Takes place between The Winter Soldier and Age of Ultron
The first sensation that pushes at the edge of my unconsciousness is the feeling of melting ice dripping down my neck. An instinctual and overwhelming wave of fear rises through my chest, although I'm not yet awake enough to consider why. The terror pulses through my lungs and feeds adrenaline into my heart, speeding my awakening. This dread paired with the lights flashing across my vision is enough to finally wake me, and my limited memory of what life has become explodes into life.
"Asset 26743."
Reflex rather thought drives my limbs into action and my vision intersperses itself with black as I stand. My right arm snaps to attention before my sight has even cleared.
"Mission imminent."
The voice is familiar, cold and void of life, and by the scraps of a soul I still possess, I hate him. This man is the face I see when I am both frozen and thawed, when sent to kill and return. All I want in this world is to personally freeze the blood in his veins and watch life flood out of his eyes but… I never will. He's my handler. There is no world but this one, and it is a world where even death is not an escape.
"Imminent, soldat!"
The lancing, arcing electricity of the cattle rod throws me to the floor but I'm on my feet before the weapon is even re-sheathed. I begin to suit up as my handler begins a muted Russian conversation with a faceless man on the screen before him.
"Will the asset be enough to hold them off?" The masked man's words are measured and controlled, though frustration trembles beneath them.
My handler responds with a barking, sharp laugh, "Of course she will."
I stand to attention as my handler stops in front of me and grips me by the chin, sending revulsion down my throat. There is a smile on his face that overflows macabre excitement and his words are tinged with gruesome pride.
"Not even the Avengers, curse them, can defeat my Wraith."
The facility is in complete lockdown, every active asset is in the field, and still they're quickly losing control. The facility has been attacked only five times in my time here but never breached before today; whoever these Avengers are, they're good.
Every call of the harsh, repetitive alarm is music to my ears. Every explosion and burst of gunfire is another crack in this facility's foundations and I am praying I will live to see the moment it collapses. Either way, some nameless feeling that surges through my stomach is telling me that this is the end. Of what exactly, I'm not sure.
"Threat approaching, soldat."
My mind snaps to the present and I take a fighting stance beside my handler. An uneasy moment passes before the door is blown off its hinges and the room fills with smoke. The room is intentionally humid at my handler's doing, and there's enough water in the air for me to make quick work of neutralising the vapour. By the time the space is clear enough to see, two figures have entered the room.
One is completely covered in red and gold armour with blue slits for eyes. His voice is cocky and calm despite the havoc that surrounds him, "Don't worry everybody, we've found our bad guy. You worry about clean up and we'll deal with Agent Smith and- I don't know who this is? Your sidekick? Hi sweetheart."
"Mr Stark, what a pleasure to finally meet. Please gentlemen, remove your masks; let us talk face to face like men."
Unable to resist the obvious bait, the armoured man's helmet peels back. I regard him with derision. One jab at your manhood and you pull down your defences, saving me the trouble. I turn my focus to the armoured man's companion. His suit is tri-coloured like a costume and his face is mostly covered by a mask and yet… There is something hazily and distantly familiar about him like a memory of a photograph. His eyes scan the room, studying every detail before landing on me. He moves to pull his helmet back (idiot) and for a second, a moment of something related to hope grows in my chest and then subsequently dies; his face, although handsome, is equally unfamiliar. I meet his gaze, trying to piece the echo together before it dissolves. My handler steals my focus and the memory evaporates.
"How fitting, the great Iron Man and Captain America-" The name is familiar also: who is this man?!- "taken down singlehandedly by my Wraith."
"Wraith? That's fun. What's she do, haunt us?" The gaze of the armoured man, assumably Iron Man, flicks to me before returning to my handler.
Do not underestimate me.
"Laugh if you like, Mr Stark, but the Wraith is a miracle of science and faith. She is a weapon forged by the glory of Hydra's past but the key to building its future. Capable of breaking your strongest man with a touch, she is the reckoning of all Hydra's enemies and any who block her path."
