"She's a secret, but some secrets are worth being told."
[ book one of assassin series]
[ daughter of hawkeye oc x peter parker ]
[ Captain America: Civil War ]
[ 🏅 voted #2 in emiliaclarke! ]
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HYDRA wants to believe I'm an assassin without a brain. No feeling, no consciousness, no remorse. One hundred percent pure instinct, and desire to kill. The perfect secret weapon.
But I believe there's a small part of me - my own little secret weapon - the small part of me, that they could never reach with all the needles nor scalpels in the world, told me that I wasn't completely gone. A small part of me wasn't what they wanted me to be. A small part of me wasn't what they created me to be: I wasn't just a hotheaded assassin. I was still a teenage girl at heart, one that wanted to go to the mall and fight with my parents. In the beginning, before I accepted what they made me to be, I dreamt of the food I'd never tasted, the movies I'd never get to see, the parties I'd never get to crash. But those dreams eventually faded, just like the rest of my hopes, all but the glimmer of the small want of a normal teenage life.
However, when push came to shove - and it always did - the greater, darker, constructed part of me over powered and I always pulled the trigger. Always. No matter what weapon stood between me and my target, I would always be the one standing in the end. Always. They made me perfect. At least that's what they spent the spent the past decade trying to convince me to believe.
"You've arrived at your destination: Vienna International Centre."
I cut the engine to my motorcycle, and nudged the kickstand out, after the rumble of my engine beneath me subsided. The navigational directions that were coming from my helmet the second I sat on my motorcycle had finally shut off when I parked my vehicle. It was an Australian woman's voice that had directed me from HYDRA's private jet strip, through the crowded streets and now here. Here being a relatively crowded area in front of three, large glass buildings.
This was my first royal target. HYDRA never sent me on something so public and high ranked before, but I would never question their orders. Questioning their orders was like putting a gun in my mouth and asking them to pull the trigger. So when I woke up on a plane with a sheet of paper, in the pocket of my black leggings, giving instructions about this target, I did what I always did and followed through. I tugged off my helmet then squinted at the bright sun that beamed down at the people of Vienna. The note crumpled a little in my hand when I pulled it from my pocket. I unfolded the sheet and reread the memorized orders. The chicken scratch ink was my only piece of certainty:
King T'Chaka of Wakanda. Vienna International Centre. Get in, get out, get over it.
The King's picture was printed on the other side. The old black man was waving with a proud grin in the photograph. My hand fisted the picture and shoved it into my black fitted pants after swinging my leg over the bike seat, standing back on solid ground, and flipping open the black leather seat.
