Melina didn't answer. She just stared, the foundation of her world collapsing in on itself.
Ariadne stepped closer—not threatening, but firm.
"Melina," she said, voice steady, "come with me. Bring your students. You don't need this place. You don't need him."
Melina's eyes snapped to hers, wounded and defiant.
"I will not betray my motherland."
Ariadne frowned. "Motherland? Or Dreykov's own selfish cause?"
"Someone will replace him." Melina straightened, clinging to structure like a lifeline. "The Red Room endures. My duty continues."
"Your duty?" Ariadne's voice hardened. "To what? To who? To him?" She gestured sharply at Dreykov's lifeless body. "He wasn't the motherland. He wasn't even a patriot. He was a parasite."
Melina flinched but didn't back away.
"The girls here," Ariadne continued, stepping closer, "you know what awaits them. More missions. More conditioning. A life where obedience is valued more than breath."
Melina's jaw tightened. "They serve the greater good."
Ariadne's eyes narrowed. "Whose good?"
Melina hesitated.
"Dreykov's?" Ariadne pressed. "The good of a man who never saw them as human?"
Melina's silence was answer enough.
Ariadne exhaled, frustration and sorrow knotting together. She could see the conflict in Melina—years of justifying cruelty as necessity, of calling trauma patriotism. But she couldn't break through the indoctrination alone.
She stepped back.
"Arthur," Ariadne said quietly, without turning. "Your turn."
Arthur emerged from the hallway, gaze steady. Melina stiffened, fear flickering as she realized the second intruder wasn't merely backup—he radiated something older, heavier, and far more dangerous.
He approached slowly, letting the weight of the moment settle before he spoke.
Then he looked Melina in the eyes.
"Melina," Arthur said calmly, stepping into the room, "what happens when one of your girls rebels? When Natasha—brilliant, stubborn Natasha—starts questioning orders?"
Melina's eye twitched. "She won't—"
"She will," Arthur said with quiet certainty. "And maybe Yelena will too. You raised them as your daughters, didn't you? Not just widows—daughters."
He stepped closer. "So tell me… what will you do when they rebel?"
Melina's lips parted, but no reply came. Only fear. And a truth she didn't want to face.
Arthur continued, voice gentle but mercilessly precise.
"And what happens when Dreykov decides that free will is too dangerous? When he demands a stronger solution. A chemical leash. Something absolute."
He held her gaze. "And what if you are ordered to create it?"
Melina staggered back as if struck.
Arthur didn't stop.
"Would you like to watch your daughters turned into puppets?" he asked softly. "Controlled. Muzzled. Forced to kill children, diplomats, each other—because Dreykov thinks it's 'for the homeland'?"
"You don't know that," Melina whispered, voice cracking.
"I do." Arthur raised a hand. "Better yet… I'll show you."
Before she could respond, Arthur's eyes locked onto hers—cold, ancient, unyielding.
A prickling sensation struck her head.
Then the visions began.
Natasha defecting.
The failed attempt to kill Dreykov in Budapest.
The future aerial base—Dreykov's flying fortress.
His demand for absolute control.
Melina's own hands mixing the chemical compound that would erase free will forever.
Natasha and Yelena fighting their sisters.
Melina betraying her daughters… and then betraying Dreykov.
The base exploding.
The Red Room burning.
The vision snapped.
Melina collapsed to her knees, gasping, hands trembling violently.
Ariadne moved to help her, shocked.
"What did you—"
"I showed her one possible future," Arthur said quietly. "The one where she helps enslave the girls she claims to love."
Melina pushed herself upright, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
"That…" Her voice broke. "That would have happened?"
"If we had not come today," Arthur replied. "Yes."
Silence settled over the room.
Melina stared at the floor for a long, agonizing moment as the last pieces of her old loyalty fractured. Arthur and Ariadne let her sit with it—let her breathe, let her grieve.
Finally, she lifted her eyes and looked at Ariadne. Really looked at her.
"Why should we work for you?" she asked, voice raw. "What's the difference? Trading one handler for another?"
Ariadne crouched down beside her so they were eye to eye.
"I'm not a handler," she said softly. "I'm offering employment. Partnership. Choice."
Melina's brow tightened. "Pretty words—"
"Truth," Ariadne cut in firmly. "You want to leave tomorrow? Leave. You want to work three days a week and spend the rest reading, shopping, learning ballet? Go ahead. I run an organization, not a prison."
