It started with the whispers. In every intelligence agency across the world, trickles of information started to come in. At first nothing came of it, the intelligence business was a very active one after all, in which hundreds of such whispers circulated around every day. What was one more pound to the elephant?

But soon those whispers began to grow louder. Outside experts were consulted to analyze strange radio waves originating in the Pacific. Seismologist noted a new land mass that formed in the wake of a recent earthquake. It was clear something had happened, but when you run multi-billion-dollar spy rings, a new island is not terribly important or impressive. Best to leave those situations to the local government and focus resources elsewhere.

So, for a time, no action was taken. All the data was simply thrown in one of hundreds manila folders and tucked away quietly in the depths of the Strategic Homeland Intervention and Logistics Division. Nobody took note when three brilliant college students claimed the island as their own, they had filed the proper paperwork to do so. On the same note, it wasn't particularly surprising that they moved vast amounts of construction material to their new private island, who wouldn't want to build a mansion on it?

What really set the governments the world on high alert was the patents. One does not simply make a major medical breakthrough overnight. You need funding, usually in the million dollar range, and you needed time, about a decade's worth for most drugs.

So when Mid Bio Informatics open its doors on a Tuesday and released a cure for liver cancer that's very same Thursday, people started to get curious. The curiosity didn't stop when even more revolutionary discoveries were released that same year, discoveries that made those three brilliant college students very, very wealthy.

How, asked the spy, where they doing this? They had no investors, no property besides an island, and had a mere three people on their payroll.

That's were things got interesting.

Three agents were dispatched from the Triskelion. They were all the top of their field, veterans of the crafts they had decided to pursue in this life. Some would call them spies but each would view that as an insult. They were artists, with information as a canvas and skill as the paint.

The first was an infiltrator. A buxom brunette, she had trained her mind and body for countless hours in the simulators. Able to break through any security system and fight any opponent through sheer martial skill alone, it was said she can make a ninja weep with envy. She decided on the direct approach, breaking into MBI Tokyo based headquarters with a flair.

She was found in the harbor two days later.

The second was a hacker. He was once a child prodigy, reckless and opportunistic. Yet the military had tempered that passion and redirected it. He had hacked into governmental databases the world over and provided SHIELD with countless state secrets. He thought hacking into one of MBIs satellites would be the first step in the complete unraveling of the rapidly growing mega corporation.

He found a skill that match and surpassed past his own. Angry, defeated and humiliated, he booked an airline ticket home to report his failure.

He never boarded the plane.

The last agent was simply that, the last. She was nice but dull. Polite but unmemorable. Attractive yet plain. If you were to see her in a crowd, you would find her the agreeable sort then forget her as soon as she left your line of sight. Exactly a SHIELD intended.

Her approach was simple. She took a job as a maid at one of the local hotels the founders of the company were known to frequent, and waited. For three long months, nothing happened.

On the last day of the fourth month, she walked into her superior's office in Washington and turned over a three things.

The first was a picture of a woman with purple hair. Strapped to the hip of her slender, yet shapely, body was a sword of unknown make. She was smiling peacefully in the presence of MBIs top researcher, Takehito Asama, as they ate an extravagant meal at the hotel restaurant. Despite running her picture through every database on Earth, her origins remained unknown.

The second item was a bloody knife. Testing revealed it to be the same weapon that killed the infiltrator months earlier. It had been kept as a trophy and placed upon what could only have been described as a shrine, hidden behind a panel the SHIELD agent found. It was unknown who the shrine belong to or what its purpose was, but the agent claimed she had seen a gray eyed women frequent the room, although she had no other evidence to forward.

The last and most damning piece of evidence was a small vial. Inside it was three purple hairs that had been painstakingly collected from the bed of the hotel. SHIELD sent the offending article through their sensors four times before they were satisfied with the results. And what results they were.

She wasn't human. She looked human, she acted human, but her DNA was something else. Attempts to try to extrapolate her origins prove fruitless as the hairs broke down to dust under strenuous testing but the damage was done.

The Spy knew MBI had a secret and it was his job to figure it out.

STRIKE commandos were deployed, resources gathered and the full might of the world's intelligence apparatus was brought to bear.

In their defense, MBI was good, really good. But how long can one company last against the weight of the world? Not forever, that was certain.

