BOOK ONE OF THE ETERNAL WINTER TRILOGY
*EDITING IN PROGRESS*
Realizing that Natasha Romanoff a.k.a Black Widow doesn't fit into the illusion of superheroes, she decides to go on her own path. A path that leads her to becoming a vigilante. The life s...
The icy air hung on the sewer's ceiling as Natasha sauntered through the shadows. Dripping water echoed off the vacant walls, reminding her that she was not completely alone. Her swift movement hushed on the molded cement.
It's been decades since Natasha has stepped foot in the "Devil's Home", she calls Russia. Decades since the Red Room, decades since torment and decades since terror. Trying to keep the barbarous nightmares from flowing, she pointed her two guns at shoulder level. Ready to eliminate at any moment. Frozen, she concentrated on any note of protectors or defenders.
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Complete silence.
She took a sharp turn, leading to a worn and tarnished steel door and stood still, listening for a single breathe or footstep. Nothing. Waiting no more she kicked the door open, leaving small waves of dust floating across the floor. The room was uninhabited, not a single paper or hand print amongst the dust to prove of any sign of occupation.
"Dammit." Natasha said to herself. "Another dead end."
Raking her hand through her auburn hair, she tried to find a logical explanation to this empty hole. This has been her first lead in trying to find Trikov, a rumored insurgent, an anarchist. Connected to more than a hundred crimes in the past fifteen years. People call him "Satan's Right-Hand Man" or "The Grim Reaper", known for taking people to the depths of Hell before even ending their lives. Very skilled in the art of torture, he always leaves a signature on his victims. He removes the heart and places it in the mouth of the casualty. Some say it's a message, a warning. While others say its the repulsive move of an inhumane being, someone who craves the vile taste of blood.
And this lead has lead her once again to zero trace of his existence. Letting out a sigh, she placed her Glock 26s in her dual thigh holsters and ambled out of the room.
Exiting the abandoned sewage facility, Natasha was welcomed by a bitter cold wind on the opposite side of Novosibirsk. She scanned the perimeter for any sign of life then footed to her hidden Jeep, camouflaged in the heavy snow. She started the car and headed to her remote safe house.
The sun was blocked by the thick gloom of winter, making it difficult to tell what time of day it is. Natasha glanced at the time. 10:35 a.m. Enough time to start on a new lead. Once she got to the safe house she turned on her multiple monitor computer and examined all six screens carefully.
"So." Natasha whispered to herself. "Where are you now Mr. Trikov?" She watched as locations danced on the screens.
"It's been two weeks since your last kill." She pointed at the city of Koltsovo.
"Andrei Yeltsin, a former arms dealer... known for selling rifles to infamous Russian mafias..."
She eyed his picture. "Now why Andrei?" Her hands gripped the edges of the desk. "Broken promise? Spilled secrets? Waste of time?" She paused trying to find a rational reason.
