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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There are times when I doubt in death.
What is it exactly?
Is it disappearing, and everyone forgetting you even existed? That you once were a person too, or anything living, really. Or perhaps there really is something after death, recreation maybe. Or might one just travel forth or back in time after death.
Or possibly just turn into a ghost.
I didn't know. And frankly, I didn't even want to know.
I was swimming. Swimming in dark, bottomless lake. I couldn't see it, but I could feel its steady, cool flow against my frozen and tired limbs. A feather light touch healed my wounds, tenderly and with so much care I wanted to shed a tear.
I raised my hand, feeling the droplets of water make its way down my scarred arm.
Scars. They can't be healed, but the longer I floated, the more it made me realize that every pale pink scar on my body was slowly staring to ache.
That's not death. Death should be painless. Death should be silent and make you rid of quilt.
Maybe I was in Hell.
There was some kind of quiet ringing, it was in the distance. I tried to locate it, if that was the source of my aching scars, I needed to get rid of it. I swam faster, trying to reach the maddening ringing, it was making me crazy.
I gasped in a deep breath, trying to get as much oxygen in my lungs as I could. My eyes traveled around the room, jumping from one wall to another. They were all identical, pale, cold and lifeless.
I tried to sit up, only to be stopped by something tugging at my wrist. I ticked my jaw, glaring at the vibranium shackles that were firmly locking me down. Only then did I realize that I was covered only waist down.
I froze, looking down at my torso. Usually there would be thin, jagged scars littering around my chest and stomach, but it seemed that my collection got richer, a whole lot richer. There was a small wound on my left side, it was cleaned and smelt of cutacept, it had couple of stitches. Yet that small upcoming scar couldn't compete with what was on the right side of my torso.
I gawked at it, pale pink, wrinkly flesh with couple small droplets of blood that oozed from my damaged skin. My whole right side was covered with damaged flesh, as well as upper half of my hand and possibly back, considering the dull ache I felt everytime I shifted a little. It was covered with ointment that burned my nose, but it a made it feel cold and it dulled out the pain a lot.
I looked up, some kind of alarm went off as a light above a metal door started flashing slowly. “P-Pietro? Pietro” I asked, hoping the guy would pop up, and let me know that we were safe.
My gut feeling was telling me the exact opposite.
With a quiet hiss, the door opened and I remained quiet, glaring at the man suspiciously. He was tall and lanky, bald head that I swore it reflected the light above us. The man's brown eyes were emotionless as he stepped in the room, walking past me as if I was dirt under his feet.
