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"My parents wanted me to live," the girl spit out bitterly. "To live, not to survive."
A child, a girl who was taken from her life, her past. Abused and forced by Hydra to do wrong, to sin.
When she becomes free of their grasp and tries to sta...
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She was craving for blood. She always was. She was proud to serve HYDRA, and she had no fears to delay her. Carrying out the missions she was sent to do, and coming back with excelling results, was the least she could do to make her bosses happy.
And she gladly did so.
Night Stalker walked down a dark alleyway, crumpled sheets of newspapers rolling around in the corners. All the doors and windows were closed and draped, making the whole neighborhood look lifeless. The blinking street lights were the only kind of light that was protecting the village from pitch black darkness.
Nobody was out, except a few stray cats and dogs, who backed out of Night Stalker's way, growling and mewling, bounding out of sight. Animals, yes, but no humans.
They must've known that it was a dangerous night to be out.
But they didn't have to worry about that. She wasn't here to kill them.
She was here to kill one particular man. And his family.
Her footsteps echoing through the vacant streets, Night Stalker reached her destination. A small, red bricked house, the gates a rusty green. A few toys littered the entrance, along with a large red bike.
If she was that small girl, E. 062144, then she might have felt some kind of anger, sadness, panic, and shame.
But Night Stalker was an assassin, and an efficient one at that.
She didn't have emotions, and she was fine with it.
Forcing the gates open with a screech, she stepped through the toys, reaching the pale blue chipped door. The thin layer of wood protecting the small family sleeping without a single worry from death.
The man might be having nightmares though. Nightmares of the time he joined HYDRA, and the day he escaped.
Good for him. He's probably happy.
Night Stalker frowned at the sudden whisper of a voice, and violently shook her head to get it out. Then, her eyes burning with eagerness, she kicked the door down with a loud slam. She took her time doing her hair up in a ponytail as another slam of the door retaliated upstairs, with the quiet whispers of warnings and the small wails of the children.
Then, her face covered with her black mask, and her trusty assault riffle in hand, she walked silently in.
