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artficlly · 2 years ago

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the shadow (miniseries - part one)

Post Endgame Avengers AU miniseries - part one

avenger!bucky x widow!reader avenger!yelena x widow!reader (platonic)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Reader is an ex-black widow sniper who escaped the Red Room with the help of Yelena and Natasha. After working as an illegal hired gun, Yelena recruits the reader to the team as a sniper. The reader is closed off, not wanting to form connections or friends with anyone. Though, as their shell begins to crack, they notice they have a lot in common with a certain Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: violence, death, wound descriptions, lots of blood and gore, mention of weapons, swearing, low self-esteem reader, mentions of past non-con, lots of angst. lmk if anything needs to be added.

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: hi! this is a pretty angsty/gorey fic I've had in my brain for awhile now. i don't know if many people will vibe with this, so might just be written for my weird interests lol. i think this will be two, maybe three parts? I just wanted something a bit more intense to work on alongside face the music (which is a more wholesome college au multi chapter fic). I'm very interested in exploring the 'what if' side of what happens to all the widows once they escape. I am also a sucker for feminist readings/feminine rage so this is a fun outlet. I have some plans for more ex-widow content (maybe longer series) but i wanted to get this mini-series up as a sort of taster! there isn't a heap of bucky barnes content in this part, but oh boy, there is some coming in the next part!! not proof read - pls forgive any typos.

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Many unexpected things had happened during your life, even before you were old enough to understand how unexpected they were.

Firstly, you had been torn from your birth family at a young age. You never knew if your family had willingly given you up. You had heard tales of starving mothers, selling their children in order to survive. Other tales said that the mothers refused to sell their children. Though, a mothers love was not enough to sustain through the Russian winters. Those mothers died for the love of their children, but regardless their children were still taken by the Red Room.

Others whispered that the women of the Red Room were specifically chosen for their genetics, hunted down and stolen. There was no regard for a mothers love, only the possibility of another weapon to create.

Deep down you could hope that your mother had loved you.

You would never know.

The second unexpected thing to happen in your life was when you escaped. Much like the other Widows, you had spent most of your life under the control of men. You had been a weapon, faceless, deadly. You had survived the training that many didn’t and that was the only thing that made you of value. The discovery of a life beyond the Red Room? A life beyond what you had been crafted for? Freedom was more frightening than any mission or task you had undertaken.

With the Red Room gone, thanks to Yelena Belova and Natalia Alianovna? You were purposeless. You were a small ship, lost at sea. You were a small ball of rock, hurtling through space, burning up and dying out. There was no reason for you to exist, there was no life for you. You were a killer, a monster. Why did you deserve peace? How could you ever find peace with all the blood on your hands? You were raised to be a killer, and a killer you were.

In the Red Room you were The Shadow. A faceless sniper, one of the best in the world. You did your job, and you did it well. Even after you were freed, you continued to work as a sniper to find some meaning. You were good at disconnecting from your emotions. Taking the shot wasn’t one to sweat, you floated above your body and pulled that fucking trigger.

The people who hired you didn't know your name. They didn’t see your face. You were a weapon and you would kill without question. A father, a mother, a child? It didn’t make a difference to you. It was just another target. Even if you were free from Dreykov, you were still the weapon he had built you to be. As much as you tried, as much as you fought, screamed and cried. You were a Widow, a faceless killer, a nobody, a Shadow.

The third unexpected thing to happen in your life was Yelena Belova. She was a force, hurtling into your life. You had never expected it. You thought once she freed all the Widow's it would be over. She wouldn’t need to associate with her fellow Widows anymore. She was a hero, she made it big. She would become an Avenger like Natalia. Start over, fresh face, new name. Natalia, Natasha. She had been a hero, she had freed all of the Widows. You? You were a gun for hire, bottom of the barrel scum.

Yet, there Yelena had stood, reaching out to pull you from the snake pit.

You had been hired for an inside job, some drug deal with the potential to go very wrong. You were to keep watch, blow out the brains of their competitor if necessary. You didn’t think into the ethics, you just shot who you were told to shoot. You should’ve known Yelena would keep tabs on you, you should’ve known that day would come. Even if you were nameless and faceless, you were still a weapon. The world doesn’t just lose weapons, no, they either used them or prayed for their untimely death.

