Weeks passed, and each day my hands were soaked in red. Eventually, the stains stopped washing away. My body ached constantly, I never gave my injuries time to heal.
I didn't slow down. Like a serial killer on a spree, I woke, killed, slept what little I could, and repeated the cycle. My team's worried words became background noise, drowned out by the screams of my victims. I no longer cared who saw the cruelty I inflicted. Somehow after returning, I became worse.
I stopped rationalizing the killing. No mercy. They were criminals. Who cared.
I remember stomping down on a man's head so hard my foot hit the ground after crushing through his skull. His blood and brain spattered across me like paint. I ripped a man's arm off and let him bleed while I waited for answers. I hurled others from rooftops and watched them splatter like insects on glass.
This is who I am. Maybe Hydra didn't create it, maybe they just unlocked what was already there.
One by one, I took back everything I'd lost during the blip, and more. My ranks swelled daily as people begged to join the clear winning side. Madripoor knew more about super soldiers now, thanks to Karli. By this point, everyone knew what I was.
But thanks to Zemo, who killed the only man who cracked the code, no one else could replicate us. The few Karli had made were supposed to be in prison. Correction: they're dead. Everyone just thinks they're locked away. I had nothing to do with that. I suspect it was the Power Broker. Whoever they really are, they weren't in Madripoor. Didn't matter. While they were gone, I burned through whatever I could of theirs.
Everyone in Madripoor knew it now: the Power Broker and the Crimson Queen were fighting for the throne. All they could do was pick a side and pray it was the right one.
I hadn't set up anything to watch Mira and Bucky yet. Better to wait until the power struggle was finished, less chance anyone connected us. With Sierra dead, people assumed Mira was hers and gone with her. Only a few close to me knew the truth.
Some days, I felt like I was losing my mind. I swore I could hear Mira, catch glimpses of her just out of reach. I told myself I had to bury those feelings. I needed to rebuild my empire. But at some point, I realized, I didn't have a reason to.
Mira was safe. Bucky was with her. Even if I finished here, I couldn't go back to her. And she could never return here. Not again.
So why am I doing this? Have I simply developed a taste for blood? Is that all I am now?
A killer.
I guess I have been for the last eighty years.
My moods swung wildly. In manic fits of rage, I ripped enemies apart. Then came days of immobility, lying in torment, asking myself why I kept going. The cruel truth always cut back through: I don't even think I can die.
After everything, how does someone like me die?
If I cut my head from my body, burying them separately, would that be enough? If I burned myself to ash, would I regrow from the dust like a phoenix?
I've been alive for more than a century and haven't aged a day since that damn serum.
What even am I?
Not a super soldier, not really. That woman Bucky had examine Mira said our powers came from one of the infinity stones. Something no one had ever studied. Something no one ever will, since they're gone.
So, unless I subject myself to those experiments again, I'll never know what I am. What Mira is.
Is it worth it? More importantly, could I do it again?
God knows how many years of hell Hydra put me through. Could I endure that once more just to find an answer?
Not that I really have a choice. I already said I wasn't going back. There's no way to reach that woman, or Wakanda, without Bucky. It's not like they've got an airport or a visa process. No one even knows exactly where the country is. That's why it's the most secure nation on earth.
So, I guess these are all just irrelevant hypotheticals.
I was thrashing on the floor of my room with these thoughts when one of my men interrupted. He brought word of a rumor: a genetic lab in Russia, trying to create superhumans again.
But different this time. They weren't using the old super soldier formula. They were pulling alien tech, rare compounds, things that hadn't even existed back then. Whatever they were building, it couldn't be good.
"You know where in Russia?" I asked, pushing myself up.
"Yes. They tried to order something from us, so we know the exact location."
I'd forgotten I'd set up that new network, a job board on the dark web for criminals. My way of employing specialists, selling Madripoor's goods nationwide, and keeping control of every moving part.
"Prepare the order. I'll deliver it personally."
After a long shower and a change into casual street clothes, I went down to the docks. In one of my warehouses, I picked up the order: a small silver bulletproof case that fit neatly in a standard backpack. Whatever this guy was building, he didn't need much.
I left Goliath and Roller in charge. Told them not to burn Madripoor down while I was gone. Half-joking. Truth was, I wouldn't care. The city was easy enough to rebuild, even after five years of dust. I'd still come out on top.
I boarded a boat to the mainland, then a small plane the rest of the way to Russia.