Chapter 16 – The Soldier

After delivering his mission report, the Soldier waited in the same nondescript, gray room he'd woken up in however many hours earlier. Soon, he would be fed his carefully balanced nutrient blend, allowed 20 minutes in a shower, and then put back under for when they needed him again. He had trouble remembering his past missions, although he knew there had been many. But he thought that he should have felt something. Satisfaction. Not this. He kept thinking about the woman in the apartment, the blonde braid. It made him uneasy. He had practically snarled at the tech checking his arm and the man had nearly jumped out of his skin. He had completed the mission. Why was he still here?

The reason walked through the door – Pierce and the Wolf, already in mid conversation.

"I thought the kids were after her," the Wolf said, words slurring through swollen lips.

"Ha. Useless. A few sightings. Although they did confirm for me that the Captain is still alive. Hill?"

"Hill's gone."

"So many disappearing women, Brock. It's a bit...frustrating."

The Wolf looked horrible, like someone had worked over his face with a steel bat. The sight of him made the Soldier smile.

"What are you smirking at, Ice Man?" The Wolf's voice rasped painfully in his bruised throat.

Pierce held up one hand and the Wolf stepped back. Pierce handed the Soldier a file.

"The timetable grows increasingly tight," Pierce told him. "The target is level six. I want confirmed death in ten hours."

The picture was a red-haired woman. Name: Natalia Alianovna Romanoff.

"Her and the woman she's traveling with."

Suddenly he was swept up in memory. Another gray room. A thin, red-haired girl, attacking him, trying to strike him. He threw her to the ground. A voice called out. "Again." She wiped away the blood form a split lip and leapt at him, kicking with a dancer's grace. She was so young, so...delicate. How could they expect her to defeat him? It was wrong. But still, she attacked. And he struck. And the voice. "Again." "Again."

The Wolf's mangled voice snapped him out of the memory.

"You could send me after them. I'd love to get my hands on that bitch Rogers."

He lit up a cigarette.

"You shouldn't smoke, Brock. It's bad for you."

The Wolf barked a laugh.

The memory shifted. The cigarette was in the Soldier's hand. His left hand – flesh and bone. The girl was blonde, with thick glasses. "Not like that," someone was saying, exasperated. "Your thumb on the outside. Jesus, Rogers." He used his hands to help her make a fist. The hands were his, touching her hand. The voice was his. But it was speaking English. Wrong. He didn't speak English.

They were still talking.

"No. I want the Soldier for this. It's more...personal."

"Oh, I get personal."

The Wolf tossed his cigarette to the floor, ground it under his heel.

"Come on, Ice Man," he said, with a twisted, broken smile. "You've got a hot date."

Hello everyone! I hope the past few weeks have been treating you well. Some of you may be affected by the Coronavirus pandemic, and if so, my sympathies. I work at a public library in Colorado, and my work has been closed to the public - and may soon be closed to staff as well. Good time to catch up on my posting and writing, eh?