The small fire was slowly dying, the glowing embers flying into the chilly night air as the soldier looked onto the slightly burnt grass around the fire.

He was sitting on the ground, leaning against the car tire, a journal open on his lap while he gently held a pen in another.

The fire mirrored against his blue eyes, the only witness of the torn soul that he was trying to stitch together somehow, trying desperately hide away the overflowing feelings that hadn't surfaced for decades. They had been suppressed by drugs and electricity and poisons.

He flinched, hunching his shoulders as a memory flashed through his haunted eyes, leaving behind a blood-stained scenery and phantom screams.

A snap, he looked down. The pen that he had held so gently in fear of breaking it, was now snapped in two.
It fell from his hand, landing on the ground as some ink spilt from it. Staining the ground, turning it black.

That was what he had been doing his whole life. That was what he had been taught to do, had done relentlessly whenever they took him out of the cryo.

He was the ink that stained the ground, soaking the earth in rivers of blood and torn families.

How horrible person-- no, not a person, but a machine he was.

They would forever weight down on his consciousness, the guilt would never leave. And the soldier almost craved for another dose of whatever they used to give him. He would have done anything to forget once again. He knew there was a lot more to remember, but this, the little that he had managed to see through his dreams whenever he tried to sleep, was a nightmare. Massacre, murders, a cold-blooded killer.

That's who he was. The soldier? Why did they call him the soldier? He is an assassin, a monster, a murderer.

His cheeks were wet with tears, and he hated them. Why were his eyes leaking water? He shouldn't cry for the memories he couldn't reach, shouldn't cry for the lives he was forced to take, because he didn't want to, alright? They weren't his to take, yet, he did. As if he was the executioner as if he had the right to take a soul, to take a child from their parent, a brother from a sister, a wife from a husband.

He wasn't supposed to weep, wasn't supposed to even feel and remember. Because weapons don't weep, and that's what he is supposed to be, a mere weapon, a killing machine.

"Fuck." he cursed, his voice soft as he rubbed his temples, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to prevent any more tears from flowing. He took a shaky breath in, resting his head against the car as he slid his fingers through his hair, grunting as he felt them get stuck in some knots.

He looked down onto the open journal, the writing that switched between English and Russian. He wasn't sure what caused the change of languages, but there was even a couple of German words lost in the middle of the text.

A couple of letters were smudged, the black ink mixing with traitorous teardrops.

This is not me.

This shouldn't be me, why did I think this was me? No, this is not me. THIS IS NOT ME.
There is rage, and there is sadness, I don't want to feel this anymore.
Two men, two agents. I think. Blue eyes, like mine. Do I have blue eyes?

I killed one.

Mrs. Davis. Figure out this name. Mrs. Davis.

He didn't know who that was, didn't know anything. So why was he chasing the pitiful doctors still? Now that he had a chance of freedom? A chance to find out who he was and who is he supposed to be now? He shouldn't waste another day on them.

But then he realised he didn't know how to just exist without chasing anyone, without feeling the maddening rage in him to let out the beast and crush another life.

He sniffled, feeling a cold raindrop landing on his nose. He knew it was going to rain, had smelt it long before the clouds had reached him.

He pushed himself up, picking up the broken pen and journal. He sat on the front seat before closing the door just as it started pouring. He watched through the raindrops on the window as the fire died out.

He gripped the broken pen, turning a page on the journal, it was fresh, untouched. And then he wrote one word on it, the word he had tried to ignore. But he could no more, because it was his.

William.

His eyes flickered to the rear mirror, landing on the box with red, threatening letters. War Boys.

If he wanted to learn more about his past, he needed to make a choice now. Was he going to chase the darkness that turned him into the killer? Or was he going to lay low instead, learn about this new world? And maybe, along the way, find himself again. If, of course, men like him could be found.

Lightning flashed in the distance, making him tense all over. His breath hitched, eyes wide as thunder echoed around, rolling over the land.

And all he saw was death, it was there, before his very eyes. It played over and over and over again. Lightning flashed, and he kept seeing death, hearing guns. Feeling the ground shake, smiling the gunpowder, piss and blood in the air.

"Please, please, no more, no more!"

He screamed, gripping his hair as he tried to drown out the lightning.

But the voices, no matter what he did, never left. They kept crying out, kept reminding him. And he just couldn't handle it.

»»-----　★　-----««

"Have we gathered anything yet?"

"No, nothing. We did find the tracks, but they led us to a parking lot and that was it." replied Sam to Natasha's question. The assassin placed both of her hands on the table, leaning over some papers Clint and she had found. Before, of course, half of the base had been blown up. She could still smell the smoke in her hair.

"Damn, I want to catch that motherfucker." Sam grumbled, crossing his hands.

"Let's think about it now, whoever that was, probably caused the explosion. What does that mean?" Clint asked, trying to make them see his point of view. Sure, he had a nasty burn on his back, but he was going to think logically, and letting anger and frustration cloud ones judgement definitely didn't allow that.

"He wanted the base gone." Clint nodded, doing handguns and a cheeky wink before saying "bingo!"

"So, what I'm thinking, is that he is either trying to protect their research by destroying it so we wouldn't get our hands on it, or..." Clint said, sitting down in a chair before continuing "-he wants to get rid of them. He did murder a room full of people before blowing it up, not sure why, but that tells me the dude has some major anger issues or just wants to hunt down some evil organisation bases and blow them up. That's all, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk." the archer said nonchalantly.

