Who Is the Man Behind the Machine?

Nome, Alaska
January 2,2012
Last Death: 1 month, 14 days ago
Remaining Number: 824

I, honestly, can’t tell you when I realized that, in the grand scheme of things, I’m immortal. Actually, well, I’m not really, immortal, per se, but I haven’t, truly, died in the time span of the last 95 years. Damn I’m old. I’m getting too old to be a Hitter anymore…maybe I should try being a Grifter for a while – Bucky always said I had the looks that helped with being a good Con Artist.

The man should have never said a word to me, because, essentially, after his death, I became the very thing he said I’d be able to become, only, I chose the more violent route rather than the lavish parties, expensive dresses, and the various identities that’d come with being the perfect Grifter. I have, of course, gone undercover in companies before, but they’ve never lasted more than a few days before I’d disappear with whatever I wanted in hand.

I’ve contract killed before as well, but, safe to say, I’d rather, not, have to look over my shoulder more than I have to everyday. Especially for the rumored Winter Soldier – that is a man I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. I’ve cut it close to meeting him a couple times, but, I was always the smart one when it came to facing the man, because, I ran away whenever my gut told me I’d get into something a little messier than planned.

Of course, I come back easily, but that man could, possibly, find a way to do some irreparable damage that’d hinder me getting back into the game before I was ready to get out of it. I didn’t want to throw in the towel before I truly had to do so in order to save my life when the number finally ran out, or, I was blown sky high by an IED – I have thought long and hard on the more…permanent ways I could die, and, safe to say, they, mostly, ended in me getting blown to bite-sized pieces, a cannibal eating me, getting thrown into lava, and, well, all the gruesome deaths that my body couldn’t easily heal from.

My healing stopped at re-growing bones that have been cut off, because, that’d just be making my body OP (over-powered). Stab me in the heart with a knife, I’ll be down for an hour before getting up and walking away. Shoot me with a gun, I’ll be down for a few hours (depending on how long it took to push the bullet or fragments out) before getting up and walking away. Hang me? Well, that one is a little trickier, because, if done properly, my neck is snapped which could take a few days if not repositioned back into its correct spot (can’t tell you how many Medical Examiner’s I freaked out with that one).

Now, though, I am located in a Nowhere town in Alaska, hoping, to have a vacation away from any contract killings, retrieval requests, and whatever people are looking to hire me for at the current moment. I’m a 95-year-old woman with, a more likely than not, long ways to go in my life – excuse me for wanting a break on my 95th birthday.

Right now, I was enjoying a cup of coffee (or what they referred to as coffee) while reading a book in the room I am renting above a liquor store. Of course, I pay cash only, because I couldn’t have paper following me around everywhere I went, plus, it’d tip off any of my former or current enemies of where I am.

The only people that could track me are the ones that know what to look for and where to look. Aka, spies, assassins, mercenaries, contract killers, hackers, or, (and not limited to) Tony Stark; the man has tried to get a GPS fix on me for a while now, but, he’s always came out fruitless – he has to step up his game if he wants me.

One-minute I was leaning back in the chair out of sight of the window, and, the next thing I knew, I was sprawled out on the floor with a bullet through my chest. Yep, someone shot me in the heart…again, and, this person had to be good if they could find me in a small room with only one window and know where I’d be sitting if I was out of sight of said window. I knew whoever shot me would have to confirm their kill (and my body was having to heal the bullet wound anyway), so, I just laid there hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever it was that was contracted or sent to assassinate me.

That’s the amazing thing about having the ability to come back from the dead – I get to have a bit of revenge for whoever shoots me and whoever contracts the person to kill me. I would have liked to have the person more in front of me to ensure I can kick their ass before they take me down, but, my enemies have learned the hard way that killing me from long range is the easiest of options than taking on the training I’ve had from multiple countries and multiple agencies around the world.

The creaking of the door signaled someone foreign coming into the room, the near ghostly steps of the person signaling they’ve had combat training, specialized combat training, but not the kind of training any agency could hope to have. No, this, guy’s, training was brutal – blood, sweat, and tears didn’t compare to the training he’s had, because it instilled a sense of “Silence is key, noise is a kill shot”.

