantling them effortlessly without killing them but not gently.

She's just… unstoppable and then I see Peter.

Even now… even after everything I’ve seen him do it’s still terrifying because he couldn't do that before.

He walks. Just walks and people… dissolve into black bile, ash and then nothingness.

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even look angry.

I exhale slowly.

“So,” I say, unable to stop the edge creeping into my voice, “your grand strategy is to throw little girls at gods and monsters?”

I glance at him.

“No wonder your empire fell.”

For a second he says nothing then his lips press together and when he speaks again my blood runs cold.

“Yes. And no.”

The doors open. The Widows walk in wearing bomb collars around their neck and their eyes were lifeless as they were chemically subjugated.

My heart drops.

“I will send them,” Dreykov says softly, almost thoughtfully, “to face your Avengers, his Spartans and your Parker.”

He turns to me. “They won’t fight back. They can’t.”

His smile returns. “After all… they’re the good guys. Except Parker, perhaps but his Archangel will stop him. She’s still… moral.”

“And if they try to free them?” he continues lightly.

He makes a small gesture with his fingers. “Poof.”

“Ah…” he sighs, almost wistful. “Morality of children. The greatest bargaining chip.”

I try to strike him out of instinct.

My arm jerks and stops mid-air as if I hit an invisible wall.

My body refuses to obey the command of my mind.

Dreykov watches with an amused expression.

“Pheromone lock,” he explains casually. “A simple little trick.”

He leans in again. “You can’t hurt me. No matter how much you want to.”

He steps back, satisfied.

“Must be frustrating,” he muses, “to see an old dog you should’ve put down… still running the show.”

“Perhaps,” he says thoughtfully, “we test this morality.”

He gestures to Antonia. “Go.”

“A good father figure, that archer,” Dreykov adds casually. “Let’s see how he handles this.”

The door closes behind her.

“Tell me something,” I say, forcing neutrality into my tone. “How do you keep track of them all? There must be thousands.”

He smiles. Yup found his ego.

He walks to his desk, opens a hidden compartment and his ring glides over a sequence.

A red display lights up. It's showing faces. Endless faces.

It was showing their birth names, numbers and lives.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He says proudly. “I took the one resource the world has too much of and recycled it.”

My stomach churns.

“Girls.”

“Completely air-gapped,” he continues, almost smug. “No network access. No vulnerabilities.”

He taps his chest. “I input everything myself.”

And that’s when it happens.

A flicker at the screen Barely noticeable at first but at the second moment I see it and then Dreykov sees it.

DATABASE DOWNLOADED.

CROSS REFERENCING…

Peter's tech. Always three steps ahead.

100 ACTIVE WIDOWS REMAIN UNTRACED. TRACKING…

I start laughing.

Dreykov is stunned.n“What...?”

“Quantum entanglement interfacing,” I say, grinning now. “Designed specifically to bypass air-gapped systems.”

I tilt my head. “Peter sends his regards.”

His face pales and that’s all I need.

I snap my fingers.

Click.

Every collar deactivates and I release my entire belt of Mist grenades.

The girls blink at first then confusion replaces emptiness and then I move.

My fist connects with his face causing him to hit the ground.

“You’re fucked,” I say calmly, cracking my knuckles.

Suddenly I don’t feel alone because I know that out there they’re fighting for me, for them, for all of us.

And this time we’re not just surviving.

We’re shutting down Red Room. Permanently.