"He stabbed Steve, Clint. Steve! Have you ever heard of anyone who has managed to do that? Bullets, sure, but stabbing? Something just doesn't add up." Sam said, he did feel angry, and if he got his hands on that guy he... Well, he wasn't sure yet what he was going to do, but he was going to do something.

"A runaway experiment."

Both men turned towards Natasha who seemed to be deep in thought. They didn't say anything, allowing her to continue.

"He destroyed the base, he didn't know we were coming. If he did, there's a snitch in again. But if he didn't, what other motives would he have to kill them all and blow it up? And he stood his ground against Barnes and Rogers. I say he is definitely enchanted. And that's why we have to be careful. Because what's the strongest weapon that makes people dangerous and stupid at the same time?" the two looked at each other, confusion lacing their features as they tried to come up with an answer.

"uh, I've heard one tequila too much can do that." Clint offered brightly. Natasha sighed, stepping away from the table.

"Revenge. And why would he want revenge? Because of wrongdoing. And because these are the last remnants of HYDRA, it could be another experiment. Because I doubt any ordinary person could go against Barnes' wrath." there was a pregnant pause before Sam whistled, looking slightly gobsmacked as if everything made more sense now.

"And how do we find that person? As you said, dangerous and stupid. I'm not that comfortable knowing there's someone like that out there who can blow up bases and stab supersoldiers." Sam voiced his concern, he didn't like that situation. He usually had at least some kind of intel, some information that he could grasp and use in a battle plan. But about this fella he knew nothing about. Just a word of a hundred-year-old man and blown up base.

"Wait, doesn't the helicarrier have video cameras just for this exact reason?" Clint jumped up, continuing before anyone could interrupt him. "and the tracks, they ended near the parking lot, right? The parking lot we flew over. If we're lucky, only if, we might actually find out which car he took. And from there, it isn't that hard to track it down."

He was on a full working-mode, which was a relief to Natasha. She cared for Clint, but he was more useful when he was actually thinking along and not building slingshots underneath the table. "Get onto it." she said, looking unimpressed when the archer jumped up, saluted her and dashed out of the room after saying a quick yes ma'am!

She then turned towards Sam, seeing the flashes of different emotions. The main one being annoyance. "Hell no Natasha, nope." she raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow, not intimidated by his unwillingness to do one simple task of informing someone of their discoveries. Sam sighed, shoulders hunched as he grumbled under his breath as he headed towards Bucky's room.

Natasha watched him go, heading towards the hospital wing to make sure Steve was still doing okay. She knew the poison wouldn't do much harm, only make him feel sick for some time. But still, she needed to make sure every one of her teammates was doing and feeling okay. She didn't show her feelings often, almost feeling uncomfortable to do so, but Natasha was very observant and often found herself analysing everyone's emotions. So that skill helped her to detect any bad relationships or tension among the team.

She was most concerned about Tony Stark. Sure he had retired, had gone off to live with his daughter and wife, but Natasha kind of, sort of, missed him. Despite him saying he wasn't an avenger anymore, Tony Stark would always be her family. And the fact that he had tried to keep the communication between himself and the rest of the team minimum was starting to worry the assassin.

In a way, she understood. He wanted a break, wanted to sleep, wanted to enjoy a cup of coffee with his wife, watch a cartoon with his daughter and rebuild an old waffle machine instead of worrying himself sick in the lab, trying to come up with hundred solutions just to keep everyone but himself safe.

Tony Stark deserved a break. And Natasha would deal with it, even if it made her miss the sarcastic hero.

"I'm not sleeping." Steve said quietly, cracking open one eye as he lazily looked over at Natasha who was hesitantly standing near the door. She walked over to him, sitting on one of the chairs as Steve slowly pushed himself up as well.

"They still have no idea what kind of poison it is, but at least my body is burning through it." he said, looking still a little too pale for Natashas liking. "Well, I'm not going to read you a monologue. Barnes is probably going to talk your ear off and scold you like a child. Which, you deserve. We sent him to freshen up, no one likes old, brooding men in the hospital wing." despite Natashas accusing tone and a bit cold demeanour, he cracked a small smile.

There was a beat of silence before Natasha broke it. "There's something you aren't telling us." it wasn't a question, but a statement. Steve was pretty good at hiding things, but Natasha was just good at detecting secrets. Too good even.

And then Steve said something that really confused Natasha even more, she had a feeling there was a lot more to this case than just a random vigilante and accidental stab wound.

"I-I, well, I'm not sure, but I think I might know this person. Something is just so familiar about him..."

***
I wonder does Chris Evans ever just stand in front of the mirror and just go like "Damn, that's one hot Americas ass indeed." and then just laugh at his own joke while throwing his head back and grabbing his boob because he is well, Chris Evans.

SORRY FOR GRAMMAR ERRORS Also, no mood board in this chapter but I have a feeling you don't miss those really do you lol besides it's super late. Like, 2am kind of late.

is it okay if I switch between Will and the others? Or is it actually confusing you guys?

And next is kiss, marry, friend-zone (because I don't like kill, it's not niceee)

kiss, marry, friend-zone
shuri, MJ, Wanda