The safe house smelled like gun oil and paranoia.
Yelena sat across from the defector, Makarov pistol within easy reach, expression carved from ice. I stood against the wall, letting her run the interrogation—this was her world, her expertise, her demons.
Irina Volkov was twenty-six and looked forty. Scars crossed her forearms. Her eyes carried the haunted calculation of someone who'd survived hell by becoming part of it.
"Start from the beginning," Yelena said in Russian. "How did you escape?"
"Belarus facility. Third-tier conditioning center." Irina's accent was thick. "I was transferred after completing assignment in Prague. Standard rotation. But security was lighter than normal—they were focused on new program testing. I killed two guards, stole data drive, ran."
"New program?"
"Taskmaster Protocol." Irina pulled encrypted files from her jacket, slid them across the table. "Combat mimicry enhancement. I saw footage—subject copying fighting styles perfectly after single observation. Black Widow techniques. Captain America shield work. Everything."
Yelena's jaw clenched. "Dreykov."
"Alive. I saw him three months ago during facility inspection." Irina met her eyes. "Your previous assault destroyed one location and freed maybe dozen Widows. But Red Room operates eight facilities across Eastern Europe and Asia. Belarus, Ukraine, Kazakhstan, Mongolia, two in Russia, one in North Korea, one in Myanmar. Minimum five Widows per facility. You barely scratched surface."
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
"Eight facilities," I said quietly. "Forty-plus Widows still under control. Dreykov alive and operating with new backing."
"Unknown benefactor," Irina confirmed. "Money appeared six months ago. New equipment. Better resources. Someone powerful wants Red Room operational."
Yelena stood abruptly, walked to the window. Her shoulders were rigid with barely contained rage.
I nodded to Irina. "The Taskmaster footage. Can you decrypt it?"
"Da. But I need time. Encryption is military-grade."
"Take all the time you need. Secure quarters are two floors down. Food, medical care, protection—all provided. You're safe here."
Irina looked skeptical. "Safe is relative."
"Safer than Red Room."
"Everything is safer than Red Room."
Yelena exploded five minutes after Irina left.
"Dreykov is alive!" She slammed her fist into the wall. "We raided that facility, extracted eighteen Widows, and he's just... alive! Operating! Building new programs!"
"We damaged his operations significantly," I said calmly. "Eighteen freed Widows is eighteen—"
"Forty remain enslaved! Forty women still trapped in that nightmare while we celebrated partial victory!" Her voice cracked. "I thought we finished it. Thought we ended him. But we just made him relocate and adapt."
"You couldn't have known."
"I should have confirmed the kill! Should have hunted him down personally instead of trusting that burning building would finish him!"
"Yelena—"
"Don't." She turned, and her eyes were wet. "Don't tell me we did our best. Don't say we saved who we could. Forty Widows. Forty women who think they're weapons. Who can't remember what it's like to choose."
I moved closer carefully. "Then we plan better this time. Eight facilities means coordinated strikes. Simultaneous operations. No warning, no escape, no regrouping. We end this completely."
"You're talking months of preparation."
"I'm talking about doing it right. Rushing in got people killed last time. Specifically, seven Widows died during our extraction because we didn't have complete intelligence."
Yelena flinched. "That's not—"
"Fair? True? Both." I held her gaze. "You want Dreykov dead? So do I. You want every Widow freed? Same. But we need intelligence on all eight facilities, defense capabilities, personnel rotations, security protocols. And we need ARES Division at full strength with enhanced operatives trained for simultaneous multi-continental operations. That's three months minimum. Probably closer to six."
"While they suffer."
"While we prepare to save them all instead of some." I softened my voice. "I know it's not fair. I know every day they're trapped is another day of horror. But this isn't about fairness—it's about effectiveness. And I need you focused on success, not revenge."
She looked away. "You sound like a mission commander."
"I am a mission commander. So are you. Act like it."
Silence stretched.
Finally, Yelena nodded. "Three months. I'll coordinate intelligence gathering through our network. Map all eight facilities. Identify Dreykov's location. Build operational plans." Her voice was steady again. "But when we move—no holding back. No mercy. We burn every Red Room facility to ash and salt the earth behind us."
"Deal."
Natasha arrived an hour later.
She walked into the briefing room while AEGIS was still decrypting Irina's files, took one look at the facility locations on the map, and went very still.
"Dreykov's alive," she said flatly.
"Yes."
"And Taskmaster Protocol is operational."
"According to Irina's intelligence. We're confirming now."
