Cleveland
The line for Customs was long, passengers from multiple flights all lined up and waiting to enter, or in her case, reenter, the United States. Idle chatter filled the air as families and friends mingled in the lines, waiting their turns to show their passports and move on to the next part of their trips. Payton spent the time listening in to these conversations, all the while picking at her nails, giving off the air of a bored, moody teenager. The Madames told her to practice her observation skills on this mission. Even if it wasn’t relevant to the objective, it was good to learn how to tune out certain distractions in order to listen to what was actually important. As such, Payton listened quietly as the two men one line over were rehashing a plan to make sure their wives didn’t discover their infidelity when they were on their trip. The two of them were old friends, and apparently had a habit of going on ‘boy’s trips’ where they spent their time going to nightclubs, strip clubs, and other seedy establishments to have a good time.
Then there was the family two groups ahead of her, all talking about their favorite moments from their just finished vacation to Italy, and bemoaning the fact that the trip was over and they had to go back to their boring and tedious lives. Conversations like that were happening all over, and Payton took them all in, her sensitive hearing helping her pick through the clutter. One man caught her attention though. Two lines over, speaking to the Customs agent, was a man using a fake American accent. More specifically a Midwestern accent. It was good, very good. Had she not had enhanced hearing, and some recent specialized training to pick out the tells, she would never have known, which meant that nobody else around, besides maybe the man she was here with, had a chance of telling the difference.
Faking a yawn, Payton stretched her arms over her head and leaned back, making sure to get a good look at the man who was pretending to be someone he was not. The man was relatively plain-looking, handsome, but not distractingly so. His light brown hair was cut short, and he had stubble covering his jaw. The most important fact about him though, was the fact that underneath his fake accent, there were hints of an Eastern European one. Due to the man’s skill with changing his voice she couldn’t pinpoint where exactly the accent would be from.
Lightly, Payton tapped her companion on the arm, and Taskmaster looked down at her, eyes drawn away from whatever he was reading on his phone. His blue eyes met her own, and she subtly nodded her head towards the faker. Understanding what she wanted from him, Taskmaster reached a hand up to his jaw, and twisted his head enough to crack his neck, while also giving him the chance to naturally look in the direction she wanted him to. Payton saw the moment Taskmaster registered the same thing she did by the furrowing of his brow. He turned back and gave her an approving nod. Message delivered, Payton turned back to her nails, keeping her focus on the strange man.
Nothing more came of it, as the man made it through Customs and continued on his way, the only hint to his plans was telling the agent manning his line that he was returning from Europe to ‘visit an old friend’. Whether that was a lie to hide his true purpose or not Payton couldn’t tell. The only thing left to do now was wait for their turn.
Their time to speak to an agent came a few minutes later, and the two of them stepped up and slid their (fake) passports underneath the glass divider. The agent looked between the two of them and their passports, before turning to his computer.
“Welcome back to the States, Mister Langston. You and your daughter have a good trip?” The man asked conversationally, referencing their cover identities as a family.
It was a good cover, one that Payton understood the first time she saw Taskmaster without his armor. The mercenary’s hair was jet black, and his eyes were as blue as hers were. The Red Room had dyed her hair to match his, turning her hair from its nice brown into the same black as her instructor’s. Add in the make-up routine they had her learn for herself, and Payton could barely recognize who she was when she saw her reflection. Amazing what a bit of make-up can do really.
Her ‘father’ nodded his head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, causing Payton to curl her face into a grimace, playing up the role of an irritated teenage girl. “That we did. And we’ll be going on another one soon, just came home to check on some things for the week before we head back!”
The agent laughed. “Lucky you. I don’t get to go on another vacation until Christmas.” He finished whatever he was doing on his terminal and turned bodily towards them. “Anything to declare? Everything we have listed on the sign next to you has to be declared.”
“Nope. Not this time. Just our clothes and toiletries.”
“Alright. Welcome home, and enjoy your next trip, wherever it takes you!”
