Chapter 4
2:38 am
Wade follows Logan to the living room along with the kid… who needs a name. Shit, he hasn’t even asked.
“Hey kid what should I call you?” The kid looks confused for a second, before completely stopping, looking slightly mortified.
“я не помню своего имени..” they say in perfect Russian, because apparently that’s their default language.
Both Logan and Victor stop, but Victor says something first. “You don’t remember your own name?” He sounds confused and concerned, he opens his mouth to say something else but Logan interrupts.
“Fuck, kid you are way too young to be like me.. do you have a name you wanna be called?” They shook their head.
The other kid, what was her name? Cat something? Either way she stepped closer and hesitantly put her hand on the taller child’s shoulder, the latter tensed at the contact, but didn’t stab her so that’s a good sign.
“I could try to look in your head? I-if that’s ok with you?” She asked cautiously.
“не- no. I will think of one.” Their English had a heavy Russian accent but was otherwise perfect.
They didn’t quite relax, but they did un tense and lean into the touch on their shoulder.
“Ok let’s go sit down, it’s like 2:00 am and I just woke up, and clearly we need to come up with a name or something because calling you kid in a school is going to get confusing.” Logan’s suggestion sounded like a good idea to Wade so he followed and collapsed on the couch.
The rest of them follow and sat on the couch, except the kid, who proceeded to sit on the floor between himself and the other kid.(he’s pretty sure her name’s Kitty)
They’re resting on their toes, knees spread, with their hands resting on their thighs. Wade looks at them and decides that this is a bit to strange to ignore.
“Kid… why are you on the floor?”
They pause, looking around before speaking. “You let Asset’s on your couch here?”
9:53 pm
The asset opens their eyes, finding agent Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce standing in front of the cryogenic chamber.
They feel themselves thawing as they’re dragged from their cryo tube by the technicians, they look around and find the chair immediately. Phantom pain shoots through their head and down their spine, they don’t show any signs of that pain as they’re put into the chair and strapped down.
All they can do is feel the electrical burns on their skull and choke off a scream as their brain turns fuzzy.
The halo retracts and they suck in a small breath as they hear pierce say their sequence of code words.
“транслировать.”
“металл.”
“Семь.” They started to shift in their bonds.
“снег.”
“кольца.”
“два.” They cried out in pain, feeling like they were having their head bashed in.
“гора.”
“горький.” Their head was engulfed in fire, all they could feel was pain.
“чистый.” so much pain.
“луна.”
The asset stills, becoming completely silent.
“Доброе утро солдат.”
“готов выполнить.”
“Good, this will be your secondary handler, commander Rumlow.” The asset looked at the man, short black hair, hazel eyes, 5’10. They recognize him. Though they won’t tell him that.
The technicians unstrap them from the chair, they stand smoothly and walk forward toward their handlers. They’re handed an orange file titled, “Johnson’s, 10/6/03 [REDACTED]”.
They get through the briefing, get their gear and are shoved into the back of the armored car as a few STRIKE members follow. The drive is short, and gives them time to knock the fuzz out of their vision and think about the mission.
Kill the Johnson’s in their sleep via stab wounds, make it look like a robbery, bring back valuables, no witnesses. A simple mission, easy. (Spoiler alert: it was not, in fact, easy.)
20 minutes later. They slowed to a stop a few blocks away from the house. The asset was shoved out of the vehicle by Jack Rollins, given a bag to put any valuables in and sent off to the complete mission.
They jumped from roof to roof, making their way to 3354 hickory road silently.
They came to a stop on the house opposite of their targets, and watched through the windows as the family of three went about their evening, unaware of the assassin watching them.
They watched through a window as a family game night of sorts goes on, at 10:20 the parents gave the 6 year old boy a ten minute warning until his bedtime, and the brunette started whining about how he wasn’t tired, his steal blue eyes watering. He eventually started playing with a Russian nesting doll.
They suddenly felt the urge to play with him, and images of a blonde girl no more than 2 flashes across their vision, and Jam-
No, the child’s name was Matt. Why did they think he was James? And that girl. Who was that?
Manya- what the fuck? Who the fuck was Manya?!
the asset jumps from the roof and walks across the street to the target’s house. Slipping in through the unlocked window attached to the living room, they make their way toward the parents room but bump into something on the floor, they pause, listening for signs the parents woke up from the soft clatter of the-
Russian nesting doll. They freeze. And pick it up, as their programming is screaming at them to kill the targets. The doll is scuffed from use, but still sturdy in their gloved hand. It brings back memories they didn’t know existed, along with tears.
They jerk themselves out of the trance, and place the doll in the bag.
Walking to the master bedroom, they open the door with a creaking sound, wincing as the mother wakes up, her blonde hair everywhere and her brown eyes still lagged with sleep. She looks like-
Their train of thought is broken by her groggy voice.
“Hey sweetie, why are you up? Did you have a nightmare? Come here.” She holds out her arms and motions them over.
They’re frozen, they don’t know what to do. It was a direct Order. Should they comply?
Their body apparently decides for them and in a few steps they’re stepping into the embrace. The woman strokes their back and pauses when she feels their hair.
“Matt doesn’t-“ she screams and shoves them to the floor, waking her husband who turns on the lights blinding them.
“Who are you?! What did you do?!” He shouts getting up from the bed, making them flinch.
They feel tears slip passed their eyelids and get up. Sighing they wipe their face with a rough sleeve and pull their knife from its sheath.
They die quickly after that. They raid the room finding shiny things and cash alike and stuff it in the bag. Before making it to the boys room.
He’s already awake when they get there, cowering under his covers. They take the nesting doll out of the bag and carefully pull back the covers. Handing the shaking boy the doll, he looks at them with wonder.
“W-who are y-ou?” He says, stuttering.
They stare at him.
The knife through his eye was the hardest thing they’ve had to do in years.
They stare at his limp body, they wipe their knife off on the blanket and sit next to his rapidly cooling body.
“Tide, head back now.” Rumlows voice drags them back to reality.
“да сэр.”
They stand and head back toward the rendezvous point. Leaving nothing but bodies and missing objects as a sign they were ever there.
2 minutes later and they have the team in sight. They head closer and make eye contact with Rollins. Phantom pain and screams echo in their mind. the scars on their body ache, and their throat burns.
They break out into a sprint. In the opposite direction.
Yelling and the sounds of guns clicking off their safety follow. Along with 8 soldiers running after them. They throw the bag at Rumlow, hitting him square in the face and knocking him on his ass.
They unsheathe their knife and stab it under the curve of the left side of their jaw, before pinching a small metal disc and pulling it out.
They crush it between their fingers and immediately feel a stab of pain in their right shoulder.
More shots are fired and more stabs of pain hit them. But they don’t stop running.
They don’t stop when they manage to dislocate their arm. They don’t stop when their neck gets a hole through it.
They only stop once no more familiar heartbeats are near.
They collapse in an alley and let out a breath of relief. Their free.
Their free.
Then they remember the injury’s.
They decide to deal with the dislocated arm first. Popping it back into place with a choked off scream. They hear footsteps but decide to ignore it and start digging out the bullet lodged in their flesh.
They lay heavily against the wall as a man rounds the corner leading into the alley.
The man kneels down next to them, and they’re on top of him immediately. Hands squeezing around his throat, the blood bubbling up from their esophagus staining their teeth red.
The man raises his hands above his head in a sign of peace, Blue eyes wide.
He smelled like metal and alcohol and pain and leather and James. His eyes were so bright and full of pain and-
God they’re so tired.