Hesitation
Peter didn’t know much, but that was exactly how Hydra liked it. Information was a powerful weapon, and they preferred to keep him in the dark about most things—except what was necessary for him to carry out his missions. What Peter did know, however, felt like fragments of an incomplete puzzle, haunting him during the rare quiet moments he had.
His mother, for one, had been a redhead. He could remember her face in flashes—fiery hair, sharp eyes, and a smile that never quite reached her lips. She had been a part of something called the Red Room, before she died, though Peter wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. Hydra never elaborated. His father was another enigma. Peter only remembered his name spoken in hushed tones: Soldat. Or, something like that. He suspected it wasn’t a name at all, but a title or code—like his own.
Peter had been told he was born to be the best assassin Hydra had ever seen, better than either of his parents, whose legacies he only understood in the abstract. His training started from before he could even remember, rigorous and relentless, shaping him into a precision weapon. His skills were deadly, honed to the point where he could kill without a second thought. His senses and reflexes were sharp, enhanced beyond normal human limits. And then there was Miles—his best friend, or maybe his only friend. They had grown up together, side by side, enduring the same grueling training. Miles had the same abilities as Peter, though they seldom talked about what that actually meant. For both of them, it was just how life had always been.
Hydra had been molding them, sharpening them like blades for missions they weren’t allowed to question. “For the greater good,” they said. That’s what Peter was told every time he returned from a mission—137 successful ones so far. Twenty-eight confirmed kills, and countless other lives ruined in the process. His handlers praised him, said he was even better than his mother at interrogation, at disposal, at taking care of targets. Disposal. He hated that word, but he had learned not to flinch at it. At least, not outwardly.
And yet, despite all that he had accomplished for them, a seed of doubt had begun to take root in Peter’s mind. Lately, the missions had started to weigh heavier on him. The faces of his targets lingered longer in his memory, and sometimes, in the dark of his quarters, he wondered if what he was doing was right. Hydra insisted that everything was for the greater good, that every life he took was one less threat to peace and stability. But what kind of peace came from so much bloodshed? He tried to suppress the questions, tried to focus on the training, the missions, the kills. But the doubt was growing, and he couldn’t ignore it forever.
That doubt was gnawing at him more than ever as Peter found himself in Tennessee, USA, on yet another mission. The target was just another name on a list—someone Hydra had deemed a threat. Peter had no idea why, nor did he care to ask. Normally, he could just pull the trigger, leave the body behind, and never think about it again. But this time was different. This time, the target wasn’t alone.
Through the scope of his rifle, Peter could see the woman, his mark, sitting at an outdoor café. She seemed normal enough, sipping coffee, looking at her phone. But seated next to her were two children—a teenage boy and a little girl, maybe six or seven. They were laughing about something, completely oblivious to the fact that their mother was living her last moments. Peter’s finger hovered over the trigger, but he hesitated, feeling an unease creep up his spine.
The voice of his handler crackled through his earpiece, cold and impatient. “Operative, kill the target and get to the extraction point.”
Peter didn’t move. He glanced sideways at Miles, who was stationed a few feet away with his own rifle, ready to provide backup if things went sideways. Miles’ face was pale, his hands gripping his gun a little too tightly. He looked nervous, more nervous than usual. Peter wasn’t sure if it was the mission itself, or if Miles was picking up on the same gnawing feeling of doubt that had been plaguing him for weeks now.
“Do it, Pete,” Miles whispered, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.
Peter exhaled slowly, forcing himself to steady his breathing. He was good at this. He had done it so many times before. It was just another mission. Just another target. And yet…his finger still hesitated on the trigger. Those kids. They had no idea what was about to happen. He tried to remind himself that they were just collateral damage, that their grief was irrelevant to the mission. Hydra had drilled that into him from the beginning. No attachments. No emotions. The mission was all that mattered.
But still, something about this felt wrong.
The cold metal of the trigger pressed against his finger, urging him to pull. He closed his eyes for a brief second, taking in a sharp breath. And then, in one smooth motion, he squeezed.
The sound of the shot was barely audible, thanks to the silencer. The woman’s body slumped forward in her chair, her phone slipping from her hand and clattering to the pavement. For a moment, it was quiet. Too quiet. And then, as if on cue, the children began to scream. The teenage boy scrambled out of his seat, rushing to his mother’s side, shaking her, calling her name. The little girl was sobbing uncontrollably, clinging to her brother’s arm, her tiny face contorted in terror. They were crying for help, but no one was coming. No one had even heard the shot.
Peter watched it all unfold, feeling a knot tighten in his chest. His vision blurred slightly as he blinked away the moisture in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was from guilt or something else. Maybe both.
His handler’s voice broke through the radio again, sharp and emotionless. “Mission success. Extract Arachnids.”
Peter tore his gaze away from the scene below, glancing at Miles again. Miles looked as shaken as Peter felt, his face pale and drawn. Without a word, Peter tapped him on the shoulder, signaling that it was time to go. They both rose from their positions, leaving behind the crying children and the chaos that would follow when someone finally noticed the lifeless body in the café.
The flight back to base was uneventful, but Peter couldn’t shake the image of the two children from his mind. The sound of their sobs echoed in his ears, louder than the roar of the helicopter’s engines. He had seen plenty of collateral damage in his time, but this felt different. It wasn’t the first time a target had been with family, but it was the first time Peter had hesitated. It was the first time he had really thought about what he was doing.
Back at the base, things proceeded as usual. Debriefing. A brief mention of the target’s “successful neutralization.” A new mission file for him and Miles to review. Hydra never dwelled on the details, and they certainly didn’t care about the emotional fallout. They didn’t see the children. They didn’t hear their cries. For them, it was just another day, another objective met.
But for Peter, something had changed. He had always accepted Hydra’s mission without question, believing in their promise of a greater good. But now, that promise seemed hollow. He was starting to wonder if the greater good was just an excuse, a way to justify all the terrible things they made him do.
He had killed for them, again and again. He had been trained to be the perfect weapon. But now, as he lay in his bunk staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t help but ask himself: Who was he really fighting for? And was it worth all the blood he had spilled?
Peter wasn’t sure of the answers. All he knew was that something inside him was beginning to crack, and once the cracks started, it was only a matter of time before everything broke apart.