“We will. Come on Penny, let's get home.” Taskmaster, or really Alexander Langston as his current cover suggests, responded, taking the two of their passports and leading her further into the airport.
Penelope Langston was her current identity. Her first name kept close enough to her real name so as to not cause confusion. Apparently a safeguard the Red Room usually did when sending Widows-in-training out on missions. Keeping their covers similar to their names was supposed to keep it easier to respond naturally, rather than forgetting to respond when someone called a name that was too different.
Together the two of them walked through the airport, heading to the nearest exit. A local contact that the Red Room had left a car for them nearby so that they didn’t need to risk renting a car that could be traced back to their cover identities. Neither of them had bags checked, seeing as they didn’t intend to stay in town very long, so they ignored baggage claim and exited the airport itself. A short walk later and they arrived at the car which was parked in a mid-term parking garage. The keys were already in Taskmaster’s possession, having been delivered to the Red Room ahead of time.
As the two of them got into the vehicle, Taskmaster pulled up the address to the motel closest to their target. The plan, as Payton had been told, was to stake out the target’s home before moving in. The General believed the weapon to be hidden somewhere within the man’s home, but they needed to be sure. Their target was a part of HYDRA’s old leadership, and his loyalty to the organization would have him remaining silent until death. As such, they couldn’t risk moving in until they knew whether or not the weapon was at his home, or if he hid it elsewhere.
Their drive through Cleveland was shorter than she expected, with the suburbs their target resided in being close enough to the airport that they didn’t have to travel through the denser areas of the city. Payton spent the time staring out the window, watching as the sun began to set, painting the sky in a beautiful arrangement of oranges, blues, and purples. She’d found a new appreciation in watching the sky. You never really know what you are missing until it is gone, and six months without seeing the blue sky or the stars at night was far longer than it sounded.
“You’ve got the moody-teenager act down pat.”
Payton turned to look at her companion, an eyebrow raised questioningly. “What?” She asked, not quite sure what his point was.
The man huffed, a hand gesturing at her. “The silence, staring out the window. Everything. If anyone saw you they’d just guess that you were the average teenage girl ignoring her father.”
She continued to stare at him, her expression saying what her voice did not. ‘Your point?’
“It’s getting annoying. I’m not a fan of the whole ‘silent, mindless killer’ thing that Dreykov seems to be going for. That is when he isn’t training you all to be honeypots on the side.”
“Widows aren’t supposed to speak unless it's necessary.” Payton repeated the words drilled into her head countless times, even though she only needed to hear them once to obey.
Taskmaster scoffed. “Please.” He mocked “That's just a stupid power trip that those creeps enjoy holding over all you.” He waited a beat, before seemingly remembering that she wouldn’t answer. “I’m your boss on this mission yeah? You’ve got permission to speak freely. Consider that an order.”
“If you don’t like it, why work for the General?” She questioned, her curiosity flooding out of her now that she was given permission to speak her mind.
Taskmaster shrugged. “I don’t need to agree with him to accept his money. The Red Room was doing it all before they hired me, might as well get a paycheck, especially at the rate Dreykov’s paying.”
“So it's all about money for you?”
“Kid, everything is about money. If anyone tells you otherwise they’re either an idiot or lying. And for people like us? We gotta watch out for ourselves first and foremost, otherwise we will all end up like you.”
She frowned at him. “You mean having a purpose?”
“Ha! A purpose! You don’t have a purpose anymore kid, you don’t even have a choice. Sad thing is, that's the truth everywhere for the enhanced. Before Iron Man, the Avengers, and all that shit? If someone in power found out you were different you either ended up in a lab or a uniform.” The mercenary ranted. “Even now mutants, mutates, or whatever the fuck, have to be careful. The Accords speak to that. Not a single government on this damn planet likes the idea of people with powers running around on their own volition, so they gotta find a way to control ‘em. Take Ross for example, he’s probably pissed that he can’t force the Avengers to wear the Stars and Stripes, besides the good Captain that is, so he tried to take away their ability to act. It's the same story everywhere.”
