black widow movie | dear violette romanoff,

chapter twenty one | pickle

"Violette, I found the location of the vials," Yelena reports through the comms.

I cough and wrestle against my restraints, trying to watch the screen in front of me which is projecting a clear viewing of what is happening in Dreykov's office.

I pull at the straps holding me down. It was a unique pain that hurt like nothing else. I groan.

"Let her go," Nat says meekly, staring at me through the monitor while choking on the blood in her throat.

She's in a confused mess, sitting on the floor after enduring multiple punches from Dreykov. It seemed that her disguise had been figured out after all.

"Aha!" Dreykov exclaims at her. "Have I found your weakness, Romanoff?"

Yelena's running gets loud as she hears more from my end. "Violette. Where are you?"

"I'm in a pickle," I explain, watching the screen for Nat's directions, but she gives me nothing but an empty, apologetic stare. This was not part of the plan.

There is a mindless doctor behind me.

"What kind of a pickle?"

"Get to the widows," I whisper, barely managing to hold my fingers up to my ear. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."

The doctor removes my earpiece before Yelena gets a chance to respond, throwing it against his tray. He starts to roll down my seat, and I am suddenly in an exposed, vulnerable position.

Natasha snickers at Dreykov on the other end of the screen as he sends another weak punch at her face.

"Is that all you got?"

"It seems you aren't taking this as serious as it is," Dreykov spits at her, turning away and toward the camera, showing me being held down by restraints. "I suppose I'll just have to cut your sister's head open and make you watch."

Nat shakes her head. "Hey. No. Violette--"

The screen goes blank, and I sigh in exhaustion.

I'm unarmed and alone. I wasn't getting anyone's help with this one.

I take note of my surroundings: two armed guards are standing by the door, each with a knife, a Glock 47: and some pathetic-looking pistols. I know that another guard is standing on the outside of this room holding a respectable M4 Carbine. There is only one doctor who looks like he doesn't even know how to hold a gun, but there are four hidden security cameras in the room, which I noticed when I walked in.

I create a plan in my head.

There are three straps made of synthetic rubber, securing my torso. First, I was going to need a blade to cut through them. Then, I'd need a weapon. After I'd equipped a weapon, I'd need to take out the two guards and doctor. I would worry about the guard on the outside when it came to that.

I search around the room with my eyes, trying not to make anything obvious. There is a loaded gun (that I cannot name) lying idly on the countertop. Now, all I had to do was get myself out.

I turn my head around and scan the room for something sharp and within reach. There's nothing. I try to familiarize myself and remember the feeling of being hospitalized in the Red Room. I remember looking at the equipment underneath the hospital bed before being admitted.

I use my hand to reach underneath the surgical table. Something soft, something hard, something thick, thick... something sharp! I grab at it. It's attached to the table, but I pull harder. Nothing. I bring my hand back up in front of my face and pull my suit sleeve over my fist, inhaling hard before smashing my fist into the sharp object. It breaks off and falls into my hand.

The doctor returns, using his hand to move my baby hairs as he starts redrawing the line on my forehead. He disappears into a separate room attached to mine, leaving the steel door wide open.

I open my hand and take a glance at the object. It's metallic, blunt on one side, but sharp enough on the other to cut through synthetic rubber.

I take a glance behind me. The two guards are distracted, laughing in German. This was my chance.

I begin to saw through the straps with my shard of metal, scrunching my nose up in frustration. Three staps, two straps, one strap left. Freedom. I lie still for a moment, pretending to still be trapped in the position.

One man sighs, "Ich brauche dringend eine Beförderung." ("I am in desperate need/urgently need a promotion.")

"Ich auch, kumpel." ("Me too, mate.")

I count down in my head, slide off the thin, dark blue mattress, and retrieve the gun from the countertop, holding it up directly at the guards.

I take shots at the four security cameras in the room and shoot the guards before they can reach for their guns, allowing no time before securing the steel door with a large plank of metal, trapping the doctor.

I run toward the tray resting on the countertop, taking back my earpiece.

I ram my back up against the wall beside my exit route, preparing to open the door and kill whoever might be blocking my path.

I charge out from the room, sending rapid-fire at the unsuspecting guard standing totally unprepared in front of the door. He drops to the ground.

I suddenly become aware of the bright red lights flashing through the building. I reach down my suit, checking for Yelena's files.

I open my comms. "Does anybody copy?"

"Thank God!" Yelena shouts.

The entire ship rattles after unintended turbulence, and I lose balance and fall to the ground.

"Is this supposed to be happening?" I shout, collecting myself.

I had to get to Nat. I'd seen what Dreykov was doing to her, and I'd hoped she had listened to Melina's advice about severing the nerve.

"Girls," Melina starts, completely calm, "slight change of plan. I completely demolished one of the engines and we are going into a controlled crash."

Another part of the Red Room falls off.

"Fantastic!" Yelena shouts.

I hurry up. "Slight change?"