She continued, voice sharpening. "My people have apartments. Salaries. Vacation days. They get birthdays off. They take cooking classes, go to therapy, date, live."
Melina blinked, stunned. The idea of killers with holidays had never existed in her universe.
Ariadne's expression softened. "And the girls… they can stay, or they can walk away. Fully free."
Melina studied her for a long moment. "The younger ones... some are too damaged. They only know obedience."
"Then teach them to think. To want. To choose." Ariadne glanced at Arthur. "And if any are truly too broken..."
"I can help with memories," Arthur offered. "Clean slates, if needed."
Melina looked between them, then at the door beyond which waited dozens of girls.
"Alright," she said finally. "We'll try."
They gathered everyone—forty-three girls and young women, from seven-year-olds to those in their mid-twenties.
Ariadne faced them. Melina stood at her side.
"The Red Room is dead," Ariadne said. "You're free."
A ripple went through them—confusion, fear, disbelief.
"You can leave," Ariadne continued. "We'll give you money, documents, everything you need to start new lives." Her voice warmed. "Or you can come with me. Learn to use your skills for your own future—not someone else's."
They stared at Melina.
She nodded.
And that was it.
Hours of quiet conversations followed—some confused, some frightened, none truly able to choose for themselves.
The Widows were conditioned to follow Melina.
So when she chose Ariadne…
They all followed.
Every single one.
Next, Ariadne and her new forces spent three hours stripping the facility bare - every weapon, file, serum, datapad, prototype - Arthur portaling it all to her warehouses.
When they finished, he collapsed the empty buildings with a touch, leaving only rubble.
The Red Room was no more.
— December 21, 2008, Present —
Arthur's thoughts snapped back into the present, the memories of Belarus dissolving like mist.
"When do you move on New York?" he asked.
"Next summer," Ariadne replied without hesitation. "Melina's already there, laying the groundwork. The Hand has no idea what's coming."
"Good." Arthur paused, then shifted the topic. "Are you coming to the Christmas party?"
"Yes," she said, and he heard the faintest softening in her voice. "I could use the break. And I like your wizard friends. Sirius tells the most outrageously unbelievable stories."
Arthur smiled. "Winky will pick you up on the twenty-third."
"Looking forward to it. How are Eileen and the children?"
"Perfect," Arthur said simply. "Elena bought everyone presents today. She's very proud of herself."
Ariadne actually laughed — a rare, warm sound. "I can't wait to see what she picked for me. Honestly, I never imagined I'd live long enough to see you as a doting father."
"Neither did I," Arthur said with a dry chuckle. "You should settle down too."
"Maybe," she mused, her tone shifting back to tempered steel. "After I finish what I set out to do."
"Stubborn as always."
"Learned from the best."
They hung up.
Arthur stood alone in the center of his secret base, hands slipping into his pockets as global feeds shimmered across the surrounding holographic displays. The assassination attempt was insignificant - a mosquito bite. But the principle of it irritated him.
It had brushed against his family.
That was unacceptable.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Maybe it was time to redirect the world's anger.
The real villains of the market collapse still walked free — drinking champagne, celebrating, while others lost everything.
They should be the targets. Not him.
"Eve," he said quietly, "handle that."
Then he Apparated back into his study and slipped through the silent house. Eileen was in bed, book in hand, lamplight turning her hair to gold.
"Everything handled?" she asked without looking up.
"Yes."
"Good. Come to bed."
As he changed, Arthur couldn't help reflecting on the contrast. Eight years ago, he would have stayed awake all night — hunting every loose thread, eliminating threats before they even realized they were threats. Now he trusted his systems. He trusted his allies. And most importantly… he had something worth coming home to.
"Stop thinking so loud," Eileen murmured as he slid into bed beside her. She pulled him close, warm and certain in the dark. "Whatever it is will still be there tomorrow."
Arthur huffed a small laugh. "How do you always know?"
"Because I know you, Arthur Hayes," she said, tapping his chest lightly. "Now sleep. Tomorrow, Elena wants to bake cookies for all the neighbors - and she insists you help."
Arthur groaned theatrically. "I don't bake."
"You do now." She smiled against his shoulder. "Welcome to fatherhood."