Winter Soldier: Fade to Red

Stop Me

Nikolai didn't want to pull the trigger. The entire time he lay in perfect stillness with the weight of the sniper rifle in his arms and his eye staring through the scope, he tried to resume control of himself. He would have given anything to simply be able to move a single finger of his own free will. But it was a futile struggle. His mind was trapped in a body that disobeyed him. He was a puppet on a string and madness crept into his heart where it remained and made a home for itself. He hoped someone would discover him, put him out of his misery. Death would have been preferable to the agony of the total loss of his free will.

With nothing to do but remain trapped in his own body, Nikolai made an effort to distract himself from what was happening. He tried to bring some type of clarity to the forefront of his mind.

As he lay on his belly, his arms holding the rifle in a steady grip, he tried to focus on the past rather than the present moment he couldn't even control. But, he thought to himself, had he ever truly been in control? This wasn't the first time he had been used as a tool in the pursuit of someone else's bidding. Being what he was, this was expected.

As a small boy, he had been taken by the government and fed to the beast known as the Red Room. It chewed him up, broke him down, shattered who he might have been. Then it spat him back out into the world- a perfect assassin. Some people were gifted at treating illnesses while others were skilled athletes. Nikolai was highly adept at ending a person's life. He could do so without even thinking about it, it had become such a reflexive action for him. As a result of his upbringing and his education, he found himself creating strategies for killing in practically every situation he found himself in.

Crowded cafe, man in the corner watching everything, woman behind the counter has a slight tremor in her voice. She's nervous, it's her first day on the job. If the suspicious man attacks, I can grab the girl, use her as a shield and narrow the gap between us, throw her aside and disarm the man. Shattering his arm should be the priority. Weaken him, take the fight out of him. With the upper hand I can exert more pressure, hurt him in ways he never knew existed. This will be useful in getting the information I want- who he is, why he is attacking me. Then, once I have what I want, I'll break his neck. Simple, quick, efficient.

It was an example of one of many scenarios Nikolai would often cook up in his head at any point in time. He stopped seeing the sadness in this a very long time ago. He made peace with what he was. But now that he was totally and completely helpless in the thrall of some unknown force, he began to feel differently about his skill.

The doors to the hotel across the street suddenly opened, with the concierge assisting a man and his entourage of bodyguards out of the establishment and towards a waiting car. For the first time in over an hour, Nikolai's body moves. Like watching a film that had been previously spoiled for him, he knew exactly what was about to happen. Quickly, he adjusted his aim, targeting the bodyguard nearest his intended target. Then, from right to left, he sent a precisely fired bullet into each guard's chest, eliminating any opposition before firing a bullet into the back of the fleeing man's head. The concierge had thrown himself to the ground but Nikolai had no need to kill him; it was not part of his orders.

Not bothering anymore with the rifle, Nikolai stood up quickly and lifted his fist to the sky. A rappelling wire ejected from his wristband and attached itself to the rooftop. With no hesitation, he rapidly ascended and disappeared.

When they arrived to investigate, the police would find the hotel room and the weapon, but there would be no other evidence to be found. And when they investigated further, the staff in the hotel would provide details about the guest- a charming young man with long dark hair and a kind disposition named Alexander Rykov. The officers would follow up on the lead after ransacking the vacant room. But they would find nothing that could help them. Even under someone else's control, Nikolai was a master at disappearing. 

He was in the wind just as the sirens blare on the streets beneath him.

The safe house was a dilapidated old residence on the edge of the city. When Nikolai arrived, he entered through the back and made his way to the heart of the building- a study where the only light came from the fireplace. He walked inside without hesitation, then stood quite still beside the sofa. He stared blankly into the flickering flames.

"A job well done," a voice spoke quietly from the high-backed armchair. And though Nikolai couldn't see the speaker, he didn't move closer to satisfy his curiosity either. His body would not allow him. "Your skill continues to be of great use to us," the speaker carried on. "Most efficient. But I would expect nothing less from a child of the Red Room. From the Wolf Spider."

Nikolai remained silent, even as his thoughts were spinning wildly out of control.

"I am told that you are the only one, you know that? The only Wolf Spider."

Nikolai didn't need to be told; he knew his history all too well. The Wolf Spider Program and every detail regarding it were forever etched into his brain. He had a network of scars that served as proof of the fires of hell he had been forged in. A living, breathing weapon. A force of nature. A deadly tool in the wrong hands. And he most certainly was in the wrong hands.

"With Costas now dead, we are one step closer to our objective," the voice carried on. "There are only two gatekeepers now left for you to deal with." The figure paused to stare at the watch on their wrist. "When we know more details of their whereabouts, you will be reactivated. Until then, your new orders are to return to the city. Resume your cover. Live your life. And when you get the call...well...I don't have to tell you what to do, do I? You'll do it without question."

Nikolai stood stock still because that was what his orders told him to do. And he would continue to do so until the spell was broken by one powerful phrase. He knew this because his current handlers had tested this with him.

After speaking those damn words, they left him to stand still in the icy chill for six hours, just to prove they could.

"Disentangle your web," the voice commanded.

Nikolai turned away and walked out of the room. He continued to move, never looking back. He boarded the bus, took it deep into the city, then moved on foot to his apartment. Once the locks were slid into place, his body became his own again. Raising his hand so that he could stare at it, he flexed his fingers into a tight fist. It felt blissful to have control again. His body was his own. He felt alive again.

But one phone call was all it would take for him to lose his hold upon himself. One phone call and ten spoken words.

And they would call.

The bastards always called.