Chapter 4

Harry flitted from shadow to shadow, his footsteps almost silent against the floor. He peaked around the corner, immediately ducking back as he caught sight of two armed men, each watching out of a window. Listening very carefully, he detected footsteps, and waited for them to once again to become immobile.

As soon as they did, he moved around the corner, his pistol held high. In the space of the second, he squeezed the trigger four times. Neither man had time to cry out before they found their chests splattered with red and hit the grounds like puppets with their strings cut.

For a few seconds, Harry waited, still crouching. When no one came, he moved over to the window. After checking for any kind of trap, he slid it open and climbed out into the night, clinging onto the ledge. A glance downwards revealed that he would most likely break his legs if he fell from this height; he was four floors up.

Reaching into the pouch at his side he extracted a device. He left the main part of it in his pouch, though attached the thin wire to the window sill. After ensuring it was secure, he kicked off of the wall and pressed a button. The wire was deceptively strong, easily holding his weight as he swung downwards and once again came into contact with the wall.

He repeated that abseiling motion a few times, and found himself suspended just above the window of the ground floor. Once again kicking off the wall, he flipped over so that he was now upside down. Moving with great caution, he lowered himself so that he could see through the window.

The sight of more guards greeted him. One of them was even looking out of the window and would have seen Harry had he looked upwards. The others were dotted around the large room, at least seven of them, though there might have been more.

Harry looked at the grassy courtyard below him, his eyes scanning for any possible threats. A device that was most likely a motion detector sat on the wall, emanating a red laser that shone through the darkness. He would have to launch his attack from here, then.

Drawing his pistol from where he had holstered it, Harry drew himself a few steps back up the wall, searing the image of the room into his mind. He prepared his power, pressed the button to release the rope, and kicked off the wall. In mid-air he adjusted himself so that he was once again upright, and a moment later smashed through the window in a shower of shattered glass.

Immediately, he crashed into a guard, firing a shot into him even as they both were sent to the floor. The others rushed to get their guns up, but Harry unleashed a shockwave of his power outwards. Over such a range, it wasn't too useful as anything but a distraction, but a distraction was all he needed.

His power burst outwards like a gust of wind, tipping tables, and sending guards staggering backwards. Harry dashed for cover and skidded behind it, lobbing a concussion grenade as he did so. It detonated a moment later with a tremendous bang and flash of bright light.

Harry stood from where he had taken cover behind a toppled bookcase, his gun in hand. Instantly, he took in the new positions of everything and began to fire. The gun barely kicked, allowing him to fire two shots into each man and rapidly switch his aim to the next with calm efficiency, marking each with red.

He was aiming far to his right when movement on his left caught his eye, and he rolled to the floor as the man began to fire. The shots smashed against the wall behind him, and the guard had no time to alter his aim as Harry came up from his roll and unleashed a blast of force from his left hand, his right hand still firing his pistol at the other side of the room.

The man was thrown backwards head over heels, and Harry span to finish off his last foe, who evidently hadn't been taken out by his barrage of badly aimed shots.

Harry managed to fire a single shot before a storm of rounds smashed into his back, sending him skidding to the floor as crimson liquid sprayed high into the air.

For a moment he stayed down, but then growled and climbed to his feet, discarding his pistol. He turned around at glared at the man who he had missed before looking back around the room. At least he had managed to hit everyone else, confirmed by the red splatters on each soldier who was climbing to his feet.

A door on the other side of the room opened, and Agent Smith entered. "A poor performance," he said. "If any more shots had hit you, you might pass for one of your victims."

Harry glared at him, but nonetheless pulled off his outer layer, looking over the red paint covering it. Seven shots in the back would have doubtlessly killed him had they been bullets. He would not be able to heal a bullet through the spine or heart in time. Paintballs were quite a bit less threatening, however, and it would be easy to clear the bruises they had left behind. Nonetheless, Harry was annoyed that he had lost - not because of any punishment he might face, however. Rather, it was out of competitiveness.

