Made prints the other day! This was so fun omg

This is an unfinished draft of a long, in depth analysis I’m planning of everything we know about Silksong. The final draft will have detailed analysis of enemies, areas, names, and many, many attempts to draw parallels with Hollow Knight. Without further ado, here’s the draft!

Will Hornet have her memories? Or will the winds of the Wastes have swept them away?

Prequel or sequel? (I’m thinking sequel, based on the implied presence of weavers in the trailer)

Lace fights Hornet (at least) twice, doesn’t call her by name, and knows things. IS SHE A HORNET PARALLEL AND HOW MUCH

What awful thing is going to happen to the flea-collecting village? Will they all die, or will they turn out to be evil? (My money’s on the latter)

Is the bell cult good, bad, or something else?

Who is the main villain?

Is Lace an antagonist or a Hornet parallel?

Lesbians???

Everything in Silksong seems much more vibrant than Hallownest. Instead of muted colors and effectively blank backgrounds, all of the areas we’ve been shown seem to be very saturated, and the design feels like everything is there for a reason. It’s a stark contrast to Hollow Knight’s busy backgrounds and dour themes, and is it possible the story reflects/is intended to reflect this?

Why does that one enemy look so much like steel soul Jinn?

Is Lace void??

Seriously though, she covers almost all of her body and her face is very similar to that of a shade’s. The existence of the shade trap room in the Colosseum of Fools implies the existence of other void creatures, though of course it could simply have been built for THK. We know void creatures are capable of having voices, as evidenced by the Collector, so IS LACE VOID???

That one area has a lovely juxtaposition between the white roses carpeting the ground and the industrial style pipes in the background, and knowing team Cherry, there’s definitely a reason for this.

Who kidnapped a Hornet and why?

Who sent the butterfly that breaks the seal of binding on her cage? Lace knows about Hornet’s imprisonment- could it have been her? Though she admittedly doesn’t seem to have much motivation to keep Hornet alive...

In Hollow Knight, the name of the game is also the name of the final boss. Could this also be true to an extent for Silksong? I doubt the boss would be named that explicitly, but perhaps someone who holds an association to both?

Multiple endings?

Will the final boss actually be the final boss? In Hollow Knight, the Radiance acts as a sort of hidden boss. Will this also be true in Silksong?

Will there be godseekers or the Grimm Troupe?

Will Ghost or THK be mentioned?

Will this focus more on expanding Hallownest’s lore or introducing Pharloom’s?

Points of interest:

1. Hornet appears to be performing a move similar to a great slash or dash slash here, which the enemy appears to be attempting (succeeding?) to deflect with their scissors

2. 2. In Hollow Knight, almost every fence or wall in Hallownest had the repeated motif of the king’s seal. This design looks a lot like a godseeker’s mask, as well as some of the enemies that have been revealed so far.

3. These appear to be at least four massive spools of silk. We know for a fact that there are weavers in Pharloom, and the sheer amount of silk here is more than we ever see in one place in Hallownest. Could it be possible that weaversilk is being farmed somehow?

4. It’s difficult to see, but this appears to be a massive control wheel, like you’d see on a valve. It’s much bigger than any standard bug could take advantage of, but we already know that Silksong is going to have some massive enemies, so it’s possible one of these also acts or acted as an overseer for this area.

5. This wall design heavily reminds me of both the walls in the Resting Grounds and the Birthplace. Are these corpses, or simply made to look like them? Either way, there’s definitely lore attached.

As well as all that, note how thin the support struts are, and how they appear wooden and cobbled together. I propose that what Hornet is climbing on here is the scaffolding around a massive silk related machine of some sort. Maybe an automatic loom?

Points of interest:

1. You’ll note that the enemy is holding a gilded pin, which is the same weapon Lace uses and is described as “the traditional weapon of Pharloom” by Team Cherry. I take this to mean that this bug has probably been in this place for a while.

2. This isn’t big or anything, but it’s very interesting to me that both Hallownest and Pharloom use lumafly lanterns for light. This implies some interesting things either about Hallownest and Pharloom’s proximity or the ubiquity of lumaflies.

3. This is clearly a graveyard. I find it very interesting that the stones seem to be entirely plain of embellishment or text except for the bell symbol. Also, I wonder if the graveyard being here means that we’re close to the Citadel?

4. This appears to be a fallen elevator. I’m not sure what else I could draw from it, but it definitely adds to the dilapidated and abandoned feel of this area.

5. This enemy has three golden straight pins. It’s very possible that you gain the ability to throw three at once after vanquishing one of these enemies. Another interesting thing to note is that the enemy isn’t holding these pins. If you look closely, their hand is at their side. The pins are instead seemingly fastened to their head somehow.

6. This is difficult to see properly, but the design on the fence here appears to be similar to the shape of the fallen elevator. It could also be read as a representation of the Citadel.

A few other things to note are that the colors here are almost identical to those of the resting grounds, including the enemies. This is unusual as far as Silksong goes, as most of the areas are far more intensely saturated.

These enemies appear to be wearing cloaks. It’s difficult to tell whether it’s the shadow of the hood that’s hiding their faces or whether that’s simply what they look like.

Also, Greymoor is a very interesting name and I’d like to explore what precisely a “moor” is, because I think this may give more clues as to the nature of the area.

Moors are defined as highland areas with acidic soil and low vegetation. The fact that moors are specifically highland areas makes me suspect even more that Greymoor connects directly to the Citadel, as Silksong appears to be a game mostly focused on going up, so where better to transition from the ground to the Citadel than highland?

1. We know from the Resting Grounds that this is how Ari draws mummified corpses. The fact that this corpse is walking around definitely implies some shenanigans. It brings to mind the description of Greymoor as “haunted”.

2. The fact that this corpse is lying on the ground makes me wonder if most of these mummified bugs will lie still on the ground until they notice Hornet, which would be an interesting enemy mechanic.

3. This lumafly lantern is tinted green, which I’m pretty sure we never saw in Hollow Knight. (Correct me if I’m wrong) It makes me wonder if something special was done to the lantern to achieve this.

4. Team Cherry has said that Hornet’s silk and soul are “inseparably intertwined”. It’s a very nice design touch to see that healing creates both kinds of particle.

5. See those motes in the air? They look very similar to the spores of the Fungal Wastes, and I suspect they may be the reason moss covers everything here.

What I lined in dark blue is the visible boning beneath the moss, and what I lined in cyan is the places where the moss grows too regularly, implying yet more boning just beneath.

I’m not sure whether this is deliberate or whether the moss grew over already existing structures to cause this, but another thing to note is that the way this moss grows is very reminiscent of moss balls, or marimo balls, an aquatic plant that grows in freshwater lakes.

The reason this interests me isn’t because I think these *are* moss balls, but rather because of how natural grottos form.

Most natural grottos are formed by water eroding soft rock like limestone into large caves. It’s common for them to either be flooded or to flood at high tide, which when combined with the aquatic vegetation in this area, could imply that it will be flooded for part of the game or at intervals. It’s possible Team Cherry would use this to echo the way that the Forgotten Crossroads turn into the Infected Crossroads, or it could be a way of gating the first area behind you until you get more movement capabilities similar to the Howling Cliffs.

Lastly, one of the root words for Grotto is the Latin word for “crypt”. Combined with the mummified corpses here, it makes me wonder.

Points of interest:

1. Confirmation that Hornet can look up! I don’t think anyone was worried about it, but it’s good to know we’ll still be able to do that.

2. You’ll note, first of all, that this is unusually bare for Ari’s backgrounds. The designs are smooth with little shading and there are massive dark areas. This leads me to believe that this isn’t the finished background, nor the one we’ll see in game.

3. The two strange objects at the corners of the screen are difficult to identify. Personally, I think they look like plugs of some sort, though I have no idea what they might be plugging. Maybe magma?

4. What is it with Team Cherry and throwing dead bodies everywhere? That’s litter, it’s illegal. Anyway, what might have killed these bugs?

5. You’ll note the massive misshapen mountain of bones in the background. Where did all of these come from? Also, the fact that they are bones means that this is probably Bonebottom. I’d like to call your attention to the fact that bugs don’t actually have bones, just exoskeletons, which makes the source of these even more dubious.

6. There are several ember particle effects, which I take to mean that there’s a whole bunch of magma nearby.

7. There are a few links of chain attached to each plug. Likely this is to allow them to be dragged open. I’m very curious whether this is just a design detail or whether opening these plugs will be used as a mechanic somehow.

Circled in blue are the (brass?) rings on Shakra’s arms as well as a similar ring on the ground. I’m not sure why one of her arm rings would be on the ground, but maybe it’s similar to Cornifer’s pages?

Ghosts of War: Chapter 19

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: After the events of Winter’s War, your and Bucky’s lives are changed forever (and not for the better). Severe torture and experimentation at the hands of Hydra leaves you shells of your former selves, your past together completely erased and replaced with deadly Hydra programming. Bucky asks you to do the unthinkable. You try your best to make money for the two of you to survive. Meanwhile, dark forces lurk in the shadows. Warnings: Swearing (always), suicide pact**, talk of suicide**, murder, death, violence, blood, guns, torture Word Count: ~4,060 A/N: oh shit boiiii. This chapter is a tough one. Don’t read it if you’re in a dark headspace my dudes.

Masterlist // Book One

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Bucky ran a hand through your hair and shushed you. “No… but we did it, Doll. We did all of it,” he said gently. You didn’t sob or hiccup or gasp, but he somehow knew you’d begun crying. He leaned back to peer down at you then wiped away your tears with his right thumb. He placed kisses to each of your cheeks then hugged you back to his chest. “Let it out, Doll… no use bottlin’ it up. Not with me.”

You weren’t sure how long you cried in Bucky’s arms. You weren’t sure if he cried with you.

All you knew was that when you woke up the next morning with Bucky asleep by your side and daylight shining through the yellowed newspapers, the world didn’t feel quite so terrible as it did when you’d gone to sleep.

“Did you know about this?” you asked, dropping the stack of xeroxed papers onto Bucky’s lap. You were visiting him down at the docks between your shifts, during his short lunch break.

Normally you would have gone back to the apartment to avoid being out in public, but you’d been evicted not even a day ago. Multiple noise complaints from surrounding tenants prompted the landlord to kick you and Bucky out without a second thought, not that you could blame him. Between your and Bucky’s nightmares and the fact that you didn’t have proper paperwork, you were too much of a liability. Until you found a new place to live, you’d crash at different flophouses every night. Working would be tough until then, but both you and Bucky were determined to live some semblance of a normal life.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at you and leafed dutifully through the pages, eyebrows raising slowly as he read until you were sure they’d disappear into his hairline. By the time he was finished he had a small smile on his face that you couldn’t help but mirror. “I had no idea. I mean, I’d noticed there weren’t signs everywhere anymore, but I never imagined they’d actually do it... I’d always hoped, but...”

You smiled and took his head. “We were almost awake for it, too. It was in 1964. Do you think Gabe took part in the sit-ins and marches?” you asked, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. It was his metal one, but he had enough padding on between his jacket and shirt that it was still comfortable.

Bucky made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “Dunno. Wouldn’t surprise me. If he did, I’m sure Dum Dum joined him in a show of solidarity.”

You nodded. “I can see that. I would have liked to hear Doctor King’s speech. I can’t find a full recording of it anywhere.”

Bucky nodded in commiseration. “Seemed like a good man.”

For a short while the two of you sat in silence, Bucky munching quietly away at a bowl of rice. “Is it bad that I’m relieved we weren’t the ones to pull the trigger for once?”

Bucky paused and swallowed thickly before setting the bowl down beside him on the bench and threw his arm around your shoulder, reeling you easily into his chest. “No, Doll. I know I’m pretty messed up in the head, but even I know we’re supposed to not enjoy killin’ people,” he said quietly, lips brushing light kisses to your hair.

You nodded slowly, thoughts drifting to dark places unbidden. You didn’t have much time left together; his break would be ending soon. 

“If they ever try to take me again, kill me.”

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s sudden words. “What?” you breathed, not wanting to believe your ears.

He looked at you then, his blue eyes cold and sad. “You heard me, Doll.”

“I can’t do that, Bucky,” you said, distressed.

He took your hands in his and suddenly that icy wall behind his eyes gave way to fiery passion. “You gotta, Doll. If they come for us you, gotta put a bullet in my head. Fry me. I don’t care. I can’t go back, (Y/N),” he pleaded, voice strained.

You gaped at him for a minute, unsure of what to say as tears filled your eyes. “You’re askin’ too much of me, Buck,” you whimpered.

Bucky pulled you into his chest and ran his big hand down your back soothingly. “I know, Doll. I know. But I don’t have a kill switch like you do. You can fry yourself, but if they get me pinned, I won’t be able to do anythin’. I can’t go back to bein’ their puppet, Sweetheart. Please, promise me,” he said fervently, refusing to back down.

It broke your heart, but you eventually nodded past the tears and hiccuping sobs. “Me too,” you managed to squeak out between sobs.

Bucky didn’t have to ask what you meant, he knew. He nodded silently and ran his fingers through your hair, his lips placing kisses to any spot on your face he could reach. “I love you, Doll,” he said quietly.

“I love you, too, Buck,” you said hoarsely.

“Oi, Hanson! Get your ass back to work! Break ended ten minutes ago and I ain’t paying you to sit around and kiss your girlfriend, ya damn flower child!”

The voice of Bucky’s boss echoed between the shipping containers and Bucky let out a long sigh. “Gotta get back to work, Doll,” he said, apologetic frown on his face.

“S’ok. Gotta get to my next job anyway,” you sniffled, clambering off of his lap reluctantly.

He stood as soon as he was able and pulled you in for a quick, chaste kiss on the lips that still managed to leave you breathless. “I’ll see you at the flophouse later, (Y/N). Have a good afternoon at work, alright Sweetheart?” he said with a small smile, as though you hadn’t just promised to kill him if the Soviets or Hydra came after you.

You put on a brave smile and pecked him once more on the cheek before handing him his unfinished lunch and the stack of papers on the Civil Rights Movement. “You too, Buck.”

You turned and walked briskly back towards the center of town, willing yourself not to cry.

Life wasn’t fair. You knew that from a young age. Ever since your parents dropped you off at the orphanage in Queens. Ever since you were rejected again and again from school after school just because you were a woman. When military leaders didn’t so much as give you a polite rejection when you tried to show them your designs. Hell, you never even made it past the secretaries most days. Even after meeting Peggy and finally getting your foot in the door, you still remained in Howard’s shadow. Howard himself may not have treated you badly, but no matter how hard he tried to give you credit for what you did, no one seemed to care.

And then, for that shining year and handful of months with the guys, everything had been a whirlwind. You got attention and praise as the only woman in the Howling Commandos. They made dolls of you, interviewed you with Steve and Bucky. People knew you were Bucky’s best girl and Steve’s friend. Everyone recognized your genius.

But then you fell off the train with Bucky and everything regressed to a new level of shit-tastic. You were put through hell and back and the fact you could walk down the street without murdering everyone in sight was to be praised. There were still some days where you couldn’t remember your name. Sometimes you called Bucky the Asset or the Soldier. He had his bad days, too, where he retreated in on himself until his eyes were hard and uncaring and you knew he didn’t see the world around him.

Bucky blamed himself for every death you and he dealt out while brainwashed by the Soviets and Hydra. He wrote down every name he could remember in a tiny notebook and took it with him everywhere.

You didn’t add to the names. You didn’t want to think about everyone you’d killed. You only added one name to the list: Mary Douglas. She was the only death you felt truly responsible for. Even Mila hadn’t been your fault, though you still mourned your inability to protect her to this day.

You arrived at the old abandoned-looking school building quicker than you realized, lost in thought as you were. The grafitti-covered sign for “Mother Josephine’s School for Wayward Children” swayed gently in the wind, the thick and once-beautifully carved sign barely hanging on by its nails. You glanced up and down the street before wiggling between a gap in the chain-link fence and made a beeline for the door in the back that you knew would be unlocked.

The door creaked loudly as you opened it and you quickly stepped inside before someone saw you. The first few hallways were dim, lit only by the meager light filtering in through the old, grimy windows. You didn’t have any trouble seeing, but it still set your nerves on edge. There were too many places to hide in this old death trap, but you'd run out of options some time ago.

You found the door to the basement with ease, having memorized the layout of the building off some old blueprints you’d found in the library before you’d showed up the first time. It also helped that you’d been here a few times already. You pulled your hat low over your eyes and made sure your boots and gloves hid your... enhancements.

The moment the door to the basement swung open, you were bathed in light. You took a deep breath and made your way down the creaky steps, half expecting them to give out under your weight. Metal limbs weren’t exactly light.

A dozen heads turned towards you the moment you took the last step off the stairs and only about half turned back to their conversations or drinks after looking their fill. You ignored them all and went up to the bar, taking a seat on one of the rickety stools.

“What do you got for me, Patch?” you asked in undertones.

Patch slid you a sealed beer, knowing full well you wouldn’t drink anything that could have possibly been tampered with. “Not much, little lady,” Patch said apologetically. “Not many of the jobs I have in right now are suitable for a single person... gifted though you may be,” Patch said quickly, seeing the look on your face.

“I can handle it, Patch. Tell me what jobs are in right now, please,” you said through gritted teeth before snapping the bottle cap off with one of your metal fingers and taking a long sip.

Patch sighed. “Couple of assassinations, mostly hits on goody-two-shoes that the Mob or Yakuza want dead but are unwilling to risk pinning on themselves. A guard detail, couple nights, needs a group to escort an entire convoy. A burglary of an old fat cat-”

“That one.”

Patch sighed and scratched his neck in the way he did whenever he was nervous. You didn’t think much of it; Patch was always nervous. “Knew you’d take that one. I gotta warn ya, little lady, that old man’s not someone you wanna tango with. He’s got top notch security and-”

“How much?” you asked, cutting across him again. He never second-guessed the other patrons like this and it grated on your nerves.

Patch let out a sigh, knowing he’d lose this fight as soon as he said the words. “$3,000.”

You let out a low whistle. “What’s the target? Vault? Jewels? Antiques?” you asked, interested in why someone would pay $3,000 to steal from a single house. Whatever they wanted had to be worth a lot.

Patch let out a sigh. “You know the deal. Details are in the card, can’t just tell everyone or there’ll be-”

“Problems, in-fighting, stupid shit. Yeah, I know, Patch. I’ll take it, whatever it is. I can handle it,” you said, thinking perhaps you cut across the man too much. You really, really hated being coddled though. Pissed you off to no end.

Patch gave you a long, flat stare before he sighed in defeat and reached for the stack of cards behind the bar and flipped through them until he found the right one. He held it out to you but pulled it back right as you were about to grab it. You glowered up at him but he didn’t even flinch. “Be careful, little lady. I like havin’ ya around and I know you’ll never see the light of day again if you get caught by this guy.” You would have snapped at him but his tone was nothing but sincere. You stared at him, caught off guard, before nodding slowly.

“I will, Patch.”

He still didn’t look happy, but relented and handed you the card. “You know the drill. Call the number. Complete the job. Return for the reward.”

You downed the last of the beer and slapped two dollars on the table. Sure, it was a bit much, but you were about to be rich. With that kind of reward you and Bucky could move into a nice apartment and not have to worry about money for a while.

Bucky.

You should tell him about this second job. You told him you worked at a bank crunching numbers all day, but you had a feeling he didn’t quite believe you. Still, he didn’t want to outright question you, so he kept his mouth shut, knowing you’d tell him when you were ready.

Being a mercenary/burglar-for-hire hadn’t exactly been the plan, but your skill set made you over-qualified and very, very good at it. This wasn’t the end-game, but you and Bucky needed the money right now, so you weren’t going to be picky.

You returned to the flop house and left a note for him at the front desk, saying you’d gotten a shift at a bar and that you’d be back very late or very early tomorrow morning and not to wait up. You didn’t want to leave him alone, knowing full well he barely slept when you weren’t there, but it’d be better to pull the heist off at night. You checked the charge in your back capacitors and, satisfied they’d last the night, began prepping for the operation.

Wrong.

Everything was wrong.

When you arrived at the house you were supposed to rob, it was almost completely empty. You hadn’t made it more than ten feet inside before you turned on your heel and ran back out the front door, only to find it blocked by at least a dozen agents decked out in combat gear.

Trap. It was a trap.

By the time you fought through the agents that had boxed you in, you’d taken at least three gunshots to the body and your left thigh was leaking blood all over the place from a knife cut. You could hear more agents surrounding the building, but you wouldn’t sit around and let yourself get trapped by these bastards. You still didn’t even know who they were working for, but that was something you’d find out later. New York wasn’t safe anymore. You had to get back to Bucky and escape before they tightened the noose.

For the first time in at least two weeks you activated your heel jets. The familiar feeling of your razor-sharp wheels popping into place sent a chill up your spine. Your hearing may not have been as advanced as Bucky’s but you were still able to pinpoint where most of the troops were coming from.

Swearing in your head you turned your jets on full blast and rocketed out the doorway, wincing as you felt gunfire hot on your tail.

You rounded the corner and took a small breath. You weren’t out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. Your stupidity had gotten your cover blown, but you doubted they’d found Bucky yet. If you could make it to him after losing these clowns, the two of you could be out of the city before they could sniff you out.

You heard Majorca was nice this time of year.

You took back alleys that you knew the military vehicles were too large to fit through, gave them the slip under bridges, and eventually made your way towards the flophouse in Brooklyn, praying you weren’t leading them straight to an unsuspecting Bucky.

You turned the corner and let out a sigh of relief when you spotted the building, only to scream in rage when you saw Bucky being dragged out by at least six agents in civilian police clothing. He was fighting against them, but they’d attached something to his arm and you could tell he was struggling to break it. From the way he was moving you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d drugged him already.

You raced forward more quickly than they could have anticipated and jumped, letting your momentum carry you forward as you switched from your wheels to your talons. A flying kick both maimed the first man and sent him hurtling over the nearest police cruiser.

“Fuck, get her! She’s insane!”

“They must have failed! Call for backup!”

You barely heard their voices, working through the throng of obviously-not-cops towards Bucky, who was looking at you with huge, pleading eyes.

“No!” you screamed at him, knowing what he was thinking. You always knew what he was thinking.

Please, you saw him mouth. His eyes were already going hazy. Whatever they’d given him must have been strong. The chances of you getting out of here with him knocked out before their backup arrived... they were nonexistent.

I love you, you saw him whisper before his head dropped forward.

You were crying as you ripped through the poor fools between you and Bucky. Still more seemed to stream out of who knew where, but you had a mission and you weren’t going to fail. You couldn’t let him down him. Not in this way.

Just one touch. Just one. Then me. Then it’s over.

You told repeated those words in your head over and over again and you punched, scratched, and kicked your ways towards Bucky’s limp body. They’d left him in the street in their attempt to stop you from getting to him. You were an unstoppable force. You could feel more bullets rip through you, but it didn’t matter. None of it matter as long as you could get to him.

Finally, there was only a few feet between him and you. You charged your right hand, tears overflowing as you looked down at the limp, unconscious form of the man you loved. It was a small mercy that he wouldn’t feel a thing.

You wouldn’t be so lucky.

The agents tried to stop you, only to electrocute themselves to death when they grabbed your arm.

You were so focused on making this one blow to your beloved count that you didn’t see the battering ram headed toward you until it was too late.

You felt your bones break on the impact and your lungs collapse as you flew ten feet through the air and landed on the cold cement road. Your head hit the concrete hard, your vision blurring dangerously with the mix of what was likely a concussion and massive blood loss. Your charge fizzled out in your hand and you cursed to yourself.