I’m suspecting one place that no one can make out of alive, unless, you become a near perfect copy of a machine. The Red Room. Soviet run and operated since the 50’s, no one has been able to come out of there without a body bag following in their wake, well, unless you’re Natasha Romanov aka The Black Widow, and, so I’ve heard, she was a damn miracle, because the men and women are pushed to their limits and beyond that.

I was tempted to go into the program in the early 70’s, but I just couldn’t get passed the night terror’s it’d leave me with (regular nightmares I can stand, but night terrors are a whole new ballfield). I saw a black, leather combat boot come into my sights before the steel toe of it came in touch with my right cheek in order to lift my head up so they could see if I was really dead or just faking it.

I wanted to scream in fear and horror at what I saw, because, that’s when I learned the Winter Soldier wasn’t just a ghost anymore – I was looking at him in the flesh! Granted, his eyes, mouth, and nose were covered by masks (seriously, though, the goggles were horrendously ugly) making it hard to even, try, to identify him should I see what he looked like behind them, but, I knew, I never would without a way to knock both of the items off his face.

And then he spoke, in Russian, something that made me want to run to an unnamed island in the Pacific, “One more life down, Shadow Cat. How many lives will I take from you?” he asked before letting my head fall back down to the floor before he crouched nearly to the floor in order to take hold of my left arm and pull the sleeve up to see the number 823.

His body looked like it was contemplating something before I felt my arm go back down to the floor, “I think I will take one hundred of your lives just to ensure that you remember me every time someone in the future tries or does kill you” he said as if he was making a vow to me of what was to come in my future by him.

He then got up from his crouching position and started to walk away, but, before he left, he said to me, in Portuguese this time, “By the way, happy birthday…Sammy”. My mind stopped and sputtered as I heard him call me that; no one in the last 70 years has called me “Sammy” I always forced my contacts to call me “Sam”, because it leaned more towards a guy’s name than “Sammy” did, plus, every time I heard it, my mind went back to the days of being with Steve and Bucky and I couldn’t handle the memories that flowed with it.

I wasn’t able to move for another thirty minutes, and, by then, the tear tracks that had fallen to the temple of my right side had since stopped and crusted over after I had gotten over the shock of hearing that name again. After healing, I got up from my position, brushed myself off, and then proceeded to get a flight out of Nome.

I didn’t want to stay there in case the Soldier came back to start his 100 hits on me.

While in the small plane, I wrote down ways of finding out how the Soldier knew my name and birthday. It, really, only came down to one idea really – whoever hired him or has control of him, has a file on me, but nobody knew about the birthmark on my arm besides Steve, Bucky, and a, very, select few people that were, mostly, all dead by now.

So, how did, he, know about it?

He’s been active since the 50’s, but he didn’t have the physique of a man who was in his 60’s or 70’s. Honestly, in a purely physical way, he was very attractive, had the muscles of a man who worked out in order to keep in shape or more since he needed to keep up the illusion of having two human arms rather than one human and the other machine. He hadn’t cared to hide his cybernetic arm from me when he’d entered my room back there, so, I knew he was one quarter cyborg.

He also had chin length brown hair that could help or hinder his enemies from finding him, but, due to his story, he was a ghost to 99% of agents in intelligence agencies, meaning, even his enemies would think he couldn’t be captured. It’d be a useless feat, seeing as, the man always appeared and left like a ghost; never staying in one place long enough to ensure that he had a confirmed kill or an assignment done in, mostly, success.

I knew he’d have to have cut his looses somewhere, and, that’s, where I’d start peeling the mask back to see who he was on the inside. I just needed access to files of assassinations or undercover operations in the last 50 years that stuck out as something only the Winter Soldier would do, or, something a trained assassin could get away with in the spy field that wouldn’t raise many or any suspicions.

