"The timetable has moved. Our window is limited. One target. Crimson Widow. I want confirmed death in ten hours and hand over the red dust vials."

"Считай, что это сделано."
(Consider it done.)

The terse exchange rings in Hedeon's mind as he slips through the window of a dimly lit apartment, landing silently on the hardwood floor. His movements are fluid, practiced-more shadow than man as he melts into the darkness, every step calculated, every breath measured. The night's blackness wraps around him like a shroud, absorbing him into its depths. He clenches his jaw, tightening his grip on the gun in his hand as he scans the room, taking in the surroundings with a predator's gaze.

His target, Yelena Belova-code-named Crimson Widow-is somewhere here, and his mission is clear: eliminate her and retrieve the vials. He tunes out the faint whispers of his conscience, focusing solely on the task at hand. She's dangerous, but that doesn't matter. He's more dangerous.

"I don't remember giving you a key." The voice is smooth, feminine, slicing through the silence like a blade. It echoes across the room, coming from somewhere unseen, and Hedeon zeroes in on it.

"It's her. Kill her," the voice inside Hedeon's mind snaps, tugging at his nerves, pushing him forward with an urgency he cannot question.

He allows a dry chuckle to escape his lips. "You really think I'd need one?" The words are calm, taunting. The type of confidence only born from a hundred completed missions.

But before he can make another move, Yelena launches herself at him from behind, her arms wrapping around his neck in a vice-like grip. She's quick, almost too quick. Her weight slams into him, forcing him to stagger as she attempts to choke the life out of him. He grunts, lurching backward and tossing her off with a violent motion, his body tensed like a spring ready to snap.

He raises his weapon to fire, but she's faster-already closing the distance with a punch that collides with his jaw, sending a sharp jolt through his skull. She hurls an electric device at him, and it hits squarely. His muscles lock up, and searing pain crackles through his veins. He grits his teeth, tearing the device from his body and flinging it aside, the stinging aftershock still pulsing through his limbs.

Through ragged breaths, he steadies himself and stalks forward, throwing open the switches in the kitchen. Light floods the room, casting harsh shadows on the walls and revealing Yelena, poised in the corner, her eyes fierce and unyielding.

"Found you," he says, the words rolling off his tongue with a cocky edge as he takes aim at her chest.

"Still an asshole even under mind control," she spits, defiance sparking in her gaze. She doesn't flinch, doesn't waver. As his finger tightens on the trigger, Yelena blurts out lyrics, a desperate gambit to break through the darkness in his mind. "You're my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray..."

Her voice is softer now, trembling with a hint of something deeper. It stirs something in him, a fragment of a memory flickering like a candle in the wind-a young boy, arms wrapped around a sobbing girl, whispering the same words in an effort to comfort her.

"...You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away..." The echo of a childhood long forgotten, or maybe buried, lingers at the edges of his mind, just out of reach.

For a brief moment, the cold detachment on Hedeon's face falters. His aim wavers. But the voice in his head, louder and more vicious, yanks him back. "Weak."

He shakes the memory off and steadies his pistol, only for Yelena to lunge at him, swinging a pan with all her might. The metal connects with his arm, sending the weapon flying out of his grasp, clattering to the floor and sliding out of reach. Hedeon seethes, his expression twisting in a mix of frustration and anger.

He catches the pan in mid-air and hurls it back at her, but she ducks, avoiding the strike with a fluid motion. Then they're upon each other, a whirlwind of fists and feet, each strike more vicious than the last. It's a dance of violence, raw and relentless. The room trembles with the force of their blows.

The voice snarls again, pulling Hedeon back into focus. "Finish it!"

Roaring in frustration, Hedeon draws a pocket knife, his movements sharp and deadly as he slashes at her. The blade grazes her shoulder, and a faint line of blood beads against her skin, but she twists away before he can drive it deeper. She grabs his wrist, twisting his arm and slamming him to the ground, pinning him with a chokehold.

"Drop it! Drop it!" Her grip tightens around his throat, squeezing until his vision darkens around the edges. Hedeon struggles, thrashing against her hold, but the strength fades from his limbs, and the knife slips from his fingers.

As he slips into unconsciousness, Yelena acts quickly. She plunges the knife into his leg, cutting out the tracker embedded in his flesh, and casts it aside. Blood drips onto the floor in a small pool as she rises to search for the vials. She grabs one-glowing red, its contents sloshing in the glass-and turns to face him, only to find Hedeon already standing a few feet away, his eyes empty and cold.

The night breeze creeps in from the open window, ruffling his dark hair as he stares at her. There's no recognition in his gaze, only the steel resolve of a soldier.

"You know me," she says quietly, her voice almost pleading. But he doesn't soften; his expression only hardens.

"NO, I DON'T!" His voice is raw, almost guttural, filled with a rage that seems to reach beyond this room.

"You're my friend." Yelena steps forward, her hand clutching the vial tightly. She takes another step, trying to bridge the gap, but the familiarity in her eyes only fuels his anger.

"SHUT UP!" He lunges at her, shoving her to the ground. His hands find her throat, squeezing without hesitation as he looms over her. He speaks with a venomous tone, each word a lash. "You're my mission. You. Are. My. Mission."

