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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.
Yelena, witnessing the violent act against her sister, screamed out in terror and anguish. "Natasha!" Her voice was a piercing, desperate cry, filled with the raw fear of a child witnessing a nightmare unfold around her. She tried to move, to go to her sister, but the cold, unforgiving steel of the bolt cutters kept her in place.
Dreykov and Melina, momentarily distracted by the new chaos, turned their heads toward the source of the commotion.
What they saw was Natasha, semi-conscious, slumped against her chair, her head lolling to one side, her face smeared with blood. Her eyes were half-lidded, the fight seemingly draining from her as she struggled to maintain consciousness.
"Natasha?!" Melina's eyes widened at the sight, her grip on her weapon tightened. "Are you okay? Can you hear me? Natasha?!" She called out, but there was no reply.
Dreykov, with a cold, calculating gaze, pressed Melina, a confident smirk on his face. "Drop your weapon, Melina, or I promise you, your daughters will not leave this room alive," he snarled menacingly, his voice echoing ominously off the cold metal walls.
He began a slow, deliberate countdown, each number a hammer blow to Melina's resolve. "Four… three... two..." his eyes locked on Melina, daring her to defy him.
Melina, her face a mask of anguish and desperation, knew the stakes were too high to gamble with. As Dreykov reached "one," her arms, though trembling with a mix of rage and fear, slowly lowered.
The clatter of her gun hitting the floor sounded unusually loud in the tense silence. and upon his order, she kicked it toward Dreykov, her eyes never leaving his, a silent plea etched in her gaze.
With a satisfied smirk, Dreykov tossed aside the bolt cutters, releasing Yelena from the immediate threat to her life. He stooped, picked up Melina's gun with deliberate slowness, and turned it on her, relishing the reversal of power. "Now, let's discuss terms," he said, his voice dripping with venomous triumph.
Melina's voice broke as she implored him, her words rushed and heavy with emotion. "Please, let them go. You can punish me, torture me, kill me if you want, but please, if you ever considered Alexei and me as friends, just let my daughters go." Her eyes were desperate, searching for any sign of humanity within the man she once called an ally.
Dreykov's response was a harsh, barking laugh. "Friends? Melina, you and Alexei were never my friends. You were convenient tools, nothing more." Without warning, he aimed and fired a bullet into Yelena's leg. Her scream of pain was sharp and raw, cutting through Melina's heart like a knife.
Almost immediately, he swung the gun towards Natasha and fired again. The bullet struck her leg, eliciting another agonized scream. Natasha, who had been fading from consciousness, was jolted awake by the searing pain, her eyes wide with shock and confusion.
The sight of her daughters in agony was too much for Melina. With a guttural cry of rage and despair, she lunged forward, intent on stopping Dreykov, no matter the cost. But Dreykov was prepared; he casually turned the gun on Melina next and shot her in the leg too.
His laughter filled the air as she collapsed to the ground, clutching her wounded limb, her eyes blazing with fury and pain as she glared up at him. "…"
Dreykov, now fully in control, loomed over her, his expression one of disdain. "You were never anything but pawns, Melina. And unlike Alexei, who still holds some value alive, you—I can easily dispose of." He paused, his grin malicious as he delivered his next blow. "You know, since you're going to die, I might as well tell you…"
"Tell me what?" Melina asked, hoping to buy time to come up with a plan.
Dreykov cleared his throat, smiling as if he were reminiscing. "You don't know this, but actually, you aren't the first one to turn on me. After your little family mission all those years ago, Alexei came to me on his hands and knees. He begged me for his family back, for a chance at a happy life. But of course, I couldn't allow that, now could I?"
Instantly, shock rippled through Melina, Natasha, and Yelena. Melina had harbored the belief that Alexei had abandoned them, lost to his vices, off drinking in some vacation destination. The truth—that he had actually fought for them—was a revelation that left her reeling.
Yelena, the pain of her injuries momentarily forgotten, whispered a single word, laden with years of lost hope and affection. "Papa..."
Dreykov, ever the sadist, seized the moment to twist the knife deeper. He stepped towards Yelena, using the hot barrel of his gun to lift her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Your papa is in a high-security prison because he wouldn't follow orders," he sneered. "But don't worry about him now. You should be more concerned with your own survival."
The gun barrel burned against Yelena's tender skin, causing her to cry out. Dreykov scoffed at her pain and stepped back, signaling to his men. "Execute them all," he ordered coldly.
The soldiers raised their weapons, taking aim at Melina, Natasha, and Yelena indiscriminately. The room was heavy with the weight of imminent death.
Dreykov, moving to a safe distance, taunted Melina one last time. "You should have remained a loyal pawn, Melina. Now, I have no use for you or your children."
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 :)
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