Functional

1. We Are Funtional, We Are Efficient

Part 1: The Winter and the Widow

1.     We are functional, we are efficient

He is surrounded by cold and metal. His hand is reaching out toward the tiny window in front of his face.  In a moment, he can move his arm and lowers it to his side tentatively.  As the cold recedes further, he clenches his fingers into fists and rolls his shoulders, shaking his head to shed the thin layer of ice covering his body.  The door before him opens at last and he steps out tentatively, more shards of ice dislodging and falling to the concrete outside of the chamber.

The room in which he stands is twenty feet in length and thirty feet long.  In addition to the chamber he just stepped out of, which is located in the right corner, there is a metal chair surrounded by technological equipment settled against the wall to the right and a gurney framed by medical supplies on the left.  Before him is a blank wall with a door on the far left. 

The room also contains three people: two men in shirts with their sleeves rolled up and a man wearing a lab coat over a suit.  One of those in shirtsleeves is standing before the monitors; he is five ten, one hundred sixty pounds, age late thirties, no apparent combat skills: not a threat.  Another is standing closer, to the right of him, looking at readings on a monitor; five eight, one hundred forty pounds, early forties, close proximity but no apparent combat skills: not a threat.  The third is facing him, standing roughly five yards away; late forties, five eleven, one hundred eighty pounds, authoritative, some military training: potential threat.

“How is he?” the potential threat asks.

“Stable.  Readings are at normal levels.  He should be able to accept mission parameters in the next few minutes,” the closest nonthreat answers.

“Good.  Inspect the wounds,” the potential threat tells the other nonthreat.

His muscles tighten as the man leaves his place by the chair and approaches where he stands, pushing his sleeves further up.  The man walks around him slowly, pausing to inspect an area on his shoulder.  His skin feels tight there; it is likely healing from some injury.  He doesn't remember anything about that.  Inspection completed, the man steps away.

“The healing process is very advanced, sir, but not quite complete.”

“He was awakened too soon?”

“Not necessarily, sir.  The process is different when he is in cryofreeze.  We haven't been able to work out all the variables at this time.”

“Fine.  How about the arm?”

“Updates have been installed and it should be functioning normally.”

“Should?”

The man in his shirtsleeves looks surprised, glancing toward his fellow, then back at the man to whom he's been reporting.  Then all the eyes in the room turn to him expectantly.  “Lift your left arm,” he says.

He frowns uncertainly.  “Soldier, demonstrate the capabilities of the prosthesis prototype,” the senior officer orders.

Obediently, he lifts his left arm and twists it, tightening his fingers into a fist, then spreading them back out.  The movement is accompanied by a soft whirring and muffled sound of gears turning beneath the smooth metal plates.  The men nod at each other, satisfied.

“Status report.”

He glances between the three of them briefly before answering.  “Codename: the Winter Soldier.  Status: mission ready.”

“Excellent!”  The man in charge smiles at him.  “There is a woman called Katya Durova.  She has betrayed us and will share our most important secrets with our enemies.  If our great nation is to survive, you must find her and take her down.  Do you understand?”