Several shaky videos, a complete and total satellite scan of the island, and another DNA sample, this time in the form of skin cells, provided the answer Nick Fury had sought.

Aliens. Honest to god aliens had landed on the planet. He had no way of knowing this would not be the only alien race he would have the pleasure of interacting with but, for the present, his path was clear.

He suggested to the World Security Council the path of caution. So far, the creatures had not attempted to overtake the world's government nor cause chaos and madness. They just seemed to want to live and let live. Nick Fury was more than happy to abide, as long as he was able to keep a close watch on them, of course.

His proposal never stood a chance. Whatever SHIELD knew, HYDRA knew. And HYDRA wanted that technology.

So the remnants of the Red Skull's followers did what they did best. They infiltrated, they manipulated, they bribed and they killed until eventually there was only one consenting opinion among the governments of the world. The governments of the world would have the alien's technology and they would have it now.

And so a task force was approved. Drawing from the military might of dozens of Nations, ranging from the greatest the superpowers to the smallest of city-states, a fleet was set out to sea. In every way it was one of the finest armies humanity has ever assembled. They had the best weapons, the best tactics, and the best men to operate them.

So it was only natural that he was with them. Most didn't believe he existed, that his many deeds were merely legends. Legends bearing the name of Ice Warrior, Shield Breaker and the Red Son.

He didn't remember his name, not yet anyway. But he did know his cryptonym and he did know his mission.

His mission was to capture one of the creatures, alive. And he would do it under the name Зимний Солдат or, as he was more commonly known, The Winter Soldier.

XxX

On a helicopter miles above the Pacific Ocean, a man shivered slightly, despite the sun beating down on him through the cockpit. He gripped the controls of the flying machine tightly, an action that usually gave him great comfort, but today he found none.

He was the best pilot in the fleet, at least in his mind. Every pilot thinks they're the best pilot, and he was no different, but unlike most he had the history to back it up. He had served in the world's hottest warzones: Korea, Afghanistan, even Honduras with a steady hand and an unshakable will. He had shuttled thousands of people in his crafts, from soldiers to civilians to murderers to tyrants and he had done it well.

But none of those assignments bothered him as much as the lone man who sat next to him now.

He looked more like a barbarian than a soldier. Long brown hair that hide his face twisted slightly in the air currents that the rotors created. What is hair didn't covered the mask did, the dark goggles giving him the appearance of a vengeful God about to smite a blasphemer.

The dark body armor only serve to enhance this image. The pilot briefly considered it might be intentional, the first step in psychological warfare. He discarded the idea immediately however, when he saw the flash of silver that was the man's arm. The soldier had wrapped it in fabric, no doubt to hide the glint from a target.

'Assassin then,' the pilot thought. 'He wishes to remain unseen.'

By themselves, none of those descriptions would have unnerved the pilot. He had shuttled assassins before, after all. But what truly unnerved him was his aura.

He could feel it. It surrounded him, filling his beloved bird with feelings of hopelessness and fear. He knew, in some distant corner of his mind that he was in no danger but that provided no comfort. The murderous intent simply leaked out and shook him to the bone. The pilot slammed his eyes forward, hoping the man haven't seen him observing. This was a man who could kill without mercy, destroy without cause. He felt the primal, animalistic instinct grow within him to flee, to hide.

But he resisted. He had a mission to complete, as did the man next to him.

Below them, thousands of ships turned the water as they sped toward shore. Each carried men and soldiers with their own tasks and goals, all of which related to giving HYDRA this island.

High above those ships, the air around them was full with the whirl of helicopters and the scream of jet engines. Some carried men of their own, but most just carried bombs and bullets to wash away whatever resistance faced HYDRAs forces.

They were in for a surprise. Shrill beeping was all the warning most got before anti air missiles released from the island below slammed into the first wave. Some pilots panicked, breaking ranks in a desperate attempt to dodge, but it was no use. The debris from the broken war machines fell to the sea below, sending up great splashes of water in their wake.

The jet aircraft above turned downward, heading to destroy the SAM sites before they could release any more of their hated payload. They were met with cannon fire from several unmarked aircraft, which appeared to be unmanned in nature.

"Pilot," The voice, rough from disuse, broke the pilot's stunned observations. Slowly, he turned to look at his only passenger. "взять нас ниже. Земля, на этой вершине холма."

