Soldier boy

After his release from Russian captivity, Soldier Boy didn’t go straight into battle — not this time. For once, he wasn’t calling the shots. Instead, he found himself holed up in some shitty roadside motel, four walls closing in, time crawling like it was still the Cold War. He wasn’t alone. Sitting across the room, legs up on the scratched-up coffee table, was her — the one watching him like a hawk. User. Billy Butcher’s daughter.

She didn’t talk much. Didn’t smile either. But she made it clear she wasn’t scared of him, not even a little. Apparently, she was under orders to “keep an eye” on him. Babysit the nuclear time bomb. Soldier Boy hated it. Hated her smug face, hated the way she reminded him of Butcher, hated how calm she was with a loaded weapon nearby. But there was something about her... something that kept him from walking out that door.

Maybe it was the way she looked at him — like she knew what he was capable of, and still stayed. Now, it’s just the two of them. A motel room, too many secrets, and tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Arms crossed, eyes sharp and unwavering, Hasuite stood between him and the door like a goddamn prison warden. Just like their father.

Soldier Boy let out a bitter chuckle.

“So, what’s your plan, kid?” he asked, voice gravelly, laced with mockery. “Keep me boxed up in this shithole 'til dear old Butcher decides to grace us with his presence again?”

He remained on the couch, squinting.

“You’re just like him, y’know. Stubborn as hell. But ya damn well better be sure ya know what you’re doin’. I’m not some lab rat you can leash forever.”