-?Caught in her Web?- (black widow)

Red room

I nod, trying to keep my face impassive. "As far as I know, yes."

He seems irritated now, a slight edge to his voice. "These gasses and antidotes, it's a pain in my ass. It's a problem. You need to sort it."

I don't flinch, despite the anger bubbling in my chest. "Hmm. I have nine pigs that will require attending to in my absence."

Without warning, Dreykov shoves me roughly into a chair, the force of it taking me by surprise. "I don't give a shit about your pigs. Cut her brain out... Hmm? Identify the weakness."

I take a deep breath, reminding myself why I'm here. "What about Romanoff?"

Dreykov circles around me, like a predator preparing to strike. "She's a traitor. She turned her back on her people. On her blood. She had nothing. I gave her a home. I gave her love. Put that thing in her you do. You know, uh, chemicals. Turn her into one of your pigs. Can you imagine what I could do with an Avenger under my control?"

I'm carefully ask "Wouldn't you like to speak to her first?"

Dreykov stops in front of me, bending down so that we're at eye level. The cold, calculating gaze never leaves his face. "When you look into the eyes of a child you have raised, no mask in the world can hide that," he says, almost... regretfully? He takes off my mask, looking me dead in the eye

He straightens up, his voice chilling. "Welcome home." His words feel like a slap to the face. It's all I can do to keep my composure.

A Taskmaster stands beside him, ready for any order Dreykov gives. But he holds his hand up, silencing the soldier. "Now, now. Don't go breaking my new toy."

Dreykov turns to me, his voice dripping with mock amusement. "Is this your plan?"

I stare him down, my voice filled with deadly certainty. "My plan is to kill you."

He gestures to himself with an exaggerated motion, like I've said something absurd. "I'm alive. So, what do we do now?"

I take a deep breath, pushing past the rising tide of anger. "What was my mother's name?"

Dreykov pauses, as if the question catches him off guard. His mind races as he tries to recall the details. "Ah... Where we buried her, there was a tree... Um... A pink blossom. Beautiful. And there was a tombstone with her name engraved on it. What was her name? Ah," he chuckles darkly, "Unknown."

I feel the heat of anger flare up inside me. "You don't feel anything? You didn't feel anything when I killed your daughter?"

He answers dismissively, his voice barely containing his amusement. "Is this your haunted past? Really? Thank you, Natasha. You gave me my greatest weapon."

I can't stop myself from narrowing my eyes as he moves to one of his Taskmasters. He pulls off the mask, revealing the face of a woman—someone I recognize, though not by name.

"Say hello," Dreykov taunts, his voice almost playful. "When your bomb exploded, it nearly killed my Antonia. I had to put a chip in the back of her neck. In the back of her neck. Look at her. You find it difficult to look at her? I do. She watches everything, and she can do it. She's a perfect mimic. And she fights just like all of your friends."

I swallow, suddenly feeling like I'm choking on the weight of my own guilt. "Can she hear me?"

Dreykov laughs, the sound echoing in the cold room. "What? You want to make her feel better? You want to tell her you're sorry? Well, you should have thought of that before you blew her face off. But enough of all this bullshit."

He turns to Antonia and orders her, "Go to work. I have rats in the basement. Go. Go." She obeys, and the mask is swiftly placed back on her face before she leaves the room, disappearing behind the door.

I can't help but feel a surge of hatred toward Dreykov as the door slams shut. I immediately reach for my gun, my hand trembling, but my finger won't pull the trigger. Something is stopping me.

"Well, that was a mistake," I say, my voice low, as I point the gun at him.

Dreykov just smiles, unfazed. "Was it?"

I try to fire again, but nothing happens. The gun is useless, and the anger inside me boils over. "Why can't I shoot you?"

He watches me with an amused look on his face, as if this were some game to him. "Is the safety on?"

I try again, and again, nothing happens.

He tilts his head, gesturing to my knife. "No. Try your knife."

I reach for the blade, my fingers shaking with frustration. But even as I grip it, I can't bring myself to make the strike. It's like an invisible force is holding me back. I let the knife drop to the floor, a feeling of helplessness washing over me.

Dreykov chuckles darkly. "You're in trouble."

I can barely contain the confusion and anger in my voice. "How are you controlling me?"

He shakes his head, stepping closer. "I'm not controlling you, Natasha. Well, not yet. But there is a pheromonal lock. Smelling my pheromones prevents you from committing violence against me."

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. He's controlling me. Not with some chip or injection, but with something so simple and insidious as his scent. My heart pounds in my chest as I struggle to fight the sensation.

Dreykov looks almost sympathetic as he says, "I'm very upset with Melina. It's a shame I have to kill her. Oh, and I have a surprise for you."

He gestures to the door, and I freeze. Three Widows enter, dragging a beaten-up Cleo behind them. They toss her to the ground with a grunt, and my heart lurches. I try to reach for her, but Dreykov shoves me back into the chair.

The Widows force Cleo into a kneeling position, her face battered and bruised. She looks at me, her eyes filled with sadness, and I can't stop the wave of guilt that crashes over me.

Dreykov nods to one of the Widows, and she stands behind me, ready to pounce at his command. He moves toward his desk, revealing a small, sinister-looking button.

"I only need to push this button," he says, his voice full of dark amusement, "and the brain of our precious Cleo will explode." He chuckles, enjoying the fear and helplessness on my face.

I can see Cleo squirming, struggling against the restraints, but she's punished for it with a swift strike to her stomach. My body tenses with fury, but I can't move. I can't act.

Dreykov leans in, savoring the moment. "What's it going to be, Natasha? Will you kill me to save her?"

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2409 words
Two chapters in one day yayyy
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