Looking at the ten-foot-tall tiger looming above her, its massive form blocking out the moonlight, Natasha finally got her answer about why no one had stolen the Arc Reactor from this isolated cabin.
Who would dare?
Her hand subconsciously started to move toward her wrist, reaching for the weapons concealed there—the Widow's Bite electrified gauntlets she always carried. But suddenly, a cold feeling welling up in her heart stopped the movement dead.
This was a very familiar feeling for her. The sensation of imminent death.
A gun pointed directly at her head. Jumping from 10,000 meters without a parachute. Standing at the edge of an explosion. She'd come close to this feeling countless times throughout her career as an assassin and spy. Death had been her constant companion.
But between those previous experiences and now, there was a huge difference.
All those previous times, she had been in control of the situation. No matter how close she came to death, no matter how dangerous things got, she'd still known that she could survive. She'd had options, escape routes, backup plans.
But this time it was different. Fundamentally different.
She could feel it in her bones, in her very soul—just a little bit more, just one wrong move, and she would be saying goodbye to this world. Permanently.
While Natasha was observing the beast carefully, analyzing it for weaknesses, Leo the tiger was also observing her with intelligent, calculating eyes.
While Natasha was getting flashes of her entire life passing before her eyes, preparing for what might be her final moments, suddenly a female voice called out from behind her.
"Leo, what are you doing out there?"
Hearing the voice, the tiger who had been intensely staring at Natasha, sizing her up like prey, suddenly froze. His entire massive body went still. Then he suddenly turned back and jumped away from Natasha, bounding toward the cabin like a scolded puppy.
Almost immediately after seeing this reaction, the voice continued, sounding amused and exasperated in equal measure.
"You bastard," the woman said, her tone extremely lighthearted and somewhat teasing. "You were thinking of eating her, weren't you? Don't lie to me."
"Mrrp," the tiger made a low sound, almost like a guilty child caught doing something wrong.
Hearing the tone which was extremely lighthearted and casual, but the words which were extremely dangerous—casually discussing eating a human being—Natasha's heart suddenly became cold again. A different kind of fear crept in.
She slowly turned around to see a woman now standing in front of the cabin's entrance, silhouetted against the light from inside.
The woman had dark skin and striking white hair that was almost shining in the darkness, catching the light from the Arc Reactor inside. She was wrapped loosely in a bedsheet, clearly having just woken up after hearing all the commotion outside.
Looking at the human figure, Natasha did not feel relief at all. If anything, her anxiety increased. Her heartbeat started to become stronger and stronger, pounding in her ears.
Think about it logically: A ten-foot-tall tiger obediently went back the moment it heard this woman's voice. And she was living here alone in the middle of the forest, completely unafraid. And most importantly, the wooden house was being powered by an Arc Reactor—one of the most valuable pieces of technology on Earth.
So this girl might actually be more dangerous than the tiger itself.
But she hadn't attacked Natasha directly, which was a good sign. That was something.
"Miss," Natasha said carefully, adopting a confused and helpless tone, "I am a little lost. I didn't expect to stumble upon your house. Can you show me the way to the nearest city?"
"I will definitely not talk about what I saw today," she added, trying to sound sincere and harmless. "I promise. I'll forget all of this."
The lady let out a small chuckle, the sound carrying through the quiet forest. "You're not from Sokovia, right?"
Hearing that her identity, her foreign status, was directly revealed so casually, Natasha's heart became cold as ice again. How did she know?
If this kept going, she might actually die from a heart attack today before anything else happened.
"Miss, please don't misunderstand," Natasha began, trying to salvage the situation. "I am just lost—"
But before she could explain more, before she could spin a convincing cover story, she was directly interrupted.
"Let alone your military camping gear," the woman said, gesturing at Natasha's equipment, "that specific model is not found here in Eastern Europe. Besides that, Leo knows everyone in Sokovia. You know, we have a very small population here. Everyone knows everyone."
"The fact that he attacked you today means he's seeing you for the first time," the woman continued, her logic airtight. "He knows all the locals by scent and sight."
"It would be more believable if you said you were running from Russia, fleeing some kind of persecution," she mused. "So... are you some kind of spy, right? Intelligence agent?"
Natasha felt her cover completely crumbling.
"Anyway, let Charles look through your memory," the woman said casually, as if discussing the weather. "We can find out the truth about you anyway. No point in lying."
