Disclaimer: I own only the plot and the OC's

Hello my faithful audience! College is extremely hectic so I sincerely apologize for how long the wait was! No one reviewed my last chapter so no shout outs for you!

As always, Thank you so much to my Beta, VBallet!

Enjoy!

The air inside the cockpit is still as the two men sitting inside mentally prepare themselves for the mission that would soon commence. Samson sat back in his seat, his long legs stretching in front of him and his hair held back in a loose ponytail. His arms were crossed in front of his chest. Against SHIELD protocol, Samson had torn the sleeves off of his uniform so his massive, ink covered arms were exposed. It was as if he was daring his enemies to scar them. Clint was seated in the pilot's seat and was maneuvering the plane in for descent to the SHIELD outpost in Russia.

Once the plane touched down, Clint and Samson got up and quietly collected their gear. There was a palpable difference between the two agents. They were essentially polar opposites. Clint worked from a distance. Precision, agility, and stealth were his assets. Samson worked up close and personal. Brute strength, ferocity, and gaul were Samson. In a way, Samson and Natasha worked in similar fashions. Face to face with the enemy. But even Natasha worked differently than Samson. Natasha could hide in plain sight. She could be charming enough to get a reaction and yet the minute she chose, her mark would forget that she even existed. Samson's was quite the opposite. He was deployed to send a message. Don't fuck with SHIELD.

These differences were apparent in the way they moved and used equipment. Clint carefully and methodically checked his gear before carrying it off while Samson picked up the entire pile at once and walked into the base. Clint brought along his bow and arrows, two precision made 9mm pistols, and three long, thin knives. Samson was assigned an AA-12 automatic shotgun, his two .50 caliber pistols. He also got his pride and joy, a set of fingerless gloves with a special material along the knuckles that, when an electric current is passed through it, turns into a heavy, metallic alloy. Not only that, but with different commands from Samson's nervous system, the alloy can take the shape of his famous grizzly claws.

"Gentlemen. I hope the flight was pleasant." Coulson deadpans, walking into the room. "You two know the drill. In and out. Nothing extra. Clint, you're on overwatch. Samson, you're on the ground. This is your test. You'll be responsible for Dr. Selvig. God help you if you fail." Coulson mutters the last part under his breath before walking from the room.

Clint chuckles at the questioning look from Samson. "Selvig's best friend is Thor. As in the nordic God." Samson opens his mouth to say something but instead closes his mouth and shakes his head. "At this point, I don't know if you're screwing with me or not, but I honestly don't care. We'll get him out," he mutters, piling shotgun rounds into one of the magazines.

The car bumped along a back road in slums of Moscow. Clint and Samson were crammed into the back seat, their gear securely in their hands or strapped to their backs. The plan was simple. Clint would exit the car first, taking up position in one of the buildings across the street from the apartment where Dr. Selvig was being held. Samson would then get out and storm the building, fight his way to Selvig, then call a helicopter for extraction from the roof.

"Test, test." Clint whispered, testing out the comms. "Test confirmed." Samson replies, rolling his shoulders back as the adrenaline began to flow. The car slows to a stop in front of a four story apartment complex and Clint quickly gets out and discretely walks into the building. The vehicle pulls forward slowly, stopping a few houses away from the target building. "Good luck kid." Coulson calls from the driver seat as Samson jumps from the car and into a nearby alley.

"Hawkeye, give me a good route." Samson whispers. The buildings on Clint's side of the street were taller, giving him a better vantage point. "Your 10 o'clock. Back alley. Thirty yards and you're at the back entrance." Clint replies, watching Samson's movements closely with his sharp eyes.

Samson follows Clint's directions without question, knowing full well that his friend knew a much better way. "Stop, you're there Grizzly." Clint says, his bow drawn back, eyes scanning for targets. Samson stops at the door and presses an ear to the door, trying to listen for movement. "Watch the windows." Samson says with a smirk before raising his foot and slamming his heel into the door, breaking it off its hinges.

Clint lowers his high-tech goggles, giving him a view through the walls of the apartment. Samson's earpiece sends off high frequency pings to create a sonar image for Clint to use. "You got two around the corner Grizzly," Clint says unenthusiastically, though a part of him smirks, knowing this was Samson's first contact with non-SHIELD personnel since he got here.

As the two men round the corner, Samson flexes his fist, causing the gloves to form his brass knuckles. Samson charges the corner as soon as they come into view and slams the two men into the wall. The man closer to him pulls his gun but Samson pushes the barrel away from his body and brings his elbow down into the man's jaw, snapping his head to the side. Judging by the way his body slumps, the man was either dead or taking a really long nap.

Samson stands and reaches for his gun, but the second man recovers quickly and kicks the gun from Samson's hand. Samson spins with the momentum, squeezing his hand again, bringing his claws forward. Samson brings his left fist around, raking the claws down the man's cheek. Before the blood begins to flow, Samson brings his right fist down the man's chest. Right as the man hits the wall, blood pouring from his face and chest, Samson slashes his left fist across the man's throat.

Samson stalks away, breathing hard, blood dripping from his fists. A third man rounds the corner with his gun raised and firing. Samson jumps to the side and ducks under the first two shots. The narrow hallway limits his options so Samson sprints towards the KGB agent, dodging a third shot before launching a superman punch to the man's jaw.

"Has anyone ever told you how ugly you fight?" Clint deadpans. "Not from the ground they don't." Samson says, raising his automatic shotgun. If the entire neighborhood didn't already know he was here, they were about to find out. "Hawkeye let me know where he is so I know I won't shoot him by accident." Samson says, letting loose five rounds of buckshot into the wall in front of him. The thuds on the ground let Samson know his suspicions were correct about men being behind the wall.

"He's on the third floor. Fetch boy." Clint says, sending an arrow through the second floor window. Samson raises an eyebrow as a man tumbles down the stairs, an arrow through his neck. "Really? I thought this was my mission." Samson chuckles, stepping over the body. He sweeps the stairwell with his shotgun, checking for threats. Finding none, he sprints up the stairs to the third floor. "Two left." Clint says, scanning the windows.

Samson nods and walks quietly to the wall. Suddenly, four gunshots fly through the wall, sending brown, mildew laden flecks of wall into Samson's face. Samson dives down to the floor, cursing wildly. He raises his AA-12 and squeezes the trigger, firing round after round into the room. The wall was in tatters and threatened to fall over when Samson's clip was finally empty.

Before Samson is able to reload a tall, dark haired man comes around the corner, firing his AK-47 down at Samson. The one bullet finds its mark inside of Samsons shoulder joint. His left arm essentially paralyzed, Samson reaches behind his body and flings a knife at the mans chest. After the knife leaves his hand, Samson reaches down to wield one of his .50 caliber pistols. The man spins to avoid the knife but moves right into the path of two large caliber bullets, ripping his chest wide open, spattering blood everywhere.

Samson reloads his pistol and stands, his left arm hanging limp by his side. He walks down the hallway, sweeping right and left until coming to the last door in the hallway. Samson stands back, raises his arm, and kicks in the door. Dr. Eric Selvig is on the ground, and a man that looked vaguely familiar is standing above him, a pistol pointed at his head. "Well well well. So you're Shield's new retriever. You traded ISIS for SHIELD huh?"

Aaaaaaaaaand it's a cliff hanger! Stay tuned! And don't forget to review!