MY EYES WERE TRAINED ON THE TINY buildings beneath the plane, and I didn't dare to look away from the window for even a second, for fear of missing something not yet caught. The idea of it all, well it had not quite hit me as 'real' just yet; I could not believe that I was leaving, much less hurrying off to New York to perform a mission that could set me far apart from any of the other mediocres from the Red Room. I had a chance, as little as it could turn out to be, and it was a chance to finally be more than a servant to the music, to the dark, to the stark grey walls of what had been my home.

It had been three days since I had first been told about this mission - three days of a whole new, unfamiliar hell. Learning about the Americans, about their natures and lifestyle was easy; apparently, they really only drawled out words and ate strange food combinations and fell in love with every pretty face they saw. My new name was Emily Newman, a fifteen-year-old with an aptitude and love for anything science-based, meaning I would be right next to Peter in all of the good science classes. I had apparently moved from a small town in South-western Ontario, Canada, and I had come to Midtown High School with my single mother to receive an education that could 'take me all the way to the top'.

Despite an attempt at an impassive front, my insides were in a tight knot and I could barely contain my nervous excitement pounding through my veins. My toes twisted in the strange new boots I had been gifted and in the sleeves of my sweater, though my wrists were held down by strong silver, my fingers picked and fidgeted. Never did I believe that I would be escaping the Madame's cruel gaze so soon, and definitely not so suddenly, dramatically all at once for such a task. Surely, it was fate, my golden shot at a new life. If I could prove I could do this, I could show Madame and everyone else that I was the new best. I was the prodigy that she was searching for. That I was the new hero of the Red Room, stepping up and out of the mould where others could not.

"I hope you have not left anything."

I did not turn my gaze to her, though that would inevitably have some form of negative repercussions against me (ones that could be cared less about, in the moment). She did not deserve my acknowledgements; after all, she would get enough of it in America. For the final moments that I could, I didn't want to look away from my world disappearing fast beneath me, turning into small specks on the cold and barren ground. My wrists stung as they pressed into the cold metal of the handcuffs holding them hostage, but still, I strained to turn away from the woman as much as possible, begging to press my nose against the sliver of glass and light and drink in the beauty of foreign countrysides. My only response came at a nod, short and small, in her direction.

She took her place across from me, making barely a noise as she sank into the chair. Her boots dug into the carpet, heeled daggers that promised great pain if one did not listen. I did not need to look at her to know that her fierce eyes were directly on my face, watching closely for any moment of weakness that she could prey upon. Her voice was another weapon, sharp Russian piercing my ears with every syllable. "This mission depends solely on your ability to follow instructions, girl. There will be no defiance here, not more than you already exhibit. For your own safety."

"I am no idiot," I hissed, finally turning my gaze away from the window and towards her. Despite my wish to show more upset at her words, her accusation of a fault never shown, I did my best to keep my rising anger in check, though my cuffed palms itched for ill-spent revenge. "I will not be the one messing this up."

Inga's eyes flashed as she drew back and sat up in her chair. "You would do best to treat your new master - mother, with respect."

Of course, this woman was to be the 'mother' figure in this new life; the one who seemed not to have a single bone of 'love' in her body. Not that that was a surprise, for it was the Academy where emotions were shunned, but I doubted her place on such a mission and the choice that had been made with her. Agents like her seemed to be only meant for destruction after years and years of emotionless missions, and this was not any of that, even through layers of acting. Forget about me; she should be worried about herself.

However, I did not share any of that, for I knew that if I did, it would only end badly. She had a point; she held all the power, and one slip up could cost me the mission and moreover, my life. If I was sent home due to something so simple as a harsh word or snarky reply, I would never get another chance at a future again. Instead, I simply raised my chin and composed my face once more, a blank slate over the anger bubbling within. "Of course. I would not argue with your judgement."

She and I both knew that my words were carefully pointed, a double-edged dagger laced with adolescent poison, but fortunately, Inga chose to say nothing more about the matter. "When we arrive in America, you will need to follow my words exactly. Arrangements have already been made, but you will need to prepare you for your transition into a high school student. You might know how to act like a normal girl, but you certainly do not look like one."

