Gunfire ripped through the tunnel, deafening in its confinement. Bullets sparked against walls and ricocheted past their heads, each near miss drawing instinctive flinches. Natasha didn't glance back—she didn't need to. The sharp smell of ozone and cordite, the stuttering flashes against the walls, told her the enemy was right on their heels.
"Move!" she barked, voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. Her legs burned from the sprint, but she forced her stride to remain even, leading the two younger women at her sides. Elara staggered once, gritting her teeth as another burst tore chips from the wall inches from her head. Maya yanked her forward; both of them barely kept pace.
The junction ahead widened into a chamber, but Natasha's instincts screamed. Too open. Too exposed. Then she saw it—dark shapes in the side corridors, barrels glinting under the dim light. Their formation was too disciplined, too precise for ordinary mercenaries.
Her jaw clenched. They had walked straight into a nest.
"Grenades—now!"
The words were more reflex than command. Natasha's hand was already moving, pulling a compact charge from her belt. She slammed her thumb down on the activator, heat rushing through her fingers as she hurled it to the left. Maya mirrored right, teeth bared. Both grenades detonated in under a second, twin concussions shaking the tunnel.
The flanking squads vanished in the blast—screams cut short, smoke blooming thick enough to sting the eyes. Shards of shrapnel rattled against the walls like hail.
"Keep moving!" Natasha coughed, dragging her team through the haze. But the enemy pursuit behind them wasn't slowing. Their rifles now spat red energy instead of simple bullets. The tunnel walls glowed where the shots hit, metal bubbling and smoking.
The energy flash burned across Elara's arm, forcing her body into a stumble as she nearly dropped her weapon. Maya caught her, half-carrying, half-dragging her forward. Another blast struck the back of Maya's armour, the energy flaring across the plating and nearly knocking both of them down. The armour smoked and cracked, but held—barely.
Ahead, salvation loomed: a heavy blast door at the end of the chamber. Natasha threw herself at the panel, fingers hammering the controls. Sparks leapt, hydraulics whining as the massive barrier began to groan open. Too slow.
"Inside, move!" she shouted.
Maya shoved Elara through the narrowing gap, then stumbled in after her. Natasha lingered just long enough to pull one last grenade, flick it down the tunnel, and watch the first soldier silhouettes break through the smoke. The detonation flung them back in a storm of fire and steel. Natasha slammed her palm against the controls, and the heavy door clanged shut, sealing with a final hiss.
For a moment, silence reigned—oppressive, suffocating. Only the hiss of smoke and the ragged breathing of three women filled the chamber. Natasha leaned back against the wall, chest heaving. Her heart pounded, but her mind had already shifted to assessment.
The room was small, dim, and empty. No terminals, no weapon lockers, no future tech. Just stacks of crates shoved carelessly into a corner. Natasha forced her legs to move and pried one open. The stale scent of processed food filled the air—rows of sealed rations, untouched.
Natasha reached into the crate, fingers brushing over a discarded ration wrapper. Faint markings ran along its edge—a Hydra crest, hastily blacked out with paint but still visible. Natasha's stomach turned; soldiers with better weapons meant only one thing: at this point, the only groups likely to possess superior arms were nations or organizations who'd obtained Vankos tech.
Elara winced, clutching her bleeding side. Maya sank against a wall, sweat beading across her pale face. Neither spoke at first. Then Elara's voice cracked, quiet and broken: "What are we going to do next? This is our first mission—we can't fail."
"Quiet," Natasha cut her off, more sharply than she intended. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, forcing air into her lungs. The sting of failure was sharper than Hydra's fire. Reporting back empty-handed would be her first mark of defeat under Luthar. And she doubted he forgave easily.
But staying here was death. Hydra would breach eventually.
Her voice steadied as she looked at the others. "We're not dying in this hole. Mission's done. We abort."
Both women stared at her in disbelief, as though the words themselves were forbidden. Natasha ignored them, pulling a compact, disc-shaped device from her belt. She pressed her thumb to it, and the circuits lit up. "Close. Now."
They huddled in, and the world dissolved in front of their eyes.
As they reappeared in a cavernous forge-laboratory, filled with the clatter of mechadendrites, the murmur of attendants, and the glow of towering holo-screens.
Natasha blinked, throat dry. Screens displayed countless feeds—Wakanda's green canopy from above, Asgard's golden halls under starlight, even Tony Stark in his lab, carefree and laughing as he worked. Surveillance stretched across worlds, every secret under silent watch.
At the heart of it all was Luthar, who was monitoring all the screens as soon as they appeared in front of him. His Mechadendrites moved with precision as he used them to seal the wound in Elara's side, injectors and stabilizers clamping into place.
His expression was unreadable, but the clipped tone of his voice carried sharp judgment. "Luck. Always cursed. I provide weapons, armour, opportunity—and what returns to me?" His gaze flicked once toward Natasha, cold and calculating. "An empty hand. And a bleeding soldier."
Natasha held his stare, shoulders squared despite the weight pressing down on her. "It was a trap. The place was stripped. Nothing left but supplies and soldiers."
The hiss of a sealing clamp answered her before Luthar spoke again. He turned slightly, eyes narrowing at another feed—Asgard, flickering with movement. "Either they can see the future or you lot are useless."
The attendants shifted uneasily at his words. Natasha's teammates exchanged nervous glances, fear of failure still etched on their faces. Natasha herself drew in a slow breath, already bracing for what came next.
For a moment, Luthar considered launching a targeted strike against all the suspected facilities in one night. It would be efficient, he thought—a clean solution. But then he shook his head, recalling that he had no direct conflict with these groups—at least not yet. There was no reason to risk drawing attention or causing unnecessary destruction. The notion was tempting, but ultimately pointless.
If he had known these facilities already possessed his technology, instead of trying to figure out who was behind it, he would have personally carried out the strikes—ensuring that any facility harboring his designs was destroyed.
Authors note : big shout out for BLYAT joining Patreon it's really rare for somebody to join when most have quit anyway the link is available below and if you don't have money then no worry even power power stone wood work as now I can't even get 100 power stone in a week maybe I just rewrite continue or patreon for the remaining members 😣 I just miss the day when I get one or two subscriber everyday instant of losing.
https://www.patreon.com/Silvervir?utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator