"No shit.." Erik muttered, his voice laced with annoyance and surprise. "Captain fucking Russia?"
The Russian man smirk grew wider, his broad shoulders lifting in a display of pride. "Ah, so you've heard of me." He said, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction.
But then, as if struck by a sudden realization. He snapped his fingers and exclaimed loudly. "Wait! That's not it!"
Clenching his fist dramatically, he puffed out his chest, standing tall. "I am the Red Guardian!" He declared, his voice booming with theatrical flair.
Raising his arm, he pointed his index finger toward the sky with exaggerated grandeur. "I am Mother Russia's first super-soldier!"
Erik paused, tilting his head as if trying to process the spectacle before him. His eyes scanned the man's red-and-white costume, complete with a star emblazoned on the chest and a shield gripped firmly in one hand.
"Huh...Yeah, whatever you say Red Captain... Guardian of Russia..." Erik muttered dryly, his tone laced with sarcasm. He crossed his arms, leaning slightly to the side as he gave the man an unimpressed once-over.
- Flashback - A Few Days Prior in an Office Somewhere in Russia -
Alexei Shostakov, better known as The Red Guardian, leaned forward in his chair, his hands gripping the edge of the desk that separated him from Dreykov.
"Dreykov, you sent me undercover as a data-input manager." He said, emphasizing each of the last three words as though they were a personal insult.
Dreykov, ever calm, barely raised an eyebrow. "Senior data-input manager." He corrected with a slight smirk. "Middle management isn't too shabby."
Alexei slammed a hand on the desk, making a small stack of papers jump. "FOR THREE YEARS! IN OHIOOOOO!" He bellowed, his hands flailing wildly in the air to punctuate his frustration.
Dreykov's expression didn't waver. He leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together. "A valuable assignment." He replied, his voice flat.
"Valuable?! Dreykov, I am Russia's first super-soldier! Captain America's rival!" Alexei jabbed a finger at his own temple willing Dreykov to understand his significance. "Rival? Ugh... no. More like... co-equal." Alexei continued, clapping his hands together for emphasis. "You know my worth, my talent! And yet..." He leaned back, crossing his arms with a dramatic pout. "Nothing. No missions since I came back!"
Dreykov sighed, his tone bordering on patronizing. "I'm waiting for the perfect, top-priority mission." He said, his voice deliberate and calm.
"HORSERADISH!" Alexei roared, slamming both fists on the desk now. "I'm no fool! I've heard the rumors... Whispers in the halls..." He lowered his voice, his tone conspiratorial as if recounting a ghost story. "You're sending widows on missions..."
Dreykov raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Widows on missions? I don't see what you're talking about."
"Dreykov.." Alexei said, shaking his head in exasperation. "Don't play dumb with me, when I am obviously smarter than you."
The tension was broken by the sharp trill of Dreykov's office phone. He turned away, lifting the receiver and speaking in hushed tones.
Alexei, glanced down at the desk and spotted a file sitting there. Without hesitation, he slid it off the desk and tucked it behind his back. His movements surprisingly nimble for a man of his size.
As Dreykov continued his whispered conversation, Alexei leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance while his fingers gripped the file tightly.
A few minutes later, Dreykov hung up the phone with a deliberate click, his gaze shifting back to Alexei.
His expression was a mixture of amusement and condescension. As though he were addressing a particularly dense child. "So, widows' missions?" Dreykov said, his tone syrupy and patronizing. "Listen, we're all a team here. A family." He leaned forward slightly, his hands steepled on the desk. "Don't be mad that your sisters have their own missions... Just celebrate them, huh?"
Alexei squinted at Dreykov, his face twisting into an exaggerated look of disgust. "Huh!" He snorted as he stood up, his imposing frame towering over the desk. "Maybe it's time for the Red Guardian to spread his wings! To go somewhere that will appreciate my skills!"
His voice rose with every word, his tone reaching a theatrical crescendo. He slammed his fist onto the desk for emphasis, making papers scatter. "CELEBRATE THAT, DREYKOOOV!" He roared, his arms spread wide in dramatic flair.
Dreykov didn't flinch. He leaned back in his chair, his expression as unmoved as stone. "What are you going to do, huh? Submit an application to S.H.I.E.L.D.?" He asked, the corners of his mouth curling into a mocking smirk.
Alexei's chest puffed out as he straightened his back, his face set with grim determination. "Then the Red Guardian shall demonstrate his value!" He declared, staring off into the distance as though imagining a triumphant fanfare in his honor. "Once again!" He added, his voice swelling with pride.
"Alright." Dreykov muttered, rolling his shoulders with a sigh, looking at Alexei as if he were observing a particularly persistent mosquito. His tone was dry, the patience in his voice threadbare.
After Alexei stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him with an echoing thud.
Dreykov's gaze instinctively dropped to his desk. His eyes scanned the surface, narrowing when he noticed the absence of the file that had been there moments earlier.
He began tapping his index finger against the polished wood, the rhythmic sound filling the silence of the room as his mind churned.
'The Red Guardian…' Dreykov mused silently, his lips curling into a faint scowl. A monument of the past. A relic.
He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly as he exhaled a long, tired sigh.
Alexei was everything Dreykov despised in an operative: Unpredictable, brash, unwilling to follow orders without question. What use was a super-soldier if they couldn't obey mindlessly?
Russia doesn't need symbols anymore. Dreykov thought with cold certainty.
It doesn't need hope. It needs soldiers. Killers. Tools. He tapped his finger harder against the desk as the idea solidified in his mind.
Soldiers who wouldn't hesitate. Who would kill or even take their own lives at a single command.
"If only we could control the mind completely." Dreykov muttered under his breath, his voice a low growl laced with frustration.