The deal went messy, as anticipated. You went to shoot but a foot was on your rifle making you pause.

“You’re getting sloppy, Shadow.” The blonde had tutted at you. “I have been standing here, for what? Two minutes? You didn’t even see me.”

You didn’t know why her speaking Russian shocked you so much. You had spent so many years dealing with Americans and Europeans that you had slipped into the comfort of English too easily. You had just assumed that the world of superheroes had Americanised Yelena, like they had Natasha. But there she was, Yelena fucking Belova in the flesh. Your third unexpected thing.

“Come to tell me off for being a bad girl, Belova?” You teased, hand subtly finding the knife at your thigh out of instinct. You doubted Yelena had come here to kill you, you had heard through the grapevine about her little mission. She had spent two years freeing Widows across the globe. Though, you couldn’t help but notice that Yelena was armed to the teeth. Knives and guns tucked into hidden pockets through her black suit. You had heard she had become an Avenger - well atleast what was left of the team. Stepping into Natasha's role, she wanted to do good so bad. You could never be that, a hero. You weren’t meant to be anything other than another man’s blade or bullet.

After Steve Rogers death, the Avengers had spiraled for a time. Eventually, Sam Wilson had taken up the mantle. A few had followed, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, his protégé Kate Bishop as well as Yelena. You didn’t even know if they called themselves ‘The Avengers’ anymore, only that they acted like them. Seemed they were running off the left-overs of Stark’s money as well as government funding. You had heard rumors about Scott Lang or even Steven Strange still floating around. After Wanda Maximoff had gone near-insane, the world had turned a cruel eye on their heroes. Even if they had been the only ones to save them from The Blip. People - your people - they didn’t want to be classed as heroes anymore, but somehow they were still committed to ‘doing good’.

“I could tell you off,” Yelena drawled, eyes following your every move. You were on your knees now, slowly rising from the lying position you had held. If Yelena was a predator, you were certainly her prey. Unfortunately for her, you were also a predator when cornered. Outside, you could hear gunshots overlapping each other, shouting and grunting. It hurt that it annoyed you, that Yelena would be inadvertently ruining your reputation. You always made the shot, always. Except this time. You supposed being held up by Yelena fucking Belova was a better excuse than missing your shot. No, now that would be embarrassing and reputation destroying. The Shadow missing a shot? Unheard of.

“I want to offer you a job. Could be a one time thing, could be more. Pays better than whatever this is, and is certainly more legal than whatever this is.” Yelena continues her spiel. She had palmed a knife, waving it as she spoke for extra effect. It was a hunting knife, sharpened to perfection. You didn’t like to imagine how the serrated edge would feel cutting into your flesh.

“Your jobs barely qualify as legal,” You snip back, carefully eyeing her movements. Was she signaling someone through the window? The glare of the sun against the blade would surely be visible outside. There could be an entire team outside waiting to take you down. Yelena could just be the distraction. Your hand tightens around the handle of your own knife, ready to pull it from its holster at the slightest indication of an ambush.

“Everything is legal if you work for the right people,” Yelena cuts back, tilting her head as she observes you. Time was ticking, you knew this could go one of two ways. You really hoped it wouldn’t end with one of you bleeding out on the floor. You had respect for Yelena, for what she and Natasha had done.

“What if I say no?” You ask, russian muffled through your mask. You always wore them on jobs, always. You were a faceless weapon, mixing your identity in would not help you shoot better. Yelena smirks at you, finger running down the blade of her knife. She looked so casual, leaning against the window sill without a care in the world. She was definitely better armed than you. Your ears strain, trying to hear if someone is climbing the stairs of the building. All you can hear is the scuffle of the deal downstairs in the alley.

