Glock 17

Date: March 1st, 1992, three months after the death of Howard and Maria Stark.

Location: A Hydra secret military base in the southwestern region of Siberia, Russia.

Within a vast prison cell, four individuals with resolute expressions and sinister eyes sat on a long bench in silence, akin to four emotionless robots.

Among them were a Caucasian couple, a black man, and a bald Asian man. None of them were to be trifled with; each was a merciless killer, aptly described as humanoid slaughter machines. They were known by a fearsome title, the Hydra Elite Suicide Squad, the best of the best among Hydra's vast array of cold-blooded operatives.

They had been handpicked for the "Winter Soldier Program" because they were the elite among elites.

The somber atmosphere of the surroundings did not seem to bother them. After five minutes, the iron door opened slowly, and a silent, imposing figure entered—James "Bucky" Barnes, the true Winter Soldier.

His large, intimidating stature was enhanced by the metallic arm that made a slight sound with each movement. His disheveled hair and dangerous eyes gave him the appearance of a silent beast. His gaze swept over the individuals on the bench.

A Russian officer nodded in approval and signaled to a soldier, who tapped the shoulder of the Caucasian man, prompting him to stand and approach Barnes. It was clear that a test of combat prowess was about to commence.

The ensuing hand-to-hand combat between the two was astonishingly brutal, to the shock of the Russian soldiers. To the officer's satisfaction, the newly inducted Winter Soldier prevailed against the original. Barnes was beaten to a pulp, almost having his metallic arm torn off. After a futile struggle, the Caucasian powerhouse kicked Barnes away, his heavy body crashing against the iron bars with a thud that resonated ominously.

"Very good!" The officer nodded in satisfaction.

However, the situation quickly spiraled beyond his expectations. The Caucasian man didn't cease his assault but instead continued his frenzied attack, as if intent on killing Barnes.

Soldiers rushed to intervene but were effortlessly knocked down by the rampaging man, their bodies strewn across the floor, dead.

The soldiers, loyal Hydra agents, disregarded their safety and continued to attack with riot batons, but even they were no match for the Caucasian man's ferocity.

The remaining members of the Winter Soldier Squad rose from the bench, rushing into the fray to aid their comrade.

The situation devolved into chaos as the four super-soldiers, freshly injected with the serum, showed no signs of stopping their rampage, turning the facility into a bloodbath.

With the situation out of control, the officer seized Barnes and pulled out the only handgun in the training room, shouting, "Get me out, now!"

Barnes, still under Hydra's control, escorted the officer toward the cell door, skillfully avoiding the elite squad members in their path, and locked the door tight behind them.

Inside, the remaining soldiers became mere souls under the boots of the four "new" Winter Soldiers.

"Damn it, damn it," the officer adjusted his red beret, "Make them all calm down, then wipe their minds! Freeze these delirious fools!"

"Yes, Colonel," the soldiers behind him saluted and responded promptly.

"Take him down," the Colonel gestured toward Barnes and strode out of the room. Halfway through, he seemed to remember something and quickly returned to his office to make a call.

"Teacher, how is the child doing now?" the Colonel inquired.

"He's in good health, everything is proceeding as you ordered, sir. Training is underway," replied a man in a crisp suit on the other end, his gaze fixed on a young boy in front of him.

"Bring him to me at 2 PM, to room four," the Colonel ordered sternly.

"Yes, Colonel," the Teacher responded assuredly, then hesitated, "Colonel, he's just a child under six. Everything is under our control."

The Teacher, evidently holding some authority at the base, was well aware of the purpose of "room four."

"I need an extra layer of insurance," the Colonel hung up, determined to avoid any more life-or-death situations. He wanted loyal machines, not chaotic soldiers.

"Start 321," the Teacher put down the receiver, and a woman in the room started the timer on her watch, speaking softly.

Click, click, click.

Aiden, blindfolded, felt the tabletop that reached his chest. His hands moved swiftly, assembling the scattered gun parts. In a matter of seconds, he pieced together a precise handgun and pulled the trigger, the darkness and unfamiliarity of the components slowing him down.

Click.

The woman pressed a button on her watch and asked coldly, "Report."

Aiden hesitated, his tone betraying his uncertainty, a contrast to his earlier decisiveness, "Glock 17."

"That's enough, Jelena. Take him to eat, then rest. I need to take him out this afternoon," the Teacher stood up, nodding nonchalantly as two soldiers approached Aiden.

The woman took Aiden's handgun and removed his blindfold. What Aiden saw left him stunned. Two soldiers dragged away a body from in front of him.

Aiden recalled his actions. How could there have been someone in that direction? This type of training had been repeated many times, and there had never been anyone present before.

Aiden looked up at Jelena, only to have her cold hand press down on his head, ruffling his hair with a teasing smile, clearly enjoying his bewildered expression, "You're lucky it was your first time blindfolded."

She left without another word.

Aiden detested having his head touched, a gesture that reminded him of his deceased father.

It had been months, and Jelena knew exactly what Aiden loathed. Ever since she first sensed his aversion to being touched on the head, she had continued to treat him this way. She relished seeing him powerless and enduring in silence.

Watching her tall, graceful figure walk away, Aiden lowered his gaze, his small hands clenching into fists.