#but it's a much more complicated reason that his handlers most likely were not equipped to identify or prevent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yngai · 3 years

Text

one of the main reasons ada has survived this long working on her own ( outside her predisposition to manipulate people into doing her job for her, a paradoxical method of both minimising & maximising risk ) is that she essentially became her own handler / IT support . while she necessitated such aid early on in her career, especially during her time at umbrella, a naturally precarious mission which required years of preparation on part of umbrella’s rival corporations as well as several fellow spies implanted within the company that made way for ada’s hiring an assistant researcher in the arklay laboratory . the death of her handler by his own hand, discovered upon her arrival at their agreed meeting point at the apple inn, despite her securing a sample of the g-virus ( or scraping a tissue fragment off william birkin’s corpse depending on route or adaption ), the sudden, brief release from her dependency on his guidance + the organization during her espionage only reinforced a core aspect of her personal philosophy, that of all people in this world, the only person she can ever rely on is herself .

of course, albert wesker came to her rescue, but his gloved hand was an underhanded offer & even back then, before they would become rival agents of the organization, she knew all he saw in her was just another card in his deck, easily shuffled out when she is no longer of any use . it was an offer she couldn’t refuse & did little to dissuade her belief in self-reliance . it only bolstered it, truly, for when she will find herself in a situation like this again, if she even allows herself that uncertainty overcasting her life, her exit will be assured far in advance . if albert wesker was to treat her as a stepping stone for his own ambitions, she would only do so in return & their animosity grew from that initial meeting, an impersonal video call amidst a dying city .

ada wong’s shift in persona, from a scared woman trying to survive the hell of raccoon city, grasping at straws & desperate manipulations all in the vein hope of survival, to the fully realised spy whose status within the criminal underworld was akin to legend, was a multi-step process which the organization facilitated as her success retrieving secretive data & virus samples from within umbrella’s own, most well-guarded facilities was a display of realised promise, scouted for her talents & interests by the organization just as she had earned her degree . a strong foundation, natural talent, myriad potential careers ahead of her, an interest in the filed & a pretty face, beneath a burning determination to make something of herself . she was the perfect candidate & eager to commit to the life of an actress without audience, a lifelong dream without the one setback that halted it early on . she became a guarantee of completed missions of even greater importance to their goal of overthrowing their competitor’s hold on the pharmaceutical industry & the development of biological weapons of war, an entrée into a lucrative black market that would follow when umbrella’s trade secrets make their way into criminal hands .

she was an asset & fully aware of it, but left scarred & bleeding after setting two feet in hell . weak, bruised & fearful beyond imagination, there was a purpose here which she clung tightly onto, not the organization or their goals, she held no belief in them beyond wanting to see umbrella burn, but a chance to become something greater, something better . like the woman painted in the legends told about her, infinitely capable, deeply calculating, twirling the world on her finger . it would come at a cost, as all such matters often do, personal & moral in equal measure . too much of a danger for her to return home, a risk that the few people she cared for most would become a liability in her life as a spy & she would much rather they think her dead . allying herself with the organization’s heart will paint her in colours likened to umbrella, but the rest of the world does not often consider the reputation of a dead woman & in the long run it would not matter anyway, she was not planning on sticking around .

ada agreed to pay that price in full & thus, was given further training to account for how umbrella’s evil would mutate in the coming years, taken new, far worse forms as it exchanged shadowy hands . though the organization could only provide so much, training ada as an H.C.F. field operative with only few additions to account for her personal conduct, lacking certain skills which instrumental to her survival which she sought to teach to herself. while there are many facets to account for in the transition between ada’s initial equipment & skill-set in resident evil 2, compared to her much different, twice kidnapped notwithstanding, effortless professionalism displayed in 4 ( i went over her physical development in a brief ramble in the tags here ), i should probably return to origin & discuss her ability as a hacker . a talent she picked up quickly, almost second nature, coding her own malicious software, exploiting vulnerabilities within well guarded digital systems . already quick on her feet & adaptable, fast thinking translating from perilous situations to the computer screen, ada found hacking to be akin to the act of manipulation, finding & using a vulnerability against your target . people & their personalities were systematised within her mind, like code, their wants & desires, their history, all absorbed & accounted for to predict every future movement . not a perfect process, her own prejudices get in the way of fully perceiving others, her cynicism resulting from a sense of helplessness & of everyone else, she will never have access to her own code . she understands, she infers, she consumes information at a rapid pace & sometimes that is enough but she is not above making mistakes, pitfalls of her own mind & they each cost her .

during raccoon city, her closest equivalent was the EMF visualizer, introduced in the remake but a piece of tech i rather enjoy as a callback(?) to her future abilities in regards to computers while being deceptively simple & fitting for the 1998 setting . a fairly self-explanatory, rudimentary piece of technology that detects & interacts with the electromagnetic field generated by moving currents, though it is more apt at doing so with the force created by an electric field as opposed to a magnetic one, as the former is much stronger that the latter . it allows its user to scan & interact with circuitry by directing charges within an electric system, or short-circuiting any point along it . while referred to as hacking in-game, it bares very little resemblance to the real deal & quite limited . it was a portable, small-scale EMP generator that disrupts low-level electronics & can cause more complicated tech to, essentially, glitch ( thus bypassing NEST’s identification system ) . ada used it to destroy intake fans in raccoon city’s sewers, primarily & any access to umbrella’s internal database was acquired through her position as an assistant researcher before her credentials were erased &, would there be anything above her clearance level, the ID & passwords swiped off of dr. john clemens & dr. annette birkin, respectively . john, of course, was far more willing to part with his than annette, both because of his infatuation with ada & his plan to leak arklay’s darkest secrets to the world .

with the evolution of technology, the dawn of the information age &, i suppose, the slight discrepancy in its advancement between the ressie universe & reality ( though a lot of what we consider groundbreaking today was developed years prior for military use before going public, meaning both umbrella & the organization would have rather easy access to such advancements quite early ), ada’s only necessity in regards to cyber-security was a computer connected to whatever secure, private network she wanted to break into . for example, a pair of smart-glasses outfitted with such that are convenient, portable & fashionable, able to discharge a non-lethal explosive, the equivalent of a stun grenade, if activated . used to scan an encroaching environment, any digital system she wishes to interact with &, in certain instances, as the eyes & ears of anyone overseeing her mission from afar . hardly a replacement for a proper computer, but a useful tool nonetheless & easy to discard for fear of her tampering being tracked . as technology develops even further, ada does upgrade from bulky laptops to tablets, to phones & whatever permutations they might take in future, a weird cube . her abilities as a hacker, tied to a fictionalised rendition of the practice for the fun of it, grow with the tech & tie directly into how she becomes her own handler . information is a currency, after all, & before every mission ada does extensive reconnaissance on the people & places she will be tasked with visiting, sometimes relying on a web of contacts around the world formed after years of spy-work . anything too secretive & too hidden is relegated to field discovery, as she would rather her targets not be on alert after a potential cyber-attack . she prefers it this way, while she always steps into a new mission with an exit strategy already meticulously planned, there is fun & risk to be had in being physically present for a grand revelation & she never passes up the chance for that thrill . after the organization succumbs to internal conflict & she sets the stage to work freelance, ada begins carrying herself through her objectives & any outside help, predominantly in regards to transport & accommodation, different missions requiring different resources, is given to her by her various employers . a sort of guarantee, an advanced payment, if you will, though she is not above taking those in cash just as well . using any resource at her disposal, what is provided willingly, what is not, the people she encounters throughout her life, all to ensure her success, her survival .

a fun little headcanon to end on : between missions, ada has taken up a little side-project that blurs the line between work & leisure . leaking sensitive information between rival companies & criminal organizations only to sit back & watch them destroy each other, or to a hungry press looking for the next big story, satiating a starving public seeking explanation for the continuous state of disarray . gray hat hacking to pass the time, if you will . she isn’t looking to make waves, she takes no credit for her tampering, would be poor form for a woman wrapped in mystery, & rarely strikes businesses with an international reach, where the real damage is done . its merely a way to pull strings & watch the world spin, a performance she enjoys viewing from afar .

#* file // : OOC — ( 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐄 . )#* file // : 004 — ( 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 . )#* file // : 005 — ( 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 . )#this was originally just gonna be about ada's ability to hack things but once again i go on a nightmare tangent #i feel fucking insane what even is this supposed to be #just nonsense word vomit #sorry guys i can't be helped #sad brag #etc.#😭😭😭#ada wong is an epic girlboss

15 notes · View notes

rorykillmore · 5 years

Text

so this is a birthday present for @numinousbones that also doubles as like. a general... congratulatory thing, i guess, because they’ve gotten through a lot this year and i wanted to do something nice for the end of their semester.

it also happened bc we haven’t rped together in ages now but we HAVE wistfully talked about a few ideas and dynamics and this crossover thing just kinda popped into my head. it will never rival the legendary transformers/grey’s anatomy masterpiece but ENJOY IT ANYWAY

storm... i know life often seems like. A Lot right now for way too many reasons, but i have seen you persevere through so much and i will never stop admiring that about you. right now it might feel like there’s no end in sight but you’re so talented and so smart and so passionate and!! one day that’s all gonna come together and feel less like “persevering” and more like. living the life you deserve. okay this is getting way too sappy but i just felt like maybe you needed some sappy in your life, ANYWAYS. happy birthday!!! <3

Ivan Becke is dead before Villanelle can get to him.

It would actually be kind of cool, if the idea of competition didn’t piss her off so much. His throat has been cut, and the wound is neat and deliberate but a little too broad to be from the kitchen knife on the ground a few feet away.

Is it someone’s deliberate attempt at deception? It might work on a less trained eye, but she muses idly on why the other assassin would need to cover up their method if they were going to let him bleed out anyway.

She pouts down at the pale, lifeless face petulantly. “Look at you. You’re a mess. See what happens when you don’t wait for me?”

As if she’d been planning on leaving him much better off.

Sighing, Villanelle begins to straighten up. Agitation and pent up energy cling to her like static electricity. She hates being denied a kill when she’s already built it up this much, it’s like --

“They told me to leave a mess. I’m usually much cleaner.” A voice Villanelle doesn’t recognize echoes from -- not behind her, but in front of her, and she doesn’t know how she could have missed the figure in the shadows of the apartment, the pair of unnatural red eyes suddenly glowing back at her. “Something about making an impression.”

Villanelle wonders whether this is one of those times - so frequent, in her line of work - when it’s better to shoot first and ask questions later. But what the mysterious assailant just said sinks in, and her curiosity gets the better of her. She straightens fully. “Were you trying to show off for me?” she asks, mockingly flattered.

“...Hardly.” The eerie gaze never leaves her. “Or at least, strictly in the most professional sense.”

