It was easy enough to block out the searing pain on my side, I'd been through worse and put on a good show at not limping or showing any signs of weakness. I led the way down the halls and Coulson kept us posted, unlocking every door that got in our way while maintaining the enemies security footage for as long as possible.

"How did they know we were in here?" Clint asked as we dragged a hefty guard behind a wide pillar.

"I'm not sure yet. I hacked into their communication systems, over heard them talking about two intruders and how you would be punished. They were sloppy, though, seemed to want to wait for the two of you to make the first move rather then take you out as soon as possible."

"No. This organization isn't sloppy. As soon as an intruder was detected, they'd take them down. They even made me do it a couple of times. Ivan's playing with us. He knows it's me."

There was a pause from both men as we slinked silently down the halls and up the stairs. We were nearly there.

"Who's Ivan?" Coulson eventually asked.

"He's basically the top gun, chief of this place. He runs the programs and sets the missions. Then there are the others who we never learnt the names of. They aren't here all the time, only see them three or four times a year."

"Well, if they aren't here, how are we going to take them out? Every single victim needs to be destroyed." Clint asked.

"I'll talk to Fury about it. He'll gather information; send someone on a mission to terminate them. Not the hardest thing to do."

With a nod that he did or didn't see, we continued up a flight of stairs and turned right at the next entrance.

The last time I was here, there was no right entrance.

Stopping mid-step, I wearily poked my head around the corner. Two guards stood on either side of a huge steel door that bore no handles. They were armed with rifles and were bigger then the other guards we'd taken down.

"Coulson?"

"Already on it. Bought up screens of this room. It's only new, two or three months old, got no information on what's inside of it, though. It must have been established within the month and a half you've spent at S.H.I.E.L.D. And judging by the security system that would take hours to hack, it's pretty important."

I shared a long, concerned look with Clint, who's eyes continually flickered to my bleeding wound. He pulled out an arrow from his quiver and knocked it into his bow, looking at me for confirmation. With a nod, he positioned himself against the wall and without even looking, angled his arrow around the corner and shot down one of the two guards.

Stepping out as soon as the thud of the body hit the ground, I took out the second guard by slitting his throat. Not the cleanest way, but definitely thorough, and he fell to the ground with the same look of shock in his eyes.

"Coulson, can you open this door?" I asked, assessing the huge silver door in front of us.

"Of course I can," he scoffed, typing away. With a loud hiss, the door began to slowly slide open. Pressing ourselves on the wall either side of the opening, I got my gun ready and Clint knocked another arrow into place.

Nodding to each other, we turned and pointed our weapons at any offending foes. The huge white room was empty, and we assessed the whole room before lowering our weapons and inspecting the area.

It stunk of sterile and moth balls. There was an eerie feeling about the way the white room was neatly covered in different types of dental and surgical tools, lining the walls and glinting in the bright light.

There was a single metal bench in the centre of the room, with a small lump covered by a sheet.

No.

No.

I felt my heart sink to my toes as I took a hesitant step towards the bench and reached out, clutching the sheet in my fists. Taking a silent but deep breath, I pulled the covers back and had to stop myself from dropping to my knee's and letting out a sob that was dying to escape my throat.

Clint gasped behind me as the tiny body was revealed.

Coulson's typing ceased from the other end of the line.

My own eyes began to prickle with the tears just begging to be shed.

It was only a little girl. A couple of months old. Her tiny limbs were limp and her should-be pink body was as white as the sheet. The small tuft of dark hair was flat and dead and the worst part of all were the purple bruises and deep cuts that littered her fragile body and made you wonder what type of monster could possibly do such a thing to a small, defenceless baby who never even got to live!

"Fuck." I whispered, sadness and despair slowly turning into white rage. "FUCK!"

Turning around, I flung every single tool, tore every cupboard open and threw any item I could get my hold on across the room. Screaming curses and roaring with rage, I slowly crumpled to the ground and buried my head in my arms and let myself cry. The emotionless assassin is crying and I don't give two shits about it.

"Natasha…" Clint's calm yet hesitant voice broke the long moment filled with my own sobs and sniffles.

"What the fuck, Clint!" I yelled, snapping my head up and glaring at him. He was looking down at me with concern and sympathy, and had already covered the infant's body back up with the sheet. His throat was wavering, as if holding back his own cries, and he came a knelt beside me, not close enough to touch but close enough to feel his warmth.

"We can take them down, Natasha." He whispered, looking down at his feet.

"No."

His eyes snapped up to mine. "What do you mean?"

"We're changing the plan. I'm taking Ivan down myself. He's fucked with my brain and now he's experimenting with babies! I wont have it. I need to see the fear in his eyes when he realises that I am here to kill him. I need to do it myself."

To my surprise, he didn't object.

"I completely understand. We haven't got much time, though. You go after him, and I'll go set the bomb. Meet me back here as soon as you can.

.

It's an overwhelming feeling, once you think about it all.

First, you feel like your living a normal life… a life you were destined for. You don't know what normal is, because the closest thing you've ever had to normal was killing in cold blood and not being able to remember most of it.

Then you find out a man from an American organization is after you, to terminate you, and rumours fly that this is Hawkeye who is after you. By some twisted way of faith, he chooses not to kill the most deadly Russian assassin and lets you walk free, wondering what could have possibly changed his mind about you.

That curiosity startles you, and the more you think about his words the more you start to realize that they are true. You can't remember things, you always knew your memory was fuzzy, but now that it's been confirmed, you start to question who you work for. So you go out, you track this man down and try to get more information on him. Your leader notices, and tries to punish you in the worst way possible. That only burns the curiosity deeper. What is he trying to hide?

Soon you make it more noticeable that you're following him. Allowing him to get a glimpse at you, playing with his mind until you pucker up the courage to break into his house and repay him in any way possible for letting you live and revealing part of the truth about your organization. But he doesn't want that sort of repayment… he doesn't want your body. Why?

Then you find out you have to kill the girls you've grown up with. No way in hell will you go through that. So you consider things. Kill yourself? Let them kill you? Should I just win and see what happens? What will happen? What are my options?

He's an option.

So you set up a plan. 'Killed in action' so to speak. Fake your death and book a flight to America. Tell this man who's name you don't even know that you want to change sides and hope for your better judgement that this was the right choice and that you wont die.

Everything's going good, then. Your accepted faster then you thought possible. But good things don't happen to people with a ledger that is gushing red. To your utter dismay, you are sent back to the place where your childhood was stolen, where you endured tortures beyond comparison and had your memory stolen, where your worst nightmares came true. You find out the girls you've grown up with are dead and then you have to kill the last one yourself! Fine. You can deal with that.

But then you discover the most horrific thing that could possibly happen on this earth.

Babies being experimented on and tortured and enduring unbearable pain… all for what? She was dead and no matter what you know that you will never be able to wipe the memory of her scarred and battered body from your mind like they did all those times in this hellhole.

You're hot with anger. Your knuckles are bone white and no body is going to stop you from killing the man responsible for every single nightmare in your life. He will look into my eyes as the life is bled out of him by my hands, and when it is all finished, you'll leave.

You'll leave the Red Room. You'll leave S.H.I.E.L.D.

And you'll leave him.

And then you start to question why your heart sinks at the thought, and you realise that in this short period of time, you've started to grow attached to the man that gave you a second chance, and you feel like kicking yourself in the gut for being so weak.

Overwhelming was an understatement.

.

Alright, the mission's nearly over… it'll be over a lot quicker and the big super emotional and touchy chapter I have in store will be up with the more reviews I get, so if you want to see that chapter… REVIEW!