It had now been about two years since his first escape attempt, and thus two years since he had really began to hone his control over his power. This meant that any attempts at corporal punishment tended to end with Harry "accidentally" injuring or killing the one who attempted to discipline him. That didn't mean he was capable of escape, though, or else he would already be gone.

Guards always hovered around him and he was well aware that though they might have been unable to stop him via non-lethal means, they would not hesitate to fill him with bullets if they thought there was a good chance of him escaping. And so Harry obeyed orders - for the most part. If they thought he was willing to be obedient and compliant, there was a greater chance they would assign him a mission; this time he wouldn't screw it up by attempting to escape upon his opportunity.

"Come, Harry," said Smith and strode from the room, his hand clasped behind his back. They both knew how easily Harry could kill him. yet he was fearless. Maybe it was because he knew Harry didn't want to face the consequences for purposefully killing someone as important as Smith. Maybe it was because he knew that Harry liked speaking to him - even if it was only an incredibly slight amount and only a result of the fact that Smith was the only person Harry had consistently spoken to in years.

Harry followed Smith from the room and even moments after he had been thinking about how he had a slight affection for him, thought about how simple it would be to launch a spine-shattering blast of force into him. His power was limited by range, but now he was a mere metre away. If he really tried, he might be able kill him without even leaving a mark. All it would take was a tap to the head, accompanied by a burst of power that would heavily damage Smith's brain and end his life.

Wisely, Harry once again denied himself killing the man, who soon said, "You are ten years old now, and I have no doubt that you are the best ten-year-old assassin who has ever lived." Smith's expression remained neutral as ever, but Harry could sense something lying beneath in the way he almost always could. Was it...proudness? Perhaps with a hint of sadness mixed in? That was truly odd. "You have trained in many ways to end life, and have used them many a time." As they walked, Smith looked to Harry and smirked. "It is unfortunate that the vast majority of times have been against my own men."

Harry matched Smith's expression a little more maliciously. "Accidents, I assure you."

"I am sure," said Smith, "however, that is not what I desire to talk about. As I said, you have an assassin's skill, even if you cannot be trusted to go on missions. If we ever want you to be trusted, we must ensure that you do not want to escape. We thus must teach you our philosophies in far greater detail than before."

Harry was unsure as to why they hadn't taught him in their ways from the start. Surely it would have been best to indoctrinate him in their ways since joining, rather than only with occasional mentions of it. Maybe they thought that before he had been too stupid to understand before this stage. What was more likely, was that they planning on treating him less harshly from now on, and didn't want him to associate his prior abuse with their ideologies.

Harry wished he could see what Smith was thinking, but that was far beyond his power. If he had eye contact he could sometimes sense emotions if he tried, but he was unsure as to whether that was due to his power or simply an affinity for picking up body language.

"Very well," Harry said. "When will my training begin?"

Smith stopped walking and turned to Harry. His blue eyes flashed with something unidentifiable. "Well-" He was cut off as his radio crackled to life, and he moved it up to his ear. "What?" he demanded.

If Harry hadn't been watching Smith's eyes so closely, he wouldn't have notice as they momentarily flickered to something behind him; he wouldn't have had time to dive aside as a projectile zipped past him and smacked against a wall.

Smith drew his gun in an instant and had it up a moment later, but it was not aimed Harry. Instead, it was pointed in the direction from which the attack had came. A barrage of thunderlike roars ripped through the quiet. It took Harry a moment to register that the muzzle of Smith's gun hadn't flashed, and it had not been him to fire.

Red blood exploded into the air as three rounds slammed into Smith's chest. Each had fallen around his heart and there was no doubt that he was dead, or would be so shortly.

Snatching Smith's pistol from mid-air as it tumbled from his grasp, Harry dove backwards and behind a wall. His mind was instantly racing with escape methods. In the darkness of the night it would be near impossible to spot any attackers. That problem was abruptly solved as a chorus of alarms rose up and light flooded the complex, accompanied by more gunshots cracking through the night.

