He sat behind the white kitchen table, the space littered with different parts of his ALFA combat, Czech made, semi-automatic pistol created for law enforcement and military. It wasn't his ideal choice, but it will do until he finds something better. He had taken it to parts, cleaning it carefully, oiling some parts to make sure it worked and bullets wouldn't get stuck.

He listened to the yelling of the neighbours, alarmed how thin the walls were. The space was tight but tidy and dark enough for him to settle his mind about things. There was a whole lot of machinery that he didn't understand, so he didn't touch them. Afraid that would leave behind a mark, especially when he didn't know what it all were used for.

The smell of gun oil was thick in the air, almost making him sneeze as he carefully put the gun back together, finding the whole fifteen-minute procedure somewhat therapeutic. It usually didn't take that long, but he took his time. Two days ago John had given his permission to lay low in his flat, the soldier wasn't going to let go of such an opportunity.

His icy glare rested on the brown cardboard box, it was sealed and it had red writing on it, the colour almost threatening.

War Boys

He knew exactly what must have been in it. He had taken it out from underneath John's bed, stared it for a good thirty-five seconds and then taken it to the kitchen. He had pulled the curtains over the windows in the break of dawn, preventing anyone from even seeing his shadow in the strange apartment. He hadn't dared to touch the box ever since, feeling as though the moment his scarred fingers even as much as grazed it, his head would explode.

The contents of it terrified him.

The writing on it was almost mocking the soldier, he stood up abruptly. Catching the oil can that he nearly knocked off the kitchen table, he placed it back to its previous spot silently. He grabbed a red and black striped kitchen towel, laying it over the card box to cover up the writing on it. As soon as he did, he seemed to be able to breathe a little easier.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. Sleep, he needed to sleep. He knew he did, his body was worn out, and now that there were no handlers fussing around, no doctors forcing cryo on him, he needed to take care of himself. His icy eyes slid over the tight space in the darkness, hesitantly reaching for the red blanket that had been neatly folded over the back of a creaky couch in what he assumed was a living room. He subconscious scented it, confirming that it had Johns smell on it, along with another one, sweeter one. A womans perfume, it made him frown. Luckily, it was old scent and no one had been in the flat for a long time, but he wondered if it was the smell of Johns child, Elise as he had mentioned. He ignored it, but locked the information away in the depths of his mind.

He pushed an armchair into the corner of the room, making sure that if anyone was to step into the room, he'd be the one to notice them first. He sat into the armchair, it was obviously too small for his long legs and wide shoulders, but he was not going to sleep in Johns bed in a room that had balcony nor on the couch that was in the middle of the living room.

He pulled the blanket over himself, sweeping the dark room once more before closing his eyes and gripping the ALFA combat pistol in his hands. Despite the still darkness and five locks on the door, he felt exposed and vulnerable in the corner. He was confident when it came to fighting, he would come out a winner, but at this point... This stage of his new life, he didn't feel like fighting for a cause he didn't believe in.

Hesitantly, he allowed his eyes to fall shut, making sure his instincts were still sharp and every smallest noise reached his enchanted hearing.

Nineteen-seventy-six, hidden house in Sisimiut, Greenland. A little girl stood, holding a teddy bear in her frail hands, staring up at the shadow of a man with eyes that shone ruby red. Her breath hitched as the shadow moved, raising its hand. Before the girl could cry out, her head jerked back and with a small thud, she fell on the ground, brown eyes wide and unseeing as the small hole on her forehead bubbled with blood. The ghost left, his mission completed.

A nervous man stood near the alley, it was nineteen-eighty-five. Alfriston, East-Sussex. There was a man, young, obviously wealthy and shaking in his grey pants as he tried to put up a brave front, once again, unseeing the shadow that had been studying him silently just three feet from him. The man turned, eyes widening as they met with the soldiers. “Oh, you came! I didn't mean–” the blood of an Englishman splattered against the brick wall and flew over the cobblestone, warm body losing its heat. The ghost left, his mission completed.

Nineteen fifty-seven, an older gentleman, somehow gotten into HYDRA but was part of this dangerous organisation, SHIELD. A double agent greedily after a double paycheck. The boat docks near Riga, Latvia were silent as the soldier stood under the night sky, ruby eyes glistening as he watched the man fuss with the rope that prevented the boat from drifting away. He stepped closer, if he reached out, he could touch the man. As if sensing his presence, the man turned, only to meet with nothing but still night and the calm sea breeze. He sighed, mumbling incoherent words under his breath as he brushed sweat from his brows. When he turned around to try and keep untying the bloody rope, he realized it was gone and his purchased boat was slowly drifting away. He fearfully turned his head, eyes wide anxiously when he saw the wet footprints that seemed to have come out of the sea and he knew, the soldier was toying with him. Defeated, he let out a sob as he gazed up at the moon, feeling the cold barrel of a gun push against the back of his head. The water slouched against the docks, dark blue water turning black against the cold hue of the moonlight, blood pouring into the endless abyss. The ghost left, his mission completed.

