A/N: I'm surprised the FBI hasn't knocked down my door yet with how many times I've typed "Soviet Union", "KGB,", "Russian torture" and "torture methods," on my search bar =P
Content warning for mental/physical torture and a PTSD flashback for this chapter! I've tried not to be TOO morbid while describing everything, but there was only so much I could do to tone it down when it's torture we're talking about.
December, 1978
Leningrad*, Russia
Natalia stepped out of the taxi parked outside the building and looked up its cream-colored walls and wide balconies—the target was obviously well off because this place reeked of wealth and splendor, but she supposed the building was not out of place in a neighborhood as privileged as this one.
She adjusted her shirt and shouldered the duffel bag that contained her weapons, tools, and gadgets. The mission required her to blend in as a civilian, more specifically a cleaning lady, so she had her hair gathered in a messy bun and she was wearing the uniform under her winter coat to make her appear as such. To an outsider she didn't even look underage thanks to some make-up and the serum in her system.
She paid the taxi driver and then walked towards the building. The snow crunched under her shoes and the cold wind bit at her cheeks as she walked, and was only happy to climb the front steps and ring the target's door.
"Zdravstvuyte?" ["Hello?"]
"Umm… Zdravstvuyte[hello], ma'am. I'm the cleaning lady, may I come in?"
"Of course, come in. Third floor."
The entrance clicked open and Natalia strolled inside like it was another day of work. The target, Anna Boldyreva, was a police officer looking a little too closely on the KGB and the organization had sent Natalia to gather the information. They wanted to avoid killing the target given her current activities, so the KGB found it sufficient to simply erase the information and keep tabs on her unless the target persisted.
When Natalia stepped inside the apartment, she subtly darted her eyes around for potential weapons and exits should things went south. The target was quite young, probably no older than thirty-five, with a tall, athlete's body no thanks to her occupation. If a fight went down between them Natalia was sure she'd come out victorious, but given that the target was a trained police officer she didn't lower her guard in the least. She was resolved to end this as efficiently and as quietly as possible.
Natalia started sweeping the hallway, to play the part, as the target slipped into her bathroom. As soon as Natalia was sure the target wouldn't be coming out, swept her way into her office where she found her computer. Taking out a small device resembling a phone, she connected it to the computer and easily breezed through the security like stacking wooden blocks one on top of the other. She flicked through the various files on the desktop, bypassed the security on the one's she was looking for, she started downloading them.
The redhead started dusting the furniture in the office just as the target walked out of the bathroom, dressed in her officer's uniform and with a phone pressed against her ear. She was trying to talk in a hushed voice so Natalia wouldn't hear, but she hadn't counted on the redhead's enhanced hearing.
"I know, I've heard," she was saying, sounding frustrated. Natalia checked the device. 79%. Boy, she was growing to grow old here with this ridiculous download speed.
"I told you I'm looking into it, Oleg. You can't expect me to have everything overnight," the target huffed quietly. "Da, I'm aware I could lose my job, but this is something I have to do."
The target paused, and Natalia guessed the speaker on the other line was speaking. Finally, the target ended the call with: "It's something I have to do. I know there is something else going on and I'm going to find it. If that's what it takes, so be it."
The device in Natalia's pocket buzzed, signaling that the download was complete. She ventured deeper into the office so she could check: all four files had been successfully downloaded with no sign of corruption. Perfect.
She exited the building around an hour later just the way she'd entered it. Only two things were different from her arrival: one, she had the files, and two, the smile on her lips was almost feral as the completion of her mission settled in her gut.
Natalia got a taxi to the extraction point, where she found a nondescript black car waiting for her in the parking lot of a restaurant. Inside, aside from the driver, was Ivan.
"Did you get the information, Natalia?"
Natalia beamed, handing him the device she'd been hiding in her purse. "Downloaded from her computer, sir."
Ivan's lips stretched to a wicked grin. "Excellent work, Natashka. I knew we could count on you."
