Chapter 11

January 6th, 2014 (27 Years Old)

HYDRA Research Base, Sokovia

"Wyvern to Research Base, requesting landing, code sigma seven-seven-three." Once her landing coordinates were confirmed, the Wyvern called: "three minutes to touchdown," over her shoulder. The two agents in the cabin of the Quinjet buckled themselves into their seats, the younger one clutching a long, black case.

The Wyvern didn't usually serve as a pilot for HYDRA missions, but in this case she was also acting as protection. She'd smuggled these agents out of a S.H.I.E.L.D. research facility in the US, with orders to see the agents – and, more importantly, their cargo – safely to Sokovia. The younger agent had been shooting nervous glances at the Wyvern for the whole flight, but she must have worked with the elder one before, because he treated her like the weapon she was.

Once the Wyvern brought the Quinjet safely down on the landing pad of the white stone fortress, she opened the rear doors and got out of the pilot's seat. She was waiting for the agents to exit before her, but the younger one was clearly intimidated by her dark uniform, red goggles and black wings, and didn't appear to be able to move. She stood in silence a moment longer, then strode past them and out onto the fortress roof.

There was a whole host of agents waiting for them, arranged around a man wearing a monocle over his right eye. The man wore a stiff black uniform, and his hair was shaven closely to his head. He eyed the Wyvern with keen fascination, not the fear or disgust she was used to, but his attention was soon absorbed by the black case the younger agent carried off the Quinjet.

"Baron Strucker," the older agent said, inclining his head. "The extraction was a complete success."

"Excellent," Strucker said. "Let's get that down to Dr. List right away."

The Wyvern followed the men as they descended into the fortress, her hands loose at her sides and her sharp gaze taking in everything. It seemed that every room in the fortress had been converted into a lab, with computers running simulations, chemicals titrating in tubes, and scientists in lab coats scurrying from one place to another. From what the Wyvern saw, she deduced that they were working on enhancements: human experimentation. But it didn't matter: her mission was to see the cargo safely to the Sokovian facility and await further instruction. She would comply.

They reached an underground lab packed with computer screens from wall to wall, with an empty table in the middle. An elderly man in a brown trench coat stood from his seat as they entered, his eyes fixed on the case. Without having to be told, the younger agent placed the case on the empty table, flicked open the fastenings and opened it.

There was a long silence. The Wyvern ran her eyes over the cargo: a long, intricately designed silver and gold sceptre, with a glowing blue stone housed within the blade. The stone pulsed and almost seemed to hum, enthralling the occupants of the room.

"You have done well, gentlemen," said Strucker eventually. "You may leave."

The agents scurried out. The Wyvern remained.

Strucker was murmuring to the man in the trench coat: "Doctor List, this is the future of our work here. I want you to put a hold on all other experiments, this is what will give us our army."

List nodded, his eyes round as he stared at the sceptre. "Yes, Herr Strucker. But we will need more-"

"I am aware, Doctor," said Strucker. "I have men already working on it." At that Strucker turned on his heel, and cocked his head at the sight of the Wyvern waiting, watching. She didn't move a muscle under his calculating gaze.

"What we are doing here will be greater than the sum of Peters' work on the Wyvern Project," he eventually said. "What took him ten years will take us ten minutes, with this resource, and will be superior to you in every way."

The Wyvern didn't move. Doctor List didn't seem to hear Strucker, as he was already conferring with the other scientists in the room.

Strucker eventually sneered. "The Director has ordered that the Wyvern return to the Washington Facility," he said. "I think he is worried that I will try to improve you. But he need not fear: you are the best that HYDRA could do with the resources available on this earth. I have looked beyond." He looked over his shoulder at the glowing sceptre, then back at the Wyvern. She still hadn't moved.

He rolled his eyes. "You're dismissed. Return to America."

The Wyvern turned on her heel and left the lab. Strucker was familiar to her: his calculating eyes, clipped accent and his talk of being better than what came before. She had a recollection of a dark suit, stained by blood. She shook it away.