Nineteen forty, unknown location. He was lounging on a windowsill, letting the sun kiss his skin in a room that was small and messy, but the warmth and cosiness of it seemed to sweep right through him and settle under his heart. He lazily turned a page of an unknown book. The front door was slammed open and he turned around, grinning from ear to ear as he held a worn out journal between his fingers. “William! Give it back, this instant!” the voice was angry as a small man entered the room, frail shoulders tense as angry blue eyes settled on him. Another man towered behind him, leaning against the door as he looked at the two curiously. “Want it? Come and get it! Ooh would you look at that, a love letter, did you try to woo a midget? Steve? Stop- what are you doing? Steve! Put that chair back down, I'm warning you, don't you dare to throw it at – I'm your brother! Bucky, help!”

His eyes snapped open as he shot up, aiming the gun towards the entrance of the room as his breathing became heavier and heavier. His eyes were squinted as he sharpened his ears, realizing there was nobody else but him in the apartment. He lowered the gun, it slipped through his fingers on the armchair as the soldier gasped at the pain that flared through his head. He forced himself to take in deep breaths as he backed away, sliding down the smooth surface to sit between the armchair and the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible. He wheezed, his lungs feeling as though they were on fire as he forced his eyes shut. He clenched his fists, biting down on his lower lip to gain control over his shaking limbs. He took another deep breath, relishing the feeling of his lungs opening up again.

He was fine, totally okay.

After getting his heartbeat steady again, the soldier pushed himself up. Two hours was a long time to sleep, maybe not for normal humans, but it was just enough for him. The sky outside was black and the city was engulfed with tired people and sinners, runners, mothers with two jobs and coppers who worked night shifts.

Silently, he collected the hunting knives that belonged to the retired veteran, his journal that he had left on the counter in the kitchen, and a map that he had torn out from the World Map book. He had allowed himself a quick shower, relieved to have washed off all the dust and grime that coated his skin and hair that was almost getting past his ears. 

He zipped up a black hoodie, hiding his face behind a black scarf as he pulled the hood over his slightly wet hair. He grabbed some spare clothes from Johns closet, trying not to feel guilty. He carefully folded them into another duffel bag, zipping it up after he had thrown some canned food in it as well. His gaze faltered on the rows of books, he didn't have time to read, but there was a certain named that brought warmth to his chest.

He stepped closer silently, dracing the spines of the book with his calloused fingers as they stopped on Agatha Christie.

He didn't know that author, but maybe he had read it a long time ago? He didn't know, but the odd buzzing feeling made him grab the book and throw it in his bag. Even though he was convinced he wasn't going to read it. He didn't like to read books, that he knew.

Clasping the backpack over his chest and lifting the duffel back over his shoulder, he was ready to leave but halted, blue eyes flickering to the box that was still covered with a red towel. He debated if he should leave it. It would most certainly be safer here, but he had no idea when he returned if he returned. Maybe it would all have been sold by John's daughter then and the inside of the box was burned or thrown into the trash?

He huffed angrily, taking the red towel off and folding it, placing it back exactly the way it had been before. He glared at the box, taking it carefully off the counter to head out. He grabbed the car keys on his way out, not really knowing which car they belonged to. The keys jiggled in his hands as he stood in the parking lot, clutching the box desperately as he felt the anxiousness creep in, he felt exposed.

He raised his hand, tapping the car key to see which car it would unlock. The sky was starting to turn lighter. A car peeped and he froze, staring the light grey Toyota Camry. It wasn't eye-catching, which was a relief. He stepped closer, opening the car doors to throw his things inside. He slammed the back door shut and headed to the driver's door, he stopped, eyes flickering up to stare at the gigantic building that was just down the street.

It towered over the whole city and no matter where you were, you still saw it and the large A on top. His eyes flickered over the hundreds of floors and glass wall, everything was glass. So modern. He rolled his eyes and sat in the car, closing the door as he curled his fingers around the wheel.

The soldier decided that his past did not matter until he had swiped out those who were responsible for... For his assassinations. He needed to avenge his past so he could look into the future. But if he really thought about it, he didn't want to live anymore.

So if it came to it, he would put himself down and take every one of those blasted doctors with him.

So the soldier headed for his last mission; destroy HYDRA or what was left of it. Damn them if they even think about ruining other innocent souls. 

2115 word chapter, can you tell I'm rushing? 🥺