Clint Barton had seen a lot of shit in his lifetime. 

In fact, the archer would probably say that he'd seen enough to last him multiple lifetimes. From being brain-controlled by an Asguardian God to witnessing a metal robot gain consciousness and attempt to destroy the world, he was adamant that he'd seen his fair share of things that would leave him speechless.

Yet, here he was, crouched over two dead bodies of agents he faintly recognised from when SHIELD had been a constant in his life. He slung his bow over his back, having checked for any potential threats already but coming up with the conclusion that whoever had done this was long gone by now.

The dried blood on their slit throats also told him that this hadn't just happened either. It had been almost a day - or more - since this had happened. He sighed, reaching down and lightly dragging his fingers over the eyelids of the body that was closest to him. No matter how many he'd killed, or how many he had seen dead, he hated seeing lifeless eyes.

He closed the agent's eyes, a familiar sense of heaviness settling in his chest. It wasn't the death itself that unsettled him; he'd seen enough of that to last several lifetimes. No, it was something else, something that prickled at the back of his neck and made his fingers twitch towards his bow.

The cuts were clean, precise. Professional. Not the work of some random assailant or even a desperate criminal. These kills had been executed with cold efficiency, and Clint knew that kind of precision all too well. It spoke of training, of countless hours honing a lethal craft.

There weren't many people in the world who would need to break into a SHIELD base to steal computer intel. The suspect list really whittled itself down - someone who was working for an opposing agency or governing body that had sinister motives. There were a few still out there - the Red Room (although he doubted any of the still-brainwashed Widows would be doing this), the Ten Rings were no longer a threat,  as were the Flag Smashers. It really boiled down to one likely entity: someone working for HYDRA.

A chill ran down Clint's spine as a half-formed thought tried to take shape in his mind. He pushed it away, not ready to confront the implications just yet. Instead, he focused on the concrete evidence before him, cataloging every detail with the trained eye of a seasoned operative.

Clint's calloused fingers fumbled for his phone, the device feeling unnaturally heavy in his hands. The screen's harsh glow illuminated the grim scene before him, casting eerie shadows across the lifeless faces of the fallen agents.

The first photo captured the precise, almost surgical cut across one agent's throat. The second showed the awkward angle of the other body, hinting at a struggle that had been brief but fierce. 

He sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo in the empty room. The chances of HYDRA having such an asset at their disposal were, unfortunately, far too high for comfort. With the Winter Soldier now firmly on the side of the Avengers, it made sense that HYDRA would be desperate to fill that void.

But who? Who could they have possibly found or created that could match the skill level of a brainwashed Bucky Barnes? He'd seen firsthand the devastation wrought by Bucky when he was under HYDRA's control. The idea of another operative with similar skills and training out there, carrying out their dirty work, was enough to make his stomach churn.

The implications for the entirety of the Avengers team were staggering, and the weight of them threatened to crush him where he stood. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. 

With a decisive tap, he sent the photos, along with a brief message: "Possible HYDRA involvement. High-level operative. We need to talk. All of us."

With one last glance at the fallen agents, Clint made his way out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallways.

Completely unaware of the small bugged camera that captured his every movement.

____

Dr. Faust leaned over the glowing interface of his workstation, the soft hum of machinery filling the dimly lit room. His eyes refused to acknowledge the girl lying on his examination table, passed out from exhaustion and pain as two of his assistants tended to the cuts on her arms from resisting against the needles.

The image of Clint Barton crouching over the bodies of SHIELD agents replayed for the fourth time on the computer he was peering at. Faust tapped a slender finger against his temple, lips curling into a faint smile as he replayed it once more.

"Well, well," he murmured, pausing the footage just as Barton stood to leave. "Seems our dear Hawkeye has found the Osprey's latest handiwork."

The name hung in the air like a curse, drawing a few uneasy glances from the nearby technicians. Faust didn't mind their discomfort; he thrived on it. Fear was a useful motivator, and HYDRA demanded nothing less than total dedication.

