I had that god-awful mansion redone, sold off the obnoxious décor, stripped away the gold and the flashy colors. Everything was redone in tasteful black and silver. I figured it matched the city's colors best. It only took me a week to screen everyone working there and prepare the place for Mira.
Once again, I took Sierra with me. She wasn't strong or particularly good in a fight, but she was the only person I trusted to leave Mira with. Most people mistook Mira for her daughter anyway. That worked in our favor, kept unwanted attention away.
Over the next year, I worked tirelessly to expand and monopolize the empire. His arms trade had primarily focused on basic guns, standard, run-of-the-mill. I expanded. I negotiated new contracts with all his former suppliers, convincing them to provide more, military-grade artillery, higher-quality shipments.
But it still wasn't enough.
So, I turned to the competition.
My linguistic skills came in handy. People preferred dealing directly with the one in charge rather than a translator. Unfortunately, this plan pissed off a few rivals. Arms dealers don't like it when you poach their suppliers.
By then, though, I had my own small empire. Enough men to keep them at bay. Besides, rumors spread, stories of me being an indestructible super soldier. That took away the element of surprise, but it instilled something better: fear.
No one was stupid enough to take me head-on.
As I suspected, power is everything here.
There were a few assassination attempts. All failed. I was trained by Hydra to be an assassin, it would be laughable if I couldn't see one coming.
Each attempt ended the same way: they were captured and interrogated. I still wasn't used to that part. Every time, it brought flashes, of myself, bolted to a chair, screaming. But weakness wasn't an option. Not here. Not anymore.
If I showed weakness, I'd be swallowed whole. I'd become prey again.
I became close acquaintances with a man who went by "Roller." I still don't understand the name, but he was good at what he did. Ex–special forces. He'd carried out black ops for the government, doing the dirty deeds no one wanted to hear about. Things they later pinned on him like he wasn't following orders. He fled here, and now he works for me.
He handles the "interrogations." And I use that word loosely.
I still flinch when I hear the screams. The pleading.
When they cry out "Just kill me," I see Bucky's face, the day he remembered too much. The day he begged me for death, the only salvation he saw.
Once Roller got what we needed, we returned the survivors, in a variety of states. Twice, I had to fire back after those attempts. They got too close to Mira.
It wasn't hard. I wiped out the competition. Took their wealth. Their power. Everything.
The thought occurred to me to ease off the bloodshed. Maybe I didn't need it anymore. I never wanted my little girl to see her mother like this, or worse, to become like me.
But every time I tried to walk away, they swore vengeance. That's when I realized: leaving them alive was not mercy.
It was torture.
There was no room for mercy like that.
Continuing this path of sin, my ledger dripped a trail of red behind me, staining each step. The faces of the dead flashing in my mind. I remembered the words of that old man:
"I carved my empire's name in blood. Time it washed away."
Would the blood ever wash off me?
Is this what he felt?
He built his empire for his family. But in the end, he wasn't heartbroken by their deaths.
They had become versions of himself, bathed in the blood of the men he killed. Reborn as monsters.
If I keep going like this, will that happen to her too?
Can I stop it?
How?
These thoughts rattled in the back of my mind, constant, gnawing.
It was 2016. Mira was two years old, and god, she was strong. A child of two super soldiers, no doubt. She'd throw tantrums, slam her little fists and shatter marble floors. Once, she threw a dresser across the room like it weighed nothing.
I worried for Sierra. But she was still the only person I trusted. She understood what I wanted Mira to learn, kindness, compassion, love, mercy… hope.
During the renovations, I built a greenhouse garden, somewhere Mira could see beauty in the world. She loved it. It was her favorite place. She would light up when we arrived… and cry when we had to leave.
She was a quiet kid mostly. Oddly quiet. She always seemed like she was looking through you sometimes, as if she knew more.
One sunny afternoon, I came home and scooped my baby girl from Sierra's arms. We went to our room. Yes, I still shared a room with her. I think I always will.
I flicked on the TV. The mansion had better cable now, access to pretty much any channel. As I flipped through, looking for cartoons, I paused on a U.S. news channel.
A bombing at the U.N.
Vienna.
Several dead, including the king of Wakanda.
I'd heard of Wakanda in passing, but didn't know much. My first thought? There'd be a shift in the weapons market. Terrorism always causes a ripple. People want weapons. And I'd give them what they wanted.
I reached for my phone, then I froze.
They named a suspect.
James Barnes. The Winter Soldier.
My eyes shot back to the screen. A grainy image, some parking garage security feed. His face plastered across the world.
Impossible.
He's not dumb. If Hydra had him do something like this, they would never let his face out. Even if their power's been decimated after the data leak years ago.
They would never let him park in a damn garage. That's amateur.
And they always made him wear a mask after Howard Stark. Always.
Whoever is behind this? They did an okay job framing him. Good video likeness. But I know that isn't him.
So who's doing this?
And why?
I placed Mira in her crib and opened my laptop. There had to be something. Anything.
Eventually I found some information, he's been wanted since 2014, tied to the Hydra–SHIELD data leak.
But bombing the U.N. just to flush him out? No government's that dumb, or ballsey for that matter.
This was someone else. Someone personal.
I looked over at Mira, laying in her crib, hugging her doll.
If I find him… maybe I could bring him here.
But would he come? Would he even want to?
He probably doesn't even know about us. If he escaped Hydra, his memory's likely in pieces.
I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair, sighing deeply. Pinched the bridge of my nose, thinking.
I can't go after him.
If I leave, she won't be safe.
And I can't bring him here… not until, I'm sure.
"Everything okay?" Sierra asked from the doorway, bringing snacks for Mira.
"Yes, thank you. Just leave it on the table," I said, nodding to the coffee table.
She set the tray down, eyes flicking to the TV, still looping that image of Bucky.
"Isn't Hydra that organization you had me look up? That time there was the big data dump of government secrets?" she asked, her gaze shifting to me.
I picked up a knife from the desk, twirling it through my fingers. It helped calm me.
I didn't look at her. Just stared out the window.
"…Yeah," I mumbled.
She shrugged and left.
Sierra didn't know. About Hydra. About me. About Mira's father.
I trust her. I just never said the words out loud.
She probably figured it out on her own, my strength, Mira's, I'm sure she has put things together to some extent. Thinking back on it though, she never questioned anything since day one.
Just followed behind me, loyally, as if waiting for me to say it without her needing to ask. Or perhaps she just didn't care to know. She was raised here in Madripoor, asking those kinds of questions get you killed.
I turned to see Mira climbing out of her crib, dropping to the floor effortlessly. She scurried over to the tray, grabbed her bowl of fruit, plopped it on the couch, and started eating in peace. Like it was routine.
A smile tugged at my lips. She was perfection, brown pigtails tied with little bows, wearing her purple footie pajamas, happily snacking as the news played in front of her.
"Dada!" she yelled.
I froze.
"What? Mira, what did you say?"
I rushed over.
She pointed at the TV.
"Dada," She repeated.
No.
She couldn't know. She isn't even two. I never told her. Never showed her a picture. No one knows.
So how the hell does she know?