VI. Emris

I wake up to the cold press of steel against my back and the faint hum of electricity in the walls. My head is pounding, and for a second, I let my eyes stay shut, piecing together what happened. The mission. The fight. The moment I blacked out.

And then it hits me.

I'm not the Serpent anymore.

I blink my eyes open, the dim fluorescent light making me squint. The room is sterile—gray walls, reinforced door, a single cot bolted to the floor. There's a camera in the corner, its red light blinking. Watching me. Of course.

I push myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the cot, rolling my shoulders as if shaking off the last remnants of Dragunov's control. But I remember everything. Every move, every kill. Every second of the fight. I tilt my head, exhaling through my nose. They got lucky.

A static crackle fills the silence. Then a voice, smooth but edged with frustration. "You awake, Sleeping Beauty?"

Stark.

I roll my eyes and look directly at the camera, stretching my arms over my head. "What gave it away? The sitting up or the general air of being conscious?"

"Cute," he replies. "You know, usually when people try to kill us, they have the decency to stay unconscious a little longer. Gives us time to process our near-death experiences."

"Sounds traumatic. Do you want me to pretend to be sorry?" I smirk. "Because I'm fresh out of guilt."

A sigh, then another voice comes in—this one calmer, but no less firm. Rogers. "We know who you are, Emris. And we know what you've done."

"Congratulations," I say dryly, slow clapping. "You put the pieces together. Next, you'll be telling me water is wet."

A pause. "We need to know about the Black Lotus," Natasha speaks now, her voice razor-sharp. "Who's running it, where they are, how many operatives are in play."

I tilt my head, considering. "That's an interesting request, Romanoff. But see, there's a tiny problem with that."

"And what's that?" she asks, unimpressed.

I grin. "I don't feel like telling you."

The silence is delicious. I can practically hear Tony pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You don't get it, do you?" Steve's voice cuts through, more insistent this time. "You're not under their control anymore. You don't have to protect them."

I raise an eyebrow. "You think this is about protection? That's adorable, really. But no. If I wanted to talk, I would. I just enjoy watching you all squirm."

Tony lets out a short laugh. "Oh yeah, she's a real charmer."

"Fine," Natasha says, her voice turning colder. "Then let's talk about what you did. You nearly killed me. You nearly killed all of us."

I meet the camera's gaze, unfazed. "You say 'nearly' like I wasn't winning that fight."

A beat of silence. Then Tony mutters, "I hate that she's not wrong."

Steve's patience is running thin. "This isn't a joke. You were a weapon for them, and if we hadn't stopped you—"

"You'd be dead," I finish for him. "Let's not sugarcoat it, Rogers. I had you all on the ropes. And you know what? That was the most fun I've had in years."

Natasha exhales sharply. "You're impossible."

I smile sweetly. "And yet, here I am, still alive. Which means you want something from me. The question is—what are you willing to do to get it?"

Another pause, longer this time. Then, the static clicks off. They're done for now. But they'll be back.

I lean back against the wall, folding my arms behind my head. Let them try. They can keep me in this cage, but they won't get a damn thing out of me.

This game is just getting started.

Time passes. Minutes, maybe hours. Hard to tell when the only thing to look at is gray walls and a camera that never blinks. I test my limbs, flex my fingers. No restraints. Either they trust their cell, or they think I'm not going anywhere.

Idiots.

The speaker crackles again. "Still comfy in there?" Tony's voice is back, dripping with forced casualness.

"Oh, absolutely," I say, stretching out on the cot like I'm in a five-star hotel. "The ambiance is delightful, and the hospitality? Top-tier. But I must say, the room service is a bit lacking."

"Yeah? What's on the menu for murderers these days?" Natasha bites back.

I snort. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe some appreciation for keeping things interesting? It's been a while since you all had a real challenge. Besides, you're one to talk, Widow."

Steve's voice cuts through, all business. "Why don't you tell us about Dragunov? We know he's your handler. We know he activated you. What else should we know?"

I let out a low whistle. "Wow, you've really done your homework. Gold star. But see, here's the thing—if you're asking me for information, that means you don't have it. And if you don't have it, that means you need me. And I just love being needed."

"This isn't a game," Natasha snaps.

"Of course it is," I say smoothly. "You just don't like that I'm winning."

A frustrated sigh, probably Steve's. Then, his voice again. "You know, I've met a lot of people like you. People who think they're untouchable. That they can talk their way out of anything."

I arch a brow. "Let me guess—this is the part where you tell me it never ends well for them?"

Silence.

I chuckle. "Good effort, Cap. But if you think some philosophical guilt trip is gonna work, you're sorely mistaken."

Another pause. Then, the static clicks off again.

I exhale, tapping my fingers against my knee.

I sit there for a few moments, then suddenly the door clicks. Not the intercom this time—the actual door. My interest piques as it swings open, revealing Steve, Tony, and Natasha stepping inside. None of them make eye contact. Interesting. They know about my abilities.

"Wow," I say, tilting my head. "I must be special if I get all three of you visiting at once. What's next? A catered lunch? Maybe a spa day?"

