protected || natasha romanoff [DISCONTINUED]

i don't need emotions when i can have muscles instead

as i step, my boots crunch in the snow.

i'm back in russia.

after a nearly successful attempt on my life, i've come to russia. to find my killer. of course, everyone knows i survived. i wish i had the element of surprise, but it's hard when you're unconscious and still breathing. and when your idiot of a best friend tells all your mutual friends you're alive. thanks, clint.

i sigh, pulling my coat around me. nobody knows i'm in europe, though. that's how i like it. i'm on my own.

facing my past. on my own.

i took the first plane to belarus. the bullet that hit me was soviet made, and i can only hope it wasn't from his gun. maybe it was that girl, belova's. that would be a little bit better.

at least someone else caught that exchange. i'm upset i blew it, but at least we salvaged it. nobody seems mad at me, though.

i stare at the building i grew up in. abandoned, as i expected. my feet start moving towards it. i can't help myself. i need to know... i need to know what's left.

i check my weapons as i walk inside. i stopped at an old friend's house- his equipment is outdated, but it'll do. i know nobody in the red room would be trained with these weapons, anyways.

i'd always imagined coming back, wreaking havoc on those who had hurt me. but in those visions, i was armed to the teeth, prepared. but i guess i was still alone.

the hallways are empty, and my footsteps echo, no matter how quiet i try to be. i find myself in front of a staircase. i only came down here once, when i was stabbed. the man holding the knife died that day, but i paid the price for messing up. i was shown a little kindness, though, and... aha, there it is. i pull out the knife from where i stashed it.

i wipe the dust off on my sleeve and keep walking. there are files down here, but i don't have time to read them all. it's stupid to go look for mine, but...

there's a whistling noise, and then a thunk as a small knife lodges itself in my upper arm. "ow," i say sarcastically, turning to see a small girl. my heart sinks. so it is true.

she turns and runs, though. the door slams closed behind her, and a lock clicks. i sprint up the stairs. but i'm trapped. i could pick the lock, but it's a trap. i sit so my back is to the door, and yank out the knife. i rip off a strip off my shirt and wrap it around my arm, trying to stop the bleeding.

and i wait. i want to know who is still working for the KGB, and who is new. i wipe the blood off the knife the girl had and tuck both of them away.

as i expected, madame b emerges from the shadows a few moments later. she's looking a little... old.

"madame." i stand up again.

"romanova," she says. "you couldn't stay away." it's been a while since i've heard russian.

"and you couldn't leave innocent girls alone."

she smirks. "oh, i'm not running the program anymore." she beckons to the shadows, and out steps... her daughter. anya. the recluse. she lived at the academy, but never trained with the others. favouritism, i suppose. she glares at me.

"killing me won't prove anything," i say evenly. anya rolls her eyes.

"oh, i would love to reset you," the madame says bitterly. "and anya would love to kill you. we need all our old tech gone, so this is your last chance."

"i'd never help you," i snarl, slipping a dagger out of my sleeve.

"it's a shame. your experience would've been useful," the madame says. "anya, she's injured. if you're going to do it, don't kill her now. i want you to beat her in a fight, not just watch her lay down her life for a few street urchins."