Fully automatic assault rifles of a different calibre to those used by Hydra, Harry idly registered. They were under attack from multiple people, and judging by the silent and most definitely not a bullet projectile that had been fired at Harry, they were after him.

Acting rapidly, he checked Smith's gun was loaded, even though he knew it would be. It was, but was a slightly unfamiliar weapon to him, its weight foreign to his grip. That would not make much of a difference. Anyone who dared cross him would face the same fate - that said, who were the attackers? SHIELD, perhaps? It mattered not, for this was Harry's chance to escape and he was damned if he was going to let it pass.

With that thought, Harry leapt from cover, firing shots towards where the previous attacks had came from as he dashed towards the nearest building. The sound of the gunshots was indistinguishable from the sound of warfare in the background, yet the concrete around his feet still leapt as rounds smashed against it.

Harry ignored the bullets, crashing through a window and into a corridor. Without looking back, he dashed through the complex, pistol and power at the ready as he made his way towards his destination. As he rounded the corner, he found himself faced with four men. They seemed to hesitate; whether it was because Harry was a child, or because he was their target, he didn't know; it didn't make a difference. Harry unleashed his tightly-coiled power at them, about three metres away, and it slammed into them a moment later.

The crunches of breaking bones echoed through the air and a moment later the dull thumps of broken bodies hitting the floor and the clatter of metal weapons followed. Harry bounded over their bodies, uncaring of whether they were dead or alive and slammed into a door, blowing it off its hinges.

Stairs confronted him, leading downwards into the tunnels under the base. His step displayed no hesitation as he moved down them. After years at the base, he was confident that the underground area was familiar to him. The corridor was illuminated brightly with fluorescent lights upon its roof, but still every shadow - however rare - seemed to leap out at Harry, forming into jagged knives and muzzles of rifles.

Harry wished for something - anything - to distract him. If he was left unchallenged, his thoughts would remain upon the subject of his escape, and would only make things harder rather than easier. It would be better if his plan were to remain simple - over-complexifying would not aid him.

As he rounded the corner his wish of distraction was granted. Harry immediately recognised that the distance was too large for his power to be effective and squeezed down upon the trigger. The first shot missed as the black-clad man dove aside. The second sunk uselessly into a layer of kevlar. The third drilled through a metal helmet and into the man's head, staining the white wall behind him with crimson blood.

Without a second glance at the corpse, Harry continued onwards. He moved around the next corner - and then immediately ducked back as he laid eyes upon a dozen soldiers, at least ten metres away. There were not enough bullets in a magazine to fell all of them, and it was too far for his power to work. So Harry sprinted away, back down the corridor.

If there were that many in one place, they had clearly known where he was. How had they been able to find him? Harry glanced up to the security cameras mounted high upon the walls and swore; they had to have gained control of computer system. Depositing a bullet in the camera, he continued onwards, shooting out every camera he came across.

When he had went far enough, he doubled back. Now, the people in the corridor had dispersed, likely pursuing his false trail. He moved deeper through the winding tunnels, to where he knew another exit lay. It was not in the computer system, so the intruders shouldn't have known of its location.

But they did.

As Harry peeked around the corner which led to the hidden door, he rapidly drew back. Two guards were posted there, and there could be a thousand more outside. The sounds of battle had died in the background. And if these guards were anything to judge by, Hydra had not won.

The guards both looked the other way for a second and Harry finally got a good look at them. Their uniform was almost an exact replica of those worn by the guards at Hydra: black combat gear accompanied by a face-obscuring helmet of a matching colour. One difference, however, was prevalent. Instead of the tentacled-skull that sat upon the breast of a Hydra uniform, another circular logo was bore, a bird of some kind. Harry knew it to be an eagle, the symbol of SHIELD.

For a brief moment, he contemplated the thought of them helping him. The likelihood was far too small to risk handing himself into them. He had already killed agents of theirs - he couldn't remember how many.

