This will definitely be a two part one-shot, maybe more if y'all request. This is also being posted on my Avengers one-shot story located on Wattpad.Please remember to follow, add a review,or even favorite the story!
Ballet music played throughout the building, providing a basic guideline for dancing in time. The piano notes moved with the strings - almost like how twenty girls danced in the front room, all between the ages of nine and fifteen.
They all wore identical white leotards and hard leather slippers. They weren't exactly shoes made for dancing, but that didn't stop anyone from doing what they must do. It was the only way to survive in the Red Room. You did what Madame B or your trainer asked, then you readily await your next orders. You're supposed to be eager, they say, don't you want to serve Mother Russia?
The girls stood on the points of their toes and started to go through a normal routine. Spin, to the right, twirl again and again. Left. Right and over. Repetition was key to success - and making sure targets were eliminated or disposed of; information was acquired through any means necessary; tasks were completed at the one hundred percent marker.
The consequences for failure were defined as death. But Ivan and Madame B always said there were worse things than death, for those that deserved it. Nobody was excited to learn what that meant.
There were actually supposed to be eight more recruits in the program, but they were the weak ones. Weakness won't get you anywhere, and shouldn't be tolerated. The Red Room only hardened the best of the best; cream of the crop. Only one could be the Black Widow.
The dream suddenly shifted into a later hour of the same day. Light still streamed through the windows from where the drapes didn't quite reach and cover up, but it looked much darker outside. The beams of light were much paler, filtering inside with a marigold colored complexion.
The girls were still dancing, but this time - something was different.
The setting sun's rays found their shine on streaks of red and crimson, drying into a rusted brown. A coppery aroma hung heavily in the air, confirming that that was blood staining the wood planking. The girl's shoes would occasionally squelch with the blood in their too-tight shoes, compacting their toes in tightly without enough breathing room. The once creme colored shoes matched the floor and one of the girl's hair.
It looked familiar, but why?
The music didn't have the happy feeling it gave off earlier. It'd been replaced with dread and longing, sounding more and more distorted as the hours drew by. How long had it been? There was no clock, no need to tell the time. Hell, none of them were even sure about the year. Some said it was the late 80s, but others were certain it was the 90s. No instructor offered up an exact date, but instead let the girls wonder. The only answers you could have were ones that you got. People didn't just hand your their secrets - you had to hunt for them. Of course, not a single girl would risk it in fear of Madame B and Ivan and a fellow they dubbed as the Winter Soldier.
One girl with dark hair braided down her back stumbled. She fell over and hit the ground hard, no longer having the strength to put out her hands and catch herself. The redhead tried to stop and offer a hand, but one look from Madame B made her stop. Help is for the weak. She was not weak like the girl now laying on the floor.
The Winter Soldier, a man with a metal arm and some sort of face mask, forcefully walked over and grabbed the weak one with by her arm. She cried out and her once emotionless eyes filled with panic. The girl yelled something in Russian, and he said something back that shut her up instantly.
The soldier nodded at Madame B, and she looked in the direction of the redhead who'd tried to help. "Natalia, come forth."
Natalia abandoned her post next to the other girls and joined the Winter Soldier as he dragged the dark haired girl down a hallway. She was hopeless, couldn't fight back or save herself. Natalia didn't know Elizaveta very well, but they were around the same age. That didn't mean anything in the Red Room though; you were defined by your loyalty rather than a mediocre number. Ivan always said judging by quantity and not quality was an Американец thing. One was a sufficient number if done right.
Quality over quantity. That's how it was done in the Red Room. Only one could be the Black Widow.
He led the girls into the typical training room, although this one already had a chair set up with a man sitting there. His clothes were surprisingly not ripped or soaked in his own blood. Unconscious, Natalia thought. It was hard to tell when he had a bag over his head, but the man didn't move.
The Winter Soldier caught her staring. "For tomorrow's class." He pulled a handgun off a shelf and checked the barrel. Once confirmed that there was a bullet already loaded, he put it in Natalia's hand. She didn't like the familiar feeling of the cold metal. Guns were always used during intense training, or harsh punishment. It didn't take long for Natalia and Elizaveta to put two and two together.
"N- no!" She said frantically. "Wait-"
"тишина," he snapped at her before turning to the other girl. "Natalia, I will be your new trainer. For the next couple of years, you do as I explicitly say. Nothing else except my orders, Madame B's, or even Ivan's. Understand?"
Natalia wanted to say something about how unfair this was. Elizaveta didn't deserve death as such a young age. It put a sick feeling in her gut and it begged, "Hell no! I don't want to serve you or Mother Russia. Why do think the Soviet Union collapsed all those years ago?" But Natalia couldn't bring herself to say it. She nodded in agreement to the soldier - her new trainer.
"First task is right here, right now."
Natalia stared long and hard at the gun in her hand. It was almost like it had a heartbeat, but she knew that nothing in the Red Room had a heart.
"Right here, right now," the Winter Soldier repeated dryly. Natalia gulped when he rested his metal hand on her shoulder. He started absentmindedly tapping out Morse code, but her ears were ringing with her own thoughts.
The last one was the loudest, drowning out the others: I do what I have to do to survive. Nothing else matters. I have no other place in this world.
Natalia pulled the trigger.
Wanda awoke with a gasp. That dream almost didn't seem like a dream, but rather a memory. It was so vivid and real...it was like everything there had already happened and she could do nothing about it. She put her face in her shaking hands, trying to cover up the tears cascading down her cheeks. She couldn't even think about what she'd just seen. It seemed like an invasion of privacy, and Wanda remembered that this wasn't the first time she'd wished her powers gone.
The clock resting on the bedside table read that it was about two in the morning. Wanda sighed, realizing that she only went to bed about three hours ago due to Steve, Clint, and Natasha's insisting that sleep was needed in order to focus on training.
She'd chosen not to bring up the dark bags beneath the two agent's eyes. That was their personal business, and Wanda knew that they wouldn't share any details unless it were life-or-death. They were just secretive people, whether it was just them in general or being ex-SHIELD agents, Wanda didn't know. Figuring out Natasha Romanoff especially seemed difficult.
The teenager got out from the mountain of blankets upon her bed. Even though the floor was soft white carpet, it did nothing to calm the chills inside of her. Wanda crept across the room into the bathroom attached to her room. Walking in, she heard a muffled sound from the next room over. Instantly, Wanda was on edge and much more alert than before. A door opened somewhere in the distance before shutting again. She couldn't remember who's room was beside hers.
Wanda suddenly felt such panic from out of nowhere, that she felt her knees buckle. She collapsed onto the bathroom floor, and tried to level her breathing, just like how Clint told her. In and out. In and out.
Whatever she just felt, Wanda realized, was such a strong mix of emotions. It was like a bottle that had been continuously mixed in with other ingredients, and shaken up and down. The solution inside fizzled and popped, but couldn't fulfill its yearning sense of wanting to release the pressure. It was like their life was just too much too handle at times - exactly the theme of Wanda's latest dream. But Wanda was already feeling weak, making it hard to pinpoint an exact direction on where it'd come from.
She cursed herself. That wasn't a dream. It was someone else's memory... Wanda knew that it was private, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she wanted to help. She thought about the memory and how accepting help was weakness. Wanda disagreed; everyone needed a hand, and she was already determined to offer one of her own.
She made her way back to her bed, channeling most of her dwindling energy into blocking the incoming wave of feelings coming towards her mind. Wanda decided that in the morning...she would visit the person who had that memory: the Winter Soldier.
Little did she know - it wasn't his.