He rewound the footage to the precise moment Barton leaned over the first body. His movements were deliberate but careful—those of a man who had seen too much death to be shocked by it. Faust could almost taste the tension radiating from the archer, the way his hand lingered near his weapon even when he knew the danger had passed.

"What do we know about the Hawk's next move?" Faust asked without looking up.

One of his aides, a wiry man with thin glasses perched precariously on his nose, cleared his throat. 

"He's likely to contact the Avengers. He sent a message just after taking the photos. Our interception shows he suspects HYDRA involvement but hasn't identified the Osprey directly."

"Good," Faust replied, his voice as smooth as silk. "Let them guess. The longer they fumble in the dark, the closer we are to securing the next phase." 

He straightened, turning to face the aide. The red glow of the HYDRA insignia on the wall behind him cast eerie shadows across his angular face.

"And subject 0-7-3-K?"

The man's eyes flicked nervously to the unconscious figure on the table. 

"She's... resistant, sir. The latest memory wipe was only partially successful. She's still exhibiting signs of recognition when hearing her old name."

Faust's lips thinned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He strode over to the examination table, his footsteps echoing in the sterile room. The Osprey lay there, her skin pale and clammy, dark bags blooming beneath her eyes. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

"Disappointing," Faust murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. The touch was almost gentle, a stark contrast to the cold calculation in his eyes. "But not unexpected. The human mind is... resilient. Even more so in subjects with enhanced abilities."

He turned back to the aide, who seemed to shrink under his gaze. "Increase the dosage. I want her ready for the next phase within 48 hours."

"Sir," the aide stammered, "the risks of permanent damage-"

"Are irrelevant," Faust cut him off sharply. "HYDRA has no use for half-measures. Either she becomes the weapon we need, or she becomes another failed experiment. Is that clear?"

The aide nodded quickly, scurrying off to adjust the chemical mixture flowing into her veins. Faust continued to loom over her, his eyes somewhat softened as he stared at the girl he had spent three years priming into the perfect test subject.

"You'll make them remember HYDRA," he said, as much to himself as to the woman on the table. "You'll make the world tremble."

Behind him, the monitor flickered once, then returned to the frozen image of Clint Barton's face - his eyes hard, his resolve unshaken. Faust allowed himself one last look before turning away.

"The game is in motion," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the machinery. "Hail HYDRA."

____

Isaac Winters had spent two years trying to make up for what he had done to the team. 

He would work overtime, craft new designs for outfits and perfect tactical gear. He'd help tweak weapons and vehicles, upgrading devices and assisting with technical support at a level unexpected of any other technicians that had helped the Avengers. 

Even then, he'd barely get acknowledged by most of the team. 

Thor refused to visit the Avengers Compound if he was there, and would often contact ahead of time to make sure he wasn't. Do you know how badly you have to have fucked up for Thor to hate you? Isaac certainly did.

He'd been naive - and reckless. 

Isaac sighed heavily, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he stared blankly at the computer screen before him. The lines of code blurred together, a fitting metaphor for the tangled mess his life had become.

His mind drifted back to that fateful day almost six years ago, the day everything had fallen apart. He could still see her face, framed by soft blonde curls, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. Olivia. The name still made his heart ache, even after all this time.

They had met at a coffee shop near the Avengers Tower. Isaac, exhausted from a long night of coding, had bumped into her, spilling his latte all over her crisp white blouse. He'd been mortified, but she had laughed it off, her smile lighting up the room. One coffee date had turned into dinner, then movie nights, then lazy Sunday mornings tangled in her sheets.

For the first time in years, Isaac had felt truly alive. Olivia was brilliant, witty, and seemed genuinely interested in his work. He found himself opening up to her, sharing bits and pieces about his life with the Avengers. Nothing classified, of course – just harmless anecdotes about Tony's ego, Steve's old-fashioned sayings or Avery's latest training routines.

