Inconsonance of War
Reflections surfaced around the different angles within the solitary room. Each mirror containing an alternate piece of my childhood. Each one concealing half of what was truly present as I braced my lone leg for a twirling spin in the ballroom. It all blurred so fast in the speeding motion to the point where I could no longer distinguish the drastic blended colors between the walls and me. And then, like gravity had intended, I fell to the floor, sufficed with its insurmountable strength to contain my withering stature. A single droplet pelted the wooden surface while I raised onto my knees. More came to follow its example.
Rain caressed the better half of my shuddering pose outside the ballet studio. Cars rustled down the street corners, heading home for night. I stood next to the still, lighted lamp post waiting. The coat, which covered my frail body, became soaked with the weighted water. Snow was present within the frost-bitten air surrounding the city of Stalingrad. The soft moisture, which fell from the dark skies crystallized into ice, bringing forth a chill un-sustained by the present, natural forces produced through the weather.
A black cab with tinted windows sped past the present sign submerged in dim lighting. On instinct, I took a rapid step backwards before getting drenched in the wet slush from the gutter. It halted once my palm braced the curb for support. The passenger side window rolled down, revealing the shadowed face of a man whom observed my tiny stature from a distance. Figuring he pitied my condition, I mocked a dignified composure towards his biased opinion. "Do you have some place to go home to?"
Asking seemed required by his actions. "I-" Searching the loneliness of the barren street corners, I stumbled upon response. He could be someone of power and if he was, what good could this deed do for him? Just a crazy, little Russian girl standing outside in blizzard, waiting on her parents arrival. He probably thought I was just as insane for not asking for a ride. I have my own standards of persuasion. "I'm waiting on a ride." Stating this line fully, he nods discerningly.
"Have you been waiting long?" Still, I could not make out any facial features.
"No," I say in complete confidence.
"Hmm…" My eyes shift to the ground during the notion. "Judging by the snowfall grazed on your shoulder, I would say you've been waiting for quite a while." Immediately, I cross my arms in protection. He's extremely observant for a cab driver. And, I'm extremely naïve for a young girl. Leaning over the stick shift in the center console, the glow from the street lamp unveils his true features. "I can take you home if you so choose."
"I don't trust strangers."
His laugh altered his tension. "Well then, let's not be strangers." The automatic swish in the door frame signaled persistence. "Ivan Petrovitch," A hand wavers in my general direction. "And, you are?"
"Natalia Romanova," I stutter, watching the wisps of heat escape from my breath. Maybe it was the cold getting through to my nerves. Either that, or the accepted fact that my parents had forgotten to pick me up from dance rehearsal.
Even in the middle of an impending war, people were adamant about leaving the streets reserved at night for another purpose. I was scared, and alone, while feeling abandoned by the people who were suppose to care for my life when it mattered most. So, seeing this stranger's black horse parked in front of the closed building gave way to new possibilities. I would always take a gamble on things I knew would, and could, possibly go wrong. But, reading Ivan's face appeared to have appeased my least noticeable trait of compassion. Trust only goes as far as the believer, and I believed in the many, good qualities of man to think different.
"It's not safe to be on the streets this late." Urging me to come to a conclusion about the offer, I sigh defiantly. I had zero to none for options and I knew the consequences for being out on the streets this late at night. More people were beginning to disappear during the blackness than in the light. Echoes of resilient stomps forged their fear into my heartbeat. My pulse heightened towards the unlikely event. "Quick, hop in." Ivan whispers while waving an arm to the seat. I subside into his demands based upon the marching.
The pace quickened and the sound of the boots hitting the pavement resonated higher than before. I looked to Ivan for reassurance before his foot pushed the gas on the vehicle. "Why are there soldiers in the city?" I ask, unaware of what he would know.
"I know," Checking the reversed image in the rear view mirror, he coincided with the actions being placed. "They shouldn't be out this far unless…" Stopping at the concerned statement, I turned a cheek to listen. "Unless, they're preparing for war."
