C91 A Mothers Limit

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Upon entering the base, Peter, Cosmo, and Revan moved with silent precision through the dimly lit corridors of the floating Red Room Academy. The air was thick with tension, the only sounds were the distant hum of machinery and their soft footsteps echoing faintly off the cold metal walls.

Peter led the way, handstand in hand as he tracked Melina's location. "It's this way…" he relayed as he took a turn.

Cosmo followed closely behind, her nose sniffing the air as she picked up Natasha's scent, which thankfully seemed to be in the same direction.

Revan, his presence almost ethereal, trailed along at the back, his dormant lightsaber in hand.

They rounded a corner, and suddenly three guards appeared, patrolling the hallway. "!?"

Before they could even register the intruders' presence, Peter extended a hand, using the Force to silently lift them off the ground. Their surprised gasps were cut short as he tightened his grip, crushing their bodies in an instant, the life fading from their eyes without a sound.

"Keep moving…" Peter ordered as he gently lowered the bodies to the floor, ensuring they made no noise that might alert others to their presence.

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Meanwhile, across the base, Natasha Romanoff was ushered into a secluded interrogation room by a group of guards. Without wasting a second, they strapped her to a metal, surgical chair. The chair, more a device of restraint than a seat, was fitted with thick metal straps that clinked ominously as they were secured tightly around her wrists and ankles, her chains no longer necessary.

Alone in the room, the hum of the overhead lights was the only sound that filled the heavy air until finally, the door opened once more. "?"

General Dreykov entered, a smile playing on his lips, accompanied by Melina, whose expression was tight with apprehension. Melina's demeanor shifted from concern to fear as she caught sight of Natasha bound to the chair. Her eyebrows shot up, her fists clenched in a silent protest.

Natasha's glare was piercing as she watched them approach. To her, they were both enemies, regardless of their past connections. Dreykov, enjoying the defiant look on her face, pulled up a chair and sat down directly in front of her.

"So, Natasha," he began, his voice smooth but laced with an undercurrent of threat, "what exactly happened on your mission? Why cease all contact with us, only to return when we send your mother after you?" His eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and malice.

Natashia remained silent, her jaw set firmly. "…"

The resolve in her eyes was unbreakable, but this only seemed to amuse Dreykov more. "Alright, if that's how you want this to be…" he muttered, standing up abruptly, his chair scraping back against the floor. "Normally, this is where the torture would begin," he said casually as he walked over to a table laden with various implements designed to inflict pain. He picked up a scalpel, examining its blade in the light, then set it down to pick up a pair of pliers.

"But," he continued, turning back to Natasha with a twisted grin, "Black Widows are trained to resist such pedestrian techniques." He paused, placing the pliers back, shaking his head. "No, for you, I have something... different in mind."

Natasha's brow furrowed, her body tensing as she tried to gauge his intentions. Her confusion only deepened as Dreykov turned towards the door and yelled, "Bring her in!"

The door swung open with a heavy thud, and Natasha's heart dropped. Escorted by a handful of guards, a small figure shuffled into the room. It was Yelena, her little sister, looking confused and terrified. Natasha's eyes widened, her previous resolve giving way to fear and worry.

Yelena looked up, her eyes large and teeming with unshed tears. At nine years old, she was small for her age, with delicate features framed by a tangle of blonde hair that fell past her shoulders. She wore a plain, gray academy uniform that was slightly too big for her, making her appear even more vulnerable.

[Insert picture of Yelena Belova here]

Instantly, Yelena's eyes found Natasha. Relief and worry flickered across her face simultaneously; she was glad to see her sister returned from her mission, alive and well, but the chains that bound Natasha didn't ease her worries.

"Natasha!" Yelena exclaimed, her voice choked with both joy and distress. Impulsively, she tried to rush forward to her sister's side, however, the guards held her firmly, stopping her mid-stride, their grips unyielding as they kept her in place.

