The Winter Soldier was a tall imposing figure with long ashen hair that flowed backward from his head like devil's wings. His blank sapphire eyes seemed to sink into the dark circles of his eye sockets, and when combined with the snow-white color of his skin and his gaunt features, they formed the horrific image of an empty human skull. He was death personified, and his weapon of choice was the metallic arm, a structure as cold as the Winter Soldier's heart (if he even had one), hanging innocently from the Winter Soldier's left shoulder. He was a monstrosity known to the local civilians as The Assassin, an emotionless but violent machine who struck at unsuspecting victims under the cover of night, killing them instantly.
"Winter Soldier."
The man jerked his head in the direction of those words.
"Come here."
He immediately stood up to obey, and moved swiftly toward the direction of the person beckoning him. He found himself standing in the control room, where a video was playing on the monitors. He casually observed in the screens a redhead walking outside on the streets of New York City, and immediately took care to remember all of her features.
His handler pointed to the woman and simply said, "This is your mission."
No one ever needed to directly tell the Winter Soldier to assassinate her; after all, killing was his specialty. He surmised that the redhead was a traitor to their organization, and what did he do to all traitors? He killed every single one of them so that they could never breathe more secrets to the outside world. His handler gave him the woman's file, which included known aliases, known acquaintances, and places where she could be found. He scrutinized the documents carefully, examining her pictures.
Suddenly, a voice struck the Winter Soldier's mind, cracking his expressionless demeanor.
I will always find you.
Hiding his shock, the Winter Soldier recalled a woman, a redhead just like this traitor, chasing after him, and almost every single time, something red white and blue would catch hold of her and he would escape. He remembers feeling something that he shouldn't be feeling. Is it called love? But love was something that was so out of character for a professional assassin like him. He realized that there were gaps in his memories, but that just before each one, there would be a dream of a red-haired mermaid princess dancing with him in a grand ballroom. Is he a prince?
No, he sharply admonishes himself.
He is The Beast.