Early January, 1979
Red Room Academy, Russia
"Although you are now being sent on missions, there are some aspects of your training your instructors have not touched upon just yet," Madame B. was saying, pacing in front of the girls with her hands clasped behind her back.
She paused, turning to face the twenty-two girls sitting with their legs folded beneath their bodies and their hands on their laps, eyes sharp and attentive. Natalia jutted her chin out as Madame B. watched her for a moment longer before looking away.
"This is perhaps the toughest part of your training, and although all of you here have what it takes, some of you—perhaps quite a number of you—will find yourselves facing difficulties and crack under the pressure."
Natalia felt, rather than saw, the anxiety on the other girls' faces. The gym was heavy with the weight of it, so thick you could take a knife and try t cut through it. They didn't show it: each and every girl had the same blank-eyed expression.
"Rest assured, all of you have the potential to overcome these difficulties and adapt," Madame B. said, finally standing stock still. "I'm talking about art of withstanding torture."
Natalia's fingers twitched on her lap and she immediately felt a rock of fear settle in her stomach as she looked through the corners of her eyes. She hoped no one had seen.
"You will be subjected to various torture methods which are going to be painful, both mentally and physically, but they are necessary. The world out there is not forgiving, girls. They will not show you mercy. Through your training, you must remember this: pain is only temporary. If you can remember this, nothing will be able to touch you."
Pain is only temporary.
It sounded sickening—horrific—but Natalia should've expected this. Their future careers foresaw many enemies that would stop at nothing to kill them and even torture them.
"Any questions?" Madame B. asked.
No one moved, no one breathed. Madame B. smiled in satisfaction.
"Prepare yourselves as you must, devochki [girls]. You have busy days ahead of you."
Over the next two weeks, Natalia and the other girls were taught in extensive detail about interrogation and torture methods that were likely to be performed on them. In theoretical sense, it was laughably simple to learn. Executing it is was the part she dreaded to get into.
She learned there were various ways to torture a subject: electrocution, burning, waterboarding, asphyxiation, drugging, beating (which had a whole myriad of categories on its own), sex and intimacy. The last bit, Madame B. told them, they were going to be taught in greater detail when they grew a little older when their bodies had developed more. Natalia didn't know what to make of that, as sex wasn't something she'd ever felt comfortable talking about, made even worse at the idea of performing it with someone.
As the days approached to her first session, she felt her stomach tighten and tighten a little more with dread and apprehension. The day before, she was determined not to let anyone see how badly shaken she was and retreated to the tiny recesses of her mind where no thought or emotion existed. When the others girls looked at her, they saw nothing in her dead green eyes but a grim resolve to obey.
Before Natalia knew it, she was climbing under her itchy duvet for the night and preparing herself mentally for her first session bright and early tomorrow morning.
Late January, 1979
Red Room Academy, Russia
Electrocution.
That was her first session.
Natalia sat stock still as the technicians around her strapped her in a chair with metal straps (to resist against her enhanced strength, Ivan had said). The restraints were so tight that she could feel them cutting off her circulation; she wiggled her toes and fingers to help the blood flow back to her rapidly-numbing arms and legs. She didn't show any sign of discomfort outright: anyone looking at her could see nothing but blankness in the green of her eyes. A vicious apathy.
She was in a room she'd never been to before, with metal reinforcements and a glass mirror on the opposite side of the stiff chair she was sitting on. Off the side were linked-up computers and screens that two scientists were currently poring over. The room looked terribly out of place with the usual opulence and class of the academy, and it put Natalia even more on edge. It reminded her far too much of the laboratory and its bare, sterile surroundings.
She couldn't see Madame B. but she knew her headmistress was already behind the glass mirror, watching the proceedings closely. Ivan had to be there, too. He'd smiled encouragingly at Natalia before leaving, but she'd seen the glint of anticipation in his eyes.