On your feet. Get on your feet. You useless piece of shit. You swore to yourself, trying and failing to pull yourself to your feet.

You got as far as leaning up on your hands and screaming in agony before they descended upon you like vultures. You barely felt the pinch of the needle being shoved into your neck; it paled in comparison to your other wounds.

What hurt the most, though, was seeing Bucky lying there, not fifteen feet away, unaware that you’d failed and you’d both wake up trapped in the nightmare you were so desperate to escape.

KGB files, Top Security Clearance, 29 March 1973

Little is known about what Codenames: Winter Soldier did during the two weeks they fell off the grid in New York. It was only through sheer luck that the male was spotted in a flophouse. The woman was spotted by one of our agents at a disreputable spot for mercenaries to gather. Luck. Sheer luck. We tried to lure her into a trap but she escaped, nearly overwhelming the agents that were attempting to take the male back at the same time.

Yet even after subsequent mental conditioning Codenames: Winter Soldier had no answers for their conduct, or any memory of their time out of our control.

While troubling, the incident appears to be an aberration, requiring nothing more than closer watch. It is further recommended that in future missions they be excluded from operations on American soil and deployed separately

KGB files, Top Security Clearance, September 1983 From the Personal Journal of Major General IIIIIIIREDACTEDIIIIIIII

Against advice, I have taken Codename: Winter Soldier to the Middle East as my personal bodyguard. I am getting old and I know there are only a few years left for me, so I wish to spend them watching this twisted creature defend my life.

I almost feel sorry for him, as he tenses up whenever anyone approaches, ready to dive in front of a bullet for me.

It will never make up for what he and his people did to me in the war, how they shamed me in front of my own men, but even after all these years, it still makes me smile to see Captain America’s partner serving Mother Russia.

It is doubly entertaining to watch him look for his little bitch. I could have thawed them both out and ignored the imbecilic warnings of the others, but it is more fun this way. He is easier to handle when he is sad, even if he doesn’t know why. I can see him looking for her, his eyes following women that resemble her.

Let us see what kind of damage he can do to his country’s efforts in the Middle East. These next few years should be amusing. I am glad that Yuri transferred me. To hell with him.

KGB files, Top Security Clearance, 4 August 1988

In accordance with Major General IIIIIIREDACTEDIIIIII final orders before his death, Project: Winter Soldiers have been returned to cryofreeze for the foreseeable future.

Codename: Winter Soldier (Male) has been placed back into stasis after his years in the Middle East alongside the Major General.

No incidents were reported by the Major General, but it is recommended that if Codename: Winter Soldiers are revived from stasis in future, thorough mental re-implantation be done to assure control of the operatives.

Codename: Winter Soldiers will be stored in an undisclosed location, along with much of Department X’s abandoned experiments.

December 14th, 1991

You sat. Waited for orders. Still as a statue.

You didn’t look at the asset beside you. He wasn’t important unless your handlers said he was.

Your metal legs glinted menacingly in the light, the sickle and hammer on your shins gleaming like blood.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, brain working to clear itself from the sluggishness of cryofreeze. Your body had thawed long before you’d regained consciousness, but it still moved like ice flowed through your veins. It would take a day to return to full functionality. You’d checked yourself over upon waking, taking note of each scar marring your skin.

The door opened after what could have been minutes, hours, or days. Time meant little in the tiny cold room with only a light and two cold tables. Neither you nor the other asset had said a word the entire time.

“Soldiers?” the handler asked, standing warily in the door. He had no cause to be nervous. You and the other asset were dangerous, but you wouldn’t hurt your handlers. His accent was German. Not the KGB, then. Hydra, most likely. You didn’t care, but your brain took note of it anyway. It might be important to the mission later.

“Ready to comply,” you and the other asset replied in unison, voices flat and emotionless.

Next Chapter

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Dusk (1)

Feat. BTS

[Sirens note: Warnings for this chapter are as follows; mentions of violence, swearing, & weapons (including guns, stakes, crossbows, & a silver dust/stake bomb)]

Pairings: None

Genres: Action, fantasy, horror; vampire hunter au

Word count: 1,412

Trash litters the sides of the alley, the multitude of bags piled high and precariously. A man rounds the corner and scans the next alley with suspicion. He and three others were scouting the area and so far had turned up empty handed. Something that didn’t match the pattern their reports had shown for weeks. He clicks the walkie sewn into the cuff of his jacket and speaks. “Namjoon & Jimin, can you hear me?” The crackle of quiet static spills from the receiver for a minute before a response comes through.

“Namjoon here, what is it?”

“Something isn’t right about this. We aren’t encountering anything and the air feels… off somehow. Is Jimin with you?”

“No, last I heard he’d cleared his sector and was headed to you. You’re our rendezvous point. I’ve got one more block and then I’m backtracking to you.”

“Be careful. Like I said, something isn’t right out here.”

“Is your spidey-sense tingling or something?” A laugh rings out and the man clamps a hand over the walkie speaker to muffle it. “Look, Taehyung, I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe they’re all sleeping or they moved on to another sector. Just keep scouting and we’ll meet up with you soon. Signing off.”

With that the walkie goes silent. Taehyung sighs quietly and weighs his options. He can wait for backup from the other two or he can finish scouting on his own. Normally the choice would be easy, but tonight he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. The heavy thump of a figure on tin yanks him from his thoughts in a violent whirl. He swiftly pulls the stake from his jacket- the heavy silver giving him slight comfort as the scuffing sound of shoes on dirt reaches his ears and a hand lands on his shoulder. Muscles primed, Taehyung spins and snaps the stake forward in a fluid movement.

He misses by mere inches.

“What the fuck, Taehyung!”

“Me? Jimin, I almost staked you! What the fuck were you thinking sneaking up on me like that?” He scowls at the other man as he raises his hands. “I could have killed you!”

“Okay, so sneaking up on you was a bad move. I’m sorry. Just trying to liven things up a little and test your reflexes.” As Taehyung’s scowl worsens, he adds on, “Namjoon said you were on edge tonight. I didn’t realize it was serious. I really am sorry.”

