Survivor | Frank Castle

.24.

The small town sleeps, cocooned in the velvety embrace of night. Frank lies beside Mary, his rhythmic breathing a lullaby that paints the room in tranquility. But Mary, her mind a turbulent sea of thoughts, remains adrift in the wake of unspoken truths.

The weight of her secrets—buried deep within the recesses of her past—presses upon her shoulders, a burden that refuses to be shrugged off. The Red Room, once a specter she thought she could outrun, now reclaims its place in the forefront of her consciousness.

Mary glances at Frank, his features softened in repose. The choice she made, to stay and build a life with him, echoes with an unspoken promise. But the tendrils of her past, the secrets she's safeguarded like precious artifacts, now threaten to unravel in the quiet of the night.

The Red Room's survival has been a clandestine truth she's held close to her chest, a revelation she's chosen to shield Frank from. The knowledge that they orchestrated Operation Cerberus, a shadowy operation that left a trail of chaos and blood, remains a locked chamber in the vault of her memories.

The room, in its stillness, becomes a confessional—a space where Mary confronts the fractures in the narrative she's woven. The choice to keep Frank in the dark about the Red Room's involvement in Operation Cerberus gnaws at her conscience.

A sigh escapes Mary's lips, a whisper against the silence. The truth, a double-edged blade, demands to be unsheathed. The wariness of vulnerability, the fear of losing what she's found with Frank, becomes a barrier to the unearthing of her deepest secrets.

She rises quietly, careful not to disturb Frank's slumber. The moonlight spills through the window, casting a pallor over the room. The weight of the past, the choices that define her, accompanies her as she steps into the living room.

The dim glow of the lamp offers a semblance of solace as Mary takes a seat on the worn-out couch. The phone, a silent witness to her internal struggles, beckons. Her fingers hover over the keys, contemplating the call she's yet to make.

The decision to keep the truth from Frank has been a calculated one—a shield to protect the fragile peace they've built together. Yet, the specter of the Red Room, the ghosts of Budapest and Operation Cerberus, refuse to be silenced.

Mary dials the number, the familiar tones resonating through the quiet room. Natasha's voice, a familiar cadence that echoes through the years, answers on the other end.

Mary begins, her voice a measured whisper, "We need to talk."

The silence that follows is pregnant with the weight of unspoken truths. Natasha, on the other end, senses the gravity of Mary's words. The Red Room, a shared nightmare they both believed they'd escaped, becomes a pivotal point in the conversation.

"What's going on?" Natasha's voice is steady, a reflection of the stoicism they've both honed through years of covert operations.

Mary takes a deep breath, the air heavy with the admission she's about to make, " I want the Red Room gone as much as you do."

" But you've got someone you want to protect," Natasha observes, a hint of understanding in her voice.

Mary's gaze remains fixed on the photograph, "Yeah. Someone I can't lose."

" I'm happy for you... I really am. But I wouldn't be asking if--"

The call soon turns to static, disconnecting swiftly and abruptly.

Mary stares at the phone, a foreboding chill settling in her bones. The sudden disconnection echoes in the quiet room like a prelude to an impending storm. A shiver runs down her spine, an intuitive sense that the fragile peace she's tried to build is on the brink of collapse.