Chapter 10
The snow piled up on the tree branches, casting elongated shadows under the faint moonlight. The Winter Soldier remained motionless, his eyes sharp, tracking every movement in the camp below. The guards were relaxed—some seated at the table, others wandering idly around the house’s exterior.
The cold wind blew sharply, but it didn’t bother him. He had endured far worse. The same couldn't be said for 616, who was still adjusting to field missions. She remained by his side, wrapped in the heavy coat he had given her earlier. Her gaze was fixed on the group of men, studying them as he had taught her.
Time dragged on in silence. Her breathing slowed, her blinks becoming heavier, her eyes struggling to stay open. He said nothing when she let her head rest lightly against his shoulder, fighting against sleep.
But the effort didn’t last long.
Minutes later, 616 had fallen asleep right there, curled up beneath the warmth of the thick fabric.
The Soldier didn’t move. He simply kept watch, observing the patrols, counting the shift changes, memorizing patterns. The wind howled through the trees, and for hours, the forest was his only company.
When the first rays of sunlight filtered through the branches, the camp below remained quiet. The Soldier noticed the morning light creeping in and, without hesitation, pulled the coat higher, shielding 616’s face from the brightness. She stirred slightly beneath the fabric, letting out a small, sleepy sound before stretching lazily. With a sluggish motion, she rubbed her eyes and finally blinked them open, her expression still hazy with drowsiness.
Without thinking, he handed her a protein bar.
616 blinked a few times before taking it, murmuring a sleepy “thanks.” He watched for a second as she tried to pull herself together, still groggy, and an unexpected thought crossed his mind.
She was... cute.
The thought came and went in an instant, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He dismissed it and returned his gaze to the house below.
The day dragged on in tense silence, broken only by the rustling of the wind through the snow-covered branches. The Winter Soldier and 616 remained in their positions, watching every movement in the camp below, waiting for any sign that more guards might arrive.
But nothing happened. No new vehicles, no reinforcements. Just the lazy routine of the men inside the house—some wandered the property without urgency, others passed the time talking, playing cards, or drinking. Their confidence in the hideout was obvious.
Volkov spent the night and most of the day locked in his room with the two women who accompanied him, emerging only occasionally to eat and exchange a few quick words with his guards. Whenever he appeared, his demeanor was that of a man who believed himself untouchable—slow movements, a superior gaze, a brief wave of the hand before retreating to his quarters, as if the security around him were absolute.
To him, there was no threat.
To 616, it meant only one thing—he wouldn’t be ready when death came knocking at his door.
The Soldier analyzed the scene with meticulous patience, absorbing every detail of the location’s security, every flaw in the surveillance. Time was on their side.
As the sun began to set, casting an orange hue over the snow, he made his decision. Without taking his eyes off the house, he murmured to 616:
“We’ll wait until most of them are asleep. Then, we go in and finish this.”
She simply nodded, her gaze resolute. The waiting was coming to an end.
Night finally fell, wrapping the forest in a cloak of silent shadows. The lights inside the house had dimmed to a faint glow—enough to show that some men were still awake, but most had retreated. It was the perfect moment.
The Winter Soldier and 616 slipped from their vantage point, moving with calculated precision through the soft snow. No words were exchanged as they neared the house, only subtle gestures and quick glances. Training spoke louder than words.
When they stopped under the cover of a side porch, the Soldier leaned slightly toward her and murmured:
"I'll handle the guards downstairs. You go up, find Volkov, and finish this."
616 held her breath for a second before nodding.
"Understood."
He studied her face for a moment, ensuring there was no hesitation. There wasn’t.
With a swift motion, the Soldier drew a short blade from the holster on his thigh and turned the back door handle, slipping inside without a sound. 616 followed right behind him.
Inside the house, the air was warm, heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol. Muffled voices drifted from the main room, where a few men were still talking. The Soldier signaled for 616 to move ahead while he veered to the right, already focused on neutralizing any potential threats.
The plan began flawlessly. The Winter Soldier moved with lethal precision through the lower floor, taking down the guards silently—each strike clean and efficient. Upstairs, 616 crept through the dark hallway, her steps careful against the wooden floor.
Volkov's room was ahead. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of yellow light spilling through the cracks.
She took a deep breath, adjusting her grip on the knife before carefully pushing the door open. What she found inside made her freeze.
Volkov was on top of one of the women, his penis moving in and out of her in rhythmic thrusts, his heavy breathing muffling her moans. The other woman had one of her breasts in Volkov’s mouth. The sight hit her like an electric shock. She had never witnessed anything like this before—the sweat glistening under the dim light, bodies tangled in something raw and instinctive. A wave of discomfort rose in her throat, her fingers loosening slightly around the weapon.
It was enough.
A click.
The woman whose breast was in Volkov’s mouth grabbed the pistol resting on the nightstand and fired. The gunshot echoed through the stifling room, the bullet slamming into 616’s vest with brutal force. The impact sent her crashing backward, hitting the ground hard, the air leaving her lungs in a painful gasp.
Volkov let out a rough laugh as he pulled out of the other woman and got up from the bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair before turning to the woman still holding the pistol. He approached her, taking her face between his calloused fingers and pulling her into a fierce kiss.
"Good girl," he murmured against her lips, satisfied. "Soon, I'll reward you as you deserve."
The woman smiled as her ass was squeezed tightly, her eyes gleaming with mischief, but Volkov was no longer paying attention to her. His gaze shifted to the floor, where 616 was still lying, her chest rising and falling irregularly as she struggled to catch her breath. The impact of the shot had left her dazed, and a dull pain throbbed in her chest, but her body still responded. Her hands searched for the knife that had fallen just inches from her fingers, moving slowly to avoid drawing attention.
