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Consciousness.
It’s the first thing the Soldat’s brain registers. Not the cold hanging in the air, the darkness enveloping him, nor the silence only broken by far-off creaking. In order to get up he has to turn onto his side.
When he finally makes it to his feet he surveys the area. The room is small - a few broken machines seemingly everywhere in all facilities, bulletproof glass dusted with years of grime, and a rusted metal door half open. There’s a thin streak of red on the floor that leads up to him. He sniffs the air. The blood’s not his. It must come from the other seemingly frozen men around him.
Soldat checks his weapons. He’s low on ammunition, but his weapons are all accounted for. He slides out his favorite knife and holds it defensively. The weight in his hand is calming. He slinks into the shadows. A strange thought crosses his static thoughts: This wasn’t always how he moved. Aware of his tall, bulky frame and heavy bionic arm, he moves as efficiently as possible to stay quiet yet not waste time.
Time.
What time was he wasting? Who's time was he taking up? His own? Hydra's? No, it was someone else’s.
He pauses to check for any noise before rounding the door. It's colder outside of the room. The air rustles heavily and is pregnant with ice. With how loud the wind sounds the building he's in must be small. A bunker or something similar.
The thought of time comes to his mind again before something else catches his attention. There’s an echo here. He feels like he’s been here before this, but not recently. It feels too empty for anyone to have been here. Yet, the dead scattered around tell a different story. It feels…
It feels.
He feels. His limbs ache, yet his stomach feels bloated. His body feels alien. It’s too full. He feels sluggish. Soldat takes a few steps - checking each direction of the hallway - then slips out of the room. The cold slaps at his skin. He heads for the only door he can see.
As he moves he can see the clear signs of a battle. Men in uniforms litter the ground. There are as many men as he’s low on bullets.
Efficient.
Deadly.
Soldat doesn’t feel. He’s not conscious. He doesn’t waste time. He’s a weapon.
The banging of metal on metal catches his attention. Something is on the other side of the door he’s walking towards. There’s a low groan as it’s ripped apart. He stops his movements and crouches defensively. There’s nowhere to hide in this open spot. He was inefficient at this moment and it will cost him later. The small shiver of fear is pushed aside.
The door falls to the floor. A tall man dressed in blue with a shield steps through. A star adorns his chest and shield. It looks familiar. Something claws at his mind as he eyes the man. The star is similar to the one on the Soldat’s arm. The man is enhanced. Is this another test? He knows there were others. He knows he lost many of those tests.
Knows?
Soldat knows nothing but what he’s told. Until his handler says otherwise, unknowns are to be disposed of. He won’t wait to fail again. He takes a step towards the other man.
The blue of the strange man’s eyes sparkle like the ice hanging from the ceiling behind him. His face is impassive for a moment. If Soldat wasn’t so highly skilled, he might have missed the subtle nuance of an upturned lip curl.
Proud.
The look sets off so many images in his mind of the same man with the same look. Memories that made him feel good.
“Down, soldier. Mission report.”
He swallows and stands. His knife swiftly slips into its holder. This is his handler.
“East wing secured.”