"You're my sunshine..." Yelena's voice is barely a whisper, her words broken as she coughs up blood, the struggle to speak evident in every gasp.

For a heartbeat, Hedeon freezes, his fist hovering in mid-air as if he's on the verge of remembering something, a connection that hovers just beyond his reach. There's a hollowness in his chest, a sense of something important he's lost. But it slips away, the emptiness taking hold once more.

Before he can react, Yelena smashes the vial against his head. The glass shatters, and the red dust releases into the air in a cloud, filling his lungs with its synthetic chemicals. The effects are instant-his muscles slacken, his thoughts swim, and the haze of mind control dissipates. He blinks rapidly, his vision clearing, and realization crashes down like a wave, flooding him with a rush of memories. Childhood, Red Room, training, missions... and Yelena.

His breath catches in his throat as he stumbles back, bewildered. "Oh, no." The words slip out as a horrified whisper. "What did I do?" Guilt wraps around his heart, squeezing it tight. The memories are disjointed, fragments piecing together with every passing second.

Yelena shoves him away, breaking his daze as she pulls herself up to her feet. "Stop whining!" she snaps, her tone laced with irritation even as she wipes blood from her mouth.

Hedeon's face contorts in pain as he clutches his injured leg. "Stop whining? You jabbed your ass knife into my leg!" His voice is hoarse with a mix of outrage and exhaustion.

"Such a drama queen," she mutters, glancing around at the trashed apartment. "We have to leave."

"Wait. There's no 'we.' Only you." He points at her, his brow furrowing in confusion and defiance. "Look, I appreciate you pulling me out, but I'm done here."

Yelena's expression hardens. "I saved your life. You owe me now."

His eyes dart toward the remaining vials on the counter, a shiver running through him. "They're coming for that. I don't want to go back."

Her voice drops an octave, the words almost a growl. "Don't be a scared cat."

He exhales sharply, frustration clawing at him. "What if I am a scared cat, huh? He sent me to kill you because he knew I could get it done. And now I failed. If I go back, he'll probably send a bullet through my heart." His voice cracks slightly, revealing the depth of his fear. It's not just fear for his life-there's something more, a vulnerability that slips through his otherwise hardened exterior. It's the fear of returning to a life stripped of choice, a life where his own mind was not his own.

"Let's send vials to my sister," Yelena suggests, her tone softening. "She'll bring down the Red Room with her Avenger friends." There's a hint of guilt in her eyes, a weight she's been carrying. She knows the danger she's pulling him back into. But it's better to face it together than to fight alone. "Just stick by my side until then. Like you did before."

Hedeon's gaze flickers at the mention of the Avengers, his eyes lighting up despite himself. The thought of facing the Red Room was daunting, but the idea of meeting the Avengers, even if it's under the worst of circumstances, stirs a distant excitement within him. He remembers his encounter with Hawkeye on a previous mission-brief, but exhilarating. And Captain America... there's a glimmer of something almost childlike in the way his lips twitch upward, just for a moment. "Captain America?"

"You know him?" Yelena's voice carries a hint of amusement, as if catching him off guard is a small victory.

"I've heard about him. He's cool." Hedeon tries to sound indifferent, but his tone betrays a bit of eagerness. His lips twitch as though fighting back a smile, not wanting to admit that some part of him still cares about heroes and what they stand for.

Yelena crosses her arms, giving him a scrutinizing look. There's a familiarity in her expression, like she knows this is exactly the kind of thing that would spark his interest. "You in?" Her tone holds that unspoken trust between them, a shared history that words don't always need to fill.

"Do I have a choice?" He frowns, but his reluctance doesn't quite reach his eyes. There's a stubborn loyalty there, something that keeps pulling him back whenever she's involved.

"What you need to understand is that I'm the only way to get what you want." She doesn't back down, stepping closer as if closing the distance will make him see sense.

Hedeon frowns, skepticism lining his features, but there's a trace of familiarity in the way he looks at her. "The hell do I want?" He sounds unsure, like he's not asking just her, but himself too.

"Freedom." The word hangs in the air, and her gaze softens. She's close enough now that he can feel the weight of her trust, the way it lingers like a promise between friends who've fought side by side.

"Why the hell would I trust you?" There's no real bite to his words, just a tiredness that speaks of too many battles.

"Because I believe in you. And I'm all you've got." There's a quiet determination in her voice, a stubbornness that refuses to back down. She sees beyond the assassin, beyond the weapon-she sees her friend. The one she sang lullabies with when they were kids, the boy who once made her laugh even in the darkest of times.

"Bullshit." Hedeon's grumble is laced with frustration, his gaze falling to the floor as his mind races through the implications of her offer. He thinks once, twice, thrice about it. His fingers itch with nervous energy, and he swallows hard. His scowl deepens as if to mask the uncertainty roiling in his chest. "I'm in."

Yelena's smile broadens as she steps back, reaching out to ruffle his hair lightly. "Great. I'll stitch you up."

He swats her hand away, rolling his eyes. "Ya ya. You stab me in one moment and stitch me in another." He shifts his weight, wincing as the pain in his leg flares up again. "We don't have time to stitch. Let's move." His voice is still gruff, but there's a spark in his eyes that wasn't there before-a faint hint of life returning.