The figure ripples into full view, and Villanelle can’t him but start at it -- him? Openly. The other assassin is not a person, but a machine. A robot. He’s more cat-like than anything, although he’s much closer to the size of a car than a cat, and now Villanelle is certain there is no way she could have missed him unless he came equipped with some kind of... invisibility trick.

There are a lot of questions she could ask, right in this moment. A normal person would have probably been sputtering with hundreds of them. But Villanelle knows she would not be the Twelve’s favorite if she was not so extraordinary with things like this: compartmentalizing shock, confusion, fear, no matter how unprecedented.

So what she says instead is, “Wow. Wasn’t sending you kind of overkill?”

The robot-cat-assassin stares at her, unimpressed. “Trust me. He wasn’t my usual variety of target.”

“Wait! Let me guess.” Villanelle hardly lets him finish. “You’re here from the future. Your target was the father of some heroic asshole who’s going to lead a revolution, and you had to come all the way back here to stop him because just killing him as a baby would have been too easy, or something.”

She gets no response this time, but she swears something dubious flickers in the other assassin’s eyes. “Seriously? You really need to be more genre-savvy.”

“Right,” the cat says. “You know, I don’t know how you can be half as effective as I’m told you are. You never seem to shut up.”

“I’m just trying to make conversation! Getting to know the people in your field is always so awkward.” She leans back on her heels, eyeing him speculatively, wondering what might be her best chance at taking him down if he proves to be a threat. She doesn’t have any weapons on her currently that seem as though they’d be remotely effective against a giant metal predator. Perhaps she could try electrocuting him, but that would require some luck and some very quick thinking. “Did the Twelve send you? They’ve really been holding out on me.”

Some kind of bizarre, technological experiment on their part would be... well, maybe not the strangest thing Villanelle has ever heard, but up there. The other option is that someone else sent him, in which case her life is almost definitely in danger. She watches him carefully despite her casual outward demeanor.

“Not exactly.” The cat’s tail flicks slowly to one side, but he has yet to make a hostile move. “But it turns out that my superiors are interested in yours. Insofar as my superiors can be interested in yours.”

“Are they robots too?” Villanelle asks, taking his dig at the Twelve in stride.

He sniffs disdainfully. “We’re not robots. We’re Cybertronians. Aliens, as you would call them.”

“Oh. Okay.” Villanelle guesses that isn’t really much weirder than assassin robots from the future. Or the secret, mechanical army the Twelve had suddenly been building in her head. But a thought suddenly strikes her, and she leans in just a little, quirking a brow. “Are you invading?”

The thought of the Twelve getting wrapped up in something like this is mildly hilarious. Villanelle can’t think of any other reason aliens would take such an immediate interest in them, though.

“It’s more complicated than that,” the cat says impatiently, which Villanelle is pretty sure is just bullshit. He probably just doesn’t want to admit that whatever devious scheme his superiors have conducted has been done a hundred times in science fiction movies before. “We’re in the middle of a war, and we could use your organization’s information, and your resources. And no doubt you could use ours.”

There’s definite disdain dripping from his words, this time. Villanelle can’t help but grin a little. “Oh, you hate this.”

“I’m not particularly fond of working with humans.”

“You’re so much better than us. So much older, so much more technologically advanced... right?”

“Something like that.”

“And yet... you and I do the same work.”

He eyes her coolly for a long moment. “I do mine better.”

Villanelle laughs. She wanted to hate him - she really did - but he’s making it difficult for her. “So why did you do this?” She gestures to the corpse on the floor. “Why bother making an impression on an inferior species?”

Something rumbles in his throat, like a growl. “Your handler seems to think that getting your attention is the only way to keep you manageable.”

Ah. That does sound like something Konstantin would say. But why --

“...And if we’re going to be working together, I had to think of something that wouldn’t necessitate immediately mauling you.”

Just like that, Villanelle’s smile drops. Working together?

“I work alone,” she states with simple finality.

“You think I like it any more than you do?” he snaps irritably. “Orders are orders. I hear you don’t like following them, but if you make this more difficult than it has to be - draw it out, make things complicated - I really will kill you.”

Inwardly, Villanelle seethes, though more of her anger is directed at Konstantin than her new coworker. He knows she doesn’t play well with others. What is he doing? What are the Twelve doing?

“It sounds like you know all about me already,” Villanelle notes with a clear voice and a smile that is now forced. “What about you? Do I even get to know your name?”

He watches her for awhile without answering, and Villanelle suddenly starts to feel that he can see through her. She doesn’t like it. “Ravage,” he says finally.

“Huh. Good name.”

“You may be obnoxious, but I know you’re also talented. For a human.” Ravage gives the half-compliment begrudgingly, seeming to relent a little, and Villanelle can’t help but feel suspicious of that too. “Don’t cause problems, and maybe we’ll even work halfway decently together. Then this will be over more quickly for both of us.”

Villanelle is already thinking of a million and one ways she can cause problems. But she sighs. If nothing else, she’s curious about Ravage, the way he works, the way he kills. Maybe that will keep her entertained, for a little while.

At least until she gets her next chance to complain to Konstantin.

“Okay, partner!” she says at last, deliberately too cheery. “What do you say we get out of here before this body starts to smell?”

“Technically, you all smell,” Ravage tells her. She shoots him an offended look.

“I do not smell. Badly, at least.”

“You’ve sprayed something chemical all over yourself. It almost drowns out the reek of your emotions.”

The idea that he can somehow smell her feelings brings Villanelle up short.

Maybe she’ll start overdoing the perfume, from now on.

“Hey, you’re not going to do that invisibility thing again when we go outside, right?” she asks over her shoulder, heading for the fire escape and already filing away her prickling concerns.

“Yes, actually,” Ravage responds dryly. “Seeing as keeping a low profile would be ideal for both of us.”

“But then it’ll just look like I am talking to myself,” Villanelle complains. “I will look crazy!”

“I don’t think you need my help with that.”

Villanelle laughs again, because he hasn’t seen anything yet. Maybe while she’s trying to learn everything she can from Ravage, she’ll teach him a thing or two as well.

#this turned out more like. introductory than anything but im actually really FEELIN this au so maybe ill write more of it at some point?#what could possibly go wrong with a twelve/decepticon teamup???#also i just decided to set this pre-killing eve canon for the potential of ravage having to suffer through the show's bullshit #hope you have fun reading this storm <3

5 notes · View notes

anachronicwriting · 6 years

Text

The 007!AU No One Needs (10/?)

#The 007!AU no one needs #Taekey #sorry it took so long #double update

9 notes · View notes

vagrantblvrd · 6 years

Text

No Empty Rooms (1/1)

Summary: Debriefing takes longer than Gavin would have liked, but his latest mission was a delicate affair, and it’s understandable that his superiors would want to be as thorough as possible.

Notes: Prompt fill for @miss-ingno who asked for Jerevinwood hitman AU with newbie Jeremy. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

AO3

Debriefing takes longer than Gavin would have liked, but his latest mission was a delicate affair, and it’s understandable that his superiors would want to be as thorough as possible. No telling when something seemingly insignificant might pose a potential threat in the future, or at the very least complicate matters for future missions.

“You need a ride home?” Michael asks, bag over his shoulder and phone chiming at him.

He looks tired, exhausted, really.

Little wonder, when he’s spent countless hours awake guiding Gavin through a mission that had the potential to go south on them at any given moment. Gavin walking into a veritable sea of ruthless politicians and cutthroat business people. Operatives from various spy agencies sprinkled in for good measure, and Michael's calm voice in his ear throughout it all.

Gavin can feel his own exhaustion pulling at him, but he won’t be headed home himself just yet. (Not quite business, just. Things.)

“I’ve got things to take care of first,” Gavin says, hint of a blush stealing over his cheeks at the look Michael gives him.

Too knowing, because for all they’re meant to be professionals here, the agency is rife with rumors and gossip and nothing stays a secret for long.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gavin says, and no amount of training can keep him from fidgeting under Michael’s gaze, fingers drumming against his leg, eyes darting away from his. “Paperwork, you know.”

Michael snorts, mouth curving into a small smile.

“That’s what they’re calling it these days?”

Gavin sighs, and Michael cackles as he heads out, so damned amused.

“Get some sleep, idiot,” Michael calls back, hand lifted in a wave as he passes through the outer doors.

Gavin plans to, really, just. (Things.)

He fusses a bit first, not wanting to pass Michael in the hall when he knows damn well where Gavin’s headed after this. Goes through various notes and folders and such that have appeared on his desk in his absence and when he judges enough time has passed for Michael to take the elevator down to the garages he leaves the offices behind.

Despite the late hour Gavin knows there are still teams running missions, handlers and support staff and the like. (New agents like Jeremy learning the ropes before he’s cleared for a field mission of his own.)

The security guard gives him a bored once over before buzzing him through, and from there it’s a long corridor branching off into small rooms that have been turned into command centers for individual teams.

There’s a light above a door at the far end, unique plaque in place of the usual neatly printed names thanks to Ryan and Jeremy and their combined ridiculousness. Ryan’s exemplary track record that allows him to get away with things most agents wouldn’t dream of, and Jeremy showing himself to be made of much the same cloth in that regard.

Gavin rolls his eyes at the grinning skull staring out at him before he swipes his badge, waiting for the light on the lock to change over to green before opening the door. Inside the lights have been turned off, only illumination coming from the bank of monitors and various bits of equipment, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Jeremy looks up from the monitors to offer Gavin a smile, eyes narrowing as he takes in the slight slump to his shoulders, the lines of exhaustion on his face.

“Hey,” he says. “Good trip?”

Nice and casual, ‘good ol’ Jeremy being Jeremy’ as he gives Gavin a far more thorough once over than the security guard outside. (Personal interest might have something to do with it though, and the thought brings causes this lovely little warmth to bloom in Gavin’s chest.)

Gavin hmms as he pulls up the spare rolling chair and makes himself comfortable.

“As much as can be expected,” he answers. “Bit of turbulence on the flight back. Thunderstorm.”

“Uh huh,” Jeremy says when he realizes he won’t be getting more than that out of Gavin, and turns back to check on Ryan because they’re both all too familiar to what happens when the man is left unsupervised.

Speaking of, Gavin can see him on the center monitor, perusing what looks like a lovely array of finger foods set out for the guests at the party he’s crashing.

Impeccably dressed and drawing politely appreciative looks as he tabs on his target. True professional and all that, but -

“He’s getting restless,” Gavin murmurs, and grins a little at Jeremy’s sigh. “Best give him something to do or he’ll get...creative.”

“I have,” Jeremy says, and for all he sounds exasperated at Ryan’s antics, there’s a definite thread of amusement there. Fondness, for sure. “There were targets of opportunity before this – I’m kind of sad you missed it, actually. Might have had some input on his approach.”

Or possibly managed to rein Ryan in a bit, get him focused back on his target just enough to keep Jeremy from pulling at his hair again the way he did during training scenarios when he first joined the agency.