But as the months wore on, Isaac began to notice little inconsistencies in Olivia's stories. A mismatched detail here, a vague answer there. When he confronted her about it, she broke down, confessing that she worked for HYDRA - she had known who he was the second she saw him, and it had all been orchestrated, until she claimed she had called it off when she started to fall in love with him.

Isaac's world had shattered in that moment. He should have turned her in immediately, should have cut all ties. But he couldn't. The thought of losing her was unbearable. So instead, he made the worst decision of his life – he stayed.

He told himself it was to gather intel, to be a double agent for the Avengers. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was weak, blinded by love and the fear of being alone again. And so, he continued to share information with Olivia, always convincing himself it was nothing important, nothing that could truly harm the team.

Until the day it did.

Isaac squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of Natasha's face when she discovered his betrayal. The hurt in her eyes, the disbelief quickly morphing into cold fury. The way the entire team had looked at him – not with anger, but with disappointment. That had been worse than any punishment they could have doled out.

And then there was Avery. His sister, his best friend, the one person who had always believed in him. She had been devastated by his actions, but still fought for him, convinced the team to give him a second chance. And how had he repaid her faith? By sending her and Sam on a mission based on faulty intel, intel that he now realised had been planted by HYDRA through Olivia.

They were lucky that Avery and Sam had returned alive - although Sam had ended up with a visit from Dr Cho and her healing chamber after suffering multiple burns to his arms.

The fallout had been catastrophic. Olivia had disappeared, along with any trace of her supposed family. He never saw her again. Not even when SHIELD fell and their lives all crumbled apart. When Bucky got his memories back and joined the team, he confirmed he'd killed her a year or so after that.

The only reason Isaac had been allowed to stay was his sister.

Avery had been upset - devastated, more likely - about his betrayal. But she'd stuck by him, fighting his case and managing to come to the agreement that he was monitored at all times and placed on a restricted internet and communication access while living at the Avengers compound. 

He'd worked non-stop for two years after that to prove he was committed to the team.

Everyone had slowly started to tolerate being around him again, most likely due to Avery's presence. Tony and Bruce were the first to start speaking to him, which wasn't that surprising since they all spend a lot of their time in the labs together. It wasn't until Clint had came down one afternoon to talk about an upgrade to one of his arrowheads that Isaac had realised they were slowly coming round to him again.

Things gradually had started to feel a bit more normal, despite the remind of his betrayal occasionally.

Then it happened.

Two days before Christmas, Avery, Sam and Bucky had gone on a mission based on intel that Isaac had sourced from data they'd collected on their previous mission. Clint and Natasha had also cross-checked the data, before they'd been able to pinpoint there was a defunct HYDRA base that likely had old SHIELD contraband on site. 

It was bad intel. None of them spotted it.

Three went on the mission and only two had returned. He'd said goodbye to his sister for the last time and not even realised it. 

A gentle knock on the doorframe startled him and took him back to present day. Isaac spun in his chair, his heart racing as he saw Sam Wilson leaning against the entrance, arms crossed over his chest. The sight of Sam always brought a twinge of guilt; the burns on his arms had long since healed, but Isaac knew the scars ran deeper than skin.

"Hey," Sam said, his voice carefully neutral. "We've got a meeting upstairs. Now."

Isaac frowned, glancing at the clock on his computer. It was well past midnight - not exactly prime time for team gatherings. "A meeting? What about?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, a hint of exasperation creeping into his expression. "Come on man, why do you even have a phone if you're not gonna check it, dude?"

Isaac fumbled for his device, buried under a stack of schematics and empty coffee cups. The screen lit up, revealing a string of missed notifications. His stomach dropped as he saw the most recent one - a group message from Clint with attached photos.

"Shit," Isaac muttered, scrambling to his feet. He grabbed his tablet and a half-empty energy drink, downing the last of the lukewarm liquid in one gulp. "Sorry, I was... distracted."

Sam's expression softened slightly, a flicker of understanding passing over his features. He knew what anniversary was coming up - they all did. 

