The Wolves of Winter

"Mission report."

I looked up to my superior, frowning.

"Mission report." He demanded again coldly. I swallowed hard.

"Compound abandoned. Files incomplete. Whereabouts of Alexander Pajari unknown." I relayed, my voice just as monotonous and robotic as it always was when I gave reports.

Silence fell around the room. I was sat on a chair in an underground bunker, surrounded by armed guards, just like I always was. I had been stripped to my underwear - I was never allowed to wear any clothing where weapons could be concealed when I spoked with my superiors - and Carver, my superior, was stood with a tazer in one hand.

"So you failed." Carver said, his voice dangerously soft. I tried to hold his gaze, but it was impossible to do without seeming like I was trying to size him up, so I lowered my gaze to the floor, concentrating on the worn tiles at his feet. Another silence fell over the room.

"Answer me." He barked. I flinched.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, sir." I said, my voice barely audible. He tutted, and I flicked my eyes up to look at him, just in time to see him start the tazer. I swallowed hard; I knew exactly what was coming.

"Pin her down." He ordered, and two of the guards stepped forwards to push me back against the backrest of my chair. I barely even had time to brace myself before the electric shocks ran through my body. I whimpered as the tingling turned into a burning pain, as the tazer was held against the skin of my thigh.

Carver pulled the tazer away, and I relaxed, breathing heavily and looking up at him through my eyelashes. He hefted the tazer in his hands, contemplating his next move before tossing it to the guard next to him. "Ten minutes of that then lock her up. Perhaps next time our little ренегат won't fail."

He smirked as he left, deliberately using my field nickname. The heavy steel door to the bunker closed behind him, and the guard advanced, holding the tazer aloft. I gritted my teeth and screwed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the feeling of it against my skin. What I wasn't prepared for, however, was the tazer against the side of my neck.

I screamed openly as the electric shocks reverberated through my body, my muscles tensing and jerking involuntarily. When the guards let go of me, I fell out of my chair and onto the cold tiles, groaning as the shock of the temperature hit my bare skin. I couldn't control my muscles enough to get them to sit up, and just as I managed to kick my legs out to try and support myself, the tazer was back against my skin, and I was screaming and convulsing on the floor.




It was a week before they let me out of my room again. I'd been kept in a small cell, fed three times a day with plain foods that I could barely even taste, and only given a punching bag and a set of weights to entertain myself. I'd used them for as long as possible each day, pummelling the punching bag to try and alleviate the pain in my muscles, which even a week later bore the aches of my ten minutes of torture. Each time my fist had connected with the material of the bag, I'd pictured the Winter Soldier's face. I'd pictured his smirk, I'd heard his condensing words, I'd felt the warmth of his body radiate over mine. By the end of the week my muscles were aching, but I was feeling somewhat stronger. I was certainly feeling more angry.

I was sat in Carver's office, dressed only in my underwear, as was normal in meetings with him. My hands were chained in front of me and my feet were chained to the seat. Four armed guards flanked me.

"Ah, our Renegade returns to the field." I heard Carver's voice from behind me, and tensed, knowing that I shouldn't turn to look at him. He walked around to sit behind his desk, before shooting me a thin lipped smile. "Your next mission. We're sending you to a base in Georgia. We think Pajari might have fled there."

He dumped the file in front of me and waited for me to take it. When I did, he instructed me to return to my room and wait to be issued with my weapons and combat suit, before I was to be flown out to the Georgia base they thought Pajari's whereabouts might be found.

My ankles were uncuffed, and I was frog marched from the room and back to my cell, where my wrists were uncuffed and I was pushed inside, before being told that my things would be brought to me within the hour.

I dropped onto my uncomfortable A.I.M-issue cot, feeling the springs dig into my rear painfully. I stared down at the file for a few seconds, before discarding it.

I wondered if the Winter Soldier was going to be in Georgia when I got there.

Notes