𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀 | While the Winter Soldier was a ghost story, Nadine Ryker is a ghost. She's The Ghost. Her past is a mystery, her identity even more so.
Few knew her as Nadya Ivanovna Rykova, the lost recruit of the Red Room, never spoken of aft...
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Vienna, Austria
Spring 2015
Even when she was simply Nadine Ryker, Mistress of one of the foremost private ballet studios in and around Vienna, Nadine couldn't help the way her senses were always sharp, picking out details and assessing threats, her mind considering escape routes and analyzing her surroundings. But then, it was rare that she wasn't hypervigilant in every sense of the word, even in the nearly banal existence she usually had. She hadn't lived a life that allowed for anything else. It was too ingrained. She didn't even think about doing it anymore. She just did it.
Even as she unlocked her bike she was alert to her surroundings, her ears picking up the sound of passing cars out on the street in front of her studio's building, her eyes scanning the shadows lurking beneath the car of the broker who had an office below her studio.
After swinging her bag onto her back and loosening her long blonde hair from its strict confinement, she was slipping on her helmet and settling onto her bike, a discreetly customized BMW R1200GS. In a series of smooth, fluid movements the bike had quickly purred to life and Nadine was flipping down her black-tinted visor and pulling out from beside the building.
This time of evening the streets of Vienna were still relatively busy, but one of the virtues of the more compact, urban-friendly motorcycle Nadine had was that traffic ultimately meant very little to her. It wasn't long at all before she was speeding out of town into one of the outlying suburban neighbourhoods and on a little further still to a somewhat more industrial area.
Killing her headlights, Nadine made her final approach to her Workshop.
Registered to a shell company owned by a shell company founded by a person who didn't exist for another shell company and so on back to a discreet Swiss bank account that was in no way directly traceable to her, Nadine's Workshop was just about untraceable as it could get. Nadine had put a great deal of time, effort and capital into making it so.
Upon activating the encoded signal from her key fob, the side bay door of the smaller, rather nondescript warehouse opened without a sound, allowing her to drive her bike right inside. Then, leaving her helmet perched on the seat of the bike, she headed for the interior door, swinging her grey bag from her shoulder as she went.
