"Time to get the Winter Soldier," Michael mumbled, his voice low and resolute.
He placed his palm on the laptop, and instantly, White Devil—his Symbiote—surged from his fingers in a stream of liquid, snaking into the machine. The screen flickered, then stabilized as White Devil bypassed the firewalls effortlessly.
First, into the SHIELD database.
Then deeper—into the encrypted remnants of HYDRA's hidden archives.
Lines of code blurred across the screen before locking onto something.
"Got him," Michael murmured.
Winter Soldier Detected: Active Record.
Last Known Location: HYDRA Siberian Facility—Classified Outpost.
Michael narrowed his eyes.
"HYDRA's Siberian facility…" he echoed.
White Devil's voice pulsed through the speakers. "Coordinates retrieved. Facility is dormant, but power fluctuations detected. Possible activity."
Michael grinned.
"Well then. I guess I'm going to Siberia."
He turned, snapping his fingers once. A maid stepped into the room, heels clicking softly on the marble floor.
"Prepare my luggage," he ordered, already pulling on his coat. "Cold weather gear. And make sure the jet's ready."
"Yes, sir," she replied, bowing slightly before hurrying off.
Michael glanced at the screen one last time, White Devil's glow still dancing across the interface.
"Let's see if the ghost of HYDRA still breathes…"
Michael pulled his hand back from the laptop, and the shimmering stream of his symbiote—White Devil—slithered out of the machine and reabsorbed into his arm.
Thirty minutes later, the jet was prepped.
Michael stepped out of the building, only to find Natasha already waiting for him near the sleek black car parked by the curb, arms crossed and expression unreadable.
"What are you doing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm your secretory, remember?" she replied coolly. "Where you're headed, I'm going too."
Michael gave her a dry look, but didn't argue. With a slight tilt of his head, he walked toward the vehicle.
Natasha smirked and followed without another word.
The car ride was silent but sharp with tension. Both sat in their own thoughts as the city blurred past the windows. When they reached the airstrip, Michael's private jet gleamed under the night lights, engines humming softly, ready for flight.
Michael stepped up first, entering the cabin without hesitation. Natasha followed a moment later, settling into the seat opposite his with the smooth grace of someone trained to make even silence feel intentional.
She glanced at him. "Siberia, huh?"
Michael just leaned back in his seat, eyes closing for a moment.
"Yeah… don't tell me you didn't pack something warm."
Natasha rolled her eyes, but didn't respond. Her expression was unreadable, though the corner of her mouth twitched like she wanted to say something but decided against it.
As the engines hummed and the jet cut across the sky, the silence between them settled into something less tense—quiet, almost peaceful.
She turned her head slightly, gazing out the window at the clouds drifting below.
Why Siberia? she thought.
Michael hadn't shared much, and that bothered her more than she cared to admit.
The next morning, the sun cracked over snow-blanketed mountains as the jet descended.
Smooth, clean.
Too quiet.
They had arrived.
Michael stepped out of the jet, boots crunching into thick snow. The Siberian landscape stretched out before him—endless white, cold, and silent. A vast wilderness blanketed in frost, untouched by time.
Most would call it a frozen wasteland.
Michael simply looked around, his silver eyes narrowing as he took it all in.
"White paradise," he murmured to himself.
The wind howled in the distance, but to him, it was peaceful—cleansing.
No glowing energy. No dramatic flight. This time, he blended in.
A parka zipped up, scarf snug around his neck, gloves on—he looked like any other traveler eager to see one of the world's forgotten corners. Just another well-funded adventurer come to brave the frost. That was the image, at least.
He headed toward the waiting vehicle, climbing in without a word. The driver, none the wiser, took him to a remote hotel nestled near the edge of the treeline. It wasn't luxurious, but it was fortified, warm, and—most importantly—isolated. The kind of place where tourists rarely asked questions, and secrets had space to breathe.
After checking in and leaving his gear behind, he stepped back outside, scanning the snowy horizon.
Natasha was already there, leaning against the car, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky. Her breath fogged in the air.
"You know this act doesn't fool me, right?" she said, nodding at his winter-clad appearance.
"Just playing the role," Michael replied coolly, adjusting his scarf. "Sometimes stealth works better than power."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "So now you're undercover as a snow-loving tourist?"
Michael smirked. "Tourists don't raise red flags. Soldiers do."
She crossed her arms, boots crunching as she followed him toward the woods. "And what exactly are you touring, Michael?"
He gave her a sidelong glance. "Let's call it... Soviet history."
For a brief moment, the wind picked up again—sharp and cold—but Michael kept walking, hands buried in his coat pockets. Behind him, Natasha glanced at his back, then followed silently.
Michael paused, his eyes fixed toward the north. After a second, he gave a small nod to himself before turning back slightly.
"Go back to the hotel," he said, voice low but firm. "From this point on, you won't be able to follow me."
As he finished speaking, two radiant wings—silver and white—unfolded from his back with a quiet burst of energy. In the next breath, he shot into the sky, vanishing upward like a streak of light.
Natasha watched his ascent, then smirked to herself.
"Oh, please."
With a casual shrug, she took a few steps back—and suddenly, two sleek wings extended from her own suit, folding out from her sides with a mechanical hiss.
She launched into the air after him, flying fast and steady.
Michael looked over his shoulder mid-flight, mildly surprised. "I see you came prepared."
Natasha pulled up beside him with a slight grin. "We knew you could fly. So Tony outfitted my gear with a few upgrades—just in case."
Michael gave a low chuckle. "Smart move."
They soared together across the frozen sky, two shadows gliding above the white paradise—toward whatever secrets lay buried in the Siberian north.
*******
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