“Really,” Gavin says, because Ryan might well be one of the agency’s best, but the man himself is a damn lunatic. Only listens to a select few, and even then it’s not entirely guaranteed. “You think that, do you?”

Jeremy opens his mouth to answer, and stops, clearly reconsidering because Ryan.

“Maybe?” he says, and groans when they see Ryan palm a butter knife, tucking it neatly out of sight before any of the people around him notice.

There’s no sound from the monitors, and Gavin’s not wearing a headset, but it looks very much as though Ryan’s whistling as he wanders away from the refreshment table. Making his path look random and unplanned as he trails behind his target as the man leaves the room.

“Christ,” Jeremy sighs, toggling through different camera views to keep Ryan in sight.

Gavin laughs, scooting a little closer until their shoulders bump together because it’s obvious Ryan’s in one of his moods. Upping the difficulty to amuse himself and never mind the trouble it causes for his poor handler. (In this case, Jeremy.)

Gavin should head home, get some sleep before he has to be back in the morning to deal with his actual paperwork, but -

This is the first time he’s seen either Jeremy or Ryan, for that matter, since he left for his mission and he’s loathe to give that up just yet.

“Mind some company?” he asks, and there must be something in his voice, because Jeremy gives him a look, and that faintly annoyed expression on his face melts to a soft smile.

“If you don’t mind helping me babysit Ryan, sure,” he says, making sure Ryan can hear him over the laughing when Ryan must voice some kind of protest at his choice of words.

Gavin feels himself smile when he sees Ryan shoot the closest camera an unimpressed look as he passes it, and this -

Well, it’s not ideal, but until Ryan returns from his mission this isn’t so bad, really. Beats going home to an empty apartment any day and Ryan’s bound to provide endless entertainment before he’s done.

“Sounds like a date,” Gavin says, and laughs at the look he gets for that, because by all rights Jeremy should have washed his hands of the likes of Gavin and Ryan ages ago, and for some inexplicable reason he hasn’t.

“You two are gonna be the death me, I swear,” Jeremy mutters, but there’s a telltale smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and honestly, they’re all hopeless idiots when it comes down to it.

#prompt fills #miss-ingno #jerevinwood #jerevinwood hitman au #vagrant fic #kings of nowhere

14 notes · View notes

snicketsleuth · 7 years

Text

Who runs Black Cat Coffee?

Black Cat Coffee, corner of Caravan and Parfait, counts amongst the most emblematic places of “All the Wrong Questions”, showing up in 3 of the 4 books. Yet by the end of the series several questions have yet to be answered:

Why would a café moonlight as a post office?

Why is Stain’d-by-the-Sea’s post delivery so fast?

Why have we never met the postman/waiter who runs the café?

Stay with us after the cut to unravel these mysteries... and others.

On a purely cultural level, Black Cat Coffe’s piano and automatic delivery service might be loosely inspired by the pianocktail, a semi-fictional musical instrument from Boris Vian’s surrealist novel “Froth on the daydream”. The pianocktail mixes a custom cocktail depending on the melodies which are played on it (usually jazz). Daniel Handler is a cocktail enthusiast and allusions to Vian show up in “Why We Broke Up”. Fittingly, the café is also named after 3 Duke Ellington songs: ”Caravan”, “Parfait (A Little Max)” and “Black Cat Blues”, which might also be an allusion to Edgar Allan Poe’s famous story. It’s no wonder Ellington Feint loves the place so much.

Well, it seems like the cultural allusion won’t help us here. Our only hope is to examine the café’s logistics. When did Ellington discover the place? It clearly seems like she’s already used the post office before the start of “All The Wrong Questions”. When Lemony brings her the Bombinating Beast, she knows exactly what to do.

“Is the mail delivery reliable here?” I asked. “Yes,” she said. “You should have it by tomorrow morning. Surprisingly, delivery around here is very fast.” [Who Could That Be At This Hour?, Chapter Seven]

Then again, she has a lot of time on her hand and could just have discovered the secret attic by snooping around. Cleo Knight is also a customer but isn’t aware of the secret attic as far as we know. A violent butcher named Mack and his abused son Drumstick, who show up in “File Under: 13 Suspicious Incidents”, know of the attic’s existence. Dashiell Qwerty is also a customer and tries to set up a meeting with Ellington in “Shouldn’t You Be In School”. All in all, not a whole lot of people seem to frequent Black Cat Coffee: Hungry’s restaurant, which essentially functions as a soup kitchen, is the preferred meeting place of Stain’d-by-the-Sea’s residents. This would explain why so many mysteries remain about the place.

A question deserves to be asked: does Hangfire know Black Cat Coffee’s intended purpose? Our money’s on “no”. Ellington uses the attic to hide the Bombinating Beast in “Who Could That Be At This Hour?”, and Inhumane Society doesn’t seize the chance to get it. This is especially embarrassing as samples of Doctor Flammarion’s laudanum also show up in the attic in “Who Could That Be At This Hour?”. So we see that the post office tends to deliver stuff from anyone to anyone, as fast as possible. Whoever runs it has a decently neutral position in the conflict and the place is not monitored by Hangfire.

“Attic,” I said. It was a good place to keep packages. The music from the piano told me there was nothing to worry about, but I climbed the staircase with my belly full of bread and butterflies. I was tired of surprises in strange rooms. But the attic of Black Cat Coffee was just another big room with nobody in it. Along the wall were a few cupboards, and shelves with bags of coffee on them. There was a long table with envelopes and packages stacked in separate piles, as if quite a few people collected their mail at Black Cat Coffee instead of at home. I wondered why. There were not that many packages. There was a small box marked MEDICAL SUPPLIES addressed to a Dr. Flammarion. There was a long tube marked ELECTRICAL EQUIPMENT addressed to nothing more than a pair of initials that were unfamiliar. And then there was a package about the size of a bottle of milk, wrapped in newspaper with a handwriting I recognized immediately. I unwrapped it carefully. It was the Bombinating Beast. [Who Could That Be At This Hour?, Chapter Ten]

So it’s unlikely that the person who runs the post office is in league with Hangfire. That strikes out people like Nurse Dander, Doctor Flammarion, Sally Murphy, Sharon Haines, etc. So far so good, but who else could it be? No one in Stain’d-by-the-Sea looks like a satisfying candidate.

If this account can be called a mystery, then Black Cat Coffee is a mystery inside a mystery. There were certainly mysterious things in the establishment. The shiny machinery in the center of the room—which produced bread or coffee, depending on which button you pressed—always worked perfectly, but I never saw anyone attending to it. The attic was a place where you could retrieve packages, but I never saw anyone delivering them. The player piano played tunes I couldn’t identify. But these aren’t what I mean. I don’t care who oiled the machinery of Black Cat Coffee and made sure the bins were full of flour and roasted beans, or who delivered the boxes of books filled with blank pages or gears used in botanical extraction. The music doesn’t matter to me. [When Did You See Her Last?, Chapter Nine]

Sometimes the only way to solve a mystery is to link it to another unsolved mystery. And when one looks at the numerous plot threads left hanging at the end of “All The Wrong Questions”, it becomes tempting to suspect the Bellerophon brothers.

Hangfire seems to hold a grudge against their family, as his final diatribe attests:

“You fold together a flimsy decoy,” Hangfire said scornfully, “and try to play me like a clarinet, but you’ll collapse when you stand against me. All of you Stain’d citizens are the same. Your mother, Mallahan, was a journalist searching for the truth, but she didn’t have the courage to face what she found. Your parents, Hix, are too scared to come back to town, even to fetch their son. The Knight family drained the sea, and then went down the drain themselves. I could go on and on. The Losts. The Bellerophons. Doctors and actors, nurses and naturalists. Everyone was utterly worthless, and then along came a little girl who could perform all the trickery I needed.” [Why Is This Night Different From All Other Nights?, Chapter Twelve]

This is a long list of people Hangfire names as his enemies:

The Knights engineered the economic and ecological disaster that motivated the creation of Inhumane Society.

Ornette Lost’s mother tried to revert this disaster through tourism and, as such, threatened the lawless no man’s land Hangfire wanted to create. She’s also theorized to have been a member of V.F.D., Hangfire’s archenemy. So it’s possible that the fire that killed her was actually started by Hangfire.

Moxie’s mother is a journalist sworn to expose the truth, so she’d have to be removed from the town to enable Hangfire’s conspiracy.

However we are missing a motive for the Hix and Bellerophon families:

We have no information on what Jake’s parents did before they left the town, but as they fled they can’t possibly be involved in the shenanigans going on at Black Cat Café.

Pip’s and Squeak’s father is a trickier case because he’s still in town. He’s also an elusive taxi driver who’s always sick for some reason.

But the Bellerophon brothers’ story clashes with another passage:

“I’ve got to get that formula finished,” she said. “It’s a puzzle, but I’ve got to solve it. Invisible ink that actually works could make Ink Inc. a successful company again. We could save this town from all the people who want to destroy us. I’ve got to do it myself. I told my mother and father that, in my note. I love them, but my parents have given up on making things better.” “So have mine,” Jake said, and the Bellerophon brothers nodded too. Even Moxie nodded in agreement. [When Did You See Her Last?, Chapter Twelve]

They imply that he “gave up” on trying to make the town better, yet also insist he’s in town. Jake’s parents left, Moxie’s mother left and her father is clearly depressive… But the Bellerophon father is just “sick”. That’s not the same as “giving up”. They’re judging him pretty harshly for something he has no control over. Why do they put him on the same level as other cowardly parents?

We never see Pip’s and Squeak’s father throughout the entire series, which is an enormous red flag. Some readers believe he was actually murdered by Hangfire and that his children are covering up his death. Maybe they don’t want to be put up for adoption, but that’s still pretty drastic. Is it really in their best interest to lie to the authorities? They have no guardians and are forced to work at a very early age. Why not just admit the truth and leave the town?

There’s probably something more complicated going on here. As Stain’d-by-the-Sea’s last taxi driver, he was essentially in charge of its public transport. That’s an interesting position to be in for the survival of the town, but not an essential one in Hangfire’s masterplan. Because he needs to protect his civil identity (Armstrong Feint), he wouldn’t be able to take the taxi very often. For the most part, Hangfire seems content to travel by foot.

Controlling information, on the other hand, is extremely important. A taxi driver would pick up on a lot of stuff throughout his errands. We also know that Hangfire depends on the postman because he needs massive amounts of laudanum to subdue the Knight parents, the patients of the Colophon Clinic and the students of Wade Academy. Lemony even finds one of Flammarion’s shipments of laudanum in the attic of Black Cat Café. Had he destroyed this shipment, Hangfire’s entire masterplan would have had to be delayed. So it would be critical for Hangfire to control the mail delivery of Stain’d-by-the-Sea.

So what if Stain’d-by-the-sea’s taxi driver were actually the elusive postman from Black Cat Café?

