The helicopter's rotors slowed to a low hum as it settled into the narrow clearing at the base of the jagged mountains. Luthar remained seated, cradling the sedated agent in his arms, while the others stayed alert, scanning the shadows cast by rocks and trees.
The agent woke up and felt disoriented. However, her training quickly took over. She pushed herself upright, testing her strength, alert to every movement inside the cabin.
Natasha approached, her voice level but resolute. For the time being, you're safe, but I'll need you to cooperate.
The agent blinked, groggy. "Who… who are you?" she asked.
"Someone who can help you," Natasha replied. "But first, I need to know who you are."
After a hesitant pause, the agent muttered, "Anya…"
"Good," Natasha said, nodding. "Anya, we'll get through this together."
Anya's eyes narrowed as she assessed her surroundings, measuring the intent behind Natasha's words. "Together," she echoed, her voice low and steady. "I am not a gullible child who would believe you."
"Of course you're not a child," Natasha said, her tone firm but measured, leaning slightly closer. "Listen, you need to know something–the person next to you... isn't human." She gestured towards Luthar, her voice softening, laced with a warning. "You've seen his fighting ability, but that's only the surface. What he does best is control people. He likes to put bombs around others' necks to force obedience."
Luthar's gaze remained calm, almost clinical, his voice cutting through the tension like steel. "I am 100% human," he said precisely. "And I do not need bombs around anyone's neck. Poisons, nanobots, carefully calibrated neural implants—these are far more effective and reliable methods."
Natasha's eyes locked onto Anya's, conveying a silent message: I told you that this guy is dangerous. After a tense pause, Anya exhaled sharply, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Fine," she said, her voice tight but resolute. "I'll cooperate. It's not like I have much choice, anyway."
Only after hearing this, Natasha turned her attention to the cockpit. The pilot still sat with her hands on the controls, eyes alert, as though the helicopter might leap back into the air without warning. "I don't think we ever got your name."
The woman tilted her head slightly, a faint smile beginning to form on her lips. "Irina," she replied.
Luthar's brow arched slightly, his calm demeanour masking a flicker of curiosity. "So, you have a name now."
Irina met his gaze evenly, unflinching. "I thought telling you my name would be pointless," she said, her tone calm but edged with steel. "After all, a person comfortable smiling amidst a pool of blood wouldn't care about something as trivial as a name."
Luthar's eyes flickered slightly, recalling he hadn't yet taken a shower after the massacre in the prison. His expression remained composed. "Well… after this is over, we'll all need a bath," he said, his voice calm but measured.
Without waiting for a response, he reached for the helicopter door and pushed it open. A gust of icy mountain air rushed in, swirling snowflakes around the cabin and making the black widows and Freya shiver instantly.
The difference was immediate—while the inside of the cabin had been unbearably warm, the temperature dropped drastically the moment the door opened. Freya instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, and both Natasha and the other two agents pulled their jackets tighter.
Luthar, however, seemed unfazed. His robes and the armor beneath were more than enough to shield him from the cold. His eyes scanned the treeline briefly before he turned back.
"Well, you girls can use my robes. They should be more than enough for this weather—might even stop a few bullets," he said flatly, his tone carrying more calculation than sympathy.
Without another word, he reached into his pack and pulled out the folded red robes, the dark fabric heavy and reinforced. One by one, he handed them to the women, his movements practical and efficient. Their breath misted in the frigid air as they quickly wrapped the robes around themselves for warmth.
After finally securing the robe around her shoulders, Natasha arched a brow at him. "Why do you carry so many things?" she asked. She already understood the convenience of Pym particles, but this was getting absurd—first an antique aircraft, now robes, and back in Mexico it had been a sword. At this rate, he was pulling out gear like some twisted version of Santa Claus.
Luthar didn't even glance at her, his tone even. "When people leave for a long trip, they take a small bag with the necessary things. While I have left an entire galaxy behind, by this logic, shouldn't I be carrying everything?"
Natasha wanted to refute him—this so-called logic clearly didn't hold up—but Freya interrupted. "Stop talking about unrelated things. It's time we move."
The group finally stepped out, boots crunching against the frost-hardened ground. Anya leaned lightly on Natasha for support, still weakened but steadying with every step. Freya brought up the rear, while Luthar led them at a steady pace, unhurried yet relentless, his focus locked forward.
The wind worsened as they pressed deeper into the pass. Snow whipped sideways through jagged cliffs that rose like teeth, the stone funnelling icy gusts that cut through even their layered clothing. Frost clung to their lashes, and each breath left a cloud hanging briefly in the air.
Minutes stretched into an hour. The path narrowed to ledges carved by nature's violence, forcing them to move in single file. Once, loose rock gave way under Anya's boot, and Natasha tightened her grip to steady her. No one spoke much—only the crunch of boots and the hollow wail of the wind filled the silence.
Finally, Luthar slowed, his steps coming to an abrupt stop. His mechanical eye flickered faintly, the lens narrowing and adjusting as if focusing on something beyond the storm. He raised a hand, signalling the others to halt.
Natasha narrowed her eyes. "What is it?"
Luthar didn't answer at first, his gaze fixed on the distant ridges. Then, almost absently, he muttered, "Well, I guess we have arrived at the Red Room base."
Natasha tried to look around but saw nothing. "I don't see anything."
"You won't," Luthar replied flatly. He slipped a hand into his robes and withdrew several small disc—like coins. With a flick of his wrist, he released them into the air. They shimmered briefly before vanishing into invisibility, scattering like dust on the wind.
Moments later, he pulled out a compact projector. A beam of pale light flickered into existence, forming a ghostly hologram in the snowy air. The image sharpened, revealing the jagged cliffs… and hidden within them, the angular outline of structures carved directly into the rock.
Natasha's breath caught, her sharp gaze hardening as recognition dawned while the drones pushed deeper into the ridges.
The projection sharpened, showing more than just stone and shadow. Tunnels carved into the mountain's belly. Platforms reinforced with steel. And at the cavernous mouth of the fortress, faint outlines began to emerge—figures lined in perfect rows. At first, they looked like statues, but as the drones adjusted, the details became unmistakable.
Suits of armour. Sleek, metallic frames, humanoid, their surfaces reflecting the pale light of the moon.
Natasha's lips pressed into a thin line. "Those are armours," she said flatly.
"Automated units properly modified after purchase," Luthar confirmed coolly, zooming the projection further until every detail was visible.
Her gaze flicked sharply toward Luthar. "Look what you've done."
Luthar raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. "It was never my technology to begin with. Plus, nobody sold them directly—they probably got them from the Russian army after Vankos sold them."
Natasha's lips twisted in a humourless smile. "Convenient answer."
Freya's gaze softened in mild amusement. Anya, though still unsteady, whispered in a dazed tone, "They look… like soldiers made of iron."
Luthar's expression hardened again, his voice dropping. "No, they are just a waste of material."
Natasha arched a brow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "So how do we deal with them? Of course, if you're carrying a small army, then i can definitely give you the title of Black Santa."
Without a word, Luthar reached into his robes and pulled out a small, unmarked box, holding it up casually. Natasha froze, her sharp tongue momentarily stilled. Even through his mask, she could feel the faint smirk behind it.
"You didn't actually—" she began, eyes narrowing.
"Surprise," Luthar said, his tone carrying an almost cheerful lilt.
For the first time that night, Natasha found herself hoping he was joking.