Translating the Russian quickly to English, the pilot nodded before rapidly decreasing altitude. Soon they were skimming mere meters above the water, hoping to avoid the missiles that took their comrades lives.

Surprisingly, the Navy was having a much easier time than the Air Force. The Marines had landed on the beach in good order, suffering no casualties and it set up a perimeter brilliantly. Several tanks disembark from the landing craft, before they begin cutting inland through the palm trees.

The soldier paid them no heed, already removing the restraints and heading to the rear of the helicopter. Grabbing his Soviet made Dragunov sniper rifle, he leapt out of the chopper before it even hit the ground.

Rolling to diffuse the tension on his legs, even though a fall from this height wouldn't harm his cybernetically enhance body anyway, the sniper brought the weapon to his eye, scanning the surroundings quickly.

Seeing as he as alone, he moved quickly the higher ground as he reviewed all the information he had gathered on his target.

There wasn't much, and he didn't ask questions, but he knew enough. His targets was the invisible fist of MBI, a private security brigade that wasn't human and was confirmed to be on the island. Eventually, these forces would confront the encroaching HYDRA invaders and when they did, he would move.

Setting his weapon on a rocky overlook, the Winter Soldier went prone, staring down his rifle scope at the lead elements of the invading army. It was a waiting game now.

The Winter Soldier didn't get bored, he was perfectly capable of sitting in the same position for days waiting for a target, but that was unnecessary.

With a flick of his ring finger, he accessed the radio frequencies of the ground troops, listening to the buzz.

Turning the sound to a minimum, he remain cautious. Already, the missile sites and unmanned aircraft that had slaughtered the Air Force showed just how ignorant the invading forces were to their enemy. Intel had suggested nothing of the sort was present and that was a bad sign. If intelligence could miss a whole anti-aircraft battery, it was possible that they missed much worse.

Deep in the corner of his mind, the experiences of Bucky Barnes oozed out. Unlike the Winter Soldier, Barnes had functioned as more than just a killing machine. He had led men instead of merely killed them and thus knew something was wrong. Why would the enemy provide such a strong anti-air front but allow the ground troops to land unmolested?

The radio crackle to life with a hiss. The lead element of the advancing army radioing in quickly. "Sir, I have visual."

"What's wrong?"

"There's a person, sir. A woman just standing there!"

"It's likely a part of the island security detail," The voice replied in an annoyed tone. "Killer her and continue."

The Soldier look towards the source of the radio signal, trying to get a visual. His eyes narrowed as he saw what appeared to be flower petals floating through the air. Something was wrong.

Suddenly, the wind changed so that it was comparable to a hurricane. The formally peaceful flower petals became instruments of death. They slashed through the approaching squad like paper, leaving a trail of gore and blood in its wake. Heedless of destruction, the wind continued right into one of the tanks, flipping it upside down. With a burst of flame it exploded.

'Strong, analogue of Mutant, Beta level, likely higher.'

Watching impassively, the Winter Soldier observed a purple clad woman walking through death she had caused, already having selected a nearby helicopter as her next target. It fell before her might.

Breaking from his over watch, the soldier turn and slip deeper into the forest. His opponents weren't human and were thus completely unpredictable, which meant he couldn't wait. He needed to get to the enemy's position and confront them before they destroyed all available escape routes off the island.

Trading his sniper rifle for one of his sub machine guns, he began a light jog, dutifully ignoring the pained cries from below him. He had his mission and they had theirs, which was truly all that mattered.

XxX

Something was wrong.

Matsu's eyes narrowed dangerously, and his hand drifted down to the sword tucked in a sheath on his waist. He took a deep breath and called upon the power all Sekirei were born with.

He had been tasked with destroying all the enemies' armored vehicles, which had proven almost laughably easy. All it took was one soft touch of his sword to the dry earth and an earthquake swallowed his foes. Elsewhere, he could tell his sisters were having even less trouble than he, cutting down the advancing forces like wheat in a field.

Soon, the tanks and armored cars ceased to challenge him, seeking to hide in the dense jungle that covered the eastern part of the island. Moving quickly, number two had provided the exact location of his foes which was radioed to him dutifully. It didn't take long for those stragglers to fall as well.

But as he turned towards the buried ship upon which he was born, he felt something. There was someone moving in the tree line. They were silent, invisible to the naked eye and likely electronic sensors as well. Even the psychic link that his race used to identify potential mates was fooled. But dirt didn't lie. Every step the opponent took caused the ground to shift slightly and that told the swordsman all he needed to know.