“The government is interested in you. They don’t have a name yet, just… a shadow of a person to look for. Ex-Widow, a hired gun. I can make it go away. I know powerful people.” You could see her teeth through her smirk as she spoke. It was a thinly veiled threat. Pull your shit together, you’ve drawn too much attention to yourself. No, this was the difference between you and Yelena. She had cared, she had become the hero she had needed. You had stayed the same monster, spiraled further into your own hatred and disgust. You had become the person people needed saving from. Yelena cared so much about every Widow that the idea of one slipping through the cracks? It would haunt her. She was warning you, giving you a way out. She wanted to help you.

The shouting and gunshots outside had died down, now only the sound of several sirens approaching. Time was still ticking and you were running out.

“Make your choice quickly, Shadow. Make it wisely though, I really don’t want to kill you.” Yelena purred. You eyed her for a long moment, carefully getting to your feet. Despite her cold exterior, the way she tried to be intimidating… You could see the pleading in her eyes. She wanted you to come with her, she wanted to help you. But you couldn’t help but wonder if you deserved saving?

So many years, so many dead bodies. The only thing that kept you going was your strength, your reluctance to die. But after so many years of running, so many years of being alone… was there a reason to keep fighting? That sickness, it clawed away in your brain. You didn’t deserve saving.

The sirens drew nearer. Reluctantly, you spoke. Even if that sickness was strong, your stubbornness and desire to breathe was stronger. You would live out of spite. You would live just to spit in the faces of those who wanted you dead. If you were going to die, it would be on your own terms.

“Who am I shooting?” You ask, reaching out your gloved hand for Yelena to shake. Yelena must feel some kind of relief, you see her shoulders droop every-so-slightly as she shakes your hand.

“That list seems to be endless these days.” She replies with a grin.

—

The small rural town was desolate. A ghost town, Yelena had said. A ghost town that had become infested with vermin.

Remnants of society still remained. You could imagine the ghosts of people passing by as you navigated through the landscape. A cracked concrete road, overgrown with weeds. The apartment buildings with their windows smashed out, graffiti scrawled across crumbling stone. Billboards years out of date, forgotten band-posters peeling off walls and lampposts. You couldn’t say who once lived here - but whoever they were, they were most certainly gone or dead.

You were positioned on the second-floor of a disintegrating school house. The building itself was several stories higher but you had taken one look at the unstable staircase and thought better of it. Ripped, stained curtains blew lightly in the wind, at the front of the room a cracked blackboard still had the date July 17th, 1994 scrawled across it.

You were in your usual working gear. Your suit was tight and flexible for ease of movement, adorned with pads on the knees, elbows and shoulders. Your hands were clothed with fingerless gloves and most importantly you wore your mask. A belt holds a handgun, lower down some straps across your thighs hold knives and pockets for convenience. They were for if things got messy, your real weapon was tossed over your back - a duffle bag with your sniper rifle inside.

Broken glass crunched under your combat boots as you cautiously approached the window. The building you had chosen was strategic. Across from you was an old office building, just as run down as the one you stood in. Unlike the school house, the old office housed a group of criminals.

Sam Wilson had insisted that he didn’t want to kill them, that he just wanted to talk to them. He wanted to talk them down and tell them to surrender peacefully. If things turned messy, he would give you the signal and you would shoot. The two groups would be standing in the concrete courtyard between the two buildings. At the slightest chance of danger, the slightest chance they weren’t ready to surrender? You would pull the trigger and pop their leader's skull open.

Sam Wilson and his crew hadn’t been happy to see you when Yelena had brought you to the aircraft for transport. He had taken one look at you, masked, all in black and imploded.

“Yelena, who the hell is this?” Sam had snapped. Yelena had just laughed at him, motioning for you to sit and buckle in next to her on the aircraft.

“You told me to get a sniper!”

It seemed when Sam Wilson had asked for a sniper, he hadn’t asked for you. Ex-widow, criminal, The Shadow. When Yelena had introduced you with your alias, Kate Bishop had gaped at you. Bucky Barnes was tense, you would’ve been surprised if he hadn’t recognised your name. Clint Barton seemed neutral, you supposed he was used to dealing with deadly women.

