The Winter Warrior // Captain America

«Chapter 18»

T H E   W I N T E R   W A R R I O R ' S   P O V

Four hours had passed since I had sat at Pierce's kitchen table, so I had six left to complete my mission. Three deaths. Easy. 

I clenched and unclenched my fist as I sat in the back of a black car. "Intercept point in ten seconds," the driver, a middle-aged man, told me. I didn't know his name. I knew exactly two people's names at this point. Alexander Pierce and Brock Rumlow. No more. No less. 

I opened the window to my left and swiftly crawled through, pushing myself up on the roof. The driver behind us honked, but with one look over my shoulder, he stopped. 

Three.

Two. 

One.

I leapt onto the roof of the car in front of us and slammed my fist through the window, grabbing the collar of the man who sat there and yanked him through the shredded glass. I tossed him to the other side of the road where a yellow truck was right on time to finish what I had no time to do. 

I pulled my gun from its holster and fired a couple of shots through the roof of the car, hoping to hit at least someone. 

Suddenly, the car slammed its brakes, and I flew off the roof. I twisted my body and dug my metal fingers into the asphalt as soon as I was close enough. I slowly came to a stop and rose to my feet. Incoming traffic swerved around me as the passengers of the car in front of me all stared at me in horror. 

The red-haired woman raised her gun but before she could fire, the car I had originally come from crashed into their car from behind, knocking the weapon from her hand. They sped toward me and I flung myself back onto the roof, grabbing on tightly. 

The car under me started to swerve, but I quickly rammed my hand through the roof and yanked out the steering wheel, ripping away the driver's control over the car. "Shit!" I heard him shout. 

Bullets were fired, but I was already back on the car that was still pushing the targets' car over the highway. I held onto the roof as I leaned on the windshield. 

Our car slammed into the other one final time before it hit the side of the road and flipped over. It crashed and came to a stop a couple of feet away from us. 

The car I was on stopped, and I jumped down, taking the grenade launcher one of the men handed me. I aimed it at the car's previous passengers, and the blond man was just in time to raise his shield to protect himself. He was flung off the bridge and left my sight. My team opened fire on the other three passengers. 

The redhead ran over the asphalt, hiding behind stopped cars. I aimed at the silver car she was approaching and pulled the trigger. The car was blown away, and the woman disappeared. 

I dropped the grenade launcher and took the large gun from someone else's hands. I pointed the barrel over the edge of the bridge, looking for my targets. 

I spotted movement in the corner of my eye, and turned my head, only to have a bullet hit me in the face. Not really, though. The protective goggles that covered my eyes were cracked, and I couldn't see properly, but I wasn't shot. 

I crouched down and took them off, leaving on the lower part of my mask. I had gotten strict orders to hide my identity. I didn't know why, and I didn't care either. Over the years, I had learned to obey rather than to ask questions. It saved me a lot of torturing and electrocuting. 

I got back up and launched a rain of bullets on the area below the bridge. I had to duck a few times to dodge bullets that the redhead shot at me.