Chapter Fifty-Two
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Speak Loud | Trills

I spat the taste of blood from my mouth.

Despite the infrastructure, the machine that was Kitezh was very cold. This was none more apparent than within the narrow access tunnels I had wormed my way into, not wanting to run into more people than I had to.

Not that I had a lot to worry about. The corridors I walked over were surprisingly devoid of people. What I assumed to be regular guards or engineers, here or there, an analyst or two. But no big players.

No widows.

I especially didn't want to run into one of them when I didn't have any of the Rue cure on me. Part of our plan of even getting into Kitezh was to rescue the women and girls trapped here.

And, for better or worse, I was better at killing people than saving them right now.

So there was nothing I could do when I crept over grates above long rooms full of women, dressed in identical black catsuits with glowing red armbands, moving in creepy unison through some choreographed practice; or sitting in what appeared to be a convincing recreation of an American classroom, listening to an instructor with flat, unblinking faces.

In the back of my mind, I wondered how different this was from the actual Red Room. How this Madame conducted her students. How they were allowed to behave within her walls. Natasha had never spoken of it to me directly, but the way Yelena mentioned it, it certainly had been its own kind of nightmare.

But I could see how Yelena hated this more.

There had to be dozens of captured widows in total, I thought. Hopefully not hundreds. I could do nothing but watch and hurry past as quietly as I could, hoping to find the rest of the team before it was too late. I didn't think Dreykov wanted to kill anyone — yet — but there were definitely things worse than death in a place like this.

And we were running on borrowed time. Had to remember that. I couldn't wander around in these ducts and crawlspaces forever.

I found Yelena first.

Like me, she had been taken away to a small operation room off in one of the many little wings of this godforsaken place. It was mostly luck that I stumbled across her after taking a random turn in a four-way split of directions I could've taken in the access passageways. Then there she was, below me, strapped to a table in a white room while a man in a labcoat marked a dotted line across her forehead.

Yelena's eyes, at least, were open, though she appeared dazed, perhaps having just woken up. If she could see me above her, she gave no indication.

She jolted in surprise, same as the would-be surgeon, when the metal grate came crashing down, and me with it. The metal grate caught the surgeon across the shoulder, bringing him down, and made a nice cushion for my fall.

I stood up, looked to Yelena. Her eyes widened. She screamed.

"Oh my god!" She suddenly started writhing on the metal table. "Did you eat someone?"

"What? No!" I scowled, before noticing my reflection in a metal cabinet nearby. My entire mouth and chin were covered in rusty smears, giving the rather terrifying impression of a zombie. Grimacing in distaste, I quickly scrubbed my face with the back of my hand, before ripping the straps off of Yelena.

Aside from the unconscious man on the floor, there was no one else here. Not even a guard. Apparently they were less afraid of her getting out than they were of me.

"Took you long enough!" Yelena complained as she swiped the last strap away from her with an irritated hand, picking herself up and sweeping her legs to the floor. She was a little wobbly for a moment, then found her balance. "Thought I'd be halfway through a lobotomy before you showed up!"

"You're lucky I found you at all, this place is a goddamn labyrinth," I snapped back, looking around as if there might be some clue as to where to go next. "I don't even know where to find Alexei and Melina."

"They're in the prison cells," Yelena huffed, straightening her green vest over her white jumpsuit. There was a dark look in her eyes now. "I know where to go. Follow me."

What she meant by "prison cells" definitely wasn't the same definition I had. OR rather, what Dreykov had. Climbing back up into the ducts, she led the way down several levels and zigzagging paths between walls until we were somewhere closer to the engines or generators — the hum got louder, until it was a dull, ever-present roar somewhere below.

The cells, as they were, were indeed quite small — but in a nice, comfy way, with fully upholstered beds, a giant circular window (though no real vision through the frosted glass), alongside a desk, bench, and toilet facilities. Very post-modern, very chic, as far as prison cells had to go.

Luckily, Alexei and what appeared to be Natasha were already awake, pacing in their cells next to each other. We were just about to drop down when an alarm went off — someone somewhere noticed either I or Yelena had gone missing. And/or Dreykov realized a trick had been played.

