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A dancer, of course, gliding on poised feet-- skilled. she’s a huntress, a spider, a b l a c k  w i d o w, a siren, calling out her song before snapping a neck; he senses her looking through him, scanning the area.                   Yet she keeps her eyes on h i m. She knows what she’s doing. Glancing down at the card that’s been offered, extended, he doesn’t know if he should trust her, knows he shouldn’t.  But he does. He can mold and twist this to get his way.        “ Rogers? “  Steve Rogers? He’s read about him in a museum. Brows knit momentarily before relaxing like waves, crashing, then steady  — u n p r e d i c t a b l e.         He’d mention how he doesn’t know who she is, but that would be giving her an advantage, wouldn’t it?         The fox is more agile than the w o l f when it needs to be. It’s almost mechanical, his speech, wiped of all previous memories once again, a clean slate, a slab of clay to be shaped and molded by toxic hands, poison leaking in. There’s a lack of life in his eyes, a puppet being controlled, trying to break free — he looks back at her hand, seeing the outline of a holster, looking back into her eyes. 

[ п о т е р я   п а м я т и ];;trauma, electro-charged zips and wisps,dashing around like fireflies and bouncingo                                                                                           F               fthe walls. he doesn’t remember, he’s a program?                    a program? he doesn’t remember. doesn’t rememberthe slicing and gnawing and ripping ofhis f l e s h, the taste of metal, buzzing of a tablesaw— s c r e a m s;;it’s pulled from his head.it’s forgotten.

                               lying upon his stomach in the frozen precipitation, the incarnation of 0° celcius and below keeps a carnivores’ f o c u s e d glare upon their prey, their target--practice to him. it intrigues him, observing the victim casting a gaze upon the lights above; do these men even t h i n k of the wolves which run these woods? he doesn't ponder such questions, dismissing them nearly as quickly as he can KILL, a single shot between the eyes.                                he simply huffs at the reply, an exhale through his nose, quick{!!}.

SHARP orbs flick towards his responsibility, his example of precision----acting and using these years of training, passing them down to the  next. He has not had a target in d a y s.      ‘’ Вы можете обвинить меня? ‘’  He speaks in a h u s h e d whisper,  still searching for the man.

    veiled orbs follow the shadow, biotech prosthetic     d         --ropping     the weapon for now, pulling two from his belt, matching,     one in each hand like TARGETS before snapping their     windpipes like twigs; just as he was PROGRAMMED to do.                                                                        cut off one head and two more will take it’s place.     ----an advanced appendage     reaches for ankle     as the creature of the night     glides towards him;