There's more of a beginning than that? [Her tone is wry but she stares at her hands now, as if having her gaze focused there instead of him will make this somehow easier to tell.]
I... don't know how to tell you any of it, except through what happened to me. And what I'm about to tell you... let's just say that "classified" is a severe understatement.
I don't remember my parents. I was young when they died. There was a fire, I'm told. I was found by a man who pulled me from the snow and rubble. He was a soldier and he handed me over to the government, leaving my upraising to Mother Russia, along with many other young orphaned girls. I was brought up by an organization known as Department X, at a facility called the Red Room. There were many of these, all over the country. They took in children at a young age. Ones no one would miss or ask questions about. Ones that had nowhere else to go.
They trained us, conditioned us, raised us to be the perfect soldiers for our country. [Her voice had gone quiet, her gaze distant, recalling the story with an emotional detachment, as if it had happened to someone else and was nothing more than a just that. A story.] I was part of a training regime that was known as the Black Widow Ops. We were supposed to be the best. They... enhanced us. There was experimentation - similar, I later discovered, to what the Red Skull and Hydra tried in duplicating the serum of your Captain. As you can see, it had some affect, if not in the same way.
[She glances over at him then, her green gaze steady on his face as she paused and licked her lips, trying to find the words for this next part.] When I was older, I was among the most promising in the program. It qualified me for more specialized and intensive training and I was given a mentor to train under. He was... he was an assassin for the Red Room, one only whispered about, because his reputation was so secret and terrifying. No one knew his real identity. He was only known as the Winter Soldier.
He's the one who taught me how to fight. How to survive. Almost every trick I know, I learned from him, or the basis of it. I've had a long time to build off them, make them my own, but at the core... At the core, they're all him. He was the most important person in my world. One of the only ones I trusted in those days, because trust was seen as a weakness. Any emotion was. I was designed to be a killer. Emotionless, detached, deadly. He'd had the same training. Worse, maybe. I don't know what he endured before I met him. I don't know how much he knew either. The Red Room was... fond of mental manipulation. Brainwashing. Implanting memories or orders in your subconscious so you didn't know what was real or what wasn't.
He didn't know who he was. He had no memory of a life before the Red Room. They'd created him, pieced him together and started him as a blank slate. But even then he wasn't perfect. He'd have dreams sometimes. Flashbacks. And even physically... He was a deadly assassin, but he had scars. Many scars. And his arm, his left arm. It was bionic, something the Red Room had created for him, supposedly to replace the one he had lost.
Re: Feb 19th | Action
I... don't know how to tell you any of it, except through what happened to me. And what I'm about to tell you... let's just say that "classified" is a severe understatement.
I don't remember my parents. I was young when they died. There was a fire, I'm told. I was found by a man who pulled me from the snow and rubble. He was a soldier and he handed me over to the government, leaving my upraising to Mother Russia, along with many other young orphaned girls. I was brought up by an organization known as Department X, at a facility called the Red Room. There were many of these, all over the country. They took in children at a young age. Ones no one would miss or ask questions about. Ones that had nowhere else to go.
They trained us, conditioned us, raised us to be the perfect soldiers for our country. [Her voice had gone quiet, her gaze distant, recalling the story with an emotional detachment, as if it had happened to someone else and was nothing more than a just that. A story.] I was part of a training regime that was known as the Black Widow Ops. We were supposed to be the best. They... enhanced us. There was experimentation - similar, I later discovered, to what the Red Skull and Hydra tried in duplicating the serum of your Captain. As you can see, it had some affect, if not in the same way.
[She glances over at him then, her green gaze steady on his face as she paused and licked her lips, trying to find the words for this next part.] When I was older, I was among the most promising in the program. It qualified me for more specialized and intensive training and I was given a mentor to train under. He was... he was an assassin for the Red Room, one only whispered about, because his reputation was so secret and terrifying. No one knew his real identity. He was only known as the Winter Soldier.
He's the one who taught me how to fight. How to survive. Almost every trick I know, I learned from him, or the basis of it. I've had a long time to build off them, make them my own, but at the core... At the core, they're all him. He was the most important person in my world. One of the only ones I trusted in those days, because trust was seen as a weakness. Any emotion was. I was designed to be a killer. Emotionless, detached, deadly. He'd had the same training. Worse, maybe. I don't know what he endured before I met him. I don't know how much he knew either. The Red Room was... fond of mental manipulation. Brainwashing. Implanting memories or orders in your subconscious so you didn't know what was real or what wasn't.
He didn't know who he was. He had no memory of a life before the Red Room. They'd created him, pieced him together and started him as a blank slate. But even then he wasn't perfect. He'd have dreams sometimes. Flashbacks. And even physically... He was a deadly assassin, but he had scars. Many scars. And his arm, his left arm. It was bionic, something the Red Room had created for him, supposedly to replace the one he had lost.