Either way, clock was ticking.

We dropped down at once in a clatter of metal. Alexei launched to his feet, his once morose grumbling quickly turning into a shout of glee. "Aha! I knew you would come! My sweet Lenka, what did they do to your face?"

"Drew all over it," Yelena pouted, rubbing at a mark on her temple. The ink had smeared in her several attempts to get rid of it, but there was no time to go hunting for some rubbing alcohol to get it off when we were on a time crunch. "Did they do anything to either of you?"

"No," Alexei said, but gestured to the otherwise empty cellblock as I started fiddling with the control panel in the center of the room. The cells all had thick metal-and-glass doors that would be a bitch to smash through the old-fashioned way. So I just started hitting buttons until Alexei and Natasha's slid open. "But they took Melina to Dreykov. What if he hurts her? It was supposed to be Natasha, and she —"

"Can take care of herself," Natasha said, in a voice that was not Natasha's. Alexei turned around just in time to witness her pull off the photostatic mask and red wig, revealing Melina in all her quiet, feline glory. Iron Maiden indeed. "Natalia is right where she is meant to be, my darling."

Alexei, who had known her longest, known her best out of us all — looked absolutely gobsmacked. "What? How did you — when—?"

Yelena snorted as Melina walked past. "When you were busy studying your old suit in the mirror, Sasha. Now come, we have much to do. Have either of you found Dreykova yet?" She asked me and Yelena.

"No," I said. "But we can find her."

"You'll need the cure if you're going to save the other girls," Yelena added, and pulled one vial from a secret pocket inside her vest, and tossed it to Melina. "This won't work on Antonia anyways. Besides, I think I know where Dreykov keeps her here."

"Good luck, then," Melina caught the vial with one hand and tucked it away. "Remember, flight deck in fifteen minutes. We will leave without you if you're not on time — then you must find your own way off. So… try to be there on time, yes?"

"Fifteen minutes," I repeated as we went our separate ways. Alexei was far too small to fit into the access tunnels, and he seemed far more excited to be roaming about the old-fashioned way. With the alarm still blaring, there were fewer issues to worry about.

Together, Yelena and I returned the way we came, with me offering her a lift back into the ceiling before climbing in after her.

"Where's Dreykov keeping his daughter?" I asked as we began sidling along the narrow passage, now with greater haste.

"Up in one of the towers," Yelena replied with the shake of her head. "Like a princess."

"Really into the cliches, huh?" I said with a smirk.

"Men are nothing if not predictable."

Our ascent was aided by a ladder that went up and up into a narrow black void above. Yelena tried to short-cut with her grappling hook, only for it to fall back down again when it reached its zenith without hitting anything. She cursed as she reeled it back into her gauntlet before grabbing the first rung. "Gotta love getting in some cardio when we're trying to save lives. Being evil is so much easier," she sighed forlornly.

"That's what it's like being a hero," I said lightly, and got the stink-eye for that.

"Not a hero," She grunted as she started on her way up. "I'm not like Natasha. I never will be."

"I don't think anyone is really like Natasha," I replied as I followed her up. One rung at a time, as fast as we could, but I was still only as fast as Yelena above. "But, you know. Saving lives. At the risk of your own. Might be something you're good at. If you tried it."

"Ha, ha," Yelena said sarcastically, and tried to stamp on my hand when I reached the same rung as her foot. "You're not fooling me, Terminator."

It wasn't like I was trying to convince her of her innate heroism; not at all. I was, as Yelena accurately sensed, just trying to annoy her so she'd move faster.

I knew we were getting close by the music. The higher we got, the louder it became; the soft notes of a piano drifting down the metal tube around us. It sounded like it might be a real instrument, too, and not just a recording, judging by the tenor of the sound, the soft vibrations through the metal as we got closer.

Every twenty feet or so we were met with a grate on the wall next to the ladder leading into a room or corridor. One emitted the music, and whatever room it was seemed to be filled with light, judging by the beams filtering through the grate. Yelena reached it first, squinted through, before carefully pushing the grate in and slipping through.