You found it ironic how upset Sam Wilson was. He had helped Steve Rogers save Bucky Barnes, The Winter Soldier. You supposed the difference was that Barnes had tried to change when he was freed. Despite the mind control, the torture… he wanted to do good. You were just damaged beyond repair. Sitting there, with those heroes? It made you feel sick. Playing dress up, that’s all it was.

You had over 700 confirmed kills with your rifle, even more kills if you counted other weapons at your disposal. You were an assassin, a hitwoman, a fucking menace. Bucky Barnes would have more total kills than you, but he had stopped killing. He had felt remorse. You had kept killing, kept digging that hole because it was all you knew how to do. He had been a normal boy before the war. You were a killing machine, a girl robbed of a childhood. If you hadn’t been freed, would have even known about the childhood you had missed? You didn’t remember your mother, nor if you had any siblings. All you had known was cruelty.

Brushing some of the broken glass away with your foot, you began setting up your rifle. Through the ear-piece you could hear the chatter of the rest of the team as they headed to their spot. You had gone ahead to set up, they were about 20 minutes away from the school house. Gun at the ready, you lay down on your stomach, eye to the scope.

“In position, over.” You mutter into the ear piece.

“Copy that, over.” Sam Wilson replied quickly.

You settled into your spot, watching the building ahead. You were a good sniper not only because of your ability to disconnect, but also because of your levels of patience. You had spent days in this exact position, waiting, sweating for your chance at a target.

By the time the others were in position, you had counted every window in the building across from you. 25 per story, making it 125 all together for all 5 stories. There was movement on the bottom floor and the second. You assumed they didn’t go any higher due to the same reason as you - a crumbling staircase. Each window had blue curtains - different to the beige ones in your room. Nearly all the windows were smashed, except for on the top story that seemed to remain relatively untouched.

Through the ear-piece you could hear what Sam was saying. Both groups stood in the center of the courtyard, hands on their undrawn weapons. The new generation of Avengers were outnumbered 5 to 1. The tenison was clear, even as Sam tried joking around with the opposing leader. Everything was going smoothly, exactly as planned. That was, until you saw a glint in one of the third story windows.

You thought you imagined it at first - a trick of the eye. But then you saw it again, and then a third time. There was another sniper, trained directly on Sam Wilson. You didn’t feel stressed by this, it was just another complication in a high-tension mission. It made sense, you had anticipated that maybe your targets would be smart enough to bring a sniper to this ‘talk’. The other sniper was up slightly higher than you - you wouldn’t be able to get a good hit on him unless you went up another couple stories.

“There’s a sniper, third story. Sixth window to the left.” You breathed into the comms, fully knowing the rest of the team wouldn’t be able to verbally respond. If the opposing side got any indication that you were up there? Game over. They would signal their sniper to take the shot on Sam. It would take hours to pick bits of his skull out of their clothes and hair.

“I need to change positions to get a better look, keep him talking.” You continue. Slowly, you roll away from the window and drag your gun with you. You needed to keep to the shadows, become a shadow literally. If the sniper spotted you it would be over.

With a quiet grunt, you pull the gun from the room. Pressing your back against the hallway wall, you quickly rise to your feet and head towards the staircase with a huff. Sam was still rambling on about peaceful surrender over the comms ear-piece, stalling until you could get a better look at the sniper.

The stairs wobbled and shook as you moved up them quickly and quietly as possible. You could hear chunks of wood and stone crumbling from beneath and falling with each step you took. Opting for the 4th story, you quickly set up in position by a new window. Same torn, beige curtains and shattered glass across the floor.

From this position you had a better look into the third story windows. Looking down, you could see the outline of a body laid flat with the rifle, much like your own position. Due to the broken windows and ripped curtains, you had a fairly clear shot at the figures head as they trained all their focus on what was happening below.

“I’m going to shoot the sniper first, he has a shot on you Wilson. I’ll still have a clear shot on the target, just might take a moment.” You explain. They don’t reply, as expected. The situation below seems to be growing tense, you can hear the tone of the target's voice growing more aggressive by the second. Lining up your shot on the sniper, you hold your breath. Sam says the signal word.

You pull the trigger.