“The Accords are getting changed though aren’t they? I saw that on the news yesterday.” She countered, more out of a desire to see what more he had to say, rather than any disagreement with what he was saying.
“Yeah, the civilian governments got their panties in a twist over the ‘human rights violations’ in the Accords; after people protested of course. The part they aren’t saying, is that they are more upset that Ross was dumb enough to write out a document that said the quiet part out loud. Everything in the original Accords? That has been happening for years, it's just been out of the public eye until recently. You ever heard about the Abomination after he wrecked Harlem? Where was Blonsky’s trial? Governments have made super-powered individuals disappear wherever they could. SHIELD had at least four different facilities for the enhanced alone.”
“Is that what happened to you?” She dared to ask.
Taskmaster shrugged. “No… No. I was smarter than most. Luckier too. My power doesn’t show like most others do, I just got by as being a fucking amazing CQC specialist. Nobody questioned it. Had they known what I could do I don’t doubt for a second that my brain would be in a jar in some military lab right now. First chance I got to move on and make a real name for myself, I took it.”
There wasn’t much left to say, and Payton turned back to the window, thinking of what her teacher had said. Ultimately she knew he was right. Within two weeks of getting her powers she was dragged to the Red Room, such was the probable fate of anyone whose powers were found out without them having anyone on their side to help them. That didn’t change the fact that she belonged to the Red Room now though. It was her home, the place she was meant to be. The General had said as much, and the General was always correct. It’s why all the Widows listened to him, it was their place, and none of them needed to worry about where their lives would go.
Payton was pulled from her thoughts as the car slowed to a stop, the engine quieting as they pulled into a parking spot in front of an old motel.
“Stay here. I’ll go get the room.” ‘Alexander’ ordered, and so she stayed.
He was gone for only a few minutes, before popping out of the main office with a key in hand. Taskmaster jerked his head towards one of the staircases and Payton got the message. She hopped out of the car, the cool May night feeling far better than the stale A/C that she’s dealt with for hours on the plane. Reaching into the backseat, Payton pulled out their luggage, carrying it along with her as she followed the mercenary up the stairs and towards one of the rooms. He held the door open for her and she walked right in.
It was… cozy. Far better than the bare metal and uncomfortable bunk back in the Red Room, but it was a long way from the bedroom she remembered back in New York. Overall the room was what one would expect. Two beds, a couple nightstands, a small TV perched on a dresser in the middle of the opposite wall. Next to the entrance was another door leading to a small bathroom and shower. Everything was run down. The furniture had scratches and watermarks, the paint on the walls was flaking, the counter next to the sink had a large crack in it, as did the mirror. It would be a miracle if the shower had hot water from the look of things.
As she took in the room, Taskmaster stalked past her, taking his own luggage from her hand as he went. “No reason to just stand there. We aren’t going anywhere until tomorrow so best make yourself comfortable.”
Choosing not to respond, Payton moved past the bed that the mercenary had claimed and threw her stuff onto the mattress of the other bed. The springs beneath creaked with the unexpected impact. She rifled through her bags until she found the fresh set of clothes she was looking for. Much as she didn’t expect the shower to be warm, the thought of washing off over a day’s worth of traveling was too nice to pass up. Before the Red Room she’d never traveled before, and she honestly never expected just how grimy airports and planes could make one feel.
After spending a few minutes cleaning the makeup off her face, Payton hopped into the shower and, much to her surprise, the water that ran from the shower head wasn’t cold. That wasn’t to say it was hot either, merely somewhat warm. But a lukewarm shower was better than an ice-cold one. She was also happy to take advantage of the fact that, outside of the Red Room, she didn’t have a time restriction on the shower, and as such, she spent long enough that her fingers started getting pruney before she got out. Outside of the bathroom, Payton could hear the TV playing, but she’d been tuning out the noise, but without the sound of the running water, it was harder to drown it out. From the sounds of it, Taskmaster was watching the news.
