The Red Widow

Chapter 3 - Blondie

   My body still wiggles and fights all of them, almost in a child-like tantrum. They all speak to one another frantically, unable for me to make out. "Hold her hands," I hear Shuri mutter. It takes Yelena and Riri to hold both of my arms down long enough for Shuri to strap them down; then followed by my feet.

   Even with my extremities bound, my body still writhes in violence. My voice sounds demonic, grunting and groaning as they all shuffle around the lab. "Yelena, do you have it? Do we do this now?" Yelena sounds frustrated as she fumbles with a small, red vial from her coat pocket, "I didn't want to, but she has no time; I'm her target. She's going to kill herself if she overexerts her body too much, her heart rate and blood pressure will get too high, she won't be able to handle it." She hands the vial to Shuri, who starts up her program and the lab wakes to life. "Griot," she calls out, "What is Ksana's heart rate and blood pressure?"

   "Ksana Krasnaya's heart rate is 192 beats per minute. Her blood pressure is 184/106." The calm voice chimes. My head feels like it's going to explode and I can see my chest shaking with every beat of my pulse, but my body doesn't slow down. Yelena shakes her head "Shit, she's way too high. This is not how I wanted this to go, but this has to happen now. But first off-" she picks up a small blade off the instruments table, "this has to go." She holds down my right thigh with one hand, while she jabs the blade into the upper part of my leg and slowly drags it down about 3 inches. A yelp leaves my lungs and she digs her forefinger into the gash. Her eyebrows furrow together and she mumbles apologies in her concentration, "I know, I know, I'm sorry..."

She finally pulls a small beeping rectangle out of my bloody thigh and tosses it on the side table with a clank. Just as she backs away from the table, Shuri is there with what looks like some type of oxygen mask. She fights to get it over my nose and mouth, my head thrashing left and right away from her. "She's not going to like this." Yelena is now at my head, holding me steady with her hands while Shuri tightens the mask around my face. "Griot, what are Ksana's vitals?" Shuri shouts. The calm voice chimes again, "Ksana Krasnaya's vitals are a pulse of 201 beats per minute, blood pressure of 190/110, oxygen level at 92% with a respiratory rate of 44 breaths per minute."

"Her body is about to give up, we need to start." Yelena says calmly as she still holds my head still. Riri looks like she's on the verge of tears and I feel her grab one of my thrashing hands and squeeze it in hers. "Griot, initiate the nebulizer process." Shuri calls. A ping sound goes off and a red gas comes through my oxygen mask. My quick breathing sucks everything in, a burning sensation filling my lungs. I gasp and choke as the fire fills my entire body and goes straight to my head. I'm quickly overwhelmed by strange memories that flash before my eyes that follow with emotions I didn't know I could connect to. The faces of Generals in the Red Room. Myself staring up at them, aged 6, as a metal rod comes across my face as my tiny body flies across a ballet floor.

"Вы не будете плакать! Слезы только показывают слабость!" (You will not cry! Tears only show weakness!)

Then I'm aged 9, huddled in a dark room on a concrete floor, my arms held out to my sides by chains linked to the walls. My body shudders violently as what must've been the eleventh gallon of melted snow comes down over me. My screams quickly overpowered by another.

"Ваши крики только вас подводят! Вы не показываете страха! Вы не показываете слабости!"
(Your screams only fail you! You do not show fear! You do not show weakness!)

I continue to choke and gasp on the table as the gas suffocates me. All three faces stare down at me, in awe, shock and worry. Another inhale burns through me and another flash goes before my eyes. The three faces turn into ones with surgical masks. A monitor next to me beeps rhythmically. The doctors confirm the procedure.

"Ксана Красная, 12 лет. Рутинная стерилизация готова к началу."
(Ksana Krasnaya, aged 12. Routine sterilization, ready to begin.)

In one last flash, I see the face of every person I've ever killed on missions. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Men, women, children, elderly, ex-widows, congressmen, presidents, innocent civilians. They all stare at me with the same look of pain and disparity. Watching the color drain from their face and the light leave their eyes. Their bodies, I shove off of me with no second thought. Every stab, every gunshot, every beating with a baton, I watch it all happen within seconds.

Suddenly, I'm standing in rubble of every building I've imploded. The flames surround me and the screams of what sounds like a chorus of people fill my ears. I fall to my knees and clutch my chest. The heaviest invisibility crushes me and squeezes me until I can't breathe. My face is sopping wet before I realize that it's my own tears. I choke and bawl on my tears, curled into the pieces of broken concrete and building foundations. This feeling holds it's grip on me and my body shakes, unable to control this tsunami of emotions that have flooded over me.

The black smoke from the flames suffocates me and I squeeze my eyes shut, sure this is my death. I let out one final scream and my eyes fly open. The same scream is hurling itself from my lungs and the tears run down into my ears. Yelena, stroking my hair, in a worried voice commands Shuri and Riri, "Let her go, let her up." Yelena rips the mask the mask that now only emits oxygen from my face and I gasp in the first clear breath I've had in, what feels like hours, but I'm sure is only minutes. I feel the metals clasps release my wrists and ankles and in a weak panic, I start off the table. I hyperventilate, grasping to make sense out of what I just saw and what I'm feeling; what's going on.

I tumble off the table, my body too weak to hold itself upright. Yelena catches me and slowly guides me down to the floor of the lab. My hyperventilation turns to rhythmic moaning and whimpering I still can't control. Yelena holds me in her lap, like a baby, and I clutch to her in a death grip. Her voice slowly begins to soothe in a motherly-like tone, "Ksana, breathe. Breathe. You're ok, everything's is alright. Shh..."