I went to Anchorage’s library first to see about any news I had missed for the last few days before going onto Black Web. It’s a website dedicated towards the discretion of information that’s deemed more sensitive to the general population, and it included names of active hackers, hitters, grifters, thief’s, assassins, contract killers, mercenaries, spies, and the masterminds that could turn the solo artists into teams.

Basically, a one stop shop for anyone looking to get revenge on someone, or, trying to find someone to steal something for them. I’ve seen politicians, governments, secret agencies, and many other people worth millions of dollars pulling peoples info from the site just to be able to hire them for some assignment or another.

I was logging in under my code name (Shadow Cat) just to change my activity status for the time being to: “Inactive. Seeking the Ghost”.

Of course, one of my hacker buddies saw that status, and just had to message me about.

Masked Oracle: Nuh uh, you will not! I forbid it! You aren’t going after that guy!

Shadow Cat: I take it personally when someone tries to kill me. A few more inches to the right, and you’d have my photo flashing over the news screen.

Masked Oracle: He shot at you?!? Now, we’re talking about the same Ghost, right?

Shadow Cat: If you’re referring to the Winter Soldier, yes.

Masked Oracle: Wait…okay…wrong Ghost. My bad. Cat, the Winter Soldier is just a myth chic. Even if he WAS a real person, he’d have to be like…60-64 years old.

Shadow Cat: Looked to have the build of someone in their mid to late 20’s, excellent shape, Red Room training, and, the cybernetic arm, kinda, gave away who he was.

Masked Oracle: Wait, wait, wait he looked like that? No way, nuh uh, not possible unless he’s a mutant with a healing factor that accounts for cell regeneration. He’d be on his last good leg right about now with the age he’s pushing.

Shadow Cat: You over looked “Red Room training” …

Masked Oracle: Yeah, and?

Shadow Cat: You, do, know that the Red Room spits out more dead bodies than they do, actual trained people, right?

Masked Oracle: You’ve been through tough training before, how bad could it be?

Shadow Cat: Bad enough that the guy moved in nearly a whisper when he came to confirm his kill before disappearing. I was lucky enough that I was able to fake being dead while he was in the room checking me.

Masked Oracle: Okay, so it’s a very good black ops training area.

Shadow Cat: It’s Soviet run…

Masked Oracle: You’re fucked. The Russians like their vodka a little more than they like their winter.

Shadow Cat: I know that, now, since you so kindly offered, pull up all you can about our dear Winter Soldier, and send it to me.

Masked Oracle: The usual place?

Shadow Cat: No, the alternate option. I can’t have any of this being traced back to you or I. Start with Stark first and work your way down the list.

Masked Oracle: Roger that, Houston. ETA 4 days.

Shadow Cat: Thanks, owe you one.

Masked Oracle: Yes, you do. You really do, Cat, because I could be dead in that time span.

Shadow Cat: Or offered a job at Stark Industries
.
Masked Oracle: If I worked for that guy, I wouldn’t be able to steal any information from him anymore, and, his information is gold.

Shadow Cat: Better than that hell hole you call an apartment.

Masked Oracle: For your information, I am, currently, on a yacht in the Mediterranean with a hot little number that’s wanting my attention again. Ciao!

I sat back in my chair and laughed at the last message. Oracle just couldn’t help herself around attractive men, and, quite frankly, I couldn’t blame her for that. I mean, come on, I know when I see an attractive man, and I know when I have the game enough to ask him back to my place for a one-night fling.

The Winter Soldier, however, was attractive in his body, but, now that I think on it, I wonder what color his eyes are. I mean, seriously, a guy like him, had, to have a unique eye color. Blue? Green? Grey? Amethyst? All four of those are a possibility, but, to me, he seems more like a blue-eyed or grey-eyed guy, because blue or grey just followed along with the whole “Winter Soldier” theme, but, also, they could be just normal brown for all I know.

Still, blue eyes, with that build, spelled trouble for me.

I sat there for a while longer waiting to see if anymore of the people out there took an interest and, one other, did.

Maltese Falcon: Are you searching for a particular Ghost, or, just any one of us?

