The aircraft groaned as it sliced through the clouds over Russia. The hull shuddered violently, every bolt and rivet singing under the pressure. The panels clinging to the ceiling trembled, their relentless vibrations creating an unsettling symphony, hinting they might break free at any moment.
Natasha gripped the armrest beside her, jaw tight. The turbulence was nothing new—but this wasn't turbulence. This was age, rust, and a miracle holding the machine together.
"It would have been better if we had taken the commercial flight; I'm not sure this one can even land," she said through clenched teeth.
Opposite her, Freya steadied herself. Despite the unsettling sound, a faint smile played on her lips, as if she found a strange comfort. "Feels less like flying and more like riding a beast that hasn't eaten in centuries."
Luthar didn't flinch. His fingers moved over the flickering console, adjusting knobs and switches that hummed like ancient organs waking. "It holds," he declared firmly, as if stating an undeniable truth. The shuddering subsided slightly, though the aircraft groaned with each movement.
Natasha shot him a look, patience cracking. "Holds? This thing feels one storm away from tearing itself apart. Do you even know if it can last all the way?"
Luthar's eyes gleamed faintly, reverent. "It has survived storms fiercer than this. It will not fail now."
The aircraft lurched again, hard enough to throw Freya half out of her seat. She steadied herself, laughter slipping from her lips. "If it does, at least the crash will be spectacular."
Natasha exhaled through her nose, muttering, "That doesn't make me feel better."
She released her grip on the armrest, eyes on the grey expanse below, where endless forests were broken only by rivers shimmering in the dusk. Russia. Home. Nightmare.
Her thoughts tangled with memories she had tried to bury, and finally, she spoke. "Even if this… thing doesn't fall apart, we still have one problem."
Freya arched a brow. "Only one?"
Natasha ignored the jab. Her voice was low, careful, but steady. "You can't just fly in and expect to find the Red Room; if it really exists, it would be at a place where we cannot find it."
She turned sharply to Luthar. "So tell me—how do you plan to find them? It's not like somebody is going to hand out the map."
Luthar's voice cut through the hum of the engines. "We can look for the traces, surveillance, hidden signals, If that fails… There is another way. We can look for your family, especially your parents, who have the location of the red room."
Natasha's jaw clenched at the mention of 'parents.' She let out a brief, sardonic laugh. "Family. That's certainly one way to put it." As she thought about her family, the world shifted.
After what seemed like an eternity in the air, they finally crossed into Russian airspace. Luthar's eyes scanned the ground. "Prepare for landing. I have found a decent place."
As he lowered the aircraft, the forest below thickened, a dark sprawl of pines swallowing the landscape. Nestled between the trees lay the ruins of an outpost with a cracked runway.
"Decent?" Natasha muttered, narrowing her eyes at the wreckage. "That looks like a graveyard for aircraft, not a landing strip."
Freya leaned forward, silver hair catching the dim glow of the console. "Well, it looks like there would be no audience if this thing exploded after landing."
The engines coughed violently, vibrations rattling through their bones. The nose tilted too steeply, and Natasha's stomach lurched. She braced herself, biting back a curse.
Luthar's hands moved with unsettling calm over the console. He pulled back a lever, adjusted two knobs, then struck the dashboard with his fist. The aircraft shuddered—and levelled, descent smoothing just enough to avoid a crash.
The landing was less a landing than a controlled fall. Tires screeched across fractured concrete, sparks flaring in the twilight as rusted panels clattered like loose armour. One wing clipped a dead tree at the runway's edge, snapping the trunk clean in half.
With a final groan, the machine skidded to a halt. Silence followed, heavy and sharp, broken only by the distant cry of small animals.
Natasha exhaled slowly, knuckles white against the armrest. "Next time," she muttered. "We're taking the commercial flight."
Freya stretched languidly, shaking her hair free from her shoulders. "Well, I don't mind riding again as long as the seats are more comfortable."
Luthar, unfazed, rose from his seat and adjusted the coat over his shoulders. Eyes already fixed on the forest beyond the shattered runway, he said, "Well, you can write down all your requirements so when I make a new aircraft, it can meet all of our standards."
As everyone prepared to leave, Luthar pressed the button to release the hatch. Nothing. He pressed again. Finally, the locking mechanism wheezed faintly, groaning like old gears, then fell silent.
With a low grunt, he abandoned the controls, setting his hands on the warped hatch. Fingers traced the edge once, then he shoved. Metal groaned but held. Bracing himself, he forced it with sheer strength.
The hinges shrieked under pressure, metal scraping metal until the door snapped open with a harsh crack. Cold air surged in, carrying the bite of pine and wet earth.
Natasha muttered under her breath, "Figures. Even the door doesn't work properly."
Luthar gave the hatch one last shove to lock it open and stepped back. "It opened. That's enough."
Freya let out a soft laugh, stepping back as if avoiding the swing. "It didn't want to let us go. Like an old hound clinging to its master."
Natasha moved closer, peering at the warped edges. "Or like a coffin not ready to open." She glanced at Luthar. "Is there any reason for you to bring us to this place?"
Luthar exhaled, brushing gloves against the frame, as though it were another test of loyalty the machine had passed. "Just follow me. As for why I brought you here—it's quite simple."
He stepped down onto the cracked earth, boots crunching loose gravel. The air was heavy with pine and rust. Freya hopped down behind him with ease, while Natasha lingered for a moment before following.
Luthar continued, tone even, clipped. "I found traces—faint, but enough. Black Widow's operations left marks, especially at this place." He gestured toward the tree line, where broken concrete walls jutted like tombstones, smothered by moss and roots. "On the surface, this place is nothing more than an abandoned Russian outpost."
He stepped forward, boots crunching through frost-crusted grass. "But that's only what they want others to see. Underneath, the signs are subtle—energy bleed, encrypted transmissions. I'd wager some of her sisters are still working below."
As Natasha's eyes swept the ruins, familiarity cut into her like a blade. Her voice was quiet, almost bitter: "Of course. An underground base for an underground organisation."
The words carried more than sarcasm—they were laced with recognition, the kind that only someone who had lived inside those shadows could possess. She hesitated a fraction of a second, then steadied herself. "Is there anything notable about this place?"
Luthar's lips curved faintly. "If my information is correct, this is a contact point—where the government and the Red Room still exchange orders and resources, keeping the higher chains invisible."
Freya tilted her head, curiosity flickering. "So how did you find this place?"
Luthar's fingers flexed briefly, a faint twinge of awkwardness passing through him. "It's due to my... unconventional methods," he said, his voice calm but just shy of a whisper.
"I've previously deployed tiny, coin-sized drones to collect knowledge from across the globe. One of them recorded this site.
Now, I'm even thinking about increasing their number. Eventually, I'll have eyes everywhere—most places, most people. This way, I can learn about any new discovery as soon as possible."
"And let me guess—you're planning to stick those drones in the washroom next?" Natasha's tone dripped with irritation, but she fell silent when Luthar didn't even reply. Perfect, she thought. Fury's going to have a headache when he finds out. No matter what he plans, Luthar will see it first. She let out a sharp, exasperated sigh. This is going to be a losing battle for the Fury.
Author's Note: If you'd like the story and wish to support the story can join me on Patreon/ Ko-fi and if you wish for me to write a story and do have a proper plan but don't have time to write you can also ask me to wright story according to your plan
On Patreon you can get 45+advancede chapters / ai songs related to 40k and early chapters of stories which not been decided.
You can also tip via Ko-fi if you prefer.
https://www.patreon.com/Silvervir?utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator
https://ko-fi.com/silverdvs95