No one laughs.

"We're done playing games," Steve says, his voice hard. "You're going to tell us what we want to know."

I scoff. "Yeah? And what are you going to do if I don't? Glare at me harder? That's real intimidating, Captain."

Natasha crosses her arms, her body tense. "You think this is funny? You think we don't have ways of getting answers?"

I smirk. "Oh, I'm sure you do. The infamous Black Widow, master interrogator. Should I be shaking in my boots?"

Tony steps forward slightly, still keeping his eyes averted. "We don't need to play twenty questions. We just need confirmation. Dragunov was controlling you, but you still remember everything. That means you know where their base is. Give us the location."

I chuckle. "Give you the location? Why would I do that? So you can go storming in and get yourselves killed? Trust me, Stark, you wouldn't last five minutes."

Steve clenches his jaw. "You don't get to make that call."

"Oh, but I do," I reply, leaning back against the wall. "Because like it or not, I'm the only one in this room who actually knows how they operate. And I'm not exactly feeling cooperative today."

Silence stretches between us, thick with tension. Natasha takes a slow breath. "You can't run forever. You think you're untouchable, but you're just another weapon that needs to be contained."

"Contained?" I laugh. "Honey, if you think this cell is going to hold me forever, you're in for a rude awakening."

Tony exhales sharply. "She's worse than Loki."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I say, grinning. "Now, are we done here, or do you want me to start charging for entertainment?"

Steve looks like he's about to say something, but he stops himself. Instead, he turns on his heel and walks out. Natasha follows, but not before casting one last unreadable glance in my direction. Tony lingers for a second longer, rubbing his temples.

"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

I grin. "Oh, I know. It's part of my charm."

He mutters something under his breath before walking out, the door slamming shut behind them.

As soon as the door slams shut, I exhale slowly, letting my head fall back against the cold steel wall. The momentary rush of amusement fades, replaced by the gnawing awareness of my situation. I need to get out of here. The Avengers might be trying to play the good guys, but their patience won't last forever.

I scan the room again, this time with more focus. No vents large enough to crawl through. No loose bolts on the cot, no panels in the walls. The camera blinks steadily in the corner, its presence both an annoyance and a challenge. The reinforced door doesn't have a handle on my side, only a small keypad. Even if I could reach it, I'd need the code.

Frustration bubbles up, but I shove it down. Getting angry won't do me any good. I need to think.

Then, as if on cue, an opportunity presents itself.

The door opposite my cell hisses open, and a young agent steps inside, her boots clicking against the floor. She's not one of the big names—no Natasha, no Steve, no Stark. Just an operative, probably low-level, given how she's alone.

She hesitates, glancing at her tablet before looking up at me. Her eyes widen slightly, like she wasn't expecting me to be watching so intently.

I smile, slow and deliberate. "Lost, sweetheart?"

The agent swallows, straightening her back. "I—no. I was just checking—" She stops herself and clears her throat. "Never mind."

She turns slightly, giving me a brief glimpse at her sidearm. Standard issue. Easy to grab if she gets close enough. But I won't need to get physical. Not when I have something much more effective.

I lean forward, keeping my gaze locked onto hers. "What's your name?"

She hesitates again, clearly debating whether to answer. When she turns to face me, that's all the opening I need. My power slips through the cracks of her uncertainty, a whisper threading through her thoughts before she can realize what's happening.

"Anna," she murmurs before she can stop herself. Her brow furrows, as if confused about why she answered at all.

I smile wider. "Anna. That's a nice name. You seem smart, Anna. Smarter than these other idiots keeping me locked up."

She shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the camera, but I see the subtle slackening of her posture. She doesn't even realize it yet, but I already have my hooks in her.

"Why are you even here?" I continue, my voice soft, persuasive. "You don't need to waste your time guarding someone like me."

Anna blinks, her grip on the tablet loosening. "I—"

"Why don't you open the door?" I suggest, tilting my head just slightly. "Just for a second. No one will know."

She hesitates, and for a moment, I think she might resist. But then, as the tendrils of my influence sink deeper, her expression goes slack. Her fingers move almost absently to the keypad, tapping in the access code with practiced ease.

The door clicks.

My heart pounds, but I keep my expression smooth. "That's it, Anna. Very good."

She doesn't react, her gaze distant, unfocused. The power I have over her is complete now. I step forward, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Now, be a dear and hand me your gun."

Wordlessly, she does. The weight of it is comforting in my palm. I tuck it into my waistband, pressing a finger to my lips. "You're going to walk away now, Anna. You were never here. Do you understand?"

She nods slowly.

"Good. Now go."

She turns on her heel and walks out, not looking back.

I exhale sharply, shaking off the lingering pull of the mind control. It always leaves a strange sort of haze behind, like stepping out of a dream. But I don't have time to dwell on it.

I step into the hall, keeping my footsteps light. The facility is quiet, but not for long. I need to move.

I take a deep breath, then start walking. Freedom is just a few steps away.