On her way back up through the facility to the landing pad, the Wyvern crossed paths with a group of civilians. They were surrounded by armed guards, and they looked nervous, but not as if they wanted to get away. They looked like they wanted to get away from the approaching Wyvern, however. They cringed to the other side of the corridor, their eyes wide as they took in her folded metal wings and glowing red eyes. The Wyvern paid them no mind. Her mission was to return to the Washington Facility. She would comply.

She felt their gazes on her back as she passed, but she didn't look back. She didn't notice a pair of dark-haired twins, pressed together and covered in grime from the protest, share a look as she disappeared from view.

"They are going to make us like that?" the girl whispered to her brother.

Her brother's face hardened, and he squeezed his sister's hand. "If that's what it takes."

January 9th, 2014

Ideal Federal Savings Bank, Washington D.C.

The Wyvern had returned to the HYDRA facility two days ago, was wiped and triggered, then told to wait for orders.

They gave her some programming from Project Insight to look over, and yesterday she'd been tasked with tracing a payment made to an Algerian pirate. She'd passed the information on to her handlers, then was ordered to wait again.

Now, though, the facility was abuzz with activity. The Director had arrived twenty minutes ago, ordered the facility's strike team to mobilise and the technicians to activate the Winter Soldier. The Wyvern had gone to the armoury.

Now, as she selected guns, knives and grenades, securing them to her uniform, she heard the minute squeak as the door opened.

A man with a metal arm strode into the room, and froze at the sight of the Wyvern. Her skin prickled, her instincts recognising a powerful opponent, but she didn't react. This must be the Winter Soldier.

He was an inch or so taller than her, with long, dark hair and blank eyes. After a moment of observation he moved again, striding toward a weapons case.

They worked around each other in silence, each asset monitoring the movements of the other. The Soldier moved to the rack of knives, and the Wyvern's eyes widened incrementally when she saw him stash no less than seven knives across his uniform.

They finished arming themselves at the same time, and paused together at the door. Neither of them wanted to show their back to the other. Finally the Wyvern stepped out first, making a show of shuffling her wings and revealing the razor sharp barbs. The Soldier didn't react.

The assets walked in silence to the main foyer of the bank, pulling on their masks. The Soldier's arm whirred, and the sound lowered the Wyvern's hackles a little – something about the mechanical noise seemed familiar.

The strike team, dressed as Metropolitan Police, were waiting for them. The Director also stood in the foyer, his face weathered. He nodded at the sight of his assets.

"I've got a mission for you. One target, level six." He turned to the strike team. "Director Fury is suspicious of Insight, and he needs to be taken out. The assets are there as back up, it's best for Insight that they remain in the shadows for now. I don't expect you to fail." The look he shot the strike team was charged with meaning. "Go now."

The Wyvern and the Winter Soldier got into the same van. She looked up, eyeing his black goggles and muzzle, and somehow knew he was looking back at her.

"Target is on the move," the Wyvern reported from her rooftop as the bullet-ridden SUV took off down the street. She'd watched the skirmish in the street with mounting surprise and respect – both the car and the man had stood up to the strike team with surprising fortitude. But weapons did not feel, so she brushed it all aside.

"Driving west, strike team in pursuit. Target is armed." She ran across the rooftop and jumped, spreading her wings to clear the gap between the buildings. As she sprinted across the next rooftop, she glanced over the edge. The SUV was weaving between the traffic, with two of the strike team's police cars in pursuit. She picked up her pace.

"Target status?" asked the handler running the mission.

"Injured, but still capable." She heard glass smashing and skidded to a halt, looking over the edge again. The target had driven the SUV through lines of traffic and into a bus stop. The remaining members of the strike team had left their vehicles, and were now firing at him through the bus windows. The Wyvern pulled a submachine gun from a holster on her back and fired a spray of shots at the target's head. She saw the man's head jerk up, spotting her on the roof, but the windshield of the vehicle held.

Seconds later the target had taken out two more strike team agents and peeled away from the bus stop. The Wyvern gritted her teeth.

"Only two strike cars remaining," she told the handler. She stowed her gun and fired up her wings, soaring across the intersection and flying low over the rooftops.

