The program known as "The Red Room" was an elite training school for young girls, selected as children and now all aged sixteen.

You were one of the twenty-five girls who stood in a straight line in the room, all clad in black clothing—a uniform enforced by the trainers.

You had been taken from your families as young girls and brought here, where you were trained to be deadly assassins under the supervision of Russian spies and soldiers who had no sympathy for your past lives or struggles.

Now it was all about becoming cold, calculated machines designed solely for killing.

And hell, it works.

General Dreykov strode into the room with slow, deliberate steps—his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

Two masked bodyguards flanked him like silent shadows, their presence alone enough to make even the most hardened girls tense slightly under scrutiny.

Followed by another man, dressed in a tailored suit.

General Dreykov was showing you off.

Like some kind of prize.

His sharp gaze raked over each of you one by one; unblinking eyes searching for any flicker weakness left within you.

The air grew heavier with every passing second until even breathing felt dangerous somehow—because showing anything now?

That was a mistake none here could afford making twice.

General Dreykov stops in front of you.

"Widow Twelve, show me what you can do."

He says to you.