She sat stiffly as they hooked her to a heart monitor, fighting with herself not to react as she remembered Madame B.'s words before Natalia was brought into the room: Remember, Natalia. Pain is only temporary. As it is your first session, you have permission to scream and cry, but in the future I have high hopes that you will breeze through your sessions like the rest of your lessons. Do not feel. Do not think. Stop being.
"Place the electrodes," one of the techs announced.
Even more wires were connected to Natalia's body: temples, arms, legs, shoulders. They itched. She wanted to scratch them. Or tear them off of her.
"Commencing procedure," the woman scientist said, voice clinical.
You are made of marble.
Natalia had no other warning other than that. Suddenly her head was being split open, parted like someone had taken an axe and was brigning it down on her head again and again. She screamed as her back arched against the stiff-backed chair, the sound tumbling out of her throat like someone had reached inside and tore it right out of her. Her eyes bulged; her fingers locked so tight around the arm rests that the metal of the chair groaned under her grip, but held steady.
All thoughts had been torn from her, her body jerking and convulsing as the electricity shred through ever atom. She screamed until she'd run out of breath and no sound came out anymore.
Then, no less than ten seconds after it'd started but had felt like a lifetime to Natalia, it was over.
She slumped, a broken sob falling from her trembling lips. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, but she didn't give a fuck. This was agony on another level. She couldn't do this. She didn't want to. Don't make her do this—
But then another bout of electricity tore through her body and she screamed yet again. She had the wherewithal to wonder if that soldier she'd shot a few months ago had felt this way when they zapped him with the electric cable before her world shrunk in agony.
She hunched over, sobbing openly when it passed again. She knew it wouldn't be for long. She wanted to rip the restraints open, launch herself at their machinery and tear it apart until there was nothing left. Then wrap her hands around Madame B.'s throat and crush it under her grip.
Lost in the fury that was slowly climbing up her throat and scorching at her insides, Natalia only noticed that they shock her again when she loosened the reins on her festering rage.
Pain is only temporary.
She didn't scream the third time. Sweat was shining on her body, her entire form shaking with exertion, but it didn't hurt as much. She spat out a blob of blood on the wooden floor and clenched her hands around the arm rests.
She chased that rage, seized it, and instantly she felt powerful. Just like she felt when she held a gun to her hand and hit five bullseyes in a row. Just like she felt when completing a mission. Just like she felt when she bested her opponents and forced them to submission.
She wouldn't bow to pain.
Pain would bow to her.
A bloody smile stretched across her lips as they shocked her again.
You are made of marble.
Two girls didn't make it before the first week was over, dropping their numbers to nineteen. The girls were introduced to various other torture methods for their training. After electrocution, waterboarding came next. Natalia passed without so much as a flinch after finding the right state of mind for this type of training. She was made of marble. If she stopped being, existing, absolutely nothing could touch her.
She could hold her breath for up to two or two and a half minutes by the time she'd practiced enough. Waterboarding, she decided early on, was miles better than electrocution. One of the two girls hadn't been quite as lucky though and she'd drowned. The other had reportedly decided to lunge out at Madame B. after her electrocution session and was consequently killed on the spot. It seemed like she couldn't handle the training as well as the other girls did.
Natalia wouldn't be weak. She was going be unstoppable, lethal, and efficient. She was going to be the Black Widow.
On the third week, Madame B. announced that the final form of torture would be burning.
No matter how prepared Natalia was, mentally or physically, could've prepared her for what went down.
Early February, 1979
Red Room Academy, Russia
Your scars will make you stronger, Natalia.
She kept turning Madame B.'s words over and over in her head as she was once again strapped in the chair. The smell of smoke and burned flesh still hung in the air from the previous session, but she shut it out. She prepared to find the embers of her rage eternally burning in her chest and completely surrender at that state of mind.
She wasn't prepared for her heart to stutter painfully at the sight of the blowtorch.
