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 coldness was the first thing that made him realize he was alive.
But he wasn't supposed to be alive, a weapon is a ghost, and ghosts are unseen.
He got the feeling back in his legs and arms, a quiet sight left his blue lips. His muscles were still frozen, frost littering his deathly pale skin and hair that was grown just a little past his ears.
Assess the situation Alone, no agents
Is it safe? No movements, stay alert
The temperature in the container had raised, his mind sluggish, he could still understand that something was off. He cracked his frost-covered eyelids open, realizing it was dark and tight, it was small, and the glass was no longer see-through. He blinked, trying to get the stinging away from his eyes. He noticed a tiny hole in the glass, and on his ribs. He was shot, but the blood hadn't yet started flowing, good.
He balled his fist, sprinkles of frost falling from his shoulder.
The room was silent, deadly so. The surfaces were all covered in dust, there were no signs of any life, or anyone having been there either. A fist broke the surface of a hazy glass, the fingers blue of cold as they slowly pulled back and the glass fell on the floor as more warmth swept into the container, pushing out the freezing temperature.
He broke down the glass, his legs still too frozen to move completely, he fell in front of the cryo as he tried to step out, the feeling in his legs not yet there. He shook all over, trying to place his hand over where his wound was, he could not yet feel it completely. The sooner he got the bullet out the better.
He pushed himself up, dragging his body off the shards of glass that stuck on his black uniform. He slumped against the wall, trying to move his toes his cold eyes roamed over the room. Twenty seconds of analyzing made him realize someone had tried to assassinate him while he was on cyro, as he studied the other five containers, it made him realize that he was the only one who was not dead yet.
He looked at the ceiling, curling and uncurling his fingers, his blue eyes that resembled the frosty lake stared at the ceiling before he raised up his shirt and moved his hand to his torso. He needed to get the bullet out. As he fished for the bullet under his rib, the only thing that would have told anyone he was in pain as the slight switch of his chin and ticked jaw. He grunted, raising the bullet to his eye level as he allowed himself to slump against the wall. A 9mm-caliber round, predictably from the same gun he had used... when exactly? Last time he was out of cyro, the time before that?
He slid it into his pocket, deciding to get rid of it later, leave no evidence.
He knew his body needed time to heal, time to make sure the bullet wound would close up should he encounter unpleasant people, targets. Who was his target now? Where were the handlers? There were only him, the Wild Soldier and five corpses, other Deathlok projects. Dead.
Despite his better judgement, he pushed himself up, knowing he needed to disappear, find a safe house, find out what has happened, find handlers.
Disappear.
The soldier made his way to the computers, hoping they would help any way, but they had not been used for years, the dust had settled everywhere, making him frown. He needed to vanish, but even with his little memories, he did not know he was being held in America, in New York of all places. But he would not let it set him back, he would hide, find information, and search out the handlers.
When something goes amiss, always find the handlers.
