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There was a soft click as the backdoor to the estate on the east end of Long Island was picked open. No alarms or cameras would pick up the intrusion of the scoundrel. They had been disabled three minutes before, five more minutes until security truly started to suspect something. It had been almost too easier, she had picked the day when the gardening staff had been let out early and the patrols themselves were light. The guards were too busy watching the latest super heroic antics on the news. Of course they would. The chaos and depravity of the outside world seemed so far away from their current local with it’s perfectly manicured lawns fenced in by large gates fitted with the latest security tech available on the private market. It was enough to deter any normal thief or vandal. Of course Natasha Romanova was no mere thief. 

Stepping through the threshold and into the house proper her feet made barely a noise as they step along the smooth marble of a contemporary kitchen. It was a simple affair with a large refrigerator with an electric oven built into the countertop. The cabinets hung were long and rectangular and took up much of the space in the upper portions of the room. The kitchen table was large and looked like it could fit several individuals at it but on closer inspection one would realize that only one individual sat at the table. The location at the head of the table where the window would provide the best reading light only marked by the permanent circular mark of a hot coffee mug used over the years. Natasha moved quickly moving towards the edge of the wall by the large rectangular opening that lead into the hallway. Pressing her body against the wall she closed her eyes and continued down from thirty, heart beating at a steady rhythm. 

At thirty exactly the guard the patrolled this section of the house came rounding the corner and passed the entrance to kitchen. At the same time Natasha twisted her body around the corner and grabbed the man’s head and with strength unnatural to a woman her size pulled the man backwards with a hand clamped over his mouth. Seconds later she smashed his head against the kitchen wall hard. Shout muffled by her hands she smashed his hand against the wall again, and then once more as he eyes rolled into the back of his head. Gingerly she brought him to the floor. She looked at the indent in the wall that she had made with the man’s head peering into the blood as she listened intently. No sounds followed, not the rushing of footsteps of somebody coming to investigate. She silently thanked that the house was built prior war, back when men used to build things to last and made walls thick enough to dampen the noise. She quickly took the ID card off of the body before she made her way into the hallway and turned right.

She moved past many rooms: a workout room, some kind of office, a spare bedroom, bathroom, among others as she continued down the hall. The hallway itself was sparse, painted off white in color and with solid wooden floors that ever so slightly flexed beneath gentle footfalls. Paintings and pictures adorned the walls, the paintings were valuable most dating from the baroque or further back. The pictures were all of one man, wide and muscular with a big smile and vaguely eastern european features and they showed the man all across the world somewhere in black and white, others in color. No pictures of children or women, just the man growing steadily older throughout. She came to the end of the hallway and pulled to the right as she remembered the map that she had memorized. She came into a large space with towering windows twice her own height. To one side there was a grand piano and a staircase leading to the upper level and to other a fireplace and above it a large TV in which the news was blasting, two guards sat beneath it on the couch watching the antics of Superman and members of the Justice League. It was always a media circus wherever they went. Natasha hated it, it’s why she preferred missions like this where she could be alone, where she could thrive.

She moved quickly in a half crouch towards the couch and produced two knives from her belt. She couldn't just leave them, Ivan’s voice still spoke to her in her head low, gravely and smelling of Vodka. [i]Leave no witnesses little one.[/i] They never heard her approach, they would of had enough trouble if they were actually paying attention but they were far too engrossed on the helicopter footage on the large screen in front of them. Natasha rose and with a swift movement of her hands drove both the knives into the guards, one in each neck. She held her hands there as their own hands came up to grasp at hers, gurgling past blood and metal as they tried to say something. She counted to three and the two slowly slumped over and she withdrew the blades and stored them before moving on leaving the two where they were slumped over one another coating the couch in their blood.