It was a tighter fit for me, with my broad shoulders; I had to twist myself around and squeeze in as much as possible, and I still scraped the side of my head as I wiggled through. Yelena made a point to be quiet so I followed suit. As I came to a crouch, I took in the room around us. The room was taller than it was wide, with a massive twenty foot ceiling decorated in the French fashion, with paneled walls and long velvet curtains framing tall stained-glass windows. The plush carpeted floor absorbed our footsteps, and the walls echoed the sound of the piano. A real piano, as I suspected, sitting at the opposite end of the room, where Antonia sat at the keys, playing rhythmically, still in the borrowed catsuit.

Her eyes were closed, playing Mozart by rote memory, it appeared. If she didn't hear us, then she had no reason to look up and notice our subversive entrance.

We stood there for a second, exchanging a glance, before slowly beginning our approach towards Antonia. It was unclear what Dreykov had done to her, if anything. But it was certainly odd that she was playing piano when originally she wanted nothing to do with the man, wanted to stay away from him. If she was aware at all of the alarm still blaring, she gave no heed.

It was just a little too eerie, a little too wrong, for me to assume everything was okay with Antonia. At the very least, I hoped what I was seeing right now was the same thing she was seeing. For once her father didn't hook her up with dilapidating, rotting digs.

At a certain point, it gets a little awkward and then, rude, to be in the same room as someone else without announcing your presence. We had crossed about halfway, maybe twenty feet, before Yelena carefully cleared her throat, hands at her sides warily. "Uh, Antonia —?"

Antonia's head snapped up, and the music stopped. She whipped around in her seat, startled. She stared at us.

And screamed.

I did not see the gun until the last second. It had been sitting next to her on the piano bench — on the opposite side, facing away from us. It was only when she reached for it — flung the muzzle in our direction — did I react.

Grabbing Yelena, bringing up my shield just in time to deflect the first couple bullets, before I sent the both of us tumbling over a nearby mahogany table. It overturned as we fell across the other side, and its wooden underbelly absorbed the next two bullets from Antonia's gun.

"Antonia!" I called. "It's just us!"

"We're here to save you!" Yelena shouted. "Remember?"

"Stay away from me!" She cried. "Monsters!"

"Oh, great," Yelena grumbled, flinching as a couple more bullets impacted the other side of the table. "This is what I get for trying to save people."

I ignored the subtle barb in my direction. "Dreykov's clearly done a number on her again. She must be seeing things."

I could hear Antonia's panicked breathing, scrambling as she tumbled off the bench and padded footsteps on carpet as she ran further away. I peered over the top of the table to see her taking cover behind a desk in the corner of the room, the piano between her and us. Though armed, I was fairly certain the gun was all she had, and she did not have an infinite supply of ammunition.

"She only has one gun," I said as I dropped back down, keeping my voice low so Antonia couldn't overhear us. "We can disarm her."

Yelena snorted. "Disarming her is easy. How do we keep her from going into a complete meltdown?"

That was the real problem, I knew. And then we got another, even worse problem, when the doors at the other end of the hall, facing us, opened.

And in walked Taskmaster.

"Fuck." Yelena and I said in unison.

Yelena had a stronger killer instinct than I did. She immediately raised her gun and fired, but Taskmaster anticipated this. He curled his shoulder forward and, bringing up a small shield I hadn't seen before, blocked the bullet in a move that bore strong resemblance to something Captain America would do.

But Captain America had a Vibranium shield. This one dented upon the bullet's impact.

It was one bright note in an otherwise shitty situation. But I liked to think positive that way.

"Nice try," Taskmaster jeered, as Yelena darted one way and I the other. "Dreykov knew you little minxes would come back for his daughter. Sentimentality or something. Come on, Rebel, don't want to give it the old college try?"

He came straight for me, as I suspected he would. I ducked under his first blow and weaved around his second — only to recoil when a bullet flew past my shoulder, far too close. It almost hit Taskmaster as well.

"Easy, girl!" He snapped at Antonia, who had fired at me from her cover. "Trying to keep you alive here!"

"No, please!" I urged instead, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. "Shoot him instead!"

