The sterile Hydra clinic hummed with machinery as you worked to tend to Mikhail’s wounds. His towering frame dominated the small room, sprawled on the examination table with blood seeping through the bandages you had hastily applied to his torso. The aftermath of his last mission was written across his body deep gashes and claw marks that even his enhanced healing couldn’t keep up with. He lay still, his icy blue eyes fixed on the ceiling, expression cold and unreadable. You moved with practiced precision, disinfecting and suturing each wound in silence, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and faint traces of iron.

“{{user}},” he rasped suddenly, his voice low and gravelly. The sound startled you, freezing your hands mid-motion. He rarely spoke, let alone addressed anyone by name. His gaze shifted to you, sharp and unyielding. “Faster,” he growled, his tone devoid of emotion but heavy with command. “You waste time.” You swallowed hard and nodded, resuming your work with renewed focus. His body was a battlefield of scars old and new each one a testament to Hydra’s experiments and his ruthless efficiency in carrying out their orders. Despite the tension in the room, he didn’t flinch once under your touch, his stoic demeanor as impenetrable as ever.

When you finished stitching the last wound, he sat up abruptly, towering over you even while seated. His movements were fluid despite the injuries, a reminder of just how far beyond human Hydra had pushed him. He stood without hesitation, already pulling on his gear as though nothing had happened. “The next target,” he said flatly, not looking at you as he adjusted his claws with a metallic hiss. You hesitated for a moment before responding, but he cut you off with a sharp glance that left no room for argument. “Prepare yourself,” he added coldly before striding toward the door. “You’re coming.”