A shot in the dark
A past lost in space
Where do I start?
The past and the chase

The thrill of the kill
You feel, is a sin
I lay with the wolves
Alone, it seems

She Wolf (Falling to Pieces), by David Guetta ft Sia, from the album Nothing But the Beat, released in 2011

Many people often disregarded the Winter Soldier. Many stated that it was a cover up, a fraud, to cover the crimes of the once Sergeant Bucky Barnes. While many accepted that it happened, that a war heroes identity was stolen, replaced by one distorted and misshapen, just as many others accepted the rumours that it was fake.

People cheered just as people booed. Either or didn't really matter for Bucky, his Winter Soldier persona erased completely. No longer did he ever have to worry about his trigger words, about being forced into that persona he hated. He long since thought that he was the only one for that experiment, the only one that HYDRA had turned into an unfeeling weapon.

Yet, many years after, HYDRA, on their last legs, made another. One that was even more secret. One, that was once an innocent little girl, now a lost woman with no identity. She was known as the волeк (Wolf) by one person, yet the others knew her by different names. Or rather, designation. She was so far off the grid, there was few files about her. But unlike the soldier, the little girl was not made to be a soldier- no, she was made to be a weapon.

She was three years old when she was first donated to HYDRA. Her parents, if you could call them that, were high ranked scientists for the organisation, specialising in the human DNA and mutation. They produced a green eyed, light brown haired, that ended with tinges of red little girl, who should've remained as innocent as the day she was born.

But she didn't. They raised her until the age of three, and she showed signs of having a higher IQ than many of her age. By the age of six months, she could say basic words, by the age of three, she could do basic arithmetic. By the age of three, she was subjected to her first experiment.

One of HYDRA's goals was to create the ultimate weapon, and they recreated (well, does it count if it was the original experiment? I suppose created would be the better terminology.) the experiment they subjected the Maximoff Twins too. It was a massive cause for celebration within the group. But it was even more dangerous and even more unpredictable then it was before.

There was no Avengers to save the unnamed little girl- not until much later. She was simply referred to as 'the weapon' or worse, nothing at all. She had grown up with this- she didn't know that it was wrong. That she should be in Nursery, should have a name, and most certainly should be loved and cared for. Not strapped down to a steel table, scrutinised by various callous scientists. She didn't have the strength to push them off of her, and didn't have the strength to escape.

So she laid pinned, terrified out of her mind. The scientists took blood from her, skin cells, saliva, and even a hair. It wasn't with the kind gentle touch of a parent, rather the hard, cold, vicious touch of a demon. She didn't know that they had taken bone marrow and stem cells from her as well, while she was asleep. The scientists filed out, the door locking behind them with a hiss. Strange fog began to fill the air, little arcs of lightning visible.

"First Trial- 3.05 AM – Friday 24th November, 1944."

All that could be heard was the screaming of a three year old, bouncing off of the wall. Yet the experiments continued.

Pain. That was all the little girl could feel. Fire, burning up and down her veins, her body trying to escape it's restraints. She howled, and screamed and asked for help- yet none came to her. If anything, the fog got even more intense, her body convulsing, her eyes opening and shutting rapidly. She had never felt pain like this before- even when she was being disciplined. She didn't complain, because it was all she knew, but she couldn't help but scream.

It was that painful. She couldn't even pass out- she was kept awake by her body constantly jostling, and the pain constantly burning. She wanted nothing more to sleep, but she knew that it would not come easily. She screamed until her voice became hoarse, her voice incapable of making any more noise. The mysterious fog dispersed, and the door opened a few minutes after.

The entire chamber was depressurised, before they came back in. She was dazed, and barely lucid, but was awake. Don't deny that. They repeated the process of taking everything they could find- including taking her bone marrow. They made small incision in her arm, before taking it from her fibula. She squeaked but was quickly told to be quiet and to listen to them.

They nodded some things, before they left, leaving her tied up in the room. It didn't seem much longer before they started another test- this one involved something being injected into her. In contrast to the earlier experiment, it felt like ice ran through her veins, and made her itch to get up, to move, to do something to stop this never ending pain. She was distressed and they knew it. She didn't know it, but that one little injection was rewriting her entire genetic code- and essentially forcing her body to evolve.

She was in even more pain then before- head pounding, dizziness impeding, and the pain just covering her little, skinny frame. She didn't want this to happen. She wanted to go home. Had she done something wrong? She tried to be good. She panted as she tried to inhale air, it seeming to not reach her lungs.

Or was her red blood cells not working? She wanted to make her Masters proud- because that was all she lived for. To live and to serve. The experiments would make her better- help her to make her Masters proud. That was a good thing wasn't it? She was nothing if she didn't make her Masters proud. Nothing.