There’s a reason no one’s caught the postman yet: he’s been hiding in plain sight. It’s only natural for a taxi to drive through the town, day and night. If the car was actually used to deliver mail, no one would notice. The two professions are actually very similar: one delivers information, the other people.

The theory goes like this: the Bellerophon’s father realized the danger Hanfire represented and decided to minimize his involvement with the mail delivery service. He started simulating a sickness to get out of Inhumane Society’s radar. He didn’t want Hangfire to realize he was the postman. His sons Pip and Squeak eventually found out his secret and took it upon themselves to ensure the mail delivery, as a desperate bid to keep the town alive. They are torn between their sense of civic duty and their loyalty to their father, who prefers to keep a low profile. So they pretend he’s sick as a way to protect him.

Are Pip and Squeak even aware Black Cat Coffee moonlights as a post office? Why, yes they are. Consider this passage:

I lay on the statue and thought, and the world went on without me. Moxie Mallahan was tucked into her bed, and Cleo Knight let herself into Handkerchief Heights, where her scientific equipment waited for her. Jake Hix started cooking up breakfast at Hungry’s, and the Bellerophon brothers put an old-fashioned record player and a huge stack of papers in the attic of Black Cat Coffee. [When Did They See Her Last?, Chapter Thirteen]

Granted, it’s possible that Lemony just told them about the attic. But this conversation, if it ever happened, is never mentioned in the narration. And this passage describes events that Lemony couldn’t have witnessed by himself anyway (he’s, not unlike ourselves, making hypotheses)

ADDENDUM, 3rd of August 2017:

Hermes from the 667 Dark Avenue message board (Link) pointed out how wrong I was about this. We do hear the conversation:

“In the back of the building is a spiral staircase,” I said. “At the top is a room with a broken window, and somewhere in that room is an old-fashioned record player. It was on a bed stand, but Hangfire hid it right before I came in. Please take it, along with all those papers on the desk, to Black Cat Coffee and put it in the attic. There’s a cupboard there that’s larger than it looks.” Squeak frowned. “Who wants all that stuff? Another associate of yours?” [When Did You See Her Last?, Chapter Twelve]

Then again Squeak doesn’t ask Lemony how to get to the attic, which suggests he is at the very least familiar with it. It doesn’t contradict the theory but does make it less likely.

END OF ADDENDUM

So the postman and current manager of Black Cat Coffee would be, for all intents and purposes, Pip and Squeak. Which would at least explain how they manage to get food and shelter, what with their father being so “sick” he can’t work. Running the café would hardly be a hassle. It’s all automated anyway. Going to the attic at night to store and pick up the mail would not take much time, and if they ever got caught, they would pretend being normal customers exploring the attic.

#0514 #theory #Lemony Snicket #atwq #all the wrong questions #Bouvard Bellerophon #pecuchet bellerophon #armstrong feint #hangfire #ellington feint #moxie mallahan #cleo knight #dashiell qwerty #ornette lost #prosper lost #vfd #sally murphy #sharon haines

126 notes · View notes

anghraine · 7 years

Text

“in tongues and quiet sighs” - fic

Wherein I decided to write a Space Spanish(+ obligatory Space Swedish!) fic after all, once I got to thinking about how interesting the inherent complications are.

This was, incidentally, a monster to write despite being a short Chaucer fic. I think it’s been rattling around my hard drive for a month and a half.

fandom: Star Wars

verse: the “okay but about that earlier script where Jyn and Cassian make it out” continuity (i.e., with threshold of a dream, but not ad astra or any of the others, despite some commonalities)

characters: Leia Organa, Cassian Andor; Jyn Erso, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker (background Han/Leia and Jyn/Cassian)

length: 1k

stuff that happens: I meant it to be about Alderaanian among the Rebels in general, but it ended up being about Alderaanian and Leia, in the context of her relationship with Cassian.

“Alderaan has no weapons,” Princess Leia said, and it was true.

In that moment, they had no weapons. In the decades before, they had no weapons. Tarkin had no justification whatsoever for obliterating Alderaan: only the Death Star burning a hole in his pocket, and petty revenge on the princess.

That didn’t mean that Alderaan never had any weapons, of course. They’d voluntarily disarmed a good century before the Clone Wars. But there was a reason that Alderaanian spanned the galaxy, from the Core to the Outer Rim.

On the bright side, Leia’s first handler turned out to be a young, quiet, attractive man who shared her native language, if an unfamiliar dialect of it. On the every-other-side, Leia had a handler who didn’t tell her anything. Except to lecture, of course: do this, never do that, avoid that other one if you can.

“Su alteza,” said Cassian Andor, in the tone of strained patience that he always used with her, “no puede—”

“Teniente,” Leia returned, exactly mimicking his tone, “no puedes decirme—”

He was only twenty-two, but to judge by his sighs, twenty-two going on sixty.

And that was when he didn’t make her fight his murder droid.

III

Leia would not have said she cared one way or another about the atmosphere of the Rebellion’s bases. But insofar as she did, she liked the one on Yavin IV, at once their most secure and most expansive. Every day that she spent there, she saw more equipment and protocols and standardization. While she passed on whispers in the Senate, stolen codes, lent her diplomatic immunity to Rebel operations, the refuge at Yavin IV had become a real military base, against the backdrop of the temples and jungle.

She’d thought those magnificent from the first, which didn’t matter nearly as much, but a little: they lent a dignity to the hiding and secrecy, like Aldera. And though it looked nothing like Aldera, actual Alderaanian was everywhere—mostly alderés yavineso, clipped and rapid even to her ears, but also the familiar tones of Alderaan, the drawling alderés del exterior like Andor’s (alderés fiesteno, he always corrected, looking more murderous than usual), countless others, strange but readily comprehensible.

Afterwards, she didn’t know if she regretted that or not.

General Draven had all the spirituality of a rock, but he took one glance at Leia and ordered her to medbay.

“Don’t worry,” he said, with one of his more incomprehensible looks, “you won’t be alone.”

When she saw Cassian Andor unconscious in the next room over, an unfamiliar woman sleeping in the chair beside his bed, enlightenment dawned. So did shock; they all thought him dead on that rogue mission—an infiltration so completely unauthorized and so necessary that after years in intelligence, she’d never respected him more.

Andor stirred and squinted at the doorway, then mumbled, “Infanta?”

The Basic was easier to bear, but Leia refused to flinch; she was still her mother’s daughter, and if la Infanta de Alderán now meant something very different, the image could help the Rebellion.

That was all that mattered.

Not long after they settled on Hoth, Han started extending “kid” to Leia as well as Luke. It was more baffling than infuriating; when he said it, he always looked an odd mixture of defensive, stubborn, and uncomfortable.

Since Luke snickered every time, Leia fixed her sternest stare on him and ordered, “Spill.”

“It’s because of what Commander Andor calls you,” he said, to her still greater bewilderment; she and Andor liked each other, but were far too much alike to bother with studied familiarity—comfortably, they stuck with titles.

“Infanta?” said Leia, and of course, she understood as soon as it left her mouth. Han didn’t speak even the clumps of Alderaanian that Luke had picked up—he must think—Force, he thought Andor, rigid at the best of times and attached at the hip to Jyn Erso for the last year, was—he was jealous of Andor?

Nothing, Leia had thought, could ever make the title anything except a splinter in her chest: but for one moment, she smiled.

Leia, for reasons she didn’t care to interrogate, quite cheerfully let Han stew in jealousy of a colleague devoted to another woman. It was Luke who took pity on him and explained that a) infanta was her title, so kind of the opposite of a pet name, and b) Andor had probably never used a pet name for anyone in his entire life.

“Anyway, he’s Erso’s,” Luke said.

“They’re friends, like you and me,” replied Han, though he seemed mollified (as far as Leia, definitely not eavesdropping, could make out).

“Uh,” said Luke, “unless you’re planning on dragging me into a supply closet sometime soon, not really.”

Leia slipped away, satisfied—and the next time she saw Cassian Andor, smiled so broadly that he frowned and said, “¿Está bien?”

“Sí,” she said, and meant it.

VII

Luke liked languages, and somehow or another, he had acquired a smattering of nearly all the widespread ones. Though he tended to forget Alderaanian words around others, with Leia he spoke it near-fluently—which turned it into something of a private language around Han.

Leia didn’t really care, except that it seemed appropriate in some ill-defined way that she and Han reached (and shouted) over a chasm, while she and Luke sat on her bed speaking earnestly of words—he talked circles around the holes in his Alderaanian, and she’d repeat simple Tatooine phrases over and over, mitt namn är Leia, mitt namn är Leia, mitt namn är Leia.

Neither of them, however, expected Jyn Erso to appear in the silent way she had, interrupting Luke’s uhh wait, it should be subjunctive with an air of even greater stoicism than usual.

“Do you need something?” said Leia, curious but no more; she neither liked nor disliked Erso, who was so reserved, and so indifferent to virtually everyone, that people joked (safely out of earshot) that Andor had replaced one murder droid with another.

“Uh,” Erso said, and now she seemed outright uncomfortable, “if … theoretically, I wanted to pick up some Alderaanian, I was wondering if—not you, but if you knew someone who wouldn’t mind…?”

“Nah,” said Luke, and when Leia glared at him, he added, “you’ll have to stick with us.”

Notes!

LOL, this is probably longer than the actual fic, but:

1) Su alteza, no puede—: “Your Highness, you can't—” (formal).

2) Teniente, no puedes decirme—: “Lieutenant, you can't tell me—” Cassian uses the formal tense, while Leia makes a point of using the familiar one. I was imagining that things like 'usted' are prevalent in the more far-flung Alderaanian-speaking planets and nearly extinct in the Core, so partly it's a matter of dialect, but she's also unhappy with her junior position and emphasizing her status.

3) alderés yavineso: Yavinese Alderaanian

4) alderés del exterior: Outer Rim Alderaanian

5) alderés fiesteno: Alderaanian of Fest/Fieste. It's customary to lump all the Outer Rim dialects together, but irritating to the people who speak those dialects; it's a vast area with tons of differences. Leia has quite a few colonial attitudes.

6) Infanta?: Princess? I've mostly seen it in reference to Iberian princesses in particular (e.g., Catherine of Aragón = la Infanta Catalina), so I was imagining it as specific to Alderaan and maybe a few nearby planets.

7) la Infanta de Alderán: "the Princess of Alderaan." Alderaan doesn't seem quite right for Spanish and "Fest" is just... German (and as anyone who has followed me for awhile knows, one of my random pet hates), so I imagined that a lot of the names are approximations in Basic rather than the names they themselves use.

