Sophie's face hurt. She was aware of this first. Even before she opened her eyes, she could feel the pain. Her lips felt swollen, her cheekbones ached, and she had a massive headache. She lay on the cold hard surface of wherever she was and debated whether she should open her eyes or not. She didn't want to wake up and see where she was. If she kept her eyes closed…would she drift back off into the darkness and die? She lay limply, eyes closed, trying to breath normally. Thinking. Pondering. He had punched her in the face. Sophie hadn't been physically hit by someone since primary school. The pain in her left shoulder was growing more and more intense by the second as well. The more she tried to block it out the more painful it got until she felt like she might scream. She didn't know if she was being babyish—having a dislocated shoulder and being punched in the face were probably very mild assaults compared to what could have happened—but to a girl who wasn't used to physical attacks or even people touching her, they were horrible.

"Wake up." His voice. It was all she could do not to flinch in shock. She'd been so lost in her own miserable thoughts…and it had been so silent around her…she'd almost forgotten that he was surely near. He sounded like he was across the room. She decided to ignore him and pretend like she was still passed out. This didn't work out because he spoke again: "I know you're awake. Get up before I make you get up."

This made Sophie's eyes fly wide open. She stared up at the dark ceiling above her. It looked like…some type of tin? Tiny small holes punctured it and bleak, milky gray daylight filtered in through the minuscule holes, barely illuminating the room. She became aware of the overwhelming smell of dirt and rot and slowly sat up, wincing and biting her lip as pain tore through her shoulder and arm. She looked around. They were in some kind of shack with dirt and matted hay on the ground, dark gray tin walls and ceiling with paint flaking off, a rusted door in the corner. He sat right in front of the door, arms crossed, legs straight out in front of him, staring at her. He still wore his mask and goggles.

Sophie scrambled back into the furthest corner away from him that she could and wildly looked around for something to defend herself with—but there was nothing but hay. Not that she really thought she could have fought against him anyway; he'd proven that he was freakishly strong. She knew know for sure that he wasn't a normal human. No human could dislocate someone's shoulder just by yanking them up (unless they were Dwayne Johnson). "Where—" Panic threatened to overwhelm her and she took a few deep, shaky breaths. "Where are we?" It hurt to speak and her lower lip split open as she did. A bead of blood rolled down her chin and she instinctively licked it away, tasting salt and copper.

He was silent.

"Ple—Please," Sophie said. "Tell me where we are. Why you took me. Is it money? Is it my family's money you want? Because I can get you that. There's no n—you don't need to do this." She swallowed. "How much do you want? My dad can pay any amount."

He was silent.

What do I do now? Sophie thought in despair. He wouldn't speak, wouldn't answer any questions… How was she going to learn any information and figure out an escape plan if she didn't know anything?

"Can you—"

He interrupted her suddenly, stating, "Your shoulder is dislocated."

Sophie stared at him incredulously, unsure of what to say. Was he trying to be funny or was he being serious? Of course her shoulder was dislocated—he'd ripped it out of its socket! She looked down at her throbbing shoulder and winced when she saw the redness, the swelling, the newly formed bruises. Her shoulder looked misshapen and out of alignment. She could barely move it now; the pain was too intense. Her head snapped up in alarm when she heard the man stand up and move towards her. She pressed against the wall, panicking, saying, "Wait—wait, what are you doing?" as he advanced upon her.

He didn't answer, merely strode towards her, knelt near her, and grabbed her arm. All too late, Sophie realized what he was going to do and dread knotted in her stomach. "Wait—" she started in a high-pitched voice but he had already grabbed the back of her head and shoved it down slightly, immobilizing her. He grabbed her dislocated shoulder and then snapped it back into place.

