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"Let's stop chatting here, Jarvis. Hack into the host system and disable the blockade," Malrick ordered calmly.

"Understood, Master Malrick."

Jarvis' program infiltrated the Red Room's mainframe with ease. The red lock symbol on the giant screen was quickly drowned in a cascading stream of blue code. The screen flickered as lines of binary—0s and 1s—raced across it.

Inside the Red Room system, Jarvis functioned more efficiently than ever before.

"If I may say so, Master Malrick," Jarvis remarked, almost wistfully, "I feel like a fish in water here. Their mainframe's performance is truly impressive."

"Good. You'll have plenty of time to enjoy it later. I plan to give this place to Tony—and you can stay on as its permanent AI."

Malrick kept his eyes on the screen, waiting.

Ten minutes passed.

Then, a soft ping echoed as the system blockade lifted. The display shifted—folder icons began popping up one after another, arranged from basic to top-secret access levels.

Malrick smiled.

"Jarvis, search for critical intel. I want every record on the Red Room's Widow Agents."

"Right away, Master Malrick."

Jarvis scanned the data at lightning speed. Moments later, he responded with a chime.

"I've compiled the information, sir."

The screen switched to a series of headshots—dozens at first, then hundreds, scrolling endlessly.

"There are at least 300 Widows... Mark their current locations on the world map."

A new screen displayed a map of the globe, dotted with avatars from London to Paris, Cape Town to Johannesburg, Jerusalem to New York and Chicago.

Over 300 Widows, embedded around the world. Some powerful, others well-connected, and many hidden in plain sight—sharp blades cloaked in silence.

The Red Room didn't need to control governments. It controlled people.

"Jarvis, send a copy of the list and all relevant files to Natasha. Then, wire $100 million from my personal account to her—she'll need it to establish a new organizational hub in New York."

Malrick's eyes sharpened with focus.

"Master Malrick, perhaps you'd like to tell Miss Natasha directly... She's on her way to see you."

"She's here? With the others?"

He turned to the door. His ears caught the faint sound of synchronized footsteps—soft, calculated. The telltale sign of highly trained operatives.

"Did I hear that right?" a voice echoed through the doorway. "A man's giving you a hundred million dollars, Natasha? What'd you do, take your clothes off? You gotta teach me how to make someone that generous."

Natasha entered first, followed closely by a younger woman whispering in Russian. The girl had no idea Malrick understood her perfectly.

Natasha ignored the comment, walking straight toward Malrick with confidence.

Behind her came more than forty Widow agents.

Under a mix of blonde, brunette, and crimson hair, dozens of blue, brown, and violet eyes stared intently at Malrick. They looked weary, wary—but grateful. Natasha must have explained things on the way.

"I brought them," she said simply, her tone neutral.

"They've all agreed to join your... organization. Or company. Whatever you want to call it."

Malrick studied the group, then paused on the young woman who'd spoken earlier.

"You clearly had a rough time convincing them."

Natasha sighed. "This is my sister. Yelena."

She gently pulled the girl forward. "She attacked me right after waking up. She's impulsive."

Both women bore fresh bruises—Natasha with a swelling brow, Yelena with a split lip.

"That wasn't impulse," Yelena snapped. "That was justice. You ran, and the rest of us paid the price for your betrayal."

Her short blonde hair framed a youthful face—young, but defiant. Then she turned to Malrick, standing at attention.

"Thank you for freeing us, sir. We'll follow your orders."

Malrick was just about to say something when she glanced at Natasha and muttered in Russian, "His chest muscles are incredible... bigger than mine. Have you touched them? Total waste if you haven't seduced him yet."

Natasha froze. Malrick's face darkened.

Before Natasha could scold her, Malrick took the initiative. Switching smoothly to Russian, he addressed the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I won't waste time introducing myself. You've heard the names—Superman, Stark. That's enough."

"Let me be honest. While I helped Natasha dismantle the Red Room, I also had another motive—I wanted your strength."

"But this is your choice now. I won't force anyone. You've suffered enough."

"If you want to leave, you can. Start fresh. Build your own life."

"If you stay... Natasha will set up a new company in New York. A real one. With your talents, you'll have purpose—and freedom."

"That's all."

"Anyone who chooses to leave, help clean up the bodies first. Natasha will assist you afterward."

"Oh, and Jarvis? Send them their family records."

"Already done, Master. Transmitting now."

Jarvis beamed the data to every Widow's personal device.

The women looked at each other, hesitant. Not one of them checked their files right away.

To them, family was a foreign word—something distant, even frightening. A concept that belonged to another world.

After a moment of silence, one Widow stepped forward. Then another. Soon, they surrounded Malrick, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"We're with you, sir."

Their voices weren't in unison—but their resolve was.

Malrick stood tall, surrounded by the women in their black uniforms like a solitary flame ringed by stars. He gazed at their solemn expressions, then nodded.

"Then welcome aboard."

He opened his arms.

"Together, we'll do great things—things the world will remember. You won't regret your decision."

"Your first mission is simple: clear the Sky Fortress. Every body, every trace of the Red Room—gone."

"After that, Natasha will lead you across the globe to free the rest of your sisters."

He extended his hand. One by one, the Widows laid theirs over it—eyes glimmering with a spark they thought they'd lost.

---

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