A/N: As promised, the second part! I own everyone but the narrator of the first part and the named characters at the end.
38
I was 38 when they took my baby.
They said she could be an Olympian. They said she could be great. They offered us money to hand her over and said we could visit her whenever we wanted.
They lied.
I was 38 when I started looking for my baby. When I called the number they gave me, I was told they had never heard of a committee for the betterment of the Union and refused to transfer me to anyone in charge. I called over and over again. They stopped answering after the third time. After the tenth, I found the number had been disconnected.
When I went back to the hospital where she'd been taken, they wouldn't tell me anything, but I was able to steal the information of another couple who had their daughter taken as well. I went to visit them, but they didn't know anything and were too afraid to keep looking. I visited again, but they refused to open their door a second time.
I tried to get more information from the hospital, but the nurse I had talked to was no longer there. They wouldn't even admit she'd ever been in their employ.
My husband told me I needed to stop before I became the next to disappear. At first I thought he was being cowardly and didn't love our daughter, but after the nurse disappeared, I realized he was right. I was being too open, too obvious. I couldn't find her if I was dead, and I was only endangering my husband and the rest of my children by making a stir like I was.
I was 38 when I stopped asking about my daughter. I was 38 when I started making friends instead.
I kept my head down, but made every connection I could. I made friends at work, made friends at the stores, made friends at the government offices I could find a reason to visit.
I was 39 when I started quietly asking around to see if anyone else had heard of girls being taken. And the horrifying thing was, it didn't take me long to find people who had. Many people had heard of little girls disappearing. One man told me in a whisper of an elite force of female assassins working for the government.
I pray the two rumors are unrelated. I fear they are not.
I was 41 when I found another couple who had lost their daughter and wanted to get her back.
We started quietly meeting and discussing what we had learned. I didn't tell my husband what I was doing. I didn't want him to worry. Or try to stop me.
I was 42 when we found another woman whose daughter had been taken. I was 44 when we made a plan.
The four of us are not enough to stand against the government. Alone, we will not be able to find out what happened to our daughters, much less save them if they are still alive. But with enough people, we can make a difference. We can get them back, or at least stop others from being taken.
The single mother in our group knows the owner of a print shop who agreed to make these pamphlets for us, and we're spreading them as far and wide as we can.
If you're reading my story, wondering why you should care, I was 38 when they took my baby. How old will you be when they take your daughter, sister, or cousin? What will it take for you to care? It's better to stand with us now and prevent that then join us after it's too late.
If you've already lost someone, you are not alone. We see you, and we care. If you feel it would be too dangerous to join us, that you must protect those you still have, we understand. Know there are people acting on your behalf. But if you are willing to be bold and risk everything, stand with us. We will not rest until we know what they are doing to our children, and we will not stop until they have been stopped. Join us, for together we will move mountains to find answers. Every individual matters.
Finally, if you're reading this and you think or know that you are one of the taken, stay strong. We are looking for you, and we love you. You matter and are remembered. Never give up hope. Keep fighting, and I promise we will find you and defend you.
I was 38 when they took my daughter. How old will you be when they are stopped?
Widow TG-89391 (who privately liked the name "Nadine" and tended to refer to herself as such) read over the paragraph speaking to the taken girls again.
"Never give up hope."
She let the words echo through her mind. Then she made them fade away into nothingness as she dropped the pamphlet into a pile of others.
All it took was a single match to set the gasoline-soaked papers ablaze.
She retreated to a rooftop across the street and waited, watching to ensure no one would come to the aid of the print shop. They were intercepting all calls to the authorities from the street, but someone could still take matters into their own hands and try to put out the fire themselves.
But no one came. This late at night, only that woman and her conspirators had been out.
Hours later, when the print shop was nothing but ash in the wind and Nadine was satisfied all the pamphlets had been obliterated, she pulled out her phone and dialed the encrypted number.
"Report," the woman on the other end said without preamble.
"Mission accomplished. The shop and its contents have been destroyed and the four conspirators will no longer be a problem."
"And their bodies?"
"Burned with their message."
"Good work. Report back to headquarters immediately."
Nadine nodded and disconnected the call. Her handler wasn't expecting a spoken response anyway, just obedience.
"How old will you be when they are stopped?" the ghost of a dead woman whispered into her ear.
Nadine shook her head. She would be dead and gone long before anything came close to stopping the Red Room. Such a feat was not only impossible, but foolish; the only option was to comply and live. Those who were brazen enough to stand against the unhalting gears of the room would never be able to hide their rebellion. They would always be found.
A/N: I almost named this story "44" or "38", but I wanted to have paired titles with the last one, so you got "Found" instead. :) My boyfriend thinks I'm evil for naming it that. Speaking of, shoutout to him for being a great beta reader! He's really been a lot of help in planning and editing.
The next story will feature Steve, Bucky, and Becca again. I've already started writing it already and am making progress, but who knows what'll happen before it finishes, so no promises on a release date yet.
Thanks for reading!
Epilogue
Widow PA-30546 hung up the phone and immediately got up and headed to her boss's office.
She exited the elevator and stood in front of the door, waiting patiently to be acknowledged. He knew she was there. He always knew where all of them were.
Several minutes later, the door opened with a blare of a buzzer and she walked in.
Her boss did not stand to greet her, remaining on the couch across from the door with a book on his lap. He did look up at her though, a broad smile on his face.
"Ah, just who I was hoping to see!" he said in a gravelly voice. "What news?"
"The four conspirators and the citizens who aided them have all been destroyed with the message they were printing. They will no longer be a problem," she reported smoothly and emotionlessly.
While it was a shame such a strong woman had to die without being of use, the widow was not surprised. She'd seen the woman's fire when her baby was taken. It had only been a matter of time before she stepped out of line and had to be dealt with permanently.
"Good, good," her boss said. "Such a fuss for three girls. And for what?" He tsched, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Citizens, eh? They are so lacking in common sense and self-preservation instincts." He laughed lightly at that, but the widow did not smile or join him. Her training did not allow it.
"You did well in quelling their rebellion before it could spread," he continued, putting his book aside and walking over to her, stopping far closer than most people would dare and staring into her eyes with a smile that turned her stomach. "Just as I knew you would. You'll go far in life, Melina. Far indeed."
Then he laughed again, turning away from her. The widow left, knowing a dismissal when she heard one.
As the door shut behind her, she maintained her posture and poise, but internally she let out a sigh of relief.
One more day alive; one more meeting with Draykov survived.