Sophie let out a scream. She couldn't help it. A high-pitched wail escaped her mouth as she fell over onto her side, pressing a hand against her burning, throbbing shoulder, sharp stabbing pain radiating down her arm. She balled up her right fist and bit down on it, trying to stop the scream that was rising in her throat. Tears rolled sideways down her face, across the bridge of her nose and into her right ear, soaking the hair on the right side of her face. She lay there, whimpering, while he clunked back to his spot across the shack and sat back down. She had to lay there, shaking, for a good ten minutes before she could regain composure. She slowly sat up, her arm still killing her with pain—but she could move it now. She slowly wiped away her tears with her right hand and pushed her bedraggled hair out of her face. Then she looked up at the man and spoke slowly and carefully, trying to remain calm.

"Listen," she said. "I'm your—I'm your captive, okay? I'm not going anywhere. We both know that. So can you please tell me why you took me—or who you are—what is all this? I just need some sort of answers. You just shoved my arm back into its socket; you owe me that much. After that, I—I promise I'll stop talking." His head tilted oh-so-slightly to the side, as if tempted by her offer to shut up. Encouraged by this, she quickly said, "I promise I'll shut up—if you just—t-tell me why you took me and—"

"You're my mission," he stated emotionlessly, cutting her off again.

"Wh-What?" she asked, bewildered. "Your—mission? I don't understand—are you a—are you a—"

"The Winter Soldier," he said, sounding almost bored.

"Your name is the Winter Soldier? But who do you fi—who do you work for?" When he didn't answer, her voice became more shrill. "Who do you work for? What do you want? Please, just let me know, and I can—"

"You can shut the hell up." Sophie flinched in shock at the awful coldness in his voice. Her mouth open but she faltered, at a total loss for what to say. He nodded once and said, "Like that. Speak again and I'll give you another reason to cry." She wanted to fly across the room and claw at him, snatch his mask and goggles off and gouge his eyes out—but she was Sophie Duran and she was far too cowardly for that. So she snapped her mouth shut, her heart pounding horribly. She didn't know much but at least she knew what his name was…the Winter Soldier. It had a scary ring to it. It wasn't a normal, personal human name…it was a title. And soldiers did dangerous things and the winter could be a deadly force of nature, so all in all…

I'm doomed. I am totally doomed. I haven't even been kidnapped by a normal man with a normal name. I've been kidnapped by a…superhuman thing who has a title. A terrifying title.

Sophie turned away from the Winter Soldier, bent over, and threw up. She didn't have much in her stomach, not having eaten anything since yesterday evening when she'd gotten home—oh, how long ago it all seemed now, though it hadn't even been a full day since it had happened—and nothing really came out except saliva and bile. She wasn't even throwing up, she was retching and gagging and dry-heaving. She couldn't help it. She felt like she was being smothered in her own death. She was alone with a dangerous superhuman freak who was called the Winter Soldier and had no qualms violently attacking her. He'd dislocated her shoulder, punched her in the face, and had just as violently fixed her shoulder. He would have no issues strangling her if he so wanted.

When she was done, Sophie crawled into a corner and dragged some piles of hay over her. It was pitiful but she wanted to make herself as invisible as possible. She didn't want to feel his goggle-covered gaze all over her anymore, even though she knew he was still watching her. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and cried. No noise came out of her. No dramatics. Nothing to show him to make him feel sorry for her. She didn't care about him at all. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks and her mouth was open in a silent cry. Silent sobs wracked her body and she shook with the weight of realizing that she wasn't going to survive whatever was coming next.

That was where she fell asleep, after crying for god knew how long, her head dropping onto her chest and eventually falling over completely, head hitting the ground. And still the Winter Soldier sat in his corner, arms crossed, staring impassively at her pale, tear-soaked face.


He didn't mind telling the girl his name. A big part of his persona was staying within the shadows but it wasn't a necessity. Who was she going to tell anyway? She was as good as dead. She was never escaping from him and when he delivered her to his handlers, she was never escaping them. She was never going to see the real world again.

She was weak. So weak. His stomach curled in disgust as he looked at her slight form curled up on the ground, eyes closed, lower lip bloody. Her breathing was slow and rhythmic; she was actually asleep right now, not pretending as she had been earlier. All she did was cry and whine and ask questions he couldn't—or wouldn't—answer. He would have done anything to make her stop talking and breaking her jaw was out of the question—he had been instructed to bring her back unharmed enough that she could still speak and think normally, though he was allowed to use excessive force if he wanted—so he had given her his name. That would keep her satisfied for some time, at least until he could finish his mission and be rid of her.

