Zachary Danvers-Stark is the adoptive son of Tony Stark, with a genius-level intellect and gifted powers. But his life will turn when he becomes a part of something, much, much bigger than himself.
All characters but Zach belong to Marvel Entertainm...
In the cold night of Russia, nearby a railroad, a large general by the name of Georgi Luchkov, stood beside his thugs, watching them torture none other than Natasha Romanoff herself. Natasha was undercover in a black dress, being beaten from blount punches to the cheeks.
"Не так я хотел провести вечер.*" Luchkov growled in Russian to her, as she spit out blood nearby. "Я знаю, как ты хотел, чтобы этот вечер прошел." Natasha retorted. "Поверьте, это лучше."
(This is not how I wanted the night to go. —- I know how you wanted the night to go. Believe me, this is better.)
One of the thugs opened Natasha's mouth wide, checking for possible cyanide as Luchkov continued. "Я хотел бы знать, почему вас послали нести переноску, витраж и другие случайные предметы.*" Luchkov questioned as the thug now tilted her chair back, into a gaping hole. "Я-я думал, что генерал Сохолоб отвечает за экспорт?" Natasha asked confusingly, looking scared for her life.
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"Сохолоб? Ваша репутация — это прогресс. Знаменитая Черная вдова..." Luchkov laughed. "ничего, кроме красивого лица."
(I'd like to know why they sent you to carry out a carrier, a stained glass and other items. – I thought General Soholob was in charge of the export business. – Soholob? Your reputation is quite a progression. The Famous Black Widow. Nothing but a pretty face.)
"Ты думаешь, я красивая?" Natasha bluntly asked, to which the general willfully ignored. "Нам не нужны Лермонтовы для переброски танков." He instructed her. "Скажи ему, ну... you may have to write it down."
Suddenly, one of the thug's phone rings loudly, and to his own confusion, he meekly answers, passing the phone to the general. "Who the hell is..." Luchkov asked threateningly before hearing the demands of the other side.
"You're at 114 Solenski Plaza, 3rd floor. We have an F22 exactly eight miles out and a secret weapon near the ceiling. Put the woman on the phone or I will blow up the block before you can make the lobby, assuring he doesn't catch you first."
Luchlov quivers in his boot, near about the point to shit himself. He slides the phone against Natasha's cheekbone, as she was tied back to the chair with her arms held behind her. "We need you to come in." Coulson spoke up to Natasha.