"Human!" He shouted into the forest, his voice clear and bold. "There is no use in hiding! I apologize, but you cannot leave this island alive."

And he truly was sorry. He was ruthless and precise with his butchering of the invaders. But that doesn't mean he couldn't pity them.

It's a shame he wasn't really fighting a human. Machines don't act like humans do.

Mutsu's eyes widened as a grenade launched out of the brush three meters right of where he thought his opponent was. Acted quickly, he raised a wall of earth to protect himself, allowing the grenade to explode against it harmlessly. Struggling against the urge to cough, he opened his eyes to see the barrel of a gun point straight at his face, the trigger already partially depressed.

With reflexes humans simply could hope to approach, the swordsman leaped back, pulling his sword out of its scabbard with a dull shinck.

His movements like lightning, he begin batting away the incoming bullets, before slowly advancing against the onslaught. In his mind the battle was already over, the man would run out of ammo and he would skewer him on his sword.

A tell-tale click told him it was time. With a single powerful stride, he was slicing through the dust that hide the humans form.

He was surprised to meet nothing but air.

Looking around widely, he was forced once again to bring his sword up to a defensive position, another round of bullets striking his sword. These were different from the soft rounds that the last weapon used, requiring him to deflect the bullets away due to their higher caliber instead of merely stopping them.

"Enough!" He shouted, bring his sword down quickly. Earth before him cracked, sending razor sharp rocks into the air as they raced towards his opponent. For a moment the exchanged stopped, the dust cloud dissipating. Only to reveal Mutsu standing in the clearing alone, surrounded by spent cartridges.

Wearily, the Sekirei spun around, looking for an adversary. He didn't like the fact that he was alone. He stretched out his senses, searching for something, anything. Silence was all that greeted him.

Slowly, carefully, Mutsu began backing up. He didn't like this, not at all. Humans don't fight Sekirei on equal terms, then disappear without a scratch on them. He was dealing with something unique.

Touching his hand to his ear, he spoke lowly. "Matsu, warn the others." He took a breath before speaking, fully realizing the impossibly of his next statement. "We're dealing with something different. Something that can fight us on equal terms."

For a second, only silence great him. Then a shocked voice spoke. "Understood, Mutsu-kun. Karasuba is on route."

XxX

"I said warn the others Mutsu," His query below sighed. "Not cause a genocide."

'Geokinetic. Speed B, Weapon +B. Handle with caution.'

He needed to move quickly then. There was at least four of these things running around the island, as well as whoever was running the other side of that com link, and one was capable fighting him to a standstill. Chances were he could survive a direct encounter but not at combat strength needed to complete his mission.

With movements like a spider he shifted above his prey. He didn't know how he knew it, but the feeling in his bones told him that Geokinetics were usually so focused on the ground they rarely looked up. Perhaps one of his previous missions had dealt with mutants? His memories of his past remained elusive and irrelevant.

Hefting the weapon in his hands, he settled it on a tree branch to help study it. Even with a cybernetic arm, a grenade launcher had a lot of kick.

Exhaling slowly, he let his fingers gracefully pull the trigger. Then again and again until six warheads were screaming downwards towards the target.

Discarding the launcher even before the first grenade had exploded, he leaped down from his perch, suspecting that even that much firepower won't be enough.

He was pleasantly surprised to find his query face down on the ground, seemingly unconscious. Around him were six perfectly formed craters, each exactly ten feet away from the targets form. Barnes would have said it was a fine bit of shooting, Winter had no time for such trivialities. Regardless, he approached with his weapons bared, taking the time to observe the alien.

He was tall, sporting pale hair that had several specs of blood on it. His black fingerless gloves still clutched his sword, even though he apparently hadn't had time to remove it from the sheath before the explosions struck. The most distinctive thing was his orange scarf, which rose and fell as his subject breathed softly, seemingly unconscious.

Moving quickly, the man formerly known as Bucky Barnes discarded his weapon before shoved his hands into one of the many pouches lining his vest. Allowing his fingers to graze over four syringes, the contents of which he would use only as a last resort, he found a set of reinforced cable ties and produced them.

In the brief moment that his hands didn't hold a weapon, the fully conscious Sekirei acted. Digging the tip of his sword into the dirt, he shouted. "Smashing Point!"