I glanced down at my bland attire, my all grey outfit and matching shoes, given to me just minutes before boarding. The patch symbolising just who I belonged to, in a dark red ink still stood and red lettering told my name and number on the bottom of the slim-fitting pants. Colour or patterns were simply not a thing at the Academy; if everyone was dressed the exact same way, girls were only viewed for how well they could throw a knife or win a fight, rather then how nicely a dress fit on their frame. I had only worn three different outfit styles lifetime throughout my (known) life; for dance lessons, for examination days, and everywhere else, each in the same grey and style. And, of course, the stained nightgowns we all wore every night, though as little more than rags they weren't considered true articles of clothing. Each item was washed by unknown hands and returned as they were to us the next morning, all stains and remnants of past days washed away. As they should be.

But I doubted, from what I had learnt, that such a lifestyle would slide in the glorious, colourful America.

"What sort of things do the American children wear?"

Inga gave me only a slight scoff and roll of her eyes. My comment had offended her somehow, though for reasons only visible to her. "Do not ask foolish questions. If there is information you need, I'll inform you, but otherwise, that's my right to withhold."

I offered up a slight nod, bowing my head in submission.

Not even out of Russia fully, and Inga and I were butting heads, her trying to enforce an authority that meant absolutely nothing to me. I couldn't lie and say I was surprised, for it was everything I expected, but it was the only part of my new mission I found myself unable to tolerate. I already despised her, more than I had ever hated someone at the Academy, for she treated me as though I was the very dirt under her feet - like I was an imbecile thrust at her and forced into her care. Where to others, I was questionable, a worthy option and someone to watch, she saw me as a rat that deserved a bullet through its brain. She did not think I was capable and had made that clear the minute she saw me, and would not evidently let up that until we eventually parted ways.

Our argument took a pause, however, for she was quickly distracted by a slight buzz from the device resting beside her, which she quickly scanned with a serious expression. Her face gave way no emotion, as trained, but she muttered under her breath a Russian curse that I was far too familiar with - one that was used by even the smallest of girls after the worst of pains, a way to release anger in a healthier manner that would leave them still alive.

I should have held my tongue, but the lesson she had barked my way before had not held, and the curiosity building in my brain would not allow for silence from me. "What is it?"

There was no answer for several seconds, leaving me waiting impatiently before Inga raised her hooded eyes to mine. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"But-"

"Nothing to worry about," Inga hissed through gritted teeth, eyes flashing. "Nothing."

That was the end of the conversation, whether I wanted it to be or not. For even if I liked it or not, she was still my superior, and I was not so stupid enough to push that far. She held my life and could end it with the mere flick of her wrist, a blink of an eye, without a second of hesitation or guilt. As it had been said from the beginning, I was still replaceable, and despite where we stood, I had a feeling that would be the case until the very end of the mission.

And so I turned my head again and focused on the passing land underneath me, the frozen beauty the world had, and what joy it would bring me to run across and be free with absolutely no consequences.

||

The temporary lodgings were better than expected, turning out to be an apartment building plopped in the middle of New York City - Queens, to be exact. According to the extensive geography lesson I had been given, New York City was divided up into five sections, each considering themselves very different places and not at all alike. I wasn't sure why, or how much it mattered to the economy that they were separate, but it didn't matter much. It wasn't like I was going to be here long, anyway.

I set my bag down and looked up, at the high ceilings and the windows urging me to look through, the soft red of the brick that lined the walls and then the smooth hardwood coating the floor that held warm colours, a stark contrast to the cemented ground I had fallen upon for years upon years. Black curtains lined anywhere with light soaking through, and necessary precautions seemed to have been taken by whoever had come before, but still there was an idea of a home, and though my time was short, it was something I treasured.

I - we - had four months. Four months at maximum, to convince this strange American boy that I was a friend to him and force him to expose all of his secrets before bringing him in. I could only hope things went well, for losing this mission meant that was the end. No more trials, no more opportunities; I would be resigned to a life at the Academy, probably working as some form of a teacher or other menial job. That had happened to many; students went through the training, but they were deemed unworthy in final exams or practice sessions, too weak to fire a gun through the next victim's head or hold down those who once resembled friends, to them. They only had left, after such failure, either work for little pay or simply disappeared without another thought.

They were always so good at making people disappear.

However, that was not something to worry about. I had to stay focused, and keep my mind on the prize of being noticed as more than just a simple student by him. This would be nothing, really, for it was just method acting and reporting. I just had to get close to this...Peter Parker and stop him from doing anything dumb. As long as he cooperated, things should be fine.