He stared blankly at the empty spot on his desk, his thoughts spiraling deeper.
The idea of perfect obedience, of absolute control, tugged at him like a tantalizing promise just out of reach.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk as his fingers steepled together.
His expression darkened, the wheels in his mind turning faster. To Dreykov, Alexei Shostakov was nothing more than a shadow of an era long gone. And a shadow always end-up disapearing.
Lost in his thoughts, Dreykov smirked faintly.
- Back to The Present -
"Huh...Yeah, whatever you say Mr. Red Captain... Guardian of Russia." Erik muttered dryly, his tone laced with sarcasm. He crossed his arms, leaning slightly to the side as he gave the man an unimpressed once-over.
The Red Guardian narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he took a step closer. "Your voice ?! You are not small man, you are small kid !" He barked, pointing at Erik like he discovered the biggest of secrets.
Erik sighed, taking out a a big phone from his pocket. "Yeah, I am fourteen." He said nonchalantly, approaching the communication device from his ear. "Death Dealer ? Mission completed. Retreat now. I'll join you later at the safe house."
"Hey! What do you think you are doing?" Bellowed Alexei with his russian accent, pointing an accusatory finger at Erik.
Erik barely flinched, his eyes flicking over to the towering figure of the Red Guardian. "Sorry 'bout that" He replied flatly, his voice laced with indifference as he lowered the phone from his ear and quickly hung up.
He slid the device back into his pocket, keeping his focus sharp as he assessed Alexei.
The sporadic gunfire sounds that had once filled the air had stopped, replaced by the distant wail of police sirens growing louder with each passing second.
Alexei groaned, raising a large, gloved hand to his forehead in a gesture of frustration. "Ugh! I came too late!" He muttered, his voice heavy with self-reproach. "If I'd protected Igor, I could've proven myself! To the party…my worth…once again."
He paused, his broad shoulders slumping as he glanced at the lifeless body of the widow sprawled on the ground. His eyes darted back to Erik, genuine curiosity flickering behind them. "How…how did you even manage to kill a Black Widow?" He asked, his voice tinged with defeat but laced with genuine bewilderment.
Erik tilted his head slightly, his response as nonchalant as his demeanor. "Luck ?" He said, the word rolling off his tongue effortlessly.
Before Alexei could respond, Erik's sharp instincts flared. His heightened senses picked up the faint sound of boots hitting the pavement—many boots.
The rhythm of their steps grew closer, multiplying rapidly. He murmured under his breath, barely audible. "Fifteen?… Maybe twenty?" His attention snapped to the alley entrance.
"Luck? Is that the name of some kind of super-secret assassin weapon?" Alexei asked, his booming voice breaking Erik's focus momentarily. His tone was filled with both amazement and a touch of absurd sincerity.
Erik's gaze shifted back to the man briefly, his thoughts betraying his calm exterior.
This guy is an idiot.
He didn't bother responding, instead fixing his attention on the dark alley ahead. The approaching footsteps grew louder, each step resonating like a drumbeat of inevitability.
Erik's fingers twitched near his holster as he prepared for whatever was coming next.
Suddenly, the sharp sound of a ringing phone pierced the tense atmosphere.
"Hmm, what is that sound?" Alexei asked, his thick Russian accent only adding to the absurdity as he spun around, looking for the source like a confused bear sniffing for honey.
Erik however, remained still, his senses zeroing in on the faint buzzing.
His sharp ears quickly traced the sound back to the fallen widow's body.
Without hesitation he crouched, his hands moving swiftly as he searched through the assassin's tactical gear.
After a few tense seconds, he found a big communication device clipped to her belt. He clicked the button, his mind racing.
Erik spoke softly, lowering his tone and smoothing it to mimic the cadence of a woman's voice. "Ready to comply." He said in Russian, his voice calm and subservient.
A cold, commanding voice responded almost immediately. "Black Widow, this is General Dreykov. You have failed the mission." The voice stated, each word slicing through the device like a blade.
Erik didn't reply, his body pressed tightly against the wall of the alley. The shadows concealing him. His mind worked rapidly, analyzing the situation as the voice continued.
"Mission orders have now changed." The man said, his tone even colder.
At the same time, The Red Guardian began lumbering toward the alley's entrance, his expression changing from confusion to recognition as he saw the figures approaching.
About a dozen men, clad in black with masks obscuring their faces, marched forward with military precision.
Assault rifles in their hands, the alley illuminated by the crisscrossing beams of red lasers.
Dreykov's voice resumed on the phone. "You are to dispose of all the assassins." He commanded, his tone dropping into a chilling monotone.
"And Agent Alexei Shostakov, the Red Guardian." Dreykov added, his disdain evident.
Erik's brows furrowed under his mask as he processed the order. His thoughts raced. Didn't this guy get locked up in the original timeline? Why does Dreykov want him dead now?
"Repeat the order, sir?" Erik whispered into the device.
Dreykov's voice hardened. "Shostakov has become a liability. If you see him, put a bullet through his thick skull and get back here... Do you copy?"
Erik glanced at Alexei, who seemed completely oblivious to the danger, waving at the approaching squad like they were old drinking buddies.
"Fuck you." Erik finally responded, switching to plain English in his normal voice.
"What? Who—" Dreykov's voice sputtered in confusion before Erik smashed the device against the ground, silencing it forever.
He straightened up, his mind a whirlwind of questions.
In front of him, Alexei stood in the alley's center. His arms wide as if ready to greet the incoming armed squad. "Comrades of the red room! I knew Dreykov would send help!" He bellowed cheerfully.
Erik sighed, gripping his weapon tighter. "This guy…" He muttered under his breath.