Insanity

Chapter 16

Song: Pumped Up Kicks by Foster The People

☆☆☆

"But he's coming for you, 
yeah he's coming for you."

☆☆☆

June 2014

The florescent lights above his head penetrated his eyes straight through his shut eyelids as he was extracted from his icy grave. Ice dribbled down his arms, landing on the floor around him in puddles. His legs wobbled beneath him and his eyelids drooped precariously, threatening to close and send him into a sleeping stupor once more. Multiple sets of strong hands grabbed his groggy body, leading his faltering legs out of the chamber and into a chair. Soldier collapsed into the chair, his spine slamming into the cold metal behind him, hard.

Soldier took deep breaths in through his nose, out through his mouth, focusing on regaining his composure. All of the hairs on his body stood up as goosebumps took him over, and he wouldn't have minded a nice, thick blanket to help ease his shivering.

He felt a presence in front of him, as if someone was staring at him. Ever so slowly he drew his tired eyes upward until they landed on the face of a man perched no more than a foot away from him. But this wasn't General Karpov or Doctor Zola; he didn't recognize this man. The man's face showed signs of stress, wrinkles adorning just about every available space. He had a curly blond, rather full head of hair that looked so fake Soldier wondered if it wasn't a wig. He had striking blue eyes that seemed friendly upon first glance, but Soldier rarely trusted first glances.

Blond hair, blue eyes. . . He wondered if this was the man in his dreams, his guardian angel. But it just didn't seem quite right, something was off and he dismissed the thought.

"What's wrong with him?" the blond man asked. "Is he high or something?" he lightly slapped Soldier's right cheek.

"He's fine, this is a normal reaction. The grogginess should wear off in a few minutes," a man behind the older one said. Soldier noticed this younger man was the only other person in the room, holding what appeared to be a loaded AR-15. He had jet black hair that looked to be unkempt and dark, brooding eyes that demanded whatever he requested be done.

"And how old is he?" the blond man inquired.

"Ninety-six," the other man said.

"Incredible." The blond man straightened. "Hm. Very well then," he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He was dressed in a three piece suit, something of which Soldier had never seen any Hydra agent wear before. "My name is Alexander Pierce, current head of Hydra. This," he said gesturing to the man behind him, "is Brock Rumlow. It's good to see you in real life."

Good? How was it good? He was just another person, nothing spectacular. And real life as opposed to what? Fake life?

Pierce grabbed Soldier's chin, forcing his head this way and that. "Amazing. He looks just like I imagined, and not a day over twenty-five," he gaped, taking in all of Soldier's features. Soldier noticed the man behind Pierce looking rather uncomfortable, offering Soldier an almost sympathetic look. Almost. "But I suppose you want you know why we woke you up, don't you?" he asked. Soldier said nothing, keeping his lips firmly pressed together. "Doesn't talk back, that'll be nice," he turned to Rumlow, grinning.

Soldier didn't care that Pierce was talking about him like he was a sculpture in a museum, but he did find it odd and somewhat disturbing. It was somewhat demeaning but he was rather used to it, at this point. Pierce stared him up and down, feeling his cybernetic arm, his jaw slack almost the entire time. Eventually Pierce straightened again, regaining his hands-in-pockets posture.