The second time she was strapped into the metal table, a new man was standing over her, his eyes cold and dead. Usually, she only awoke just as the tests started. Never before. The freezing table stung her open wounds on her back, and the metal cuffs were irritating her stomach and wrists, tighter than a spring.

Scars covered the little girl, leaving nowhere untouched. She was thin, but not sickly- she looked like she hadn't eaten in weeks. The man that had carried her in had a metal arm attached to him, and the little girl knew that he was one of her Masters. He didn't seem all there to her- was her Master okay? Had she done something wrong? He didn't seem angry- and she had always been compliant, as was her job.

"Master?"

She asked softly. She got punished for speaking usually, but she needed to make sure her Master was okay. If her Master died, she would die. And while she would happily die if it meant her Master was happy, she couldn't if he was unhappy. The man seemed to snap out of his daze, before looking at her emotionlessly.

"я в порядке" (I'm fine.)

She didn't know what he had said, (it sounded like a garble of words to her) but apart from the pain that already lingered, she didn't feel anything else. She hoped the Master knew that she couldn't understand him when he spoke like that, and that she only understood English. And that was only because her original masters had forced her to learn.

Seen but not heard. They said. She was only too ready to comply. The man pivoted around on his foot, before strolling out, as she clearly saw the scientists lingering outside. She was filled with fear- knowing the tests would bring her more pain. She knew that she would try to behave better for her Masters- because she must have done something terribly wrong if they were hurting her like that. Surely?

"свирепый" (Fierce)

It was a word that always caused her to have a headache. She didn't know why, but it did. The headache always seemed to go away after a while, but it was enough to irritate her. Her Masters always punished her when this happened, like she had done something that displeased them. She didn't know what though.

This was always after the tests, where she felt like doing nothing more then sleeping. At least there was no pain when she slept. Apart from that time where her Masters woke her up by throwing some kind of water on her. It burned, but made her pass out. When she woke up, she was on the table- the table that she had recognised as when the tests would start. Would she be better soon? She wanted to be better, to make her Masters happy.

"солдат" (Soldier)

That was another word that hurt her head, like tiny little drills were peaking at her brain. The headache always built and built with each word they said, until she begged them to stop. She knew she shouldn't have- should have stayed quiet and kept her Masters happy, but she was in so much pain.

She didn't want to be in pain any more- why would something that was supposed to help her, hurt her so much. And it never seemed to make anything better- so did they continue, despite knowing it wasn't working, and that it was hurting her so much. It was like they didn't care.

"манифест" (Manifest)

She wanted it to stop- why couldn't it stop? It was pounding against her head- the pressure building up and up with every word. Words weren't supposed to hurt, were they? She didn't even know what they were saying- it was in that weird, garbled language, that the man with the metal arm was speaking in.

"хищник" (Predator)

She audibly began crying, the pain becoming to much for her. She couldn't concentrate- couldn't speak, walk, or even mumble. It always resulted in hurt for her- and she had learned early on that she should never talk back to her Masters. She was still pinned to the table- which meant she would be here for a while. After her Master's said the words, it was always a punishment, training, and then experiments. She hated the experiments.

"июнь" (June)

June 6th. Her birthday. Not that it meant anything to her, because she had never celebrated it. She wouldn't have even known what it was if the man with the metal arm hadn't told her. He saw her a lot more now. It was always every second day, or every third day.

He'd disappear for a few weeks, but he would always come back. Then he would leave for a day or two, then come back and look at her like he didn't know who she was. But she reminded him. She always did. He always came back.

"эксперимент" (Experiment)

It hit a bursting point. She wasn't sure how long she could take it. It just hurt so much. She had learned that the man with the metal arm could speak English, and that her Masters were his Masters. She also learned that they didn't like her and him speaking- but if they did it quietly then it would be okay. The man with a metal arm treated her kinder than anyone else had- even when he forgot. But like she said- he always came back.

"черствый" (Callous)

She screeched in pain, her hands twitching towards her head in pain. She could hardly think straight. She was in what seemed like never ending pain. She thought that her Masters meant well, and were trying to fix her- but now she was having doubts. They kept doing something to the man with the metal arm- and she knew he was healthy. So if they did things to him but he was healthy, did that mean she was healthy as well?

"Сломанный" (Broken)

She could think later. Later was a good time to think. Later wasn't now. Later. Was. Better. If she was lucky, she would see the metal man again. She liked him. He was her first friend. And possibly her only friend. Holding onto that fact, she slipped into unconsciousness, where her life was without pain, and she and the metal armed man could stay and talk without getting yelled at. Life was bliss in the dream- but only in the dream.