Realistically, in the back of her mind, she knew it wasn't the tool itself that made her want to throw up. It was the dancing flames spewing out of its mouth like those dragons she'd watched on cartoons and movies as a child. She was transfixed, her heart thundering against her ribcage, her breaths coming out in wheezes and gasps.
Suddenly, she wasn't in this room anymore.
She was in a woman's arms, in a little girl's room. She had red hair and a kind face. Red ad orange flames danced beyond her shoulders, licking at the doorway and clawing their way inside the bedroom. Natalia's tiny lungs were burning from the smoke, her vision blurred.
Natasha, the woman whispered.
Next thing Natalia knew, she was surrounded by white snow, shivering violently and crying Mama! Mama! over and over again as the flames devoured her house and transformed it into a fiery fireball.
Then a pair of strong arms picked her up and the doll clutched against her chest landed on the snow.
Blood roared in her ears and her already pale face drained of all color. Her skin washed icy cold, and then was engulfed in scalding hot flames.
"NET!" ["NO!"] The word ripped out of her sharply. She stared, entranced, at the blowtorch coming closer and closer. "Mama! Papa! Don't go in the flames!"
Her words cracked the thick air like a whip, and the guard stepped back abruptly: she looked crazed, with a dangerous, panicked glint in her eyes as she shoved and yanked against the restraints. The screams coming out of her were inhuman. Her self-control had been shattered to a thousand million pieces for everyone to see.
Through the haze of blood, fire, and tears playing like an old home movie in her eyes, she heard the door banging open.
Footsteps rapidly approached, the restraints hissed open, but as soon as she was free of her bonds, she stumbled forward and promptly lost consciousness.
She woke up in the infirmary.
There was an IV line in the crook of her elbow, and she ripped it out as soon as she got her limbs to move properly. The breath hitched in her chest as she shot bolt upright, hand flying to her chest to check as if her heart was still beating.
It was nighttime, as evident by the darkness beyond the infirmary windows and the cuff around her wrist connecting her to the bed. She dropped back against her stiff pillow, mind reeling, eyes burning.
What had happened?
The door to the infirmary inched open, and Natalia's eyes shot towards the figure walking inside. She immediately felt some of her panic recede. Ivan.
"Natashka," he said with a smile as soon as he was upon her. "How are you feeling, malen'kiy pauk [little spider]?"
"I don't… what happened?" She flinched. God, even talking hurt. For the life of her, she couldn't remember what had landed her in the infirmary. Perhaps a sparring session gone wrong?
Ivan shook his head sympathetically. "Ah nothing that should concern you, Natalia! You collapsed from exertion when your session was over, but you should be up and about tomorrow for your classes. You passed with flying colors."
"Oh." That still didn't feel right, but Ivan had so far been honest with her. He wouldn't lie to her, even if it was serious.
"You should rest now, Natashka. You wake up bright and early tomorrow and I should go before Madame B. finds out I've snuck in here and disturbed your sleep." He winked and ruffled her hair. She tried to smile, but she was completely exhausted and her eyelids were drooping.
"Dobroy nochi." ["Goodnight."]
"Dobroy nochi, Natashka."
No sooner than Ivan stepped out of the door, Natalia was shrouded in darkness and silence.
A/N: Just to clarify on the last scene about Natalia not remembering, I'm going to point you back to Chapter 5 and remind you about the "medicine" the scientists are giving the girls for their check-ups/annual physicals. I didn't put it there randomly. This "medicine," in combination of visual and auditory stimulation, can wipe and implant memories from and to a subject's mind. So basically Natalia here was made to believe she aced the session.
I got the idea from the-irish-mayhem's Black Widow origin story White and it's so good. You should check it out if you haven't already!
Also, disclaimer: I've no personal experience with PTSD, panic attacks, etc. so I'm SO sorry if anything here is depicted wrong!
*Leningrad: Is the second largest Russian city after Moscow. It's called Saint Petersburg nowdays, but from 1914 to 1924 it was called Petrograd and from 1924 to 1991 it was called Leningrad.