C90 Infiltration

C90 Infiltration

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The thrum of helicopter blades echoed through the dense clouds as the Russian Convoy pushed forward. Inside the frontmost chopper, the cabin was cramped and tense, filled with soldiers whose eyes occasionally flicked to the center figure: Natasha Romanoff, bound in an excessive array of chains.

One young soldier, his uniform still crisp and clean, leaned towards a colleague, whispering incredulously, "Why all the chains? Wouldn't handcuffs be enough for one woman?"

Before the other could answer, a grizzled veteran with a deep scar cutting across his cheek turned sharply towards them. He pointed to his marred face and hissed, "You see this scar? Never underestimate a Black Widow." He paused, his gaze darkening as he continued, "My partner thought he’d get handsy with one; now he’s dead and I'm left with this reminder. And she was in handcuffs..."

The cabin fell silent for a moment, the gravity of his words settling over the newer recruits. Their gazes shifted back to Natasha with a mix of disbelief and fear.

In response, Natasha shot them a piercing glare, causing a few of the newer recruits to flinch, their reactions drawing mocking laughter from the other soldiers onboard.

Embarrassed by their earlier naivety, some soldiers snickered, taking the mockery in stride. But, the laughter was cut short when one soldier, overcome with embarrassment, lifted his boot and kicked Natasha sharply in the ribs.

“Ugh!” A groan escaped her as she contorted under the pain, her eyes locking with those of her assailant. With no other means to retaliate, as she was completely restrained, Natasha leaned forward and spat in his face, her saliva striking the soldier squarely in the eye.

“You f*cking b•tch!” He shouted.

Enraged, the soldier raised his foot again, intent on continuing his assault, but the scarred veteran intervened swiftly. "Enough!" he barked. "The General wants her in one piece—at least for now." His stern voice echoed in the tight space, a clear command for no further violence.

The soldier backed down with a reluctant sneer, muttering under his breath as he glared at Natasha, who simply rolled her eyes in response.

As the helicopter neared its destination, the landscape before them transformed. Emerging from the dense cloud cover, a massive structure appeared, floating like a mirage against the backdrop of the sky.

It was the Red Room Academy, resembling a colossal space station hovering amidst clouds it seemed to cloak itself in. Its design was stark and imposing: a central tower flanked by several protruding arms.

[Insert picture of floating Red Room Academy here]

Gasps filled the cabin as the newer soldiers peered out, their expressions a mix of shock and awe. "Is that where we're going?" one of them asked, pointing at the floating fortress.

"Yeah, that's the General's prized base. He uses it as an academy for the Black Widows," the scarred veteran explained.

Another soldier, his curiosity piqued, asked, "But how does it stay up? There are no wings or propellers."

The veteran smirked and shook his head. "How the hell are we supposed to know? Do we look like scientists or engineers to you?" Laughter broke out among the more seasoned soldiers.

Seconds later, the helicopter approached a massive hangar door that slid open upon their arrival. The entire convoy of helicopters entered, expertly landing within the confines of the hangar.

Soldiers swiftly exited the aircraft, their movements sharp and disciplined. The doors of the helicopter carrying Natasha swung open as well, and she was briskly dragged out by two burly soldiers, her chains clinked ominously against the floor.

Just outside the landing area, General Dreykov stood waiting, his presence dominating the space. Beside him, Melina looked on, her expression stoic, yet beneath it, she was filled with worry. As Natasha approached, Dreykov's eyes appraised her with a chilling thoroughness.

"Take her to an interrogation room," Dreykov commanded coldly. "I’ll deal with her myself shortly."

Natasha tensed slightly at his words; Dreykov's reputation for cruelty was well-known to her, and his direct involvement promised nothing good. However, before she could dwell on her fate, she was hustled away by the guards.

Melina stepped forward, her voice firm yet carefully controlled. "General, let me handle the interrogation. She’ll be more receptive if I’m there," she suggested, adding quickly, "After all, I did raise her for a few years."

Revan followed suit, his form calm and collected as he descended through the air. Cosmo took a deep breath, mustering her courage, and jumped last, her body flailing as she fought against her fears.

Peter, having reached the base first, utilized his force telekinetic to gracefully slow his descent, landing deftly on the top of the main structure. The fierce winds whipped around him, but he maintained his stance by continually using his telekinesis to anchor himself to the surface.

Seconds later, Revan landed beside him with equal ease, his ghostly form barely disturbed.

Cosmo, however, struggled more visibly during her fall. Although Peter and Revan were ready to assist her with the Force if necessary, Cosmo ultimately regained control and landed safely, though not as gracefully as her companions.

Catching her breath, Cosmo looked up at Peter, her eyes wide with the rush of adrenaline. "Now what?"

Peter drew his lightsaber from his hip, the black blade humming to life with a loud hiss. "Now, we go inside." He declared, and with a practiced motion, he plunged the saber into the base's exterior, cutting a precise hole for them to enter.

...

Back on the ship, the remaining crew watched anxiously from the monitors in the cockpit as Peter, Revan, and Cosmo slipped through the hole and disappeared into the depths of the floating base, their figures vanishing from sight...

————

Back in Los Angeles, a military cargo plane touched down on a runway just outside the city. At the edge of the runway, Peggy Carter stood waiting, flanked by Agents Nick Fury and Phil Coulson. Her posture was impeccable, her expression expectant.

Moments later, the cargo plane’s doors opened with a heavy mechanical sigh, and a squadron of soldiers quickly disembarked, moving with precision to secure the area. Their movements were efficient, a well-rehearsed drill unfolding before them.

Following the soldiers, General Thaddeus Ross emerged, his presence commanding attention. He was dressed in the impeccable uniform of a high-ranking officer, his blonde hair slicked back and a well-trimmed mustache framing his authoritative expression.

[Insert picture of General Ross here]

Close behind him, an older couple stepped out, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.

The woman, Anne Quill, was clad in a crisp military uniform, her posture straight, her gaze sharp despite the uncertainty that flickered in her eyes.

[Insert picture of Anne Quill here] (A/N: I couldn’t find a name for her, so I gave her the name Anne. You should still be able to find her picture if you search Peter Quill's grandmother.)

Beside her, Jason Quill appeared less composed. He was a bit chubby, his sweater stretched slightly at the seams. His glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, above which a balding patch was visible atop his head.

[Insert picture of Jason Quill here]

As they approached Peggy, the general began to speak, but he was swiftly interrupted by her sharp tongue. "Thaddeus, you're late. I've been waiting nearly a full day," Peggy chided, her voice carrying across the tarmac. “Do the words ‘as soon as possible’ mean nothing to you?”

Anne and Jason's faces registered clear surprise as General Ross began to apologize profusely, his tone unusually deferential. "I'm terribly sorry for the delay, ma'am," he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I had to—“

"Enough, Thaddeus," she cut in sharply, dismissively shoving him aside with her cane to address the couple. "And you must be Anne and Jason Quill, yes?" Peggy asked, her tone softening slightly as she studied their faces.

They nodded, the initial shock of the encounter giving way to a growing need for answers. Jason, gathering his courage, finally voiced the question that had been pressing on them since their abrupt departure. "Excuse me, ma'am, but have we done something wrong?"

His wife, Anne, echoed his sentiment, her voice steady but filled with concern, "Right, what’s this about?"

Peggy took a moment, her gaze sweeping over the couple before settling on their anxious faces. "This is about your missing grandson," she revealed, shocking the two of them in an instant.

“”W-What?!””

A/N: 2247 words :)