Natasha gestured toward her companions. "This is John Wick."
John gave a curt nod, his expression carved from stone, professional acknowledgment without warmth or unnecessary social performance.
"And this is Smith Doyle. He's the one who extracted Alexei from Deep Well Prison."
Melina extended her hand toward Smith, genuine gratitude flickering across her features. "Thank you for rescuing that idiot. Whatever his faults, I'm glad he's alive."
Smith accepted the handshake with a slight smile, his grip measured and brief.
Melina studied the group for another moment, then made a decision. "Come inside. We should have drinks."
She led them into the farmhouse, though Natasha hung back slightly, her trained paranoia tracking Melina's movements. Alexei bounded in eagerly, already examining the interior with nostalgic fascination, the furniture placement, the décor, all carefully maintained.
Smith and John Wick settled at the dining table in the main room while Natasha watched Melina open a concealed panel in the wall, revealing a weapons cache. The rifle disappeared inside.
"Don't even think about trying anything," Natasha warned quietly.
Melina's tone remained calm, unbothered by the implicit threat. "I'm simply storing my weapons. Proper security protocol."
"Are there traps around the property? Anything we should know about?"
Melina closed the hidden panel and turned to face Natasha fully. "I didn't raise my daughters, even fake ones, even temporarily, to fall into traps. Give me some credit."
The reference to their false family stung more than Natasha expected. She turned away, moving toward the living room, and realized with unsettling clarity that this house replicated their Ohio home's layout almost exactly. Melina had recreated the fiction, kept it alive all these years.
Meanwhile, Alexei had disappeared into one of the bedrooms. Sounds of rustling fabric and muttered cursing emerged before he reappeared wearing his Red Guardian uniform, the iconic suit that had defined his glory years.
"Still fits!" he announced proudly, striking a heroic pose despite the obvious strain on the seams.
Melina actually whistled in appreciation, though amusement danced in her eyes.
John Wick's flat assessment cut through the moment. "With that physique, you think you could actually compete against Captain America?"
Melina laughed outright, clapping her hands. "I haven't washed that uniform once in all these years. It's vintage authenticity at this point." She gestured toward the table. "Sit. Drink."
She'd already laid out zakuski, traditional Russian snacks, and two bottles of premium vodka. The group settled around the table, glasses filled and drained in the traditional manner. The alcohol burned pleasantly, cutting through tension.
After the second round, Melina set down her glass and fixed Natasha with an assessing look. "Let's dispense with pretense. We had three years of playing family, but that's all it was, performance. So why did you rescue Alexei? What do you need from me?"
Alexei jumped in before Natasha could answer. "Even if it was temporary, even if it was all lies, it was still the best three years of my life. Do you remember your wedding dress? You were so beautiful." His expression softened genuinely. "But our family is missing someone, isn't it?"
Melina's breath caught slightly. "You want to rescue Yelena."
Natasha leaned forward, her voice carrying absolute conviction. "We're going to rescue Yelena. Kill Dreykov. And burn the Red Room to ash."
Melina shook her head slowly, something like pity crossing her features. "You can't defeat someone who controls human will itself. You never saw the Red Room at its peak, Natasha. Never witnessed what we're truly capable of."
She glanced at Alexei dismissively. "Even with the Red Guardian, you'd fail. And I know you work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division now, they won't help you with this. They have no idea what they're facing."
Natasha heard the warning clearly: the Red Guardian's strength and SHIELD's resources weren't enough. And truth be told, after learning how thoroughly SHIELD had deceived her about the Red Room's destruction, she had zero faith in their assistance anyway.
"It's just called SHIELD now," Natasha corrected. "And we don't need their help. Mr. Smith's presence changes the equation entirely."
Melina's gaze shifted to Smith Doyle, reassessing him with sharp intelligence. What made Natasha, trained from childhood to trust no one, place such absolute confidence in this man? Was he some SHIELD executive she'd never heard of? A secret weapon they'd been developing?
Rather than argue directly, Melina stood and retrieved a tablet from a side table. "Let me demonstrate what you're up against."
