«« a man i never knew, a man you never knew
walks like a living blue/
don't be scared, or be scared
/it's the man you never know »»
begin.
14th April, 1976.
Some green forest, 6 military jeeps, long roads and silent hours.
Winter Soldier
The muzzle was a bit extra in this weather. And it was itching him.
But his chained hands obviously couldn't reach till his face, so its itching long silent hours of transportation. His sitting form was on the furthest corner of the back of the jeep. His body sat on the floor, hands chained on his back, heavy legs bent at the knee, pulled apart in exhaustion.
He throws his back on the truck body, his hair moving with him, he wanted to sleep.
The slightest motion makes the 3 guards on the both side of the jeep snap towards him.
He doesn't remember what he did last time, but he might've done something that pleased the Superior. Unchained legs were a blessing, and only 3 guards too.
He didn't like people around him much.
The Winter Soldier was being transported to The Red Room, but he didn't know that. Neither did he wanted to know. He only wanted the itching to go.
It took about 16 wipes for him to realize not wanting to know helps with the pain. So the soldier keeps his words to him, his thoughts to no one.
One of the guards continues the conversation going on, when they are certain that the asset wasn't causing some commotion.
They talk about things he doesn't know anymore. One of them has a sister, The Asset doesn't pay any mind to it when the guard says how her birthday is ahead, wondering about what to give her.
They talk more, like backgrounds to his void. It doesn't feel strange anymore. A thoughtless mind, that is.
He now only focuses the small things so that it doesn't hurt.
Like that itch and how he needs to fix that small bump on his rifle butt.
He doesn't even remember how it got that.
He tries to sleep, but it itches.
/
14th April, 1976
The Grand Hall, Red Room, Central Moscow, Russia.
A girl drops to her knees in the middle of the glass ballroom.
Her reflections in every mirror marks a defeat. Her head hangs low, golden hair tied up in tight bun, not one strand falling on her face, just how it should be. But she could keep her posture, she was too fast, she made a mistake.
And a glass room never excuses mistakes.
The girl knows she's going to die. Not that there was much to hold on to. Nothing to live for yet they fight, the foolish lot of them.
The unfortunate girls of the glass room.
The golden haired girl closes her eyes, accepts her death. Like a liar. On the inside, she's screaming, crying, fighting.
But nobody looks at her. 19 girls surrounding the room, sitting at comfortable positioned, not one person looks at the dead girl.
They are taught to never bat an eye at failure. If it's your own, then you'll not be alive to do so, if it's somebody else's, then ignore it. Look at the one standing, and think about how you can bring them down.
And the one standing was none other than the redhead one.
The favorite, the one made of marble.
The Girl Made Of Marble
Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back.
Natalia chastises herself. She is dead, it's done. It was her fault.
Natalia tries to tell herself. She tries to forget her eyes. Her eyes when they had snapped at her the moment she slit her throat. Anya. She could never forget their names. Or their eyes.
And she could never stop looking back.
The Headmistress facepalms herself the moment the redhead turns to look back.
Really?
"Everyone leave the room," The Headmistress says, shaking her head, no accent in her tongue, "and take that...mess with you."
She dismisses Anya's now still body with a flick of her fingers.
The bodyguards soundlessly work to remove said mess.
"I didn't push the knife hard enough." The redhead says, excuses the older spy in the was growing tired of.
Good thing is, one of her old friends found something of a solution to this problem.
They needed her to be more than only Natalia. They needed her to be the Black Widow, damnit.
"So you turned back to check, is that it?" Madame walks forth, Natalia stays where she is. "You absolute idiot." Madame hisses at her like a snake when she's close enough. Her warm breathe hits Natalia, she's too damn close.
"I have warned you before, you foolish girl. You shouldn't have made that mistake. If you had just come clean today, It wouldn't come to this." The Headmistress in her blue suit and skirt circles Natalia.
Her ears perk up. What new torture has they planned for her now?
She silently prayed it wasn't another naked 4 year old tied to chair.
"You remember The Superior, don't you?"
A shiver goes down her spine.
She's not an idiot. She has a pretty good idea who The Superior is. And exactly what comes with him.
They whisper of it. They say it's a shadow, a hungry shadow. Trained to kill all- man and shadow both. Faster that wind, subtle, strong and with absolutely no human instinct left whatsoever.
Natalia isn't terrified but she flinches when Madame looks at her with understanding.
Yes, she guessed right.
"You have left us no choice, Natalia." Madame straightens up, walks towards the wooden door. "I really didn't want it to come to this. But you don't listen."
The redhead Red Room assassin with no place in the world shakes her head. No, she won't be afraid. Not that she was, but she won't be.
If the said shadow comes to end her, and actually manages to accomplish that; won't that be just what she wants?
"Your training with The Asset starts tomorrow." Before exiting the room, The Headmistress turns back a little, runs her cold grey eyes over Natalia, an unreadable expression on her face. "Careful, Natasha. No one else would excuse your idiocies."
Natalia snaps her green eyes up to see Madame, but she's gone by then.
YOU ARE READING
This Time// WinterWidow
Romance"So you're mute, is that it then?" He throws a punch at her, wind actually whooshing at his speed. But Natalia is faster. "Or do you only talk to people who keep you in a cage, all locked up?" The Asset hisses under his breathe, he wanted to strangl...
