❛   𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫   ❜

❝ i have shed so many skins.
the graveyards must be full
of all the people i used to
be. ❞

          "TRY harder," Brock Rumlow panted, beckoning Anastasia closer. "Come on."

Her compressive shirt felt uncomfortable around her body as perspiration was starting to build up. The training room in Washington was decent; having cleaner walls and floors and actual training mats to soften any fall.

They had been throwing punches and kicks around for nearly an hour. The Soldier was in Cyro; so she was forced to train with Rumlow.

"See you gotta aim for—" he neared her with his arms raised, attempting to demonstrate self-defence.

Internally, she thought it was futile. Her file listed all the martial arts she was trained in, so she didn't see the point of sparring more with him.

Before Rumlow could touch her, she grabbed his arm and turned her back to his chest. Pushing back her hips and her left foot, Anastasia jumped and flipped them onto the mat.

He grunted loudly, too dazed to fight back. She rolled off him, sticking out her legs and hitting him in the cheek. Rumlow flinched again, lifting his head to shield his face. With the space, she wrapped one leg under his head and one around his neck.

Brock wheezed when she started to squeeze tightly, tapping on her thigh in surrender. Anastasia only gritted her teeth, adding more pressure without realizing it.

"That's enough—" he gagged, starting to slap her leg more violently. He took hold of her knee, trying to pull his head from her grip.

A few guards shouted at her, closing in with guns raised. Anastasia's murderous stare elevated, eyeing each one individually. After a long moment, she released Rumlow and slumped on her back.

Brock lurched forward, coughing loudly. He twisted back to scowl at her, "What the hell was that?!"

She rolled onto her knees before jumping up and rushing for a guard, ignoring Rumlow entirely.

In one fluid motion, she planted her foot on his knee and grabbed the back of his neck. Hooking her ankles around his neck, she swung her body down and around to flip him over.

The guard grunted loudly, smashing his head onto the floor. The other two raised their weapons again, to which Brock yelled out "Hold your fire!" to them.

Anastasia growled under breath. A second man neared her slowly, flinching when her leg shot straight up to kick him in the head. His knees nearly buckled when she hit him a second time. He then swung for a blind punch.

She ducked under his arm, moving back when he stuck out his arm to punch again. With calloused hands, she gripped his forearm, forcing it down enough so his whole body was crouched.

Jumping up, she repeated her actions—using her legs to wrap around his head and body weight to bring him down. The two flipped together, with the guard on his back and Anastasia laying on her side.

She channelled all the muscle in her thighs, squeezing harder and harder until his struggling ceased.

The third hesitated, glancing at Brock for instructions. Anastasia quickly grabbed a pistol from the unconscious guard, aiming at the last one.

"If you wanted to kill someone," Brock muttered as he stood, rubbing his neck. "I'd just send in the asset." He shook his head, walking away. "Training dismissed."

Anastasia's arms lowered as the two men exited the room, leaving her alone.

         A small stack of three photos was thrown down onto the glass table. They fanned out.

Both Anastasia and Bucky peered down at them. They all included a man with dark skin and a noticeable eye patch. On two of them, he had the patch over his left eye and appeared older. On the last one, he was younger with a moustache and no eyepatch.

"Nicholas Joseph Fury,"

The resonant tone caused both of the assassins' eyes to glance up at their current leader, who was named Alexander Pierce. He was a short man, with blond hair and an aged face.

He moved around the two, using his hands as he spoke, "Fury has gained access to some information regarding Project Insight. I'm afraid he's officially a threat to our organization. I need you two to take him out. Track him down, and finish it off. Clean and quick."

A frown was seemingly etched on his face. He regarded to two once more with a dull look before making a move for the door. "You leave in thirty minutes."

The two stood animatedly, deploying to the gear wing to suit up in their uniforms. Although they looked different; both suits held equal quality for maximum efficiency for missions.

Bucky had a leather jacket, with the left one cut off. Over that was a gun holster to store between his shoulder blades. With that, a utility belt was strapped to his hips and black combat trousers with knee pads sewn on. He also had black boots on with thick outsoles. A fingerless glove was fitted over his left hand for grip.

Anastasia had a leather catsuit with knee and elbow pads; being told it was similar to what the Black Widows from the Red Room wore.

Oh, how she despised the Red Room.

Over the suit, she wore a black semi-armoured vest that had a holster sewn on between her shoulders and above her tailbone for two pistols. A utility belt was also clipped around her hips, holding various smaller weapons. Another gun holster was climbed down her right thigh; easy access to her dominant hand. She also had black combat boots on with larger outsoles.

They both had muzzles and goggles to shield their identities.

          FOLLOWING a failed attempt of executing their target on the streets of Washington in daylight, the two were able to locate Fury in an apartment who's resident was a name named Steve Rogers.

Their goggles were removed, replaced with black makeup around their eyes. It wasn't needed for darkness—as it was hard to see with them in that setting.

They crouched on the roof of the adjacent building, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. Bucky had the sniper aimed towards the apartment wall. Anastasia held a monocular telescope to her eye to watch as well. They could only see the lining of his head; not being able to get a clear shot yet.

It was night over the city, and soon after Steve entered his apartment through the fire escape. He slowly crept through the room, stopping when he noticed Fury sitting on a chair in the corner.