There was no time to dodge, no way to run. The Earth itself moan and trembled as it was compelled to rise, rippling outward from the Sekirei sword point in a tidal wave of devastation. Trees were torn asunder and stone rose into the air before converging on their target. Behind the mask, the man's eyes narrowed as he calculated the best course of action. With no time left to act, he simply dug his boots into the ground and bent his knees. Then he was buried from sight as the very Earth swallowed him whole.

XxX

Mutsu rose, brushing the dust off his coat as he looked towards the devastation he had wrought. He found himself almost sad, mournful. That creature was truly something else, something special and unique. But he dismissed those thoughts quickly, more out of a deep respect than anything. He wasn't sure what philosophy or God his opponent had believed in but he was not one to mourn the dead. That man had giving him a greater battle than any other native of this planet. He would celebrated that feat instead of mourning its end.

Radioing back to 'the pervert', he reported that the situation had been dealt with, much to 04's consternation. Apparently she had been excited to fight something different. Too bad for her.

But even now, something felt off. Feeling himself coming off the adrenaline high of battle, he felt a slow ache begin to grow in this side. Looking down curiously, he noticed a red liquid dripping down his pants.

"Blood?" He asked himself quietly, running his hands over his stomach. Finding a protrusion, he gripped and pulled out a four inch piece of shrapnel. "Interesting."

Craning his neck to the side, he frowned at the wreckage of his opponent. "You actually wounded me." He said with the faintest glimmer of a smirk on his face. "You were quite the strong one, human."

Turning, he began a slow walk back to the spaceship he had been born on, his head held high. Mentally, he promise to return to his opponent's grave here and give him a proper send off. He still never got a good look at his opponent and he wanted the memory of the man who drew first blood upon him to be firmly imprinted in his mind.

SNAP

A brief buzzing in the back of his head was his only warning, and he thrust his sword blindly into blocking position as pure bloodlust spouted from behind him.

Silver eyes widened as a metal fist crunched through his blade and continued its path unerring into his face. He felt that one. His body flew through the air like a ragdoll before hitting a tree at high speeds. The wood shattered inward, the splinters settling around Mutsu as his body dug a deep trench into the Earth.

"What...the...hell?" He coughed, a pink frock of blood and bile escaping his lips as he struggled to stand. Before he could managed, his legs were kicked out from under him and went crashing to the forest floor once again. Blood seeped into his eye from a nasty cut that was sure to require stitches and he gasped in agony as terrible pain filled his very soul.

A grunt above him was heard, before an explosion of pain engulfed his right hand, which had held stubbornly to his (now broken) sword throughout the whole ordeal. The blade was useless now, and he found he had no qualms releasing it from under the force of a boot that pressed on his hand. What was happening?

Doing his best to roll despite his pinned appendage, Mutsu looked into the face of his attacker.

The man look nearly as bad as he felt. Blood poured from nearly every orifice on his body, showing up in sharp relief to the dust that covered him. His clothes were ripped, ruined beyond all repair. His combat vest was in tatters, revealing to the world scarred skin both fresh and old that covered his torso. His pants were destroyed, resembling shorts now, his boots but mere strings around his foot. But his teeth were bared in a defiant snarl and in his hand he held a knife that was already in motion.

In the brief second before the butt of the weapon made contact with the side of his skull, Mutsu felt his opponent's mental defense shift before dropping entirely.

What he felt through his psychic skill was…warmth. Not the humid heat of the island but a welcoming presence that Mutsu couldn't help but be drawn too. It was like those movies number three always pirated, the ones that ended with the cowboy riding off into the sunset with the girl smiling on. It was bliss.

Then he fell into the sweet realm of oblivion.

XxX

He's running on instinct now, tired, wounded, pursued. His breath is harsh as he ran through the forest, desperately searching for the helicopter on which he came in.

'Concussion, three fractured ribs, broken arm, multiple slashing wounds, serious blood loss. Combat efficiency: 12%.'

But he can't stop. He has to keep going, despite every injury. Pain is familiar, pain is irrelevant, and pain does not have power over him.

So he runs and runs and runs. He handles the bundle in his hands carefully, with an almost reverent care. His mission must be delivered alive, he must. The Winter Soldier knows that he is nothing without his mission, and so his mission is his life, his purpose. He would do anything for it, to succeed.