Driving above the average speed limit, we came to a gravel road aside from the entrance to the main city. Every few minutes, he would ask directions and every few miles, I would respond with a simple answer. There was so much going on inside my head that it remained muddled with incompetent decisions. Should I have walked and if so, would I have been safe enough to travel away from the impending blood bath? I always considered luck to be a superstitious intrigue amongst people who concede into rational upbringings. Something new suited the task given at hand. There were less places to hide while more places became obsolete. And all I had for comfort at the given time, was a handsome cab driver, of whom roamed random streets in the middle of the night.
"Why now?" Breaking the silence, I confided in his knowledge.
His pause stood apparent in consideration. "I suppose change is at hand." Fumbling through the compartment near the radio, he twists out a cigar from the lone slot underneath the station. As he brings it to his mouth without producing a match, I focus on his next few words. "Things have been bad for a while now. I just think the country, and its people, are divided in their views about world domination. We're not programmed to make any one certain promise as a group of individuals. Because a better world will never suit a better cause amongst the ignorance of its people." Finding a single match and striking it against the dash board, Ivan lights his cigar. He pulls on the drag before continuing. "They will only understand what truth leads them to believe is right. Amongst our people, and our pride, we are better suited for bloodshed and not peace."
"What if the people decided not to fight?" The side of the car grazed the trunk of a tree as he pressed the break. "Then the war would never be a decision."
"Smart kid," He straightens out the steering wheel before angling his body towards me. In an instant, I shrink further down in my seat. "Because every great war was won through refusing the right to bare arms." Sarcasm laced his words in the meaning of ridiculousness.
"Why would anyone want bloodshed?"
"No one ever wants bloodshed." Ivan presses the gas petal after shifting the gears in place. "It just so happens to be a product of war."
Daring to be intrusive, I collide with the statement. "If people were smart, they wouldn't consider war as reasoning."
"True," He huffs out in exasperation. "But, it's only fair, beyond a reasonable doubt, to reconsider what reasoning brought us to war." The end of his cigar burns bright after the inhale. "One, of which, I'm not looking forward to resolving." Stunned upon impulse, Ivan motions to the road ahead. "Maybe this land will remained untouched in all of this chaos."
"It's the Inventor that created all this chaos, isn't it?" Silence overtook the space between us. Soon, I had wondered if he knew what I was at all talking about. But, all the same, he acted calm, like I never mentioned any such person.
During the solid break of conversation, Ivan sustains its importance. "The Inventor has definitely made an impact on Russia-"
"-He created those machines hidden amongst the United Nations, I thought."
No man had ever encountered the technology to which the Inventor had built. Our nation became more and more terrified of his means of world domination. It seemed that the underdogs, which were presently immobile at some distance, came to life near our borders. Whether it was a threat was not something to take lightly on any type of note, our people became petrified and feared an unknown source of weaponry undertaken with intentional slights against their government. Whether we would decide to take a stand would depend on the compatible resources gained through the observation of the machine. It was unlike anything, anyone had ever witnessed.
"Howard Stark has made quite a mess of things." A building lay off in the distance as I shuffled my feet in anticipation. "One which will create scars amongst our people. We won't forgive easily."
"That's my house." I state, pointing a finger over the correct direction. Loose gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I stepped out of the vehicle. Bracing myself against the door frame, Ivan grabs my forearm.
"Stay safe, Natalia."
Breathing outwards, my fear subsides. "I will." Closing the door, I back up towards the secluded building. A dust uplifted from the dirt road as the cab vanished off into the distance. The back tail lights faded in their luminescent glow, which departed from the blackened skies.
