Keep Marching On

2-Talk.

Anton Markov hadn't been in this sort of situation before. Yes, he was good at his job, but he wasn't invincible. The folly of men is the idea that they are the masterminds of every situation, that they are stronger than any other person, which often gives way to narcissism, riotousness, and the idea that one person is better than the other. Anton noticed this behavior among the upper agents at SHIELD, those who always received top marks and medals of honor. Yes they were good at their jobs, but that didn't mean they were good people.

Of course Anton was thinking of all of this while he was tied to a chair, his hands bound behind him. When he awoke, he remained calm. But his disguise was thinly veiled. In front of him was his assailant, the man gave off a cold demeanor. He stated at Anton with dark eyes, the rest of his face was covered.

Smart.

Anton couldn't help but have a little shred of curiosity when it came to the man's appearance, even if he was the enemy. Human beings are like that, even if things are dangerous, we want to see and feel more, even if it gets us killed.

"Nice hair." Was the first thing that came out of Anton's mouth. The man furrowed his brow, the shift in his expression ever so slight. Anton tried to move his hands, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to break free. Just a science experiment.

"Do you want to make this interesting? Toss a coin? Heads is I tell you everything you want to know, Tails, you untie me and leave forever?"

The man was staring directly into Anton's soul, like a cats judgement of your very existence, annoyed that you dare speak to them.

"Boring." At that last remark, the man stood from his sitting place at the kitchen table. He walked over to Anton, retrieved a knife from his holster placed on his thigh, and threw it into Anton's right hand. Anton roared, shaking at the sight of what he thought was bone.

"Fuck! What is wrong with you!" He screamed. The man simply crossed his arms.

"govori, ili ruka idet." Speak, or the hand goes. The man said in Russian. Anton felt his spine crackle with cold, but he wouldn't crack just yet.

"I'm not telling you shit." Anton spat. The man grimaced, visibly annoyed. He went forward again, and ripped the knife from the meat of Anton's hand, he screamed as this happened. The man then threw the knife into his other hand. Anton felt sick, his vision was blurring from the pain, a ring echoing in his head.

"Are you trying to fucking crucify me!" He screamed.

"Talk." The man switched to English.

"What the fuck do you want to know!" Anton yelled.

"Everything." The man stepped closer. Anton leaned back in the chair, in a futile effort to put as much distance as possible between the two of them.

A hard strike came to his face, nearly knocking him over.

"Talk." The man said again.

His patience was running thin.

Anton groaned, his head was pounding, and the crucifixion of both his hands didn't help, never mind the fact that he had a fucking knife in his flesh.

"Why are you here. In Ykaterinasburg?" The man's voice was gruff, and tired. Anton was sure he'd hadn't had a good sleep for a while. The man stared at him, waiting.

"The same reason you are. To get information." Anton refused to let anything more on. He couldn't risk his safety, nor the safety of his team, or his family.

The man snatched Anton's throat with his metal hand in a sudden movement, giving the phrase, cold grip of death, a now very realistic meaning. Anton panicked, his exterior of calm completely shattered. His eyes opened wide, and he wrestled against the man's grip, trying to break free.

"Talk." The man then let him go. Anton aggressively coughed and wheezed, air returning to his chest.

"You're fucking insane!" He yelled.

The man moved in front of Anton, who flinched at this sudden movement. His hand began moving toward a small gun that lay on a side table.

"It's a no-win scenario. If you kill me, you get nothing. Keep me alive, you still get nothing. If you let me go right now, I'll never even tell them about you. We can go our separate ways. Ethier way, it's the end of the line for me. " Anton rushed to negotiate. He saw the gears turn in the man's head.

End of the line.

The man very suddenly shifted his demeanor. He was confused, his brow unfurrowed. As if the phrase triggered something in him.

"You don't have a choice do you? They make you kill? Hydra?" The man shakily looked back at Anton. Something was happening.

"You are more than what they made you become. You're human. You're alive." The man began looking around wildly, as if searching for something.

Then, very quietly, Anton heard what he said next.

"Steve." But he seemed not to know who this name belonged to. He couldn't remember.

"Who is Steve?" Anton asked. The man was breathing heavily, he was feeling so many things at once, things he didn't understand, or least he didn't anymore. He looked to Anton, turned away from him, and walked into the bedroom.

"Wait! I'm still in here!" Anton yelled.

In a strange turn of events, he came back, and asked a question.

"What year is it?" The man seemed shaken.

"2013."

The man stumbled back a bit.

He was unraveling.