8) ¿Está bien?: "Are you well?" Even outside of their previous dynamic, Cassian persistently uses the formal tense. (I'd actually originally planned another section about the assorted hiccups caused by regional differences in formal/familiar forms—like, Kes Dameron accidentally offends Cassian by using Alderaanian, because everyone is tú in his dialect, but in Cassian's it's incredibly rude to use with a stranger, and certainly a superior officer. But I decided I wanted Han/Leia more :P)

9) “Though he tended to forget Alderaanian words around others, with Leia”: he’s genuinely learning, but I imagine the bond with Leia subconsciously lends an assist, at least when they’re near.

10) mitt namn är Leia, mitt namn är Leia, mitt namn är Leia: "my name is Leia, my name is Leia, my name is Leia" (Swedish). I've been deeply grumpy at fandom slapping on stereotypes and Google Translate onto any and all characters played by Latinx actors, while expending all sorts of energy and creativity on e.g. the Skywalkers (whose originator speaks with a decided Swedish accent). So when I got lured into Space Spanish by thinking about linguistic drift and tenses and other fatal attractions, I was determined to also include the Skywalkers as Space Swedes.

77 notes · View notes

whitefoxed · 3 years

Text

Report

Thread Archive

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

The soldier had put the target down as he had been ordered. After that, his handlers had ordered him into the house to search. Generally, the soldier was not used on retrieval missions. However, this one had included an elimination components and he had been on countless missions of that type. While the HYDRA agents searched the residence, the asset had been instructed to remain outside, rifle at the ready in case the target had been able to call for backup before his untimely death.

Nothing had come and the soldier was brought back to the base. His commander had been injured during the initial infiltration of the target’s property and had to be taken to the medical wing. This left the soldier to report the particulars of the mission alone, a rarity. Finding his superior was simple, but the soldier waited for several moments before speaking. He could not risk being bad and subsequently punished after just returning.

“Sir,” he stated, voice rough from disuse, “the mission is complete.”

Lise had been the one to tend to the team commander’s injuries before having him sent back first for further treatment, so he knew there was at least one injured. Listening to the flitting reports on the intercom in his ear, he watched their target site from a distance, scanning the wooded area for any unusual movement. It was best if the team was notified earlier if there were to be any intruders now that they were mostly inside.

Only after the mission was over and the team returned safe, did tension ease from his shoulders. He was bent leaning over a computer table and verifying again with complete equipment the authenticity of the retrieved item - a data bank key - handed over by one of the team’s agent when the asset came over, and he nodded to him so he could speak. “Any abnormalities during mission?” He asked, since he was not present at the site. The computer was still going through its information access process.

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

The soldier was silent while he watched his commander looking over the computer. There was no reason for him to interrupt. Already, so many times, he had been punished for speaking without waiting. The fact that this happened if he spoke too soon or too later was not important. Contradictions in HYDRA’s rules or orders were ignored in favor of the most recent decision. He could only do that in an attempt to please those who owned him.

He have a single, stiff nod. “The target had employed six more mercenaries than originally stated in the intelligence documents given. Each was equipped with one Boker Kalashnikov knife, one SOG Spec Elite II knife, and two Baretta M9 handguns. Elimination of the extra security was prioritized to minimize the chance of possible resistance from the target or obstacles during extraction.”

Six more guards. Lise frowned, considering the lapse in intel. At least the weaponry was on point, and he prepared the right equipment in return for the asset and the team against them. As for the decision taken during mission, the reason was sufficient to explain the delay from their expected deadline. “What happened to the team leader?” He proceeded to ask, shifting his gaze from the soldier to the computer screen. Access granted.

A few more keystrokes to check for the presence of the information Hydra wanted - as well as look them through himself - the young handler did not bother hiding what he saw from the asset. It wasn’t that the asset’s helplessness in that matter was ingrained in him like it was to the other agents and technicians, but rather he did not mind nor saw the need to, if it could be useful to the soldier somehow. Not that it was much, being complicated data on how to access SHIELD and other governmental communications and data accounts.

Removing the key and sending a text to the director, Lise kept the item on himself before recalling the soldier’s dry voice earlier. Heading to another table where a jug of water and some glasses were available, he poured one and brought it back, holding it out to the asset. “Drink it.”

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

“The team leader was injured during collection,” the soldier replied without hesitation. He had no reason to hide anything and could not lie to someone in authority over him. The asset was incapable of lies unless ordered. His issue, however, was the gaps in his memory that sometimes formed even without the chair. He willed himself to remember everything, but it was difficult at times. Why? He had not been commanded to forget mission details. Thankfully, this time he was able to recall everything.

“While STRIKE secured the building, the leader attempted to open one of the target’s safes. This was set to explode should the incorrect combination be entered. A simple shrapnel bomb was located on the inside of the door.” The soldier had not been present for the explosion itself, but had heard it and gone to investigate. Piecing together what had happened while performing basic first aid had not been difficult even for an attack dog.

His eyes slid over to the computer, but soon refocused on his commander. If he was meant to know the information being presented, he would be told to read it. Until then, he was being bad by assuming he was authorized to look. Instead of continuing to look at the screen, his gaze followed his commander and then settled on the glass. Immediately, he took it and began to drink. Whether it had been water or acid, he would have done the same, without hesitation.

Now that was another issue with this mission too, with the mistake on the combination code. That makes it two strikes against their intelligence officers. It was something he’d have to report up later. Lise watched the soldier drink while deciding between delivering the key and an incomplete report, or bringing the asset to dress down first and question the team leader for a full report. Mildly concerned he would choke himself drinking that fast, the handler watched with anxiety before breathing out an unconscious sigh of relief when the soldier was done.

He decided on the former, taking the empty glass from the soldier and putting it on the table. It hadn’t been long since he took on this position in STRIKE and with the winter soldier. His training to be a Handler was situated at the Dollhouse, and the Actives there were treated much better and kinder than could be said for the soldier. The difference was disturbing.

“Accompany me to the director’s office, soldier.” Lise said, gentler than how an order should have been given this time. It was easier for him to do so when they were alone. Leaving the office they were in, he made his way to the elevator.

On the way back he had checked if the soldier had any urgent injuries. There were seemingly none, and he did not think the director would appreciate having to wait for what they were sent to retrieve. Hydra would neither be forgiving to him or to the asset if he prioritised the soldier first. Still, he wanted to get the report over with so he could give a more thorough check, and settle the asset down in his cell room before having to give the team a debriefing, now that the other commander was down. If time allows, he could squeeze in questioning the leader before the debriefing too. Some time through his thinking, they had already reached the director’s office.

“Guard here.” He said to the soldier, glancing up at his face before knocking on the door and entering when Pierce answered.

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

The soldier continued to hold onto the cup until it was finished. He had obeyed. That meant he was good, correct? That meant he would not be punished? After a mission, he was exhausted and unable to do much. He was slower and, if he had been awake long enough, could not process information as quickly. Some commanders and handlers became incredibly angry. The soldier would always obey no matter how long it took him, always. That was his only purpose.

His hands left the glass the moment his commander’s touched it. Holding onto it longer would be bad. If his commander wanted it, he would get it. His eyes followed the glass for only a moment before they were back on the man again. Every muscle wanted to sit but the soldier would not allow himself to be weak. His body was not his own. He had no say in when it would be taken care of. A part of him wanted to speak, wanted to say something, anything, to his commander but the words died before they left his throat.

“Yes, sir,” he replied immediately, voice smoother after the long drink of water. “Thank you, sir.” That was what he should have said. Instantly, he should have shown his gratitude. His commander would be perfectly within his rights to punish the soldier for his incorrect behavior.

He followed in silence, navigating the hallways of the base from memory. HYDRA allowed certain useful pieces of information so he did not have to be trained each time he was removed from the ice. As they arrived, the asset nodded once, a stiff movement, and replied out loud in the affirmative. Turning, he stood at attention just outside of the door while he waited for his commander to return.

Unaware of all the thoughts the asset had, Lise delivered the key to the director and gave his report. Between the failure from their intelligence operators on the number of mercenaries to expect and the wrong code combination, as well as the single serious injury on the team leader, everything else about the mission went well. Or at least, if the director had any displeasure on how the mission was carried out, he did not vent on him. After all, his father was a colleague of the same status, albeit a different department.

Leaving the office fifteen minutes later, he found the soldier guarding stiffly by the door and nodded to him with approval. “Follow me.” He did not dare say more in front of Pierce’s office, for fear of slipping up instead of acting like how everyone else was to the asset.

This time they made their way to the asset’s ‘room’ - a cell with a thick metal door, a bunk and a set of sink and toilet. More a prison than anything, Lise thought. Both scanning and keying in the password to unlock the door, the door then released its catch with a flush of air from its vacuum seal and swung inward. “You can sit on the bed and disarm.” He finally said with a breath of relief, as he broke (safety) procedure and closed the door behind him. He didn’t mind the surveillance camera - it only recorded visuals. But here they can have some privacy at last and he didn’t have to pretend the soldier was a thing instead of a person. “Did you get any injury?”

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

The soldier was an infinitely patient creature. He needed to be or he would have been punished. There had been days he had waited in the heat or cold for a target to arrive. The perfect shot would not come to the impatient. He did not listen to what his commander and the Secretary discussed. If he was meant to know, he would have been ordered to come inside. Speculation was not for him and he simply kept his gaze straight ahead. A few agents walked by and only his eyes tracked them as they moved past. They were not a threat and thus he did not attack.

When his commander returned, he silently followed him through the base. “Yes, sir.” The asset had memorized the layout upon being pulled from the tube, standard practice when he was to spent more than a forty-eight hours in one location, generally when many missions were scheduled together and the work involved in freezing and thawing him would be inefficient. He recognized the room. The soldier had been left there after being thawed but before his handler had come to take him for briefing. It was not a bad room, but then again, the asset had very little to compare it to. Most rooms he was kept in were laid out in a similar fashion.

Nodding, he moved toward the small bed and began to remove his weapons from himself. Two handguns were placed beside him and then a myriad of knives were taken form assorted sheaths around his tactical gear. Once he had divested himself of his weapons, he began taking apart the guns as was standard protocol. His own maintenance would wait until the other weapons were inspected. However, his commander’s question made him pause. Injuries sustained were not important for him unless they caused a critical malfunction. Still, he could not ignore a direct question from his commander. “A bullet wound on the side of the left lower quadrant. One attempted stab along the right shoulder. Metal plating of left arm damaged behind the elbow.”

Lise watched the soldier disarm, before casually taking the duffel bag he brought previously over to start inspecting and keeping the knives first in their portable holder in said bag. Then he heard the soldier’s reply as the guns were dismantled, frowning slightly at it. He had missed the bullet wound from his earlier inspection, though he didn’t ask back then - not infront of the STRIKE team. Quickly inspecting and putting the respective gun pieces in their cases (he could clean them later) he nodded to the other man. “Take off your vest so I can have a look at that wound.”

He would need to leave and bring back his medical kit, it wasn’t in this room. Speaking of which, he also needed his engineering tools and some spares for that arm. “Do you want painkillers for it?”

