Chapter 25: The Widow’s Trials and the Pentagon’s Chaos

The command room aboard the Storm Chaser hummed softly as Max sat at the head of the table, flanked by Frank and the four veterans who now formed the backbone of his crew. They had gathered to debrief after the successful teleportation of the Red Room's personnel and Widows into the brig. What should have been a smooth process, however, had presented complications.

Frank was the first to speak. "The Widows… they're not acting like normal people. Not for their age, at least."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"The conditioning runs deep," Mason added, staring at his tablet which displayed the health stats and psychological profiles of the Widows they had taken in. "These girls, women… they've been brainwashed for years. Some of them aren't even aware of it. They follow routines, barely flinch, show little emotion. The younger ones are the worst. It's like they've been programmed."

Max's jaw tightened as he processed the information. "And the Red Room staff?"

Frank's voice was low with restrained anger. "No signs of coercion. They're all in on it. Willingly."

The room went quiet for a moment as the weight of Frank's words settled in. Max leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in thought. There was no room for leniency when dealing with the enablers of Dreykov's empire.

Max's voice was cold and decisive. "We can't afford to take chances with the Red Room staff. We'll gas them with LSD in their cells before we send them to the Pentagon."

The veterans looked at Max, a mixture of surprise and approval flashing in their eyes. The choice was brutal but effective. LSD, Max knew, would cloud the minds of the Red Room's staff, rendering them unable to focus, think coherently, or act with any discipline. Their behavior in the Pentagon would no doubt cause chaos, giving Max and his team time to focus on the real issue—the Widows.

Once the order was given, the Storm Chaser's brig filled with the slow hiss of a colorless, odorless gas. The Red Room staff, men and women who had upheld Dreykov's horrific system, inhaled the LSD without resistance. The drug's effects took hold quickly. Eyes glazed over, movements became erratic. Some began muttering to themselves while others stared blankly at the walls. Max observed the changes on a monitor in the control room, his face expressionless.

"Beam them to the empty chamber in the Pentagon," he commanded.

A moment later, 43 dazed and drugged individuals vanished from the brig and reappeared in the heart of the U.S. military's nerve center.

In the Pentagon, a quiet day of routine operations suddenly exploded into a cacophony of confusion and absurdity. The Red Room staff, disoriented by the LSD, wandered aimlessly through the labyrinthine hallways, their behavior bewildering everyone who crossed their path.

A senior officer turned a corner, only to be met by a middle-aged man in a white lab coat spinning in circles, his arms flailing as if swatting away invisible flies. Another woman, also drugged, sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, hugging herself tightly and rocking back and forth while singing a haunting Russian lullaby.

"Who the hell are these people?" barked an MP, trying to control the situation. But the drugged staff offered no coherent answers. One of the scientists stumbled up to a group of high-ranking officers, his pupils dilated, a wild grin plastered on his face.

"I have... the formula!" he slurred, thrusting his hands toward the officers as if presenting an invisible gift. "It's all... in the clouds!" He began laughing hysterically, his body swaying with the effort, until one of the officers, equally perplexed and alarmed, called for security to intervene.

Elsewhere, a man in a maintenance jumpsuit was being interrogated by two Pentagon guards. "What's your clearance?" one guard demanded, but the man simply looked up at the ceiling, enraptured.

"The lights," he whispered. "They're speaking to me."

The guards exchanged baffled looks as the man continued rambling about the shapes and colors in the air.

The Pentagon quickly descended into a state of chaos as more and more of the Red Room staff, under the influence of the powerful hallucinogen, roamed through the building, engaging in erratic behavior. No one could understand where these people had come from or why they were behaving so strangely, but it didn't take long for the situation to escalate. Eventually, the decision was made to quarantine the intruders, but not before they had thoroughly disrupted the day-to-day operations of the Pentagon.

Back aboard the Storm Chaser, Max turned his attention to the Widows. In the brig, the 142 women and girls sat silently in their cells, many of them still disoriented and confused. Frank and the veterans had monitored them closely, but now it was time for the next phase of Max's plan. He called the crew together for a briefing.

"We're going to use magical contracts to sort through the Widows," Max explained, standing at the front of the briefing room as the holographic display cycled through data. "The first contract will determine if they're still loyal to the Red Room. If they lie and sign it, they'll be forced to do a handstand for one full minute immediately after. It's magically enforced—lying isn't an option."

There was a murmur of approval from the veterans. They had seen enough deception in their time to appreciate the simplicity of such a method.

Max continued. "For those who don't have to do the handstand, they can sign a second contract, agreeing to work for us. If they lie while signing that, they'll be forced to perform a backward flip on the spot."

Frank leaned forward in his chair. "And if they refuse either contract?"

"They'll remain in the brig," Max said simply. "For now."

In the brig, the scene was tense as the contracts were brought out. One by one, the Widows were asked to sign the first contract: a simple statement confirming they were no longer loyal to the Red Room.

The first Widow to step forward was a young woman named Irina. She had been with the Red Room for nearly a decade and carried herself with an air of quiet defiance. She stared at the parchment in front of her, glancing up at the masked crew members before her. Frank stood nearby, arms crossed, watching intently.

Irina picked up the quill and signed her name with a flourish. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as if invisible strings had been attached to her body, she suddenly flipped upside down and found herself balancing on her hands, her legs straight in the air.

Mason chuckled darkly as he made a note on his tablet. "Another loyalist."

After a minute, Irina's body righted itself, and she stood, flushed with anger and embarrassment, but silent. She was escorted back to her cell without a word.

The next Widow, Olga, stepped forward, hesitating for a brief moment before signing. Again, nothing happened. She stood in place, her posture relaxed, and was quickly handed the second contract.

She signed this one as well, her hand steady, and once again, no magical punishment followed.

"You're clear," Mason said, giving her a nod of approval. Olga's shoulders relaxed visibly, and she was led out of the brig, free at last.

Not all Widows were so fortunate. Some, like Irina, were caught by the magic of the first contract, their bodies forced into handstands as punishment for their deception. Others failed the second contract, flipping through the air in a backward somersault the moment they tried to lie about their willingness to join Max's cause.

The process was slow, but effective. By the end of the day, only 16 Widows had successfully passed both contracts, their ages ranging from 17 to 25. These women were led out of their cells and brought into the conference room to meet with Max.

In the conference room, the 16 Widows stood in a semicircle, their eyes fixed on the man who had orchestrated their escape. Max faced them, hands clasped behind his back as he began to speak.

"You've passed the tests," he said simply. "That means you're free from the Red Room's control. But your work is far from over. I need your help to break the conditioning of the other Widows still in the brig."

The women exchanged uncertain glances. Yelena Belova, standing near the front, raised an eyebrow. "And why should we help you?"

Max smiled slightly. "Because I can offer you something no one else can."

He gestured toward Mason, who stood at his side. "This man lost his leg in combat. We cloned it, and now he's as good as new."

Mason nodded, lifting his pant leg to reveal the perfectly regenerated limb. The Widows looked on, intrigued.

Max continued. "I can do the same for you. Some of you have lost more than just your freedom. I know that many of you have had your uteruses removed as part of your training."

There was a flicker of emotion on several faces in the room.

"I can clone those, too," Max said, his voice calm but firm. "But this offer is only available to those who are no longer loyal to the Red Room. If you want this opportunity, then you'll help me break the loyalty of the others. If they pass the tests, they'll be offered the same chance. If not, they'll remain in the brig."

The room was silent as the Widows absorbed his words. Max's offer was more than just an escape—it was a chance to reclaim a part of themselves that had been stolen.