C92 The Hero Arrives

C92 The Hero Arrives

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The dimly lit interrogation room, heavy with tension and the metallic scent of blood, suddenly felt smaller as Melina leveled her gun at General Dreykov. Her hands were steady, her eyes blazing with a maternal fury that had been long suppressed by the rigid brainwashing of the Red Room.

Dreykov, his face a mask of amused disbelief, raised an eyebrow, his posture relaxed as if he were merely a spectator at an unconvincing performance. "Really, Melina?" he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. "Do you actually think you have the nerve to shoot me?"

On the other side of the room, Natasha remained frozen, her eyes wide as she stared at her mother. The woman she had seen as nothing more than a devoted servant to their cruel masters was now pointing a gun at the highest-ranking of them all.

Confusion and hope warred within her, making her heart pound against her ribcage. 'Is this real?' she wondered, her mind racing.

Yelena’s pained cries sliced through the thick air, pulling Melina’s focus momentarily. “Mama, please...” she sobbed, her voice choked with fear and tears. The young girl’s eyes were wide and desperate, seeking salvation from her mother.

The soldiers, seizing the moment of Melina's distraction, simultaneously raised their weapons, aiming them squarely at her, the clicks of their guns cocking echoed ominously.

Melina, her instincts honed by years of training, reacted swiftly. With a sharp pivot, she turned to face the soldiers, her weapon now moving along the room at large. Her movements were precise, a deadly dance she had performed countless times before.

In that split second of chaos, Dreykov seized his chance. With a swift movement, he took the bolt cutters and pressed the open blades against Yelena’s slender neck, pinning her to the seat. "Don't move, Melina," he hissed, his voice a lethal whisper as Yelena screamed again, the sound piercing and desperate.

Melina's head snapped towards her daughter in an instant, her eyes meeting Yelena's terrified gaze. The sight of the cold, sharp metal so close to Yelena's skin ignited a fierce protectiveness that overrode all other instincts. "Let her go, Dreykov," Melina growled, her voice steady, threatening even. "Now!”

Dreykov smiled coldly, the threat clear in his eyes as he lightly tapped the bolt cutters against Yelena's neck. "Make one wrong move, and this gets much worse for her," he warned, his gaze locked on Melina's. "Put down the gun, Melina. You know you can't win this."

The room was tense, every breath held, every muscle coiled in readiness. Melina's gaze flickered from Dreykov to her daughters and back again, weighing her dreadful options. Yelena's soft sobs filled the room, a heartbreaking soundtrack to the standoff.

Finally, Melina's arm trembled slightly, the weight of her decision manifesting. Her fingers tightened around the grip of her gun, her resolve hardening. "I'm not asking again...” she stated, her voice fierce and determined.

"Mama, please... save me," Yelena whimpered, her eyes brimming with tears. Melina's heart clenched at her daughter's plea, her resolve only growing.

Natasha, unable to bear the sight of her younger sister trembling under the threat of Dreykov's cruel blade, began to thrash against her restraints with wild desperation.

The sharp edges of the metal straps dug viciously into her wrists and ankles, drawing even more blood. She ignored the pain, focusing solely on her frantic need to reach Yelena, to protect her at any cost.

Her violent movements, however, did not go unnoticed. The sound of chains rattling and her grunts of exertion quickly drew the attention of the soldiers stationed around the room. With swift, heavy steps, a couple of them approached her.

One soldier, larger than the others, stepped forward and seized Natasha by her hair, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against her temple. "Stop moving, or you get a bullet to the head!" he barked, his voice a harsh whisper in the tense silence.

But Natasha was beyond heeding his threats. Her sister's safety was all that mattered, her own well-being a distant second. The soldier's patience snapped, and with a swift, cruel motion, he struck Natasha across the head with the butt of his gun.

The impact was brutal. A sharp cry of pain escaped Natasha as the metal collided with her skin, opening a gash on her forehead. Blood trickled down her face, mingling with sweat and tears.

