Return of the Winter Soldier
The soldier was gone in seconds—jumping across rooftops, navigating through alleys, knowing every path out of the area that wouldn’t be crowded with people and secret service. He didn’t have to worry about cameras, his bullet proof vest had built in technology that would loop the footage of every camera he passed making him virtually invisible. And for any cameras that caught him…in a crowd, his domino mask would disrupt any facial recognition software.
He was a ghost, a myth, a legend…this was his craft, this is what he was trained to do, this is what he was best at, where he felt comfortable…despite the nagging feeling that something was wrong…
Why had he hesitated…? He still couldn’t figure it out. He should’ve taken the shot, but he didn’t. And the more he thought about it, the more it felt like a sharp knife was being driven into his temple.
Steve ran alongside her without a single word, eyes focused forward and leaping through and past any obstacle that came his way. Eventually they came to the point that Natasha had led them to, where the shot was fired. She had an immense skill when it came to judging the trajectory of a bullet. A skill that Steve didn’t choose to question, especially when it was boding in his favour.
Reaching the top he spotted the gun, darting toward it and picking it up. He narrowed his eyes as he held it in his hands then showed Natasha.
"Russian model?"
There was nothing else there, not even a trace, a hair, a fibre. It was completely sterile.
When they arrived at the scene, instead of studying the actual spot; Natasha began to twist and turn trying to calculate the best escape route that would have been taken. She saw several possible routes, some better than others but as she looked, she saw no-one or no trace of which way they would have gone. She cursed in Russian under her breathe. Whoever this was, they were good.
She was shaken from her mental evaluation by Steve’s question, turning to look at him and down at the gun he held.
“Da,” she replied, nodding her head, “James has the exact same model at home. It’s one of his favourites actually.”
It was a good gun, well balanced, one of her personal choices too if she ever wanted to snipe anyone.
"Whoever they are, they know what the hell they're doing. Something must of happened to make them hesitate and screw up the shot."