"Yelena," Natasha muttered in surprise, her voice barely a whisper laden with fear and disbelief. Her gaze then snapped to Dreykov and Melina, her eyes blazing with a furious intensity. "If you touch her—if you dare harm a single hair on her head," she swore, her voice seething with venom, "I will never forgive you. I'll hunt you both to the ends of the earth. You'll wish you were dead by the time I'm done with you."

Dreykov laughed openly at her threats, the sound echoing harshly around the room. "Those are some big words for a prisoner," he mocked, thoroughly amused by her audacity.

Meanwhile, Melina was struggling with her own turmoil. Watching Natasha and Yelena in such a distressing scenario was tearing her apart. Her hands were clenched at her sides so tightly that her nails drew blood from her palms, which slowly dripped to the floor.

Soon enough, Yelena's gaze shifted from Natasha, and finally noticed Melina standing stiffly beside Dreykov. "Mama!" she cried out, the hope in her voice cutting through the tension. After nearly five years, the mother who had left them to the mercies of the Red Room was finally in front of her again.

Melina managed a tight, pained smile in response. "Hello, Yelena…" She was relieved to see Yelena but devastated that their reunion had to occur under such dire circumstances.

Before Yelena could reach out or say more, Natasha's sharp voice cut through the moment. "Stay away from her, Yelena!" she warned sternly.

Confusion clouded Yelena's face as she hesitated, taking a step back, accidentally bumping into a guard. The shock of Natasha's words and her sudden movement caused Melina's heart to sink further, a silent ache spreading through her chest.

Dreykov, observing the family drama unfold with a smirk, couldn't help but comment. "What a dramatic family reunion," he said, chuckling at the scene before him, thoroughly entertained by the emotional turmoil he had orchestrated. "If only Alexei were here to join in…"

Melina, her face etched with concern, finally found her voice amidst the escalating tension. "General, maybe we should stop," she implored, stepping slightly forward. "I promise you, I can get Natasha to tell you everything without the need to involve Yelena in this."

Dreykov barely glanced at her, dismissing her plea with a wave of his hand. "Proceed," he commanded his men, ignoring Melina's plea.

The soldiers promptly brought in a plain chair and placed it directly in Natasha's view. With firm hands, they forced Yelena to sit, her small frame dwarfed by the imposing presence of the guards around her.

Turning to Yelena, Dreykov explained the situation with clinical detachment. "You know, I'm sorry for this Yelena, but your sister seems to be going through a rebellious phase. She was supposed to report back to us upon the completion of her mission, yet she did not. I even had to send your mother to retrieve her. And now, I need some answers..."

From her chair, Yelena looked over at Natasha, her eyes wide with fear and a silent plea for help. The sight of her sister in such distress was more than Natasha could bear. She began to thrash wildly in her chair, the metal straps digging cruelly into her flesh. Blood started to seep from the wounds at her wrists and ankles as she struggled against her bonds.

"Leave her alone!" Natasha screamed, her voice raw with panic and rage. "Don't you touch her!"

Dreykov, seemingly unmoved by Natasha's outburst and Melina's earlier interjection, picked up a pair of bolt cutters from the array of torture instruments laid out on a nearby table. He strolled over to where Yelena sat trembling, flanked by soldiers who forcibly held her hand out on the table. Yelena squirmed, trying to pull away, but the soldiers' grip was too strong.

With deliberate slowness, Dreykov opened the blades of the bolt cutters and positioned them around one of Yelena's pinky fingers. He looked back at Natasha, who had ceased her threats and now stared at him with wide, terrified eyes.

"All you need to do is tell me the truth, Natasha," Dreykov said, his voice deceptively kind as he eyed the scared young girl before him. "If you do, little Yelena won't suffer a scratch. But if you lie to me," he paused, allowing the threat to hang in the air for a moment, "I'll have no choice but to act…"

Melina stood rigid, her eyes wide with horror as she watched Dreykov wield the bolt cutters with menacing ease. The image of the cold, unforgiving metal hovering ominously close to Yelena's tiny finger was seared into her mind.

