Hell's Angel [Bucky Barnes]

1 - Adam Strider

1 – Adam Strider

Don't come back until the job is done. Those words continue to ring in my head as I keep watch on my prey.

To the world, he doesn't seem like much. Just your average guy living an average life. But I know who he is, my organization knows who he is. He's a threat to us. Threats need to be wiped out. The quicker, the better.

I blend in with the night, dressed in black. I let my hair down in loose waves around me. I prefer a challenge when fighting. It tests me, makes me strive to do more.

I hum a tune under my breath until I find the apartment complex. My blue eyes go skyward, and I mentally count the floors until I find what window I'm looking for. I tilt my head, stepping back a few steps, towards the border where the sidewalk meets the street. Time to go to work.

I get a running start before launching myself at the brick building. I grunt, having my fingers find purchase on the ladder that slowly creaks as my weight pulls it down. Lithely, I pad up the ladder, taking my ample time towards my destination. If you want a job done, do it right.

Three, four, five...

I arrive at the sixth floor, the window that I need to shimmy to and get open. I bite down lightly on my tongue as I look down. Heights don't bother me, but I know if I fall, I'll definitely be put on a huge setback. Don't screw it up, then, I tell myself.

Seeing a bit of a perch that I can use, I hop onto the top part of the railing, carefully balancing out my weight. I take slow, precise movements to get myself onto the small windowsill. The bar to my right is within arm's distance, so I hold onto that while I try and unlock the window.

Quietly, I slide the window upwards and slip in, letting the cool night air seep into the small living room. I stand straight, analyzing the area in the dark. This place looks a little too well-kept, like this is just for show. It probably is just that. He wouldn't be around enough to make this place a mess.

I take a slow stroll through the living room and find the kitchen attached. Even the kitchen is neat. Like I said, too clean. This man hardly strikes me as the OCD type.

I hear it, the subtle door squeak. I whip out a small knife. I figured I would do this kill intimately. That's the best kind of kill, I think. You see a lot about a person when you make them slowly await the end. You see their true colors just before you take their life.

Normally, I would opt for a sniper shot, or any sort of gun. But even the commander-in-chief insisted that I use a more...personal way of killing this agent. Why he insisted, I still have no idea.

I hear the trying-to-be-silent footfalls, and I turn towards the figure in the darkness. I charge him, and he aims a gun at me. I dodge the two bullets before taking him down, pushing us both into his bedroom. I straddle him quickly, striking him across the face. He grunts, punching me in the side. I strike him again across the face.

I let out an agonized cry as I feel a sharp pain in my left arm.

I jump back, feeling the blood seep out from the bullet wound. I grit my teeth as my target shoots at me again. This time, he misses. Thankfully, he doesn't shoot my right arm, which is the arm that still holds the small blade.

I go for my target again, fighting through the nearly-blinding pain to knock the weapon out of his hand. I cut into his stomach before kicking him back into the corner of his bedroom. I feel the anger radiate through my veins, adrenaline strong enough to make me forget I've got a bullet in my arm.

For extra measure, I kick up the gun, catching it with my left hand. I smirk in the dark, as his blinds let little moonlight peek in. My prey is rattled, he looks like he's struggling to stay awake.

"Who're you?!" he demands.

I snort as I slowly corner him. He's using the walls he's stuck between to get to his feet. His cheek cuts weep red, which only make my smile deepen. I strike at his arm, cutting into it, as he tries to swing at me. I send him back into the corner. I see a dark spot in the walls now, I think he knocked his head against them.

I sniff, smelling iron. Yup, he definitely has a head wound.

Don't come back until the job is done.

I toss the gun away, tutting as I crouch in front of him. His eyes are half-hidden by his lids. His hands are covered in his own blood, probably from the cut on his stomach I gave him. His breathing is wet and heavy.

I let the man slowly bleed as I pull the blinds up, just so I can see what I'm really doing.

My prey's eyes bug once the moonlight shines on me.

"No..." he whispers. I hear a tone of...heartbreak? "No..." He moans in pain.

I whistle as I twirl my small blade in my hand. I crouch again in front of him, but this time, instead of swinging for me, he grabs my wrist desperately. His eyes are full of fear, and he reeks of it too.

"It can't be," he rasps, coughing. A little bit of red spurts from his mouth. I tilt my head curiously. "No...What have they done to you?"

I frown. I don't know this man. I only know him in the sense that he's a threat and I need to take care of him. I know things about him, like his residency, and his name, and his occupation. Adam Strider, age 30. Occupation: Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Or what's left of that organization, anyway.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is a dying breed, and I'm helping it become extinct. One agent at a time.

"Oh God..." His hand hovers over my bullet wound. "I'm so sorry, baby."

I recoil. I don't know him. How dare he call me "baby". This man, I haven't seen him before until I got a profile on him from my commander-in-chief.

"Please..." His eyes hold mine. Desperation. Heartbreak. "Don't. Come back to me, baby."

I continue to watch him curiously. Is it possible he's hallucinating? I don't have my blade dipped in any poison. Maybe he's lost his mind. It takes something traumatic to make you lose your mind.

"Help...me." He coughs, and more red stains his shirt. He gets the fit under control long enough to have the audacity to reach out to me with a bloody hand. I allow him to trace my cheek, creating a small blood line. "Please..."

Don't toy with him, end it. You need to get back. I snort derisively.

I make it semi-quick for him; I give him a red smile across his throat. He tries to staunch the bleeding, but it's beating him. He looks at me in fear, and I watch as the light leaves him. He tries to get a sound out, possibly a syllable to a name, but it never amounts to anything.

None of my previous missions have been this...strange. Yes, they've all fought me. Agents always want to fight until their last dying breath. They have a fighting spirit, a spirit which I break and take from them.

I exhale. There had been no pressure coming into this mission, just like the previous ones. From my first success, I've known I can do no wrong. I have never failed before, and I continue that streak now.

It's not part of my job description to clean up my messes. It's my job to leave a mess, leave the message. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s time is over. The new age, the long awaited age of HYDRA, is coming.

They won't be able to do a damn thing to stop us. They'll all be too late, because I'll end them. Every. Last. One.

And none of them will stop me.

**I don't know why or how this idea got started. It just appeared in head and would not leave me alone. 

I'm so excited to see how well this idea goes over!

Just get comfy, you guys. We still got plenty of people to meet and things to discover!**