Scars and Origins

Chapter 1: Cold and Uncontrolled

She took a deep breath in, and replied, "A better question would be... what didn't they do."

~Earlier that day~

"They're a mercenary group that is threatening our national security," Coulson explained. "We need to know what they've already uncovered and where they're headed next. That's where you guys come in." He smirked at them with a purposeful sternness. Romanoff glanced at Barton where he gave her an approving nod. "So where are we going," she quizzed with a confident gaze. The mission was simple: Download the files from their mainframe onto a flash drive, and get to the extraction point.

They spent the 10 minutes after the debriefing gearing up and preparing for the trek ahead of them. Clint made sure to pack a satellite phone that connected to HQ in case of an emergency. Both agents declined jackets, insisting it would only restrict their movement. Coulson and the strike team explained where their target was, the outdoor layout of the building, and their extraction point. Not-so-conveniently, it was a two mile hike in, and a two mile hike out.

"Let's go," Natasha stated to the room full of agents, then turning to her partner, "Unless you are afraid of the cold," she playfully taunted. Clint followed behind her onto the helipad where their ride was waiting.

"Don't get an attitude or I'll throw you off the helicopter," Clint jabbed back with a wide grin as they boarded for their 6 hour flight.

After departing from the SHIELD helicopter, Clint and Natasha snuck up the mountain, avoiding boobytraps and pits that surrounded the hideout.They approached a dreary stone mansion perched at the hilltop, many guards were stationed with assault rifles strewn across their backs. The whole building was devoid of color, and icicles hung from every ledge. Undoubtedly, the watchtower looming at the side of the structure was intimidating, but nothing two master assassins couldn't handle. With bow in hand, Barton darted around the corner, Romanoff in tow. Their backs against the freezing stone, Romanoff pointed upward at a window about 4 feet above their heads. Barton lifted his partner up to the sill, where she scanned the inside. It looked like a guest room with beautiful wallpaper that shimmered. A quilt covered the bed with a golden and white metal frame. A small armoire sat against the opposite wall, matching the bed frame perfectly. With no effort at all, she noiselessly cracked open the window and slid inside. Barton shot an arrow just above the window frame that drew him up, just as a guard rounded the corner opposite. He closed the window and mentally thanked god there was heat flowing through the space.

When he turned, Natasha was frozen with her arm extended in front of him. He stopped and drew an arrow, pointed at the door his partner seemed to be locked on, Romanoff with her pistol extended. He listened intently and heard what must have raised her alarm. Footsteps approaching. They swiftly crammed into a small closet to Clint's left, with almost no wiggle room. Natasha was white knuckling her gun and Clint was grasping his belt where he kept his throwing knives. He watched her face and could tell she was worried they had been compromised. But the footsteps never entered the space they were in. They breathed a sigh of relief. "Dammit," Clint silently mouthed as he motioned for them to keep going.

Skillfully, they exited the closet and entered the hallway. Expensive looking paintings hung on the walls and there wasn't a soul in sight. They jogged down the hall to the control room that was made exceedingly obvious by a steel door, unlike the lavish rest of the property. They needed a key card to enter. Hiding behind a bookcase that sat to the left of the door, they waited for someone to open the door to make their move. A man left, and they slunk in, keeping close to the wall. One tall man with black hair had their back to them.

"Agents Romanoff and Barton, is it? Come in, come in," he baited, with a light French accent. The SHIELD agents looked down at their chests to find several red dots aimed. The ring leader smirked at them deviously, and echoed, "Don't worry, I won't let them shoot you if you don't try to shoot me. Drop your weapons. All of them!" The man finally turned to face them. His face was riddled with confidence. Green eyes and dimples made him look less threatening than Clint and Natasha would've imagined. But there was a darkness behind his facade that they both could see right through. They complied with the mans demands, placing a bow, quiver full of arrows, three pistols, four rounds of ammunition, eight knives, one taser, and three flash bangs onto the floor in front of them. Barton clicked the panic button on his satellite phone as he threw it to the floor. Just then, four guards simultaneously electrocuted and handcuffed them. "You know where to put them," the boss said to his heavily armed cronies.

They were taken down three flights of stairs and thrown in a small, cold, and barren cell with an iron gate. The guards locked the door, engaged a motion-detecting alarm surrounding the cell, and started to walk away, laughing at them. "Wait, what if I need to go to the bathroom," Clint yelled after them sarcastically. Natasha chuckled at the stupidity of his remark. "Shut up," she asserted, then she whispered, "What's our play?"