Hello and welcome to the story!
I'm excited to finally venture into writing fic for the MCU! A few things to get you oriented because they wouldn't fit in the summary: this story is slightly AU, set between CAWS and CACW directly after AoU. Steve x OC, slow burn. Rating for violence and some mild language.
Hope you enjoy and feel free to drop a review or a PM!
Prologue: The Asset
Mission: Preservation of HYDRA.
Primary target: Level eight. Enhanced. Considered extremely dangerous. Engage on sight.
Secondary targets: Any other threat to the launch of Project Insight. Eliminate immediately.
The orders were the only thing to fill his head. Crouched on his perch well beyond any prying eyes, he observed the unfolding storm. Gunfire popped from multiple floors. Three massive helicarriers slowly rose into the sky, and a steady stream of well-dressed people stampeded out of the front doors of the Triskelion, sobbing and swearing and dragging their less fortunate friends behind them.
They screamed, but he didn't move. Not until a voice broke through the static in his comms:
"Twenty-second floor. STRIKE compromised. Targets: levels six and seven. Engage and eliminate."
"Yes, sir."
Using his metal arm to control the fall, he slid from his hiding place. Light on his feet and armed to the teeth, he stalked through and around the chaos, nothing more than the smoke in the air. He moved up uncrowded stairwells and through air vents until he finally got a good vantage point to assess the target.
Five hostiles. Two male, three female. Insignia on left shoulder patch indicating SHIELD Special Forces.
And based on the number of STRIKE combatants down, they fought like it.
He'd need to make this quick.
Black sights lined up on the first target, and a finger wrapped around the trigger. He squeezed, the rifle pushed back into his shoulder, and the target fell.
The second and third came down in the same ghostly staccato. Two remained: a huge man that stood over the bodies of the other three as STRIKE began to rally, and a woman with a commanding air that had taken cover but still fired on the STRIKE commandos and barked into her comms.
She was the smart one.
The man crumpled to the floor, three exit wounds in his chest.
Now it was just a waiting game.
One little mistake. One break in resolve. One split second of emotion overriding training.
There.
Black sights lined up on the target. A finger wrapped around the trigger and squeezed. The rifle pushed back into his shoulder, and the target stumbled.
He pulled the trigger again, and the target fell.
The STRIKE commandos filed out of the room. As he slid from his perch and ran towards the flight pad, their commander's voice crackled through his comms:
"Well done, Soldier."