The Soldier was more impressed with the remaining 8 than he had been with the starting 28; they had weeded out the weakest, the worst of them. Ones that had no hope of carrying the honourable title of Black Widow. They had to have loyalty, be able to kill without hesitation. These 8 were good, but they needed the best. The Soldier was there to ensure that was what they received.
In the beginning, there had been one, who had impressed him over all; she had been quiet and skilled, though she kept it silent as her footsteps, only showing the true extent of her knowledge in fights. She was fast, strong, ruthless; the Asset had expected her to go the farthest, watched with thinly desguised interest as she fought the other girls and trainers. Valyeria.
Winter never fought her himself, but he made sure he was the one to end her life. It was a strange thing in his chest, the weakening of steel that heâd felt. Something stirred loose, released; he had taken her neck and head in his hands, felt nothing but the faintest tremble as she knew what was coming. She had met his eyes daringly, never looking away, never flinching.
The snap had been loud, and he could feel the shocks in his fingertips for moments afterwards.
He had taken Natalia after that, began training with her. She was the next best, and now top of the program, even with only 8 left. The best of them all, and she was more likely to become the Widow every day. Only once had he doubted her, metallic fingers curled around a delicate neck, bones beginning to crunch under his fist. Watching as the darkness entered the eyes, her breath leaving the body, airway stopped up.
He had no reason as to why heâd done it, and immediately following it they had reset him, until he was staring out and ready to comply once more. They made sure there was no weakness.
They hardly sparred in these roles, her attacking, and he defending. She was getting better, though he still moved faster, his dodges and movements more fluid. Well oiled, a machine moving exactly to code. But she unbalanced him (a flash of surprise here, and he was impressed, no mistaking that) and now had a chance to end the fight, to best him now.
Winter righted himself quickly, eyes calculating, cold and flashing. Honing in on this moment of weakness. A Widow who couldnât pull the trigger, couldnât throw the last punch, was useless. Silently he leapt at her, knocking into her stomach and grabbing her wrists, pining her under him. âWhy did you stop?â Winter growled, clearly displeased. Nearly angry.