"Do not stand there, child." Inga swept past me, two large black suitcases in hand. She, of course, made sure to shoulder me as she walked by, knocking me off balance. "Just because you're the star of this show does not mean you have the right to stand around. Go."

My attention, however, was caught by the cases she carefully set down; I had not seen them on the charter and did not see her bring them in at all. One of them stood out to me, especially, with the silver emblem striking dark memories up like a flame inside my mind. I had seen them, long ago, and knew that they held only the worst of what the Red Room could offer up. "What are those for?"

She did not reply, sliding another bag over and pulling out a small object, pocketed before I could get a closer look. Inga stepped away, leaving my eyes frozen on the packages, on the deadly objects I could only presume lurked within the deep midnight leather casing. She watched me with hooded eyes, silver, daring me to prod the circling snake even more, just so she could pounce.

And I took the bait.

"Why would we need those?" I tried to drift closer, to get a better look, for her slim frame was blocking my view of the mysterious cases I had not seen on the plane. My moves were spontaneous and more or less idiotic, but I could not resist asking as many questions - after all, there was not much told me that would reveal my mission or services, and from what I knew, the weapons inside were far more than I would ever anticipate, for a simple boy. "What are-"

The rest of my words were choked out in a single, almost silent cry as she whipped around the second I got too close, the right hand gripped tightly around my exposed throat. I had not even had a sliver of time to defend myself before I was thrown against the opposite wall, held at a distance so I could not lay a hand on my attacker. In a matter of seconds, Inga had dropped her steely walls and transformed into the woman - no, not even humanlike, creature - that I had only seen three times in my life. Tall and monstrous, dripping with venom as she stood over me, asking me to beg for my life as she clutched it in her hands.

"Do not try anything with me, Freya," she spat, hatred dripping from each word, "this is not the Academy, where your precious Madame can stop me. I am the one in control here. Your Lider. You will listen to me and only me, and you will not question my decisions. For, if you do, I will make you suffer for a thousand years and more. Make you beg for death as you writhe for a thousand moons."

I could not move let alone breathe through her vice-like grip on my neck, so I merely choked out a gasp and a nod, praying she would let me go. I had made a mistake, but I could not die here before I had done anything. This would not - could not - be the end of something that hadn't even started. "Please..."

After several prolonged seconds, she dropped me in contempt, eyes never leaving mine. "You know what you need to do."

"Yes." She had won; my rebellion and curiosity had been marked as insolence, and she had come out on top. It was clear who was the one in charge, and also clear that I would not be allowed to speak my mind any longer. Though I was the centre of the mission, my existence meant nothing to her. In this new world, I was simply a pawn in her cruel games and she the wicked, clever queen, watching from afar but ready to strike if necessary.

Somehow, to her, I was worth little more than a dirty nickel found in the snow. A broken girl who had been forced upon her by a woman who she seemed to believe foolish for such a plan. Inga did not seem to wish to follow what Madame, or her Lider, or anyone had told her to do. To her, I was not capable of doing what was necessary, and so failure was already staining her thoughts a dark red. 

My neck stung, and I fought the urge to give in to the pain, forcing myself to stand straight and carry on as though it was nothing. I would not show weakness, not in front of her, not ever. If she was going to play the game, so was I - and if I wished to progress, I needed to make sure I was on top when it was finished. She could pick and poke and jab and rip and pull as much as she wanted, but I was going to be a Black Widow, and Black Widows never fell. 

Even if they were pushed.

This update is a lil bit late, I apologise - I thought it was finished but evidently, I had just written half of it and moved on to the next chapter...whoops. Just to clarify now, as well; I do not write the translations alongside any Russian because it ruins the format and makes it appear sloppy, but just ask for a translation and I'll reply with it, or there might already be an inline comment sharing the answer. I do not write their conversations in Russian because, a, I can barely speak the language and b, then you could not read the book nearly so easily. Just please realise most of the English shared between Inga and Freya will be in Russian, without only key phrases otherwise.

The gif above was created by barnesthor-

EDIT (11.28.18) - Freya is not going to be an exchange student from Romania, anymore. I've not edited the entire story yet so if you see Romania, that's just because I've not gotten around to changing it yet, that's on me. But, after someone pointed out to me and I began to change up this story, I found it honestly makes no sense that she has all these Americanised details down pat, but comes from an Eastern-European country with a huge amount of heritage and culture attached to it.

Thank you for reading!