“Let’s just finish our route and get back to base, ok? Side by side formation.” He starts off, the silver chain in his ear swinging. To be honest, Taehyung was always on edge. Some nights were just worse others. “Have your weapon ready just in case.”

“You got it.”

The duo walk down the alley and round another corner, squeezing between a massive dumpster and the edge of the wall.

“Who the hell blocks off an alleyway with a dumpster?” Jimin grumbles, brushing dark hair from his eyes as he sidles out after his companion. “Tae-“ He slams into Taehyung’s back, the blonde surprisingly having the effect of a brick wall in terms of impeding movement.

“This is wrong. We need to go back to base. Now.”

Jimin steps around Taehyung and scans the dead end alley. About thirty yards behind them is a chain-link fence with garbage bags piled on either side and about twenty yards ahead of them lies a solid brick wall with a child crouched in front of it. The child is wearing a pink dress smudged with dirt and seems to be no more than six or seven from the sound of their voice.

“Jimin, don’t.”

“It’s a child, Tae. We’ll check her for wounds and take her back to base until we can find her family.” He tucks his gun- loaded with silver bullets dipped in holy water- into his belt with the safety on and approaches the girl. “Hey there, it’s ok. We’re going to help you. Are you lost?”

The girl whispers something Jimin can’t quite catch and he walks closer, noting that the little girl seems rather calm despite her cries.

“Jimin,” Taehyung’s voice hisses out a warning.

“Not now, Taehyung. What was that, sweetheart?”

“I said,” the angelic voice ceases it’s hiccups when he stands around two feet away. Her voice now sounds calm and cold as ice. “You’re going to die, Hunter.”

“Bait.” Jimin whispers, eyes wide in horror as he grabs his gun and switches the safety off. “Taehyung, she was bait!”

“Yeah, that’s what I was trying to tell you. She’s the least of our worries right now.”

“What are you- Oh. We’re in trouble.” Jimin looks up, gun still trained on the vampiric child, to the crowd of vampires gathered on the roof of the wall behind her. “Hey, Tae, what formation do we use now?”

A thwack rings in the silence that follows, the whiz of the bolt flying by replaced with an unearthly shriek as one of the vampires explodes into flames and ashes.

“Run and gun. Got it!” He fires the gun and turns, sprinting full speed to Taehyung as the vampire child screams in pain and rage. “Shoot and go!”

The blonde waits until Jimin sprints past before firing another bolt at the vampire in the lead, who subsequently catches the two behind him on fire as he explodes. Taehyung slings his crossbow over his shoulder and sprints after Jimin, nearly skidding past him when he slows near the corner they came down.

“Not getting out that way. Gotta hit the fence!” He grabs Jimin by the back of his jacket and shoves him ahead as they run and turns to fire again as he leaps for the fence. “Climb fast, Jimin!”

He fires another bolt, nicking one who stays intact and snarls in renewed rage. A bullet whizzes by, catching a solitary one in the forehead but buying Taehyung some time. He slings his weapon again and climbs the fence with adrenaline-fueled speed. Flipping over in sync with Jimin and landing on the trash bags piled high on the other side. The both of them roll until they hit pavement and keep running.

“- the hell aren’t you guys answering?”

“Namjoon!” They yell in unison, hitting their walkies at the same time. “New rendezvous point!”

“Where are you?” Jimin yells raggedly into the walkie. “It was a trap. We got away and just crossed the halfway point in sector six but they’re still tailing us.” He fires behind him- a blind warning shot and the pursuit drops back again.

“I’m in sector four, right on the edge where it meets five. We’ve got a dust & stake bomb set up to a tripwire. It’s at the halfway point so make sure you jump it when you get there.”

“Yoongi’s going to be pissed. It took him three months to make that!”

“Look, your options are: trigger the trap and deal with Yoongi being pissed off for a day, maybe two. Or, death by vampire horde. Do you really want to be eviscerated by vampires guys?” Silence. “Didn’t think so. See you guys in twenty.”

“Man, these suckers have a ton of energy. How can they keep going when I feel like I’m going to collapse?”

“Because they’re vampires. ” Taehyung yells, pushing Jimin around the final corner in sector five. “Quarter. Quarter and a half. Wire, jump!”

The two of them leap over the wire and keep going until they hit sector four sprawling in the dirt six feet past the edge as a tall figure, Namjoon, scurries up from their side. He grabs the both of them by their jackets and pulls them up off the ground as the horde hits the tripwire.

They stare as the dirt around and underneath their enemies explodes, silver stakes flying into the center of the street as silver powder shoots from guns set up along all sides. In a matters of minutes, the horde is decimated. The street covered in a mix of smoldering remains.

“Damn. Yoongi deserves an award for that one.” Namjoon says as he scans the area before turning and starting off in the opposite direction.

“He’s gonna be so mad.” Jimin adds mournfully as he turns away, Taehyung following suit as they all begin the slow trek back to base.

“Hey guys?” Taehyung calls with uncharacteristic cheerfulness, slinging his arms around the other two as they both look at him. “I fucking told you so.”

