Winter's Blade // Bucky Barnes

Winter's Darkness

The sun had set, immersing us in complete darkness but my eyes have become accustomed to the dark. My enhanced night vision allowed me to see the room almost as clear as day. We remain in the darkness. Any light source would alert others to our presence.

Two guns, Soviet-made, one mine and the other his, lay on the table. Easily accessible should our handler, Pierce, decide that they are displeased with our results and we are no longer useful as per our training. Serving as a reminder that we are nothing. That we are easily disposable if we do not complete our mission. We live at the mercy of our handler. But, as much as we're threatened, I know we won't. We're too valuable. But worse can be done. Already has been done. Make us wish we were dead.

I do not turn my head but I know he is the mirror image of myself, silent and assessing. We sit in silence -- straight backs, chins up, eyes down -- and wait, showing our obedience.Our bodies appear relaxed but we are both tense, always ready to explode at first sign of trouble, two predators on edge.

His arm, the metal gleaming from the small amount of moonlight shining in the room, rests on top of the table, completely in view, a small sign of submission to Pierce, to show he's not a threat. The other arm rests, palms down, on his thigh. It's our protocol to present ourselves in a way that is less threatening. Yet, no amount of body language can deny the fact that he is dangerous. That we both are. To pretend otherwise is foolish but it is what we're commanded to do so we do it.

Though my mind protests, my body copies him. One arm on the table and the other in a clear view. I may not have a metal arm but mine is dangerous all the same, capable of ending lives in seconds. My fingers itch, longing to grab the gun before me and shoot. At Pierce. To end him. But my body resists. It's like watching myself from the outside. I can see and hear what I do but I'm powerless to control it, to resist the training.

Besides, I realize killing Pierce would be pointless. A new handler would be assigned and I would suffer for my disobedience. So would the silent assassin besides me. Easier, and less painful, to submit. To allow them to control me. Whatever real fight I had left in me had been wiped, tortured out of me years ago.

A man, clothed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, enters the room, heading straight for the fridge. Pierce. He doesn't notice us sitting in the shadows, waiting for him. Unconsciously, I straighten ever so slightly. My body finally obeys and my hand inches toward the gun. Out of the corner of my eye I see the assassin beside me throw a sharp glance my way, stopping me. I can hear his warning though he doesn't speak.

Don't. Not today.

I submit, relaxing my hand and keep my stare straight ahead.

Grabbing a carton out of the fridge, Pierce turns to set it on the counter and freezes, confronted by two assassins sitting at his kitchen table. I keep my features calm and stoic. Neither of us move. Pierce looks startled but not surprised. He was informed we were coming. Didn't expect us to be lurking in his kitchen, unannounced.

Slowly closing the fridge, Pierce sets the carton on the counter.

"I'm going to go Mr. Pierce.. You need anything before I leave?" The maid. If she was smart she wouldn't enter this room.

"No..Uh.. Renata. You can go." His eyes never leave us, careful not to turn his back.

"Okay. Night-Night." She calls. I hear the front door open and close, leaving us alone together.

"Want some milk?" A question that didn't warrant an answer. We both knew it wasn't an offer. It was a taunt.

Grabbing a glass, Pierce tips the carton, pouring the milk. "The timetable has moved. Our window is limited."

Taking a drink, Pierce sounds and appears calm but the slight tensing of shoulders betrays his unease in our presence. His unease is gone in a moment. Replaced by power, power he feels over controlling us. Moving around the counter, Pierce takes a seat in front of us, authority filling his voice. "Two targets. Level Six. The already cost me Zola. I want confirmed death in 10 hours."

"Sorry.. Mr. Pierce..I.. forgot my phone" Trailing off, the maid spots us, surprise written on her face. She returned. And had just signed her death warrant.

Silence looms about the room. She shuffles, unsure of what to do.

"I wish you would've knocked." Sighing and setting down his glass, Pierce cooly picks up the gun from the table, turns in his chair, and shoots. The force of the bullets impacting the maid send her stumbling back.

As the blood leaks from her wounds, I wait for the pang of guilt, the remorse driven by the loss of an innocent but it never comes. That part of me was broken, numbed after years of training. I can't remember that last time I felt guilt pulling the trigger. Maybe it was better that way. Letting their control, letting "Styx" take over to become a barrier to whatever emotion you may feel.

Picking the glass back up, Pierce leans his head back, draining the glass before returning back to us. "Dismissed. Send someone to clean this up." He nods behind him, looking vaguely disgusted.

A small nod, a dip of the chin, was our only response before rising in sync. Words are not spoken. We are not allowed to speak unless directly express or it is integral to the mission. 

Retreating to the shadows, I close my eyes and concentrate, connecting myself to the darkness. Calling to it. It welcomes me gladly. Allowing me to take control of it. Reaching out, I picture the base in my mind, the dark and cool shadows populating it, and lock onto it in the darkness. Opening my eyes, I turn to the man beside me, motioning for him to step into the black. Without hesitation, he walks forward and disappears. This is part of a gift I possess, given to me by Hydra. The ability to control and manipulate darkness, to travel through it among other things. It is a helpful tool in missions, allowing us to appear and disappear without a trace.

I glance once behind me, dismissing Pierce lounging in his chair, before strolling into the shadows, trusting them to take me back to base.