- ⧗ ZARIAH PETROVA ⧗ -
ZARIAH AWOKE SCREAMING. The remnants of her dream lingered, the feel of the scientist's hands holding her down and the cool hospital bed against her bare skin still present. Her feet kicked at the covers, hands flailing to fight off figmental touches.
"Stop it!" she cried out into the silence of her cell. "Let me go!"
Zariah clawed at her skin, batting away invisible forces and screaming out to no one. She tumbled out of bed, crashing on to the floor. The pain jolted another wave of anxiety through her body. Her legs thrashed against the air, pushing her across the floor and into the middle of the room.
"Get off! I don't want to!" she screamed. "Please don't make me!"
But then the forces grabbed more firmly on to her wrists, trying to slow her fight. Zariah pressed on.
"Stop! Please!"
"Zariah!" a voice called out, hands atop of hers.
"I don't want to! Please!"
She kicked and thrashed at her attacker, desperate to get away.
"Zariah, it's me! You're okay. It's not real."
The girl slowed slightly. That wasn't the voice of the scientist. It was softer, American.
"You're safe. It's okay."
Her eyes blinked, brushing away the haze in her head. In the dim light of the room, a blurry mess of red hair filled her view.
"It's just a dream. You're okay."
A hand landed on her cheek. Not as a slap like she was used to, but a gentle touch, pulling her in close. Zariah's legs stopped kicking, her fists halted.
"You're safe."
The girl's full vision finally came to and in it, was a face she now recalled as familiar. Natasha loomed over her, green eyes wide, face plastered with concern. Zariah eyed her, breath still heavy in her chest.
"It's just a nightmare," Nat said softly.
The girl looked around the room, not the lab which she had found herself in seconds before, but her cell at SHIELD. Far, far away from the red room or any of its tests. She looked back at the woman kneeling down beside her. Nat's eyes met hers with genuine care.
Slowly, Zariah reached up to the hand still resting on her cheek. The skin was soft against hers, ever so gently caressing her face. Her mind spiraled, suddenly confused by the foreign concept of comfort.
The muscles in her body tensed and as her eyes fell down, she realised Natasha was still dressed. Beyond the curiosity of why, Zariah's thoughts fell on something a lot more interesting that lay on Natasha's right thigh. It only took her a second of thought before she was reaching for the gun.
Natasha moved backwards, trying to get away before the weapon was removed from its holster. But it was already too late. Zariah was far too quick. In an instant she was on her feet, holding the gun out in front of her. The barrel aimed directly at the opposing redhead's face.
Natasha's arms raised slowly, her face turning from concern to shock, and behind it, even fear. She untucked her legs from under her, steadily rising to her feet.
"Zariah."
Nat's voice wavered. She tried to take a slow step forward. Zari clicked off the safety.
"Stay where you fucking are."
The woman released a shaky breath, backing up once more. Zariah stared back at her emotionlessly as her mind began to race.
She could pull the trigger now. Take Natasha's key card and leave. She could find her way out of here, find her way back to Russia. She could go home.
But what if there were agents outside? Doesn't matter, she told herself. You're stronger than all of them and now you have a gun. But what of the avengers? Were they all still in this building? Would they come for her too? Doesn't fucking matter. You can beat them this time, you know how to beat them now.
"Zariah-"
"Shutup!" Zariah yelled back, pushing the gun forward towards Natasha. She needed to think.
If she killed her would the avengers hunt her down? Would her best friend come looking for her? You could make it, her brain replied. You could make it back home and then nobody could find you ever again.
"Zariah, please."
"I said shut the fuck up!"
The girl took a step forward. The barrel of the gun lay mere inches from Natasha's face. Green eyes looked back at her full of worry.
Just kill her, her mind screamed. It's what you were tasked to do. Just put a bullet in her skull and get it over with.
It would be so easy. To pull the trigger and watch the body fall like she had so many times before. To leave the scene before it had even turned cold. A routine Zariah had completed like clockwork for the last eight years of her life.
So why was she hesitating?
"Zariah, I know you're scared."
"I told you to shutup."
"Please listen. You don't want to do this."
"You don't know what the fuck I want," Zariah replied harshly. "You don't fucking know me."
Pull the trigger. Watch the body fall. Walk away.
"I know that under there is a little girl. A little girl that deserves love and a home."
"Stop."
"You can have that here, Zariah. I promise you. Nothing can hurt you again."
"You're a liar!"
Zariah thrust the weapon forward and Nat stumbled back. The woman tilted her head to the side.
"We can give you a life here, Zariah. A proper life."
"Stop it!" the girl screamed back. "Stop lying! This is my life, there's no changing that."
"That's not true," Natasha replied. "Just think about it. You won't have to do any of this again. You won't have to hurt anyone and no one will hurt you."
"Just shut up!"
Zariah's thoughts protested in her head. She was an assassin, the best in the world. She's killed thousands of people, taken lives that she couldn't even recall. What the fuck was wrong with her?
