The wind bit at his face as Ryder soared across the skyline, his body enveloped in a thin shimmer of red cursed energy—barely visible to the naked eye. It was a cloaking field he had designed for himself: silent, Thermal fluctuation-dampening, and perfect for infiltrations like this.
A few minutes later, Ryder touched down on the snowy roof of an abandoned steel mill on the outskirts of the city—at least, that's what it appeared to be. According to Echo's files, beneath it lay a subterranean network, shielded from satellite detection and reinforced with old Soviet tech that modern scanners often overlooked.
Ryder crouched low, brushing snow off a rusted hatch. He pressed his palm against the surface, activating a biometric override tool hidden in his glove. After a soft beep, the hatch gave way with a reluctant groan. Cold air rushed upward as he slipped inside, sealing it shut behind him.
He landed on a steel catwalk above a massive underground chamber. The facility was alive.
Below, armed guards in black tactical gear patrolled metal walkways. Bright overhead lights reflected off polished floors. On one side, a training area echoed with the sound of combat—Black Widows sparring in brutal, calculated silence. Every move they made was fluid, deadly. No wasted motion.
Ryder's eyes narrowed. So it's true… they're still training them.
He pulled out a small lens device, scanning the area. A faint red signal pinged in the eastern wing of the base. Echo's tag: Dreykov's private quarters. Ryder began moving, sticking to the shadows.
He made his way through the ventilation system, dropping into a maintenance tunnel. A single guard turned the corner—but before he could blink, Ryder struck. A quick jab to the neck, followed by a sweep of the leg. The man collapsed silently, unconscious.
Finally, Ryder reached a secure door. He placed the slim black card Echo had given him against the panel. After a tense moment, the lock clicked.
Inside was no grand office. Dreykov kept it utilitarian—metal walls, a desk cluttered with maps and classified documents, and a screen displaying surveillance feeds from across the facility.
But no Dreykov.
Ryder stepped in, gloved fingers moving fast as he rifled through the files. Movement logs, transfer lists, and one document labeled "Phase 2: Widow Expansion".
"hmm, a Expansion huh, poor guy was almost killed by Natasha before he could push this plan of his," Ryder muttered.
Suddenly, a soft beep echoed through the room. He looked up—one of the monitors had switched to a camera feed showing the hallway outside.
A squad of Widows was approaching.
Ryder grabbed what he could, stuffing the files into his coat. Just as the door burst open, he tossed down a smoke pellet and flipped backward through a vent in the ceiling.
The Widows stormed in, guns raised—but the Ghost was already gone.
Back in the air ducts, Ryder crawled through narrow shafts, heart steady. He'd gotten what he came for. Dreykov wasn't here—but he was close.
He emerged onto the surface a few minutes later, snow crunching beneath his boots. His breath came in clouds as he whispered to himself, "hmm if he is not here then where?"
He tapped his communicator.
"Echo."
"Yo?"
"I'm sending you intel. Priority decrypt. Find me the location Dreykov's heading to next. He wasn't there."
"Got it. Give me twenty."
Ryder stared out at the night again, eyes glinting beneath his hood.
"Tick-tock, Dreykov. You're running out of places to hide."
The bitter Russian winter showed no mercy.
Three days. That's what Echo had said. Dreykov would return in three days. Ryder wasn't about to waste them.
With the stolen files burned into his mind and safely encrypted in Echo's systems, Ryder moved like a ghost through the sprawl of frozen landscapes and decaying Soviet-era ruins. Each step was calculated, each target chosen with precision. He wasn't just killing time—he was laying traps, dismantling Dreykov's infrastructure piece by piece.
The first day, he hit an outpost near Smolensk—supposedly decommissioned, yet crawling with mercs and Widow handlers. Ryder rigged the generators to overload and took down their server before the flames lit up the sky.
The second day brought him to a weapons depot deep in the forests of Perm Krai. Satellite blind spots had hidden it from the world, but Echo's algorithms were smarter. Ryder took his time there. He left no survivors.
Each night, he watched the snow fall from whatever shelter he could find—a cave, an abandoned train car, even the skeletal remains of a bombed-out chapel. Thanks to the protection of his cursed energy, the cold didn't bother him in the slightest, nor did he need rest with his new physiology.
Still, he chose to rest—if only to keep his mind sharp—as he navigated the Soviet ruins, which couldn't truly be called ruins anymore. Many of them crawled with hidden facilities buried beneath their crumbling exteriors.
On the surface, the old Soviet buildings looked abandoned—forgotten relics of a fallen empire. But Ryder knew better. Beneath the rusted factories, hollowed-out bunkers, and collapsed rail depots were networks of fortified halls, training centers, and armories.
As he moved from one ghost town to the next, Ryder left no trace—only silence. Echo's intel fed him paths others couldn't see: surveillance blind spots, patrol schedules, secret access shafts welded shut from the inside. He'd crack them open like tombs and slip in undetected.
And as he moved toward another location, something new caught his eye.
" huh? A Hydra hidden facility," Ryder muttered, grinning as he spotted the red octopus logo—the unmistakable symbol of Hydra. "I still wonder why they call it Hydra when their symbol clearly looks more like a Kraken."
Ryder crouched behind a broken wall as a transport truck rolled past the outer perimeter of the hidden Hydra base. The snow was starting to fall harder, giving him perfect cover. He watched the guards—three of them—patrolling in lazy loops near a supply entrance at the base of the structure. Their body language was casual, careless.
A mistake.
In a blink, Ryder moved. The cursed energy around him shimmered like heat on pavement, dulling his presence. The first guard barely turned his head before Ryder's blade kissed his throat—silent, efficient. The second was gone before he could even shout. The third? He didn't even get a chance to realize he was alone.