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Rumlow strutted into Hydra's base, adjusting the straps crossed over his black t-shirt before typing a four-digit code into a keypad and letting it take a retinal scan. The security in this place was the tightest he'd ever seen, apart from maybe the president's. Then again, presidents had been murdered in the past. Kennedy, for example. Dead.
Some people belived that The Asset was responsible for that. He'd heard so many stories, but it was all games of Chinese Whispers around this place. Hydra fabricated many things, so maybe murdering Kennedy was part of a big plan back in the day.
Turning into the break room, he greeted a few other agents, exchanging the odd 'hello' or 'good morning' but never stopped for a proper conversation. These people weren't worth his time this early in the day, or ever. The only people worthy of his attention were Rollins, and some of the other more senior agents on the team whom he tolerated for the most part.
After picking up a cup of steaming shit disguised as coffee, he turned into the next room before stopping dead in his tracks, having barely entered. He couldn't believe it. Their biggest weapon, wearing the most stupid fucking shirt he'd ever seen over his combat gear. A baseball style tee with black sleeves and bright pink lettering printed across the chest.
Baby slut.
That was the moment that he nearly croaked. What. The. Hell. What the absolute fuck? Was this the new team uniform? Because if it was, he was leaving to join The Avengers. They had cool costumes, not fucking custom team t-shirts.
"Rollins, what the fuck is this? Is this some kind of joke?" Rumlow saw red as he turned to glare at the taller agent behind him, gritting his teeth.
"Wasn't my idea." Of course it wasn't. Nothing was ever anyone's idea around here. Nobody knew who pulled these stupid pranks, or who messed around with the equipment when incidents like this happened... and that was infuriating. He was about to bet on his job it was the Tech Team. They sucked.
Hazel eyes fixed on The Asset, who was sat cross-legged in the corner of the room, fully aware of what they were talking about. He just hadn't spoken up yet. Even when he was nowhere to be seen, he was usually listening when he shouldn't have been. Up in the rafters, hidden in cupboards... he could have been anywhere.
"Take it off."
This wasn't a request. He really meant it - and if it didn't come off, he was going to destroy it personally. A flame-thrower would have been nice, but a good ol' fashioned pair of scissors would have done the job nicely too.
"I like it." The Asset mumbled, tugging at a loose thread on the hem. Great. He had been out of cryo for a while and had started to develop attatchments to things. Soon, he'd start latching onto people. He became more independent and self aware as he started to make more memories for himself and every once in a while, something would trigger a memory - a memory of who he once was. That wasn't a particularly good thing.
"Take it off." Rumlow growled, getting closer to the soldier in order to rip the damn thing in half.
"You heard him, Brock. He likes it. Let him keep it."
"No fuckin' way, Rollins. It's embarassing." Shaking his head slowly, he let out a colossal sigh.
Once he had made his way over to the soldier, Rumlow got to his knees and grabbed the neckline of the shirt, then pulled and pulled until he heard the tiniest rip coming from the fabric. A sly grin stretched across his mouth, and he yanked even harder as the shirt was torn all the way down the front, into two pieces.
"Burn it. Throw it in the garbage chute. I don't give a fuck. Just make sure I never have to see it again. And you," He pointed to one of the rookie agents in the corner. "Distract the killer toddler, don't wanna be dealin' with any accidents."