The bundle groans, the sprint no doubt jostling his wounds. Stopping to catch his breath, the Soldiers hides in the shade of a tree, looking over his captive.

Blood. There was blood pouring out of him and shrapnel in his back. If he was human he would have gone into shock by now but, as he wasn't, he just moans pitifully. That wouldn't do.

Shaking hands pawed through the remains of his tactical vest, searching for the solution. He tries to ignore the urge to examine his wounds, for he knew his body was unimportant in regards to the mission. Finally, shaky hands extracts one of the four syringes, each miraculously preserved.

They were from a joint experiment between SHIELD and the Canadian Government known as the Weapon X Project. Results were mixed but HYDRA managed to procure one of the lasting legacies of the experiment and refine it.

Positioning himself above his target, he didn't bother finding a vein before stabbing the needle into the man's arm.

The results were instantaneous. The wounds on the target began to close at a visible rate, cells regenerating at a speed that violated the laws of nature. Soon the bleeding stopped and even the bruising began to disappear. It wouldn't be long before it appeared as if the mission had never fought him at all.

Which would be a problem, if he decide to fight back. The syringes benefits were short lived, as the body rejected the foreign substance, but the assassin knew he had no chance of winning an engagement with the alien a second time. He even lacked suitable restraints, which he doubted would have held the alien anyway, with which to bind him.

Rising slowly, he began reaching for his mission to continue his crazed sprint before a high pitch beeping issued from his arm. Face impassive, he discarded the used syringe and pocketed the remaining three before pressing a small panel on his arm.

"This is your new handler," A voice spoke from the hidden radio in his (now heavily dented) metallic arm. "I apologize we won't be able to meet in person but your previous handler made a significant misstep in your deployment." The voice paused, clearing his throat before adding. "He has been dealt with."

The voice on the other end of the line paused, as if waiting for a response. But the Soldier just waited for orders. "We are in full retreat on all points." The voice said after a prolonged silence. "You are too valuable an asset to leave on that God forsaken island, so get to the helicopter, double time. Drop anything that might be slowing you down, we cannot wait for you."

Nodding, the man moved to follow orders. Standing, he fought off a wave of dizziness that flowed through him, before turning to walk away from the alien. His mission had changed and thus the target he had almost died to defeat didn't mean anything now.

Only to stop when a hand that felt like a vice grip closed on his shoulder.

The man tensed under his Mutsu grip, like a caged animal that was willing to claw off its own leg to escape a trap. Bloodlust once again exploded from the masked man with an almost physical force that caused the very trees seemed to bend in reverence to it.

But Mutsu wasn't concerned, not in the least. Even a child could tell that his opponent was in no shape to fight back. He was covered in dust, blood and rags, nothing like the proud assassin he had fought just minutes before.

"You healed me." He asked simply. "Why?"

As he watched the man's face for reaction, he couldn't help but distantly recognize this was the first real look he had had at his former opponent. And even through the grime that coated him, he couldn't help but think he was incredibly handsome.

'Wait, what?'

That handsome face looked on impossibly, no doubt thinking of the proper response. Or maybe he was just figuring out a way to kill him, even though that was an impossibility.

"You were my mission." Cracked bloody lips finally said, as if that simple statement had explained everything.

Mutsu raised an eyebrow. He must admit, his contact with the human race was limited. Besides his adjuster, Takamine and the mad man, he hadn't had a single meaningful confrontation with any of their kind yet. Well, besides the kind that ended with a sword in there belly and lots of screaming.

But this one was odd, different. In the future, he would look back on this day and see a broken number, not a human Ashikabi. His mind could make that connection but it seems his body had other ideas.

A sudden heat had started to pool in his stomach, growing with each passing second. His cheeks had taken a pink ting and he fought the urge to duck his head in embarrassment, even though he hadn't done anything. His heart beat a steady stucco in his chest, growing louder and louder every second. He had never felt such a thing before, but he knew he was reacting to the bloody man before him.

Withdrawing his hand slowly, he flexed it carefully, thinking. "You fought me." He said, a slight tone of awe leaking into his voice. "That shouldn't be possible."

It was a lesson number one had drilled into all of them the second they had awoken. They were Sekirei, beings of great strength and power. They had conquered the stars, leaving behind a great empire to find there destined ones, which they would exalt and protect. And they would need protecting, Miya had said, for they were like fragile glass compared to them.

