Soldiers keep marching on.
One fight and right onto another. Heās so tired. Was he complicit when the fingers of his masters dug deep into his brain. Leaving their imprint on him like they know if they do not so now. The golden opportunity would slip from their fingers before he would be put back into storage. A flicker of pride, something human and yet not human as he soak up the praise like a job well down. He was...so very tired. When one of his handler ushered him to get up and fight a man who was also enhanced. Part of him, the deepest part of him wondered if he would be finally be granted rest... a bullet between the eyes, put down a weary hound not from a sudden onslaught of madness but tired of its own continued existence. Heās not sure if his earlier years, HYDRA kept putting him onto the chair when he fought tooth and nail to escape their clutches. It was ...all a blur. Even when his old masters fell, and was given a freedom he had not tasted in years. Finally, but confused. Without a lead or an identity, least was until he remember that man on the bridge. He would wake from the horrid nightmares, drenched in blood, unfeeling, a blank and defeated gaze stared back at him.
Shock, as he stared at the brunt out cinders of wires, smoke and the cooked flesh of what used to be his arm for nearly seventy years. He kept fighting, for what reason? This is what he wanted for awhile? An excuse to fade, to finally get some rest he was forgo from being a prisoner of war. Perhaps dying in a bunker where he was kept and woken up was the last place he wanted to haunt if he were to close his eyes and never wake. Or maybe he did not want someone else be responsible for his death, to carry that burden like he had for nearly seventy years was something he did not want another to have. Reason, it was never noble, he only fought for his survival. When it all comes down to it, he was above all human. Too human.
Peace, then he was called out for stating such a thing. As if he had the audacity to say that. Indignant, sure that was an emotion he felt. A denial as if he had already failed some test he was suppose to pass so easily.
Thereās not much in there he could tell. It was a leap from living in the Depression to the 22nd century where there are many technological advances today and research that now is just as accessible as a click of a button. He himself is one of them, a medical and mechanical marvel. Yet, he never asked for it. Never asked for anything. Then again, he never know what he wanted. He gone through the motion, what was expected of him hoping maybe he would find it. A purpose.
He gone too far to just give his captors the satisfaction of him losing because he couldnāt remember where he lives. On good days, he would use what money he has or joy he still feel. Every time the day ends like that he would swear and curse like a sailor in the docks. Telling his ghosts that he is going to have fucking ice cream for dinner and nothing is going to stop him. Least, he is above thankful of the serum of taking care of the possibility of a stomach ache.
Other...kind of days. He wouldnāt be able to muster the energy nor motivation to get up from the floor. He would lose himself, to the sensations of the ambiance of Brooklyn outside his apartment. He would feel the tremble of the floor where he is sure someone moving in their furniture. It would be night finally falls where the ex-assassin would get off the floor and slip into his shoes and walk outside his apartment. He would go one and wander aimlessly not pausing until he was able to resurface and find himself on the other side of town. Who was he again? Why does it feel like heās waiting for something...someone? The shadow would return to his apartment only to find his landlord had scold him again for not locking the door and wondering if he had forgotten to close the window too because itās absolutely fre--
āSorry Iāll...be careful nex--ā Before he can finish his sentence, his landlord which he is sure is more or less fed up with him turned away with a huff and retreated to his apartment after handing him a new set of keys to the lock. He wouldnāt be surprised if not for the paychecks were being paid on time the landlord wouldnāt give him a time of day. Maybe kick him out. He sighs and went back to his quiet apartment, other than the ringing and buzzing noise heās sure is only coming from his head.
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