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

His eyes followed his commander, moving down to the duffel while the man packed away his weapons. The soldier felt naked without them. He was a weapon himself and yet he also used the others as tools. They were part of him in a way that the asset could not explain. He was perfectly capable of fighting completely unarmed, even with his metal arm removed. There was no rational explanation for his feelings and he resolved to remove them from his thoughts. A weapon should not ‘feel’ anyway.

“Yes, sir,” he replied softly, never looking directly at his commander. Without hesitation or shame, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the wounds and the long, raised scar where flesh and metal were fused along his left shoulder. Blinking, he wasn’t sure how to answer. If he answered in the affirmative, he could be punished for being weak. If not, then he would endure more pain while the wound was dealt with. In the end, the soldier shook his head.

Lise caught the hesitation. As the winter soldier’s newly appointed Handler, he had read his files before, and had access to more than most of the usual handlers. It still took some getting used to being around the asset, even if he knew what the man had been through.

The handler hesitated too.

After a long pause, he bent down and started checking the bullet wound, and saw no exit wound. Which meant the bullet was still inside, though the bleeding had ceased due to the asset’s unique physicality. “Are you able to recognise me, not as your Handler, just me?” He spoke softly, back to where he knew the cameras were. “If you can, then when we are alone, you are allowed to tell me when you’re feeling weak.” He didn’t touch the wound, just assessed it as his mind started sorting through which medical equipment he could bring over for the minor surgery. Hydra did not allow full medical attention for the asset when it was not in critical condition - which was why he supposed they chose him as a handler. A studied medic and an engineer, he could fix most of the soldier’s physical problems on the go. “I will not punish you for it.”

Looking up from the wound to the soldier’s eyes, he repeated himself. “Now, do you want painkillers?”

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

Seating himself half naked before his handler might have made a human nervous or at the very least concerned. However, the soldier only stared at the man and waited for further instructions. He needed to know what was expected of him. If he moved without permission, he was sure that he would be punished. Aside from that, the bullet still in his body could move and cause further damage to his organs.

“I know you, sir,” he replied, slightly unsure as to what his handler was asking him. The soldier was sure this man had authority over him and the human members of the mission team. Was there a difference between knowing someone as a handler and knowing them in another way? How else would he relate to a human? A weapon could only ever be subservient. The notion of being weak sent a wave of fear through him, but also caused an expression of near indignance to form on his face. The asset knew very well that he was not weak. If he was, HYDRA would have put him down long ago. He had seen agents be killed because they became too soft or desired to leave HYDRA. The solder would never give his masters cause to think such things of him.

And yet…this pain was not from a punishment. It hurt and he could not connect it to something he had done wrong. Finally, he nodded once. His handler was giving him permission to ‘want’ and he concluded that taking the medicine would be better.

The look on the asset’s face was… priceless? It was the first time Lise noticed such a lively… and human expression on the soldier. Then the reply brought a smile to Lise’s lips and he nodded. It wasn’t that the soldier admitted he was ‘weak’, or that it was the answer he wanted, but that he was genuinely relieved that the man could recognise him and tell him what he wanted. Even if he had to beat around the bush to get to this stage.

Lise wasn’t sure how much the wipe and training affected the soldier, since his training grounds were using much more advanced technology on less damaged agents, and he was new to this part of Hydra. He could only get to know the soldier slowly when they are in private.

“You can rest and wait for me to return.” He needed to bring the weapons out and come back with his kits. Taking the duffel bag, he looked back once more at the soldier before leaving the room, locking the door behind him.

A quarter of an hour later the handler returned, with the air-lock releasing before the door swung open. Entering, he close it behind him again before heading over, setting down the two heavy metal briefcases. “Here, take these pills first.” He brought a bottle of water from under his arm and a capsule container holding a mix of strong painkillers and prophylactic antibiotics just in case, handing them to the soldier before starting to set up his medical kit. The surgical instruments were neatly arranged upon opening its briefcase and he pulled out its folded stand so that it became a portable table beside him. Heading to the little sink, he washed his hands before pulling on gloves and a small white apron as well. Thankfully, the cell was also sterile.

“You can lay down when you’re ready.”

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

His commander was smiling at him. The soldier knew this meant he was pleased, although he could not think of what he had done to cause such a feeling. He was most used to reprimand and anger from the people around him even if a certain failure was not his doing. Handlers enjoyed taking out their frustrations on him. Never did he resent HYDRA for it. They were always correct and if he was being punished, there was a reason. Perhaps that meant there was also a reason for his commander to smile.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, watching his commander go. As soon as the man was gone, the asset lay on the cot. He had been ordered to rest so he would. Sleep and rest were similar and yet the soldier knew he had not been given permission to sleep. He decided that ‘resting’ would involve the position of sleep but without unconsciousness. Closing his eyes, the soldier willed himself to clear his mind of the mission and just wait for his commander’s return. That was all he should be focused on. However, his brain wanted to think, wanted to go over the mission in his mind and work out what had gone wrong and what had gone correctly.

HYDRA allowed their weapon to think critically about missions, about tasks that they assigned him. That way, he could assist in the planning of operations. He was always efficient and effective. His plans worked because he was a machine and did not give consideration to comfort or times that humans would find difficult, such as extremely early in the morning. To the soldier, there was only success and the quickest path to the objective.

He sat up instantly when the door opened, unsure if he should stand in greeting. In the end, he remained seated as he had not been ordered to do anything else. The soldier could see the case and knew there would be medical supplies inside.

He stared at the pills then the water, going back and forth for several seconds before finally taking them. His commander was graciously allowing the pain to be dulled and the asset knew he should be thankful. At the command to lay down, he did just that, although his right arm began to tremble just slightly in fear of what was to come. In his experience, HYDRA’s doctors caused a great deal of pain.

The scent of fear seeped into the room. Lise blinked, before shifting his gaze to its source. Then it moved to the soldier’s shaking arm and frowned. After a breath, he continued preparing the local anaesthetic before sitting by the soldier to tend to him. Ah yes, aside from the sterility of the room, everything else was inappropriate for surgery, including the height of this bed. Gently cleaning around the wound with an alcohol swab, he started administering the injections around the entrance area. At least STRIKE had anaesthetic…

Then he waited for the medication to work.

“Do you feel pain here?” He asked, pressing lightly around the abraded skin. There wasn’t much else he could do beyond this- he couldn’t knock the soldier out incase other people came for him, but he could at least provide this level of medication and wait. He supposed the previous doctors didn’t care very much. Though looking at the wound now, from this particular angle, it looked like it was already healing over from what it could have been from 9mm NATO. He would have to cut a little to get it out easier. Waiting a little longer till he was certain the medication was working, he placed a bandage pad beneath the soldier where the wound was and took a surgical knife to carefully expand the wound. Wiping away the excess blood after, he got the forceps and slid it in searching. If allowed, he would have used an x-ray before this. But as far as he flipped through the files, the doctors preferred to cut the soldier open and fix him from there. It was a wonder the soldier’s body wasn’t more riddled with scars.

As soon as his keen ears heard the sound of metal clicking on metal, a light twist of the forceps and a deeper grasp caught the bullet. Then he started working it out. When it finally pulled free of the soldier’s body, Lise breathed a sigh of relief. Tossing it and the forceps in a holding tray, he worked to clean the wound once more, checking for any other debris before stitching him up. Only after settling that wound did he pay attention to the others, stitches needed for the soldier’s shoulder as well. The rest were simply cleaned and bandaged.

Drinking his own bottle of water, Lise slowly packed away the medical kit. “How are you doing? Can you sit up? I’d look at your arm now.”

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

The soldier watched his commander with eyes that were both hyper-focused and completely dead. There was no mission here and thus he had nothing to keep his mind sharp and occupied. Without that, he was only a shell until called upon for a new task. He did not flinch when the injection came, only continued to stare at the man near him. There had been so much injected into him or shoved down his throat, that he hardly registered a single shot anymore. Aside from that, flinching was bad behavior and would result in punishment.

He was unsure if the medication would work at all. Techs often complained that his body burned through food and medication too fast, a side effect of his enhanced physiology. The cost incurred to keep him sedated was too high to be used in minor surgeries and therefore he was only put under when absolutely necessary, such as for anything major involving vital organs. He did not remember those instances. They were irrelevant and thus removed from his mind. What good would it do a weapon to remember every instance of maintenance? “No, sir.” At the moment, that was true. He felt nothing in the affected area.

As the treatment began, the asset watched. He had not been ordered to look away and there was no one else in the room. The soldier had nothing more to do than wait for the surgery to be over. His body had many scars from battle or HYDRA’s experiments, but smaller wounds were quickly taken care of by his own body. He could feel the blade cutting open his abdomen but did not make a sound. The medication was already beginning to wear off and he could feel every twist of the forceps as they wormed their way deeper into his body. He kept his breathing even, but used his metal hand to clamp down on the side of the cot. The metal of the cot began to warp under the force, but the soldier was able to remain still for his commander.

Soon, he let go and resumed his almost relaxed state. The asset was never fully relaxed, even when he slept, he was aware of his surroundings and searching for potential threats. He heard the moment the forceps found the bullet and if he had been a human, he would he would have sighed in relief. The forceps moving out of his body was much less painful than going in and he let out a slow breath most people would have called a sigh.

The rest of the wounds were distinctly less involved and were soon finished. He nodded once and pushed himself into a sitting position. “Thank you, sir,” was the only answer he gave as he shifted his body to move his left arm closer to the his commander. “Pain is minimal. I am functional.”

Though Lise had mingled well with his colleagues, there was still a lot unsaid between them due to his awkward status in hierarchy. Though he was doing almost the same things as they were, his rank was much higher in paper and spanned between executive and support. In a sense, the new handler found himself ostracised from certain groups and circles among STRIKE and the technicians. Without information written in the files, he had little idea how fast medication ran through the soldier. Poisons, certainly. Anaesthetic, no.

This time however, he was gaining a sense of just that. He had been opening the mechanical kit when the soldier answered. Looking over just as the soldier sat up, he noticed the warped cot. Flicking his gaze between the twisted metal and the soldier, Lise pursed his lips tight. Sometime along that surgery the anaesthetic had worn off. But there really wasn’t any gap of time in between those movements to reapply new shots… No, he could have gone another round after expanding the wound. Lise frowned in contemplation, almost missing what the soldier said.

In his perspective, it almost sounded as if the soldier was comforting him. Lise blinked, before breathing out another sigh as he tossed the daft idea out of his mind. “Well done.” Was all he managed to mutter quietly before sitting down beside the soldier and looking at said elbow where there was damage. A slight dent and displacement of a single rim, it seemed. “Nothing big, looks like a plate replacement will do.” He told the soldier, keying in a command to turn off tactile feedback on that arm.