"Stay out of sight," the handler reminded her, his voice terse. The Wyvern obliged, cutting power to her wings and resorting to jumping from rooftop to rooftop once more. She followed the sounds of gunfire and screeching tires. She knew – somehow – that the Soldier would have kept up with the chase as well, a few blocks away.

The Wyvern watched the target's SUV brake suddenly. The strike cars continued accelerating into the upcoming intersection, and were wiped out by a yellow truck. She heard their screams over the comms.

The Wyvern had her orders. She snapped her wings open and rocketed into the sky, calling: "Strike team eliminated, target heading east. Engaging now."

"Confirm: engaging," came the Soldier's low voice. Their handler said nothing, no doubt recalling the Director's meaningful look earlier.

Now flying directly over the street, the Wyvern boosted her engines to catch up with the battered SUV. As she flew up the road she saw the Soldier's dark figure pacing in the other direction, towards the car.

She got there seconds before the Soldier. She swooped over the SUV, deafening the target with a scream of jet engines, and dropped a grenade just as she cleared the bonnet. She angled her wings and spiralled upwards. The grenade detonated beneath the SUV's back wheels, blasting it off the ground and into a front flip, screeching across the asphalt. Out of the corner of her eye, the Wyvern saw the Soldier step out of the way of the careening ball of fire, gun aloft.

"Vehicle neutralised," the Soldier said into the comms. He stalked across the road towards the upturned, smoking SUV. The Wyvern circled overhead, ready to provide cover at a moment's notice.

Bloody and bruised in the car below, Nick Fury turned to see a figure dressed in black approaching his open window. The whining sound of jet engines roared above his car, and a large shadow passed over the road.

Fury cursed under his breath and fired up the Mouse Hole device.

The Soldier was silent after ripping the SUV's door off its hinges. The Wyvern made one last circle over the crash, then powered down her engines and came in to land. Her boots hit the tarmac without a sound.

"Target status?" came the handler's voice, finally.

"Escaped the scene," the Winter Soldier replied. The Wyvern folded her wings close to her body, gritting her teeth. The Soldier looked from the SUV to her, and though the goggles still masked his features, she could sense his irritation. They hadn't completed their mission. She cocked her head.

"The Director's not going to like this," she heard the handler sigh.

"We will find him," the Wyvern replied.

She and the Winter Soldier looked at each other through their goggles for a moment more, before the Soldier turned and stalked in the opposite direction, towards their van. She followed.

The target was not an easy man to find. The Soldier drove the van while the Wyvern worked on a laptop, going over the target's file and scanning CCTV cameras. She managed to track down a few of his safehouses in the city, but when she and the Soldier arrived they were empty.

They were in periodic contact with their handlers: it seemed the Director was indeed unhappy with the strike team, and had ordered that the assets find and eliminate the target as soon as possible. Some of the strike team had survived, and there were other operatives being assigned to the facility at the bank, but for now it was just the Wyvern and the Winter Soldier. Hours had passed since the engagement with the SUV, and night was falling.

After combing through the target's financial records, the Wyvern sat back in the passenger seat, her brow furrowed. She and the Soldier had removed their goggles, but otherwise their faces were still covered. The street lights passed over their heads, throwing them into light and shadow.

"Location?" The Soldier asked, noticing her sudden stillness.

"Not yet," she replied. Her brow was still furrowed. She wasn't getting anywhere with the target's file, so she considered his nature instead. She'd had some training – sometime, somewhere – in profiling. The target was the head of an intelligence organisation, and he had just discovered that he didn't know who to trust. He was a combatant, as he'd just proven to the strike team, but he was also a delegator: he passed missions to the asset best qualified for the job. So who would he give this mission to?

The Wyvern went back to the target's file, and scrolled to the section labelled "Assets".