"Yeah, well, it happens. But this is important. Clint found something at an old SHIELD facility. It's not good."

Isaac nodded, falling into step beside Sam as they made their way to the elevator. The silence between them was thick. As the doors slid closed, Isaac caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished metal - disheveled hair, dark circles under his eyes, the weight of guilt etched into every line of his face.

"Look, I have no idea what's going on," Sam added as they rode the elevator, his voice gentle but firm. "I don't know at all, man. But whatever it is, it's got everyone on edge. Even Nat looks rattled. Just be careful with them, okay?"

Isaac's mind raced, piecing together fragments of information. SHIELD facility. Clint's urgent message. Natasha unsettled. It all pointed to something big, something potentially dangerous. He didn't like the feelings this was bringing back.

Isaac swallowed hard, nodding at Sam's words as the elevator doors slid open. The tension in the air was palpable as they entered the conference room. Natasha stood rigid by the window, her face a carefully composed mask. Steve paced near the head of the table, his brow furrowed in concentration. Tony sat slumped in a chair, fingers drumming an erratic rhythm on the tabletop.

Clint stood at the front of the room, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced by a grim intensity. As Isaac took a seat, he couldn't help but notice the archer's eyes flickering towards him, a mix of wariness and something else... concern, perhaps?

Clint cleared his throat, tapping a few commands on the holographic display. Images sprang to life in the centre of the room - two bodies, throats slit with surgical precision. Isaac felt his stomach lurch.

"I found these at the old SHIELD facility outside of Warsaw," Clint began, his voice steady but tight. "The kills are clean, professional. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing."

"HYDRA?" Tony asked, leaning forward. Clint nodded.

"But why now?" Natasha interjected, her eyes narrowing. "HYDRA's been quiet for months. Why risk exposing themselves for a raid on an abandoned SHIELD base?"

"Because it wasn't abandoned," Isaac found himself saying, his voice barely above a whisper. All eyes turned to him, and he fought the urge to shrink back. "I mean, not completely. None of them really are. There were still active servers there, weren't there? Storing old mission data, personnel files..."

The room fell silent as the implications sank in. Steve's jaw clenched, his eyes meeting Natasha's in a silent exchange.

"If HYDRA got their hands on that data," Sam said slowly, "they could potentially identify old undercover agents, safe houses that might still be in use, operations..."

"It's worse than that," Isaac continued, his mind racing. "Some of those servers contained prototype designs for enhanced tactical gear. Experimental weapons. Things that never made it past the conceptual stage, but in the wrong hands..."

"Jesus," Tony muttered, running a hand over his face.

Clint's eyes hadn't left Isaac. 

"You seem to know a lot about what was stored there," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "Considering the Warsaw base was kept off all files and records, and apparently decommissioned years ago."

Isaac felt a familiar twist of shame in his gut. 

"I... I helped design some of the security protocols for those servers. Before... you know."

The unspoken weight of his past betrayal hung heavy in the air. Isaac braced himself for the accusations, the distrust, but they didn't come.

"That's logical," Clint confirmed. "But there's something else. The precision, the methods used... it reminds me of..."

He trailed off, his eyes flickering briefly to Natasha before darting across to Bucky, who looked exactly like he was thinking the same thing as Clint. Natasha tensed, understanding dawning on her face.

"You think they've created another Winter Soldier," she finished for him, her voice barely above a whisper. Isaac felt sick to his stomach, memories of Bucky's stories about his time under HYDRA's control flooding his mind.

"But who?" Sam asked, breaking the tense silence. "Barnes is here with us, and he's the only one who survived the original program. The rest died - we know that."

Steve sighed, speaking for the first time since they'd all gathered in the room.

"I guess that's our next step, to find out who could be capable of something like this."

____

The Osprey let out a small satisfied sigh as she slipped into the bathtub, ignoring the way the small cuts around her ankles seemed to nip at the soapy water. 