11. My feet back up automatically and I blend into the trees. I cover my mouth with my glove to disperse the white of my breath in the icy air. Adrenaline courses through me, wiping all the concerns of the day from my mind as I focus on the immediate threat before me. What is going on? Has Thread turned on the fence as an additional security precaution? Or does he somehow know I've escaped his net today? Is he determined to strand me outside District 12 until he can apprehend and arrest me? Drag me to the square to be locked in the stockade or whipped or hanged? Calm down, I order myself. It's not as if this is the first time I've been caught outside of the district by an electrified fence. It's happened a few times over the years, but Gale was always with me. The two of us would just pick a comfortable tree to hang out in until the power shut off, which it always did eventually. If I was running late, Prim even got in the habit of going to the Meadow to check if the fence was charged, to spare my mother worry. But today my family would never imagine I'd be in the woods. I've even taken steps to mislead them. So if I don't show up, worry they will. And there's a part of me that's worried, too, because I'm not sure it's just a coincidence, the power coming on the very day I return to the woods. I thought no one saw me sneak under the fence, but who knows? There are always eyes for hire. Someone reported Gale kissing me in that very spot. Still, that was in daylight and before I was more careful about my behavior. Could there be surveillance cameras? I've wondered about this before. Is this the way President Snow knows about the kiss? It was dark when I went under and my face was bundled in a scarf. But the list of suspects likely to be trespassing into the woods is probably very short. My eyes peer through the trees, past the fence, into the Meadow. All I can see is the wet snow illuminated here and there by the light from the windows on the edge of the Seam. No Peacekeepers in sight, no signs I am being hunted. Whether Thread knows I left the district today or not, I realize my course of action must be the same: to get back inside the fence unseen and pretend I never left. Any contact with the chain link or the coils of barbed wire that guard the top would mean instant electrocution. I don't think I can burrow under the fence without risking detection, and the ground's frozen hard, anyway. That leaves only one choice. Somehow I'm going to have to go over it. I begin to skirt along the tree line, searching for a tree with a branch high and long enough to fit my needs. After about a mile, I come upon an old maple that might do. The trunk is too wide and icy to shinny up, though, and there are no low branches. I climb a neighboring tree and leap precariously into the maple, almost losing my hold on the slick bark. But I manage to get a grip and slowly inch my way out on a limb that hangs above the barbed wire. As I look down, I remember why Gale and I always waited in the woods rather than try to tackle the fence. Being high enough to avoid getting fried means you've got to be at least twenty feet in the air. I guess my branch must be twenty-five. That's a dangerously long drop, even for someone who's had years of practice in trees. But what choice do I have? I could look for another branch, but it's almost dark now. The falling snow will obscure any moonlight. Here, at least, I can see I've got a snowbank to cushion my landing. Even if I could find another, which is doubtful, who knows what I'd be jumping into? I throw my empty game bag around my neck and slowly lower myself until I'm hanging by my hands. For a moment, I gather my courage. Then I release my fingers. There's the sensation of falling, then I hit the ground with a jolt that goes right up my spine. A second later, my rear end slams the ground. I lie in the snow, trying to assess the damage. Without standing, I can tell by the pain in my left heel and my tailbone that I'm injured. The only question is how badly. I'm hoping for bruises, but when I force myself onto my feet, I suspect I've broken something as well. I can walk, though, so I get moving, trying to hide my limp as best I can. My mother and Prim can't know I was in the woods. I need to work up some sort of alibi, no matter how thin. Some of the shops in the square are still open, so I go in one and purchase white cloth for bandages. We're running low, anyway. In another, I buy a bag of sweets for Prim. I stick one of the candies in my mouth, feeling the peppermint melt on my tongue, and realize it's the first thing I've eaten all day. I meant to make a meal at the lake, but once I saw Twill and Bonnie's condition, it seemed wrong to take a single mouthful from them. By the time I reach my house, my left heel will bear no weight at all. I decide to tell my mother I was trying to mend a leak in the roof of our old house and slid off. As for the missing food, I'll just be vague about who I handed it out to. I drag myself in the door, all ready to collapse in front of the fire. But instead I get another shock. Two Peacekeepers, a man and a woman, are standing in the doorway to our kitchen. The woman remains impassive, but I catch the flicker of surprise on the man's face. I am unanticipated. They know I was in the woods and should be trapped there now. "Hello," I say in a neutral voice. My mother appears behind them, but keeps her distance. "Here she is, just in time for dinner," she says a little too brightly. I'm very late for dinner. I consider removing my boots as I normally would but doubt I can manage it without revealing my injuries. Instead I just pull off my wet hood and shake the snow from my hair. "Can I help you with something?" I ask the Peacekeepers. "Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you," says the woman. "They've been waiting for hours," my mother adds. They've been waiting for me to fail to return. To confirm I got electrocuted by the fence or trapped in the woods so they could take my family in for questioning. "Must be an important message," I say. "May we ask where you've been, Miss Everdeen?" the woman asks. "Easier to ask where I haven't been," I say with a sound of exasperation. I cross into the kitchen, forcing myself to use my foot normally even though every step is excruciating. I pass between the Peacekeepers and make it to the table all right. I fling my bag down and turn to Prim, who's standing stiffly by the hearth. Haymitch and Peeta are there as well, sitting in a pair of matching rockers, playing a game of chess. Were they here by chance or "invited" by the Peacekeepers? Either way, I'm glad to see them. "So where haven't you been?" says Haymitch in a bored voice. "Well, I haven't been talking to the Goat Man about getting Prim's goat pregnant, because someone gave me completely inaccurate information as to where he lives," I say to Prim emphatically. "No, I didn't," says Prim. "I told you exactly." "You said he lives beside the west entrance to the mine," I say. "The east entrance," Prim corrects me. "You distinctly said the west, because then I said, 'Next to the slag heap?' and you said, 'Yeah,'" I say. "The slag heap next to the east entrance," says Prim patiently. "No. When did you say that?" I demand. "Last night," Haymitch chimes in. "It was definitely the east," adds Peeta. He looks at Haymitch and they laugh. I glare at Peeta and he tries to look contrite. "I'm sorry, but it's what I've been saying. You don't listen when people talk to you." "Bet people told you he didn't live there today and you didn't listen again," says Haymitch. "Shut up, Haymitch," I say, clearly indicating he's right. Haymitch and Peeta crack up and Prim allows herself a smile. "Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up," I say, which makes them laugh more. And I think, This is why they've made it this far, Haymitch and Peeta. Nothing throws them. I look at the Peacekeepers. The man's smiling but the woman is unconvinced. "What's in the bag?" she asks sharply. I know she's hoping for game or wild plants. Something that clearly condemns me. I dump the contents on the table. "See for yourself." "Oh, good," says my mother, examining the cloth. "We're running low on bandages." Peeta comes to the table and opens the candy bag. "Ooh, peppermints," he says, popping one in his mouth. "They're mine." I take a swipe for the bag. He tosses it to Haymitch, who stuffs a fistful of sweets in his mouth before passing the bag to a giggling Prim. "None of you deserves candy!" I say. "What, because we're right?" Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I'm hurt. "Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we're all idiots. How's that?" "Better," I say, and accept his kiss. Then I look at the Peacekeepers as if I'm suddenly remembering they're there. "You have a message for me?" "From Head Peacekeeper Thread," says the woman. "He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day." "Didn't it already?" I ask, a little too innocently. "He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin," says the woman. "Thank you. I'll tell him. I'm sure we'll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse." I'm pushing things, I know it, but the comment gives me a sense of satisfaction. The woman's jaw tightens. None of this has gone as planned, but she has no further orders. She gives me a curt nod and leaves, the man trailing in her wake. When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table. "What is it?" says Peeta, holding me steadily. "Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tail-bone's had a bad day, too." He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion. My mother eases off my boots. "What happened?" "I slipped and fell," I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. "On some ice." But we all know the house must be bugged and it's not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now. Having stripped off my sock, my mother's fingers probe the bones in my left heel and I wince. "There might be a break," she says. She checks the other foot. "This one seems all right." She judges my tailbone to be badly bruised. Prim's dispatched to get my pajamas and robe. When I'm changed, my mother makes a snow pack for my left heel and props it up on a hassock. I eat three bowls of stew and half a loaf of bread while the others dine at the table. I stare at the fire, thinking of Bonnie and Twill, hoping that the heavy, wet snow has erased my tracks. Prim comes and sits on the floor next to me, leaning her head against my knee. We suck on peppermints as I brush her soft blond hair back behind her ear. "How was school?" I ask. "All right. We learned about coal by-products," she says. We stare at the fire for a while. "Are you going to try on your wedding dresses?" "Not tonight. Tomorrow probably," I say. "Wait until I get home, okay?" she says. "Sure." If they don't arrest me first. My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I'm so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don't want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can't quite form, I know I'm not allowed to ask that. "Don't go yet. Not until I fall asleep," I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. "Almost thought you'd changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner." I'm foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I'd made a run for it, maybe with Gale. "No, I'd have told you," I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it's not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. "Stay with me." As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don't quite catch it. My mother lets me sleep until noon, then rouses me to examine my heel. I'm ordered to a week of bed rest and I don't object because I feel so lousy. Not just my heel and my tailbone. My whole body aches with exhaustion. So I let my mother doctor me and feed me breakfast in bed and tuck another quilt around me. Then I just lie there, staring out my window at the winter sky, pondering how on earth this will all turn out. I think a lot about Bonnie and Twill, and the pile of white wedding dresses downstairs, and if Thread will figure out how I got back in and arrest me. It's funny, because he could just arrest me, anyway, based on past crimes, but maybe he has to have something really irrefutable to do it, now that I'm a victor. And I wonder if President Snow's in contact with Thread. I think it's unlikely he ever acknowledged that old Cray existed, but now that I'm such a nationwide problem, is he carefully instructing Thread what to do? Or is Thread acting on his own? At any rate, I'm sure they'd both agree on keeping me locked up here inside the district with that fence. Even if I could figure out some way to escape - maybe get a rope up to that maple tree branch and climb out - there'd be no escaping with my family and friends now. I told Gale I would stay and fight, anyway. For the next few days, I jump every time there's a knock on the door. No Peacekeepers show up to arrest me, though, so eventually I begin to relax. I'm further reassured when Peeta casually tells me the power is off in sections of the fence because crews are out securing the base of the chain link to the ground. Thread must believe I somehow got under the thing, even with that deadly current running through it. It's a break for the district, having the Peacekeepers busy doing something besides abusing people. Peeta comes by every day to bring me cheese buns and begins to help me work on the family book. It's an old thing, made of parchment and leather. Some herbalist on my mother's side of the family started it ages ago. The book's composed of page after page of ink drawings of plants with descriptions of their medical uses. My father added a section on edible plants that was my guidebook to keeping us alive after his death. For a long time, I've wanted to record my own knowledge in it. Things I learned from experience or from Gale, and then the information I picked up when I was training for the Games. I didn't because I'm no artist and it's so crucial that the pictures are drawn in exact detail. That's where Peeta comes in. Some of the plants he knows already, others we have dried samples of, and others I have to describe. He makes sketches on scrap paper until I'm satisfied they're right, then I let him draw them in the book. After that, I carefully print all I know about the plant. It's quiet, absorbing work that helps take my mind off my troubles. I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book. His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I've seen flashes of this before: in the arena, or when he speaks to a crowd, or that time he shoved the Peacekeepers' guns away from me in District 11. I don't know quite what to make of it. I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don't notice much because they're so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they're a light golden color and so long I don't see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. One afternoon Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks up so suddenly that I start, as though I were caught spying on him, which in a strange way maybe I was. But he only says, "You know, I think this is the first time we've ever done anything normal together." "Yeah," I agree. Our whole relationship has been tainted by the Games. Normal was never a part of it. "Nice for a change." Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television. Usually we only watch when it's mandatory, because the mixture of propaganda and displays of the Capitol's power - including clips from seventy-four years of Hunger Games - is so odious. But now I'm looking for something special. The mockingjay that Bonnie and Twill are basing all their hopes on. I know it's probably foolishness, but if it is, I want to rule it out. And erase the idea of a thriving District 13 from my mind for good. My first sighting is in a news story referencing the Dark Days. I see the smoldering remains of the Justice Building in District 13 and just catch the black-and-white underside of a mockingjay's wing as it flies across the upper right-hand corner. That doesn't prove anything, really. It's just an old shot that goes with an old tale. However, several days later, something else grabs my attention. The main newscaster is reading a piece about a shortage of graphite affecting the manufacturing of items in District 3. They cut to what is supposed to be live footage of a female reporter, encased in a protective suit, standing in front of the ruins of the Justice Building in 13. Through her mask, she reports that unfortunately a study has just today determined that the mines of District 13 are still too toxic to approach. End of story. But just before they cut back to the main newscaster, I see the unmistakable flash of that same mockingjays wing. The reporter has simply been incorporated into the old footage. She's not in District 13 at all. Which begs the question, What is?