[POV – Black Widow]
What at first appeared to be the simplest mission turned out to be one of the most difficult. The task Fury assigned me was, on paper, straightforward and required no extraordinary effort. According to his words, everything had to be carried out quickly, cleanly, and efficiently. My objective seemed painfully simple: obtain an accurate description of the chairman of Alritex Entertainment and uncover the details of his past.
These kinds of missions have always been among the least taxing for a professional spy, and at the start, I treated it as such. Yet from the very first meeting, a seed of unease crept into me. At the time, I dismissed it, considering the feeling nothing more than misplaced intuition or groundless tension. But with each passing day, that unease refused to subside.
It grew heavier, transforming from a mere whisper of doubt into a thick knot of disquiet, pressing down on me without pause.
The man himself—enigmatic, complicated, and certainly unlike anyone I had ever observed before—was the source of that tension. His constant allegories, half-veiled remarks, and obsession with philosophy were often delivered without context, seeming spontaneous and unnecessary. And yet, no matter how jarring, each thread of riddled logic contained an underlying grain of reason, something that I could never entirely dismiss as nonsense.
Trying to understand him felt like straying endlessly into a foggy, uncharted forest where light never touched. The uncanny part was my growing belief that he himself was the one who had intentionally led me into that forest, watching silently as I wandered deeper with every encounter. An unusual feeling indeed—for me, unprecedented. I had never felt anything remotely similar before.
Up until then, I had believed firmly that no one could be more frustrating than Tony Stark. It was almost a rule written in stone. But my convictions have since begun to crumble, and for that, there is only one man to blame—Alex Reath. He is not ordinary, far from it. Extraordinary? Perhaps. Brilliant? In his own eccentric way, yes. Mad? That was my first instinct. But now… now, I am not so sure. The more I recall his words, the less I believe his eccentricity comes from madness.
This morning, our conversation left me shaken. Now, as I stand in the shadow of the scene before me, I cannot help but recognize the clarity in his cryptic pattern. We knew the League of Shadows would eventually come for Reath. Ra's al Ghul himself had taken an interest in him, observing his movements with unusual scrutiny. But none of us expected the League to strike this soon. And the most striking element of this entire conflict? Alex Reath's composure. How calmly, how recklessly fearless he was when the assassins arrived.
Or maybe not reckless—because recklessness implies blindness. What if this was not stupidity but confidence carefully earned? With every step, every feint, and every countermove, I see nothing resembling panic. His face betrays no fear, not even hesitation. Watching him, I can't dispel the thought that he already understands the game better than any of us. His courage isn't born of ignorance—it stems from foresight.
"Widow," Fury's heavy, disciplined voice echoes in my ear. "What's the urgency?"
"The League of Shadows has attacked Alex Reath," I respond, keeping my tone firm while adjusting my earpiece.
"So soon?…" A deliberate pause, then a sharpened edge to his words. "Then they're serious. They're preparing for something global."
He wants details, so I supply them "I have confirmation, Director. Our subject is not what we assumed. He is a mutant, one with the unique ability to command a spatial pocket dimension."
The pause on Fury's end carries weight. Even his control can't completely hide his surprise. "A mutant? With storage powers… Are you absolutely certain?"
My eyes stay locked on Reath's fluid but imperfect duel against the League. "I've seen no trace of sorcery. There's no magic in his aura, nothing mystical. I am convinced this is a mutant ability. Besides, his use of it confirms precision and control."
"Other observations?" Fury presses, always hungry for leverage.
"Physically, his conditioning is impressive—close to the raw strength and endurance expected of an Olympic-level athlete. He handles himself in combat, though his technique lacks refinement. No formal training that I can trace, though experience is evident. He is adaptable, innovative. With the right discipline, he could be molded into an exceptional operative."
"And the battlefield now?" Fury's voice didn't falter—it rarely does—but I caught the faintest uptick of urgency.
"The League has reinforcements," I report, narrowing my eyes as Alex clashes with a black-haired girl. Despite her youth, her speed and precision make her dangerously lethal. "Our side is strained. Their lines are slipping."
"Listen carefully, Agent Romanoff." Fury's words carry that final, unarguable cadence. "Under no circumstances can the League capture Reath. His dimensional storage must not fall into their hands. If Ra's obtains that ability, the consequences could ripple across the entire global balance of power. If you must reveal your cover, so be it. But stop their extraction at all costs."
My gaze flicks back to Reath, and instinct—spy instinct, the one I've built my life on—screams at odds with the order.
"Sir, it isn't that simple," I answer. My voice is even, but inside, tension coils dangerously. Alex and his bodyguard are surrounded, the assassins closing in like a noose. "There's something I haven't reported yet... Something from this morning."
Fury cuts taut. "What about this morning?"
"When we spoke at dawn, he approached me… directly. He told me something strange—no, deliberate. As though he anticipated this exact attack. He said… if I were to witness his capture, the most effective move would be not to interfere."
Then silence. Heavy, unnatural silence. Until Fury explodes back through the comm: "Wait—you're telling me he may know who you are? That he knows your real identity?"
I bite my lip. "I can't confirm that. He's elusive, his behavior unpredictable. Sometimes he appears irrational, like he's rambling through nonsense. But then, later, every fragment falls into place. He might have known me from the beginning… I can't rule it out."
"Impossible!" Fury snaps. "He couldn't have breached your cover. Not without Stark running his mouth—"
I cut him off gently, still watching the battlefield unfold. "Whether he knows doesn't matter. What matters is the decision I make now. What are my orders, Director?"
He takes a beat, his voice iron when it returns. "Intervene if necessary. But hear me clearly, Romanoff: under no conditions can Reath be taken."
Not the order I wanted. Not even close.
Because Alex's words won't leave me. That quiet, maddening voice replaying over and over: "My actions may look illogical, meaningless even... But when the time comes, you'll understand. And I hope you'll honor my request."
Why do I doubt myself? I should follow my orders. S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol is clear. Yet Alex's warning clings to me with unnerving consistency. Another chain of loyalty, another master—because, technically, he is also my superior. Doesn't that mean his words hold weight too? Some twisted logic in me wants to agree.
My lips curl slightly, the faint echo of a smirk. Double agent. Always the double agent. That nickname never leaves me—and it never will.
"Widow," Fury asks sharply, "are my orders clear?"
"Yes, sir," I answered. Smooth. Convincing.
The line goes dead. Fury is satisfied—for now.
On the field, the battle nears its inevitable conclusion. The bodyguard has slipped from sight, her fate unknown. Against two League masters, Alex's chances collapse to zero. I stand, helpless observer, as the young assassin swings her katana. The strike lands—clean, precise—against the back of his head.
He falls. Predictably.
Alex Reath, enigmatic, infuriating Alex… I don't know what game you're playing, but you better survive it. For both our sakes.
Damn. I still have to report this to Fury. And every spy knows—the most dangerous mission of all is deciding which version of the truth to tell.
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"Spiderman: An idiot's dream"
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