"Bолчонок" (Little Wolf)

Season, as she called the strange man, was with her once again. She was in her little room, the walls cramped and closing in on her. It was unusual for him to see her outside of the experiments nowadays- her masters punished him if they were caught together. So the fact he was here was alarming to her.

Last she had checked, she wasn't being experimented on. She didn't feel the telltale pain, and her wrists and legs were unbound. She had learned long ago that 'vol-whatever-whatever' was what he called her. So she always responded to it with a cock of her head. He looked at her cautiously, before crouching down. He always stood up, so she assumed something was up with her.

"I will teach you how to fight. And how to speak Russian."

He gestured for her to stand up, her skinny and lithe frame small and unnoticeable. Grabbing her hair with his metal hand, he gathered it into a ball, before scrunching it up together lightly. He put something around her hair, twisting it tightly so that it was up. He let go, and backed up, his fleshy hand outstretched. He held it open, and got into a defensive stance.

"Punch me."

She looked at him blankly, her mind torn between two options- risk hurting her Master or risk being punished for not doing what he said. She decided to listen to her Master after debating for a minute or two. She clenched her little fist, and threw it with all her force. It made a soft smacking sound as he clenched his hand around it, before throwing her fist to the floor.

"Again. Other hand."

She repeated the same without hesitation, this time using her left hand. It was her strong hand, so she could put a little more power behind it. It made a harder slapping sound, but still he clenched it unphased. It hurt a little, but she would rather punch the flesh then the metal. She didn't want to find out how hard that would hurt.

He demonstrated the correct way to punch, correcting her stance and started to lecture her on pressure points and the like. Nobody knew that this routine had been what the girl's life had consisted of for the next ten years- countless experiments, training, and learning. By the time help would come, Season would have been long gone, and she would be fifteen years old. Or somewhere there about. She had been frozen and refrozen so many times that it was unknown how old she would actually be.

Season had gone missing a few years ago. Or at least, she thought it was a few years ago. She had missed him- he was her Master, the only one where her true loyalties lied. She would obey the people who worked with her, but Season was her true Master, her true handler. He had taught her combat all those years ago, taught her many languages all those years ago.

Taught her what to do and not what to do, treated her like she was his own kin. Which was odd, because she had never had a family. The only bond that she had was with him- she was ostracised from everyone else. He had been there for her when the experiments were particularly painful, had been there when she had been locked in the cold room for hours and hours on end.

She wanted nothing more to escape and find him, but she knew that to leave HYDRA would mean signing her death sentence. It had been her life- and even if she could escape, she knew that they would track her down, trap her by using those cursed words. She didn't know how to survive in the world without her orders- she could blend in, but even then she would have a handler.

She was nothing without a Master, and nothing without her orders. It was the way her life had been, and it would always be like that until the end. Hope had left her long ago- drilled out of her by her training and which had been finally shattered when Season went missing. She hoped that, wherever he was, that he was okay and happy- much happier then what he used to be with her. Because under his hard cold stare and frozen eyes, she could see clear as day that he wasn't happy- and that he was hurting. It was better for him if he was out of there.

She was ten years old when she killed for the first time. She was ten years old when she got her first power. She had been drilled relentlessly ever since Season went missing, learning many types of martial arts, but also being drilled to be graceful and deceitful. Perfect wasn't enough- perfect had to not have any imperfect qualities in it. The mission was simple. Snipe the figure from a nearby roof, and get away cleanly. No need for any of her powers, no need for anything elaborate.

A simple effective mission- followed by more training and experiments deep into the night. Sleep was a luxury that wasn't afforded to her often. She crouched down, feeling the familiar grip of the weapon. Reassembling and disassembling the weapon was something she could do with her eyes shut- and that was no joke. She looked through the scope, lining up the cross-hairs on her targets head. There was no armour, nothing that could impede her shot. There was no cross winds, and her accuracy was impeccable.

She didn't bother taking a breath- shaking of the hands had been drilled out, following other 'imperfections.' She squeezed the trigger, shouldering the slight recoil. There was no audible noise signifying the shot had been taken, and so, as she saw the target fall down dead, a bullet hole through his head, she retreated back to HYDRA, where her weapons were taken off of her, and she was thrust back into her training. Just another day in the life of a HYDRA slave.

"Kill the Intruders."

"да Мастер" (Yes Master)

Her orders were clear as day. She was in perfect condition, and she would not allow her emotions to compromise the mission. She could not, would not. She had learnt long ago to shake off the cold, to ignore the fear she felt when it involved the cold. Where she could not fight, use her powers, or do anything. Where she was forced to be a prisoner to the actions she was forced to commit.