Still, a distant part of him recognized that even though she was wildly pathetic, a part of her was brave. This wasn't him complimenting her; it was pure calculation on his part. It was a part of his mission to make sure every variable was known to him. She was weak but she'd shown a tiny spark of bravery and that could be problematic later on. At the very least, she hadn't lost control of her bladder or killed herself—yet. He'd dealt with people who'd been so afraid of him, so afraid of what awaited them, that they took their own lives before he could stop them. She wouldn't have much chance of that out here. There was no gun to put in her mouth, no rope to hang herself with, no blade to slash her wrists with, no building to jump off of. If she wanted to die she would have to wait until they reached their destination.

He looked down at the small black watch that was clipped to his belt. 1600 hours exactly. It was time to go. He was running on a strict self-imposed schedule here. He'd already deviated it from it to play their little hide-and-seek game and his irritation over that was growing with every passing minute. He didn't like having to deviate from his plans though he adapted to change well.

He stood up, walked over to the girl, and nudged her forcefully in the abdomen with the toe of his combat boot. Not hard enough to rip through her torso—though he could have done that if he wanted to—but hard enough to wake her up. She stirred and groaned but didn't open her eyes. So he kicked her more forcefully.


Sophie was awoken by a swift kick to her stomach. Her eyes sprang open in surprise and pain and she curled up, instinctively shielding her body with her arms. "Wha—?" she began but her face felt like a mask, tight with dried tears and her swollen lip, and her words got stuck in her throat.

"Up," he commanded, towering over her.

He kicked me to wake me up. Almost incredulous, Sophie scrambled to her feet, afraid of getting hit again. His favorite method of communicating seemed to be hitting her. For a moment they both stood toe-to-toe and she stared at her feet, unable to look at his face. Slowly she raised her head until she was looking up (he was a head taller than her) at his face—or where his face should have been if he hadn't been wearing a mask and goggles. A wave of uncharacteristic fury ripped through her. Why does he get to see my face if I can't see his?! Her right arm shot out, bent on ripping his mask off, but his reflexes were quicker than hers. He grabbed her arm, twisted her around, shoved her head down, and yanked her arm up and back, twisting it so her palm was facing up and he was gripping her wrist tightly. She let out a cry of pain and he shoved her away from him so hard that she slammed into the thin wall of the shack, hitting her bruised left shoulder. She let out a groan of pain.

"Don't try that again," came his flat, mechanical voice—though with a degree of coldness that she hadn't heard before.

Sophie leaned against the wall, wondering which aching arm to caress first, and looked down at her feet.

"Do you understand?"

She was silent. Perhaps if she stared at the ground with enough intensity, she could laser a hole all the way to the other side of the world and escape this psycho.

He took a threatening step towards her and her knees buckled out of fear. She slid halfway down the wall, her hands flying up instinctively to shield her face, flinching. "Yes! YES!" she shouted. "Just—get away from me! I understand! You…you…" Her chest heaved up and down with terror and rage and she covered her face with her shaking hands. "I understand," she said in a muffled voice. "I understand."

There was silence for a moment, and then— "Good. Get moving."

Try to be brave, Sophie. She took a deep, shaky breath and then undid her hair, shaking it out. He stood in his eerie still way, watching her, waiting, but Sophie tried not to care. This was her one act of defiance—to make him wait a minute before leaving. She stared straight past him to the other wall of the shack as she combed her hands through her hair, slowly neatening it. She saw his human hand twitch at his side and she hurried up the process, suddenly wondering if he meant to strangle her. After she tied her hair up back in a pony, she walked across the shack and yanked the door open, stepping outside.

