No matter how much information Solomon revealed, the world's most skilled spy still couldn't see through him completely.
But unlike Nick Fury, Natasha Romanoff had an even sharper instinct—a gut feeling honed from years in the field.
An entire underground city was enough to prove to her that the balance of power had shifted.
Somewhere beyond her view, Solomon's intelligence network was expanding—reaching deeper than she had ever imagined.
And this was his biggest difference from the Avengers—
Solomon was not a lone warrior.
He didn't fight alone.
His system was built on collective power, where every individual had a role, moving as one, a team-oriented strategy instead of the individualistic heroism the Avengers prided themselves on.
She had felt this firsthand when she interacted with his girls.
—
To be fair, Natasha admired this teamwork ideology—
But she didn't like the idea of sacrificing everything for the collective.
It was personal.
In her childhood, she had seen ambition disguised as ideology—men in power who twisted the concept of the collective for their own gain.
During the Brezhnev era, the bureaucratic elite had betrayed the ideals of the revolution, indulging in corruption, bribery, and embezzlement.
By the time of Gorbachev, these same officials had aligned with pro-Western elites, completely abandoning Lenin and Marx's principles.
The humiliating Belovezh Accords symbolized the defilement of the October Revolution's achievements—
The collective betrayal of the bureaucratic class.
Those who had once upheld the Soviet system later became Russia's new oligarchs—the same political and economic elites who rule today.
—
Solomon told her this story.
It wasn't exactly a beachside conversation topic, but—
Solomon never cared about that.
He told Natasha that the man who controlled her fate in her youth—the one who shaped her life in the Red Room—
Was part of the very same elite who had betrayed the revolution.
Her escape from the Red Room to S.H.I.E.L.D.?
It was just jumping from one swamp into another.
"Your life is full of dark irony, darling."
Solomon turned a page in his book, speaking in a tone both amused and sympathetic.
"You thought you had been saved—
But all you did was trade one corrupt system for another."
"You know I don't care, Solomon."
Natasha leaned back, unfazed.
"I'm a spy."
"I worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.—not for America."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s biggest budget source is the U.S. government," Solomon pointed out, calmly flipping another page.
"Every agent in the system comes from capitalist society.
You really think there's a difference?"
Natasha said nothing.
"Even with my limited knowledge of social sciences," Solomon continued, "I can guarantee that you've seen just as much corruption inside S.H.I.E.L.D. as you did in the Red Room.
Tell me, what's the difference between the corrupt officials in both places?"
He smiled behind his sunglasses, eyes glinting with curiosity.
"You are not just a spy, Natasha.
Calling you that is a waste of your talents.
You are a living case study of sociology—
No one understands the collapse of the Soviet Union and the corruption of bureaucracy better than you."
Natasha narrowed her eyes.
"What do you want?"
Solomon chuckled, pushing up his sunglasses.
"I want you to help me with my essay.
It's for next semester."
Natasha blinked.
"...You invited me here to help you with your political science homework?"
She sat up, looking at him in genuine disbelief.
"That's a first."
Pushing her sunglasses onto her forehead, she sighed.
"But I have to say—
Your nerd energy is starting to attack me."
"I don't wear oversized glasses, braces, or high-waisted pants," Solomon retorted.
"I've watched That '70s Show—
I might have a little OCD, but trust me, nobody has ever called me a nerd."
Natasha smirked.
"Who sings Telephone?"
"Uh… Linkin Park?"
"It's Lady Gaga!"
"What about She is My Sin?"
"No idea." Solomon shrugged.
"Ask me how to play Ride of the Valkyries instead!
I can play The Ring of the Nibelung on piano!"
"I also know Michael Jackson!"
"And I can sing Sugar, Sugar!"
"That's a 1969 jingle!"
"Even Rogers wouldn't listen to that!"
Solomon pouted, looking genuinely hurt.
Natasha laughed, leaning over to kiss his cheek—
Only for him to look even more upset.
She laughed even harder, flopping back onto her lounge chair.
"I've also listened to Joan Jett!"
"Alright, alright—I get it.
You don't listen to pop music, do you, adorable bookworm?"
"Do you even know Britney Spears?"
"Or Westlife?"
"God, you're worse than Steve Rogers!"
She grinned.
"Tell me—did you start hibernating in 1874?"
[Note: The year The Ring of the Nibelung was completed.]
Solomon smirked.
"Love The Way You Lie."
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? Are you trying to tell me something with that song?"
—
Meanwhile, across the city—
Sameen Shaw rolled her eyes as Root slid into the passenger seat uninvited.
The smug woman had demanded that Shaw come find her—
And insisted she not disrupt Harold Finch and John Reese's mission.
Which was impossible.
Ever since the bank attack, involving a woman in power armor, the terrorist group Vigilance had gone completely rogue.
With Hydra's uprising, every intelligence agency in America was scrambling to scavenge S.H.I.E.L.D.'s corpse, fighting over black budgets.
Nobody had time to deal with domestic terrorism.
And with Samaritan and The Machine at war, Vigilance had evolved into a full-blown terror cell.
Only a few weeks ago, Finch and Reese had barely stopped a major bombing.
Shaw hadn't slept properly in a month.
She wasn't in the mood for Root's games.
"Relax, sweetheart."
Root grinned, handing Shaw a folder.
"There's no anthrax inside."
"If there was, you'd be dead too."
Shaw flipped it open, skimming the contents.
"Where did you get this?"
She frowned.
"This classified file—did The Machine give it to you?"
Root smiled.
"It came from a mutual friend.
Don't worry—his goals align with ours.
But he's thinking several layers deeper than we are.
I haven't figured out his full agenda yet."
Shaw exhaled.
"You still call The Machine 'God.'
You're such a freak."
She imagined a shadowy figure standing behind two servers—
A blurred silhouette, obscured by the dim light.
Root tilted her head.
"We're all freaks, Shaw."
She leaned in.
"Don't you think?"
Shaw shoved her away.
"Not a chance."
Root giggled.
"Come on, be honest.
I know you like it."
"Jesus Christ, Root—don't tickle me, I'm driving!"
_________________________
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