As the shot rings out, the men below scatter. You can hear the rest of the team screaming at you through your ear-piece. It all gets jumbled up, just white noise in your brain as you line up your next shot. This was why you usually worked alone. You didn’t crack under pressure in a situation like this, but having screaming ringing in your ear was bringing you damn near to it. You can’t be bothered listening to what they are yelling about. You didn’t need them telling you that your target was seconds away from escaping your bullet. Didn’t they know you never missed?

The target was a few feet away from the safety of the building. Chunks of flesh, skull and brains explode across the cracked concrete as you pull the trigger once more. Through the scope, you watch the body slump to the ground, a pool of blood quickly spreading around the corpse.

“Holy shit!” You hear Kate yell through the ear-piece. You don’t know if she’s complementing your shot or reacting to the spray of blood up the side of the opposite building. The last of the men who scattered stepped over the body, disappearing into the office building.

“There's another headed for the sniper rifle, Shadow!” Yelena shouts at you through comms. Her and Clint have breached the office, you can see the shape of them fighting through the broken windows.

“Got it,” You mutter back. You cast a glance at where Sam and Bucky were fighting out in the open. Bucky seems swarmed, trying to shake a man who has wrapped his arms around his throat. You make a silent note of it, casting your scope back to the third story window. The figure that rushes to replace the dead man is quickly taken out by your rifle. He doesn't even get a chance to touch the rifle before his blood paints the wall behind him.

No one else makes a dash for the sniper rifle. You turn your gaze back to the courtyard, noticing that Bucky is still swarmed by several men. Sam has been pulled too far away from him to help. You can’t see Kate anymore, but from the yelling coming through the comms she is inside the office with Clint and Yelena.

One of the opposers has picked up a hand-gun and is pointing it squarely at Bucky’s chest as he struggles to get out of the grip of the other men holding him down. Sam barrels towards them, but you know he won’t make it in time. You huff out a sigh, lining up the dangerous shot. You knew if this bullet was at the slight wrong angle it could ricochet directly into Bucky’s chest.

Is this why Yelena hired you? Because you would make dangerous shots without permission, without regard for human life? Bucky was a super soldier, he could probably survive several gunshot wounds (provided they weren’t directly to the head). Maybe if you cared you would’ve been nervous. Maybe you would’ve hesitated, let your hands shake and sweat. But you don’t care. You disconnect from everything, the shouting through the comms, the sounds of gunshots, the feeling of metal against your skin. You’re not in your body, you are floating above yourself watching the auto-pilot take over.

You squeeze the trigger. The hand-gun clatters to the ground alongside the attacker. Blood is slick against the paved stones. Through your scope, you swear it has splattered across Bucky’s gruff face. The men attacking Bucky stutter for a moment, giving him the opportunity to shake them off and pummel them with his metal fist.

He doesn’t even acknowledge what you did.

He doesn’t even say thank you.

—

One job turned into two. Then two turned into a few more.

Six months you had been working with Yelena and her crew of disgraced Avengers. You weren't their friends. You didn’t celebrate after missions with them. You kept to yourself, cold and distant. They didn’t know your real name, they hadn’t even seen your face. Yelena would give you a call, pick you up, you would complete the mission, then you would return home.

You were The Shadow.

You weren’t a hero.

Kate and Yelena tried to crack your shell. It usually involved joking and parading around you. All it would earn them was a roll of the eyes and a quiet sigh. Over the comms though, sometimes you would make quiet digs and quips. Clint would roar with laughter, Sam just muttering that he was surprised you had a personality under that mask.

The mask. Oh, they hated it.

They were all determined to see beneath it. They made up jokes, stories as to why you wore it. That you were hideously ugly, or scarred beyond human recognition. Bucky seemed to be the only one who understood. He was the only one who was equally as cold to you as you were to him. Your exchanges were brief, usually a series of single words and grunts. It was a relief having someone not trying for your affection at all times.

Once again, you and your deadly skills were needed for a mission. Another one of Sam’s ‘discussions’ which usually ended with brains splattered across the floor. This time you were in a lightly forested clearing, somewhere in the Estonian wilderness. You were set up in the tree line, laying in a mixture of mud and dead leaves.

