The wounds on his features are a grim reminder of events that had pertained mere days ago. The way the wake of the onslaught of memories had left him. It had left him grasping for a life that had long ago been left behind, that in hindsight was really just almost like a story to most. There were stories about him and Steve, the comics that had been made about them. At least the tales of them back in the forties. None the less, the evident steady exhaustion in in his bones, even if he is a man that has more in him than most. James is mostly at his limit, considering the facts.
He’s been at his limit maybe for weeks now. Ever since the memories have been haunting his mind. Certain illusions dancing across his features, in the worst ways really. The haunting memory of blood waking him when he catches any sleep. The blood of the wrong people he’s slain. He tries not to dwell on it really. It wasn’t his life. He didn’t exist for over sixty years. He was more of a ghost or machine than a human being to Hydra. He trudges on however. The evidence broken fracture in his arm, if he could get someone to break it, he’d be fine. The serum heals him too quick, and the pain is coming from the bone healing the wrong way. But it doesn’t show, the pain, not after everything he had been trained to do.