His heart was hammering against his chest. He was trained for this. He was trained to attack, to kill, and to vanish. He was trained to be a ghost, to move in shadows and never see the light. Nobody ever saw him until it was too late, until the knives were digging their way into flesh and the bones were being broken by metal fingers tightening their grip.
Except he had.
He had seen him. He had fought back, and now, he was chasing him. He didn't need to look down at the glass under his feet to see that the man he had been sent to kill was following him, moving just as fast as he was. Супер солдат, that's what the Russians called him. The Super Soldier, the Captain. Thatwas the person he had been given the order to break. Not kill. No, he was to break this man. To take pieces away from him first. To tear apart lives and destroy the world that the Captain had immersed himself within and let himself feel comfortable. Only after he had completely torn his life apart, when he had broken everything that made him who he was, would he kill him. That way, it would be more satisfactory. He would make him suffer, drag him down to the shadows with him, and then take pleasure in the kill. He would make the man beg for death and he would give it to him, but on his own terms. The Captain would die when he allowed him to.
The edge of the building was close. He would jump and disappear, waiting for the next moment to strike. The glass shattering behind him was a sound that he had been expecting. He didn't turn, but he heard the whip of metal coming at him. He stopped and turned, metal fingers meeting the vibranium.
Shield.
Shooting.
Falling.
His cold eyes met the hard ones of the Captain, and he remembered. He knew. He had held the shield before. He had protected himself with it. He had tried to protect the man standing in front of him with it. Just for a second, he remembered. He knew who he was. He was waking up inside his own head, trying to shout. He was trying to break free of the hold that the Зимний Солдат had on him. He wanted to say sorry. He wanted to tell the Captain – Steve, his name was Steve – that he can't stop what he's doing. That he will never be able to wash away the blood that stained his life. He wanted to drop the shield. He wanted to stop fighting. He wouldn't break this man. He couldn't break this man.
Зимний Солдат wouldn't let him. No, he wasn't just about to let him take back over his mind. He had orders. He was doing what he was told. That's what he had always been good at. He followed orders, he killed, he slept. That was his life. That was their life.
He couldn't win the control. The metal fingers tightened on the shield and the most that he – James, wasn't that his name, once over? – could do was force his eyes, cold and dead for so long, to fill with tears that would never leave them.
The shield left his hand.
The shield hit its target.
And he ran, letting the shadows engulf him and the memories fade from the mind of the monster he had been made into.