"Show me the footage."
I nodded to AEGIS. The holographic display shifted, playing recovered video: training facility, reinforced observation room, and in the center—
A figure in tactical armor moved through combat routines. Watching recordings of Black Widow, then perfectly replicating every kick, every strike, every evasion. Switching to Captain America footage and instantly copying shield techniques. Then Hawkeye's archery. Then Thor's combat stance.
Photographic reflexes enhanced beyond human limits.
Natasha's face went white. "That's Antonia."
"You're sure?"
"I'd recognize her movement patterns anywhere. Dreykov's daughter." Her voice was hollow. "She was nine years old when I—" She stopped. "She was collateral damage. During my defection. I planted explosives to kill Dreykov, and she was in the blast radius. I thought she died."
"She survived," I said carefully. "And Dreykov turned his daughter into a weapon."
"To hurt me. To show me what my choices cost." Natasha's hands clenched into fists. "He took his daughter—his child—and did this to her."
Yelena appeared in the doorway. "That's Red Room. Everyone is a weapon. Even family."
"Especially family." Natasha couldn't look away from the footage. "Antonia deserved better. Deserved a life, a choice, anything but becoming this."
"Then we free her," I said. "Along with every other Widow. But that requires time, preparation, and resources. I'm assembling ARES Division leadership for emergency briefing in two hours. We map all eight facilities, infiltrate for detailed intelligence, and coordinate simultaneous liberation operations."
"Timeline?" Yelena asked.
"Three to six months. Depends on intelligence gathering speed."
"That's too long."
"That's realistic. Last time we rushed and seven Widows died because we missed security details. I won't repeat that mistake."
Natasha turned from the footage. "I'm going too. When operations launch, I'm on the ground."
"Your relationship with Dreykov is personal. That compromises—"
"I don't care." Her voice was cold. "He enslaved women for decades. He turned his daughter into Taskmaster. He survived my first attempt to kill him. I won't miss the second opportunity."
I looked at Yelena. She nodded slightly—let her come.
"Fine. But you follow mission parameters. No heroic solo assaults, no revenge-driven stupidity. We do this as a coordinated team or not at all."
"Agreed."
"Good." I pulled up the facility map. "AEGIS estimates eight facilities mean forty to fifty active Widows plus support personnel. Call it three hundred hostiles across all locations. We'll need simultaneous strikes within a two-hour window to prevent warnings. ARES Division can handle maybe three facilities. That means recruiting additional forces."
"SHIELD?" Natasha suggested.
"Compromised by HYDRA. Can't risk them warning Dreykov's backers."
"Avengers?"
"Busy with their own missions and probably wouldn't approve of violent facility raids regardless of justification." I thought for a moment. "We need specialists. Former black ops. People with experience in hostile extraction operations who don't ask too many questions."
Yelena smiled grimly. "I know some people."
"Trustworthy?"
"Enough. For the right price."
"Then start recruiting. Also coordinate with Ghost Network—I want surveillance on all eight facilities within thirty days. Guard rotations, supply deliveries, personnel changes, everything."
"And Taskmaster?" Natasha asked. "Antonia?"
"We extract her if possible. Deprogram if necessary. Give her the choice Dreykov stole." I met her eyes. "But if she's too far gone—if the conditioning can't be broken—we neutralize the threat. I won't sacrifice operatives trying to save someone who's already lost."
"She's not lost."
"You don't know that."
"I have to believe it. Otherwise everything I did—every choice I made—just created more weapons instead of saving lives."
I didn't argue. Belief was all we had sometimes when reality was too brutal to face.
"Three months," I said. "Intelligence gathering, operational planning, asset positioning. Then we move simultaneously against all eight facilities and end Red Room permanently."
Yelena and Natasha exchanged glances.
"No mistakes this time," Yelena said.
"No mercy either," Natasha added.
"Agreed on both counts." I closed the holographic displays. "ARES Division briefing in two hours. Come prepared with preliminary operational concepts. We're going to war, and this time we're finishing what we started."
They left together, two former Widows planning the destruction of the organization that created them.
I stood alone in the briefing room, staring at eight facility locations marked across the map.
Forty Widows still trapped. Dreykov still operating. Taskmaster representing new threat escalation.
And somewhere behind it all, an unknown benefactor funding Red Room's survival.
One more problem to solve. One more threat to neutralize. One more disaster to prevent.
The void marks pulsed beneath my shirt—nine percent corruption and climbing.
Three months to plan. Then we'd see if I'd prepared enough.
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