The broken outpost, pines looming like sentries carved from shadow. Frost clung stubbornly to the jagged concrete, and the air smelled of rust, pine resin, and old secrets. Every step crunched beneath their boots, a sound far too loud in the silence.
Luthar walked ahead without hesitation, as if he were following a path visible only to him. His eyes flickered faintly, catching the dim light as he calculated his next move. He didn't even pause to assess the ruins; he already knew exactly where to go.
Natasha's gaze lingered on the crumbling concrete walls ahead before cutting sharply to Luthar. "I don't get it," she said flatly. "Why are we even bothering Red Room agents? You already have your… zombie soldiers and those flying skulls with lasers. From a combat standpoint, those women aren't even good enough to carry their boots."
Luthar slowed his pace, turning his head just enough that the dim glow of his optics caught her eyes. "One type of weapon is never enough." His voice was calm and deliberate. "My re-forged obey without hesitation—but they do not think so. My constructs can scout and kill—but they cannot improvise."
He gestured slightly toward the treeline, as though the forest itself were part of the explanation. "Living agents are different. They have instinct and judgment. They can learn and adapt."
Freya gave a small, sly smile. "So basically, you want soldiers who can think for themselves but still take orders like good little pets."
"Efficient soldiers," Luthar corrected, his tone unbothered.
Natasha's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't argue, but the flicker in her eyes betrayed unease, the kind of instinct that never let her rest easy around him.
"If you wanted living soldiers so badly," she said finally, her voice sharp, cutting through the silence, "then why did you turn those S.H.I.E.L.D. agents into your puppets? Wouldn't it have been better to keep them?"
For the first time, Luthar's pace slowed, just slightly. He clasped his hands behind his back, his demeanour pondering whether Natasha's question was worthy of a reply. Finally, he spoke, deliberately. "Because loyalty cannot simply be forged. But these agents from the Red Room are a completely different thing; I can re-educate them to embrace my cult."
Natasha resolves hardening. "That sounds like slavery mixed with religion."
Luthar's gaze met hers, unwavering and penetrating, the dim light reflecting a multitude of emotions hidden within. "Slavery? That… does not exist. The Emperor has abolished such practices."
Freya let out a soft chuckle, her smile devoid of warmth. "So, you seek soldiers who retain their intellect but surrender their hearts to you?"
"Exactly," Luthar replied, then pointed toward the door of the storeroom. "The entrance is here," he said simply.
Natasha crouched beside it, running her fingers over the faint seam in the concrete. The line was too straight, too deliberate to be part of the ruins. Her eyes narrowed. "Hidden under an old military outpost… subtle. If I didn't know, I might have dismissed this place as just another pile of rubble."
"That's the point," Luthar replied. His voice was calm, unshaken. "It's supposed to look forgotten."
He pressed his palm flat against the surface, and for a moment the ground seemed to hum in response. A faint vibration tickled the edges of Natasha's fingertips. She drew her hand back instinctively.
Freya tilted her head, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "So? You're going to press the bell—or do we need another display of brute strength like with the hatch?"
"No need. I know how to open this gate," he said. His fingers traced a series of lines in the frost, sketching the rough outline of a buried mechanism. Luthar tapped the slab one final time. A faint metallic click echoed beneath their feet.
A hiss split the silence as hidden locks disengaged. Concrete shuddered, dust and frost falling in lazy spirals. Slowly, the door slid open, revealing a stairwell that plunged into darkness.
Luthar descended first, without hesitation. Freya followed with a predator's grin, her boots ringing softly against the steps. Natasha lingered at the threshold, staring into the black throat of the earth. Home. Nightmare. Both.
With a sharp exhale, she followed them down, keeping her breathing steady, one hand brushing the cold wall as they descended. Half a dozen memories clawed at the edges of her mind—drills, sirens, footsteps chasing her down corridors. She forced them back. This wasn't then. She wasn't that girl anymore.
At the bottom, the stairs opened into a narrow corridor lined with rusted pipes. A thin strip of emergency lighting flickered along the ceiling, buzzing faintly.
"They could have used better lighting. What's the point of doing work when you can't even enjoy your life?" Freya whispered, her eyes glinting in the dim light.
"Because for them, this is not work—it's just a life filled with tasks with no salary," Natasha muttered back. She crouched, running a finger over the floor. Faint scuffs marred the concrete—boot treads, not too old.
Luthar said nothing, his gaze fixed ahead. He was scanning—not with his eyes alone, but with whatever tools hummed quietly under his robes. His expression gave nothing away, but Natasha caught the faint twitch of satisfaction when he turned slightly to the left.
"Movement," he said simply.
They pressed against the wall just as two figures appeared at the far end of the corridor. Black uniforms, silent steps. Definitely not soldiers—too deliberate, too fluid.
Natasha's chest tightened. The way they moved was unmistakable.
Freya's lips curved into a predator's smile. "Finally, someone."
Luthar's hands brushed against the inside of his robes, and a faint metallic buzz whispered through the hall. One of his coin-sized drones slipped free, hugging the shadow of the ceiling. It drifted silently forward, invisible in the half-light.
After a few seconds, a female agent was walking in their direction, her eyes scanning the place. On the corner, Natasha was trying to hide herself. As for Luthar and Freya, they didn't care about hiding.
When the agent paused, tilting her head slightly—as if she had caught something—Natasha struck. A blur in the darkness, one step, two. She closed the distance before the woman could raise her gun.
Her arm locked around the agent's throat, the other hand wrenching the pistol from her grip. The woman's body was tensed, trained and disciplined—but Natasha was faster. She whispered against her ear, voice like ice. "Quiet. You make a sound, you die."
The woman froze.
Luthar stepped forward, pulling a small device from under his robes. Its surface flickered faintly, and a hum built within. His tone was flat and clinical. "Let me extract her memories. It will be quick."
Before he could activate it, Freya's hand shot out and rested lightly on his wrist. "No need to do that," she said, her voice devoid of emotion yet filled with quiet certainty. She tilted her head toward Natasha and added, "If you don't want to fall in love with me, then look away."
Natasha frowned, suspicion flashing in her eyes. "What are you going to do?"
"No time to explain. Just trust me," Freya said simply.
Natasha hesitated, then obeyed. The moment she looked aside, Freya moved closer to the captive. She reached up and drew back the thin veil that had kept her features half-hidden; when the cloth fell away, silver hair spilled over her shoulders, and the light in the corridor seemed to sharpen. Freya's face—calm, strange, and impossibly beautiful—made the air itself feel alive.
"So," Freya said, her voice low and velvety, yet sharp, "are you going to listen to me?" She reached out, her fingers gently brushing the widow's cheek, asserting her undeniable ownership. Every motion and glance she made radiated a magnetic authority that allowed for no resistance.
The female agent's body tensed, then loosened. Her mind, trained and drugged for obedience and loyalty, finally started to work once again. The chains of the Red Room dissolved in the presence of Freya's overwhelming will. Loyalty, fear, and even desire blended into a single, irresistible current. She would do anything for this woman.
Author's note: It's really a sad thing that while the Empire has banned slavery, they treat their humans so badly that life of slaves in other worlds could be considered a luxury for the humans in the Empire.
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