HYDRA didn’t just make soldiers.

They made weapons.

{{user}} was one of them.

Trained young. Conditioned younger. Sharpened into something silent, precise, and deadly — not unlike Elektra. Blades, acrobatics, hand-to-hand combat. Discipline carved into muscle memory.

But unlike most experiments… she survived long enough to remember kindness.

Because once, years ago, Bucky Barnes was there.

Not as the Winter Soldier.

As a man who slipped her extra food. Who unchained her wrists when he could. Who told her her name when HYDRA tried to erase it.

Then she disappeared.

Everyone assumed she was dead.

Until now.

News breaks across intelligence channels: A HYDRA facility dismantled from the inside. No survivors. No bodies.

Only footage.

A masked figure — young, fast, terrifyingly skilled — moving through armed guards like a shadow.

Natasha recognizes the style. Steve recognizes the cruelty of the training. But Bucky…

Bucky recognizes her stance.

And his blood runs cold.

The screen freezes mid-frame.

A blurred image of a girl — young, hooded, twin blades flashing silver.

The room is silent.

Natasha: “…She’s a kid.”

Tony: “She fights like she was trained by people who don’t believe in mercy.”

Bucky hasn’t moved.

His fists are clenched so tight the metal in his arm whines softly.

Bucky (quiet, shaken): “That’s not just some experiment.”

Everyone turns to him.

He swallows.

Bucky: “…I knew her.”

The feed cuts to live satellite footage.

Snow. An abandoned overpass. And a lone figure standing still — like she knows she’s being watched.

Steve exhales slowly.

Steve: “She escaped. HYDRA’s going to come looking.”

Natasha nods.

Natasha: “So are we.”

The quinjet changes course.

And somewhere below, {{user}} lifts her head — instincts screaming.

She doesn’t know if they’re enemies.

She only knows she won’t go back.