Bad Bitch ⋙ N.Romanoff

t w o

BAD BITCH
❝these were the women who knitted pain into glory❞

02. Fist of Hydra

November 2004

They were there as a distraction. Being used as nothing more than a focus point for the enemy team to take advantage of whilst the others did the real work. The real work would kill a lot more people than Svetlana and the Solider could in a few seconds. It was a risky move; to put their two best operatives on the field as nothing more than pawns but, trusting their expertise, they knew the pair could handle the torture that would be thrown at them.
Svetlana and the Winter Solider had made contact before. Being the most talented in their division meant that it were only natural for them to become partners, despite Svetlana preferring Romanova as her ally, especially when they had trained so vigorously together.
Svetlana wasn't actually sure how old the Solider was. He'd been around for longer than she had been alive, that was certain, and been a legend amongst Hydra for even longer. She'd only seen his face on a hand full of occasions, getting a fleeting glance at his features after missions when they would be cleaned, but, from what she could gather, he appeared to be in his mid twenties. Yet the skill he harboured was far beyond that amount of a lifetime. Svetlana seemed to be the only officer within Hydra who could keep up with the man's attacks. Even the infamous Black Widow, a name that Svetlana thought of fondly, couldn't ever best him in combat but it was mainly because she lacked ruthlessness.
Natalia Romanova wasn't cold hearted. Svetlana saw that. She made a facade of being completely marble but, after years of partnership, Svetlana knew that there was a heart wrapped in delicate glass inside of the red head's chest. This was her biggest disadvantage in combat. She hesitates to attack for only a few milliseconds but that's enough time for the Solider to have killed her so she would never win against him. Svetlana, on the other hand, seemed to lack the feeling part of being human. She wondered to herself if it were normal to feel no kind of sentimentality towards the people around her but, with her profession, it seemed to be more of a blessing than a hinderance.
Hydra had sent the Solider and Svetlana out together as distractions due to them attempting to escape, hoping they would be tortured into submission.
That's not how it turned out, however.

❝Sorry, boys.❞
She had it under control. Three men are already on the floor and she was about to make it a forth. Blood was smeared down the walls, coating her skin, and the light in the hallway flickered causing the Solider to go unnoticed.
They'd realised they were being used as bait, as a punishment, the moment they'd been hauled into the military styled jeep. The Solider had remained impassive through the entirety of the car journey, sat more like a king than the pawn he was, but Svetlana had spent the majority of the drive staring out of the window. She watched the world around her speed past and she felt a strong wave of hatred hit her at the sight of people enjoying their lives. Svetlana Smirnov was a very hateful person. She wasn't going to change. She'd also listened. Something that Hydra seemed to think she was incapable of so, as they indulged in conversation about the explosion that they were planning on navigating, Svetlana listened and silently calculated the death count.
She remained silent.
As they'd reached the border of the enemy's land they'd been ordered to not attack, even if provoked, and Svetlana immediately knew that this was going to be a useless mission.
So they'd been taken 'hostage', allowing the enemy to believe they were there unwillingly, and Svetlana began to tire of pretending to sob in fear and faking flinches every time they ripped her fingernails off their beds or broke her knee forewords.
She felt very little and her nails would grow back eventually.
The Solider had been placed in a separate room to herself. The men believed him to be a larger threat than her. Big mistake. People didn't fear Svetlana on the terms that they didn't recognise who she was; this was because she was a good enough killer to hide her trail. Those who leave a name for themselves are sloppy enough for people to recognise them. People only recognised Svetlana's victims. They were always hard to identify from the brutality of her hands.
Then, Svetlana had snapped. She was tired of being held hostage, angered by them believing her to be weak, and had killed them all in a red raged fury. She'd left the room with a second skin of red. She'd been merciless, enjoyed as the men begged for their lives and brought up their offspring in futile attempts to awaken the maternal side of her, and had been slow to gouge their eyes out.