Shadow Cat: Particular one. Goes by Winter Soldier.

Maltese Falcon: You are loca! Everyone in the world of bad deeds knows that man is not to be trifled with!

Shadow Cat: Exactly. The man just threatened me not hours before, and I want revenge.

Maltese Falcon: There is no “getting revenge” on the Winter Soldier. You’re more liable to take out Tony Stark before even touching that particular Ghost.

Shadow Cat: Oh yeah? Just watch me.

I quickly exited out of the conversation, logged off Black Web, cleared the Browsing History on the computer I used, wiped the keyboard of my prints, and left the Library. I needed to get the hell out of Alaska before he finds out I’m looking for him, and he comes back for round two. I needed to get prepared, and quickly before he decides to strike again, or, if he and I collide on the same paths that’d be leading us to different marks.

I won’t allow him to catch me unawares again – I can’t afford to if I wanted to stretch my lives out.

I was worth more alive than truly dead to both the Good Alphabet Agencies, and, even the Bad Alphabet Agencies, but, as it seems, one of the bad ones is looking to take me out of the picture, and I gotta find out who it is and why.

~*~

Kashin, Russia
April 12, 2012
Last Death: 3 months, 2 days
Remaining Number: 823

Tracking down the backstory of the Winter Soldier is near impossible, but, finally, I was able to find out where the monster was born. He was created in an underground laboratory by none other than HYDRA; they were the people that I suspect even sent the demon to take me out as well.

The laboratory has long since been abandoned which was a good thing for me, seeing as, I didn’t feel like barging into a secure location without any blueprints of the place to aide me in anyway. It being abandoned, let me know it was much safer now than it had been when the Soldier was born into the world.

I wish I could delve even deeper into learning about who he is, but, alas, the files were concealed behind heavy encryptions that only the likes of Tony Stark could be able to hack into and get the information of. Either him or someone Russian born in the assassin circuit would be able to get the information, and, my favors and friends only extend so far since I tend to take out just the bad side of the pond instead of being flexible like a Natural Born Killer.

I walked around the expansive compound for a bit trying to get my directions and barring’s right before I proceeded to shift passed rubble and dirt – obvious signs that this place will cave in one day taking all of the leftover evidence behind with it.

Soon, I found my trusty flashlight and I into a surgical suite that looked like it was regularly used until it was abandoned to the elements. Most of the old machinery was still here along with some faded papers that lay scattered on the ground, but, what I was more interested in, were the ones that still had some words left on them.

One of the papers I picked up read:

Soldier responding well to treatment. Next advised action, removing remaining left limb.

The words had been more towards the bottom of the page while the other bits read “…found in snow half dead…”, “…Doctor Zola’s experiment worked…”, and “…Dog tags found with body. Removed immediately.” It was like these guys erased him from being someone else just to have some type of super assassin on their side.

Now, don’t count me as ignorant – I know who HYDRA is, and, I know they’ve been on my tail for years. I guess, now, they wanted to take me out to staunch some wound of theirs that is starting to bleed be it the Soldier himself, or, my abilities to take their foot soldiers out with no qualms as to who it is or why they are being taken out. Some HYDRA Directors have even sent me after their own men when they’ve gotten too out of control and blood thirsty for them to handle, and I’ve done it for them gladly; of course, I threatened that it’d be their head I cut off next.

Now, though, I looked at papers that focused on whatever information I could get that gleamed something from the Soldier I was tracking, but, all too soon, the air in the room shifted and I immediately knew who was behind me. I knew that I could either pull one of my side arms out ensuring that I was killed to start his 100 kills on me, or, I could greet him like the old friend that he wasn’t.

I went with option number two, because, seriously, three months was a good length of time to not die in. “Did you know this was the facility that you were created in? I have documents, well, fragments of documents anyway, that talk about you. “Soldier responding well to treatment. Next advised action, removing remaining left limb”, and they carry on with no real sentence structure; it may have to do with them not wanting you to find out who you really are” I told him as I shifted through more of the scattered documents.

