"You just ntioned General Dreykov. If I rember correctly, he's the head of the Red Room, isn't he?"
Under Natasha's stunned gaze, Malrick easily snapped the ropes binding him. The synthetic fibers tore apart and fell to the floor in tatters.
"Which ans you're still under Red Room control."
Malrick stood, brushing off his clothes. "That doesn't make sense. At this point in ti, you should be—"
He cut himself off.
As soon as he looked down, Natasha attacked without hesitation—even though she'd just watched him break free like it was nothing.
She struck like a spider pouncing on prey—quick, precise, deadly. Her body moved with grace honed by years of training, a blur of fists, elbows, and knees all aid at his vital points.
Speed versus strength. It was her specialty.
But it didn't work.
Malrick, barely older than a teenager by appearance, blocked every strike with one hand.
With. One. Hand.
He caught her fist, and no matter how she twisted or pulled, she couldn't break free. His grip was like a vice—unmovable and cold.
Natasha's face shifted from shock to calculation. Years of combat training kicked in. She pushed off the floor, flipping upward to strike from above, hoping to use her montum to escape.
"Hey! Don't try that. I don't want to be the reason you need physical therapy."
Malrick's voice broke through the mont—surprisingly casual, even amused.
Was he actually worried about her getting hurt?
Natasha hesitated—but only for a second.
Too late.
A massive force yanked her back down, slamming her into the wall. This ti, she didn't bounce back. She was pinned like a butterfly under glass.
No leverage. No escape.
She writhed, twisted, even attempted to dislocate her own shoulder—every trained instinct screaming to survive—but it was useless. Malrick's strength dwarfed her every effort.
Her expression changed. Anger faded into despair. Then resignation.
Slowly, her eyes turned downward. She curled her middle finger inward, triggering a device embedded in her wrist—a last resort.
Malrick saw it.
"What now?"
He caught her neck mid-motion, and with a firm squeeze, she slumped into unconsciousness.
"Looks like that's the only way to get the Black Widow to sit still."
He caught her limp form, adjusted his grip, and carried her out of Tony's room.
"Master Malrick, I'm relieved to see you unhard," JARVIS said, his tone asured.
Every surveillance device in the bedroom had been destroyed, leaving it in the dark.
"Co on, JARVIS. You know nothing's going to happen to ."
"My protocols require I monitor your wellbeing."
"Appreciated," Malrick replied. "But no cops. Not yet. This isn't just a break-in. She's part of sothing bigger. I need answers."
He glanced down at Natasha, curiosity flashing across his face.
Why had the tiline diverged?
Black Widow wasn't supposed to be like this—still tangled up in Dreykov's web. This didn't line up with the main MCU universe, Earth-199999. Was this a branch tiline? A What If universe?
But so far, everything—and everyone—looked just like the films.
Descending the staircase with Natasha in his arms, Malrick gave a parting instruction: "When Tony gets ho, tell him to order takeout. I'll be in the lab all night."
"Understood, Master Malrick. Shall I disable lab monitoring for privacy?"
Malrick frowned. "Turn it on, all of it. What do you think I'm going to do?"
"My apologies. Monitoring will remain active."
"Good. Now shut up. I'm going to examine her."
He brought Natasha into the lab, cleared the workbench with a single sweep of his arm, and gently laid her down. Then he put on a pair of white dical gloves, looking for all the world like a nervous first-year d student.
But once he activated his enhanced X-ray vision, the amateur act dropped. His gaze sharpened.
"Let's start with a full-body scan..."
He peered through her skin, focusing on muscle tissue and internal organs.
"She's got the physique, that's for sure. Slim shoulders, strong build... Okay, focus."
Malrick cleared his throat and forced his mind back on track.
"No explosives, no poison capsules... wait—locator on her right leg. And... is that a self-destruct chanism on her wrist?"
His eyes narrowed.
"So she really was about to blow herself up?"
That didn't match the Natasha Romanoff from the MCU.
The real Natasha was ruthless, but not suicidal—not unless it was to protect soone else.
"She's not behaving like herself," Malrick muttered. "She's being controlled."
The mory hit him—the Black Widow solo film. In that tiline, the Red Room used chemical agents to control its operatives. But that was years down the line.
At this point in history, Natasha shouldn't even be in the Red Room anymore.
He scanned her brain tissue, layer by layer, vessel by vessel. No chips. No implants. No obvious signs of neural interference.
"Nothing's wrong with her structure. Maybe the problem's chemical?"
Without delay, Malrick left for the Stark Industrial lab and returned with a full suite of neurological instrunts—microscopes, magnetoencephalography detectors, molecular scanners, and more.
A wall of technology ford around Natasha.
Malrick grinned, cracking his knuckles.
"Ti to put my study hours to work."
Over the past few days—between interrogating the Ten Rings and sunbathing—he'd been brushing up on biochemistry and neuroscience.
He hadn't expected the knowledge to co in handy this fast.
He disabled and removed the explosive and tracker first, then began collecting samples: cerebrospinal fluid, brain tissue scans, neural activity charts.
"Normal brain function, normal nerve nodes, normal synaptic response..."
His hands blurred across the equipnt. Each glance at a sample yielded instant recall; his brain absorbed the information like a sponge.
When stumped, he had JARVIS fetch scientific papers for deeper reference.
Malrick's understanding of neurology evolved in real ti.
Silently, he whispered, Thanks, Natasha Romanoff.
This brilliant spy, unconscious on his workbench, had—unintentionally—beco the subject of a crash course in brain chemistry. Thanks to her, he was rapidly turning into a top-tier neurologist.
It was almost poetic.
Until—
"Oh! I found it!"
He shot upright, face alight.
"Master Malrick, did you discover sothing?" JARVIS asked.
"I found the root cause!"
He printed out a brain scan and pointed to a glowing region.
"Her brain is fine—but there's a foreign chemical in her cerebrospinal fluid."
"This compound is affecting the basal ganglia—distorting her consciousness."
"She still has self-awareness, but it's fragnted. One part obeys external commands, another part is her own mind. That split is keeping her logical—but stripping away her ability to resist."
Malrick's expression darkened.
"The person who made this drug is either a genius... or a complete monster."
He cleared the table with renewed determination.
"Ti to synthesize a targeted inhibitor. Maybe when she wakes up, we'll get so real answers."
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