The sudden light made her squint and flinch for a moment. She shielded her eyes with her hands and gazed around the scenery. What she saw made her stomach drop. They were in the middle of nowhere. Turning to look behind her, she saw that they had been camping in some abandoned shack. All around them were fields with tall wild grass. The ground beneath her feet felt squelchy and she could see the blue of a lake or pond snaking its way through the grass far off in the distance. The sky was slate gray and bleak and the air was oppressively humid. She hadn't noticed the heat inside the cool, dim shack but out here it was overwhelming, filling her lungs like a thick fluid. This was definitely not Washington D.C. scenery or heat.

"Where are we?" she asked the Winter Soldier, struggling to get a hold of her panic. How would she escape if she didn't even know where they were?

He ignored her, grabbed her elbow in an iron grip, and began steering her through the fields. They were mostly wet marshlands with shallow ponds and lakes. Sophie's Converse soon got wet and sloppy with squishy mud and swamp water. At one point, she saw an alligator lazing itself on a bank near a pond and near jumped out of her skin in fright. No, they were definitely not in Washington D.C. anymore. They were obviously somewhere in the Southeast—but which part? South Carolina? Louisiana? Florida?

They traipsed through marshlands for a good hour before they reached a small dirt road upon which a black van sat. He opened the back up and Sophie's heart sank when she realized he expected her to ride in the back like some kidnapping victim.

Well—not like a kidnapping victim. Because she actually was a kidnapping victim.

Before she could climb in herself, he picked her up and threw her inside. Not hard enough for it to hurt but none too gently either. She picked herself up, wondering if the rest of her short life was going to be spent being beat up by this man, and before she could react, he clambered in with her and yanked her over to a small seat by the side. He shoved her into the seat and then buckled her into a special harness that actually had a lock and key. He slipped the key into his pocket and then plunked a plastic red bucket next to her. She stared at it, bewildered, but he was out and slamming the doors shut on her before she could ask what the hell he was doing.

She watched him climb into the driver's seat and pull on a baggy blue hoodie. He tied his hair back up into a pony and then jammed a black baseball hat onto his head. He pulled a pair of black driving gloves onto both hands, turned the van on, and then they were off, roaring down the road. There were no windows in the back but Sophie was sitting at an angle kitty-corner from him so that he could easily turn to the right and look back at her. She could also sort of see out of the front windshield and out of his window. However, this required looking at him and that made Sophie feel nauseous all over again. Suddenly she was a bit thankful for the bucket because she had a feeling she might need it.

She closed her eyes and thought about what might be going on back home. The sad thing was, she wasn't sure anyone would have noticed her missing yet. She didn't normally work weekends and her mother had already had her weekly call. There were no friends who would notice her gone. She had no online presence for Twitter and Instagram friends to wonder at her Internet silence. She wouldn't show up for work on Monday and her boss would be angry but not too worried. Then she wouldn't show up to either work places all week and they would either fire her or get concerned. The police might be notified. Her parents would realize their daughter hadn't been to work in a week and wasn't picking up her phone. With her father's influence, the police would really be notified now. Her apartment would be broken into. They would find everything pristine and untouched—even a cup of cold, rotten tea sitting on the table—except for two small craters in the ground where the Winter Soldier had crushed the ground in. No one would be able to figure out what those marks meant…but the fact that everything was left untouched and there was slight destruction in the house…and they would suspect foul play. Daughter of a rich and powerful man, it was only to be expected she might have been kidnapped.

But there hadn't been a ransom call. Sophie read enough crime books to know that the police gave up a lot of hope if there wasn't a call within 24 hours. She might be featured on the news but no one knew her or really cared about her. No one would be on the lookout. The police would be doubtful about whether it was really foul play after all. Perhaps she had just run away. People did that sometimes when their life became overwhelming. They would ask, "Was your daughter depressed? Did she ever have any suicidal thoughts?"

Time would pass. There was no real evidence of foul play. No one would see her. The police would gently advise her parents to not have too much hope. And everything would just end there. The end of Sophie Duran, just like that.

She should have slapped all those awful people at the first college when she'd had the chance. She should have used her abilities, made friends, done risky things, if she was only going to get kidnapped in the end anyway.

She had wasted her whole life and she was never going to get it back now.