The countryside was peaceful, but gray. Winter was setting in, leaves falling from the birch trees. Their pale trunks were pale against the gray sky that threatened to spill. The breeze was cool, not as cold as Russia had been. No, a Russian winter could be deadly especially the further north you got. You remembered the snow, the discomfort of the cold leaking into your bones. You hadn’t been allowed to complain then, only soldier on.

“You in position, Shadow?” Yelena asked through the comms. You could see her lips moving through the scope as the group headed towards the designated meeting point.

“Affirmative. Over.” You state, pushing the ear-piece in a bit further as you settle closer to the cold earth. Relaxing your shoulders with a sharp breath, you surveyed the area through your scope.

A small group of men had come to meet the team. There were less men than you had anticipated, if a fight ensued it would be one on one. You didn’t like the opponents odds, they looked scruffy, only armed with low-caliber weapons. Definitely not the type to take on a group of superheroes and super soldiers.

You felt dread sink into your stomach. Something… felt wrong here. Your target reportedly had tons of men at his disposal. It was deep into the Italian mafia, and if they had anything, it was an abundance of men. Where were they all? Was this an ambush? Were they hidden in the brush like you? You could take down a few targets, but you would be more successful with your knives and fists against a small army. Your mind races, along with your gaze as you try to piece it all together.

“There is something wrong.” You speak into the comms, eyes flickering between Sam and the target as they stood in front of each other. You had done plenty of jobs with the group, all had gone smoothly. But something… something was terribly off here. You could feel it in your gut. The targets men looked antsy, shifting in place. They knew something. They were anticipating something.

“There’s not enough men. I can’t spot them anywhere in the treelines. Either he’s stupid or this is a set-up.” You ramble into the ear-piece. They can’t respond to you, but you can tell they’re paying attention to your warning. Yelena’s eyes sweep the area, trying to spot more men hidden away somewhere.

Then, from behind you, you hear the snap of a twig. You spin around, hand flying to your knife. Across from you stand a group of men, armed with shotguns. They’re close, closer than you had realized. You had been too busy trying to figure out where all the men were, trying to anticipate the ambush. You hadn’t realized their ambush was against you.

This was why you didn’t make friends. Connections. You were too busy worrying about them to realize the immediate danger you were in. The butt of a shotgun cracks against the side of your head.

Everything goes black.

—

The mud was cold underneath you, biting into your skin. Your hands were tied, and throughout the intermittent black-outs you recalled being dragged through the dead leaves. You must have been stripped of your weapons, you couldn’t feel the metal of your knives and gun digging in anymore.

You were bleeding from a head wound, and you were definitely suffering from some kind of concussion. You had touched that throbbing spot with your fingers, rubbing the slick feeling of blood between them. Even through the fabric of your mask, you could feel the sticky blood had spread down the side of your face and neck. A gun was pressed to the back of your skull.

How many men had there been? Had you had a chance to count before you were struck? Had you managed to warn the others before the ear-piece was shattered by the strike? You could still feel bits of plastic and metal digging into your ear along with a high-pitched ringing. You weren’t sure if the ringing was from the ear-piece or from the hit you had received.

“You really thought I would stand in the open like this? Like a fool?” Your target joked, his Italian accent thick as he laughed heartily. You were kneeling next to him, eyes warily looking between him and the rest of your group who stood across from you. Sam and Bucky looked less than pleased, lips pressed together in tight lines.

“Rumors have been all through the underground, The Avengers somehow managed to recruit The Shadow?” He continues, still laughing. “Only an idiot would put himself in the open. Taking a chance with The Shadow is asking to have your skull blown open. I am no fool, but maybe you are? Thinking that I would fall for your trick?”

You can see Yelena trying to keep her cold face on, the one she had given you when she recruited you. It may have fooled the opposition, but you could see the concern in her eyes. She surveyed the mountain of men behind you like she was looking at her next meal. The barrel of the gun pressed harder against the back of your skull.

“We didn’t come here to kill you, we came here to negotiate your peaceful surrender.” Sam spoke up, voice gruff and cold. Behind him, you watched Clint’s fingers ghost over the string of his bow.

