The Black Widow

After

No one was even at his funeral. If that's what you even want to call it. He was a soldier. He should have gotten a proper burial but that isn't possible because of me. I am ruining his life even after its over. They can't even put a name on his grave. Just the years.

1900-1971.

To anyone who passes by he is just a nameless nobody. 

But not to me.

Not to me.

It makes me furious watching him be treated this way. It hurts more then anything else. That's why I have to numb myself. I have to go to work everyday.

So I do. I am better at being the Black Widow then ever before. Everyone notices even Mr. Suit.
When I am finished I sit by his grave. Silent. I sit there just letting me feel enough to remind myself of who I was. Who I will never be again.

I stay until someone kicks me out every night.

I walk home and thinking the same thoughts over and over again.

He gave up his whole life for me. He saved my life. But when it came down to it I couldn't save his.

I don't know if I am punishing myself or trying to find some meaning in his death. 

I hope it's not the latter. That would be a complete waste of time.

The next day I do it all again. 

No one at work complains. Especially not Mr. Suit. As long as I can continue to do my job and do it well he could care less about my feelings.

The only time I can feel better is when I kill.

I imagine each target is Viktor.

Sometimes I shoot him in the head. Other times I snap is neck. Occasionally I strangle them. Watch the life drain out of his eyes. My favorite is the torture though. Normally it frustrates me when a target holds one to whatever information they have for a long time but now it's different. Each moment they hold out is another moment I can see Viktor suffer for everything he has done.

It actually disappoints me when the give up and tell me everything.

Deep down I know it's wrong. My job has always been wrong but somehow when I enjoy it that makes it worse. Does it really matter? Does it make that much of a difference? Does it matter that now I smile as I do it? Do I even care? It gets done either way.

It goes on like this for another ten years. I spend ten years in an endless cycle of numbness, murder and pain. Than Mr. Suit calls me into his office and things change.

Mr. Suit is starting to get old in the last ten years. Maybe it isn't as noticeable to everyone else but when you age three times as slow as others you tend to notice stuff like that just a little more. He is wearing a cream colored suit and a dark green tie. It all looks very expensive. I have no doubt that it is.

He smiles at me. His smile stopped creeping me out a long time ago. It's hard to be creeped out by something you do yourself when killing others.

"What's the job?" I ask. Direct and to the point. It has been a while since he has called me directly to his office to give me a job. This one must be important. I love the important ones. That means it will be difficult. A challenge. It has been a while since I have had one of those.

He shakes his head, "No job, an experiment."

It's been a while since one of those too. Part of me is willing to do whatever they want but a tiny part of my brain remembers all of those procedures in the Red Room. I don't want anymore of those.