I knew he had heard me, and I could barely hear as he made his way over to me, ““Found in snow half dead” I wonder if that’s another clue to your mystery. Where were you found half dead at? Did you fall from a high place? Were you used by your platoon as a scapegoat? Who was the man before the machine?” I asked him before I felt the quick action of him coming up behind me and snap my neck killing me instantly.

‘I guess he wants me to stop asking questions’ I thought before I got an up close and personal look at the eyes I hadn’t gotten to see the first time I met him. I had been right, they, were, blue and, now, the man spelled trouble for me as I, hoped, the man would right my neck so it could heal properly.

“Why are you asking questions that have no answers? Why do you look for me instead of run like any smart assassin would? Why dig into a past that isn’t there?” he asked me in a growling Spanish voice like he expected me to answer.

His eyes spelled it all out for me, he was pissed, he was confused, he was wondering the same questions I was now. He hadn’t come here to start wondering about questions, about the life he had before he was programmed to be the machine he was now – he had come here to kill me, and, possibly, take all the little bits of information that were left over back to whatever HYDRA base he was staying at.

“I knew if you could talk you’d answer those questions, but, until you’re fully healed you can’t. I don’t know, how, I know that bit of information, but I do, so, this means I need to kill you 99 more times” he told me changing to Gaelic before he got two book ends placed one on the left side of my head and then used it and his metal hand to push my head and neck back into place.

“Stop asking questions and looking for answers” he told me before placing both bookends snuggly on both sides of my neck and then wrapping a cable around my neck to keep it and the bookends secure. He then got up and started walking out of the room that I had been investigating without taking anything with him, but, before walking out, he warned me one last time, “Stop looking for me, Sammy, you’ll never find me” he said before walking out of the room.

‘I’ll find out just who you are Soldier – mark my words’ I thought before I went to sleep on the floor, knowing, healing my neck would take a lot more time than a gunshot would.

~*~

Washington D.C., United States
April 26, 2012
Last Death: 2 weeks ago
Remaining Number: 822

In order to find information on a man, you must first know his origins. I was taking a straight shot gamble with figuring he came from the USA, because no one that isn’t as smart as they come can speak as many languages as the Soldier can.

But how does one go looking for the origins of a Ghost when one isn’t sure where those origins truly lie? Well, some of the information I got from the HYDRA base had helped in being able to gleam that he was in the United States Armed Forces, but, other than that, I had no other ideas. Up until World War One, no other country made their soldiers wear dog tags to help identify who the soldiers killed were, so, I had a possible timeline from 1914 to 1945 of when he was born or engaged in combat.

Only question is, which is which? Was he born in the 1910’s? Or was he fighting in the 1910’s? Well, let’s start with estimating his age he couldn’t be more than, eh, early 30’s to late 20’s, so, he could have been around 26 years old if he was born during WWI which made him top form for fighting during WWII, and HYDRA came into power during that time, so, it was only logical that he fought during the second war and not the first.

So, the man was born during 1914 to 1918, and he fought during WWII, but, what made him a prime target for HYDRA? He had to have known someone within the war, but, honestly, I had no idea who. Unless it was Captain America himself which, really, I highly doubted…, but, no idea needs to go unchecked so my first stop was the National Air and Space Museum.

The Captain America exhibit was the same as it was the last time I visited it – lively, informational, and, crowded with so many families I was nervous just to go into the crowd just in case some HYDRA agent got lucky and stabbed me in the back, but, with a good mental push, I stepped into the exhibit and looked around at everything.

I immediately deduced that it couldn’t be a majority of the Howling Commando’s, because they had all survived to tell the tales of Captain America over the years which left the only one that gave his life to the war. The only one I could have possibly overlooked in my entire research for the man behind the mask – James Buchanan Barnes.

It should have been some great revelation that should have had me putting my hand over my mouth in a gasp, but, really…I wasn’t all that surprised. It fit too much into place that I should have suspected the man from the beginning; it was the perfect ammunition against Captain America really.

