Eternal Winter

XXIII: Numb

December 31 2025

Area Not Determined

The sky was grey and gloomy, like smoke suffocating a fragile building. Clouds hugged its emptiness in an embrace that followed Natasha as she continued on the endless roads of pain and hunger that she can't shake. Trikov was a face that would never leave her, haunting her like a second shadow until the darkness consumes her.

He was her nightmares, her fears bottled up into one hallow host.

No, vessel is more like it.

His humanity was dried up and shriveled like a rotting corpse. There was nothing between his cracked bones. No heart beating with life; only the craving to see the innocent suffer filled his marrow.

But James, James is the hand that pulls her out of the pitch black abyss. The one who places a gun in her hand while she places the bullet through her monsters.

She can see his stone cold eyes watching her, millions of deaths splattered across them like oozing black tar.

"Natalia?" James said in concern. Her eyes were fixed on what's in front of her, but fear was holding her hand.

"NATALIA!" James said as he swerved the car back onto the road. Snow flew as the tires turned suddenly.

Natasha's eyes widened in shock, she shook her head and gripped the leather that carefully wrapped the wheel. "Sorry." She breathed.

James raked his hair. "It's alright." He watched as color grew back on her beautifully sculpted face. "He gets into my head too."

Natasha's hair trickled down her back as she turned her eyes towards him. She could see the pain written across James', a personal signature in Trikov's ink. But they aren't the only people who have had sleepless nights or black outs of sudden reminders or afraid of the darkness creeping up on them and pulling them into infinite trauma.

"Yego imya budet goret'. Yego lichnost' budet na polyuse i yego deystviya budut ravny nulyu , tayal, kak sneg vcherashnego (His name will burn. His identity will be on a pole and his acts will vanish, melted like yesterdays snow)." Natasha said with her teeth clenched.

"Korrektsiya , yego litso budet nakhodit'sya pod moyey stal'noy podoshve botinka (Correction, his face will be under my steel-soled boot)."

The mic whispered with life. "Is everything alright? The radio went silent." Clint voiced.

Natasha opened her mouth but James was quicker. "Everything's fine, just some violent daydreaming."

Clint laughed. "Is this some super-assassin shit?"

"Something like that." Natasha responded.

"Romanoff, estimated distance?" Steve chimed in.

"Are we trying to sound professional now?" Clint said, filling the air with sarcasm.

"We've been professional, you haven't." Sam joined in.

"Hilarious." Clint said blankly.

Natasha stopped beside a barely standing brick wall, the ancient cement that held it together crumbled and rested on the snow. The team followed behind.

"Half an hour." She pushed the door open and a rush of unwelcomed wind blew right through her. She shivered as she headed to Clint's SUV.

Steve and Sam also met them at Clint's SUV, they huddled around the two front doors.

"We need to figure out what we're going to do once we're inside." Natasha said.

Clint was fixing his duel-headed arrows. "Thought that was your job."

Wanda sat quietly, watching snowflakes slide down the windshield. "That's everyone's job, yastreb (hawk)."

"What're you thinking Natalia?" James said swiftly.

Her dark auburn hair blew in the suddenly subtle wind, like a trickling fire burning on a torch. "He's expecting us, his men haven't responded in the past hour."

She paused. "His security is altered and he has assigned more men."

"You want us to come in at different times." Steve caught on.

"It different directions." Sam added.

Natasha nodded. "They'll realize once we enter but it'll buy us time."

Everyone was now silent, thinking about possible attacks. "They're expecting anything and everything. Trikov won't let us in or out easily." James' voice was in sync with the soft, innocent touch of the wind.

"That's why we eliminate whatever is breathing in that concrete prison." Natasha responded.

Natasha's eyes was now fixed on everyone, determination and annihilation soaked into her skin. "I'll be on the roof. Barton, you'll be on the opposite side of the entrance, they'll be expecting you on higher ground." Clint nodded, placing his arrows back in its quiver.

"Steve, you and Wanda will come in from the back as well, about ten seconds after Barton." They both looked at each other in agreement.

Then James positions himself near Natasha; her eyes glowing like the shiniest of emeralds. "You and Sam are taking the front door."

She watched as snow rested on his silky hair. "Trikov thinks we're always together. Let's change that." A jolt of pain burned her insides at the way that sentence sounded.

"Yes ma'am." James said with a heartwarming smile while Sam nodded in acceptance.

"Alright." Natasha's breath coming out like little white explosions. "Time to blow up this motherfucker."

A split second later everyone turned to Steve, waiting for a reaction. "I'm not 'Captain Language' don't expect me to clean your mouths with soap every time." He sighed.

James laughed. "Russians never had a clean mouth in the first place."

With that they all headed back to their "borrowed" SUVs. The tinted windows rolled up, making the snow seem concentrated with ash. The tires dug into the deep snow, leaving an continuing trail in its white canvas.

The rest of the way was silent, only the sound of life filled the empty air. They were on their way to take down the devil that has left endless fear and death in his path. The path that won't stop unless they cut off the head responsible.

Cut off one head and three shall appear.

But he's not Hydra, she knows that. His skills and actions don't connect in any way shape or form. He has no history with any of those blind rodents. So what is he? Does he have backup? Someone who can take his place if it ever comes down to it? All these questions poisoned her brain, poking at her like thorns.

She'll figure that out the hard way.

Time to cleanse the earth of his wrongdoing.