She knew she should kill her. Put a bullet right between Natasha's eyes and be done with it. But then the image of Mila from her dream flashed back inside her mind. A hole between her brows and blood flowing out. So, so much blood.
Zariah shook her head viscously, trying to shake the memory from her brain. Then, without her intention, the tremble spread to her hand holding the gun. Natasha seemed to noticed this. She swallowed and took a step closer.
"Do you like hurting people, Zariah?"
"Stop," the girl replied, trying her best to stop the weapon wavering in her hand.
"Do you like when they hurt you?"
Did she?
Shut up, her mind screamed. She's just trying to get in your head. Shoot her.
"Has there never been anything they forced you to do that you didn't want to?"
Zariah winced as her newest nightmare flashed into her mind. In truth it hadn't just been a dream. It had been a memory. She remembered the altercation as vividly as if had happened yesterday. If she concentrated hard enough, she could still feel the pain in her left arm.
Zari thought of herself back then. How she had been so hesitant to venture down into the lab. How she was wary of whatever torture they'd decide to put her through for their own gain.
That day from her dream was a memory she liked to keep locked away. It was the last set of tears she had shed until she'd came here. Zariah now never cried, Zariah then did.
Before she'd ignored that part of her life, convinced herself it had been simply because she was young. That her age was the thing that had made her weak, not her lack of emotional control. Since then, she'd pushed away every human emotion she'd ever felt. A desperate attempt to cope with the pain.
But she found the pain always found it's way in. It creeped through the cracks of her shell and buried itself deep into her already shattered heart. Before SHIELD, she'd ignored it. Called it a blip in her system and pushed it away. She'd take out the pain on those around her, adding another layer of hatred for each time she hitched. Perhaps one day her exterior would be strong enough to block anything getting in at all.
But now Natasha Romanoff had wormed her way into her mind. She'd shown her the life that she has missed, that perhaps the red room wasn't the heavenly sanctuary Zariah had worshiped all these years.
But was this truly all new? Or had Zariah been afraid all along?
She thought of Madame B., her mentor for the entirely of her life. Zariah had idolised her like a hero on a pedestal, her every action revolving around the hope of pleasing her. Every praise rung loud in her ears, every confirmation she'd received that she was a perfect widow.
But for every praise, there was an ever present punishment. A smack across the cheek when she'd dare to ask questions, a humiliation for having the nerve to fail. She'd hold her cheeks and tell her she was a good girl and then seconds later, slap the smile off her face. For years, Zariah had brushed it off as tough love. That eveything the headmistress did was to better Zari, make her a stronger person.
But had she possibly been wrong about her this whole time?
The woman wasn't a caretaker, simply a figure of authority who'd pressed extra hard on the weapon with the most potential. The little girl who wasn't afraid to hold a knife in her hand. Now what would she think of her?
Zariah was broken. She'd been toying with the idea in her head for a while but now she could admit it. She wasn't the emotionless assassin that the red room needed. How could she be with breakdowns like this? If she ever returned to Russia, could she be the same person that she was? The idea seemed impossible.
Her mind fell further into ruin. Zariah thought of her classmates, of Annelise and Yana. Did they both think she was dead too? Had they spared her a second thought or simply brushed her off their shoulders like they were trained to?
Zariah wondered if Annelise was top girl now. For years she'd been clawing her way up, always a few paces behind Zari. Now there was nothing stopping her. Would she think of her or simply step up into her shadow without remorse?
What about Yana? Had the brunette moved on as well? She wondered if her and Irina still gossiped over meals. Perhaps they'd even speculated about her, smirking knowing that she'd have to fail one day. Would they have found someone else to sleep in her bed already, leaving Yana up to the task of introducing them?
Then her thought fell on sweet little Mila. Did she ask where Zariah had gone? Or simply moved on with her life like she was expected to? The redhead found herself hoping for the former. Was she feeling lost? Zariah was the only one who would ever stick up for her, not exactly that she needed it, but who would be there to smile at her across the table now? She wondered if Mila had shed a single tear over her death at all.
Then Zariah thought of General Dreykov. The man who'd been behind it all. Who'd ordered every test, commanded every mission, taught her every ideology. In his wake he'd created hundreds of widows. But just how many had he left behind? How many little girls had died at his hands. How many children had he stolen a childhood from? How many like Mila?
Did anyone back at the academy still remember her or would everyone have forgotten her already? Forgotten her like hannah, or every other nameless girl before her?
"Zariah?"
The redhead snapped out her thoughts. Her eyes reconnected with the woman opposite her, standing in front of Zariah's raised gun. The girl suddenly realised that she was crying. Tears burned her cheeks like acid rain as she stared Natasha down. Before she'd never let herself cry, now it seemed once the first tears had fallen, Zariah could do nothing to stop them.
They stained the skin of her cheeks, slipping their way down into the collar of her shirt. The notion sent a sudden revolt through her and her body was set alight.
Do you like hurting people?