Distracted by my handler's ostentatious speech, the two men fail to notice the hand gesture he signs to me.
Prime.
A very small but surprisingly persistent feeling of wrong creeps into my mouth as I think of attacking this Captain America despite the fact that he is the easier target. The question of Who is he?! continues to flash behind my eyes with every heartbeat.
"And you two are in the way." Another flash of hands.
Engage.
I am across the room with my hand wrapped around Captain America's neck before anyone can move. The room freezes as both Captain America and Iron Man realise the true threat at hand. My eyes are locked on my handler, waiting for a command, but the warmth of the skin beneath my hand stays at the forefront of my mind. The words of wrong, wrong, wrong have escalated to a roar. I feel dizzy. A kill hasn't felt like this since… The thought drifts away before I can catch but the sentiment lingers nonetheless.
"I would consider your next movements very carefully, gentlemen, as the Captain will be dead before you could even beg for mercy."
I realise with a painful start that I don't want to kill this man.
"How pleasantly humbling it is to see Earth's mightiest heroes cowed before a single woman."
Heroes. The word strikes an unwelcome cord in my chest. Something from before I became this, something that I haven't allowed a voice in so long fights its way to the surface. Heroes are the good guys. You can't kill heroes, you're supposed to save them. They're supposed to save you.
I risk a glance at the man whose life I carry in my hands and once again I am swallowed by the feeling of wrongness as our eyes meet. His face is calm with only twitches of fear showing in the clench of his jam. His gaze carries no anger or loathing, only composure and something that looks like pity. It feels like I'm looking into a mirror. I return my eyes to my handler before my own calm cracks.
"No last words, Captain? Mr Stark, no final pleas for mercy?" My handler is mocking them, hungry for their supplications.
Each man stands firm, but the Iron Man's body is fraught with tension; his hands shake, either from anger or restraining himself.
"We can help you," The soft whisper comes right beside my right ear, "You can leave here."
Is my turmoil so obvious? I give him no response, too afraid that my handler has heard his soft words.
Mayb-
No, they're the enemy. Why would they help me?
They're heroes.
So what, I am one of the bad guys. Heroes put bad guys in the ground.
I wasn't always a bad guy.
I'm sure as hell one now.
But I don't want to be.
The arguments sling back and forth in my head as Captain America speaks again, "You don't have to be what they've made you. You're more than a weapon."
This time we're caught.
"Enough with your lies, Captain! Soldat, neutralise."
I turn to face the Captain as my hand tightens around his throat. The monster that has been honed by my handler and all his minions screams kill, and my power itches under my skin out of reflex. But, the little voice that speaks of heroes and my past builds into a steady roar underneath it, a repeating record of you're more than a weapon.
Am I? No.
Could I be?
Maybe.
"Soldat, neutralise!" A tremor of fear escapes from under my handler's words and I realise that for once, I actually have a choice.
The facility is in ruins and there are no soldiers left here. If I kill him, there is no one to stop me. If I run away and throw myself into the sea, there is no one to drag me back here for resurrection.
If I follow these men, there is a chance of redemption.
I stomp out that hope out before it can grow.
Either way, for the first time that I can remember, my actions are my own.
My gaze turns slowly towards my handler. I can feel everything; the sweat running down his forehead, the moist air churning in his lungs, and the water pumping through his veins.
He's afraid.
Good.
"Wraith… Finish the mission." His voice is low and measured, like trying to calm a rabid dog.
You wanted a feral animal. Here I am.
My voice is raspy from disuse but the word carries across the room nonetheless.
"No."
So… this is hopefully going to be like a full series? It's just going to be something fun, with some drama but mainly fluff I reckon, cos that's what I'm feeling.
If you want a cute scene at some point, hmu! All those cute headcanons that float around tumblr, heck yeah! Want Natasha to plait Cap's hair because it's been a long week, why not! Think Scott or Peter should pop up early, c'mon in guys!
There's too much serious stuff going with the MCU and everything atm, I just need some chill stuff.
