Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 514: Favoritism

Dottie was thrown back into her dorm, but the guards didn’t chain her to the bed tonight.

In the blood-red room, she curled into a ball, staring blankly at the desk lamp. She was at a loss. The door was guarded by armed soldiers, with more troops, tanks, and dogs beyond. Barbed wire and electric fences encircled the compound, surrounded by hundreds of miles of snowy wasteland.

No one escaped the Red Room.

When they were young, the instructor had said, "Secrets and rituals are necessary. They help you find your place in human society."

A senior trainee had replied, "Yes, Instructor. We have no place in the world."

The instructor, the old hag, had smiled—one of her rare grins. Dottie, still a junior, was ushered out before seeing what followed.

After the younger girls left, the instructor led the seniors to an arena. "Correct answer," she’d said. "Now, the ritual begins. Only one of you survives."

In silent slaughter, one emerged, blood-soaked, stepping over her peers’ corpses. That was the previous Black Widow.

Such ruthless elites were powerful but fragile. All that risk concentrated in one person could backfire. Against any of Hydra’s leaders, a Black Widow stood little chance. A spider versus a serpent with nine heads? Hydra’s Viper, another female elite, was deadlier still.

Now, Hydra’s claws were reaching into this vast nation, hunting Leviathan’s other secret: the Winter Soldier Program. They had superior weapons, sharper agents, and at least two leaders covertly operating in the Soviet Union. On the covert front, Leviathan was losing ground.

The last Black Widow had vanished—likely dead, by whose hand unknown. Leviathan’s leaders demanded the Red Room produce the next one, fast. After discussions, they decided to graduate Dottie’s cohort early.

It wasn’t much of a rush. After the Leech Serum, a teenager and a forty-year-old looked the same.

Time blurred as Dottie, dazed and battered, heard the door creak. Anya, her roommate and best friend, returned, hands reeking of blood but smiling softly. She sat gently on Dottie’s bed. "You okay, Dottie? They didn’t chain us tonight to look after you. I think the instructor likes you."

Dottie flinched, shrinking back. Was Anya pretending? Would she snap her neck the next second? But Anya seemed oblivious, playing with her braid and glancing at the guards, who weren’t watching closely.

She lifted her shirt, pulling a piece of bread from her waistband. "I hid this for you. You haven’t eaten. Hide under the blanket and eat quick."

Dottie hesitated. Was the bread poisoned? Could she be smothered under the covers? They’d been taught countless ways to kill—even a handful of snow could be a weapon. Earlier, she’d thought letting her friend kill her might be fine, but now, with Anya so eager, Dottie felt it wasn’t worth dying for.

"Is she waiting for a clear shot? A surprise neck snap from behind? A feint?" Dottie’s injuries clouded her mind, but she wanted to live.

She took the bread, still warm from Anya’s body, its roughness softened by her touch. Dottie hid it under the blanket. "Thanks, Anya. I’ll eat after lights out."

"Good idea," Anya nodded, knowing smuggled food was a grave offense. Food was scarce; hunger was constant.

The red walls cast a crimson glow on their faces. The room held only two steel beds and a simple desk. Dottie stared at Anya, unsure what to say. The air grew heavy with eerie silence. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Anya, oblivious, assumed Dottie’s injuries were to blame. She stood to turn off the light. "Let’s sleep. Goodnight."

Dottie’s heart clenched. Was lights out the signal? Striking during the shift from light to dark, when eyes struggled to adjust, was basic tradecraft. The counter: close your eyes before the light goes out, then open them in darkness to adapt two seconds faster.

But closing her eyes now might give Anya an opening. Weak as Dottie was, she’d lose in a fight. Anya, with her shy braids, could snap a prisoner’s spine with precision. Female combat relied on flexibility and technique, targeting bones and organs for silent kills—like venom.

Dottie faced a dilemma but kept her eyes open. A few extra seconds might be all she had.

Click. Anya switched off the lamp and leaned close, bending down. Dottie clenched her fists under the blanket.

But Anya only kissed her forehead before returning to her own bed.

Dottie’s breath hitched. She’d thought death was imminent. Anya clearly had no intent to kill—her friend was still her friend, that sweet girl. The instructor had lied; Anya had no such orders.

But the problem remained: the instructor said only one would leave the room alive tomorrow. If neither acted, both would die. Disobedience meant worthlessness, and worthless girls ended in the furnace, fueling the Red Room’s heat.

The instructor never lied about that.

Dottie sank into thought, searching for a way out. The locked door was beyond their strength, especially half-starved. If guards found them both alive at dawn, they’d be shot.

"I need to make Anya kill me," Dottie decided, silently sitting up and eating the bread. It was thin and gone quickly.

Wiping tears, Dottie’s expression hardened. She crept toward Anya’s bed. Underground, time was a mystery—daybreak could be hours or minutes away. She couldn’t wait. Anya had to live.

Anya slept, hair loose, sucking her thumb, curled up like every girl here, devoid of security. Dottie gripped her throat, squeezing slowly.

Anya woke instantly, trained to be alert. She struggled briefly, saw Dottie, and calmed. "Dottie? Cough. Not funny. I can’t breathe." She tugged at Dottie’s hands.

"Shut up, you filthy wretch! Your name disgusts me. I’m ordered to kill you." Dottie tightened her grip, but her weakness made it feeble.

"You should’ve used the handcuff from the bedframe," Anya said, fully awake, not resisting. "Cut my artery or stab my heart while I slept. Strangling’s bad for your condition."

She’d seen through it. Anya knew this was the instructor’s order and that she’d been marked as "fertilizer," destined to die. If so, better by her friend’s hand than a stranger’s or a beast’s.

Dottie slapped her. "Fight back! Kill me!"

"No. You got the order. You have to live. To the end." Anya lay still, gazing at Dottie.

"Kill me, and you’ll live!" Dottie released her, grabbing Anya’s hands and placing them on her own throat.

Anya shook her head, sitting up to hug Dottie. "I won’t make it to the end. I’ve known the secret: only one girl survives each class. One kills everyone else. I’ve always known I’d die, and I chose to die by you."

"No, that’s impossible."

"Think, Dottie. Our skirts never fit, right? Where do they get so many ill-fitting dresses?"

Anya’s sad smile revealed the truth: the red dresses were stripped from past trainees’ corpses.

Dottie reeled, struck by lightning. Could she kill everyone she’d grown up with for a decade? If the instructor’s plan worked, killing Anya would make killing the rest possible.

The instructor favored her, but not out of kindness—Dottie was the perfect weapon.

Clutching Anya, Dottie wept.