Echoes

Homecoming

The soldier lay shivering on the floor, dazed and gasping for air. The officer's empty body lay near him, his blood pooling on the floor. The soldier felt bile rising in his throat even though his stomach had nothing to offer except the foul-tasting bile. 

The soldier did not dare move, for each motion sent jolts of pain through him. He closed his eyes for what seemed like only a second. Yet when he opened them, he was back in the casket, cold and numb. 

The temperature began to drop and ice started to form on the walls. The soldier pounded on the walls, pleading to be let out, lest he should die. Alas, his cries were unheard, unanswered. He had never felt so numb in his life. The soldier was underdressed for this cold and it would surely kill him before long. 

Then - from where he had been shot - pain. He had no means to escape it except to wait until the deep abyss of unconsciousness took him. And it did take him after he could bear the pain no longer. 

When he woke, he found himself fully healed from his wounds. There was only a scar to mark the place where the bullets had pierced his flesh. 

A man, a doctor, by the looks of it, entered the room. The soldier looked up, fearing that this may be another one of Hydra's sick tests. 

He could not ask, for a gag had been put in his mouth and he was firmly bolted to a chair. He felt as if this were a deja vu, although he could have sworn that this had never happened before. It may have been that his mind was playing tricks on him, the soldier could not be sure.

The soldier could not move the slightest bit. Even his metal appendage, which seemed to be stronger than any human could not break out of his restraints. He began to panic. What would Hydra do with him now?

The doctor came back, looking at an array of medical instruments. Then he fixed his attention to the soldier, studying his as one might study a dead animal. The doctor said something in Russian, but when the words reached the soldier's ears, they made sense. "Commence the Wipe."

The chair the soldier was occupying mover back, and out of the corner of his vision, the soldier saw two pieces of mask-like instrument descending. It didn't stop, not until it was firmly fitted on his face. The soldier's ragged breathing mimicked the whirring of machinery. Then it started.

And the soldier screamed, screamed from the unbearable pain. he felt as if his skull was being pierced by bullets, as if they were ripping holes in his mind. The deep abyss did not take him, and it would drive him mad. 

He could not remember... what was memory? What was he? Nothing, nobody.

The world was a flash of black, then white. The mask lifted and the soldier lay on the chair, gulping down as much air as he could. Tears ran down his face, pooling on his chin before dropping onto his chest. The gag was gone, out of his mouth and all he could taste was blood. 

Then he heard a voice, and the words it recited made him shiver. "Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car."

The words slipped out of his bloody lips before he could stop them. "Ready to comply."

Welcome home, soldier.