I stared at Mira for what felt like hours. I'm not even sure what expression I wore. She just kept eating her little bowl of fruit, hands sticky with juice, eyes glued to the TV. The same news station kept looping the Vienna bombing footage, over and over.
When she finished eating, she looked up at me.
"Mama, up," she said, reaching out making little grabby hands gestures.
I scooped her up, took her to the bathroom, and ran a warm bath. I washed the juice off her skin, gently scrubbing like I was hoping it'd somehow cleanse the questions from my mind too. Then I dressed her, brushed her hair, and tucked her to bed for the night. Planting a peck on her forehead.
I still didn't know what the hell had just happened.
Once she was asleep, I quietly slipped out and made my way to Sierra's room.
"Yes, ma'am?" she said, caught off guard, voice unsure.
She'd long gotten into the habit of calling me "ma'am" or "boss", never by name. Honestly, I'm not sure she's ever said my name out loud. Not once since we met.
She stood by the dresser, half-dressed, her hair freshly let down from the day.
"Who is Mira's father?" I asked in firm tone.
Her eyes widened. A flicker of panic passed over her face.
"Um… ma'am, I don't know." Her voice cracked, real fear creeping in. She looked like she thought a wrong answer might cost her her life.
"What do you know Sierra? There is no way you haven't come to some conclusion of your own." I stepped closer to her, with each step forward I took she took two back.
"I don't know who he is." Her back hit the wall, tears welled up in her face as if she thought I was about to kill her.
I wasn't.
I never would.
But after everything she's seen me do… I can't blame her for thinking I might.
I took a slow breath, backed off the edge I hadn't meant to approach. Instead, I sank into the armchair in the corner.
"Sierra," I said gently, "I'm not going to hurt you. Just tell me what you think you know."
She exhaled, steadying herself.
"Hydra," she said. "I read the files after you did. I figured… you were one of theirs. I never thought about who her father was. It doesn't matter to me."
I studied her, not just her face but her heartbeat, the rhythm of her breath. She wasn't lying. Just scared.
"How could it not matter?" I asked.
She stood a little straighter. "It doesn't matter to me. You saved me. I owe you everything. I don't care who he is."
I nodded, quietly. "Have a good night, Sierra."
I left her room, I heard all I needed to hear. She wasn't the one who told her.
I went back to Mira.
Leaned over her crib and watched her sleep. Peaceful. Too peaceful for a child with the abilities she's shown. Her strength, sure. Even healing, I could rationalize that.
But the way she knows things? The way she said "Dada" when Bucky came on screen, a man she's never seen, never heard of?
No one could've seen this coming. She is developing in ways I could have never imagined.
I didn't sleep that night. I didn't move. I just watched her as the moon faded and the sun began to stretch across the floor. Morning came, and I was still standing there.
What's to come for her in the future?
Who will she become?
And most haunting of all, how does she know about Bucky?
The next day, life marched on as if nothing had changed. Meetings with arms dealers, logistics, adjusting our hold on the market post-Vienna. But even as I moved through my empire, my mind was anchored to home.
Each night, I returned to Mira. And each night, I was pulled into deeper questions. Thoughts that drowned me, like a flood, and me without an ark.
One evening, Sierra brought me her phone. A shaky video: Captain America and Bucky, running from German authorities in Romania.
"You a fan?" I asked, more amused than curious.
She shrugged. "I like Cap."
Of course she did. Somehow, I always end up surrounded by Steve's fan club.
I never was one myself. Funny, considering I used to be on his damn dance troupe. But I didn't hate him. I guess I just stopped believing in what he stood for.
Over the following days, more clips surfaced. Strange ones. A citywide blackout in Berlin. An airport evacuation. Total destruction with no clear cause.
No bombs. No casualties. Just devastation.
I wanted to help Bucky. God, I wanted to. But who could I send? He wouldn't trust anyone else. Probably doesn't even remember me.
So I tried to let it go. Mira would ask about him someday, maybe she already knew anyways. I'd deal with that when I had to.
