Marvel : Please Kill Me

Chapter 26: The Taskmaster's Silence (and a New Dynamic)

[SYSTEM MESSAGE: ALLY STATUS: ANTONIA DREYKOV (TASKMASTER) – UNSTABLE. RECOMMENDED: ESTABLISH COMMUNICATION. CAUTION: YELENA BELOVA'S EMOTIONAL STATE – FRAGILE. PROCEED WITH SENSITIVITY.]

"Sensitivity? System, I'm a walking, talking sarcasm machine who died to a giant space worm. 'Sensitivity' isn't exactly my brand," I muttered, watching Antonia Dreykov from across the small, rustic cabin in the Swiss Alps. The air was crisp, smelling of pine and damp earth. Yelena was still asleep, exhausted from the fight and the emotional toll of seeing me die for her. Antonia, however, was wide awake, sitting by the fire, meticulously cleaning her shield, her helmet still on, a silent, imposing presence.

My "Advanced Tactical Awareness" was buzzing, picking up on the subtle tension in the cabin. Antonia was a wildcard. A former friend of Yelena's, a Red Room operative forced into servitude, now seemingly an ally. But her silence was unnerving. And I had a new skill, "Basic Mimicry (Limited)," that made me want to try and copy every single one of her incredibly cool moves.

"Okay, Adam, this is delicate. Antonia doesn't talk much. She communicates through action. And she's seen me die and come back. That's either going to make her incredibly wary or incredibly curious. Time to lean into the 'curious' part. And maybe try to get her to laugh. Or at least snort derisively."*

I decided to start with the obvious. "So," I began, breaking the silence, "that was quite the family reunion back there. Red Room, am I right? Always crashing parties. And their fashion sense? Seriously, those jumpsuits are so last decade."

Antonia didn't respond. Her head tilted slightly, a subtle movement that conveyed a surprising amount of 'are you serious?'

"Look," I continued, undeterred, "I know you're not much of a conversationalist. And honestly, Yelena's not much better until she's had at least two espressos and threatened my life three times. But we're going to be, what's the word... 'associates' now. And 'associates' usually, you know, talk. Or at least grunt in agreement."

I tried to mimic one of her quick, precise hand movements from the fight, a rapid flick of the wrist that disarmed an operative. My hand twitched, a pale imitation.

"See?" I said, holding up my hand. "I picked that up from you! 'Basic Mimicry (Limited)'! It's like a superpower, but for annoying people with their own moves! You're an inspiration!"

Still no response. Just the rhythmic clink of her cleaning tools against the metal of her shield.

"Alright, fine," I sighed dramatically. "Let's get to the important stuff. The Red Room. They're going to send more. Bigger. Angrier. Probably with more stun nets. And I'm pretty sure they're going to try to dissect me to figure out why I won't stay dead. Any insider tips on how to avoid that? Besides, you know, running really fast?"

Antonia finally paused her cleaning. She looked at me, her helmeted head still tilted. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she reached up and unlatched her helmet.

Her face was revealed. Antonia Dreykov. Not the emotionless, blank slate I'd expected from her Taskmaster persona, but a woman with haunted eyes, a faint scar near her temple, and a weary intelligence. She looked at me, then at the sleeping Yelena.

"They won't stop," she said, her voice a low rasp, unused. "Not until Yelena is back under their control. Or dead. And you... you're a loose end. A very loud, very annoying loose end."

"See? We're bonding!" I beamed. "You called me annoying! That's practically a term of endearment in my book! And 'loose end'? That's my middle name! Adam 'Loose End' Stiels! Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

She gave me a long, assessing look. "You died. I saw it. You came back."

"It's my thing," I confirmed. "The 'Immortal System.' Long story. Involves a lot of dying, a lot of money, and a lot of sarcasm. And now, apparently, a lot of trying to save the world from genetically modified plants and angry Russian spies."

She paused, then, to my utter surprise, a faint, almost imperceptible curve touched her lips. A ghost of a smile. "You're... different."

"That's what they all say," I sighed. "Usually right before they try to kill me. Or ask for money. Or both. So, about this 'not stopping' thing. Any specific tactics they favor? Any weaknesses? Besides, you know, my overwhelming charm?"

Antonia considered for a moment. "They'll use psychological warfare. Exploit weaknesses. They'll try to turn you against each other. And they'll use everything they know about Yelena. Her past. Her fears."

"Good to know," I said, a more serious tone entering my voice. "And you? Why are you helping us? Not that I'm complaining, obviously. I appreciate the timely intervention. And the excellent fighting style."

She looked away, back to the fire. "Yelena... she's family. And the Red Room... they took everything. They won't take her."

"Family. That's a powerful word. And it means she's in. This is good. A Black Widow, a Taskmaster, and an immortal, sarcastic idiot. We're like the world's most dysfunctional superhero team. Or a very aggressive sitcom."*

"Alright," I said, a plan already forming in my mind. "Then we fight them. Together. And then we go get a plant. A very dangerous, very expensive plant. And then, maybe, we can all get some therapy. Because I'm pretty sure we're all going to need it after this."

Antonia didn't respond, but I saw a subtle nod. A silent agreement. The new dynamic was set. A Black Widow, her former friend and rival, and an unkillable enigma. This was going to be an interesting ride.