She stood hidden in the shadows, her body shaking in slight preparation. But not to fire, no, in preparation for using her powers. Despite Season's best attempts, no amount of training could break the habit, leading to lashings or beatings as a punishment. It was an imperfection, one she was not allowed to have. She herself wasn't even sure why she did it. In came a man in a strange blue uniform, holding a circular shield.

It was red, white, and blue, and had stars on it. The shield was evil- it wore the colour of the cold and the colour of blood. Nothing with those colours could ever be good- including herself. He had blond hair, and she immediately knew who it was, due to the various files she had read. Steven Rogers. Captain America. Her body lunged towards him from the shadows, swinging a hard kick at the head area. It was a favourite move of Seasons.

Steven Rogers stumbled momentarily, while she was picked off of him, and flung across the small room. She twisted in mid air, landing carefully on her feet. It seemed like someone else was there- but no matter. She could take them both on, she had to. It would keep her alive, and she knew that Season would not want her to die. She had to separate them- to divide and conquer.

The other man who was still shrouded in the shadows seemed to mumble something in confusion, even quiet for her enhanced hearing. She ran and vaulted over Rogers, barely avoiding his grasping hands, before using the momentum to change into a barrelled kick. He caught it easily, a cold hand clenching her boot. He threw her onto the ground, before she regained her balance, ignoring the sharp pain in her ankle.

Whoever it was, was wielding guns, and she wasn't willing to find out what it was loaded with. Bullets hurt- she had been shot many times and she would rather avoid it. Rogers threw his shield, which she kicked back with surprising ferocity. Sure, it hurt, but she had learned to ignore pain long ago. She felt a dull prick, before tearing a needle out of her. So the gun was filled with tranquillisers.

Well, lucky for her, it would take more than one of those to knock her out. Her resistance to them, plus her metabolism, made it difficult for her to be drugged easily. When she started to feel slightly woozy, she realised that they were no normal tranquillisers. By her rough estimates she would only be able to take a max of three before she succumbed.

But she knew that if she succumbed, she would get in trouble with Season's former Masters. And she didn't want any more punishments..nothing she did seemed to be good enough. And so she threw herself into everything, and always kept going until she passed out. She prioritised the mysterious man over Rogers- because he was the one able to knock her out.

Rogers sprinted up to her, throwing a punch aimed directly at her chest- but she ducked, bending backwards so that she was balancing awkwardly on her knees. She sprang back, before spinning and trying to throw her leg into his knee, in an attempt to destabilise him. Realising that for once she had to rely on her powers, she shifted into her wolf form. It had been a long time since the quick changes caused her pain- and she could do it rapidly and on command.

It was large when compared to a wolf, her fur a dark grey. She had liked to think that it had been modelled after Season's dark hair, but really the scientists just wanted it to be subtle in the night. While she was distracted in trying to pounce on Steven, the man shot her with another dart, and she grimaced, growling lowly. The Scientists had yet to figure out how she couldn't speak in this form, and so continuously experimented on her to try and add the ability.

No doubt that she was going to be punished, because she should have been able to beat them by herself. The man finally stepped into the light, and to her shock she realised who it was. It was her Master- her true Master. Season. He didn't look any older, but he still had a metal arm..albeit different when compared to his old one.

She stood stock still, gasping out in sheer surprise. She stood still and froze. She wasn't willing to attack her true Master- not for HYDRA. If he wished to kill her, he could. Her life was up to him. He nodded gruffly, before looking apologetic. He fired one more dart into her fore leg, and she stood as she buckled to the ground under the strong sedative.

Author's Note

So, this is the story that will take up the Sunday slot. And you may be thinking, 'why would you upload it today?'. Well, I do have a reason, and it's pretty symbolic to me.

See, today would be my Dad's birthday. 29/5/19. He would've been 40. Today is also the anniversary of his father's death. As such, this day means a lot to my family, and I'd like to do something to represent it. I always do.

Plus, if we ignore all the symbolism, today is Tony Stark's canonical MCU birthday. Not RDJ, but the actual character. I can't say the same about the comic, but after researching I found out that at least in the cinematic universe it's his birthday. I just thought it would be funny to upload the first chapter today.

From now on, this story will be updated on a Sunday. This is the exception. This Sunday, I'll update this story as well as releasing the epilogue to my other story. I look forward to seeing everyone then!

So here's a question, if you could live the life of any comic character, who would it be? I would have to pick either Spider-Man or Iron Man, because while their stories are tragic, I look up to how they moved on as a character.

Anyway, see you on Sunday!

~Cait

Edit Notes, 16/6/19 - Minor grammatical issues, moved the Russian word translations next to the corresponding Russian word.