After nearly a minute of communication between the two SHIELD workers, Anastasia grew impatient, frowning deeper. As her long hair flows gently in the breeze, she nods once. "Take the shot."

Bucky silently complies, squeezing the trigger and firing three rounds into Nick's back. He stands quickly, skillfully dismantling the sniper rifle. By the time it was put away, they gaze back at the apartment, seeing Steve stare back at him with anger.

The two stand and run off, hearing the smashing of glass behind them. With both of their enhanced speed, they seem to slowly lose the trail of Steve.

"Jump," Bucky hisses loud enough for her to hear, and they do so over the ledge of the building. Rolling over their shoulders, they stand and continue to sprint. Another rooftop was right below it, and across was their chance at a successful escape.

When another window was smashed through, they both heard a throaty grunt followed by air being sliced through. On cue, they both stop abruptly, turning. Bucky shoots out his metal arm, catching Steve's shield easily.

The Captain blinks in surprise, his baleful frown ebbing into shock. A moment of staring passed quickly before winding back his arm and flinging the shield back.

Bucky grabs Anastasia's hand tightly, pulling her to jump off the building.

          THE following night, the two assassins sat in Pierce's home, at the kitchen table. The crickets chirped loudly outside, oddly bringing serenity to Anastasia. As both waited for him to receive a new mission, their eyes searched the interior silently.

They were careful not to get noticed by his housemaid, Reneta. After she was finished cleaning his home, she started to get ready to leave.

The soft padding of footsteps made the pair gaze up and Pierce entered his poorly lit kitchen. He opened his large fridge, pulling out a carton of milk.

When he placed it down, he suddenly did a double-take, only noticing the two sitting at his table then. A pistol was laid in front of them, with the grip aimed at the assassins.

By the angle of the moonlight, Pierce could only see their silhouettes.

His face hardened.

"I'm going to go, Mr. Pierce," Renata's voice made Pierce flinch, shifting his head towards the noise. "You need anything before I leave?"

Pierce's eyes slowly lifted back to the two killers at his table. "No, uh, it's fine Renata. You can go home."

"Okay, night night."

When Renata shut the front door, his expression slackened. "You want some milk?"

He moved to his cupboard, pulling out a single glass. He held it up for a moment, in silent question. The two kept quiet, not seeming to move an inch. Pierce poured himself a small amount, "The timetable is moved. Our window is limited."

Taking a sip, he made his way over to join them. "Two targets, level six. They already cost me Zola. I want confirmed death in ten hours."

"Sorry, Mr. Pierce, I forgot my...phone..."

All three pairs of eyes shifted to Renata, who trailed off in shock when she noticed the Soldier and Anastasia at his table.

Pierce grimaced, "Oh Renata," he twisted momentarily to grab the gun. "I wish you would've knocked."

When he shot her in the chest two times, Anastasia winced.

          STEVE entered the hospital with sweatpants and a thin sweater to cover himself. With the hood up to conceal himself, he made his way to the floor where Fury died. When he stood in front of the vending machine, Steve frowned when the bubblegum and his flash drive in slot 510 were gone.

A soft pop made his eyes shift, spotting Natasha in the reflection behind him. She snapped her gum before chewing obnoxiously, gazing at the back of his head.

He slowly turned, glaring down at her before suddenly shoving her back into the vacant room behind them.

Natasha grunted softly as she was pushed against the wall. Steve ripped off his hood, holding her in place by her arm. "Where is it?"

"Safe," she replied back, narrowing her eyes.

"Do better." he threatened, jutting out his chin.

"Where did you get it?"

"Why would I tell you?"

Natasha's eyes searched his angered face. "Fury gave it to you. Why?"

"What's on it?"

"I don't know." She almost scoffed at him, causing Steve to grow more annoyed by the second.

He gave Natasha's body a small shake, moving closer. "Stop lying!"

Her glared hardened, challenging him. "I only act like I know everything, Rogers."

Steve glanced behind him as a man with a cart rolled by, ostensibly not noticing their bickering. He turned back to look at her. "I bet you knew that Fury hired the pirates, didn't you?"

Natasha hesitated, glancing at his mouth before up at his eyes. "Well, made sense. The ship was dirty and Fury needed a way in, so did you—"

He grabbed the lapels of her leather jacket, giving her another rough shake. "I'm not gonna ask you again."

She went silent for a moment, rapidly shifting her gaze between his eyes. "I know who did it."

She felt his grip loosen before completely fall from her.

His silence made her continue, "Most of the intelligence community don't believe they exist, the ones that do call them The Fists of Hydra; more specifically the Winter Soldier and Enigma."

Natasha glanced over Steve's shoulder, relaxing against the wall. "He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years. She's just under him with twenty-two and counting."

"So they're a ghost story?" Steve's tone was calmer now but still held control. "A duo? It's not like Hydra to send out a team."

"Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out, but they were there. I was covering my engineer so the Winter Soldier shot him straight through me."

She pulled up her jacket and shirt, revealing a laceration scar alongside her belly button. When Steve looked down at it, she hinted a smirk. "Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye-bye bikinis."

He huffed quietly at her comment, "Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now."

Her smirked widened, shaking her head softly. Natasha pulled her shirt and jacket down. "Going after them is a dead end. I know, I've tried." Her arm bent up, revealing the drive in her hand. "Like you said; they're a ghost story."

Steve grabbed the drive, studying it for a moment before looking at Natasha. "Let's find out what the ghosts want."