Removing the damaged plate was easy with the right equipment. Fortunately, the inner mechanics were still perfectly fine as he expected. Undoing a lid on the casing to reveal another compartment where spares were held, he counted and selected the respective plate piece. On it went and the technician reversed the previous command on the arm.

“There you go. Anything else you want to report?”

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

HYDRA was generally unconcerned with causing their weapon pain. To them, the pain would be a reminder not to behave badly. If he was disobedient or erratic, he was punished. If he was injured on a mission, his treatment was done often without any sort of anesthetic because if the medical care hurt, then he would remember not to miscalculate or act inefficiently. To them, they were doing him a favor by hurting him. The asset believed their words, their reasons. He did not complain, not anymore. Reports for pain assessment were honest, but he knew he would not be given something to dull the aches and jabs.

Seeing his commander’s eyes move toward the bent metal of the cot, the asset felt his stomach turn to knots. He had broken HYDRA’s property and would now be punished for his incorrect action. Waiting was always worse than whatever punishment he would eventually be given. A mind that was both scared and blank all at once raced through the past punishments he had been allowed to remember, trying to brace his body for however the pain would come. Of course, HYDRA only allowed their weapon to remember the worst punishments. With only those to draw on, he grew even more terrified.

The soldier blinked. Well done? He had broken the bed and yet he was being praised. The fact that he had sat still through the procedure and done as instructed was completely lost on him in the face of this one incorrect behavior. He kept himself perfectly still while he suddenly lost feeling in the metal plating of his arm. The whole surface was wired for tactile sensation, more like pressure rather than the same feeling human skin would have. It could sense different impacts, distinguish between the soft skin of fruit and a stab by the intensity and localization of the pressure. Temperature shifts were more difficult and could only be truly felt if they became extreme. Pain was easy. HYDRA had made very sure of that.

Just as before, he remained rigidly still while his commander removed the damaged plate and began fixing his arm. He could only do basic maintenance himself and was not allowed to open the casing at all. Recalibration and twisting were allowed, never removal or touching of the wires inside. As soon as he was able to feel through the prosthetic again, he lifted his shoulder then swung his arm around in a large circle, recalilbrating it in one motion.

‘Want’? There was no ‘wanting’ in a report. There was only the necessary. “Should the conditions of the remains of the target be reported?”

Watching that ergonomically designed arm swing around was both curious and daunting to look at, especially when he knew exactly how much power was in it. It wasn’t his first time seeing the soldier do that, but it drew his attention none-the-less. Lise packed up the engineering case. “No.” His face blanched slightly, not liking those kind of knowledge at all. “I meant more like any mistakes on the other STRIKE members’ part. You’re trained to assess the situation, but the team leader has command. Sometimes they miss out things that they’re doing. I’m too far from site while you’re on the ground, and I only hear reports from the team leader. If they can improve, I’d like to know.” Lise explained.

“These kind of details can be reported to me specifically. Not to anyone else.” He added in hindsight. It was still quite concerning if the soldier went ahead with reporting like he does with him with another operative or even the Director. There might be trouble for him, but he was more worried about the soldier getting punishments because he wasn’t following the handler’s rule book himself. But he didn’t want to just obey, not when he’s in a position that could make things slightly easier for another comrade…

Looking at the damaged cot, he sighed. It’s best to get it replaced as soon as possible, but also when the soldier and Director weren’t in-house. At least it was just a little warped on the side and the solder could still sleep in it. Lise absent mindedly started planning the next best timing to arrange the furniture change.

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

The soldier continued to stare at his commander. Mistakes… Humans were capable of making them, but a weapon should not be. However, he knew there were times he malfunctioned and thus miscalculated. He knew he needed to be better for his masters and always strove to be perfect. His human handlers were not punished for failure as severely as the soldier. Speaking about their mistakes made the soldier sick with fear. If he did not answer, he was bad. If his handlers found out what he said, they would be upset. There was no way for the asset to please everyone so he settled on obeying the highest ranking person, his current commander. “Agent Swansen did not secure one of the target’s allies properly. The ally was eliminated while fleeing.” That was the biggest mistake he remembered. Allowing prisoners to leave was incorrect.

“Attempt to interrogate the target before termination were carried out by the handler, Agent Marlowe. The target was bound according to protocol. However, the handler became frustrated and beat the target resulting in swelling of the mouth and tongue. Information became difficult to distinguish from simple sounds.” The soldier normally performed any beatings used during interrogation simply because he was neutral on the whole affair. He did not enjoy the pain he inflicted on a target so would not be unnecessarily cruel. However, he also did not feel sympathy or guilt so there would be no issue of him being too soft either. He did what was needed and nothing more.

Once his report was finished, he fell silent again. Speaking more than necessary was bad. The soldier was intimately familiar with HYDRA’s rules even though they often changed. He did his best to keep up and avoid more punishment.

Listening to the soldier’s notes, his thoughts naturally gravitated elsewhere. From the ally deciding to flee, to deciding to check just who it was Swansen let run, and the various other political angles his schooling taught him, the young handler was making a little checklist on approaching those agents about their problems or taking it up with Rumlow without giving away the soldier in his head. He didn’t tell the soldier anything about it though.

“Get up and come with me. I’d be bringing you to the shower and you can clean up. Another technician will bring you back here and you should sleep. I’d be picking you up tomorrow morning.” They had been out for days and the soldier was the least of them all to be allowed to clean himself up. At his rank he had a cloth to wipe his face with, much less for anyone else.

Picking up the two cases with a hand easily, Lise used his free hand to open the door and wait for the soldier before taking out his phone to message another technician in the team to bring the soldier’s clothes. Nothing much, but at least clean military tank and pants. Files mentioned periods of not getting the soldier any to wear but no one really wants to see someone running around buck naked for nothing. The process was done away with years ago.

Leading the soldier to the shower and nodding for him to proceed, he handed the asset over to the other technician who arrived and left for his duties. He still had to check in on the team leader, write up reports on the mission and the soldier’s status and repair, and check the rest of the soldier’s returned equipment. There would be midnight oil to burn.

Not to mention the new mission the Director brought up that he and the soldier would be receiving. Pierce had already sent the case file to his desk and email. Curiosity and worry rose up in his chest and he hurried back to his office.

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

That soldier stood when instructed. He was an obedient machine and knew to listen to handlers when they gave him orders. That was all he was good for. Even on missions when he was allowed some freedom to plan, he did everything under the orders of another. Without those, he was lost and became scared of what would happen if he did anything. His commander was explaining what was going to happen, which was nice of him. Sometimes the soldier was led around the base and never told anything, not that he had any right to know. If his commander wanted, he would walk in circles for days without any reason.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, stepping out into the hallway when his commander held the door open. He paused just outside, waiting for the other to lead him along. Going in front was the place of handlers and those in power. The asset had no power and thus went in the back. That way, he could follow along like a good machine. The walk to the shower was quiet, the soldier keeping his dead gaze ahead while they moved. On arriving, he let his attention slip over to the tech who had brought some clothes as well. The asset was not allowed to shower on his own. Independence of any kind while in the base was frowned upon. Techs washed him and he stood still.

While the freezing water hit his skin and the tech washed him with a brush that felt like wire, the asset remained still, moving only when instructed. He would obey, he would be good, he would not give his commander any reason to punish him. Cold water was not an issue for the soldier. He was more than used to freezing temperatures. There was something calming about the feeling of icicles on his skin, a familiarity that he was unsure if he was allowed to feel. The thought of hot water on his skin was a fantasy and he quickly quashed it. A weapon was not allowed to imagine or dream.

Once his shower was over, he was toweled off and the clothes shoved into his hands. He changed quickly and efficiently before walking back to the cell. His commander had instructed him to wait there and sleep. Laying down on the slightly warped cot, he stared up at the ceiling, unable to obey his last command. His body was exhausted, but his mind was so blank he couldn’t even concentrate on nothingness. Finally, exhaustion won out and the soldier closed his eyes, falling asleep as ordered while he waited for his commander to return.

After returning his cases his office, the young handler swiftly headed to check in on the team’s lead. The man was awake and filled in his side of the report, before Lise brought up the management doubting the team’s ability due to intel comparisons in the form of subtle hints. A lie, one that he hoped the lead would take to heart to watch over the rest of the team more. Then it was finishing the reports to send to Pierce and the other upper management before midnight.

Deciding to read the new mission’s case file before getting to the other little paperwork and gear maintenance, Lise opened the email and physical folder. Its contents had him staring with restrained delight and anxious concern. Half an hour later, he sighed thinking about what he’d have to do tomorrow. Aside from bringing the soldier to meet with Pierce, from the mission alone he knew what would come next.

Dragging himself to finish the rest of his chores, it was near 4am when the handler crashed into his own bed. Then he was up again by seven, and out his door by seven thirty. Grabbing his breakfast and the soldier’s- multiple nutrition bars and two packets of flavoured milk, he headed back to the cell and opened the door. “Awake yet?” He paused till he got a response. “Here. Eat these and we’d have to see the Director for our next mission.” Three bars each, two standard issues for the soldier and one chocolate flavoured, Lise handed the items over before sitting beside to eat his own. He didn’t talk about what was going to happen next- they both knew, he thought.

Once they were both finished, he lead the soldier to the wiping bay where the Director was already waiting. Suppressing the churning in his gut, he saluted Pierce. “The Asset is ready to prepare for his next mission, sir.”

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

The soldier waited for his commander to return. Relaxing against the cot, he tried to let his mind go into the same blank state it held when he was frozen. However, sleep and cryp-statis were not the same and his body was much more used to the freezing temperatures and near complete shut down than anything else. His commander had ordered he sleep so the asset did his best to obey. HYDRA knew everything so he was sure that if he did not sleep properly, they would know and he would be punished for it.

Seeing images behind his eyes while he slept caused the asset greater fear. His drive to obey was compromised in the ‘dreams’. HYDRA told him that any information obtained from them, no matter how real it seemed, was to be considered false. They repeated sometimes, often with a blonde man and a different name. The soldier did not have a name and yet he was called the same one when he dreamed. His handlers wiped him after he spoke of such things even though they never made sense to him. The asset did not question; he obeyed.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, sitting up. The dreams disappeared and he was left with only the thought to listen to what his commander said. Gently, he took the offered food and ate quickly. Wasting a handler’s time was wrong and there was going to be a new mission. Efficiency dictated that he eat in as little time as possible so the mission could begin. When finished, he stood along with his commander and followed the man through the base. His attention switched to the Director, a man he always remembered. The soldier did not speak, but instead nodded once in the way of a salute while the techs ushered him into the large chair.

He took the bite guard into his mouth while they fastened the straps and clamps around his arms and legs. When the chair finally leaned back, the pain came and he screamed. His body tensed, muscles jerking and spasming of their own accord while the asset tried his best to keep from crying. Every nerve ending felt as though it as being burned from the inside, his vision popping with color and blackness. A soft whine left him as the chair was shut down and for several moments, he did not know where he was, vision blurry and body exhausted from the thrashing it had done to escape.