As he gave the nod for the soldiers to fire, the room erupted in gunfire. But just as the situation seemed to reach its tragic conclusion, the unexpected occurred. The thick metal door to the hallway exploded inward, propelled by an unseen force. It slammed into two of the soldiers, knocking them aside like rag dolls.

In that same instant, every bullet that had been fired toward Melina, Natasha, and Yelena froze mid-air, suspended as if caught by an invisible hand. The room fell silent, the only sound the stunned gasps of those present.

Then, footsteps echoed through the opened door, and a figure stepped into view. Natasha, recognizing the silhouette, her voice weak but filled with disbelief and hope, exclaimed, "Peter!"

Peter Quill stood in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the sight of Natasha and her family in their battered and bloody states. The sight fueled a visible change in him; his normally warm eyes flickered a dangerous shade of yellow as he glanced at the soldiers and their general.

Taking a moment, Peter turned to Natasha, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. "Is this what you meant when you said you could handle it yourself?" His voice carried a tiny bit of irony.

Natasha, visibly shaken and struggling for words, stuttered without forming a coherent reply. “I... I...” She knew she had made a mistake by refusing his help. The consequences of her decision lay bare before her: her precious sister injured and traumatized.

Peter's smirk held a hint of reproach as he prodded further, "What? Nothing to say?"

"I'm sorry," Natasha managed to mutter meekly, her voice thick with regret.

Peter nodded, his features softening. "It's fine. I'll take it from here. You can relax now," he reassured her, turning his attention back to the immediate threat.

Dreykov, unwilling to be ignored any longer and realizing the precariousness of his position, began to bark orders at his men. "Fire! Fire at him!" he shouted, desperation edging into his voice as he commanded them to unload their weapons on Peter.

As the soldiers obeyed, a barrage of bullets flew toward Peter, only to stop midair once again, hovering harmlessly as if held by an invisible force.

Ignoring the futile gunfire, Peter turned to Yelena, who was watching the scene unfold with wide, fearful eyes. He offered her a gentle, reassuring smile. "I’ll take care of the bad guys, but I need you to close your eyes, okay?"

Yelena hesitated, the trauma and chaos of the moment overwhelming her young mind. Natasha quickly intervened, her voice firm yet protective. "Shut your eyes, Yelena, and keep them shut until I say it's okay." Reluctantly, Yelena complied, squeezing her eyes shut.

With Yelena's eyes closed, Dreykov, panic rising, demanded answers from Peter. "Who are you? Where did you come from?" His voice was thick with confusion and fear.

Peter looked at Dreykov as one might regard a particularly unpleasant bug before making a simple gesture with his hand. The motion was subtle, but the effect was immediate and devastating. Dreykov's leg buckled under a sudden, invisible force, crushing it and sending him tumbling to the ground in agony.

"Wait patiently," Peter instructed calmly, his voice cold as he surveyed the room. "I have other bugs to deal with first."

Melina, observing the scene, felt a surge of shock and realization. She had met Peter briefly but had no idea of the extent of his abilities.

Seeing him now, controlling the situation with such power, she exchanged a glance with Natasha, who no longer displayed any signs of worry. She realized then and there that Natasha might have been truthful about Peter and his ship in her earlier confession.

On the floor, Dreykov, gritting his teeth against the pain, attempted to rally his soldiers. "Kill him! Kill him now!" But his commands were futile; the soldiers, having expended their ammunition on the first two fruitless barrages, scrambled to reload.

Peter, uninterested in giving them a chance, declared, "I think that's enough." With a flick of his wrist, he sent the suspended bullets hurtling back towards the soldiers. Their surprised screams were cut short as the bullets tore through them, ending their lives in a gruesome display of precision and power.

With all immediate threats neutralized, Peter turned his attention back to Dreykov, who was now alone, writhing in pain and fear. Peter's eyes, glowing a threatening shade of yellow, fixed on the fallen general. "Now, what to do with you?”

A/N: 2436 words :)