“Surrender? Why do you bring a sniper to a peaceful negotiation?” The Italian purred, motioning at you with one hand. His fingers were lined with gold rings, they caught the sunlight through the clouds. He had a gun tucked into his belt, a knife holstered on his hip.

“You know why. Things get messy. Now, we can still negotiate. You let her go and you hand over your weapons. You will be arrested unharmed, along with all of your men. You’ll face a fair trial for your crimes, a chance at a fresh start.” Sam explained. You could practically hear the target losing interest during Sam’s spiel. You watched him fidget impatiently with those golden rings, the way his men shifted uncomfortably behind you.

“No no.” Your target chuckled, running his fingers over his bushy black mustache. With the swish of his hand, he dismissed the man holding the gun to your head. His hands then found the back of your neck, tugging you to your feet. Fingers under your chin, he forces you to look into his eyes. “Why would I let her go? I didn’t come here to play games with you, Wilson. I came here because I wanted her. Because I knew she would be here.”

You resisted a flinch as his fingers dug into the skin of your neck, slipping it under the fabric of your mask. With one tug, he pulled the fabric from your face. This had not been the way you had expected this to happen, the way you would reveal your face to the team. You didn’t want them to feel some kind of connection to you, or any kind of guilt if this ended with a bullet in your skull.

If you had been able to look, you would’ve seen their shocked faces. How they quickly turned to rage on your behalf. You would’ve seen how Bucky’s eyes darted between looking at you and the ground, like he was witnessing something forbidden.

You imagined you were a sight, blood smeared across your skin from the head wound. Your hair had been perfectly woven into a crown braid, just like how they taught you in the Red Room. It would be lopsided now, chunks pulled out of place and flyaways from being roughly tugged across the ground. That and the layers of mud caked into your clothing.

“You know, Dreykov would sometimes leant out Widows to important men like me. You were all so beautiful and you all did exactly what you were told. Made to deliver pleasure. So many men, they would ask for you. To get a glimpse at the mysterious Shadow of the Red Room. Dreykov would never let us have you…

We would wonder if it was because you were hideously ugly? If you had been scarred like his dear Antonia? But looking at you now, you are as beautiful as I imagined. I can’t help but wonder if Dreykov wanted to keep you for himself? He always said you had too much bite for your worth.”

Gaze still cast at the Italian, you don’t see the team's reaction to this. You wouldn't have seen Yelena's composure slip, how Sam clenched his fist in rage. Instead you stared, silent fury boiling beneath your skin.

“I wonder how it will feel to break you?” The target hissed. He watched as your blank expression slowly turned into a sneer. Without much thought, you spit a mixture of saliva and blood into his face with a ragged laugh.

His face contorted in rage, reaching for the gun in his belt. You don’t dodge, willingly letting him strike you across the face with the metal. You stumble backwards, falling to your knees in the mud. Your lip is definitely split, blood dripping to the ground below you. You’re still laughing though, much to the collective horror of everyone. Sam opens his mouth to speak, to demand your release but you cut him off.

“You men, you are so emotional. You’re so busy pulling out your cock to piss all over everything that you don’t see the small details.” You seeth at the target. He stares at you in shock, completely oblivious to what you have done. What you are about to do. His men, even your group don’t anticipate what is to come next.

“What are the smaller details?” The target asks, you can sense misguided amusement in his tone.

You don’t reply. He doesn’t have a chance against you. You had already slipped out of your binds. He was so caught up trying to strike you, trying to prove himself a big and scary man, he hadn’t felt it. Your nimble fingers had wrapped around the knife on his hip, he hadn’t noticed how you had ripped it from its holster as you fell backwards.

The Italian doesn’t get a chance to take another breath before you snap forwards, striking like a snake. You dig the blade into his thigh, purposefully nicking his artery. Blood gushes from the wound the moment you pull the blade back out.

Things seem to move in slow motion - you see him react - eyes opening in horror and shock as he stumbles back. You are still on your knees, a feral smirk across your face. His gun lifts, intending to shoot but he is too late. Wrapping your hands around his wrists, you pull the gun to the side just as he pulls the trigger.

