The Storm Chaser hovered silently over Eastern Europe, cloaked from detection by any radar or satellite, a ghost in the sky. The ship was in full preparation mode, with the newly recruited crew—four veterans alongside Frank Castle—gearing up for the next phase of Max's plan: the extraction of the Widows from the infamous Red Room. They had spent the last few days familiarizing themselves with the ship's systems, and now, the team was ready for their first mission.
In the central briefing room, Max stood in front of a large holographic display that projected a 3D image of the Red Room complex. Frank and the four veterans, their new limbs functioning perfectly, watched the display with intense focus.
Max gestured toward the hologram. "This is where they train the Widows," he said, his voice even but filled with a sense of urgency. "Most of the personnel in this complex are either trainees or staff loyal to Dreykov. We'll be beaming everyone out—Widows, staff, anyone on site. Your job is to assess them, identify who needs medical attention, and offer them a choice: freedom or a new purpose working for me."
Frank, seated at the far end of the room, gave a curt nod. He had been skeptical at first, but after seeing Max's capabilities firsthand—especially the advanced medical technology that had restored the four veterans—he was on board. He wasn't doing this for Max, though. This was for his family, for the chance to take control of his life and protect the people he loved.
Max continued. "When we beam them aboard, they'll be placed in separate cells in the brig. I've made sure no one will be able to harm themselves or each other. Your job is to get in there, make sure they're safe, and start talking to them. No force, no intimidation. I want them to know they have a real choice here."
One of the veterans, a former Marine named Mason who had lost his leg in an IED explosion, raised his hand. "How do we handle the ones who don't want to talk? Or the ones who are still loyal to Dreykov?"
Max smiled slightly. "If they're loyal, they'll be freed, just as I promised. But if they want to leave, we'll give them what they need to start fresh. If anyone becomes violent or tries anything, the brig's containment fields will neutralize the threat. You won't need to use force unless it's absolutely necessary."
Frank leaned forward in his chair. "What about Dreykov? Is he in the complex?"
Max shook his head. "No. He's not on-site. But his organization is vast, and the Widows are just a fraction of what he controls. This mission is about recruitment, not elimination. We're offering them a way out."
Frank exhaled through his nose, processing the plan. "And what if they want nothing to do with us?"
"Then they go free," Max said firmly. "No strings attached."
The room was silent for a moment as the men absorbed the gravity of what was about to happen. Max gave a final nod. "Get ready. We begin in one hour."
In the dimly lit brig, rows of containment cells lined the walls. The cells were spacious enough to allow for some movement but designed to prevent any chance of escape. Each cell was fitted with a monitoring system that tracked the health and vitals of the occupants, allowing the crew to immediately identify if anyone needed medical attention.
The teleportation process had gone smoothly. One moment, the Red Room's occupants had been going about their daily routines, and in the next instant, they found themselves in sterile cells, utterly confused and disoriented. The brig was now filled with 142 Widows, ranging in age from as young as eight to young adults in their early twenties. There were also 43 Red Room staff members, though their presence was secondary. The focus was on the Widows.
Frank and the veterans were dressed in tactical gear, their faces covered with masks to maintain anonymity. Each man carried a tablet that displayed information on the health and condition of the prisoners in the cells, allowing them to quickly assess who needed immediate attention.
The veterans, still adjusting to their new limbs, moved methodically through the brig, checking each cell. They kept their tone neutral, their demeanor professional but non-threatening. Small talk was encouraged to put the Widows at ease, but the veterans knew better than to push too hard. These women had been trained to be deadly, and while they were disoriented, they were far from defenseless.
Mason stopped in front of a cell holding a teenage Widow, maybe fifteen years old, her dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She sat in the corner of the cell, knees drawn to her chest, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she watched him approach.
"How are you feeling?" Mason asked, his voice calm. He checked the readout on his tablet. No injuries, but elevated heart rate and signs of stress.
The girl didn't respond, her eyes tracking his every movement.
"We're not here to hurt you," Mason continued. "We're just checking to make sure you're okay."
Still nothing. Mason sighed internally, deciding to try a different approach. "What's your name?"
The girl's eyes flickered with uncertainty. "Why does it matter?"
Mason shrugged. "Just thought it might make things easier if I knew what to call you."
There was a long pause before she finally muttered, "Nadia."
Mason nodded, relieved to have gotten something out of her. "Nice to meet you, Nadia. Look, I know this is all really confusing, but you're safe here. No one's going to hurt you. You've got a choice—stay here, free to go whenever you want, or... maybe you join up with us. You'd be working for someone who doesn't force you to kill."
Nadia's gaze hardened again. "Why would I trust you?"
"Don't," Mason said simply. "But trust yourself. You know the Red Room better than anyone. Do you really want to go back there?"
Nadia didn't respond, but the question lingered in the air. Mason made a note on his tablet and moved on to the next cell.
In another part of the brig, Frank Castle stood in front of a cell containing Yelena Belova, the Widow Max had mentioned by name before the mission began. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her posture relaxed but her eyes cold and calculating. Even at a glance, Frank could tell she was dangerous—her confidence exuded from every pore.
He tapped the screen of his tablet. No major injuries, though her heart rate suggested heightened alertness.
"You don't look too surprised," Frank said, his voice muffled slightly by the mask.
Yelena smirked. "I've been in worse situations. This is just another Tuesday."
Frank grunted, appreciating her sense of humor despite the circumstances. He wasn't here to intimidate or play mind games. He respected strength, and Yelena had plenty of it.
"You've got a choice," Frank said, cutting straight to the point. "You can walk out of here, no strings attached. Or you can work for us. New team, new mission. You'd be working for someone who's not Dreykov, and you wouldn't have to look over your shoulder every day."
Yelena raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "And who exactly am I supposed to be working for?"
Frank considered his words carefully. "Someone who's tired of the same bullshit you are. Someone who's offering you a real way out."
Yelena's eyes narrowed. "And what's in it for you?"
"Me?" Frank paused, letting the question settle. "I'm doing this for my family. The man you'd be working for—he's giving me a chance to protect them. To make sure they never have to go through what you've been through."
Yelena tilted her head, studying him. "You don't strike me as the type to play hero."
"I'm not," Frank said bluntly. "But I know a good deal when I see one. You're tough, Belova. You've survived more than most people could. All we're offering is a way to put those skills to use for something that isn't Dreykov's twisted game."
Yelena leaned back, her arms crossed. "What makes you think I'm not loyal to him?"
Frank's voice was low, steady. "Because you're too smart for that."
There was a flicker of something in Yelena's eyes—amusement, perhaps, or maybe respect. She didn't answer right away, letting the silence stretch between them.
Finally, she stood up and approached the front of the cell, her gaze locking onto Frank's masked face. "If I say yes, I want guarantees. I want proof that I won't just be another weapon in someone else's arsenal."
Frank nodded. "You'll get your proof. But I can tell you this much: The guy in charge—he's not like Dreykov. He doesn't need to manipulate people to get what he wants."
Yelena seemed to consider this for a moment before stepping back. "I'll think about it."
Frank made a note on his tablet. "Take your time. You know where to find me."
As Frank moved on to the next cell, Yelena sat back down, her mind already working through the possibilities.