An Impervious Few // KateLena Apocalypse AU

Capital Punishment

"Yes," Natasha answered immediately, making a poor effort to hide the desperation in her voice.

Yelena loured, lip curling in disapproval. She knew full well that Natasha valued her freedom above all else, and joining a paramilitary sorority was the last thing she would do if not for her stupidity.

"Once you swear loyalty, there's no getting out," another Widow warned, hand holding her midsection from a kick Natasha landed. "When you're in, you're in. You'd be one of us, and nothing else."

A flash of hesitation flickered across Natasha's features. She looked to Yelena, who seemed to be sweating more profusely with each passing second. Remembering what she promised her younger sister, Natasha finally nodded resolutely. "I want in."

The memory fueled Yelena's indignation as she was marched through the halls of what seemed to be an old government building. Two black clad men toted her roughly by the upper arms, with one speaking cryptically into his radio, the other silently scowling. She had only just returned to her senses, and though her head pounded horribly, was otherwise no worse for wear.

She took mental inventory- her bag, pistol, and most of her knives had been confiscated, her hands were crudely bound by two zip ties, and she was escorted by just two guards. Clearly, these people did not know who they escorted into their facility.

In her first moments in this new location, Yelena was in full information gathering mode. The idiots had not bothered to blindfold her, so she memorized the paths to the exits, counted offices and if they had windows, searched for any sort of items that could suffice as weapons.

Besides the obvious problem of being kidnapped, Yelena's biggest concern and number one priority was tracking down Kate. The archer was nowhere to be found, but presumably they had been transported together, and Yelena prayed she alive and unharmed somewhere in this massive building.

Casually, Yelena whistled shortly on the off chance she was in earshot. After two calls with no response, she ceased her whistles so as to not tip off the guards, frowning at the lack of contact.

"Any chance you gents tell me where I am?" Yelena asked, casting a sidelong look to the guard on her left.

He was tall, at least six feet, with close cropped black hair and a crooked nose. After glancing to his counterpart, he answered, "Washington D.C."

"The fucking capital?"

"Former capital," the man corrected. "But, yeah."

"Okay, obvious follow up. Why?"

The goon on Yelena's right shook his head subtly, and the crooked-nosed guard settled for, "It'll be clear soon enough."

With that unsatisfactory answer, the men clammed up, dragging Yelena to her holding cell in stoic silence. She was unceremoniously tossed into a closet, door slamming loudly behind her. Watching the shadows through the crack in the door, she deduced only one guard remained posted up outside, and she almost laughed at the amateurism.

Once she heard the retreating footsteps of combat boots, Yelena got to work. They had bound her hands behind her back, so she had to uncomfortably contort to bring them to her front without creating too much noise. Eventually, though, after nearly dislocating her shoulder, her hands were once more usable.  Then, as quietly as she could, Yelena reached up inside her skin tight thermal shirt, fingers nimbly retrieving the two inch blade sewn into the hem.

Yelena scoffed in disbelief as she easily sliced through her zip-ties and rubbed her raw wrists. She took a moment to breathe, assess, and plot. Anyone else may have panicked, but this was not even close to the stickiest situation she had been in.