She tapped the screen several times, then called out casually, "Come in."
The front door swung open smoothly. A pig trotted into the room with purposeful stride, moving directly toward Melina.
Natasha blinked. "Did that pig just open the door?"
"Yes," Melina confirmed, producing a treat from her pocket. She fed the pig while scratching its ears. "Good boy, Alexei. Such a good boy."
"You named a pig after me?" Alexei's voice climbed with indignant outrage.
Melina glanced up innocently. "Don't you see the resemblance?"
Smith suppressed a smile. The Red Guardian's current physique made the comparison unfortunately apt.
"After this mission, I'm losing weight," Alexei muttered darkly. "I'll look better than any American bodybuilder."
Melina continued her demonstration, addressing the pig. "Sit. Like a dog."
The pig settled onto its haunches with remarkable precision, maintaining the position attentively.
John Wick's professional interest sparked. "You've achieved direct animal control? Through what?"
Melina's fingers moved across the tablet. "Watch this. Stop breathing."
She pressed a final command. The pig froze mid-respiration, its chest suddenly still, no air intake or exhalation. It remained motionless except for its eyes, which tracked Melina with something approaching panic.
Melina addressed the group with clinical detachment. "During our Ohio operation, we infiltrated the Northern Institute, actually a SHIELD research facility. They'd been conducting extensive neurological research, dissecting and mapping human brain function."
She set the tablet down, her expression carrying grim satisfaction. "They created the first, and only, complete blueprint of basal ganglia cellular architecture. The center of cognition, the autonomous system that governs learning and decision-making."
Her eyes found Alexei. "We didn't steal weapons technology or prototype equipment. We stole the key to unlocking free will itself."
The pig beside her collapsed, its body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Oxygen deprivation was taking effect.
"What are you doing?" Natasha demanded, half-rising from her chair.
"Demonstrating precision," Melina replied calmly. "Modern neuroscience is advanced enough to force a subject to stop breathing. To override survival instinct completely. To ensure total obedience regardless of the subject's desires."
The implications crashed over Natasha like cold water. She'd been eleven years old during that Ohio mission. She'd been in contact with SHIELD, albeit unknowingly, for nearly two decades. And that mission had given the Red Room the tools to evolve into something far more dangerous than physical conditioning and psychological manipulation.
"Okay, I understand," Natasha said tightly. "That's enough. Let it breathe."
Melina shrugged. "Relax. Alexei can survive eleven seconds without oxygen before permanent damage occurs." She tapped the tablet, releasing the command.
The pig gasped, its chest heaving as it gulped air desperately. After several seconds, it staggered to its feet, shaking slightly but recovering.
John Wick watched with barely concealed horror. He'd seen countless methods of coercion and control during his years as an assassin, torture, blackmail, addiction manipulation. But this? Bypassing conscious will entirely through neurological programming? It was a level of technological domination he hadn't imagined possible.
Following Smith really did reveal hidden depths to the world most people never glimpsed.
"Good boy," Melina cooed to the pig. "Now go back. Return to your safe place."
The pig trotted obediently toward the door, pushing it open with practiced ease and disappearing outside.
Melina turned back to the group, her expression grave. "When the world operates under control, it achieves higher efficiency. No resistance, no hesitation, no moral complexity. Just pure execution of programmed directives."
She crossed her arms. "Dreykov has deployed this technology globally. Agents scattered across every continent, embedded in governments and corporations and criminal organizations. All of them conditioned to loyalty through chemical subjugation."
"Is Yelena controlled this way?" Natasha asked, though she already knew the answer.
"It's not my specific responsibility, but use basic logic." Melina's tone carried frustration. "How do you think Dreykov maintains operational security with hundreds of Black Widows? Through the goodness of his heart? Every active agent undergoes conditioning. Yelena is no exception."
Her gaze swept across all four visitors, landing finally on Smith. "So I ask again, do you really believe you can fight against a Red Room equipped with technology that makes resistance impossible? That turns human beings into programmable weapons?"