Volkov approached, his flaccid cock exposed, stopping beside her and leaning slightly. His eyes roamed over the black uniform, analyzing every detail until an embroidered symbol caught his attention.
The sneer vanished.
He spat on the ground beside her, his eyes burning with fury and mockery. "This is an insult." His voice carried a tone of bitter disbelief.
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head before glaring at her with contempt.
"HYDRA sends me a damn child to stop me?"
Volkov laughed—a low, cruel sound—as he watched 616 on the floor, still trying to regain her senses. He ran his tongue over his teeth, amused by the situation.
"If HYDRA had the audacity to send me a child..." He crouched slightly, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. "Then I suppose I can afford to have a little fun."
Without warning, his foot shot forward, delivering a brutal kick to 616’s face.
Pain exploded in her head as the impact sent her sprawling to the side, the metallic taste of blood spreading through her mouth. Her ear buzzed, and for a brief moment, everything around her spun. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to regain focus, but the ground beneath her felt distant, as if her body were sinking.
Volkov laughed again, watching her as he rolled his shoulders, warming up as if preparing for a fight.
He grabbed 616’s ponytail harshly, yanking her head back with cruel force. Pain flared across her scalp as he lifted her partially, forcing her to meet his gaze, a satisfied smirk on his lips.
Without warning, he pulled even harder before abruptly letting go, throwing her body against the bed with brutal force. 616 landed face-first, the impact ripping away what little breath she had regained.
"Let's see what's under that uniform," Volkov said with wicked amusement. He turned to the two women still on the bed, one of them holding the gun that had just been fired. "Take her clothes off."
The prostitutes exchanged glances for a moment, hesitant, but Volkov's cold and authoritative gaze left them no choice. Slowly, one of them began to move toward 616.
616 remained still, panting, her head lowered as if still dazed by the impact. Her fingers slid discreetly to the hem of her uniform, where a knife was still strapped. She felt the vibration of the woman’s approaching steps—hesitant, yet determined.
The moment the prostitute reached out to touch her, 616 moved with deadly precision. In a single strike, her sharp blade sliced through the air and plunged into the woman’s neck, sinking deep into the soft flesh. A strangled gasp echoed through the room as warm blood gushed from her throat. She collapsed to her knees, hands trembling as she desperately tried to stop the fatal wound—but it was useless.
The other prostitute let out a sharp scream as she saw the blood splatter across the room. The piercing sound shattered the muffled silence, echoing down the corridors like an involuntary alarm. She staggered backward, trembling hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with sheer terror.
The presence of the Winter Soldier drained all the air from the room, as if death itself had stepped inside. His gaze was icy, devoid of any emotion. He didn’t need to speak. His mere existence was warning enough.
Volkov felt terror crawl up his spine like an electric shock. His skin prickled, cold sweat trickling down his temples. He had heard stories about the Winter Soldier—whispers in dark hallways, legends among HYDRA operatives about the relentless assassin who emerged from the shadows and vanished without a trace. But no story could capture the absolute horror of standing before him.
His mouth opened and closed a few times, like a fish out of water. The instinct to run battled against the paralysis of fear. His body trembled before finally succumbing to the primal urge for survival. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees, hands raised—stained with blood and desperation.
"Please, Soldat!" he gasped, his voice raw with sheer panic. "I am loyal to HYDRA! I always have been!"
Words stumbled from his mouth, tangled with involuntary sobs. His eyes darted between the Winter Soldier’s expressionless face and the gun in his hand. The weapon that would seal his fate.
"I did everything they asked! Everything!" he gasped, desperate. His chest rose and fell too fast, his lungs struggling for air.
The surviving prostitute's scream tore through the air—shrill, deafening, a high-pitched note of pure terror. She cowered against the wall, eyes wide as she trembled uncontrollably. Her sobs were erratic, her chest heaving in frantic despair.
The Winter Soldier didn’t look away. His face remained impassive as he raised the gun with lethal precision. The black barrel caught the dim light of the shattered lamp.
The shot was final.
The woman's body tensed for a moment before collapsing to the side, her eyes staring at nothing. The horror remained frozen on her features, etched forever in the moment of her death.
Silence fell over the room.
That was when the Soldier looked at 616.
He stopped.
She stood on the bed, her feet sinking into the blood-stained sheets. Small crimson droplets speckled her skin, a brutal contrast to her empty expression. But that wasn’t what made him hesitate.
Her face was marked.
One of her eyes was swollen, the skin around it already darkening to purple. A cut on her lip let a thin line of blood trail down her chin, mixing with sweat and exhaustion.
Something cold spread through the Winter Soldier’s chest.
Rage.
Not an explosion. Not a roar of fury. But a cold, cutting rage—sharp as a well-honed blade.
He didn’t look at Volkov. He didn’t need to.
The trigger was pulled.
The gunshot shattered the suffocating silence. Volkov’s head snapped back violently, a dark spray painting the wall behind him. His body crumpled heavily, like a puppet with its strings cut, eyes empty, lifeless.
The plea on his lips died with him.
The Winter Soldier stepped toward 616, who still stood on the bed, her body tense, poised to fight. Blood stained her skin, mixing with sweat, her fists clenched as if bracing for the next attack.
Without a word, he knelt beside her.
He hesitated.
His hand—so accustomed to killing—hovered in the air before finally moving.
616 blinked slowly, her wide eyes filled with something he couldn’t name. For a moment, she seemed not to understand, as if expecting more pain.
But the Soldier merely wiped the blood from her face with a care he himself did not comprehend.
She survived.
And he had killed for her.