That got me a knuckle sandwich to the face, but it hardly knocked me off balance. And Taskmaster made a critical mistake.

Turning his back on a Widow.

With a snarl like a wildcat, Yelena appeared out of nowhere, launching herself onto Taskmaster's back and jamming her widow's bite into his neck. He yelled, recoiled, before falling back, slamming Yelena into the floor. But she recovered quickly, and I took the opportunity to break away from the fight and approach Antonia again.

She saw me coming and fired once more.

I raised my shield and dropped to a crouch, using a nearby chair for cover. It definitely wasn't bulletproof, but if Antonia's aversion to me was only visual, maybe it helped. "Antonia! It's me! Mia! We're helping you, remember?"

"I-I —" She stammered, her face screwing up in concentration. "Father said not to trust anyone. Especially you. You're the — the Soldatka! Student of the Winter Soldier. You kill people. You'll kill me!"

"I'm not going to kill you!" I said, wincing as the fight continued behind me, like cats and dogs and Yelena and Taskmaster duked it out. Furniture crashed and walls cracked, bullets flying out. "Antonia, what do you see when you look at me?"

"Like… a corpse!"

"Oh," I made a face, and decided I didn't want to inquire further on that line of questioning. "Well, do I sound normal?"

"I-I think so?" Antonia was curled up so tightly in her spot she looked as if she might phase right through the wall behind her. "My head hurts so much. I-I remember a cabin. A-and a helicopter. And this big bright light —"

A mighty crash and Yelena went flying into me and the chair, knocking us all down. Yelena groaned, spitting out blood, but when she raised her gun it clicked empty. I still had mine, and as Taskmaster approached, I could hear him grinning. "Better not miss, Rebel."

He was right there. Not ten feet away. Almost point blank range. I certainly wouldn't miss. A child couldn't miss. Maybe he'd raise his knock-off shield in time. Maybe I'd land a shot before I ran out of bullets. Maybe I could kill him before his stupid eyes could get anything off of me.

Taskmaster opened his arms, as if presenting himself to me. Goading me. "Better make it count."

"Shoot him!" Yelena snarled.

I raised my pistol and fired.

The bullet went up. Straight up. Not at Taskmaster but right over my head, in a straight line to the ceiling. Yelena gasped, Taskmaster laughed. Then the ceiling exploded into mist.

The pressurized pipe hissed, the bullet making enough of a hole to create a break. Though not large, it was enough to fill the room with a thick, moist fog in under a minute, turning the ornate room completely white with little particle droplets. Taskmaster growled and slammed his shield down to the floor where I once lay, but I was no longer there.

"Little shit!" He shouted blindly into the room. "If you think that's gonna be enough to stop me—"

I weaved around the sound of his voice, trying to find my way back to Antonia. I heard a grunt as Yelena, also taking advantage of the situation, managed to land a blow on Taskmaster. The room was freezing cold now, but I was just glad I didn't hit a pipe containing something toxic.

I had just rounded the fallen chair again when the floor suddenly canted violently beneath us. Four voices gasped in unison as the entire structure groaned around us — Kitezh itself suddenly losing equilibrium. Furniture started sliding down across the angled floor, more and more steeply.

It wasn't stopping.

A falling ottoman struck me in the head. Which, of course, I didn't see coming. I heard the groan of the piano, its long wires vibrating, and for a moment I panicked. But I could make out its dark silhouette in the fog, saw it sliding, but then stopping. Throwing myself onto my belly, I crawled forward, gripping to the floor as hard as I could. Up close, I found the piano actually strapped to the floor.

Too bad Dreykov hadn't done that to anything else in here. Just the very expensive grand piano.

"Melina must have taken out one of the engines!" Yelena called somewhere in the mist. Something flew past my head and smacked into a window that was now below me. I heard glass cracking. "Its going down!"
"Are you insane?!" Taskmaster shouted. "We're still inside!"

"We're gonna miss our exit!" Yelena called, ignoring him.

