You Must Remember This

Chapter 8 - Into the Hydra's lair

Undisclosed HYDRA base - Siberia, October 14, 1945

Evelyn's head throbbed. She dared to open her eyes just a sliver, but had to shut them immediately again. A bright light burned into her retinas. Everything spun around her.

Okay, let's try this again. Slowly now.

She blinked against the light and turned her head. She was in a medical room. An IV bag hung next to her bed, the tube connected to her arm. What the hell had they done to her? Evelyn carefully pushed herself up from the bed, still groggy from the sedative and trying not to entangle her arm with the tube. She felt nauseous, but the saline drip kept her from retching. How long had she been out? And where the hell had they taken her?

"Guten Tag, Fräulein Roth." Zola appeared in the corner of Evelyn's eye. He helped her sit up and offered her a glass of water. Evelyn eyed it suspiciously, making Zola smile. "If we wanted you to sleep more, Fräulein, we would not have allowed you to wake up."
(Good day, Miss Roth.)

Seeing the logic in that, Evelyn took the glass from him and drank carefully. Zola, in the meantime, removed her IV and checked her vitals. 

"The headache and nausea will pass within an hour at most," he said.

"How long was I out?"

"Little less than a day. I apologize for it, Fräulein, but said during our previous talk, HYDRA cannot be discovered just yet. Discretion is required."

More like secrecy, if you ask me.

"What is this place?" asked Evelyn, looking around for any clues.

"Many things," answered Zola. "But mostly, we do research here. Intensively."

"Research for what?"

"I cannot say yet. You still need to complete the second phase of our interview."

Just then, an orderly came in with a tray of food. Evelyn suddenly realized she was absolutely starving. She looked up to thank the orderly when he put the food on the table beside her bed, but the sight of him kept her quiet. He was of average build, had green eyes, and cropped black hair... and a big jagged scar that ran from his ear to his mouth. It was well taken care of, but it still looked raw. 
Zola kept the orderly from leaving the medical room and took out a notebook from his white lab coat. He pointed his pen at the young man and said, "Your first test, Fräulein. What can you tell me about this injury?"

Evelyn's gaze flashed from the orderly to Zola, and then back to the guy. He just stood there, hand around his wrist, waiting for her to speak. Clearly, he'd been placed in this position before.

All right, then. If that's how they play around, I'm game.

She got up from the bed and stepped up to the orderly. She reached for the wound. Scarface stayed perfectly still when her fingers traced it. Something sharp had cut through the jaw. But it wasn't a clean cut. Far from it, in fact.

Oh, my God...

"What language does he speak?" Evelyn inquired.

"You may not ask questions," said Zola.

"I don't want to ask him a question; I want to give him an instruction."

Zola tapped the pen against his notebook before answering. "Russian."

"Откройте рот, пожалуйста."
(Open your mouth, please.)

The orderly glanced over to his boss and waited for his nod before complying. Even without a light, Evelyn saw all she needed to see when she tilted his head back. "This injury was made several weeks ago and has been taken care of nicely. It's healing well, but a scar will always remain. I imagine it was a lengthy surgery to put the tissue back together as best as possible. The laceration was made from mouth to ear. And it was self-inflicted."