Natasha's words circled in her head as Zari's nerves stood on end. For as long as she could remember, she'd been the one behind the gun. Her entire life has been assassination after assassination. Endless numbers of deaths all at her fingertips.
She remembered the first time she saw a bullet tear through a man, how it felt the first time she'd plunged a knife into someone's abdomen. She recalled her first honeypot mission at thirteen. When, even after she'd been emptied of her soul, she'd had to slit the throat of target. Laying there all so vulnerable, drowning in his blood.
All of those gunshots, all of those cut throats and snapped necks. Hundreds upon hundred of them all due to Zariah. An emotionless, murderous, killing machine. After all, that was what she was made for.
But did she enjoy it?
She thought of every kill she'd ever made. How for years she'd dissociated her target with their humanity. She saw them as objects, not people. That way it was easier, that way she didn't have to think about-
Zariah found herself stumbling. She caught herself, raising back up her hand with the gun. As she looked at Natasha, her thoughts fell to the places she'd kept hidden in the darkest corners of her mind.
Assassinations were one thing. Killing men who posed threats to their organisation, shooting them down from atop a building or driving by with a pistol. That was easy. But those weren't the only missions Zariah had been on.
She thought of the time her target had been sat in a playground. Of course, she had to follow the rules. No witnesses. She couldn't recall just how many tiny bodies had fallen that day.
Or there was every time her target had had a daughter. Not only was Zariah tasked with killing her mark, but also to bring in any young girls that could be suitable for the black widow program. How many had she brought in? How many had she subjected to the same horrific fate as her? How many were dead at her hands?
Zariah felt filthy. All of those lives, all of that guilt, pressed unbearably down on her shoulders. There was so much blood. So much spilt at her command. It stained her skin, resided in her bones. It had never bothered her before. So why did it now?
In that moment she felt eveything. Every drop of blood that had spilled on to her skin. Every ounce of serum they had injected into her veins. Every man's hands who'd touched her body. Every pain, every torture, every single thing.
A sob tore from Zariah's chest, shuddering in the silence of the cell. She saw briefly that Natasha had tears in her eyes too, glinting against the perfect green. And when she stepped forward and rested her hand upon the gun, Zariah didn't stop her.
Natasha pushed the weapon down, lowering it towards the ground. She unwinded the girl's fingers from it and slowly released it back into her hands. Once she had placed it back in its holster again, she raised her arms back up.
"Please, Zariah," Nat said, voice heavy. "Please let me help you."
Another sob tore from Zari's chest and suddenly she was crashing down to the floor. Natasha met her on her knees as the tears began to cascade down. Her pleading eyes met with the woman's in front of her.
"I can't-"
The words caught in Zariah's throat. A hiccup burst through, then she took a deep breath.
"I can't do this anymore."
Natasha edged closer. Her hands came to rest on Zariah's shoulders. When the girl raised her eyeline, Nat's hand raised up to cup her cheek once more. This time, Zariah leaned into it. Her tears soaked into Natasha's skin as a racked breath escaped Zari's lips.
"Please, Natasha. I don't want to hurt people anymore."
With the release of her words, the rest of Zariah's psyche fell too. The sobs tore from her chest with a gut wrenching crescendo. Everything she could see was overcome with the waterfall of tears that broke loose. Before she could stop it, her body was falling forward.
She landed in Natasha's arms, crumbling down entirely in front of her. But almost instantly, there was a pressure against her back and Natasha pulled her closer in. Her arms wrapped around Zariah, holding her tight. This time, the girl accepted the comfort with every ounce of her shattered heart.
Zariah's fingers found the fabric of Natasha's tshirt and grabbed hold, slowly soaking the material through with her teardrops. Her mouth mumbled words in Russian, over and between heavy racked breaths that tore through her. Excuses, and apologies, and please for help all streamed out in desperate tones.
All were met with the warm soothing voice of Natasha. She held Zariah tight, letting her cry into her chest while breathing soft comforts into her ear. One hand moved to stroke Zari's hair, fingers slowly running through the fiery strands.
"It's okay," Natasha whispered. "You're safe now. It's okay."
And for the first time, Zariah believed her. The words struck a cord deep in her heart that radiated a light through her body. Zariah welcomed the comfort and allowed herself to sink further into Natasha's arms, held closely like she had never been before. And with it all brought along an emotion long since forgotten in Zariah's mind. Something snuffed out years ago, now finally being shed light on.
Hope.
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okay chapter 13 finally here woop. if you don't follow my tiktok, it was slightly delayed coz my house got damaged in a storm and leaked for 2 days :))
anywayyy, it's all fixed now and the next part is here. we finally have zariah seeing the truth of the red room and breaking off from it. hope it didn't come too soon or this chapter felt rushed or anything. it was really hard trying to write all of zariah's thoughts as her whole world perspective changed 😭😭
but i hope you enjoyed nonetheless and as always, leave comments, i love reading every single one of them <3
this will be the last update before the new year so i want to wish you all a very happy new year and i'll see you all in 2024!! 🫶🫶🫶
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