Gathering his power, Harry dashed around the corner. At the sound of his footsteps upon concrete, the guards turned, but didn't get their rifles up fast enough to prevent the shimmers of energy that ripped straight through their chests. Like the dead men they were, they both dropped to the floor with naught but dull thumps.

Harry dashed through the exit and up the stairs, favouring speed instead of stealth. A bitter wind bit at his face as he escaped into the air. Less than a hundred metres in front of him was the wall that marked the base's perimeter: four metres of concrete topped by electric barbed wire. With a glance back at the base, he sprinted for the wall.

Not three seconds had passed before yells arose behind him and alarms began to blare. He would've never have tried this when Hydra was in control, but these people were not looking to kill him - or so he hoped. It seemed to be true, for once the chorus of gunshots rose again, the shots seemed to be aimed at the floor around him. Dirt and stones peppered his legs as he zig-zagged across the field, but no bullets.

He was closer now, ten metres away. He would only have one shot at this, or he would be captured. At five metres he leapt, bringing his power up under him. Such a large force was impossible for Harry to control with any finesse and it slammed into his legs with the force of a harsh fall, sending him flying upwards.

In the imitation of what Harry had once seen in the Olympics when he had been with the Dursleys, he arched his back and attempted to lead himself over. A scream burst from his throat as razor wire sliced into his shoulder and sent white hot electricity coursing through his body, and then he was crashing towards the ground on the other side.

He attempted to catch himself with his power but failed as he found himself crashing through the branches of a tree. Splinters of wood scratched at every inch of skin and then he was on the floor, his whole body racked with pain and shoulder most likely dislocated.

Through the agony, Harry allowed himself a small smile as he began to heal himself. He was not yet free, but he would be soon. Hydra might not have died by his hand, but he supposed SHIELD doing it for him was was close enough.

Harry pressed himself flush against the branch and slowed his breathing to a crawl. The sound of boots crunching leaves and twigs underfoot approached, but was drowned out as a helicopter swooped overhead. The aircraft moved away and the footsteps were there once again, growing ever closer. There were four people by Harry's estimation. As with the rest of the SHIELD agents, they would each be carrying tasers and assault rifles, wearing night-vision goggles.

It had been a matter of hours since he had escaped the Hydra base and he had been making incredibly slow progress through the forest since then. He guessed there were at least a hundred men out looking for him, and he had counted at least three helicopters. Thermal-imaging cameras were likely looking down upon him at that very moment, and he was suddenly glad of the disguising qualities of his Hydra uniform.

The men came into view and Harry stared upon them. As he had guessed, there were four. He had been wrong, however, about them wearing night-vision goggles. The light of the morning sun was beginning to penetrate the trees, and at this point night-vision would only hinder them. They were using flashlights, attached to the underside of their guns' barrels.

A light swung towards Harry's spot and he froze for a moment. It didn't move over him, however, and Harry receded deeper into the leaves of the tree. As soon as these men passed, he would follow them. If this forest was as large as he thought, SHIELD couldn't afford to have two patrols operating near to each other. So if he was following after one group, another wouldn't come close.

It was not too long before Harry was following them with the grace of a skilled hunter. Every step he took was measured and precise, as not to make more noise than was necessary.

It was hours later when the men finally turned around and started making their way back to the base. Harry, of course, continued. By this point he was fairly sure that his power was the only thing stopping him from collapsing - whether it be from thirst, starvation, exhaustion, or his aching body.

A few further hours later found Harry arriving at a road. It was only a few minutes later when he found a road sign - in English and repeated in French directly below. That greatly lowered the list of countries he could be in. Luck was on his side, for Hydra had seen it fit to teach him French as well as a list of other languages; he would be able to fit in, provided his social skills hadn't been too limited by his years of imprisonment, which they probably had been.

So with a deep breath, Harry made his way towards civilisation, free for the first time in years.

A/N: Sorry about the long update times. Tell me what you thought.