What kind of face was it?
Back in the real universe, Dreykov and his daughter had died together in an explosion.
But...
The Natasha of the real universe was different from the Natasha here.
Natasha had never felt guilty. Or perhaps she had once, but ever since her life level had completed its evolution, this matter was no longer a demon in her heart.
Everyone had to die eventually!
That was all there was to it.
I killed your body, not your soul. You hadn't truly died. The soul was what determined a person's true existence, not anything else.
"Antonia."
Dreykov looked at Natasha, who was staring at Taskmaster. He pointed to the back of his own neck and said to Natasha, "At the time, you nearly killed my Antonia. I had no choice but to install a chip in the back of her neck. Look at her. Do you think it's hard to see her? She can see everything. She can do anything. She's a perfect mimic."
Otherwise, she wouldn't have been called Taskmaster.
That was why, when Natasha had fought her back then, she had felt as though she were fighting Captain America, Iron Man, Hawkeye Barton, and herself all at once.
Natasha stared at Taskmaster's motionless expression, unable to read her condition, and frowned. "Can she hear me?"
Dreykov moved closer to Natasha. "What, do you want to make her feel better? You were like this, and so was your mother. Like mother, like daughter. Your mother was bewitched by that damned federal officer, and you were also bewitched by that damned Federation. But I have to say, your father was quite an interesting man."
Whoosh!
Natasha looked up at Dreykov. What was that supposed to mean?
The corners of Dreykov's mouth lifted as he fully demonstrated