It wasn't often that HYDRA permitted her to have this much time to herself - and especially not often that she was allowed access to a bathtub. Usually it was all about efficiency - kill, shower, sleep, eat, kill, and repeat. The only times she was ever permitted to have moments to herself were when something big was about to go down.

She leaned her head back against the cool porcelain, letting her eyes drift closed. For a fleeting instant, she allowed herself to relax, to pretend she was somewhere else, someone else.

But the illusion shattered quickly. Even in this moment of relative peace, she couldn't escape the nagging feeling that something was... off.

The Osprey's eyes snapped open, her body tensing instinctively. These intrusive thoughts had been occurring more frequently lately, despite Dr. Faust's best efforts to suppress them. She knew she should report them, that these thoughts were a threat to her mission and to HYDRA's goals.

A sharp knock at the door jolted her from her reverie.

"Five minutes," a gruff voice called out.

The Osprey sighed, reluctantly pulling herself from the water. Whatever was coming next, it was clear Dr. Faust wanted her prepared. There was no room for doubt, for weakness. She was HYDRA's weapon, their Osprey, and she had a job to do.

As she rose from the tub, water cascading off her lithe form, the Osprey caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. For a moment, she didn't recognize the woman staring back at her - all hard edges and cold eyes. She blinked, and the feeling passed.

Wrapping herself in a towel, she moved to the small closet where her gear was stored. Her fingers brushed over the sleek black fabric, designed for stealth and efficiency. The Osprey had long since learned not to question her missions or the motives behind them. But as she zipped up her tactical suit and strapped on her weapons, a treacherous thought wormed its way into her mind: What if everything she knew was wrong?

With one last glance in the mirror, the Osprey steeled herself. The woman who had enjoyed the warmth of the bath was gone, replaced by the cold, efficient killer HYDRA had crafted. She opened the door, ready to face whatever came next.

____

"Hey, are you sure you're up for this?"

Natasha barely had time to roll her eyes before she sensed Steve had entered the Quinjet with the purpose of asking her that question.

"I'm always ready, Rogers," she replied, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning beneath her calm exterior. The pre-flight checklist scrolled across the screen before her, each item ticked off with practiced efficiency.

The soft hum of the Quinjet's engines filled the silence between them. Natasha's fingers absently traced the edge of her widow's bite, the familiar weight of the weapon a comforting presence on her wrist.

Steve moved closer, his reflection appearing in the cockpit window. His brow was furrowed, blue eyes filled with a mixture of concern and understanding.

"Nat, it's okay if you're not. We all know what week it is."

The anniversary. Three years since Avery had disappeared, presumed dead. Three years of unanswered questions and hollow aches where laughter used to be. Natasha's hands stilled for a moment, hovering over the controls as memories threatened to overwhelm her.

"I can't just sit here and do nothing," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the Quinjet's systems. "If I stop, if I let myself think about it too much..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"We understand, Nat. Everyone knows how close you and Avery were. No one would think less of you if you needed to sit this one out."

Natasha turned to face him, her green eyes meeting his blue ones. In them, she saw not pity, but genuine empathy. Steve, too, knew the pain of losing someone dear, of having a piece of yourself torn away.

A memory flashed unbidden through Natasha's mind - Avery's laughter echoing through the training room, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief as she pinned Natasha to the mat. The weight of that loss threatened to overwhelm her for a moment, but she pushed it down, burying it deep beneath layers of carefully honed control.

"I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine," Natasha said, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling beneath the surface. "Besides, if this really is HYDRA, if they've managed to create another Winter Soldier..." She let the implications hang in the air, unspoken but understood.

"Alright," he said softly, reaching out to squeeze Natasha's shoulder gently. "But if you need to tap out at any point, just say the word. We've got your back, always."

With a final nod, Steve moved to take his seat, leaving Natasha to her thoughts.

Everyone knows how close you and Avery were, Steve had said. Natasha bit back a harsh laugh as she thought about it. 

Isaac Winters wasn't the only rich kid that kept secrets from their team.