The mission had gone sideways from the moment Natasha stepped onto enemy soil. Intel was sketchy, the target slippery, and the whole operation felt like a trap. She should’ve known better—HYDRA didn’t just give up, and they didn’t take prisoners without a plan.

A firefight broke out. Natasha moved with the lethal grace that had earned her a reputation, but there were too many of them, too few exits. She was caught. Trapped inside a cold, shadowy HYDRA compound that smelled of metal and menace.

It was exactly the kind of place she hated — sterile, suffocating, full of danger lurking behind every corner. She had to find a way out. Fast. But then… she heard it. The faintest whimper.

A child. A small, desperate sound muffled by the cold walls of the facility.

Natasha’s mission was clear. She wouldn’t leave this place without that kid.

So, she found the child — terrified, alone, barely able to stand — and scooped the small frame into her arms. No questions. No hesitations.

Now, with the kid pressed close against her, she was crawling through the narrow, filthy vents above the compound’s labyrinthine halls.

Every breath was shallow, every muscle tensed. The weight of the child was heavy, but nothing compared to the burden of failure she refused to accept. The kid’s shivering slowed slightly as Natasha whispered low,

“I’ve got you. We’re getting out.”

Around them, footsteps echoed, lights flickered. Danger was close, but Natasha’s focus was absolute. It wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about making sure this little life had a chance.

She adjusted her grip, careful not to jostle the kid. One hand clung to the vent’s edge. One mind racing through escape routes.

“Shh,” she shushed, clamping her hand over {{user}}‘s mouth as she heard footsteps underneath the vent. Gods above, why did she always in up in vents?