She moved quickly past the piano and upstair case to the upper level. She passed more paintings and more portraits as she stopped just shy of rounding another corner ahead of her. She listened and she heard it, the soft breathing of the one guard that was guarding the door to the target’s study. He was there twelve hours a day and promptly at 12 the shifts would change for the next to stand and watch. She took out the ID card that she had snatched from the first guard and with a flick of the wrist she threw it around the corner and into the hallway. Natasha heard the grunt of surprise, she waited and then heard the sounds of footsteps getting closer. She reached down and produced one of her pistols and waited. The wood floor creaked harder as the man knelt down on one knee to examine the card. She took her chance.

The guard looked up and barely had time to let out a gasp as he saw the figure slide out from the corner with a silenced AMT Longslide pointed at his head. Natasha finger pressed against the trigger there was muffled bang and the man’s head rocketed backwards as a .45 ACP round smashed into his forehead. Blood splattered against the nearby wall and floor and the guard dropped the ground. Holstering the pistol Natasha gingerly stepped over the body and moved down the hallway and opened the door to the study.

The study itself was more like a tiny library than anything else with large shelves of books reaching upwards to a ceiling. She made her way past glass cases filled with memorabilia some was more recognizable than others such as gold bars etched with the swastika. Others were less recognizable parchments and pieces of paper, some looked like diplomas or other official documents some in english others in cyrillic. One even had a picture of the man in portraits arm in arm with Stalin smiling medals adorning his chest and the hammer and sickle flying in the background. She finally came around the corner and into the central area of the study, a fireplace going in the corner and a chair sitting in front of a bear skin rug. In a chair a man sat watching the fire. As Natasha approached he spoke and she froze.

“Это уместно, что они послали одного из вас.” The man spoke fluent  russian in a fading voice as he stood up with great difficulty to turn and face his killer. He was far flung from the man that had once clasped Stalin arm in arm. His strong physique had faded and crumbled appearing as if a strong breeze would blow him over. Black hair had long started its dispersion left only with remnants around the edges of his head, like some sort of monk.

“Ты предал нас. Вы предали свою страну.” Natasha spoke back her voice cold and emotionless as she drew her gun and trained it on the man.

“Что я предал? Мертвый идеал? Мертвый видение? Это время давно прошло.” The man spoke his voice filled with a surprising amount of conviction as he took a few painstakingly slows steps towards Natasha.

“Это не освобождает вас от ваших преступлений.” Natasha responded gun still trained on his chest.

“Даже в этом случае, почему вы убили за давно умерших призраков?” The man asked taking one step closer.

“Потому что я не забыл, что у вас есть врач.” Her finger snaked around the trigger of the pistol.

“Вы можете быть гораздо больше, чем мстительный призрак ребенка.” The man responded with another step closer his chest now pressing against the barrel of the gun. His hands clasped Natasha on the shoulder as he own unwavering eyes peered at her.

“Нет, я не могу.” Natasha pulled the trigger on the gun and she felt the man’s grip on her shoulders tighten only for a few moments later them to slip away as he dropped to the ground. Natasha looked down at the body and sighed. It used to be hard, she used to feel something. These days she didn’t feel much of anything anymore. It should've bothered her and yet she found solace in the cold emptiness. It made things easier. Walking towards the fireplace she opened the protective grate covering it and let the embers leak. They soon caught on the rug and the numerous scattered about and a dozen small flames began to steadily grow in the study. Walking over to the corpse she put one bullet in the back of his head just to make sure and then she slipped out the door and out of the house.

As she made it over the fence that separated the house from the outside world she looked back at the burning building. The guards had come rushing as soon as they saw the smoke and she could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance. They wouldn't come in time of course. And even if by some miracle they did all the evidence of her appearance would of been burned away. She slipped off of the main road and made her back to her car which she had hidden away.  As the car door opened automatically unlocking when it read her fingerprints touching the handle she looked back towards the direction of the house, the smoke still rising in the distance a deep black even against the night sky. She then sat inside and there was a soft click as the car door locked behind her.