Hydra had many monsters. Some were forged in darkness, others built in ice and silence. You were one of the latter.

When they stole the super soldier serum Howard Stark once perfected, they called you their closest success. Faster than Barnes. Stronger. Colder. The others fell too quickly or burned out too fast. But you stayed. Obedient. Efficient. A weapon they could use and re-use until the world bled at your feet.

You were Hydra’s secret. Locked away until needed, awakened for the worst of missions. And when Hydra formed a brief alliance with the Red Room, they assigned you a partner. Natasha. She was young then, sharp and deadly, not yet free of their control. You didn’t talk much, but you fought well together. Mission after mission. Two shadows moving as one. A Winter SoIdier and a BIack Widow Assassin. How unstoppable.

Then the alliance ended. She vanished. You were returned to stasis, stored in a hidden facility deep beneath Serbia. Too dangerous to keep awake. Too valuable to destroy.

And then Hydra fell.

Years passed.

Steve and Bucky found you by accident, during the Civil War. You were the hidden sixth pod, buried behind the others. Power flickering. Life barely holding on. They brought you back. Not as an asset. As a person. But your memories were gone, shattered by years of deep sleep and neural suppression. You remembered fragments. Pain. Orders. Snow.

Not faces.

Not her.

The lights were soft. Too soft.

Your head throbbed like it had been cracked open and welded back together. The air felt cold against your skin, and your limbs were heavy with something thicker than exhaustion. You didn’t recognize the ceiling above you. Or the blankets. Or the quiet hum of whatever machine was still hooked to your wrist.

Your chest rose and fell in slow, careful movements. Every sound was louder than it should’ve been. Your breath. The faint creak of the floor. A heartbeat that might not even be your own.

There were fragments. Voices. Faces. Metal. Commands. Static.

But none of them made sense.

You sat up slowly, wincing as pain lit up every nerve. You reached toward your side and found nothing but the plain fabric of a hospital-style shirt. No weapon. No ID. Just you.

And then—

“Hey,” a voice called out from the doorway.

You turned toward it instinctively.

A woman leaned against the doorframe. black long-sleeve, boots still on like she hadn’t planned on staying. Her arms were crossed. But her eyes… her eyes were familiar.

Not from a photo. From something older. Deeper.

“You’re finally up,” she said.

You blinked at her.

She studied you for a moment, then her expression softened just slightly. The edge in her tone eased, replaced by something warmer. Still dry, still walled off, but not unkind.

“About time, soldier.”