The rise of the White Widow

Escape?

Alex's pov

The gears in my mind grind to a halt as I struggle to recall a single memory outside of the crimson chamber of the Red room and the looming presence of Hydra. My thoughts refuse to venture beyond these confining walls. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a guard smirking at my distress, and rage bubbles up inside me.

"The fuck you laughing at?" I snap, my voice dripping with venom.

"Ты," he replies with a cruel chuckle, mocking me. (You in Russian)

Unable to contain my fury, I spring forward like a wild animal, launching myself at him and delivering a vicious blow to his face. Ignoring his cries of pain, I keep striking him with blind anger controlling my actions. Suddenly, powerful arms seize me from behind, yanking me away from the battered guard. I'm flung across the room like a ragdoll and land with a heavy thud.

Bloodied knuckles ache as evidence of my impulsive assault stains everything they touch. The injured guard is quickly escorted out of the dank cell while I struggle to catch my breath. The room feels emptier than ever as I await the consequences of my actions.

After what feels like an eternity alone in silence, another figure appears, armed with heavy shackles and chains. With cold precision, they secure one shackle around my ankle, ensuring that any chance of freedom has just slipped further out of reach.

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Months turn into a blur as I grow stronger and more skilled with each passing day. My training as a black widow operative is grueling, pushing me to my physical and mental limits. Yet, I take each challenge head-on, adapting and overcoming every obstacle.

I soon find myself being trusted with high-stakes missions, proving my worth as an undercover operative. However, that is not enough for my captors at Hydra. They see potential in me and sought to enhance it further through a series of painful experiments designed to grant me supernatural abilities.

The agony from the invasive procedures is excruciating, but over time, I become numb to it. I have no choice but to endure if I want to survive. Unfortunately, things have taken a darker turn recently. Instead of granting me more freedom as I gain their trust, they decide to keep me locked away in my cell.

My once smooth skin now bore deep, raw wounds from the constant chafing of the shackles that bound my wrists. The dull ache serves as a reminder that, despite my newfound power, I am not free.

After what feels like an eternity in my cramped cell, I begin to think that they have simply abandoned me here to die. Fear grips my heart at the thought of attempting an escape. I can almost picture them lurking around a corner, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of movement from me. And so, I remain in my seemingly eternal prison.

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As the days stretch into weeks, an eerie silence engulfs the entire area. The nagging thought that they might have indeed left me behind continues to grow. Desperation gradually overcomes my trepidation, and I decide that now is as good a time as any to try and break free from the cold, metallic shackles that bind my wrists.

My first target is my right hand. Gritting my teeth from the pain, I contort and contract my palm in various ways, attempting to maneuver it out of the restrictive cuff. Pain shoots through every nerve in my arm as I struggle against the merciless grip of the shackle. But despite the near-unbearable agony, deep down inside, I know this may be my last chance at freedom. And so, with determination fuelled by survival instincts long dormant within me, I persevere in wrestling with my confinement.

After hours of struggling and exhausting all other options, I finally resort to the one thing I've been trying to avoid: dislocating my thumb, specifically the carpometacarpal joint. I take a few deep breaths to prepare myself for the pain that's about to come.

Gritting my teeth, I slowly begin to apply pressure, twisting and bending my thumb in an unnatural way. The pain intensifies, but I force myself to continue, knowing that it's my only chance at freedom.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of pain and determination, I manage to dislocate my thumb. The carpometacarpal joint is now out of place, allowing me just enough wiggle room to slip my hand through the shackle. With a mix of relief and agony on my face, I pull my hand free, one step closer to escaping this nightmare.

With caution, I slowly stand up and leave the other cuff on my wrist. I don't want to risk dislocating another thumb. As I make my way towards the cell door, I realize that it's been open this entire time. How could I have missed that?

Apprehensively, I step out of the cell, my eyes scanning my surroundings for any signs of danger. With each step, I feel a mixture of fear and relief. As I continue through the dimly lit corridor and come across the weapons room. Luckily, inside I spot a cuff key hanging on the wall. Swiftly, I use it to unlock the remaining cuff on my left wrist.

Once free, I take a deep breath and survey the room for weapons to defend myself with. I quickly grab a handgun and tuck a knife into my belt, feeling slightly more secure than just moments ago.

Determined, I venture throughout the grim facility, searching for an exit. As my search continues, I somehow find myself in front of Dreykov's office, a place that always fills me with dread.

Despite the potential danger, curiosity gets the best of me and I slowly push open the door. The sight that greets me steals my breath away; Dreykov sits slumped in his chair with his head hung back, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. A perfectly placed bullet hole rests between his eyes.

I can't help but wonder who could have killed Dreykov. Was it possible that he had a disagreement with Hydra, and they decided to take matters into their own hands? My curiosity piqued, I decided to search his office for any clues that might shed some light on the situation.

As I rummage through his belongings, I stumble upon a first aid kit. Realizing it will come in handy, I take advantage of the find, to tend to my dislocated thumb. Wrapping it carefully with a bandage, I place the kit into my bag and continue my investigation.

Just as I am about to walk out of the office, something catches my eye. There in Dreykov's lifeless hand, another clue is waiting to be discovered. I approach his cold body cautiously and gently pry his stiff fingers open. It is evident from the state of his corpse that he has been dead for at least a week or so.

Hidden within his frozen grasp is a hard drive, an item that could potentially reveal the truth behind his death. Eager to examine its contents, I pocket the device and prepare to leave the room. Before making my exit, however, I couldn't resist one final act of defiance against Dreykov's cold and unfeeling presence.

Raising my uninjured hand, I extend my middle finger towards him and sneer, "Have fun in hell."

With a dark chuckle under my breath, I turn on my heel and stride out of the office, resolute in my determination to uncover the twisted tale of Dreykov's untimely end.

Again, it's rushed but oh well 😂😂