The bang deafens you for a moment, ears ringing. The bullet grazes your ear, then lands directly into the stomach of one of his men behind you. The man wails, falling backwards, knocking a few more of the men off their feet in the process. You move quickly, using your body weight to twist the target's arms, flipping him onto his side into the mud.

The gun falls to the earth with a thud. Your target doesn’t even get a glance at it before you’ve kicked it away in Sam’s direction. The Italian man groans on his back as he bleeds out. You get to your feet, ignoring the panicked shouts from his men beside you as you observe him.

“You’re bleeding out from your femoral artery.” You explain to him roughly, tilting your head. His hair is thick, black and greasy. A sheen of sweat has come over his pale skin, eyes glazed over.

“On average it takes two to five minutes to bleed to death from that artery. That’s if you don’t fall unconscious first. Let’s count, shall we? You spent…around thirty seconds swinging that gun around…another thirty listening to me talk…” You drawl.

Stepping closer, you crouch next to his shivering body. He is trying to stop the bleeding, pressing shaking hands to the open wound. Blood has already begun to pool around him, ruby red and slick. You tut, pushing his hands away with the knife to watch the blood spurt out faster.

“You have, what? A couple minutes left? Now tell me, before you slip away… When you see God, what will you tell him?” You ask, a feral expression still across your face as you watch his skin grow gray.

“You fucking bitch!” Your target manages to choke out. You laugh, standing and swinging the knife around.

“Oho, I don’t think he’ll like that.” You say. An almost animalistic growl leaves your throat as you raise your foot, kicking him squarely in the nose with your boot. He cries out, bone crunching. For a moment you stand there, watching the sniveling man.

With a sniff, you run your hand roughly over your cheek, wiping some of the blood from your skin. Then, your gaze falls on the group of men left. They are watching you in silent horror. You can’t imagine what you look like, covered in blood and mud, armed with only a hunting knife. You assess them with a predator's gaze, menacing and bloodthirsty and the men cower back despite being armed with guns.

“We don’t want any trouble.” One stutters out.

For a moment, you forget the rest of your team are feet away. You consider letting the wrath consume you. You could tear these men apart with your hands, teeth and nails. You imagine plucking out their eyes, teaching them what happens to men who see your face.

“Shadow.” Yelena calls you. Your eyes snap to hers.

Pulled from your trance, you run a tongue over your split lip. The act is near animalistic, a cat tending its wounds. Then, with a shrug sent in Sam’s direction you stalk over to Yelena. Sam, to his credit, quickly composes himself and instructs the group of men to drop their weapons and line up.

“Are you alright?” Yelena asks as you pause in front of her. You don’t feel like answering that question right now.

If it weren’t for the cold wrath that had taken over your body, you would imagine you would be shaking. Men like that made your skin crawl, made you revert back to how you had felt in the Red Room. It made you sick to your stomach, knowing that despite everything men like that still existed. You would kill one man and another would grow in his place. You had been lucky to escape. That no matter what, there would always be more places like the Red Room. Even if they weren’t to breed killers and spies, they would still use the bodies of women. Powerful men would use their authority to control innocent girls for the rest of time. Those girls couldn't all be saved. They wouldn’t be saved.

“I need to retrieve my gun.” You reply thickly, nodding your head in the direction of the treeline. Your knives and other gear would have also been abandoned nearby, that’s if the men hadn’t pocketed it for themselves.

“Go ahead.” Yelena says, thankfully not pressing you on your emotional state. She seems to sense your unease and your unwillingness to hang around. You pass by her and a gaping Kate. You needed to clear your head before you faced the rest of them. With the mask, you could hide your emotions. Now, without it, you felt exposed. You wouldn’t let them see you crack. They would have been trained to sense the slightest change in your facial expressions, to be able to interpret exactly how you were feeling.

“Shadow?” Yelena calls, you glance over your shoulder reluctantly.

“Yeah?”

“Nice to finally see you. The real you.” She says, a subtle grin tugging at her lips.

All you can do is hum in response. Though, as you trudge towards the tree line, a small smile forms over your bloodied face.

PART TWO