I said nothing, trying to keep my location unknown as I scrambled closer to Antonia. I could make out the black rectangular form of the big old desk, and I could hear her whimpering. I realized with growing horror that the desk she had hid behind was now pinning her to the window behind her. The thing was massive, old wood, antique. If the glass didn't give, it would crush her.

"Antonia, if I get you out of there," I said to her, grimacing as something else bounced off my body before hitting the next window over. "Will you promise not to shoot me?"

Then, before she could answer, I heard another voice behind me. My voice. "Don't listen to that, Antonia! Just stay there!"

I snapped my head around, furious. Taskmaster, copying my voice. "Asshole!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Yelena called, and I realized she wasn't just above me, but clinging to a wall somehow. And now throwing something from the wall — a frame? — in Taskmaster's general direction.

"Antonia!" I looked back to the dark form, dropping down further until my side was pressed against the window, the floor now at a 45 degree angle. Anything not tied down — which was basically everything — had crashed into the line of windows. The cracks kept getting bigger, filling the room with a terrible noise.

"Just stay there!" Taskmaster shouted in my voice, now suddenly closer. "Don't listen to them! They're trying to kill you!"

If I thought about it too much, Taskmaster's words didn't make a lot of sense if it was me saying them. But now was not really the time to be overanalyzing tactics when the glass was actively breaking beneath us. I managed to push myself forward, getting my hands onto the desk, and then, half standing on the wall instead of the floor, I began to lift the desk. "Move! Now!"

The weird angle meant I couldn't get it off Antonia completely. I supposed I could lift and move it — but there was nowhere safe to put it. The angle meant it would just fall on glass. And this thing was definitely big enough to go smashing through it.

A little foggy shadow scrambled out from beneath the desk, right between my legs, stumbling along the awkward corner between wall and floor that was now where gravity pulled us. Then I heard the small puff of air from a grappling hook, and a line struck out from the mist — Yelena's pale, ghostly form appearing from above, grabbing Yelena, then zipping back up. For a moment, I was able to glimpse Antonia's terrified, tear-streaked face, before she vanished into the mist.

And then something hard slammed into me.

I went crashing back into the glass, and this time I felt it give. My heart gave a terrified leap, and that's before I felt hands around my throat, knees on my chest, pinning me down.

"Goddamn bitch!" Taskmaster snarled. "Gonna get us all killed!"

Fist to face. My head cracked against the glass behind me, and I felt it give way. A cold rush of air came in from the hole behind me — suddenly widening, and with a sharp panic I slammed both hands into Taskmaster's chest and rolled away, just as the window collapsed completely, leaving a gaping hole between me and him.

The outside wind sucked out all the fog in an instant. Above, I saw Yelena helping Antonia upwards, towards the grate we had first entered. The new angle meant it would be easier getting down, instead of a straight drop — but they had to scramble across sheer wall to get there first. On what was formerly the floor, only the grand piano now hung, nearly dangling from straps that hooked it to the floor.

Taskmaster leapt the distance to reach me. I jumped back, and glass cracked beneath both our feet. I nearly stumbled backwards over a chair behind me I hadn't seen, and managed to duck just in time when he swung his stupid shield at my face.

"Come on!" He shouted. "What have you got to lose now? We're gonna die anyways — because of you! Give me your best shot —"

My hand shot out, grabbed him around the throat, and slammed him into the wall next to us. The carpet provided extra cushion than I intended, but the move clearly took Taskmaster by surprise. He flailed, choked, and went slack in a momentary daze. My grip still around his neck, I threw him away from me, and he went tumbling along glass.

Well, he asked for it.

While he recovered, I threw myself to the remaining wall, giving myself enough momentum to kick off it so I could rise up the slanted floor, reaching up to the only thing I had left to grab onto.

The piano.

Taskmaster swung back to his feet, clearly furious, and spotting me above, threw his shield. I twisted my body around in time to avoid being struck — instead, the shield hit one of the piano's legs, where it was tied down. The hook there snapped, and I gasped as the piano suddenly lurched downward at an angle. Over the roaring wind from the broken window, I thought I could hear him laughing.

"What a bad way to die," He sneered, before reaching behind him and pulling out a bow and arrow.

