Because S.H.I.E.L.D. and the U.S. Air Force were not under the same chain of command, certain intelligence could not be freely shared.
Colonel James Rhodes only knew Natasha's codename—Black Widow. He had no idea how she intended to locate Tony Stark.
Compartmentalization was standard procedure.
Driving a military jeep across the dusty terrain, Natasha kept her focus on Afghanistan's mountainous canyon regions.
"Ren, who do you think is behind this?" she asked casually, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"Huh? What does that have to do with me?" Ren replied evenly, though internally he stiffened.
No facial expressions helped. As long as his tone remained steady, she couldn't read him.
"I'm just asking for your opinion. Sometimes outside perspectives offer clarity."
"Why assume there's a mastermind at all?"
Natasha chuckled faintly, "If there wasn't one, would terrorists dare to target Tony Stark specifically?"
"Didn't terrorists hit the Pentagon once?" Ren countered. "If they'd attack that, why fear Tony Stark?"
Natasha shook her head.
"Tony's weapons are far beyond standard arms. They're sold primarily to national militaries. The fact that terrorists had access to them proves there's an internal leak within Stark Industries.
Cut off that supply, and these groups collapse quickly This attack was premeditated. Someone fed them information—
Tony's itinerary, his convoy route. Someone inside Stark Industries benefits from his death."
Her eyes gleamed, "I already have a suspect. But suspicion isn't proof."
Ren went silent.
Why is this woman so sharp?
He mentally winced.
Some web novel protagonists made Natasha look naïve.
Reality was very different.
She had lived decades. Survived the Red Room. Outmaneuvered intelligence agencies worldwide.
Of course she could piece this together.
Ren decided immediately: say less about plot knowledge.
The more he spoke, the greater the risk.
"Say something," Natasha prompted.
"You've already analyzed it perfectly. What else do you want me to add?" Ren replied bluntly.
Anyone with half a brain could guess the likely beneficiary.
But he would not say the name aloud.
Revealing future knowledge directly was reckless.
Natasha smiled faintly and continued driving toward the Afghan border.
The Middle East was chaotic, but military checkpoints still existed.
Natasha presented U.S. identification and passed without issue.
She unfolded a tactical map.
"Valleys are ideal for concealment," she said. "But at this speed, covering all potential locations will take at least seven days.
"The military's aerial sweep will take about the same unless we narrow it down."
Her expression hardened.
"If I find the ones who ruined my vacation…"
A cold glint flashed in her eyes.
With the Symbiote, she no longer feared small arms fire. Terrorists were expendable threats.
She had emerged from the Red Room. Violence was not unfamiliar territory.
Ren observed quietly.
This woman wasn't fragile.
She was forged in blood.
Still… she was independent. Sharp. Difficult to manipulate.
If he ever switched hosts, someone naïve might be easier.
Yet there was one undeniable truth: Once someone tasted true power, they could never willingly return to weakness.
Natasha might be intelligent—but dependency could still be cultivated.
Ren suppressed further thoughts.
For now, survival and growth came first.
He shifted his attention subtly, sensing her movement, the rhythm of her steps, the strength in her posture.
Control was unnecessary—yet.
Patience would yield better results.