Year: 2008

     Location: Budapest, Hungary

     Mission: Armed Escort

     With a 9mm pistol concealed beneath my leather jacket, I gestured for my contact to stay in the car. Stepping onto the curb, I slowly turned in a circle. I knew we were being followed, yet there was no evidence to support it. My vision told me the pedestrians and parked cars were of no concern, but the hair on the nape of my neck and years of ruthless training told me otherwise.

     I glanced over my shoulder one last time before ushering my contact out of the car and into her father's private office building. The click of her Mary Jane heels echoed through the foyer as we ascended the stone staircase. Though I pretended not to notice when she occasionally glanced in my direction, Antonia Dreykov was hard to ignore with her bright red backpack and braided pigtails that bounced with every step.

     Fortunately, my training gave me the ability to take note of her every movement without diverting my attention from any potential threats. Acknowledging the guard at the top of the stairs with a terse nod, I rapped my knuckles against the heavy wooden doors of the study.

     The doors could only be opened with a special remote possessed by Antonia's father, or from the inside if one was already in the room. On this occasion, a second guard opened the doors from inside and allowed us into the study. Keeping a respectable distance between myself and the desk, I lowered my gaze to the floor and clasped my hands behind my back.

     "Сэр, ваша дочь прибыла," I announced in Russian, my voice quiet.

     Sir, your daughter has arrived.

     Though my eyes were leveled at the marble tiling beneath my feet, I could feel General Dreykov's stare crawling its way down my body.

     "Спасибо, агент Романова," he purred. "Вы свободны."

     Thank you, Agent Romanova. You are dismissed.

     I bowed my head and turned on my heel as Antonia raced toward her father, her backpack dropping to the ground as she embraced him. As I stepped out of the study, a vague sense of longing crept into my mind. Not detailed enough to qualify as a memory, but rather a feeling of what once was.

     Remembering my training, I cleared my mind and started toward the grand staircase. Even as I took the first step down, the building was rocked from within by a massive explosion, and the resulting concussive blast hurled me down the stairs.

     Bones cracked.

     Blood stained the crumbling marble.

     And my head hit the railing with a resounding crack.

     Even as my careening body lost its momentum, the Red Room's training urged me to stand, to fight, to kill. My vision blurred in and out of focus as I used the railing to pull myself to my feet, my hands soaked in blood – and other organic matter I refused to acknowledge – as I crawled up the staircase.

     Dreykov. His daughter.

     Protect at all costs.

     Kill anyone in sight.

     Dreykov.

     Daughter.

     Protect.

     Kill.

     I launched myself up the stairs as the ground gave way beneath my feet, a feral growl of desperation and pain escaping my lips as torn muscle, misplaced bone, and scorched skin screamed in protest.

     But I could not give up.

     Giving up meant failure.

     And failure meant death.

     I hardly noticed the debris raining down around me as I clawed my way to the second floor, but the sight at the top of the stairs stopped me in my tracks. Just past the study doors, the small, lifeless figure of a ten-year-old girl.

     Antonia.

     Though death had never affected me before, a wave of nausea suddenly overcame me, and I wretched across the soot-covered landing. Even in my addled state of consciousness, I knew the master would be most displeased if I left this mess on his expensive marble tiles.

     Frantically, I wiped the bile away with my sleeve, only to catch sight of my reflection in the floor. With wild eyes, a pain-contorted face, and blonde hair now red with blood, I hardly recognized myself. Who was this haunted woman staring back at me?

     I was Agent Anastasia Romanova.

     I was Dreykov's favored assassin, an unstoppable killer who completed missions without mercy.

     I was the Winter Widow.

     But...what if I wasn't?

     What would become of the woman I once was?

     What would become of me?

     Fortunately for me, the life-altering questions that overwhelmed my brain were silenced when a piece of falling debris struck my forehead, and darkness consumed me long before the hellish blaze caused the building to fall.

...

     Year: 2012

     Location: Edwards Air Force Base, Lancaster, California

     Mission: Pending

     Waking with a stifled scream, I shoved my blanket aside and jolted out of bed, my eyes darting anxiously around the room as I reacquainted myself with the present day. When someone knocked on the door to my quarters, I nearly leapt out of my skin.

     Cursing under my breath, I took a moment to slow my racing heart and glanced at my alarm clock. My brow furrowed when the numbers read 2:45 AM. After quickly jumping into a pair of standard-issue pants and work boots, I shrugged into my leather Air Force jacket and answered the door to find a young lieutenant nervously shifting his weight.

     Standing at attention, the young man said, "Sorry to bother you at this hour, Captain Romanoff, but it's a matter of national security. Now, if you'll please follow me."

     My heart sank as we made our way to one of the more sequestered briefing rooms on the military base. After gesturing for me to be seated, the lieutenant nodded once and closed the door behind him.

     Clasping my hands together and resting them on the table, I brought every possible threat to mind, wondering which of the many scenarios could possibly call for my involvement. When the door opened a moment later, I realized my presence had not been called upon due to my years of experience in the Air Force.

     No, the man standing before me would require a particular set of skills from my past. A past I had tirelessly worked to put behind me. And yet, deep in my heart, I knew I was only moments away from dawning the title of the Winter Widow once more.

     Except this time, I would be fighting for the other side.

     Getting to my feet, I reluctantly offered my hand, "Director Fury."

     "Captain Romanoff," he replied, shaking my hand. "Welcome to S.H.I.E.LD."