ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ- ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ

In my opinion; Someone like me should not be acknowledged by the public. Why? You ask me. Well, I'll tell you, I'm Y/N Y/L/N. I don't want to be acknowledged by the public... especially by... them....

Recently, I discovered that Hydra; a.k.a the people that saved my life, were the bad guys, and their plan was to make me one too... well, that worked. Just not how they would've liked.

And now, after four damned years in that... den of criminals and Nazis.... I finally escaped. 

But, that's almost the worst part because Hydra is a powerful den of criminals and Nazis and because I am the youngest, most energetic, hungry for fight, fast learner and easily trained, they needed me... but most of all, I was their prized possession that they treated better than the other men and women that were there. And they wanted me back. In fact, the others seemed dare I say jealous of when I beat them in a fight and one of the men in uniforms hand me a water bottle. They didn't show it on their faces, but their eyes twitched like they want to narrow at me, their upper lip twitched like they wanted to spit snarky comments at me.

They didn't do any of these things though, it was like something was making them hold back and ordering them to keep their expression blank while I beat the living daylights out of them and let the uniformed men pamper me as they watched.

I could never get enough of seeing them fall to their knees in defeat all bloodied. I'd usually ignore the fact that they've ultimately given up, I'd just keep punching and kicking until I hear at least one bone crack; that was my alarm to stop, but not before sending them a wink or a smug smirk.

And that there is why they'd called me 'женщина-убийца'  ... Killer Woman. 

But when their prized женщина-убийца ran away. They melted into a pathetic puddle.

I know Hydra's powerful.... but not as much as I am, even if I'm not a genius, a rage monster or have stringy red fluids coming out of the tips of my fingers like those avenging clowns do. I'm not even a super soldier. I am a nineteen year old independent assassin.

But... I had a place where I belonged in, felt respected and now I ran away from that place. Leaving me alone, here, on a not-so-oftenly-mowed-patch of grass, seeking to rest my exhausted body against a tree trunk under bunches of stars in a night sky I haven't seen in what seemed like a millennia of years.

I close my eyes, but my paranoia catches up with me and they spring open again. I look down to my numb right arm as a cloth that I stole from a small shop soaked red around the wound they had engraved on me. A bullet. They tried to shoot me. And although I was used to the pain, I still felt like I have been betrayed by my own home. Why would they try to kill me?

Oh, yeah. Cause they knew what I've found.

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