He ran his fingers over the aged leather cover. The pages were brittle from time and weather. As the SHIELD agents flipped through the various files spread out across the lab, Steve held onto Ada's notebook. He opened the cover, noting the tiny scribble of Russian on the front that was faded and stained from water. Numbers and various languages filled the pages, but none of it made sense to anyone but the woman who wrote it.
"What do you know about the Dragon?"
Christine looked up from the file she was looking over when she heard his question. "First active in 1960, the Dragon appeared and disappeared various times throughout history. Credited with over three dozen assassinations and countless other murders, she's been on SHIELD's radar since day one. We assume that it was like the Widow program, numerous women trained the same way but the mutation was always something we could never explain."
"And no history of the organization. No ties to any group. Nothing," he repeated, more to himself than anything. His fingers ran along the seam of the notebook and he bent it slightly, exposing a slit in the binding. Steve pushed his finger into the pocket and pulled out a photograph.
It was him, prior to the serum. He was at Camp Lehigh in training, as evidenced by the white t-shirt and long dog tag chain that hung from his skinny neck. The edges of the photograph were frayed and well-worn and dirt smudged the corners. Grief burned in his stomach and into his throat.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the surprised look in her eyes as he showed her the drawing of her that he kept tucked in his compass. They were sprawled out in his tent, her head on his chest as they listened to the sounds of the night outside. He showed her the drawing and she pulled away for a moment, quickly returning with her journal in her hand. They showed each other where they kept the other's image. Until the end, they kept them close.
"None of this makes any fucking sense," Clint grunted. "Every government agency has a grudge against this kid and she just disappears into thin air?"
Steve placed the notebook down gingerly on the table and grabbed the gas mask. It was definitely the one Ada carried, but he distinctly remembered her leaving it in the warehouse. The one they burned to the ground. He flipped it over and held it up to the light.
"Project Drema," he began. "Was a Soviet organization designed to train young girls into being killers. They were an offshoot of another group called the Red Room."
All eyes turned to Natasha and she shook her head. "We were never taught about a Drema."
"Ada wanted to destroy them both. Drema made the first version of the serum and she was the only one to survive the trials. She always said that Drema wouldn't rest until they got her back."
"And you think Drema has something to do with the Dragon," Blake finished his sentence.
Steve shook his head and held up the gas mask in his hand. "I know they're connected. This mask was destroyed during the war. I watched the warehouse burn. So how is it here? I might be a few years out of the game, Director Fury, but you have a mole in your organization."
A small noise of surprise escaped Christine. She looked at the others in the room warily and placed her hand on the cool metal of the lab, her move deliberately slow to not provoke the two assassins standing in the corner. Hill's hand came to rest on the gun that rested on her hip. Fury looked unimpressed.
"And what makes you figure that?" Fury spat.
"Marina Nikolaevna Chugunova, the headmistress of Drema. It's written on the inside of the mask." Steve held it up for everyone to see. "But Ada's had a different name. Murakami said that the Dragon believed the pocket knife to be attached to her past. She goes missing not even a day after telling Murakami she found it."
"And this proves what?"
"She said she was ready to come back," Christine murmured. "She had an appointment with Dr. Sanders right before she came back home but he told her she would never be reinstated with SHIELD again."
"Hold on," Rebecca interrupted. "The Dragon has been cleared after New York. She is already reinstated."
"Hill. Get me Joel Sanders here now," Fury ordered.
"Sir, he called out sick this morning."
/
"You're a fucking bastard," the Dragon spat. She dragged herself over to the cold stone wall of the cell and settled her aching back against the cool surface. For someone who had literal fire in their veins, she was overheated and sweating from the pain. She lifted her chin and stared at the two people standing on the other side of the bars. Dr. Sanders smirked and tsked his tongue.
"You really can't blame yourself," he cooed. "We had this planned the second they found you."
The Dragon ran her tongue over her blood slicked teeth and promptly spat the russet, iron-tinged saliva at them. Joel let out a hearty chuckle and shook his head.
"You never learn, do you?" he hissed.
She grinned, slow and maniacal. Blood coated one side of her face, plastering her dark hair to her face. The Dragon tilted her head up to stare at the moonlight peeking through the slits in the roof. A laugh bubbled up from her lungs and filled the cage.
"Stop her," the woman next to Joel snarled.
He raised his hand and the Dragon's jaw snapped shut. Her head slumped forward and she fell limp against the wall. He raised his hand and her head rose with his movement, revealing her glazed eyes as she stared at them blankly.
"Leave her, Anton. We need her mind somewhat intact," a third voice said.
"To do what?" the Dragon said. "Be your little doll to torture mindlessly?"
"Of course not," the voice laughed. It sounded familiar but in the background as if it was on the vestiges of her mind. The Dragon flinched and raised her eyes to meet the elderly woman standing by the bars.
"You're going to destroy SHIELD for us. Hello Anya, it's been awhile."
The Dragon's eyes flashed that brilliant gold and she bared her bloody teeth. "Marina."