Getting dressed and brushing her teeth, Payton then stepped outside the bathroom, head turned towards the direction of the television as her curiosity was piqued. Taskmaster was sitting on the edge of his bed, a rag covering his lap as he idly cleaned a sidearm, though his eyes too were on the screen. Thanks to her shower, Payton had missed the beginning of the segment, but she got the gist by reading the headline on the bottom of the screen, smaller text scrolling with lesser stories just underneath.
“Latveria Annexes Sokovia”
Above the text, shaky footage from people’s phones recorded armored vehicles and infantry kicking up dirt and mud within small European villages. A few soldiers in one clip were tearing down the flag of Sokovia, and replacing it with the banner of Latveria. In another, Latverian soldiers were escorting a group or surrendered Sokovian soldiers and policemen.
“-As of now, the Secretary-Generals of both NATO and the United Nations have denounced this invasion. President Ellis released a statement just a few minutes ago declaring the annexation a ‘pointless act of aggression against a population still recovering from both Civil War, and the destruction of its capital at the hands of Ultron.’”
The screen switched to show the news anchor for WHiH World News, a blonde woman that Payton recognized from multiple segments on Iron Man that she watched in the past. She was sitting at a table with a few other individuals in suits appearing on a video call behind her, each having their name displayed on the screen along with their fields of work, which in this case meant all of them were political analysts who all agreed to discuss the current situation.
“It certainly is a provocation Miss Everheart, and the timing has to be intentional. Just a few weeks away from the official ratification of the Sokovia Accords, and a week from the first anniversary of the destruction of Novi Grad. But what about Sokovia has made Latveria end over a century of isolationism? The reigning Furtunov family hasn’t allowed so much as an international census, why are they branching out now?”
The guests started to debate ideas, floating around the thought that Latveria might’ve been facing a population crisis, or a famine, or running out of precious metals, or any number of other ideas that were of course all talk. None of them, for all their expertise, had a clue. As such, Payton began to tune the news out. She didn’t need to hear random speculation. Facts were what mattered, and seeing as she wasn’t in a position to get those facts, it wasn’t important.
It remained such for another hour or so, the channel hopping between different denouncements or approvals from this nation or that, and occasionally moving back to the panel of experts to discuss some other small tidbit of information that they seemed to have gleaned from some scared civilian’s cellphone footage. In her opinion, it seemed more like they were digging for scraps and pretending that they found gold instead. Anything to make themselves seem more in-the-know than they were.
Her attention was fully dragged back when it was announced that there was a statement about to be made by the Avengers, and the screen flashed over to a room that Payton had seen on the TV many times. The press room at Avengers Tower was packed with reports and cameras, all waiting for members of the Superhero team to make an appearance. Disappointment seemed to wash across the room as only two people arrived on stage a minute later.
Maria Hill, the official public manager of the Avengers, and the one who dealt with the day-to-day business with governments and other concerned parties. The other was Captain America himself, though out of his uniform. Both walked up and sat down at the table which was a permanent fixture in the room, the two of them seeming small against the table meant for the whole team. Cameras flashed and reporters shouted, the cacophony of noise causing the old speakers on the television to crackle a bit before Captain America raised his hand and bought silence with the motion.
“One at a time please.” He requested, polite as ever, before pointing towards a reporter near the front.
“Do the Avengers plan on intervening in any way towards this invasion?”
The Captain shook his head. “No. Geopolitics such as this are outside the scope of our responsibilities. We will leave any reaction in the hands of the United Nations.” His finger pointed towards a different reporter.
“Has the invasion caused a delay with the ratification of the Accords?”
Maria Hill spoke before the Captain could. “We haven’t heard anything that would suggest so as of yet. Currently the plan is still to have as many Avengers as possible present for the official ratification ceremony”
“What do you mean by ‘as many as possible’?”