Her maternal instincts screamed at her to intervene, to rush forward and shield her daughters from this brutality. Yet, years of rigorous Red Room training and ingrained obedience fought against her natural urge to protect, leaving her paralyzed.

Natasha, desperate and cornered, saw no other option but to reveal everything. 'I'm sorry, Peter,' she whispered internally, a silent apology to the man who had become her savior. 'I had no choice.'

"Wait!" Natasha shouted, drawing everyone's attention. "I'll tell you. Just leave her alone…"

"Alright…" Dreykov nodded, though he didn't move the bolt cutters a single inch, "Explain."

With a trembling voice, Natasha recounted the events of her mission. "I completed the objective; I killed the target and tried to escape. But his security was overwhelming. I was about to be killed when he appeared… Peter Quill. After watching him kill all of my pursuers, I passed out, and when I woke up, I was in his spaceship's infirmary," she explained hurriedly, not a single lie exiting her mouth. "There, I met—"

But, at the mention of a spaceship, Dreykov scoffed in disbelief, cutting her off. "A spaceship?" he asked, his voice thick with mockery. "Do you take me for a fool, Natasha? What's next? Did he have aliens aboard his ship as well? Do you think so little of your sister's safety?"

Laughter erupted around the room, the guards sharing a moment of amusement over what they perceived as a ludicrous claim.

Melina, too, found herself doubting Natasha's words, the story sounding too fantastical to be true. "Natasha, please," she urged, her voice strained with frustration and fear, "don't joke about this. Yelena's well-being is at stake. Tell the truth."

"I am telling the truth!" Natasha insisted, her voice breaking with desperation. "Please, you have to believe me. Let her go!"

Dreykov, his face twisted into a sneer of disbelief, turned back to Yelena. "I'm sorry, my dear, but it seems your sister still doesn't understand the severity of her situation," he said, almost apologetically, before his expression hardened.

Without another word, he squeezed the handles of the bolt cutters. A sharp snap echoed through the room as Yelena's pinky finger was severed, a small, horrifying thud as it hit the floor followed by the immediate, piercing scream of the young girl. "Aaarrggghh!!!"

Blood spurted from the wound, splattering the pristine floor as Yelena writhed in her chair, her cries of agony filling the room.

Natasha, struck numb with shock and disbelief, could only stare, her heart breaking as she watched her sister suffer unimaginable pain. She had told the truth, yet it hadn't been enough to protect Yelena.

Melina, witnessing the brutal act against

her youngest child, felt a surge of

revulsion and despair so intense it

threatened to overwhelm her entire being. Her training had demanded loyalty and obedience, but the mother within her recoiled in horror at the cruelty inflicted in her presence.

Undeterred by the gruesome scene he had orchestrated, General Dreykov coldly aligned the bolt cutters with another of Yelena's trembling fingers. His face was set in a mask of ruthless determination as he turned his gaze back to Natasha. "I suggest you start telling the truth, Natasha. Your sister will quickly run out of fingers otherwise," he said chillingly. "But of course, after the fingers, we can always move to her toes, or perhaps even take an entire hand..."

The words hung heavy in the air, a vile threat that seemed to echo ominously around the room. Each syllable dripped with the potential for more violence, more pain for the innocent girl whimpering in fear.

At this, something inside Melina snapped. The entire time, she had been a silent spectator, her internal conflict between her Red Room conditioning and her maternal instincts rendering her immobile. But after witnessing the torture of her own child, a barrier seemed to break within her.

The Red Room had trained her to be a loyal weapon, but she was, above all, a mother!

With a swift movement borne of years of training, Melina drew her sidearm. The metallic click of the gun being cocked seemed to slice through the tension in the room like a blade. She aimed the weapon squarely at Dreykov, her arms steady despite the trembling fury that gripped her heart.

"Step away from my daughter!"

A/N: 2306 words :)

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