Natasha went stiff when she saw the paper. She had to reread the words a couple times before she finally comprehended what they meant. 'Red Room Active.' It was back up, training little girls to be heartless killers again. She vividly remembered her time there, and the thoughts and emotions corresponding with them raced through her.

Apprehension at going back to that godforsaken place. Fear for the lives of those little girls, 4 years old, cuffed to the beds every night. Anger at those who have done this to her, and are doing this to the girls. The rolling storm of emotions connected to the place overtook her, and since she was alone in her room, she let the emotions slide across her face. It ended with her jaw setting in determination.

She geared up, told Jarvis to send a memo to Clint detailing what was going on and informing him that if he wanted to come, he was to meet her downstairs in the garage onboard the AvenJet. She knew he would. She briskly walked down, boarded, and started it up.

Viktoriya was 4. She slept in the same type of bed as all the other girls. She had her wrist cuffed like all the other girls. She went through the same training routines as all the other girls. She was no different from the rest. Except for her dreams. She wasn't allowed to talk about them. She got in trouble last time she did. So she stayed quiet and dreamt of princesses and dragons and a loving mom and dad that she didn't have because Mister Darkov said it wasn't proper. Her training was too important. She was young, not stupid. She knew why they weren't there. She saw it. She just had no idea why they didn't want her to talk about it.

Eva was only 5. She knew how creepy the lyrics she was singing truly were. She and the other girls her age were singing "Tili Tili Bom." Of course, people creeping around outside the house, coming for anyone who wasn't sleeping didn't scare her. Maybe it never would. She was being trained not to fear anyone or anything. Besides, the older girls could do anything. They'd take care of anyone or anything that got in. They told her that. She'd seen it for herself. She didn't know what they did with the intruders; just that she never saw them again. And if they weren't around, they couldn't hurt her. She was safe.

Ekaterina kept her eyes closed. Opening them meant seeing whatever terrifying costume the assistant was wearing. Seeing the costume would very likely make her scream. Disregarding the teacher's instruction not to open their eyes would mean severe punishment, not to mention the punishment involved with showing fear so openly. Fear was not an option. Fear was the enemy. So she ignored the scratching noises, fought against the urge to move or look for the source of the moans. Most of all, she ignored the screams of the girls who failed.

Alina watched the girls in front of her step up to the platform. She watched them stand in front of the wall. She watched the trainer throw a single knife next to each girl's head. Not one dared to flinch. Then it was her turn. Back to the wall, stiff as a board, the knife raised, thrown, thud. It planted in the wall next to her head. Her steely gaze never left the trainer. She walked to join the other girls at the door. The next girl flinched. She was led out by the assistant. The others knew she would be in trouble, but none dared to move.