“Most of the team is still supporting tsunami relief efforts in Sri Lanka. They are making good progress but it remains to be seen if they will be able to make it to Vienna for the ratification. As of now, the only confirmed members are Iron Man, Captain America, and Falcon.”
“Where is Tony Stark now!?” One impatient reporter blurted out, getting multiple agreeing shouts from other curious parties.
Rogers leaned back into his microphone. “Tony is currently working with Miss Potts on organizing the Stark Foundation relief workers who were kicked out of Sokovia earlier today. They are doing their best to get their people home.”
The answer placated the crowd, and the press conference ended only a few minutes later as it became clear that the Avengers knew as little as everyone else did. Moments afterwards, the television shut off, Taskmaster seemingly done listening to it.
“Get some sleep. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” He ordered, getting off his bed and heading towards the bathroom, likely to shower.
As it happened, Payton couldn’t sleep. She laid in bed, as required, but sleep wouldn’t come until long after Taskmaster had returned and gone to sleep himself. When she finally did drift off, her mind was assailed by a messy fusion of memories and dreams. Her Aunt and Uncle lying dead in the street, the gun that killed them held in her hand. A metal slab surrounded by doctors, all looking down at her as needles prod and poke, samples being taken from her blood and bones. She still felt the ache in her mouth from when they had forced venom from her fangs, eyes shining in interest as they observed the toxin that no other creature could produce. There was never a single, lasting dream. Her brain didn’t seem to be capable of creating an escape for her anymore.
When she woke up, she honestly felt like she had gotten no rest whatsoever. Her eyelids felt heavy, and there was a weight on her that she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried. Every night the memories came back she grew weaker. Not in body truly, but in spirit. Every passing day saw the girl that she used to be fade away just a little bit more. Payton knew she wasn’t supposed to, but a small part of her, hidden deep within her mind, mourned that girl. She had lived a happy life, one (mostly) free of pain. But she was also weak. Widows were supposed to be made of marble. All the pain she felt was supposed to make her unbreakable, so why was she mourning the person who allowed herself to break? Why was she letting the memories of Dreykov forging her into something better weigh her down so much? The girl from Queens was broken, so why does she still persist? Payton forced the feeling down, as she was supposed to. She buried it, and hoped that maybe this time it wouldn’t be able to claw its way back to the surface. She had work to do today, and every distraction was an invitation for failure.
By the time Taskmaster was ready to leave, Payton had been waiting next to the door for an hour. The trip to their target house wouldn’t be that long, and their current plan was to hit an open house somewhat close, which would give them an excuse to loiter around the area for a bit. Payton would play up the bored teenager some more and wander away, conveniently down two streets towards the target’s house to get a good look at the thing.
The first stage of that plan went well. The two of them showed up, once again as ‘Alexander’ and ‘Penelope’, and while her ‘dad’ went around feigning interest in every little thing, she left. Nobody really cared to pay any heed to the grumpy teen who was stomping out after having her morning ruined by being dragged to a house showing. She kept up the facade as she got further and further from the house, pointedly ignoring any cars that drove down the road past her. Before she left the Red Room, she’d been required to memorize these streets, and as such, she had no trouble navigating the neighborhood until she reached the proper address.
…
Something was wrong.
The house was there, just as it should be, but the collision of cars in the driveway was certainly not supposed to be there. One vehicle had clearly jumped the curb, sending itself into her target’s personal car. The door of the offending sedan was still open, the engine running. Her eyes flickered to the door to the house. It was closed, but that didn’t stop her senses from tingling. Something was very wrong here. One hand reached up to the earpiece disguised as earbuds, and clicked the ‘send’ button, knowing her next words would go straight to Taskmaster’s ‘hearing aid’.
“Target was compromised, a third party beat us here. Moving in to investigate.”
There was no verbal response, only a double click in her ear that signaled ‘affirmative’. Taskmaster got her message and approved of her action. He would certainly be here soon himself she figured, but for now she couldn’t risk losing their only lead to the weapon.
