Atlas has been part of HYDRA for as long as he can remember. He has been tortured, experimented and tested on. He is no stranger to pain, it's normal.
Until one day HYDRA decides to team him up with Winter Soldier for a mission. That was HYDRAs firs...
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I was sure in one thing, ships were awfully noisy machines and I absolutely hated them. I hated knowing that we were surrounded by massive amount of deep, dark water and all we had to do was wait until we reached the land. The adventure Pietro mentioned before we took off, was a lie. I've been holed up in a cell my whole life, and that's how being on a ship felt like.
“Houston, we have a problem.” Funske mumbled as he thoughtfully stared down the the pile of papers in his hands. After the awfully sweet, long and unnecessary informative introductions the day earlier, I became to dislike those English men. Because Pietro seriously knew how to make a fool out of both of us. Apparently, I didn't speak because I had ego issues, I was blind because as a kid I accidentally jabbed my eye with a pencil. And because I was mostly blind from one eye, I accidentally jabbed the other eye as well. That was the most ridiculous lie I've ever heard.
“I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, but they want to see those papers soon. What is all of this? Why is it needed? Don't they have, I don't know, other people for that?” Pietro whisper-yelled as I trailed behind him. We were under the deck were most cars were, according to Pietro, we had to make important face and look like we were inspecting the cars and every small damage. Considering I was to play blind person, I didn't really care about the inspecting-cars thing.
I could feel the crew giving us curious looks from time to time. And more then once were doubtful, it was making me restless and ichy.
Pietro kept conversing with me quietly, whining over the papers he had to fill, yet, not understanding what he was supposed to write and where. So most of the time he simply drew small ducks and wrote poetry. Or at least, tried to.
I, however, was listing in on conversations around us, quiet whispers of distrust and jokes on our manners and looks. I found myself to be angry whenever someone commented on Pietros childish and crazed personality. I was the only one who could call him stupid.
“I heard captain and inspector speaking, they think these two are some kind of runaways or thieves.” the words were quiet, but not quiet enough for my ears. I halted on my tracks, grabbing Pietros upper arm to make him stop. His curious blue eyes landed on me, yet he made a thoughtful face as he tapped the pencil against the papers as he stared at the gigantic truck before us. By the confusion and curiosity in his eyes, it made me belive he couldn't hear what I could.
“what? How so?” I blocked out the other conversation as my eyes landed on the two deckhands who were eating sandwiches as one of them leaned against a truck five cars down from us. “you know how curious Mike is, so he looked over their information and by what he said, these two have nothing in common with Dutch cargo control guys. He went to notify captain immediately. It's the most action we've gotten on this ship for a while, I bet they are some kind of criminals running from FBI or something. Can you believe it, Dave? If they are, we could be on BBC news.”
