Natasha spun a combat knife on the conference table as she, Steve, Clint, ten veteran members of STRIKE and several other high-ranking agents waited for the meeting to begin. Everyone was already dressed for deployment, missing only their larger firearms. Even Hill was carrying a small caliber pistol at her waist. This had to be big if Fury was sparing ammunition for administration.

Steve leaned toward her, whispering, "Why the rush to get us in if they're just gonna keep us in here cooling our heels?"

She was inclined to agree with him; the order to report had interrupted a moment in her kitchen that had promised to lead somewhere amazing. Of course, if the message had come five minutes later, it probably would have been ignored and…she smiled to herself. They definitely wouldn't have made it to SHIELD. She suddenly felt Steve's hand on her thigh under the table. She was going to have to work on not being so obvious around him in public. Still, she didn't push his hand off.

Feeling a less welcome movement to her left, Natasha snatched her knife just before Clint's fingers grazed the hilt. "Almost had it that time."

"I let you get that close."

"Yeah, well, bet you couldn't get mine, either." He reached back toward his hidden sheath, only to discover it was empty. "Tasha!"

She pulled the knife from behind her thigh holster. "Looking for this?"

"Give it. I need that."

"Like you would even know what to do with it."

"Oh, that how it is?" He pulled another knife as he stood. "Then let's go. Martinez, start a pool."

Money was hitting the table from the STRIKE commandos, in spite of the fact that Natasha hadn't been able to move into the open area by the table due to Steve's grip on her belt. "Steve, let go. The odds are way up on me."

"Just let them handle it, Captain." Natasha's attention was briefly turned to where Hill was cleaning under her fingernails with her own fairly impressive combat knife. "This is what happens when you put bored assassins in a room together. They can sit still for days in a sniper nest, but put them in a conference room and…yeah."

Natasha fell backwards into Steve's lap for a moment as Clint feinted forward. She lunged forward, using her momentum to swing around a chair and nearly connected with a roundhouse kick to his head. She pirouetted neatly as she landed, already prepared for the next strike. Clint didn't disappoint, aiming a shot at her ribs that would have hurt, had it landed.

In the background, she heard Steve complain, "You're just going to let this…"

"I find it best not to involve myself," Hill replied calmly. "And here's thirty on Romanoff."

Clint seemed to take Hill's bet as a personal insult and redoubled his intensity. There were encouraging shouts from the STRIKE team as the odds shifted back and forth. Natasha was just setting up for a finishing move when Fury appeared in the doorway. "People! How many times to I have to tell you? All bloodsports are confined to the training rooms! Now sit down and shut up!"

There was a round of grumbling as money was redistributed. Natasha handed Clint his knife back with a smirk, which he returned. "I almost had you."

"You wish, Birdbrain." She reached over to Steve and squeezed his hand for reassurance, but he seemed a little stunned by the bizarre turn of events to reply. She shrugged and glanced at the files being downloaded to her tablet in rapid succession.

Fury took his spot beside the main screen at the head of the conference table. "I apologize for keeping everyone waiting, but we needed certain confirmations before we could proceed with the briefing." A map of central Asia appeared, Kazakhstan highlighted. "We've been tracking a group for months. They call themselves Kazakh rebels, fighting to keep Russian influence out of Kazakhstan. They claim to have in their possession three Soviet-era intercontinental ballistic missiles. Up until this week, they've been pretty standard bluster with the occasional demonstration of supposed intent."

An image of small-scale destruction flashed onscreen. "Two car-bombs in Almaty and fourteen casualties three weeks ago, followed by a manifesto of sorts."

Natasha scrolled back from the translation to the original document. "This doesn't make sense."

"Tell me about it," Rumlow agreed. "'We will no longer stand the fishy whips of the oppressors.' What the hell is a fishy whip?"

"Not that," though Natasha would readily admit someone on SHIELD's translation team had probably sent the document through a program rather than doing it properly.

"You find something weirder? Demands for cheaper rates on mail-order brides or something?"

"Not exactly." She scowled at Rumlow before turning back to Fury. "This is in Russian. Why would a supposedly militantly Kazakh group not use their own language?"