Payton padded across the street and across the lawn towards the front door, carefully reaching a hand up to the handle and twisting it. It was locked of course. Whoever was here wouldn’t want to be interrupted. Luckily for her, this was one of many eventualities that the Red Room prepared her for, and she removed a few lockpicks hidden on her person and got to work. Not long after, and she heard the lock click open, freeing her to enter the house.
Slipping inside, Payton shut the door quietly behind her before looking at her immediate surroundings. The interior of the house was dark and cluttered, looking much like one would expect from a shut-in, but nothing really screamed “Nazi” at her. Which, honestly, also made sense. Anything HYDRA related would probably be hidden away. But what really caught her attention were the voices coming from the basement, and the sound of metal smashing into concrete.
The rapid changes of plans caused a pang of frustration to ripple through her. Whoever this interloper was, they had put her on the back foot, forcing her to move in earlier than they wanted to if she wanted to have any chance of salvaging the mission. Gritting her teeth, Payton slid her shoes off, knowing it'd be far easier to sneak around without them on. Plus she would be able to stick to the walls easier.
Nearing the basement, Payton latched onto the wall, climbing past the doorway, and down the stairwell towards an unfinished basement. Much like the upstairs, the basement too was cluttered, only a small lamp and some sunlight drifting in through a tiny window illuminated the space, and the two men within it. One was restrained upside down, his head stuck with a sink that was slowly filling with water. The other… Wait. The other one was the guy from the airport! In his hand he held a red book with a star emblazoned on the cover, and something told Payton that that book might just be what they were there for. It didn’t seem like a weapon, but it was obviously important enough for other people to come retrieve it as well.
As she watched, the brown-haired man approached the sink and turned off the water and leaned in close to the HYDRA agent.
“HYDRA deserves its place on the ash heap; so your death would not bother me. But I’d have to use this book and other, bloodier, methods to find what I need… I don’t look forward to that. You’d only be dying for your pride.”
The captured terrorist clenched his teeth in stubbornness, seemingly accepting his fate… Until he saw her. Despite her place in the shadows of the corner between wall and ceiling, the man’s eyes drifted over to her, and widened at the sight of her splayed across the wall. His reaction had been enough to draw the stranger’s attention, and he quickly reacted, turning on his heels while reaching for whatever sidearm he had holstered at his waist.
Payton was faster.
With superhuman speed, Payton sprung off the wall like a jumping spider, turning into a blur as she closed the distance between her and the man long before he could even touch his weapon. The force of her action sent the man sprawling onto his back, a heavy ‘oomph’ escaping his lips as the air was forced from his lungs. Before he had the chance to react, or truly register what he was seeing, Payton placed a hand over his eyes, and another on his neck, pinching down on the blood vessels there and cutting off circulation to his brain. A few moments later his struggles ceased, allowing Payton to release him.
The thought of killing him crossed her mind, but he wasn’t the target. Killing extra people when it wasn’t necessary was sloppy work, and the Red Room didn’t survive as long as it had by being sloppy. On the other hand, the man was clearly a threat. One that if left alive could come back to haunt them in the future. Ultimately she chose to leave it up to Taskmaster what his fate would be. For now, Payton moved quickly to bind his arms and legs together, and placed a nearby sack over his head so he couldn’t see anything. He wouldn’t be out for much longer, though he would wake up with a nasty headache.
Completing that task, Payton stood up and crossed the room, picking the book up from where it had skid across the floor. The hardcover of the book, as well as its pages, were all weathered with age and rough in her hands. She turned it over and opened it, eyes skimming over the Russian lettering until two words caught her attention. “Winter Soldier”.
Hmmph. ‘Weapon’ was an understatement.
Feeling the eyes of the HYDRA Colonel on her, she turned around and strutted over to him, leaning on her elbows on the side of the sink as she lowered herself to his level. A part of her, the more spidery part that had been slowly but steadily growing within her psyche, drooled at the sight of the man all tangled up. Sure he was restrained with ropes and not webs but to the Spider, a meal was a meal right? Her fangs unsheathed themselves in her mouth as the urge to bite grew.
