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04 x mind over matter
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PRESENT DAY.
HYDRA Headquarters,
Swiss Alps, Europe
"Where is it, Nuke?"
A purveyor of hell. That's what he was. Horrors were less sanitised in his shadow, his darkness coming in the form of death, loss and twilight. He was dead the minute that dreaded substance had altered his system as if the heart had long perished and left this zombified spirit instead, a monstrosity to do the demand of the sinister authority.
Nuke bent his wrist to stop the oscillating, brown punching bag. With a tough swallow, he met the new face in the compound. He was like everyone else who wanted the serum; scumbag, gunman or delinquent. The transaction was simple - more the serum, more the capital.
That was all his clients wanted after approving the magnitude of the serum's effect. He could only connect to the Winter Soldier. The legend, the ghost and the gem of Hydra. An unprogrammed, ritualistic, trained-for-combat specimen with a programmable toxin. No amount of money was worth a hard time and he could only incur from the greatest war heroes in the history of America.
"She escaped," Nuke said, directing another punch for the sack, the leathery jute puffing off fluffs into the air. It started to coat red. Not Nuke.
"Don't know, don't care. We had a deal," the man finished, grating. "The weapon or the serum."
Nuke halted in his motions. The muscles in his body tensed at the sound of the invoked name, his eyes shutting to restrain himself from a lashing. He concentrated on something else - the sound of water dripping far away, the soles scraping against the welting tiles, wild thrashing of his client's heart. The cellblock was so utterly silent, except the soft, mangled breathing the emanated from the brown bag that slunk midair.
"When will the weapon be ready?"
"Weapon X," Nuke worked out, his voice cut and provoked, "is not for sale."
