His missions were simple, and to the point.
He was a weapon, a machine designed to kill, to take out any threats.
Emotions were dangerous, corrupt. They take hold of you, and spread through you like wildfire. Dangerous, Unkept, Risky, and Unknown.
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Soldat?" Soldier? He snapped his eyes open, turning his attention to his Handler. He was a man of few words. He didn't speak unless he had a necessary reason to. The only people he ever conversed with were the other soldiers, his Handler, and the scientists who kept him in line. Even then, speaking was not encouraged. He was a weapon, a machine designed to kill, to take out any threats.
He did not need words to complete his missions. While he knew many languages, it was a rare occasion in which he would have to use this knowledge. His missions were simple, and to the point. Get information about the target, go to the drop-off location, kill, then return. He wasn't sure how long he had been doing this for. Decades had passed, that much he knew. Culture, technology, and clothing had changed drastically from the last time he'd been awake. Things were different, this he knew. Yet, there was a flicker, a vision, of another time that flashed in his mind. Music. Big Swing Band. A flurry of men and women in uniforms, very different from what he was used to. This vision was of another decade, long ago. Why did he see this? "Soldat!" Soldier! His Handler repeated the word in a angry shout. He snapped his head up. He had been seen as distracted.
"Gotovy Soblyudat'" Ready to Comply. He was ready to follow orders, to complete his mission. He pushed the strange thoughts away. He didn't need distraction.
Even if it was familiar.
He was dropped off to a secluded area in the forests of Russia. He was informed that he would cross into bordering forests of Ykaterinasburg. Just over this border, he would find a lone house, where his target resided. He went over the information again in his mind. His target was Anton Markov, a known covert Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Through him, HYDRA was vulnerable, as he was able to get through the thousands of encryptions and meta-data placed upon HYDRA's operations. They couldn't risk detection. So, the Soldier was sent in to take care of this little problem. This time however, his instructions were different. This time, he wasn't to kill his target, but he was to bring him in. This bothered The Soldier. This man knew too much about their operations, and killing him would save more time. Time was not to be wasted. Yet, these were his orders. Once he was to reach the house, he was ordered to keep the man inside, and interrogate him. Until he gave all the information he knew, or it was time for extraction. The Soldier was given two weeks, as these Agents were known not to divulge themselves of secrets very easily.
He had all the necessary supplies needed, including multiple weapons. He carried a knife, which was strapped into a thigh-holster, at all times. As well as a smaller gun attached to his back. In his utility belt, was ammo and extra bullets. As well as small bits of first-aid supplies, which he did not need often. He also carried a smaller bag, which housed rations, extra clothing, and an insulated blanket for the many days ahead. The weapons in this bag included several silenced pistols, and a taser. Though he did not use these often. When he was assigned a mission, it was completed with little hassle. A few shots to the neck and the head usually did the trick.
The last weapon was larger rifle that he held rested on his right shoulder when not in use. He moved his head and cracked his neck, ready to begin. He picked up the bag and swung it over his left shoulder, and began his treck into Ykaterinasburg. The snow was heavy, and crunched heavily beneath his boots. A usual man would tire out after a few miles, but the Soldier was different. He could kill with expediency, with precision, he was a surgeon of death, and this description matched it dramatics.
He felt nothing when he killed, how could he? Emotions were dangerous, corrupt. They take hold of you, and spread through you like wildfire. Dangerous, Unkept, Risky, and Unknown. Perhaps a flicker of anger would surge through him if his target was difficult, but it came as soon as it passed. He didn't need to feel anything. HYDRA made sure of that.
He continued on, over and over again, reviewing the facts of the mission in his head. Time passed very quickly for him, as he became lost in the same mantra. Again and Again.
Two weeks, get information, interrogate him, don't let him escape.
No jump of surprise greeted his features when he reached the house. It was often that he would let his mind become numb if he had to travel long distances. He didn't like thinking about how cold it was.
He didn't like the cold.
But why?
He shook off the thought as he inspected the home. It was a simply built building. A log cabin, with insulated metal as the roof. Dark curtains revealed the sliver of soft light creeping out to the dark woods.
He's here.
He trudged forward, his focus shifted. He couldn't just break down the door. No. He needed to catch him by surprise, else he would risk the man going for a weapon. He slowly made his way to the window, which he now noticed was cracked open. He bent down to remain unseen, and shifted his rifle so it leaned against the outside of the house. Gently, he raised his hand to the curtains, and parted them. He could see a small view before him. There was a fireplace, the last remnants of coal crackling and smoldering, but still providing enough light for everything to be visible. In front was a couch, along with a side table, on which a small gun lay. He would need to get to it before his target did. He moved the curtain wider, and stood, grabbing his rifle as he began to slowly creak the windowpane up and fully open. The wind blew ever so slightly into the home, disturbing the crackling fire. He had to be careful about this.
He moved his leg through, and bent down as the rest of him followed suit. The floor was carpeted, so the sounds of his boots hitting the wood was muffled. Once he was fully inside, he fixed the rifle, and moved in. He could now clearly see the rest of the home. On his right was a small kitchen and connected to the right was a smaller room, most likely a bedroom. To the left of the kitchen was a smaller bathroom. Clearly the space was built for the use of one person, and it was old, at least 70 years give or take. He usually did not care about insignifgant details such as the age of houses or cabins, but this place, something felt off. He shook off the encroaching feeling, and creeped along the wooden floor, careful not to make any sound. As he reached the coach, he gently picked up his target's weapon, and slid it into the extra holster on his utility belt. He returned his hand back to his rifle, and then turned around to search for the man.
Ah. There he was.
"Don't move!" There he was, pointing a pistol at his chest. There was a sizeable distance between them as he stood his back to the fridge, ready to defend himself. The Soldier wasted no time in beginning his attack. He shot three times at Markov's head, yet he ducked at just the right moment. He yelled in frustration, and advanced.
Markov was quick to run forward and slide down to the floor, swiping him down with a kick to his legs. The Soldier quickly caught himself with his free hand to the floor. Markov shot at him, but he jumped out of his line of fire, blocking a single bullet with his metal forearm. His eyes widened with shock, but he was quick to return back to the situation. Markov rushed forward again, and reached for the Soldier's rifle, attempting to disarm him.
I don't think so.
He flipped the direction of his rifle, and hit Markov's temple with the end stock. He fell back with a cracking sound and a flood of white in his vision as soon as he was hit, his body slamming into the floor. The last thing he would remember seeing would be the masked assailant leaning toward him; then, everything went to black.
