june 2016

THE MOON ILLUMINATED her path down the winding road, her dark brown hair swinging across her face in the slight breeze that cooled her boiling veins. She breathed in short puffs of air, forcing the oxygen in and out of her lungs.

She knew what she was about to do, but her brain couldn't stop her from doing it. No one could, because no one was stronger than Hydra. Not even him, the hunk of muscle and haunted memories, the Winter Soldier. Even he couldn't get them out of his brain. Especially not now, not after he almost killed every one of his little army of friends. The Avengers.

The cool blade of a silver knife rested against her thigh underneath her dress, calming her nerves. Most of them would prefer a gun, a more efficient weapon. But not her. Not Asset 53. She favored the kill, she relished the look of the life leaving her victims' eyes.

Maybe she was a sadist for it, but she didn't mind. She was only doing a job.

Her eyes landed on the wooden, stained red front door of her victim's house. She grinned. Tonight's mission would be accomplished too easily unless they put up a fight. Even so, she thought as she deftly picked the lock, this'll be as easy as cutting through hot butter.

Her lips curled back into an anticipatory sneer. She could practically smell the blood rushing through her target's veins, keeping her alive as she slept through the night that would quickly become her last.

It felt as if she were gliding across the smooth wooden floors, her boots designed for fast getaways(not that she ever needed them). There were only three sounds in the house: the grumbling of the refrigerator, the hum of the electricity running through the house like veins, and the small breaths that were inhaled and exhaled by a dead man.

Perhaps it was her heightened senses that made Asset 53 so different. The ability to sense danger before anyone felt the wind shift on their face, or to smell out an enemy before they appeared around a corner, they set her apart from the rest. From every single one of them.

Walking silently through the house without waking her victim was a feat easily achieved due to the mounds of papers scattered on the floor, a narrow path leading to the bedroom. With a quick glance to a particularly large manila folder stuffed full of what had to be the astrophysicist's seemingly meaningless scribbles, she read the scrambled letters, her training in language letting the Norwegian words rise to the forefront of her mind:

Skjulestedet for torden gud.

The hiding place of the God of Thunder.

Curious, the asset smirked to herself and clutched the folder in her hand, itching to open it and read its contents, but she reminded herself of the inevitable consequences if that were to happen. Her superiors saw everything, and she would no doubt lose her high place in Hydra's ranks if she disobeyed a direct order. Still, she was sure that these documents would prove to be useful.

Placing it back on the table and planning to come for it as she left, the asset felt a satisfied warmth trickle to her hand that would hold the dagger. This discovery had undoubtedly made this mission much quicker.

The dark bedroom was stuffy from the Norwegian man asleep in his bed. She felt her hands start to tingle, her nerves kicking into high gear. It's so close, she smiled in the dim room, and she reached for the sheath on her thigh, pulling out the long, deadly blade. It glinted in the moon's gaze shining in through the opened window, making it look more like a historical artifact than her murder weapon of choice.

Padding up to the bedside, she stared down at the scientist's peaceful face. A multitude of creases had appeared over the years, damaging his otherwise youthful face. Years of studying Norse mythology had had a rather...insane effect on him. His eyelids, previously shut in a rare bout of calm sleep, had opened with the sense of someone standing over him. Eyes wide and face twisted in terror, he threw his hands up and yelled, "Svarte helvete?!" What the hell?! Then, in accented, rough English, he continued, "Who the fuck are you?"

The assassin standing over her only sneered maliciously, savoring the look of horror on Eric Selvig's face. "Wouldn't you like to know," she chuckled, raising her knife.

She brought it down with force and watched as the white sheets became drowned in red blood, dripping down onto the floor and sinking into the leather of her boots.

A wry smile rose to her lips as she used the bedsheets to wipe her boots clean of the substance, marching away from the Norwegian professor and collecting the folder that promised the location of Thor.

With a renewed spring in her step, Asset 53 exited the house and calmly walked along the moonlit street, a bloody knife sheathed in its place against her thigh.

Just a few yards away, Eric Selvig felt the life leave his veins, a pang of terror remaining in his mind's eye. Someone is coming for them, he thought frantically, but the energy was gone before he could usher another thought.

—————

She slipped into numbness on the helicopter ride back to Hydra's headquarters. Like usual, a blindfold was shoved over her eyes as soon as the chopper left the ground. It didn't feel like an insult anymore; she liked the darkness. It was the time of night during which Asset 53 operated the best.

Leaning her head back on the headrest, the asset pretended to sleep. The poor "bodyguards" assigned to transport her back and forth between missions would never get used to her presence, it seemed. Of course, being around an asset like her was something no one volunteered to do, so her guards acted in shifts.

