In the 21st century, The Soldier went rogue, HYDRA fell, but the files of the assassin still remained. The deaths were too big for SHIELD to let it simply go.
Apparently, the Avengers had no idea there were more than two people lost in time.
It wou...
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The cube was a bizarre little thing. It took him some time to figure out that it could be twisted, which changed the strange colour pattern on most sides immediately.
The goal was to separate all colours? How curious. What would happen if he succeeded? Would it trigger a bomb? Would it open and reveal something? Was it a secret weapon of sorts?
Once he heard the familiar sound of squeaky shoes, he stuffed it under a pillow, hiding it from the white coat. He did not want to share anything with her.
The man had visited as well, but each time he sat in the same spot, not uttering a word. William realized that when he neared the cell, he started stomping just a bit louder as if he wanted to let him know he was there. It was quite a weird habit of his. Will couldn't complain since he would rather sit in silence with the strange man than listen to her.
The woman had not taken any hints. She did not care about a curled lip, heavy glares or balled fists.
And her damn questions got on his nerves.
Every day she came, though William couldn't really tell when one day began and other ended. Unlike the man, she never sat down again after the incident in the glass cage.
She always wore that damn white coat, that bugged him the most. He always studied her for fast movements, weapons or any other signs of hostile behaviour.
Or mistakes. He wished she'd make the mistake of entering his space again. But no one had, they had even given him a change of bandages, letting him change them instead of allowing another white coat do it.
It had been another unknown day when the memories had came back with a full force this time.
His back arched, eyes darting left and right behind closed lids as sweat trickled down his neck onto the white floor. His breathing was irregular, sometimes small gasps left his parted lips, other times it was a whimper or a mumbled word. He was often trying to keep the people in his memories away, telling them no, or to go back. Or to leave.
The amount of different languages he used would give even the most bilingual person a whiplash by how many times he changed them.
He saw then things that would leave him with more questions.
He saw young John, he saw mud, he saw the lifeless eyes of someone named Michael Carter and then he felt guilty. In another place, he saw cookies on the palms of his hands. His hands looked smaller and softer.
"Leave some for your brother!"
He saw someone running towards him through a very hazy morning. A young man with big blue, fearful eyes.
"Fire!"
He was holding a rifle as he ran towards William. Williams own eyes shining with the exact same terror as he pressed down on the trigger. The young German boy fell into mud to be trampled by his comrades. His eyes wide and forever seeing the battlefield and the fearful eyes of his murderer.