"Ororo, what are you doing outside?" A male voice came from inside the cabin, concerned and curious.
With that question, a man also came out, emerging from the doorway. Although Natasha couldn't see the man's face properly in the darkness and backlighting, she felt that she'd heard the voice somewhere before. It was familiar, nagging at her memory.
But before she could investigate more, before she could place where she'd heard it, the man's voice sounded again.
"Oh? If it isn't the famous Black Widow herself," he said, recognition clear in his tone. "What a coincidence. We're actually lacking some labor for construction projects. You don't mind helping us out, right?"
It wasn't really a question.
Two Days Later
"Wake up, you low-lives!" A loud shout woke Natasha up abruptly from her exhausted sleep.
Before she could even think clearly, before her mind could fully process where she was, a hard piece of bread was directly stuffed into her hands. And before she could even eat half of it, chewing the stale, tough bread, she was directly shoved inside a truck with many other prisoners.
After Anastasia had successfully quelled the rebellion and restored the monarchy, she naturally hadn't killed all the rebel fighters and war criminals. That would be unrealistic, impractical. Most of them had been stuffed into jails and forced to work as manual labor to rebuild Sokovia. Otherwise, where would they get so much manpower to build up this place in such a short time?
The country had been devastated. Reconstruction required millions of man-hours of work.
These prisoners hadn't killed less than their fair share of innocent people during the civil war. So Elric didn't have any problem, didn't feel any moral qualms, when Anastasia forced them to work 18 hours a day as punishment and restitution.
And yesterday, another "prisoner" was quietly added to this labor force without anyone noticing or questioning it.
Natasha observed her surroundings carefully as the truck drove through the city.
The place looked almost like any modern city in the developed world—clean streets, functional infrastructure, new buildings going up. Completely different than what she'd expected after hearing that Sokovia had gone through a brutal civil war recently.
But after working for 18 brutal hours yesterday, every muscle in her body screaming, she'd gotten her answer about how this was possible.
Although she still didn't know where they were getting the construction materials to do all this work—the steel, the concrete, the supplies seemed endless—she really didn't know the source. And honestly, she really didn't want to think about it either.
Her whole body was aching now, pain coursing through her every time she moved even slightly. Just thinking about the fact that she needed to do another hard day of manual labor for 18 hours straight, she felt like she wanted to punch Nick Fury in the face 100 times.
This was all his fault. He'd sent her on this mission.
While she was thinking these dark thoughts, the truck abruptly stopped with a screech of brakes.
The door opened, and everyone filed out and lined up in an orderly fashion. They'd learned quickly. And each prisoner received a single pill as they passed by the guard.
Looking at the white and red capsule in her palm, Natasha swallowed it in one gulp without hesitation.
Although she didn't want to consume unknown substances—every instinct as a spy screamed against it—she didn't have any option at all. This was the only food they received for the entire day. One pill.
Although she didn't know how they'd made something this incredible, some kind of compressed nutrient supplement, after eating one of these pills, even after working for almost 18 hours straight doing hard physical labor, she hadn't felt hunger at all. Her energy had remained stable.
It was almost miraculous. And deeply concerning from a strategic perspective.
She observed the construction site carefully, taking mental notes for her eventual report.
Although the guards knew that she was a trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, had been informed of her capture, maybe they underestimated her capabilities. They hadn't placed her in any special holding area at all, hadn't given her extra security or monitoring.
They'd just stuffed her in with the regular criminals and rebels, treating her like any other prisoner. Without any extra security measures, no special guards assigned to watch her specifically.
So it wouldn't be much of a problem escaping from here, she calculated. She could probably get out tonight if she wanted to.
But that tiger and that man—the one who'd recognized her—they didn't seem to be simple at all. Not normal. So she'd decided to at least gather some intelligence on them, on this whole operation, before attempting escape.
Knowledge was more valuable than freedom right now.
While she was thinking about her options, weighing the risks, suddenly a commotion rose a little far away from where she stood.
Her eyes naturally drifted toward the disturbance, trained to notice anything unusual.
And her eyes widened directly, shock written across her face despite her usual control.
She saw a man floating in the air, suspended about twenty feet up without any visible equipment. No jetpack, no wires, no harness. Just directly floating, almost like gravity didn't exist at all for him.
And with a casual wave of his hand, several large steel bars—each one weighing hundreds of pounds—also floated up beside him, hovering in midair as if weightless.
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