One step at a time. That's how I've survived this far and it seems to be working just fine. No point in changing now.
Eventually, the headlines quieted. The Avengers, were mostly dubbed traitors now, in hiding. Ghosts.
Still, I put the word out: if any of them came to Madripoor, I wanted to know.
What I'd do with that information, I wasn't sure.
But I'd rather know than not I suppose.
Time passed. As all things do.
Before long, it was 2018.
Mira turned four.
And she was brilliant.
Terrifyingly so.
I thought she was sharp at two, but now? She reads full novels. Speaks nearly as many languages as I do. Still quiet, though. Always watching. Like she's observing the world in ways we all can't.
It scares me sometimes.
I ask her what she's thinking about occasionally, and she just smiles, bright and radiant, and says, "Everything."
And sometimes… I believe her.
With all the mystery behind what she is going to grow into, maybe she really Is thinking about the whole world and everything in it.
Then there's me. I haven't aged a day. Still look like I'm in my early thirties. Hydra changed me into something, something they didn't understand. Something I don't understand.
I have no clue what the future looks like for me and Mira, and that thought… is truly terrifying.
Over these last two years, I've come to rule Madripoor completely. My empire bloomed into something massive, something untouchable. People began to naturally fall in line and follow me, making way for me as if I was king of the jungle.
I suppose that is what I am now though.
My reach spread quickly. I wasn't just the top arms dealer in Madripoor anymore, I had influence in the drug market, too. I could shift and control it at will, reshaping supply lines with a single order. I also owned countless dark web fighting rings, and I don't mean backyard fistfights.
These were enhanced individuals. The locations changed constantly to stay off the radar of governments desperate to shut us down. Slowly, my influence crept beyond Madripoor, bleeding into other corrupt nations. That's where the best fights were.
I handpicked the strongest from the rings, fighters willing to swear loyalty to me. Before I knew it, I had a network of not just enhanced individuals but some of the smartest minds whose genius was feared by their nation. I built an army unlike any the world had ever seen. I will not let anyone hurt my daughter. I'll burn the world down to keep her safe, and free.
Aside from the brothel in Low town, I owned several clubs. Each catered to a different clientele to ensure I had eyes and ears everywhere. Whether someone craved a strip show, male or female, a deafening dance floor, or a reserved, high-end artsy bar, I had a place for them.
But there were limits. I refused to touch human trafficking. People offered contracts. Even people. But that one line, freedom, I never crossed. Every other moral had been shredded, but that one remained. Madripoor learned quickly: keep that business far from me. I didn't want to see it, hear it, or even smell it.
My arms trade evolved. I moved beyond traditional guns and military-grade weaponry. I wanted more. Better. One day, I met a sorcerer, on the run, desperate for shelter. I gave him safe haven in exchange for something far more valuable.
Who knew sorcery was real?
He gave me a blade, ancient, enchanted, and razor-sharp. He said it was hundreds of years old. Could cut through anything. So far, it hasn't disappointed. It had me dig further into other weapons and artifacts to see what I could find.
Later, I cleared out another arms dealer who got mouthy. I had to handle him myself. In his vault, I found something unexpected: a small stash of Vibranium. He didn't even know what he had, just displayed it like a trophy. Idiot.
I had my people work on it. Took time, trial, and a lot of failure—but eventually, they forged it into something special: a set of wristbands.
Three pairs.
That was all we had enough for.
I gave one to Mira, myself, and Sierra. The bands were lightweight, nearly indestructible, and, somehow, absorbed kinetic energy. A punch wouldn't just bounce off. The energy was stored, ready to be released in a devastating counterattack.
A focused blast could blow the hinges off a steel door. A wide-range pulse left craters, launching anyone nearby off their feet.
The potential was intoxicating. I finally understood why the King of Wakanda guarded this resource so fiercely. But better for me, if no one else has it, we only grow stronger.
No one knows my name still, instead they gave me one:
The Crimson Queen.
I like it.
It suits me.