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Rough gray walls surround him on all sides. They’re met at the top and bottom by gray ceilings and floors. In the middle of the gray floor is a gray drain cover which gleams dully in the low lighting in the same way as the gray gurney he sits on. Out in front of him are two arms - one metallic and one pale with gray veins snaking up and down its bare expanse. He is grateful that it is impossible to see his reflection in the rough texture of the walls, because he does not think he could bear seeing his lifeless gray face and eyes.
He knows, on some level, deep down, that there are other colors that exist the same way that he knows of Hydra’s infallibility and which guns take which ammunition - which is to say, these are intrinsic truths, and he does not question the origins of this knowledge that Hydra has gifted him. The other colors exist in the corners of his mind, cocooning barely-there memories in swathes of coolness or bursts of bright warmth. He can imagine some sensation of them, even, if he concentrates hard enough. But the effort is not worth it, and he thinks he isn’t supposed to besides.
Commander Rumlow had called this his room. This does not mean that he owns it; rather, it contains him, as a clip contains its bullets. It keeps him secure and in a singular location until he is to be put to use. All the same, when he sits here, the churning tightness of the sympathetic nervous system quiets, which makes the suffocating isolation of it all worth it.
He has not yet been briefed on the mission. This, he knows, is atypical - not through lived experience, but through those faint gift-truths that are serendipitously hidden in the corners of his mind. The irregularity laps up against the shores of his stillness, coaxing him into unease.
The passage of time is difficult to quantify within the vacuum of his room, and so the Soldier pays it no mind. He closes his eyes and watches shapes dance across the backs of his eyelids. They seem quite merry about it; long ones swimming in spiral patterns, bigger blobs bouncing against the barriers of his periphery.
After thirty seconds or seventeen years, there are footsteps outside of the door. He does not allow this to excite him, as excitement leads to carelessness and carelessness leads to mistakes, which Hydra does not tolerate. Gray gives way to brightness like a sandy desert or a sunbeam across stained wood. The Secretary stands in the doorframe, illuminated by the impossibly bright lights in the hallway outside. He is showing his teeth, and they are so white that the Soldier feels he may have been transported back to Siberia.
“Hello, Soldier,” the Secretary says pleasantly.
“Hello,” the Soldier responds politely.
“I have something for you,” the Secretary says. “Follow me.”
The Soldier does so, ignoring the aches and pains that had built up in his muscles due to the extended period of inactivity. The Secretary’s footsteps ricochet staccato clicks off of the gray-bright walls, a bold refusal to hide his presence. The Soldier shadows him soundlessly.
He is led to another gray room with a table in it. On the table is a long, dark plastic case. The Soldier attempts to mask his curiosity, but seems to be unsuccessful. The Secretary does not seem angry; he chuckles happily and gestures for the Soldier to approach the table.
“Go ahead,” he says, coming to stand at the Soldier’s shoulder to watch.
The Soldier takes the case in his hands and does just that. Inside on dark foam sits a rifle - top quality, sleek black design, visible customizations made to accommodate the metal arm. It is beautiful, for all that the Soldier is capable of experiencing beauty.
“It’s for you,” the Secretary says, pulling a folder out of his suit jacket. The Mission.
He holds the folder out expectantly, eyebrows crooked upwards in a peculiar manner. The Soldier knows what is expected of him. The Secretary is very particular about manners.
“Thank you, sir,” the Soldier says, and finds that he means it. He takes the folder and looks over the mission briefing - target is a nuclear physicist based out of Odessa. Elimination, no witnesses. He will leave in two days on 03-12-2009 at 0400 hours.
“You’re welcome,” the Secretary says. “Happy Birthday.”