Atlas has been part of HYDRA for as long as he can remember. He has been tortured, experimented and tested on. He is no stranger to pain, it's normal.
Until one day HYDRA decides to team him up with Winter Soldier for a mission. That was HYDRAs firs...
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I stared at the cold tile floor, watching as the icy water mixed with streaks of red ran down my body and vanished down the drain. My toes were covered with blood as well, I felt awful.
It was as if something in my chest had been ripped out, I was empty, hollow. Like every breath was taking a toll on me. It was as if I had let darkness consume me for a little while and now it was refusing to leave, making me feel slightly sick and out of place. Whatever they had shot in me earlier that day was slowly going out of my blood system, which was weird. These things usually stay for quite long time.
I forced myself to rub the blood off of my hands, it was even under my fingernails as well. It wasn't an easy task as my hands were stiff and I was in pain. I just wished to curl up somewhere and sleep.
“You know what? I absolutely loathe cold water, I hate it when I'm the last one who they let in the shower. Can't I be first for once? I tried talking with the guards once, they ignored me. Kinda like you, don't know what's with that silence here.” The tall man said, annoyance in his smooth voice. He had an odd accent, the one I've never heard before.
My eyes flickered up from the white tiles under my numb feet. I looked aside where Pietro was rubbing his skin, whatever he had been doing today included rolling in the mud it seemed. He was standing with his back towards me under the shower, I could sense his frustration, yet his words sounded cheerful. My eyes flickered over the dot-like scars on the man's back. They were very irregular and in different sizes, more scars were on his upper back.
I glanced down, there were jagged pale lines on my arms, while his arms were clean. The only scars he seemed to have were on his back. I had more then he did, which doesn't make sense to me. Isn't he older? Don't older Subjects have more scars? Even Soldat had more scars then Pietro, well, he was missing an entire arm but that's beside the point...
“uh, disgusting! They have changed shampoos, before it smelled of gasoline and now it smells like meat pie. Where do they even get a shampoo like that? Don't get me wrong, little dude, I do love meat pie but a shampoo that smells like it? No thank you. And are you seeing that water? It's rusty! My hair is silver, I'm gonna be ginger after this shower.”
Was he talking to me, or to himself? I've heard some people in their cells talking to themselves sometimes, I didn't understand it then and I don't understand it now.
What's the point in talking if you have nothing important to say.
I didn't care about the way the shampoo smelt, or how cold the water was. I looked up at the small mirror, studying my features. My face wasn't as angular as Pietros, my nose was straight and my skin was pale like the tile floor. The look on my face was void of emotions, just like it has been always. My eyes were half closed and lifeless. Me and Pietro looked nothing alike, he was quite energetic and buzzing with life. There was this spark of hope, energy and lust for life in his eyes. And I couldn't help but wonder how to get that into my dull yellow eyes.
