tw: mentions of mental torture, gore details of asylum patients, usage of drug, experiencing through intoxication, long chapter
Minute specks of pure white carried the swirling storm. It was dead at night, a new day had started and a new beginning for the ever-growing regime, or that's what the mission had meant, anyways. Howard and Maria Stark were dead, and the recreated vials were in their hands. Arnim Zola had gained the trust of the adversary and the fallen kingdom would rise above the ashes from this new conquest of power.
The stars were barely visible in the night sky, and the twinkling dots that usually adorned the atmosphere seemed to be only raining down on the ground in the form of snowflakes. A man, well in his mid-thirties had quite a struggle canvassing through the knee-deep snow. His tendons were hurtfully tight below his knees and even the heavy gumboots couldn't seem to protect him from nature's wrath. He spurted out a few grumbling swears in his native here and there as he marched through. His raging green eyes and holsters of arsenal seemed to only deny his physicality of a shmuck-a rattish build to be more precise.
The HYDRA facility was located deep amidst the Siberian landscape. Throughout the year, a vast expanse of rugged terrain was cloaked in a blanket of snow and ice. The air was crisp filled with the frigid bite of winter. As far as the eye can see, the land is painted in shades of white and gray, with occasional patches of dark evergreen forests breaking the highly monochrome setting.
There loomed heavy track and wheel marks around the almost underground asylum-all belonging to the tankers and huge cargo holders which didn't only bring in supplements and soldiers, but also a few unfortunate prisoners and lab rats. The blaring lights were on for patrolling and the Russian soldier man finally made it to the base.
With a stubble covered in flecks of snow, he dusted off his boots on the nearby concrete as the rusty lightbulb above him kept flickering a great deal. The entire building was covered in a solemn hue of grey, easy enough to mistake it for a huge set of boulders when seen from above. But the crafty vaults on either side of the base's main entrance seemed to only contradict its stealth-ish nature. Each vault had to be opened simultaneously, by the two consecutive guards and if they messed up, the repercussion was immediate death-but seeing that they were currently running low on willing men, they seemed to let them off with a warning.
"ты выглядишь как дерьмо (you look like shit)" one of the guards, who seemed fresh off college commented in a snarky way on his much older co-worker's attire.
The short man only tightened his jaw as his predatory eyes narrowed in irritation. He just ignored his words before he took his place on the other side of the door, seeing that it was his shift.
Neither of the two guards had ever been inside one of these facilities. They didn't have the authority, the clearance, and most importantly the high military status to even ask more questions than necessary. Nonetheless, the asylum-cum-facility was everything they could've imagined in their minds. The air inside was quite suffocating and humid, most of it filled with the shouts and horrors of victims. The atmosphere itself had this heavy sense of foreboding, and the faint echo of distant screams and electrical shocks reverberated off the cold, concrete walls. Armed guards patrolled the interiors too, mostly on the narrow corridors, their faces obscured by sinister black masks, their weapons poised and ready.
