In the 21st century, The Soldier went rogue, HYDRA fell, but the files of the assassin still remained. The deaths were too big for SHIELD to let it simply go.
Apparently, the Avengers had no idea there were more than two people lost in time.
It wou...
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He woke up with a noise that reminded him of his last victim, which was odd, he was not supposed to remember. The victim had choked in his own blood as it kept bubbling from the corner of his blue lips, eyes wide and unable to breathe, unable to move while his life raced through his eyes.
The soldier felt as if there was the blood of hundreds that made him choke from the slight slumber. The ghosts were killing him in his sleep.
He gasped, turning to his side as his eyes roamed over the dark basement he had decided to rest. It was secluded, dark and unused for a long time. He saw no one.
He closed his eyes in agony as he felt a pain shoot through his head, the pain, it was familiar, but it still made him scream in agony as his body twisted as he tried to make it more bearable. Another wave hit him, making him scream so loud his throat became raw.
He was fighting in mud with someone, and it wasn't what he was used to, it was mock fighting. In this memory, he was not aiming to kill the other man, yet, they were both armed. "It was Will's fault." the joyful voice teased as they got caught. "Was not!" Green eyes looked at him mischievously, ignoring the rage in his. "Both of you get out of my sight." "Yes sir!"
He felt his nails sharpen as adrenaline kicked in, as he had no knife to clutch, he dug his claws into his own palms to lessen the suffering in his head. Crimson covered his palms, flowing through his fingers.
"Heavens to Betsy." he threw someones limp hand over his shoulder, but everything was still hazy. "Stop bleeding, you're getting your blood all over my clothes." he didn't understand who was the man he was helping, why was he helping a half dead person? "Shut up you arse, stupid-looking American child." there was no monotonous voice or snappy remarks he was used to. But fondness instead.
He raised his fist and slammed it down into the cement floor, once, twice, three times. He didn't stop when he heard the breaking of his knuckles. He kept punching it, until there was a deep dent in it and the ground was turning into tiny pieces of grey.
"Dum vivimus, vivamus."
The pain in his head lessened, making him relax his balled fists slightly as he pressed his forehead against the cool cement ground. His claws retracted. He didn't dare to open his eyes yet, knowing that even though it was night, it would still be too bright for his eyes. His breathing was heavy as he painfully slowly pushed himself on his hands and knees, shuffling back into the corner, pressing his sweat covered back against the wall as he dared to open his eyes just a little.
He did not know what that meant, what it was that just happened. But he knew he could not stay, he needed to leave. He might have caught someones attention with the screaming he had had no control over. His face was sickly pale, sweat glistening on his forehead as the rays of the moon escaped in from the small window he had used as an entrance earlier. He felt sick, but he was sure it was not psychical, but more psychological. Fully clothes, he made sure there were no one in sight before he dashed away from the building that was surrounded by some homeless people and lots of trash.
He leaned against a stone wall, skimming his still shaky hands through his messy hair as he tried to make sense of what just happened or what he saw. He flinched as he felt a phantom pain surge through his wrists, he looked down, seeing the scarring around them, it was almost painfully obvious that this was the work of his handlers.
The handlers he was going to kill.
But there was also an odd feeling surfacing in his chest, it felt oddly like curiosity and longing mixed together with underlying fear. He saw a shape in his memories, a fit man with dimples and green eyes, but the ground they were both standing on was muddy, slick with red blood. Around them stood other shapes, but their faces were unrecognizable, they were foggy and seemingly getting further and further away.
Those were his memories, private memories. He knew HYDRA could not have known about those.
And this, made him oddly enough feeling giddy.
But what did this mean? Never before had they surfaced.
He stepped into a small store, feeling tense as the small eyes of an overweight man skimmed over him briefly. The storekeeper had bushy eyebrows and thinning hair, he leaned back and looked at the football match running in his computer.
The soldier walked through the isles, making sure the tiny camera he spotted in the corner would not be able to identify him. He blinked groggily, confused as he looked the hundreds of different batons with different colours and tastes.
No. Too confusing.
He moved on, relieved when he finally saw something he was familiar with. Apples and sugar cookies. He hesitantly took them, gritting his teeth due to the pain that surged through his broken hand as he stuffed the box with cookies into his backpack. He piled seven red and yellow apples into a see-through bag as he felt his stomach growl in hunger. He was starving, and the fact that the bullet wound in his side hadn't fully healed yet was a clear sign that his body demanded to be fed.
He grabbed a couple of more things that he found familiar. Like cheese and bread and milk in a glass bottled. He headed out, halting on his step as the round man stood up, smacking his palm against the table. "You have to pay for those!" he complained, his cheeks turning redder in agitation.
The soldier slowly turned, void eyes from underneath the dark hood making contact with the cashiers squinted ones. He didn't blink as they swiftly changed to red in warning. The rage turned into fear and he heard the man gulp loudly before hesitantly sitting back into the creaky chair. "I-I can do discount. Free... Discount." he mumbled, looking down on the table as terror made him sweat. When the cashier looked back up, all he saw was the closing of the door and no sign of the red-eyed customer. He sighed in relief, deciding to look at the match and try to forget the demonic person-man who just stole from his store.
The soldier sat on a bench, crunching on the cookies he had gotten from the store. The flavour was alright, but they weren't exactly what he was looking for. Well, he didn't even know what exactly that was, but there was something about those that didn't fit well.
He watched the sun rise in the horizon, knowing that he would not leave before he figured out who was the man in his dream. He could not, now that he was without backup agents, Masters and handlers, he felt like he could breathe a little bit easier. There was no way for him to feel safe, but the sense of freedom was somewhat making him less and less excited to find HYDRA.
So, before he was going to head to the emergency base, he was going to figure out who that man was.