Realizing I was a sitting duck, that I only had one chance — I moved fast.

With one powerful pull-up, I managed to launch myself from the bottom leg to the top, then braced my back against the carpet floor with my feet on the underside of the piano. Even without my weight, it was groaning with the tension holding it there, and I very delicately placed my feet down, keeping most of my weight back. Looking to either side, I could see the last two hooks were barely holding on, the metal stretching out. One of them was going to snap, and the remaining wouldn't stand a chance.

And now, Taskmaster was directly below me, taking aim.

"Where you gonna go, Rebel?" He called. "I've got a parachute. Do you?"

Hm. Shoulda thought of that one. I made a face. "No. But I've survived worse falls!"

Taskmaster paused. "What?"

And with that, I lifted my legs, and slammed both feet into the piano.

The hooks snapped.

Taskmaster fired.

The arrow went up, over the piano, as all one thousand pounds of it came rocketing down. Taskmaster didn't even have a chance to shout before wood and ivory slammed into him — into the glass behind him — and out into the open air.

And right behind it, I also fell, with nothing left to hold me.

But never fear. I had a plan. Sort of.

Mainly it was trusting myself to grab the window frame before falling to my imminent death. It kinda worked. Both hands caught the edge of the window. One hand got sliced by a shard of glass I somehow failed to anticipate. My palm went hot with pain and blood, but the other held.

I dared to look down. Nothing but clouds and, thousands of feet below, mountainous landscape, daylight, and debris raining from above. Taskmaster, and the piano that went with him, had already vanished into the air below.

Cold, sharp wind cut into my face. The air was thin up here, and I was painfully reminded this was not the first time I was this high up in the atmosphere. Also none of them for good reasons.
Also nearly falling to my death in a fiery blaze.

And not for the second time, either.

Why does this keep happening to me?

Above, I heard a shriek, and saw something falling towards me. I gasped and reached out on instinct. Thankfully, Yelena's catlike grace reacted in compliment to mine, and she twisted her body around in time to grab my hand, just as she flew through the open window I had just come through.

She dropped, but my grip held, even as my hand strained with the pain of a fresh cut, one I didn't know how deep, and blood dripping down from my glove into hers. "Are you okay?"

"No!" Yelena shouted, her feet kicking helplessly beneath her. She wiggled furiously as I tried to pull her up. "That little shit! She kicked me!"

"What?" I yelled over the wind, baffled.

"Antonia! We reached the vent, she got in first, and then she kicked me! I lost my grip!" Yelena explained between gasps, perhaps having just seen her life flash before her eyes. She managed to claw her way up my arm and onto my back, arms and legs wrapping around me like a baby koala. "Bitch! Dreykov's stupid brainwashing got her still wrapped up."

"Well, we can relate to that, can't we?" I said, gritting my teeth as I tried to levy myself up. But it was pointless, there was nothing up there for us to climb onto to get back to the vent. "I don't suppose your grappling hook can hold both of us."

"Well, I would, but it snapped," Yelena grumbled, and raised one arm in front of my face so I could see the depleted gauntlet. The cord had snapped, leaving only a ragged edge. A gust of wind nearly unsettled her, and Yelena tightened her grip around my neck. "Okay, you're gonna hate this."

"Hate what? Why?"

"Because I think the only way we're getting to Melina and Alexei in time," Yelena sighed. "Is from the outside."

She let those words sink in as we hung over the edge of the world. I swallowed, my throat dry. "Yeah. I fucking hate that."

"Got any better ideas?" Yelena laughed despite herself, her body starting to shiver with the intense cold.

I grit my teeth, looking around. The outside of the tower was not without handholds and climbing points at this angle, with metal ridges and piping that one could conceivably use to clamber across. It would not be fun. Mistakes would be unforgiving. I'd have to carry Yelena, with a busted hand, across the bottom of this tower and around to the top, where we could presumably walk across if we hadn't died by then.

But yes.

It was possible.

And as I began sidling across the window ledge to the next one, as carefully and as quickly as possible, I couldn't help but wish I were Peter right now.

He made this wall crawling shit look easy.