Widow of Siberia

Chapter 7

The new design was mostly black with panels of dark red along the stomach, arms, and legs of Vienna's combat suit. The new mask didn't cover her whole head, only the lower half of her face, leaving her scared eyes out to be seen. She felt like every other Widow. 

“Do you smile?” Novikoff asked, studying her mildly sour expression as Vienna examined her new suit. 

A small shake of her head. 

“You don't like it?” 

“What does it matter if I like it?” Vienna asked, a frown on her brow as she looked at him in the mirror, “I will tell you if it impedes on my ability.”

“I can change the design,” Novikoff said, turning and going back to his table covered in drawings of suit designs. 

“The design shouldn't matter.” Vienna removed the mask from her face, watching herself in the mirror. 

Her black hair was long enough to be tied out of her face now that there was no one cutting it short every time it touched her shoulders. It was the colour of the suit that was bothering her more than anything. Black and red. She was the Red Widow. It should have been red and black. 

“It shouldn't,” Novikoff agreed, shuffling through the papers for a second before abandoning them. “But I don't want you resenting me. I'm not Sidorov, I don't like to be cruel, I like to be objective.”

“Another thing that doesn't matter,” Vienna said, breathing in and turning from the mirror. “I will do whatever you ask. That is objective.”

“I'll have to get used to your bluntness,” Novikoff said, beckoning her out of the fitting room to follow him, “a less intelligent man would think you rude.”

“I offer my apologies.”

“You'll learn.” 

The clean white walls smelled like antiseptic. A sterile environment for whatever experiments his labs were working on. 

The suit fitted well, she barely felt it as she walked. Despite being less tight than the Red Widow suit, this new one felt a little more practical. It held her weapons better with her swords on her back and her nignata on her hip, a couple of guns and several knives littered around for her use as well. Vienna thought it a little over the top but it never usually hindered to be prepared. 

Novikoff’s comment about not wanting her to resent him was playing on her mind as they walked in silence. He could be scared of her, understandable but entirely not useful. As her Commander he should be in complete control, which Novikoff certainly pretended to be at least. Though, what itched at her thoughts was the way he demanded doting affection from the other girls that entered the labs. He seemed to require them to see him as a father of some kind or something else. That reason was much more irritating. Widows were trained to lack emotional connection, familial or otherwise, and now this man demanded it of them. But as the Headmistress used to tell them, men are simple creatures, very rarely will you find one different from the others. 

“Those scars are healing well,” Novikoff said as they reached a heavy duty door with a wheel at the centre to open it. “The tissue has reduced significantly, I can actually see Melina in there now.”

Vienna only raised an eyebrow, which she could do now without effort or pain from the scars. Who the fuck was Melina?

“Sorry, I'm getting sentimental for old experiments,” Novikoff chuckled, spinning the wheel to open the large steel door. “Forgive an old man, will you Krasnyy?”

“There is no need.”

“Ha. You are impossible,” he laughed again as the door clunked and whined as it was pushed open. “You were born in Moscow, in a lab just like this, did you know that?”