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*
It's all gone red—
Red, gushing red, red spilling warmly onto Yelena's wrists peeking from her gloves—red, red and sugary-sticky, like pieces of molten warm candy coating her teeth—red, pouring red, gushing and coating, and it's so red that Yelena trembles at the sight—
"Where is the target?"
Yelena coughs, blinking rapidly, wiping off her face and sucking the glimmering Red Dust into her lungs. Within the red, red, there's dizzyingly clarity. Her head feels shrunken. For once, Yelena thinks she feels her real emotions without barriers.
Oksana wheezes, clutching Yelena's ankle.
The tactical knife drops from Yelena's hand, ricocheting to the stone-road.
"No, no, no," Yelena repeats, sinking to her knees. She touches over Oksana's middle, fearfully gazing over her wounds. It's red. She's red and she's gone. Tears pool in Yelena's eyes, leaking hot. "No, I—I didn't—it wasn't me—it wasn't me, I swear—"
"I know," Oksana says softly, draining pale of her life. "Free the others."
Yelena gazes up, as if pleading to nothing. "Oksana," she breathes, looking into her eyes and swallowing sobs. "I-I'm sorry."
"We need a status report, Yelena."
"Free them."
It's Oksana's last word before she's gone, gone red, her lips bubbling blood. Yelena howls out a muffled noise, pushing her forearm to her mouth, hanging her head. No, no. This can't be happening. Her tracker—she needs her tracker out—
"Converge on team leader."
Yelena snaps into action, unlatching Oksana's package and tucking the contents under her uniform. Within seconds of closing the package-box, Ingrid and Helen hustle together out of the building. The sweltering dry heat of Morocco fills Yelena's nostrils.
"Has the target been eliminated?" Ingrid asks, marching up to her. She glances over Oksana's corpse without expression.
"I told you to stay high," Yelena mutters, turning her face away. "You disobeyed orders. You can return to base."
Helen chooses to glance Yelena up and down instead, furrowing her brow.
"… What are you hiding behind you?"
"For safekeeping."
"Bullshit," Helen declares, activating her Bite.
She fires off an electrical blast, and Yelena ducks it, placing a hand to the top of her head.
Everything ripples invisibly.
Ingrid delivers a spinning high-kick, grunting when Yelena dodges. Yelena's fist slams into Ingrid's jaw. Helen lunges, picking up Yelena's tactical knife, jabbing for any vulnerable area of her. Ingrid twists Yelena's right arm, meaning to dislocate something.
Yelena reaches for her belt with her other arm, uncapping one of the containers and spraying the Red Dust into Helen's face.
Helen chokes, reeling backwards.
A horn honks. Ingrid narrowly misses getting clipped by an expensive-looking vehicle, hurling herself down. Yelena steps on her clavicle, bending over and dosing her with another glass cylindrical container of the red antidote. Red, red, red.
"What is this—Yelena—" Helen yells, appearing devastated. She clutches her temple, the bloodied knife still in her hand.
"Chemical subjugation," Yelena explains, managing to keep her voice clear and calm. She snatches onto Ingrid when the other Widow nearly collapses. Yelena's wrist, twisted to the point of spraining, throbs painfully. "We have been freed of Dreykov."
Moisture gleams in Ingrid's eyes. The innocence Yelena remembers from her, from when they were children, resurfaces.
"We won't ever be free," she mumbles.
Yelena clucks her tongue in disapproval, gripping on tightly. She hugs Ingrid, wrapping both arms around her, feeling her shudder with relief.
Helen moves in, sniffling, embracing both of the other Widows. Her chin digs onto Yelena's shoulder.
"We will," Yelena says lowly, nuzzling her lips affectionately into Ingrid's dark, uncombed hair. "And we will free the others."
*