She'd found that if she didn't speak and remained perfectly still, it would offer the four bodyguards a bit of a break from looking over their shoulder to make sure she wasn't killing anything for fun. It seemed like she actually cared about their concerns, but in all truth, it was worth the hours of complete stillness once she was able to jerk "awake" and let out a loud curse.

A mischievous smirk rose to her lips, but it was stifled before anyone could know it was there.

Just as planned, the asset could tell when the plane began its descent, giving her the cue to alert the men of the end to her "nap."

"Fuckin' hell, that was a good nap," she gasped, stretching her arms up and pretending to act like one would if they'd actually been asleep.

Though she couldn't see their reactions, she knew that the men in the helicopter had been beyond startled, no doubt grabbing the holsters that their firearms were held in. This time, she let the smirk grow on her face. "You people fall for that every time," she spoke with a deathly smooth tone, her words dripping off her tongue like wine.

A hand grasped her bicep, pulling her to her feet and dragging her to the open door of the chopper. They'd made it back to headquarters.

"You're a piece of work, 53," the one holding her muttered. "An absolute piece of work." Now that she was quiet, he'd gained his confidence back.

"More like a piece of shit," another chimed in, his hatred for her oozing out of his words. She'd only seen these men once when she first got on the chopper and assumed this one was the heavier one, tall and bulky, seeming like he didn't belong on a flying machine.

The asset smirked, flashing her teeth. "Et toi, tu as une petite bite." And you, you have a tiny dick. The French rolled off her tongue, easier than breathing.

It had always been that way. The asset was versed in at least thirty different languages, but French was always on her mind; she was always processing and thinking in French syllables. It was like—

"Ah, I see you made it back in one piece, gentlemen?" A woman's condescending voice broke through her thoughts, interrupting the chain of ideas. "And you were worried she would bite you."

The man holding her arm squeezed it tightly before abruptly letting her go and tearing off the blindfold. "With all due respect, Madam, she's done it before to her other guards. They say that's why there's a shift system for this one."

Asset 53 blinked, her smirk ever present on her face. "That's just an old wives' tale, boys. But I do admit," she glanced around at the five men glaring at her, "I've been starting to wonder what you'd taste like." She mimed a sharp biting motion and reveled in the flinches she received as a reaction.

The woman standing in front of her clucked her tongue. "That is quite enough, Asset 53," she chastised, "I think these men deserve a rest." Dismissing them with a wave of her hand, she ushers the asset forward, turning to walk down the hall of the concrete structure they were standing in.

"Madam, are you sure that's the best idea? She's been out of cryo for a while now, she might be..." She didn't have to guess what he was going to say next. She might be healing.

Because Hydra was known for breaking people. It was their trademark. But this asset happened to like being broken. It meant that killing made her feel complete. Frankly, it was the only thing that made her feel complete.

Again, the woman waved her hand. "I'm just fine, gentlemen," she spoke with an air of carelessness as if she was indifferent to the idea that she might get murdered by the assassin standing next to her. "Asset 53 and I, we go...way back." She winked at them before clicking her black heels on the concrete floor and parading off down the corridor, Asset 53 following behind.

"New orders have come in, 53," she said, keeping her eyes focused on what was ahead of her, never speaking directly to the asset. "This are unusual circumstances, so I suggest you get as much sleep as you can. This assignment has some...extended boundaries."

The asset smiled. "Intriguing." Shuffling along, she lifted the side of her skirt and trailed a fingernail along the line of blood that had dried and crusted over on her thigh. Picking it off, she watched the flakes flutter to the ground like dried leaves in the fall. "When do I get my debriefing?" She was nearly certain that asking this question was unnecessary; they never answered her when she did.

But her companion surprised her as she stopped in front of the door to the asset's chamber, pulling her lips together in a thin line. "Your orders will be given in three hours. Whatever you do with your time until then must be done within these walls. I suggest you spend it in your cryochamber."

The ghostly sensation of the cold crept up on her arms. She used to be terrified of the cell. Now, she welcomed it like one would welcome a hot shower after standing in the cold rain. "Of course, Madame." Then again with the French slip-ups.

She swiped her identification card against the panel beside the door, which popped open in response. "I'll see you in three hours, Asset 53," she said. "You leave tonight."

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thanks for reading, kiddos! this took a long time to write, and i finally think i got it right! yes, eric selvig has been killed off, and remember: this is set during the plot of civil war, so no one knows where thor is(being a comical genius). that's why she grabbed the folder, which contains selvig's theories of where he is. ummmm yeah, i think that's it! hope you liked it!

see you on friday for the next chapter!

love, lola

published on: feb. 5, 2019