The subtext hadn't been intentional, Mutsu was sure, but the goddess had made them sound...weak, pathetic. That it was a simple fact that an Ashikabi would be below them in every respect that mattered but they would serve them anyway. Like love was some sort of sacrifice to be under taken, instead a joy to be uplifted.

Karasuba had taken this view to the logical extreme. She looked at a human and saw nothing but an insect to be crushed. Mutsu doubted she would ever truly feel the heat that he was feeling now, a deep pang of affection that came with a natural reaction. If she ever did find an Ashikabi, it would be totally economical. Emotionless and cold to the end.

"I can feel you, you know." He said softly. Nervously, he began playing with his scarf, the orange fabric comforting him. "Even as you try to shut me out, we're linked, you and I."

He sighed, dragging his toe through the dirt mournfully, noting he was missing a shoe for some reason. "I think you can be my Ashikabi. My chosen one, till the end of the line. Will you accept me?"

Looking up, he found nothing but the empty air to greet him. Blinking, he turned in a circle, looking for the masked man. He found only the shade of the trees and the blowing of the wind. He was alone, all alone. Desperate, he sent a pulse of mental energy out, hoping. No echo returned to him, his destine one blocking his mind from his summons.

Falling to his knees, he felt the urge to cry. But no tears came, only one sad smile.

"Fate is not so cruel," He said to himself. "We will meet again, my Ashikabi, and when that day comes, I will be yours, as you shall be mine. Forever and ever."

XxX

"Mission Report."

The soldier replied instantly. "I may be compromised."

Instantly, several weapons were pointed in his direction, held by stone eyed men and ready to fire at a moment's notice. The handler did nothing, calmly sitting across from the assassin as if they were talking about the weather.

"The target species are psychic." The answer was delivered in a monotone, the former Sergeant starting at a wall instead of at the room's occupants. "One claimed that he was connected to me. I believe I am free of outside influence but he is there, feeling my emotions."

The handler's eyes narrowed. "Strength?"

"Low, he can't read any information or complex thoughts, only raw sentiment." The Soldier paused, analyzing the foreign entity in his mind. "It wants me, specifically."

The handler nodded, a slight smile crossing his lips. "Understood," He swiveled in his chair, finding the doctor lurking in the shadows. "Wipe him and freeze him. That should take care of any mental intrusions."

His work complete, the handler stood before exiting the room, ignoring the pained screams behind him. Walking quickly, he navigated the hidden base, arriving at a communications center in good time. Keying his code quickly, he joined a call between the most powerful men of the world.

"'...15% combat ready. Navy is highest at less than one half casualties and the air force reports a total loss of all operational fighter planes.'"

"Where does that leave us?"

"This attack single handedly pushed back our military might by 10 years, perhaps more. We will need to postpone the plan. All in favor?"

Several different variations of the word 'yes' echoed across the line.

"Motion passes. What is our next move?"

"Germany and Japan are already assembling a second task force." This voice paused, an air of palpable caution present, even over the phone. "We could piggyback onto those forces, make a second attempt."

"No," This voice was resolute, a hint of steel creeping into it. "If the might of HYDRA could not take them today, they will not be taken. We lost one head today and we must wait for the two new ones to grow."

"We can't just sit here! That technology could push humanity forward by at least a century!"

"Which is why we won't," The voice replied smugly. "I have a plan."

A hushed, almost reverent silence fell over the line. Across the world, leaders of the Nazi offshoot leaned forward in their chairs, edger and skeptical all at once.

"Why fight," Baron Zemo began, a cruel smile on his face. "When you can negotiate."

XxX

Alright, welcome to this story! As it stands, this is a sort of proof of concept, testing the waters, so to speak. If you would like me to write more, I would very much appreciate some positive criticism on this story.

To that point, I have a couple of questions:

!) How big should Bucky's flock be?

2) How is Bucky? Too weak? Too Powerful?

3) Would you mind if I went AU? Like really AU?

Also, just a note, if I were to write more, this would be a Marvel in Sekirei. That means it's 90% Sekirei and a mere 10% Marvel cinematic universe (with some comic inspiration). Also, Minato is his own person. I do not intend to replace Minato with Bucky or to take Minato's Sekirei and give them to Bucky (unless you really want me to).

Regardless, thanks for reading!