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CHAPTER VII. Static
Elina was on the precipice of everything she had ever dreamed of. The adoration of her superiors was a newfound luxury. Where once Svechnikov, the cold-eyed overseer, had seen only flaws in her, now he merely cast a glance of begrudging admiration. No longer did she need to lose herself in grueling training or the delicate art of the dance. The shimmering spotlight of the establishment's acclaim was now upon her, and Ms. Smirnova had even whispered of grand designs with Elina at their core.
Yet, amidst this shimmering veneer of success, a gnawing discontent twisted in her soul. It was as if a shadow lurked within her, whispering that this opulent façade was but a mirage, a cruel illusion. The emptiness she felt was compounded by the wounds she had inflicted, the damage done to those she was supposed to protect.
Especially to her sister.
Natasha-her sister, her kin-was now a prisoner of her own making. Elina had been trained to view such acts as necessary, justified, a part of the great and grim symphony she was bound to play. She had done what was right by the cold calculus of her training. She had captured Natasha and delivered her to the Red Room's icy embrace. Yet, the silence since her sister's arrival was a gnawing void, an unanswered question that plagued her every waking moment.
For almost two weeks, Elina had been consumed by the unknown, scouring for any scrap of news about Natasha. Every attempt to glean information from Ms. Smirnova had been met with a steely wall of silence. The answers she sought were veiled in a shroud of secrecy, leaving her in the dark about Natasha's fate.
Desperate for distraction, Elina found herself seated with Zoya, poring over the details of their forthcoming mission. It was set to be an unusually straightforward assignment-simpler than the challenges that usually fell to their lot. The necessity of deploying two agents seemed excessive. Zoya voiced the question hanging between them, "I don't understand why we need both of us for this?"
Elina flipped through the mission file, a frown creasing her brow. "It's a straightforward task," she admitted. "Why send us both when this could be Zoya's forte, not mine?"
Zoya's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Are they really concerned about potential mistakes?" She chuckled. "Why send you, then?"
Elina responded with a playful shove and a shared laugh, the brief respite from her dark thoughts a welcome relief. But the laughter soon faded as Zoya's tone grew serious, her gaze shifting to the door.
"I heard something about Natasha," she said softly.
Elina's heart leaped. "What? What's happening?"
Zoya's words were a chilling revelation. "They're going after her with the intent to execute her."
Elina sat in stunned silence. The knowledge that her plan was coming to fruition should have brought her a sense of triumph. Yet, the realization left her feeling hollow. This was what she had sought, but it was not the victory she had envisioned. The triumph was tainted by the bitter taste of her own complicity, leaving her to wrestle with an unsettling truth: the success she had yearned for did not bring the peace she had anticipated.
"Do you know where she is?" Elina's voice was a fragile whisper, laced with desperation.
Zoya's response was a slow, deliberate shake of her head. "I can attempt to find out, but it will require time. You need patience, Elina. I can go now."
Elina nodded, her gaze filled with a mingling of hope and resignation as Zoya departed. Zoya had been having an affair with one of the guards. This affair was a silent pact forged in secrecy, one that allowed Zoya to glean information vital to both of their interests.
As soon as the door swung shut behind Zoya, Elina seized her chance. She slipped silently from the room, driven by a relentless urge to see Natasha before it was too late. Her heart pounded with every step as she ventured into uncharted corridors, navigating the labyrinth passages of the facility.
The hall she found herself in was unfamiliar, a shadowy area darker than any she had previously traversed. The oppressive silence weighed heavily, broken only by her own breathing and the distant hum of the facility's machinery. The darkness grew denser as she proceeded, until she reached the end of the corridor, where an unsettling sound pierced the stillness.
Screams, raw and agonizing, reverberated along the walls. Elina's hands instinctively flew to her ears, but the sound was relentless, piercing through her defenses. The screams were achingly familiar. She knew that voice. It was Natasha's voice, twisted in torment.
Elina approached the partially open door, her breath catching in her throat. She dared a glance inside. Her sister was strapped into a chair, stripped down to a tank top. Sweat glistened on her skin, a testament to her suffering. Electrodes connected to her body flickered ominously.
Svechnikov loomed before Natasha, his face contorted in rage as he shouted at her. Natasha, defiant and unyielding, spat in his face. The act was met with a cold, clinical response as Svechnikov wiped the spit from his face and turned to a man at a control panel. With a mechanical flick of a switch, Natasha's screams escalated into a crescendo of agony, static electricity coursing violently through her. The sight was too much for Elina. She recoiled, a hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.
Through the narrow gap in the door, their eyes met. The brief, heart-wrenching moment of connection felt like an eternity. Natasha's gaze was a silent plea, a cry for help that cut through Elina like a blade. But before Elina could react, the gravity of the scene forced her to retreat. She fled down the hall, her footsteps a frantic rhythm as she stumbled back to her room.
Minutes later, Zoya reappeared. Her sharp eyes took in Elina's ashen face with concern. "What happened?" she asked.
Elina's voice trembled as she recounted the harrowing scene she had witnessed. Zoya listened, her expression stoic but not entirely devoid of empathy.
"It's not uncommon," Zoya said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Such methods are used, though they're kept hidden. They subject each Widow to different forms of punishment. That's Natasha's particular ordeal. It's like how you go to the Dark Room"."
Elina's eyes widened in disbelief. "What... what's your punishment?"
Zoya's gaze fell to the floor, a shadow of resignation crossing her face. "They submerge my head in water. It's not as severe as it could be. I've learned to endure it, to hold my breath longer than most."
Elina's heart ached for her friend. She wrapped an arm around Zoya in a gesture of comfort. "I'm so sorry."
Zoya's lips curled into a faint, ironic smile. "It doesn't happen as often anymore. I'm managing, truly."
Yet the forced cheerfulness did little to mask the underlying truth. The oppressive air of the facility, the unspoken horrors, and the visible toll it took on its inhabitants painted a grim reality. Nobody was truly fine. The darkness of the place seeped into their souls, a reminder that this world was far from being okay.