The Wyvern and the Winter Soldier arrived at the apartment building ten minutes before Captain Rogers did; enough time for the Soldier to find an appropriate sniper's nest and for the Wyvern to fly to the rooftop of another building and hack the surveillance already set up in Captain Rogers' home. She crouched in a dark corner of her rooftop, hunched over the laptop. Once she had hacked the bugs, she peered into Captain Rogers' apartment. She didn't have any line of sight through the windows, but her goggles picked up the heat signatures of everyone in the building. She watched as a warm body climbed into the apartment via the window.

"Two heat signatures in the apartment," she murmured to the Soldier over the comms. She had her earpiece in one ear and a headphone connected to the laptop in the other. A crooning jazz song rang out in the apartment. "Audio compromised."

"Copy. Working on sightlines."

While the Soldier shuffled along the lip of his own rooftop, closer to the window of the apartment, the Wyvern went back to her laptop. She'd just identified several personal-use electronic devices in the apartment when two masculine voices filtered in over the song. The lower voice, pinched with pain, began speaking about his wife.

The Wyvern's fingers danced over the keyboard, bringing up a voice file for the target.

"Who else knows about your wife?" she barely picked up the words over the song.

"Just… my friends."

The voice comparison software lit up.

"Is that what we are?"

"Target identified," the Wyvern hissed. "Southwest corner."

"Copy," came the Soldier's low voice. Half a second later, three shots rang out and the target's heat signature crumpled to the floor. The Wyvern snapped her laptop closed and zipped it into her uniform, keeping the audio linkup to the bugs in one ear. "Target down," she murmured, ears straining. "Still breathing."

The apartment's door slammed open, and there was a hurried conversation between a woman and a man. She kept her goggles fixed on the target's heat signature, watching his body temperature drop. She'd wait for confirmation of target elimination.

But then: "Tell them I'm in pursuit," came a low voice, and the window in the west wall of the apartment exploded outward.

The target's asset had thrown himself out of his own window and into the next building, and was sprinting toward the Soldier's location.

The Soldier was already running. She could see him racing along the edge of his rooftop, his arm flashing in the lights. The Wyvern tensed, looking from the Soldier to the bleeding target. She knew the Soldier could outrun any foot pursuit, save maybe hers, so she resolved to stay and monitor the target. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large heat signature streaking after the Soldier, ripping through the adjoining building at impossible speeds. He was closing in.

The Wyvern's wings snapped open and she leaped into the air, keeping her engines on low power to avoid detection. She soared over the top of the apartment building, and switched off her thermal vision. The combatant threw something round at the Soldier's back. The Soldier skidded to a halt, caught it – a shield? – and tossed it back at the combatant. In the same moment, the Wyvern swooped over the man's head, caught the Soldier's outstretched metal arm, and pulled him off the rooftop.

His weight felt familiar. The Wyvern dove down the side of the building and pulled into a sharp bank, sending them shooting back around the building and out of sight. They landed beside their van, climbed in, and peeled away from the scene.

Back on the rooftop, Steve Rogers ran to the edge and looked out. There was no trace of the bafflingly powerful metal-armed stranger, or the winged shadow he thought he'd seen. Heart pounding, he lowered his shield. Whoever'd shot Fury had vanished.

Fury's been shot.

Natasha Romanoff fought through the busy hospital to the surgical observation room and burst through the door. She came to a halt beside Steve. The scene before her was bloody, and she knew she'd never seen Fury look so… vulnerable.

She caught her breath. "Is he going to make it?"

"I don't know." Steve was leaning against the glass, jaw clenched.

"Tell me about the shooter."

"He's fast. Strong." He paused. "Had a metal arm. And… a partner."

A circling shadow, a burning pain in her side. The sun glancing off a metal arm on the mountaintop. Natasha fought not to react, but she couldn't help the small gasp that escaped her lips. If Steve or Hill noticed, they didn't say anything.

"Ballistics," she whispered, keeping her voice even.

Hill chimed in with a shake of her head. "Three slugs. No rifling, completely untraceable."

"Soviet made."

Hill looked at her, frowning. "Yeah."

Natasha didn't look away from Fury. She'd said she'd find them. She hadn't considered the consequences if she failed.

In the next room, Nick Fury's heartrate plummeted.