05.25 a.m., November 2nd, 2013.
05.25, November 2nd, 2013.
It wasn’t defrosting the Asset that was the problem, it was the process of freezing it. The cryogenic storage unit needed a massive surge of power to flash-freeze the Asset in a span of seconds, preventing the formation of ice crystals in its blood or some such shit. Brock wasn’t sure. There was a section in the operating manual about the technical and biological reasoning behind it, and Brock had read it, but the science-bits of it hadn’t stuck. Wasn’t needed for daily operation of the Asset, wasn’t remembered, simple as that.
The practical effect that DID concern Rumlow was that the Asset was usually deployed for two or even three back-to-back missions before he went back on ice for a period of time. They had just come back from mission number two and this time, Rumlow would be watching the post-mission maintenance and pre-cryo prep like a hawk.
He had not figured out how the Asset had gotten hold of the little porcelain doll again. He had questioned Fat Baldy and Mousy Nerd, but both had vehemently denied any involvement. His own STRIKE team members swore they’d done their jobs too, and Brock hadn’t had time yet to review the security footage. It was a big fucking mystery and he was quite sure someone was lying.
It wouldn’t happen again though, not on his watch. He had not been promoted to Handler because he was one to pussyfoot around, and he wanted to keep his good standing with Secretary Pierce, thank you very much.
The Asset was in the Chair, all loose limbs and eyelids half closed, doped up on the pre-cryo cocktail that was flowing into the IV-line in its right hand. It had been hosed down, its stomach and bowels had been emptied and it had been wiped. The drugs flowing into its veins now were the last step in the cryo preparation process.
Fat Baldy drew the IV-needle out matter-of-factly after checking the bag was empty. Mousy Nerd checked the Asset’s heartrate and temperature (both steadily dropping) one last time. The Asset’s head lolled on its neck a little as they ordered it to its feet, Fat Baldy gripping the right arm, guiding it out of the Chair and into the direction of the cryotube.
Rumlow observed as Mousy Nerd pulled up the lever that opened the cryogenic storage unit’s door, the seal breaking with a clank and a hiss. Something white at the bottom caught his eye, but Fat Baldy blocked his view as he guided the Asset over.
“Hold on, what’s that.” Rumlow ordered, making both Mousy and Fatty look at him. The Asset stumbled a little as Fatty stopped, right in front of the tube.
Rumlow pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against and made his way over in a few big strides. He grabbed the metal elbow and gave a little tug, moving the Asset out of his way and giving him and unobstructed view of the cryotube’s interior.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brock could see the Asset following his own line of sight, into the cryotube and down down down…
…to the little porcelain babydoll in the little white linen dress with blue embroidery…
Rumlow could feel the metal arm shift in his grip as the Asset made a move to bend down to scoop up the little dolly, so he tightened his grip and yanked up to prevent the Soldier from toppling over and smashing its head open. Fat Baldy did the same on the right side, but the Soldier turned its doped-up puppy eyes to Brock when it straightened up.
“..ekkah..” it breathed, and the look in those blue eyes was so full of sorrow, but Rumlow didn’t feel an ounce of pity. All he could feel was rage, someone on his team was fucking with him via the Soldier, mocking him and undermining his authority. And that had the potential to be lethal around an unpredictable Weapon like the Asset.
“Wipe it!” Rumlow barked at Fatty, while already shoving the Asset back towards the Chair. Mousy Nerd stammered something about protocols, but wisely shut up when Brock turned his furious gaze to him. “I don’t care what protocol says, WIPE IT! NOW!”
The Asset was a little unsteady on its feet as Brock pushed him backwards and back into the chair, docily going where the Commander wanted it to. Mousy Nerd’s hands flew over the keyboard and the Chair’s metal restraints came down around the Asset's unresisting limbs. Fat Baldy pushed the mouthguard into the Asset’s slack mouth as Rumlow fished the little doll from the open cryotube. He got right into the Asset’s face and held it up.
“This, you shitrag, this isn’t yours.” The Soldier’s eyes seemed to have trouble focusing, and Rumlow growled in frustration. “You don’t get to have things. HYDRA owns you, you ARE property. I don’t care who gave this to you, but the next time someone tries to give you something, you refuse. You refuse and REPORT IT TO ME.”
With that, he threw the little dolly on the floor, the tiny little porcelain head cracking on the concrete. The Asset’s eyes, unfocussed as they were, followed it and widened as the Commander stomped his boot down onto the little figure. Rumlow ground the little doll under his boot, shattering the little porcelain arms and head to nothing but splinters.
“Do it.” he barked at the technicians, and the halo came to life with a deep hum.
*******************************
Rumlow stepped in to his little office at the SHIELD headquarters in the Triskellion building half an hour after leaving the Vault. He had another 404-incident report to file, which was a pain in the ass, and a STRIKE mission report to write up. The extra work that came from his “extracurricular activities” outside his role as SHIELD’s STRIKE team Alpha Commander usually didn’t take up this much time, and overtime didn’t net him any extra pay from SHIELD or HYDRA, which sucked. But hey, he had coffee, so it could be worse.
It wasn’t hard to hide in plain sight, the organisation had the system down to a T after all those decades. The incident reports were all hardcopy, filed at the Vault, and the wording was coded in such a way that even if the hardcopy fell into wrong hands, it would all seem like regular old SHIELD documentation.
Rumlow put his coffee down on his desk, flipped on his computer and pulled open the bottom drawer to grab an empty form from the special folder in the back. As he kept an eye on the booting computer, his fingers brushed against something soft in the back of the drawer. His fingers closed around it almost automatically and he heard the blood pounding in his ears, vision going tunnel like as he pulled it up in what seemed to be slow motion…
…a creepy…
…little…
…porcelain…
…dolly…
…in a white…
…linen dress…