I knew, deep down, that the war beckoned from the North. It withered close to the capital, expecting a neutral battlefield. Whatever was chosen for the grace of our nation wasn't decided upon by the people. And, the soldiers who were willing to fight marched towards an impossible feat. The American's Inventor was someone who prompted perfect excuses for judgment. He could level an entire city based upon our indifference to one another. How could we stand, even a chance of survival, amongst their weapons? It would seem unfair, but excuses only go as far as their words impact their sender. We could not win this war with just soldiers and machine guns. What our country feared most was the death of its people. Some were innocent, some even compassionate. But, they fought silently on the sidelines instead of in the line of fire.
Because as I watched the lights disappear into the darkness. I felt the warmth of the fire engrossing my home. A house, in which my parents spent decades to build away from the controversy of the capital, was now engulfed in numerous flames. Each one eating at the wood and brick binding the building to its, once, solid structure. A beam tumbled to the first floor before I raced up the steps and into the burning heat. Smoke rose amongst the floating ashes as I attempted to distinguish any form within the raging fire.
By the time I had reached the living area, half the second floor was demolished. Ash filled my lungs and nostrils, causing me to cough in terror. Where were my parents? And, if they hadn't been within the confines of the city, then did they rest here? Panic sets inside my chest as it tightened into a knot. Very little could be recognized and very little was left in its natural state.
"Mom! Dad!" I screamed after coughing a mouthful of liquid debris from my lips. The place was falling apart. Making my way upstairs, I saw the small silhouette of my mother lying lifeless between the door frame and threshold. Taking a step forward, another beam separated the two of us.
The fringes from my tutu subdued beneath my jacket, sizzled from the flames. Patting the left side relieved the singed burn attracting its victim. Fear was such a deterrent when it came to emotions. My actions were replaced in their simplest substitute for grievance. Few people are ever mournful in their lifetime and even less tend to cry at the circumstances. She was either dead or unconscious, and I had no closure of keeping her safe. My father was another mystery altogether. Because I never had a chance to search before the roof decided to cave in upon its home.
An arm extended, outstretched, in order to clamp onto my shoulder. It was then that I saw my father's body wedged between several stair posts. The light had gone from his lovely eyes as I screamed in sorrow. My cries whimpered in retrospect as the clutch weakened, only to be replaced by another. "We have to go!" Through the steaming smoke clouds, I can just make out Ivan's desperate facial expression as he scooped me up into his arms.
"No!" A terrible gut wrenching agony cut through my abdomen.
Petrovitch carries me down the steps and out the awaiting cab. An explosion blows both of us to the ground. The house in which I grew up pummels to the Earth. I sat there with tears soaking the better half of my eyes, watching and sulking amongst the incident. I think I suspected at that time that it hadn't been by chance, or even coincidence, that something had gone wrong long before I heard the soldier's march through the capital. Before I even collided with Ivan, I knew there had to be a reasoning behind the madness of punctuality. Everyone knew their place and where they need be, but seeing the multitude of raised embers dancing in the night sky read an alternate motive for me.
When my tears stopped, Ivan was there to comfort me. "Come with me." His palm extends out. I refused the action with subtle regret. How could I leave the death that reeked of revenge? They deserved better from me, and I believed I could take pride in avenging their rightful place in society.
I shook my head back and forth in refuge. Disappointing his gesture of gratitude, I confided in the isolated situation. "I can't leave them here." I say discerningly, motioning to the debris cluttered around the area. "I just can't." His face turned to one of grief and then transformed to one of solidity in a matter of seconds.
"I know how hard death can be, Natasha." He pats the small of my back, trying to soothe the pain. "But, whoever targeted your parents meant to destroy you as well."
"Why?" Stuttering seemed weak at this moment.
"I honestly don't know but I can help you find out why." Looking up at his sincerity read amongst his sympathetic nature. "If we stay here, we won't be safe." Again, he holds out a hand for me to grab. Hesitant at first, I finally grasp it. Lifting my frail and drained limbs off the dirt and grass proved simple for him. I winced in union with the pressure being exerted on my right knee where a deep gash revealed itself. Bleeding slowly in between breaks of movement. It was the only thing left from the fire that still burned inside myself. That, and the secluded memory of the trauma I would never forget.
