' ' Perfect Enough To Break ' '

Return To The Game

"That last question?" he mused aloud, eyes flicking to the tablet on the desk like it amused him. "Perfect answer. Cold. Efficient. Clean. Just the kind of thing I'd expect from you."

I didn't speak.

He liked the sound of his own voice too much to need mine.

"You know," he continued, circling slowly, "there were doubts. Some thought you'd been... softened. Exposure to people like them. The Avengers. Stark's bleeding heart. Fury's constant speeches. Rogers' hopeless idealism." He gave a small, scoffing chuckle.

"And of course... him."

He was behind me now. I could feel his gaze pressing into the back of my skull. I didn't move.

"But that answer—'Remove the liability'—" Pierce's voice dropped a note, dark with satisfaction, "now that, Ace, that made me proud."

He stepped back into view, leaned a knuckle against the cold metal of the table, and watched me like a proud, cruel father whose favorite child had just passed some twisted test.

"I know what you're thinking," he said. "You think I'm here to debrief you. Or worse—punish you."

I didn't respond.

"But no. You came back on your own. That tells me everything I need to know. You remembered the truth before we had to carve it back into you."

He smiled again.

Control.

A flicker of heat burned behind my ribs, but I pressed it down.

He cocked his head. "Did you hesitate, Sova?"

His tone was almost gentle.

"Back in the alley... when you saw me—did a part of you wish I hadn't come?"

He was trying to dig.

Trying to make me flinch.

I met his eyes. "No."

He nodded like he believed me, even though we both knew I lied.

Then he took a slow breath, as if letting the moment soften. Like we were slipping into something more personal.

"You know," he said, circling back around the table again, "sometimes I wonder if you even remember the first time we met."

My eyes didn't follow him. But I heard the shift in his tone — warmer, syrupy, almost nostalgic. It made my skin crawl.

"You couldn't have been older than nine. Filthy. Scraped up. Stealing a gunmetal watch off a soldier's wrist in the slums outside Volgograd. You had no shoes. No plan. Just hands fast enough to make ghosts jealous." He chuckled, low and smug. "But what really caught my attention was that look in your eye. That blank, empty calm. Like the world could burn and you'd just keep going."

He paused in front of me again, and I felt the weight of his gaze settle there.

"You didn't have anyone," he went on, voice lowering, quieter now. "No family. No papers. No real name, even. You weren't living — you were surviving. And doing it damn well."

He tilted his head, as if remembering fondly.

"So I gave you a choice. Come with me. Let me make something of you. Or keep running until something faster caught you."

A slow, satisfied smile stretched his mouth.

"And you followed, like a shadow. Like you already knew. You were HYDRA's the moment you looked up at me."

The back of my neck prickled, but I didn't blink. Didn't breathe deeper. Didn't speak.

"We trained you, sure," he said, waving a hand slightly. "But the fire? The instinct? That was all you. We just helped shape it. Refined it. Gave you something to aim it at. Gave you purpose. Gave you value."

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping again.

"And you repaid it. Over and over and over. Because that's what you are. A weapon with loyalty programmed into the barrel."

My hands were still on the table, perfectly still. But my nails were digging into my palms.

He straightened again.

"And then there's now. You start playing hero. Wearing masks that don't fit. Getting attached." His voice curled around the word like a sneer.

"Did you really think they wouldn't flinch if they knew what you were built for?"

He paused just long enough for it to land.

"What you were made to be?"

I stared straight ahead, refusing to take the bait — but inside, something flickered. Old programming. Old doubts. Old truths in new shapes.

Pierce stepped back toward the door, speaking almost kindly now. Like a father giving advice.

"You don't have to pretend here. You don't have to explain yourself. You're not broken, Sova. You're perfected. And they'll never understand that."

He opened the door. Light from the hallway spilled in, casting long shadows across the room.

"One day you'll see it clearly again."

He glanced back, smile sharp and bright with possession.

"You always come home."