The Asset was laying on its cool bed that was as hard as a rock on only an inch off of the dirty floor. Its hair, long and unkept, fell down to its shoulders. It was matted and filled with grime, a line of blood and dirt running along its hairline from its latest mission. The Asset tried to just ease its sore muscles, the dull ache in its shoulders becoming unbearable and hard to ignore. The skin around the metal arm was a harsh red from the tinkering of the men in white coats.
The new cell that the Asset had been placed into was larger than it remembered. There was another cot placed on the opposite side of the room, but, other than that, the entire place was bare. WS-42 did not wear any restraints while still in the cell, although bulky cuffs were placed on its hands whenever it was required to exit the cell. A round, mental contraption was stuck to the ceiling that, when a certain button is pressed by the Hydra guards, the cuffs would automatically attach itself to the round thing.
The cell was unnaturally small, but not a size that the Asset was unaccustomed to. Standing up, the Asset's head bumps into the ceiling, forcing it to remain in a hunched and uncomfortable position. The bed that the Asset sits on is hard and uncomfortable, but the only means of comfort in the terrible cell.
There is a usual pattern. Every morning the Asset is awoken and dragged away to use the bathroom. Then a pile of slop is thrown in its general area for it to eat. The food is disgusting, but is specifically designed to fall just barely under the caloric requirements for its enhanced metabolism. That way, the Asset is getting enough to eat, but not too much that it is strong enough to fight back against its handlers.
After the food, the Asset is immediately taken over for training. After decades of being with Hydra, the Asset mainly just sits in its own room with a few tools and the Asset does whatever it feels like training. Naturally, there are two guards at the entrance of each door to make sure that the Asset does not do anything to escape. This is the Asset's time for some peace and quiet, in his opinion. Unless it does something wrong and breaks a rule, warranting a harsh punishment, or is required to give a mission report or receive a briefing, this is the time where the Asset can just do its own thing. If the Asset wants to hit a punching bag, it can do so.
It's not much of a choice, but it's at least one.
The Asset is not given many choices in its life.
The guards still enjoy making the Asset's life a living hell. They randomly beat it and yell crud and hurtful words in its direction. The Asset always maintains a stoic and expressionless facade, but it can feel its strength slowly chipping away.
The worst part is when it gets placed into the chair. The chair is a horrific tool that they made to trap the Asset and fully keep it under their control. The chair lowers a metal halo over its face and shoots high voltages of electricity into its brain. It's the most painful form of torture and it ends leaving the Asset with no memory and utter fear and confusion.
No one talks to the Asset. It lives in its isolated cell, alone with nothing but its thoughts. Everyone seems to be talking about it, though. It. Soldier. Asset. Dog. But no one talks to the Asset just to talk to him. Always to give orders.
Today something different happened.
"W-42!" one of the guards barked out as they opened the door. The Asset immediately stood to attention, its head bumping against the ceiling. The Asset kept their shoulders straight and back ridge in attention. The Asset does not look the guard in the eyes, though.
Never forget this rule, W-42. You are nothing. You are nothing but an Asset. A tool for Hydra to use and get rid of afterward. You are not worthy to look us in the eye. Never make eye contact or else you will be punished.
A slap rings out, causing a stinging pain against the Asset's cheek. The Asset does not know what it had done to cause the pain, but it seems that the guards just enjoy hurting it regardless of how obedient it tries to be.
"Looks like you're getting yourself a new roomie. Two dogs in one cell, eh? Show it the ropes. Teach it the rules. You're in charge of its training."
A little child was pushed into the cell and now it had made sense why the Asset had been shifted into a larger cell with two beds now. This new child will be sharing a cell with it.
The child, in its small and trembling figure, kept his – its – eyes trained on the ground and refused to lift its chin up. It had stumbled after being shoved forward and struggled to regain its footing. The child was so small, looking to be no more than seven years old.
For how long was it a part of Hydra? What had they done to him?
It.
Assets are its. Nothing more than just a thing to be used.
If this child was going to be sharing a cell with it, then the Asset best remember that this child is nothing more than a thing like him.
Shoving away emotions always makes it easier to cope.
The Asset remembers that it is a person, but that notion is locked away far in its brain. If, by any chance, that the dream the Asset has is actually of it, then the Asset refuses to think of it daily. Why would it be treated so horribly if the Asset truly was a person? A person with a name. With a family. With friends.
James.
A voice tugged in the back of his brain.
No.
The Winter Soldier is an Asset. A tool for Hydra and nothing more.
"Yes sir," the Asset replied to the guard.
The child remained shaking and trembling in fear, its arms pitifully wrapped around its thin frame. The guard beat the child once more, hitting it hard in the back of its head and kicking the child behind its knees, making it buckle and fall down.
The guard had left quickly after that, not minding to give WS-42 its required bathroom time or slop of food.
WS-42 said nothing as it returned to sit on its hard mattress, alone with its thoughts, hunger, and pain.
"Hello," a small voice whispered, shakily and uncertainly. The child must learn the rules if it is going to survive out here.
No speaking without being spoken to. Speaking out of turn results in punishment.
WS-42 said nothing in response, but a weird feeling had sprung up in its chest. A warm feeling that squeezed against its heart. The child was so small. What did it deserve to be here?
After standing there for a few more minutes, the child finally dragged itself over to the other side of the room and sat down on its mattress for a bit before lying down on its side.
Life was predictable. Emotions were not.
Best to lock those away.
It makes dealing with the pain easier.
YOU ARE READING
Not Anymore
FanfictionS-20 has only ever known one thing, Hydra, until one man came into his life and showed him that there was so much more. That man was his first friend. His older brother. But after one night, the two were ripped apart and S-20 cannot even remember hi...