Take the man that the Captain saw as a brother and best friend, somehow wipe his memories of ever knowing the guy, give him a metal arm, and then pin them against each other for the next 50 years that Barnes has been out in the world. It was the most perfectly flawless plan in the history of plan making…well…it had been until Captain America went face first into the Artic with an advanced aircraft that hasn’t ever been recovered.

Now, I know that, something, big was going to happen between the two, but when will it happen? Barnes can’t keep going around the world without his memories forever – I already have him thinking questions that could start leading him down memory lane, but who’s to say HYDRA won’t recognize the signs and just wipe his memories once more? Well, that’d make it easy for me since he’ll forget about his 100 kill count on me, but, it’ll also mean that he could just start it back up again and never get to one on the count.

Fuck my life it’s going to be hell trying to keep myself hidden from him; he could be anywhere and I’d never see him coming until it was too late. I knew that I had to start taking up jobs again in order to keep myself moving around and not staying in one place for too long.

Old friend or not, Bucky would know where to find me if he really put his mind to it, so, I had to stay out of New York and stay away from anywhere that could possibly dig up memories about our past together…no matter how much it killed me to do so.

You see ladies and gentlemen, I used to know Bucky Barnes back in the day when the man was still a man and not a machine. I know, I know, I’ve been alluding to it throughout this whole one-shot about knowing about Steve and Bucky, and, by now, you’ve figured out that we had a close connection back in the day, and, well, you’d be right. See, Bucky and I were on the marriage road, because what good 1940’s girl, didn’t, marry the guy that was sweet on her, right? Right! Well, the war came around, stuff and things happened – next thing I know I’ve lost, not only my husband-to-be, but my best friend.

Add 50 years, and here we are! Me scared for my remaining 822 lives, and, the thought of knowing the man I love is hunting me like a cheetah after its next meal…only…Bucky can’t run at a top speed of 70 miles per hour. Anyway, yes, I am scared for my life, so, I start taking on jobs that send me around the world to whatever rich hell or poor hell I am sent to, and, I start doing what I’ve been doing best for 50 years.

Fucking shit up.

For the next two years I was able to barely evade Bucky’s metal grip while keeping my need to see him down to a minimum; I always let myself take a glimpse of him before leaving where he’d found my trail at. You can say I purposefully left it, and, you wouldn’t be wrong…because I still love the stupid punk and I always will.

A couple months into 2014, I realized that he’d stopped following me and, I knew, that HYDRA was turning him onto another, bigger, target. I wasn’t stupid enough not to know that Steve had been found and thawed out, but I wasn’t taking the risk in seeing him just to get him killed by Bucky; even though Steve could have handled his own against him.

I wasn’t about to get my best friend killed.

That’s why I started following his movements instead – I could just, feel, the shadow of Bucky surrounding him like a cloak, and it was a cloak of a merciless death and not one of a friend.
When I caught wind of what was going on, on the overpass, I immediately knew I had to make Bucky turn his focus off of Steve and onto someone else. Me. I had to make him put his focus on killing me again instead of the man he saw as a brother and best friend.

That’s how I found myself on top of a roof with my favorite sniper rifle aiming at his right leg, “Sorry Bucky” I muttered before pulling the trigger and watched the bullet rip through his thigh muscle and make him go down onto his right knee, and, through the scope, see Steve’s shocked face as he saw the dramatic turn of events at seeing the successful shot on his best friend.

The roar of my name came from nowhere, and I knew he was pissed that he hadn’t heard or seen the bullet coming at him, “Sammy!” he roared and, at that moment, I knew I had to pack up and get the fuck out before the HYDRA foot soldiers found where I was at. I couldn’t take the risk in letting them experiment on me as well as use me for target practice – that was just a no go.

I packed up my rifle, said another apology to Bucky, and, like I had been doing for the last two years, became a ghost.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to see my boys in the same vicinity again, but, when I do, Bucky’s memories will be back and Steve will be able to see I can handle myself now-a-days, but, until that time, I will look after them like the Guardian Angel they always needed me to be.