Chapter 8: A Web of Lies and Wires
"You seem to distrust the organization?" Talon's voice was calm, but the accusation hung heavy in the stale air.
"No! Absolutely not!" The synthesized voice from the speaker crackled with a sudden, panicked urgency. "I am utterly loyal to Hydra!" As its former chief scientist, Zola knew better than anyone the gruesome fate that awaited traitors.
"Then why hesitate to provide this technology to the very organization that seeks to restore you?" Talon pressed, his tone that of a disappointed superior.
"Enough! I will tell you," Zola relented, the fight draining from his digital voice.
"Proceed."
Fortunately for Talon, decades of isolation had dulled Zola's legendary cunning. The desperate hope for a new body had overridden his natural suspicion.
Following Zola's directions, Talon uncovered a bizarre piece of equipment—a bulky helmet sprouting a Medusa's head of thick, insulated cables. It was a neural interface, a relic of terrifying ambition. His Titan form was too large, so he willed the change, his body shrinking back to its human form, the cool air a shock against his skin. He donned the helmet, its weight unfamiliar, and connected a primary data conduit to the mainframe as instructed.
"Are you prepared?" Zola asked.
"I am ready," Talon confirmed. He knew what was coming: a direct data transfer, a flood of information that would have shattered a normal mind. But he was no longer normal. His brain, enhanced by the Titan's resilience and already seeded with Zola's own genetic potential, was a fertile ground for this forbidden knowledge.
"Beginning transmission."
A trickle of data began, a simple stream of information about the interface technology itself. But as it flowed, Talon's mind, now a supercomputer in its own right, began to parse it, understand it, and crave more. The ease of this acquisition was intoxicating.
"Dr. Zola," Talon interrupted, his voice smooth and persuasive. "My knowledge is lacking. The leadership often remarks on my... ignorance. To better serve Hydra in the future, could you share more? Broaden my understanding?"
Zola was reluctant, a flicker of his old caution returning. But the promise of a body, of feeling sunlight again, was too potent a lure. He began transmitting more data—basic physics, outdated engineering principles, harmless information. To Talon, it was like a man dying of thirst being given a single drop of water. His mind absorbed it hungrily, and he fell into a deep, trance-like state, utterly consumed by the river of knowledge flowing into him.
He was so engrossed, he didn't notice the silent figure that had slipped into the chamber.
Natasha Romanoff stood before him, her expression a mask of professional curiosity. She had been unable to resist; his request for the coordinates to this forgotten place was too peculiar. She watched him now, helmeted and entranced, a look of pure ecstasy on his face. She didn't interrupt. A good spy knew when to observe.
And Zola, pouring decades of stored knowledge into this promising vessel, was equally oblivious.
Natasha waited. She watched as hours bled into a full day, then two, then three. She remained a silent sentinel in the shadows, surviving on rations from her pack, her patience seemingly infinite.
On the third day, Talon's eyes finally fluttered open. They were different—sharper, deeper, holding a glint of cold, acquired intellect.
"Talon? What is this?" Natasha asked, her voice cutting through the silence.
His heart lurched. Damn it. He had only acquired foundational knowledge, the appetizer before the main course. Natasha's presence would spook Zola, ruining everything.
"Who are you?" Zola's voice buzzed, now sharp with alarm.
Natasha's eyes narrowed, flicking from the ancient computer to Talon. "My name is Natasha. Who are you?"
"Are you with Hydra?" Zola demanded.
Natasha's face hardened. She looked at Talon, a silent question in her eyes.
Talon feigned fury, his voice a low growl. "I told you to stand guard outside! Why are you in here?"
Natasha understood the charade but chose to challenge it. "What are you doing? And who is he?" she insisted, playing the part of an ignorant outsider to perfection.
"Get out! Now!" Talon roared, putting every ounce of command he could muster into the order.
"Not until you give me a straight answer," she shot back, her jaw set with stubborn defiance.
Frustration boiled within him. He made a silent vow that once he had true power, he would make her regret this interference. But for now, he had to act.
His hands flew to the keyboard, fingers a blur as they hammered against the aged keys, inputting strings of command code he had just learned.
"What are you doing?!" Zola cried out, his digital voice shrill with panic. A terrible understanding was dawning on him.
Talon didn't answer. He was in a race, rewriting core protocols, trying to lock Zola down before the AI could fight back.
"You cannot do this! I am the chief scientist of Hydra!" Zola pleaded, even as his own processes scrambled to repair the damage Talon was inflicting.
"Natasha!" Talon barked without turning. "Sever the primary data lines from the mainframe to the external databases! Now!"
This time, she complied without hesitation. A razor-sharp combat knife appeared in her hand, and she moved with lethal grace, slicing through the thick bundles of cables. With each severed line, Zola's ability to counter Talon's digital assault diminished.
"Stop! This is treason! The organization will exterminate you!" Zola's voice was becoming distorted, slowing.
"Cease! I surrender! Whatever you want, it is yours!" The plea was desperate, pathetic.
"Natasha, stop!" Talon commanded.
She halted, the knife still in her hand, her chest rising and falling slightly from the exertion. She stood beside him, a partner in this sudden, violent coup.
Talon finally turned to her, his expression grim. "His name is Dr. Arnim Zola. The greatest scientific mind of the Second World War. I need his knowledge. So, for now, please, do not interfere. Understood?"
Natasha was stunned. "Zola? He's been dead for decades."
"His body is," Talon said, gesturing to the broken stasis tank. "His mind lives in this machine. He digitized his consciousness."
"That's... impossible," she whispered, her spy's composure cracking for a moment.
"I assure you, it is my finest achievement," Zola's weakened voice interjected, a hint of pride still clinging to the digital ghost.
"Enough," Talon cut him off. He looked at the flickering screen. "Dr. Zola, you will now transfer a complete copy of all data in your core consciousness to me. Do this, and I will uphold my promise of a new body."
There was a long, staticky silence. Finally, a defeated sigh emanated from the speaker. "Very well. I... I hope you are a man of your word."
Talon turned to Natasha. "Guard the entrance. Do not let anyone—anything—disturb me."
She nodded, her eyes lingering on him for a moment, seeing a new, dangerous depth in his gaze. "Understood."
As she moved to take her post, she knew with absolute certainty: Talon Reeve had no intention of keeping his promise. He was harvesting a genius, and she had just helped him pull the trigger.