"I will find out who did this one day-" I state inside the vehicle as he shifts the gears into place. "-one way or another."
Ivan rotates his neck to look at me. "Put pressure on the wound. It will stop the bleeding." After removing his hand from my palm, I stare out the glass window where the smoke continued to rise into the air. "One thing's for sure…" Observing his specific movements in the reflection with my own, Ivan motions the factor left amongst the tragedy. "…This war has only just begun." His foot shifts to the gas petal as he floors the black cab into the darkened gravel road. To where, I didn't know.
"What is this place?" Pulling up to a reserved facility a couple of miles outside the capital, I ponder at its secrets. Ivan glances back in my direction before scratching his skull. It wasn't until then that I noticed the scar beneath his feathered hair. As light as it was due to the coloring, it remained concealed away from prying eyes.
"Nowhere anyone knows about." He responds, clicking the shifter forward into park. A small smirk evades his charming dimples resting within his cheeks. "You'll be safe here. That I can promise you."
Gusting winds vacated the desolate strip of land leading to the entrance. My door was held open as my protector waved an arm out at the building. Unsurprised by the appearance of the design, its architecture resembled that of stone and brick on the outside. When the doors opened to the inside, the infrastructure presented a more concrete dwelling along with a tiled format.
We paused at the front desk, awaiting a command to move ahead but instead, a voice resounded over an intercom, confronting our unidentified prescience within the room. "Please state your name and verification code. After you have given this information, await further processing. If you are cleared, you are welcome to proceed into the premises. If you are denied access, we hold the right to terminate your following advances." After the last sentence, my eyes must have widened to a substantial gap.
He takes a slow breath, exhaling the resisting urge to condone stressed vocals. "Ivan Petrovitch, agent one, zero, five, nine." A few moments pass before the intercom bursts to life again. In reaction of shock, I involuntary clutch his hand. As soon as his laugh breaks free from the motion, it confirms.
"Ivan Petrovitch, agent one, zero, five, nine." The machine repeats carefully back. "Agent confirmed. Access granted."
"It's not as hard as it looks." Ivan states while I unclench my palm.
I guess I didn't realize how much of a grip I had until the color flushed back into his fingers. "What would happen if there was an intruder?" Daring to ask was a hopeful gesture of innocence.
"Impossible," He huffs back. "As long as this facility's been open, there hasn't been an intruder-"
"-But if there was?"
"The person, however unlikely, would be blinded by tear gas, stunned by a thousand watt taser, and restrained by a double-bound steel wire until further questioning." Well, at least, I know.
Another locked doorway tries to confirm our entrance. "Retinal scan required for entry. Please verify any unknown party outside of facility. If you refuse to verify your unknown party, drastic action will take effect immediately after processing." Leaning his head forward, the scanner follows the movement of his pupil dilation. "Confirmed entry. Please state all unknown parties with vocal recognition." Motioning his posture to me, I unravel my arms to proceed up to the changed structure of the retinal scanner, which was now a blank screen with a lone line spread across its length.
"Natasha Romanoff," My voice cracked into the speakers from nervousness.
"Natasha Romanoff," The speaker repeats back before I step away. "Retinal scan required for entry." As if I wasn't already terrified of what means of prevention the building possessed, my chest rested on top of the machine's ever-changing model. "Verification confirmed." The intercom resurfaced back into its original form while preparing the processing. "Please state your immediate location, in which you would like to be granted access."
"Black Widow Operative Program," Ivan says firmly while glancing back at me.
A/N: As difficult as it is to write about a character with so much depth, it's even harder to write about an organization and program that isn't suppose to exist. In the following chapters, I'll explain more about the operative program. If you would like to post a review to the chapter, feel free to do so. I always appreciate feedback!