Chapter Text
The Winter Soldier was the most outstanding prototype Hydra had ever created. He was strong, stealthy, and efficient, but he was broken. He became vulnerable. He had a weakness, something that his creators oversaw - he still had his memories. No amount of torture could scramble away the memories of his friends or families or the familiarity of women. That’s why when you were offered from Luchkov as a peace offering to Hydra, they knew they had the opportunity to correct their past failures.
You were cunning, seductive, scantily clad. There were no known weaknesses, nothing to stop you except the safety words: солдат, отойди. Soldier, stand down.
It was a safe word for your captors, more than anything else. Once you had been activated, there was no shutting you down. Between the torture you endured in the Red Room as a Widow and Hydra’s “scientific” enhancements, you became what the Winter Soldier failed to do. You had become unstoppable.
You had no need for robotic appendages; your sheer strength and dexterity were more than enough. Though you were injected with the same serum as Captain America and the Winter Soldier, yours had been adapted to heal your wounds faster. This was helpful not only in the field but also to your captors. As soon as you had healed from one “lesson,” you were ready for another.
You had killed countless guards without batting an eye and were able to play the damsel in distress to collect intel before silencing your source. You were the perfect specimen to bring the Winter Soldier back.
You sat in the truck, your seatbelt snug on your waist, holding you still. Luchkov sat across from you, reviewing your plan again.
“Do you understand what to do if you are captured?”
You nodded, positive that the tortures that would endure after being retrieved would be significantly worse than whatever the Avengers planned to do.
“Don’t disappoint me, sweetheart,” he muttered to you.
Lowering your gaze from his, you pulled the hood over your head. You despised the uniform they selected for you, if it could even be considered a uniform.
Your uniform consisted of a massive black hood to conceal your face, which fed into a long black cape. Small scraps of fabric darted out from the sides, covering your shoulder, but that was mostly it. You wore a matching tactical bra and shorts; a belt adorned with various weapons hung on your hips. You also had fishnet stockings, which were insisted on in order to distract people with your sex appeal. You could still remember your conversation when you initially brought up your skepticism.
“These are impractical. They offer no protection and will rip eve-“
You were cut off with a harsh slap across your cheek.
“You speak when you’re spoken to. Understood?”
You nodded, keeping your gaze down, somewhat embarrassed to look up.
You had managed to become less of a person than when you were a widow. Nobody valued you here; you were expendable - a weapon, not a human.
“Nobody asked for your opinion. You don’t need to worry about your clothes. Worry about completing your mission," he said before hitting you again.
So now, you rip the useless material after nearly every mission. You had large combat boots which concealed small daggers on each of your ankles. Finally, you had specially crafted vibranium wrist cuffs and brass knuckles. Luchkov told you that there was not enough of the material to give you an arm, but this would suffice.
It had been made clear to you that though you had both your arms, there would be no hesitation to amputate one and replace it once there was enough of the material.
The van slowed to a halt before stopping completely. Luchkov’s associate Zemo slowly approached you, securing a crossbody holster to your chest.
“Captain Rogers and James Barnes should be far enough from the tower to allow you to capture them. You stop their run and attack, bringing James to us. Understood?”
You nodded, knowing what was coming next.
“солдат активировать,” Soldier Activate, was the last thing Zemo said before you stood, tearing the seat belt and heading out the door.
The truck behind you sped off once you planted your feet on the floor. You began stalking down the slightly paved road, looking for the two men. After a moment or so, you watched as they jogged past you. Hearing a faint, “What the hell do people wear now a day’s,” in reference to you.
Just as you began grabbing the grenade from your holster, you watched another man run past them, muttering something that sounded like “on your left.”
Your fist tightened on the weapon in your hand, you weren’t expecting a third man to accompany them, but hey, you were always up for a challenge.
Once he got further away, you lifted the weapon to your mouth, holding the pin in-between your teeth before yanking it out. You quickly hurled the explosive at the two men and waited.
Bucky saw it first, he thought some kid must have thrown a rock, but as he watched it bounce again, he noticed it was something worse.
Quickly grabbing Steve and pulling him away, he sounded, “Get down!”
The explosion went off, causing the ground to vibrate under the super soldiers.
When Bucky opened his eyes, he was quickly scanning around the dust to see who threw the bomb. His eyes fell on Steve, who was still grounding himself. He was scraped up, nothing too bad, but clearly, neither of them had expected this.
Steve quickly pulled out his phone calling Tony to alert him of the attack, while Bucky stood up, looking to find who threw the explosive. After seeing only civilians, he remembered you—your back to them, long cape and hood, paired with some weird stockings.
“The girl,” he yelled to Steve.
When his friend's brows furrowed, he elaborated, “The girl with the hood! Where is she!”
Before he could respond, Bucky turned, sensing something was coming. Trusting his instincts, he watched as a small knife was hurled at his chest. He grabbed it and looked up, finding you about twenty yards ahead of him.
He watched as you bent down, reaching into your boot, pulling out two more knives, swiftly standing and tossing the blades in your hand.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself before running at you. Knowing his only disposable weapon was the one you threw at him, he prayed Steve and Sam would get there soon.
As his strides neared you, he sent the knife flying at you, hoping you couldn’t catch it with your hands full. Instead, he watches as you swiped the weapon away using one of the cuffs on your wist.
Preying on his confusion, you threw another knife at him, quickly becoming angry as he caught it again. With a grunt, you ran at the man in front of you. As you near him, you watched as he braced for you to hit him, so you opted for a different route.
Dropping the knife in your hand, you threw yourself forward, pressing your hands into the ground and launching yourself up. You swung your leg around his shoulder, sending you and him flying onto the ground.
You landed, straddling his chest, skillfully avoiding the strike he tried to land. His brows furrowed, and you watch confusion run along his face. You tried to hit his cheek, but missed, causing your brass knuckles to smash into the concrete, a deep crack appearing as you moved away.
Quickly shifting gears, you moved your hand down, settling on his throat and squeezing tightly. His metal arm tried grabbing your wrist but was met with a familiar material.
You grabbed the cool metal and tried to wrestle it away, shifting your attention away from the man's face.
Bucky took this opportunity and shoved the knife into your thigh. You stilled your movements and feigned horror before pulling it out of your leg and darting your eyes back to him. Bucky watched as your wound nearly vanished before his eyes.
“What the hell are you,” he panted.
“Я тот, кем тебе не удалось быть,” I am what you failed to be, she chucked.
Instantly, Bucky knew what she was.
Hydra was back.