“HYDRA?” The man asked hopefully, his thick Russian accent betraying his connection to the book… that is if it being in his possession hadn’t already.
She shook her head, tilting it at her eyes flickered to his exposed neck. “Guess again.” She prompted.
The Colonel’s eyes narrowed as he looked over her, taking in everything before they widened again as he connected the dots. “Dreykov!” The man spat out her General’s name like a curse. “He owes us! We saved his organization from ruin!”
Huh. That was news to her. But it didn’t matter anyway so she shrugged. “As our friend said. HYDRA earned its place on the ashes. The Red Room survives, as it always does.” One of her hands drifted over and turned the water back on, before she used both hands to force the man lower into the sink, speeding up his impending drowning. She forced the urge to bite down, her venom would leave DNA behind.. “Thank you for taking care of this for us.” Payton commented, shaking the book in front of his eyes before righting herself and turning away.
A minute later, she heard the struggles against his ropes as the water rose above his eyes and neared his nose, though the man chose to die with pride as, before the water engulfed the rest of his head, he whispered one final pledge. “Hail HYDRA!”.
The reflexive struggle against death continued as water splashed over the edges of the sink, the Colonel’s screams against his impending doom bubbled to the surface as the floor above her head rattled with heavy steps. It seemed the Taskmaster had finally arrived. At the same time, the stranger seemed to shake off his confusion, and began fighting his own bindings.
Her current handler reached the basement and took a look around at everything she had done. “You’ve been busy.” He spoke, his voice modulated thanks to the helmet he had stopped by the car to grab. It wasn’t as impressive as his normal skull helmet, but the smooth glass did in a pinch.
“This man was after the weapon too. Not sure why.”
The man in question stilled at being referenced, but did not speak up. Taskmaster knelt next to him.
“I recognize you now. It's been on my mind since yesterday.” He mused aloud, clearly confusing the man she captured.
“Do we kill him?” She asked, even as the HYDRA agent in the sink finally fell silent, leaving only the sound of running water to come from that side of the basement. Her first kill. She figured she should be pleased, but something in her heart seemed to break. Weakness. She forced it away. She couldn’t be weak, she was a Widow.
“No. For old time’s sake.” Taskmaster decided, confusing her greatly.
He turned and left without another word, forcing her to follow. It wasn’t until they were outside that she allowed herself to ask the question that was bubbling beneath the surface.
“You knew him?”
Taskmaster unlocked the car that he had driven over, and opened the door for her, not answering until the two of them were both inside the vehicle. “Yeah. Helmut Zemo. Sokovian black-ops. My best guess is the guy was pissed about HYDRA’s influence in their nation’s civil war, but frankly I don’t care enough to have asked.”
“He mentioned he had a plan that involved this book.” She mentioned, holding the book back up to Taskmaster’s line of sight.
He gave it a once over. “That’s the weapon huh? Have you taken a look at it yet?”
“Just enough to know it involves the Winter Soldier.” She answered simply, not failing to notice the way Taskmaster’s back straightened ever so slightly. He was surprised.
“Dreykov’s reaching big here. Getting the Winter Soldier on his side would drastically increase his strength.”
“I guess we know where the General is going to send us next then. Think we will be enough for it?”
Taskmaster scoffed. “We’ll be more than enough. You may not be trained as much, but with me there, and your powers? The two of us will be just fine to bring down the Soldier.”
The conversation died there, and Payton turned her attention back to the book, reading through it with some difficulty. While the Red Room had taught her Russian, she still hadn’t had enough time to become fluent yet. It also didn’t help that, despite her best efforts, she couldn’t get the sound of that man drowning out of her head. She wasn’t supposed to care. She wasn’t supposed to feel at all. So why was it that, every time she blinked, did she see the disturbed water, and the struggles of the man held beneath it?
She had to overcome this before they returned to the Red Room. Dreykov would be so disappointed.