The Red Room is the sound of a gun's retort, the chill of a winter morning in Volgograd, and the scent of ash, explosive compounds, and blood. The Red Room is the moans and whimpers of pain when another Black Widow candidate falls. The Red Room is ruthlessness and brutality, the lack of mercy in another's eyes.

The Red Room is knives and survival. The Red Room is ballet and violence, the grace of a woman's ideal body, and the pain of a warrior's ideal grace. The Red Room is masks and lies layered over layers of untruths, is the cold of the cryogenic cells, the sting of needles, the memories vanishing into smoke as unreality hardens into memory.

The Red Room is no room to make mistakes, no room for failure, only kill or be killed, succeed or lose the right to life.

This is the fire that birthed Natalia. This is the way she sees the world when Hawkeye holds out his hand and promises gently, I can show you there's another way.

rest on AO3