Assassin's League
Inside Smith Doyle's office, Natasha Romanoff—currently going by her alias Natalie Rushman—knocked on the door and stepped inside.
"You called for me, boss?"
This was Natasha's first time in Smith's office. In fact, she'd never even set foot inside the Assassin's League headquarters before. Although she'd served as Fox's secretary and witnessed Smith's power firsthand, she had never actually been part of the League.
Smith looked up at her and said calmly, "Sit."
Once she was seated, he continued:
"Now tell me—should I call you Natalie Rushman? Or Natasha Romanoff? Or perhaps… the Black Widow?"
The moment her real identity was exposed, Natasha's eyes widened ever so slightly. Last night, Coulson had already sent her a warning, alerting her that the League had become aware of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s activities and that her cover could be compromised.
Still, she hadn't expected it to happen so soon.
Despite her shock, Natasha didn't panic or attempt anything foolish. She knew the gap between her and Smith Doyle was massive—fleeing wasn't an option. Her only hope was that he had brought her here for something other than execution.
With a faint smile, she responded:
"The Assassin's League's intelligence network is clearly top-tier. I'm impressed you uncovered my identity so quickly."
"Looks like I'm out of a job. So, what can I do for you, Mr. Doyle?"
Smith watched her cool demeanor with interest.
"Natasha Romanoff. Former agent of the Soviet Red Room. Codename: Black Widow."
"Born in Stalingrad. Your real name is Natasha Romanoff. Before joining S.H.I.E.L.D., you served the Red Room. At the age of 11, you, Yelena, Melina, and Alexei were sent to Ohio as a sleeper cell. You posed as a family for three years before fleeing to Cuba after completing your mission. Then you underwent full Red Room training and officially graduated as a Black Widow, beginning your career as an operative."
By now, Natasha's calm had visibly cracked. She'd thought Smith only knew about her ties to S.H.I.E.L.D. She hadn't expected him to have such an exhaustive account of her past.
Smith paid no mind to her reaction and went on:
"In 2000, while on a mission in Budapest, you encountered your toughest opponent to date—S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Clint Barton."
"He was ordered to eliminate you. But after witnessing your skills, he made another choice—he offered you a place in S.H.I.E.L.D."
He paused.
Natasha let out a slow breath and said, "Impressive. Honestly."
"I can't believe you've acquired intelligence even S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps classified. At this point, I'd believe you have spies in our ranks."
"You're right—everything you've said is true."
"But I assume you didn't bring me here just to recite my biography?"
Smith smiled faintly.
"No rush. That was all just what you already know."
"What we're about to discuss… is what you don't."
Natasha's expression turned serious.
She was genuinely curious now—what was it that even she didn't know?
"S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted your absolute loyalty. So, they staged a little play for you."
"A performance called: 'Kill Dreykov. Destroy the Red Room.'"
"And the lead actors… were you and Barton."
The moment she heard this, Natasha zeroed in on the key phrase:
"A play?"
Smith nodded.
"Do you truly believe the Red Room was destroyed?"
"That Dreykov is dead?"
"That the little girl—his daughter, the one you feel guilty for—actually died in that explosion?"
Natasha's voice rose in disbelief:
"Impossible! I saw the explosion. It leveled the entire office building!"
"With that kind of blast, Dreykov and his daughter couldn't have survived!"
Smith let out a scoff.
"Did you see their bodies?"
"I heard that girl—Dreykov's daughter—still haunts your dreams."
Natasha's eyes widened, her voice now trembling:
"You really do have a spy in S.H.I.E.L.D.!"
That mission had been classified at the highest level. Aside from the psychological profiling division, even Barton had only heard fragments. Smith's knowledge went far beyond anything that should've been accessible.
Either he had an informant inside… or he had powers beyond logic.
Still, there were no records in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database of anyone with memory-reading or vision-based abilities like that. And Natasha didn't believe such a power truly existed.
Smith neither confirmed nor denied her accusation. After all, even if they hadn't had a mole before… that could always change soon.
Natasha pressed further:
"Then show me proof. If Dreykov and the Red Room survived, where are they?"
"After that mission, Red Room activity dropped off the map. Their operatives vanished completely."
"And why say that mission was a play just to win my loyalty?"
Though her tone remained firm, there was an undercurrent of pain. The Red Room was a traumatic part of her life—S.H.I.E.L.D., despite its flaws, had given her a second chance.
But she knew the truth: she wasn't one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s golden children.
She hadn't graduated from the Academy. She wasn't part of the core.
No matter how loyal she thought she was, the higher-ups would always see her as a former enemy—a repurposed tool.
All she could do was earn their trust with mission after mission, risking her life over and over.
Compared to the brutality of the Red Room, S.H.I.E.L.D. merely looked cleaner.
Smith finally answered:
"You'll have your truth. And the proof you asked for."
"After all, someone like you won't be swayed by empty words."
He reached into a drawer and pulled out two photographs. He laid one of them in front of her.
Natasha picked it up.
The background showed a prison, bleak and fortified.
The man in the photo—bloated and disheveled—was instantly recognizable.
It was Alexei.
The man who once played her father in that makeshift family in Ohio.
That fake family had been one of the few flickers of light in her otherwise dark past.
—End of chapter—
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