9.14 p.m, October 31st, 2013.
21.14, October 31st, 2013.
The trick-or-treaters could kiss Brock’s ass, he was pretending he wasn’t home. He’d closed the curtains, turned off the porch light and settled down with a beer and a stack of horror dvd’s he’d pressured Mercer into lending him. He had just decided on Night of the Living Dead when his cellphone rang. Not his cellphone, his cellphone. The cellphone that wasn’t supposed to ring unless something was Very Wrong. Perhaps the universe had something against him having a beer on Halloween.
He fished the damn thing from between the couch cushions and picked up.
"Rumlow."
The voice on the other side sounded a little unsure and panicky, probably a junior agent.
"Commander Rumlow Sir, sorry to bother you but I think we have a code 404..." the agent informed him. Well, there went his plans for the evening.
"On my way." Brock answered, not waiting for the person on the other side of the line to reply but simply cutting off. He groaned, setting his beer on the coffee table, flinging the dvd in the general direction of the couch as he made his way to the hall to grab his coat and carkeys.
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The streets were full of costumed kids and teens, which made the short drive over to the bank building take longer than Rumlow’s cool could handle. He completed the security check-ins and drove straight into the underground garage, double parking but not giving a fuck.
The little office that monitored the building, but mostly the Asset’s holding cell, wasn’t far from the entrance, and Rumlow may have wrenched open the door with a little too much force. The junior agent inside did a little jump. Rumlow couldn’t quite remember his name, he was recruited from SHIELD’s ranks not too long ago. Johnson, Jannson, Jonesson, Jansen… something like that. Who cared anyway.
“Now what?!” Rumlow barked, checking the various monitors for any sign of A Situation. Jannson did an awkward little salute, half rising from his seat.
“Commander Rumlow, Sir, the Asset keeps speaking to someone, I wasn’t sure if this constitutes as a code 404 but better safe than sorry I guessed… Sir.” he offered, gesturing at one of yhe monitors that showed the Asset’s containment cell.
Even though the interior of the room was completely devoid of light, the infrared camera showed a perfect picture of the concrete, box-like room, with the Asset lying down on the metal shelf like cot that protruded from the wall. It was stark naked, laying on its back with the metal arm curled under its head and the flesh arm over its stomach. Sure enough, its mouth was moving, but the sound coming from the speakers in the surveillance room was faint.
“Turn that up.” Rumlow commanded, and Jonesson tapped something on the keyboard. The Soldier’s voice came from the speakers, a whisper as it obviously tried to be so quiet that it would not be detected. It did not want caught, the sneaky fucker…
“….don’t be afraid, it’s just the dark… there’s no such things as monsters… you can always sleep in my bed…” the Asset whispered, barely audible, and Rumlow felt his already crappy mood turn even more sour.
“Zoom in on its hand.” Rumlow ordered. Jansen tapped some keys again and zoomed in on the metal hand, half-covered by the Asset’s hair.
“The other one, you idiot!” Brock snapped, resisting the urge to smack Johnson in the back of the head. The junior agent stammered an apology and switched the camera’s focus to the Soldier’s flesh hand, curled loosely on its stomach. It looked like it was holding on to something small... whispering to it in the dark.
“Goddamned shitfuck!”
Brock was out of the office and into the elevator in a few big strides, down at the level of the Vault in under 30 seconds. He forcefully thumbed in his security code, slammed his index finger down on the fingerprint scanner, and glared the retinal scanner into submission. The lights overhead came on inside the cell as soon as the door swung open. He caught the Asset in the process of sneaking something in the crevice between the wall and the cot.
“YOU BETTER HAND THAT OVER IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, SOLDIER!” Rumlow barked as he strode into the little cell. The light was harsh, illuminating the entire cell. The Asset looked nervous and unsure, but dug the whatever-it-was out from the little hiding place. It bowed its head as it lowered itself off the cot and onto the concrete floor, ending up on its knees in front of the Commander. It did not dare to look up as it offered up it’s little prize, the fist opening to reveal the little porcelain doll.
Letting out a string of curses, Rumlow snatched the contraband from the upturned palm of the Soldier’s hand. He stuffed the damn thing into his pocket before he kicked the Asset in the balls as hard as he could, the toe of his combat boot connecting with the Soldier’s naked genitals with a sickening sound. The Asset made a high-pitched, winded noise but stayed on its knees as Rumlow turned on his heel. Johnson was at the door, looking in with morbid fascination.
“We’re not done with this, Soldier, we’ll discuss your disobedience tomorrow!” Rumlow bit over his shoulder as he left the cell, Jannsonns closing the heavy metal door behind him.
They rode the elevator back to the security level in silence, Rumlow still fuming. Tech must have given the Asset the chance to steal the creepy fucking doll out of the sharps container at some point. Not only stealing it, but hiding it somewhere until it was alone in it’s containment cell. And that meant not only that Tech wasn’t paying attention, that also meant that STRIKE had been sleeping on the job. And that was un-fucking-excusable.
“Fill out an incident report, Janssen. On my desk by tomorrow morning, understood?” Rumlow ordered, as they stepped into the security office. He lobbed the creepy little dolly into the waste paper basket with a look of disgust.
“…it’s Jonasson, Sir…” the Junior agent supplied hesitantly, making Rumlow roll his eyes on the way out. Fucking wise-ass newbie agents.