Today it was the other technicians who were in charge of the wipe, since he was here as the next mission’s agent. But Lise knew just what the settings would be, a longer, cleaner wipe that erased the last mission and suppressed based memories even further. His adam’s apple shifted as he swallowed, jaw tight as he tried not to listen to the other man’s screams. Grey eyes unfocused and re-centered back on the soldier’s hand, unable to look away, for HYDRA’s rules and natural instinct commanded so.

It was an effort to keep his hands loose and not close them into fists.

Seconds ticked by as the Director’s scent from beside him went from faint fear to predatory pleasure. The muscles along his shoulders tensed even more. Then it was over. Lise’s gaze flitted immediately to the soldier’s face when the chair shifted back into proper posture. Pierce stepped forward, observing it too. “Back with us now?” After a while, the Director’s patience ran thin and patted the soldier’s cheek. To be honest, most of the training were by the earlier leaders and then commanders and soldiers in between. The directors and upper management just gave directions for what they wanted out of the asset, and didn’t know how exactly to control it besides key words. They were always lucky the discipline was instilled strongly for how they behaved around him. Lise breathed out, working on relaxing once more.

The technicians fussed about until the soldier was ready and removed the restraints. Pierce however, began talking as soon as the soldier’s eyes were on him. “From today onwards, you will be on an espionage and assassination mission of one Luther Cade, a Pentagon official injected by SHIELD. You will work together only with your handler, Brandt, and you will weed out other SHIELD connections in the Pentagon as well as figure out what Luther Cade is working on in secret for them before eliminating him. Am I understood?”

Naturally, the rest of the mission’s explanation, planning and execution was left to Lise. He still hated how the Director preferred to call him by his surname. The man thinks its a term of familiarity, to show he recognised his connection to the director of research and development, but Lise never appreciated it. If it weren’t for that connection, he would have never been brought in here. The handler stepped forward, getting a closer look to see if the soldier was doing better than he was moments ago.

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

Always, always, the soldier was disoriented when the wipe process ended. His mind had been fried with more volts than a human could survive and he was expected to continue moving. There were only a few moments in which he was allowed to stop and rest, to collect himself even if he couldn’t consciously say he was doing so. The asset had to wait for his vision to come into focus, for the static to stop, and for the incessant ringing to fade from his ears. As the world became clearer, his mind instinctively tried to piece together where he was and what was happening. Each shred of memory he reached for disappeared like gun smoke until there was nothing.

When he was finally able to see clearly, his gaze focused on the oldest man in the room. His mind supplied ‘Secretary Pierce’ and ‘commander’ automatically. He was meant to obey this man. This man was the head of HYDRA. He belonged to HYDRA. There was a question coming from the man and the soldier tried his best to answer, but he could not remember how to speak. The touch at his cheek snapped his mind forward, supplying English as the language he was meant to be using. There were others floating in his mind, but they were not necessary now and were pushed away.

“Sir.” He replied. The patting barely registered as a touch considering how used to intense pain the soldier was, but he knew to pay attention. He could feel the techs around him and the loosening of the bindings on his arms, legs, and chest. The soldier did not move. He had not been ordered to. His purpose was to obey. Without permission to move, he would not even though he was no longer bound to the chair. He had to focus all of his attention on the Secretary in order to retain the information. Right after a wipe, he was easy to indoctrinate, but the information had to be repeated by either himself or the commander.

“Yes, sir,” he answered. “Mission parameters: locate and observe SHIELD agent Luther Cade. Obtain information on his projects under the direction of Agent Brandt. Ascertain the whereabouts of the target’s allies. After information is retrieved, eliminate the target. Follow the directions of Agent Brandt at all times. He is the handler.” His eyes moved over to the agent for a moment, studying him. There was a spark of familiarity in the soldier’s eyes, but it was gone in the next instant. He knew he had worked with some handlers before. However, their faces were fuzzy at best.

Watching the faint tremors fade away and listening to the soldier’s breaths even out quickly, as well as repeat the mission clearly to Pierce, the handler felt his heart settle. The soldier was back to operating status. The Director too, was satisfied with its answer. “Good.” He said and turned to the handler. “Then I’d be leaving the Asset in your hands, Brandt.” This time, his hand settled on Lise’s shoulder with assuring weight. “Catch it up on the current times as planned. I was hoping to have the mission done within a month but- since it’s you and we all know what’s ahead for you, take your time to familiarise one-on-one. Two months should be good enough, mn?”

“Thank you sir.” Smiling back casually and so unfitting of their present settings, the handler’s acting skills turned on the moment Pierce touched him. The head of HYDRA and his father were close, naturally they would have a friendly relationship, even if Lise was unwilling. A few more pats and Lise watched him turn away and leave, taking slow deliberate breaths as he tried not to think too much about what his father wanted him to become. Grey eyes shifted from the back of that grey suit to the soldier’s blues and the shy and delighted smile which had turned thin seconds ago rose back on the handler’s face faintly. “Get up, soldier. We’d go to my office and iron out the mission details.”

Once they got back to the armoury office, Lise had the soldier sit on the leather bench in the armoury section before pouring two glasses of water for the both of them. The area had a coffee table and another bench across it, usually used for cleaning weapons. On the table now laid several files, passbooks, a set of clothes and carry-on weapons and knives. Beside it were two luggage cases. Bringing the glasses over, he placed one in front of the soldier before taking his own seat. “Drink.” It was a habit, when he handled the asset after a wipe. All that screaming needed something for the throat. He too drank some before putting his own glass aside, picking up another file to pass to the soldier. “Look through this first.”

“Our identities on this mission will be as college friends, on vacation from work to visit Washington D.C., where Luther Cade will be in a few days.” The file he passed to the soldier was on their target. Sliding the passports on the table infront of the soldier as well, he continued. “Your name is Yasha Wolf, a mechanic with his own shop in New York. The other two are backups. The information is in here.” He slid another file forward. “My name is Sergei White, engineering in a car company. We met in the city college of New York. I’ve booked a hotel opposite of Cade’s service apartment, as well as rented a unit under renovation that has a view of Cade’s external office. We also have an apartment in the Student Housing near the Pentagon to round back to.” Sliding the last file forward, he finished up. “These are all the current boltholes and our resources in D.C. Remember them.”

“Any questions?”

winter-soldier-asset-bucky‌:

The soldier was paying attention to everything the Secretary said, but he was having issues making his eyes focus completely on the man. Thankfully, the Secretary was no longer speaking to him, but rather his handler. Anything that was important to the mission would be given to his commander and then the soldier would be told when necessary. At times, humans spoke as though the asset was a dog or piece of furniture, there but not there at the same time and certainly not sentient enough to have his own input. That was normal. A weapon did not assist in mission planning unless directly instructed to do so. There had been missions in which the soldier was allowed to plan his own actions, but he was always subordinate to his commander.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, standing. His first steps were unsteady, but he corrected for the imbalance quickly and was soon able to walk a pace behind his commander. He kept his eyes firmly on his handler until they reached the armory. Nodding once, stiff, he sat down where directed and continued to keep his attention on the man. He always needed to be watching, studying, waiting for more orders. If he let his attention slip at all, even if it was out of his control, he could be punished for being bad. Slowly, his eyes moved down to the glass that had been placed in his hands. He held it using his right side, leaving the left prepared to defend or attack if given the direction. Repeating his affirmative, he placed the glass against his lips and drank slowly.

Friends? The soldier could not think of any context he could use for this assignment. Normally, he was not put on undercover work, only if the mission was going to be long term. He was not even sure if he had ever been to college. Certainly, he knew what a college was, but could not think of a time when he had been on a campus. He picked up the file on the target and began scanning it. HYDRA had taught him to memorize information extremely quickly and he was soon sure he could parrot everything in the file back to his handler. Next, he looked at the passport. His own face stared back at him from the identification image. The last file told him information he was more used to receiving. Another nod and he closed all of the files, setting them on the table again.

Admitting lack of knowledge was bad and yet not asking would lead to more problems later. There were two questions that stuck out in the soldier’s mind more than others, ones that needed to be resolved before he could perform the mission to the Secretary’s wishes. Answering to a new name would not be hard. ‘Yasha’ was one he remembered from a few missions in which he had been instructed to blend in with civilians. It set off little sparks in his mind, but he had been trained well enough to ignore them. “What are you to be called on this mission?” he began. If they were friends, that meant he would have to refer to his commander by name. Maybe? “How does one act like a friend?”

Lise trusted the soldier remembered everything on the files. He had tested him a few times before, on different occasions, with nary a mistake. Hence, he didn’t see the need to test him again this time either. Besides, since they were both on the mission and he would be by the soldier’s side most of the time, it would be fine since his own memory never failed. What he was more concerned about was that this was his first time handling an undercover mission with the soldier. He was used to planning and preparing behind the scenes, and even if they went on missions together, a whole team of soldiers had always went along. It was foreign being on the front line and managing the soldier personally.

Therefore he put a lot more effort than usual tailoring their mission itinerary and extracting the information the soldier needed in those files, based off his recollection of the soldier’s archives. The name was a deliberate choice, as well as a highlighted option from his predecessors. “You will call me Sergei. My real name is Lise Vuhs- Brandt is my paternal last name, I prefer using my mother’s. You knew me as Commander Vuhs. Most of this mission will not be wiped after completion, because it includes training modules, so I suspect you’d be able to recall that in the future too.” He answered, pausing on the second question.

It was unexpected. Rather, it was his mistake. He should have expected it. Expression softening, he looked at the soldier before sliding his gaze to a side as he considered how to answer his question. Explaining and expecting the usual common knowledge wouldn’t work well. Considering in the soldier’s terms, he started hesitantly as his gaze flickered back up. “Friends protect each other and spend time together. It’s comfortable so friends relax when they are together. You can speak or ask questions that come to your mind freely.” Lise paused, reminded of how HYDRA trained the soldier and… him.

“We will assume our identities once we leave HYDRA compounds… from then on you can behave as a friend. You can also take initiative and make suggestions to our mission as you see fit, because you’re more familiar with assassinations than I am. You do not have to fear punishment from me for doing so.” Breathing out, he considered a little further. “When I address you as Wolf, it will mean I take full authority as handler. When I address you as Yasha, we go back to being friends. Is that clear for you?”

All of what he said were reasons why he set their status as friends for the mission. It was so they could stay in the same rented rooms be it ‘saving money’ or ‘bonding time’ with less suspicion compared to colleagues. Even then, they would still have to be friends anyway. Colleagues include having the same backstories and references for work, another difficult topic to maintain under question. College was easier and much shorter, the key points written in a few short paragraphs in one of those files.

#wintersoldierassetbucky‌#t.wintersoldierassetbucky‌#t.bucky.report #t

0 notes