"Turns out the whips aren't the only thing that's fishy." The picture changed. Natasha was unable to suppress a groan as she recognized the satellite image. Steve glanced at her and she shook her head slightly. She had the feeling she was going to be providing details for the entire room anyway. Fury was already looking in her direction expectantly. "These supposed Kazakhs contacted SHIELD directly with a threat several hours ago, claiming to have obtained a nuclear payload for their ICBMs from these coordinates. Romanoff? You recognize the place, I assume?"

"Semipalatinsk-21."

"A few more details would be appreciated."

"It was the Soviet Union's equivalent of Los Alamos, but it's been decommissioned for years. The buildings are either destroyed or derelict and any remaining nuclear material has been sealed in the test sites on the steppe closer to the mountains. There's nothing there a terrorist group would want or be able to use."

"Mm hmm. And underneath?"

She swallowed hard. "I have no idea how many of the subterranean structures are still useable or why anyone would want to go into them."

"But you've been there?"

She frowned. "Not recently." And never under the auspices of SHIELD, she didn't add. The tunnels, vaults and laboratories beneath the crumbling main complex had been a popular KGB training site, developed after its official dissolution. Though it wasn't the most frequent location, they had played The Game there more times than she cared to remember.

Fury pulled her out of her unpleasant memories. "Can you find your way around the place or not?"

"I probably couldn't draw you an accurate map, but I don't think it should present a problem once I'm there, assuming you're sending us in."

"Three teams. Barton up top, Rogers on the ground, Romanoff underneath. Hill will be coordinating air support. Any questions before you get the chance to go over the rest of your briefing packets?"

Natasha felt something nagging at the back of her mind. "What was the exact threat?"

Fury called up another screen, displaying the message. "This came through as a text only file through what should have been a secure network."

"Do we have the original and not the translation?"

"This is the original. They sent it in English."

She scanned the short message several times, getting stuck on the last line on each reading. The answers will be discovered by any one game enough to enter the tunnels. Any one. The Game. Fucking hell.

Fury appeared to be getting impatient. "Any other questions."

"This is a trap, sir."

"Didn't sound like a question, Romanoff."

"It wasn't. I don't suppose it changes anything."

"Read the rest of the material and plan accordingly. We've wasted enough time. Wheels up in twenty."

Natasha ignored Clint's questioning look and Steve's concerned hand on her shoulder as she stood from the conference table. "I'll meet you in the hangar." She strode purposefully down the hall and into the ladies room at the end. There was no way to switch off the lights that came on automatically when she entered. The cold water she splashed on her face was not as helpful as she had hoped it would be. Forgetting herself for a moment, she stared at her dripping reflection.

It's all coming back, Natalia. And just as you were settling in with your new love. How ironic. Her fist hit the mirror, turning it to shards that clattered down around her arm into the sink. "I don't think irony is the word," she muttered.

Her skewed reflection in the neighboring mirror replied, Wash all you want, but everyone is going to find out what you did in the tunnels at Semipalatinsk. Then it's only a matter of time before the rest comes to light.

She shattered that mirror and the other four in the line along the wall for good measure. She was slightly breathless as she turned and leaned against the last sink. She just needed to get it together. Closing her eyes, she tried to breathe deeply. The sound of the door opening was certainly no help. She didn't open her eyes, saying, "Steve, I said I'd be downstairs in a few minutes."

"Which is where he's waiting for you." Natasha's eyes shot open when Hill spoke. "Actually, I think you might be lucky it's me. I remember what you were like when you first came to SHIELD. No mirror was safe." She leaned against the sink beside Natasha. "I don't suppose it would do much good to ask what's wrong."

To her own surprise, Natasha asked, "How bad was I when I first got here?"

"Fury finally signed off on the order to convert the Triskelion to biometrics so we would know immediately if someone in your vicinity died so we could send the appropriate response team. It's been useful in hundreds of other ways of course, but…that was the deciding factor." Natasha could feel Hill's gaze on her, searching. "You've come a long way since then."

"Oh?" She looked along the wall of shattered mirrors. "Hard to see that at the moment."

Hill was smart enough not to laugh. After a few moments, she asked, "What exactly was the unofficial KGB doing at Semipalatinsk?"

"Training, mostly. Ostensibly. They called it The Game. It was a way to kill off political prisoners while training agents. They would throw a group of prisoners into the tunnels at Semipalatinsk, or a site in the mountains or forests in Siberia or… then they would send us in, in a group or alone. I was about ten my first time in the tunnels. Pavel, Vasily and I. Sometimes they would arm the prisoners to add to the challenge, or the prisoners would find ways to defend themselves. The idea was that killing got easier every time you did it. You got better, more ruthless, more effective."

"Sounds awful."

"I try not to think about it," Natasha admitted, with no idea why she was saying these things to Hill. She was shocked a moment later when Hill took her hand. She was about to make an uneasy joke when Hill picked a thin shard of glass from between her knuckles. "Uh, thanks."

"Sorry, I saw it and it was bugging me."

"Strange. I didn't even feel it." She rubbed the spot where a small rosette of blood was blooming and leeching into her glove. "Barton had the drop on me. The day he came to kill me. He could have. Maybe he should have."

"But he's glad he didn't. Not to mention Fury. Lots of people at SHIELD owe you, not to mention all the people you've saved without their knowledge, directly and indirectly. And then there's Rogers, of course. Speaking of whom…"

"Right, the hangar." Natasha found herself riding the elevator, still alone with Hill. Keeping her eyes fixed on the doors, she stated, "If Barton ever hears about this, I'll know it came from you."

Hill nodded curtly. "Noted."

"And thank you."

"We all have our moments, Romanoff. We can afford to replace a few mirrors if that's what it takes to get you focused for the mission. Just promise me that you can pull yourself out if necessary."

"That's not something you have to ask, Agent Hill."

"I know. But it's a strange day." She gave Natasha a final nod as they arrived at the hangar and walked toward Fury.

Natasha boarded the quinjet ahead of Steve and Clint, who had been waiting for her by the ramp. The first hour of the flight was quiet as they went over the information on their tablets. As the minutes ticked past, Natasha was more and more convinced they were walking into a trap, though it was hard to judge who was setting her up as the intended prey.

Natasha turned for one last look at Steve's receding back and saw that he was looking back at her as well. They shared a brief smile before turning away to complete their objectives. Atop one of the higher structures with a sniper team, Clint had already reported movement on the ground east of their current position. Steve and his STRIKE commandos were headed in that direction while she and her team made for the building containing the tunnel entrance. There were other potential access points, but none accessible without a lot of effort and some high explosives.

The building at the center of the complex was fairly unimpressive, belying its role in Semipalatinsk's more recent history. Pushing the front door open, she turned back to her team. "Step where I step, don't touch the walls." She put herself on point, allowing Rumlow to position the rest of the men as they made their way, unimpeded, to their destination. She had followed this exact path on so many occasions that she stepped over potential pitfalls without looking. It took less than five minutes to reach the control room. They would be relatively safe here if…she confirmed that the door to the tunnels was sealed from the outside.

"Okay, what now?" Rumlow asked.

"Give me a few minutes. Look for anything out of place in the meantime." Although she had checked and rechecked all her gear on the jet, she set it out on a bare table for a final inspection. Flashlights, night-vision and heat sensors had all been banned in The Game, but she wasn't playing anymore. Hell, playing was the wrong word for what she'd been doing then.

Rumlow suddenly piped up, "What are these all about? High scores?"

Natasha glanced at the large charts on the walls. "Yes."

"I guessing Pac-Man isn't involved."

She didn't look again, snapping the final clips into her weapons. "Most kills in an hour, in a day, on-target percentage, cumulative kills…"

"And these are names?"

"Does it really matter, Rumlow?"

"No, I'm just thinking this Hatanber Pomahoba looks like a serious badass. Top of the heap in every category." She did look up this time and adjusted her thinking to someone who couldn't read Russian. Наталья Романова was indeed the leader in every category. "Hope he's not waiting down there for us."

"For me. It's not safe for the rest of you in the tunnels. I've been down there before. I'll do a quick sweep, see if there's anything of interest to SHIELD and meet you back here in a ninety minutes. Think you can hold this position that long?"

Rumlow looked as if he were going to argue for a moment, but nodded and started setting his men in position. "Ninety minutes, Romanoff."

She pushed back the heavy metal bar and unlatched the door. It swung down on a stairway that descended into blackness. "Shoot anyone who comes out of this door that isn't me."

Natasha Romanoff stepped down the first few stairs and turned to carefully secure the door behind her, cutting off all daylight; Наталья Романова continued down the stairs in the familiar darkness.