A/N

So this is actually a spin-off of my other work: "Project: Fist". You'll probably want to read up until chapter 7 for clarity or the upcoming chapter 8 for linear reasons. Otherwise you could be a little lost. But you can manage without. This was originally going to be chapter 8 or 9 of P:F but it got to the point where if I wanted to get even half of this stuff down it would end up taking at least two chapters and that just sort of deviates from the storyline and style of P:F so here we are.

This mission is different.

He knows it the moment he is defrosted and his lungs are pumped. He is put in the chair. The pain only subsiding along with the Words. When it's over, when he can breath; he receives a curt good morning from his Handler. It's a new one. He's young. A Colonel. He is well-trained but he has an imbalance in his right leg. An old wound. He's seen battle.

The Winter Soldier could kill him.

Easily.

Next to the Handler stands another man. He is older. Haughty. His hands are soft. He has thick glasses. The Winter Soldier could eliminate him too.

He doesn't.

He waits.

He is given no information. No target. He is guided out of the room. Into a large cage. Three men and one woman stand waiting for him. He waits for instructions. He does not understand. The Words were spoken. He gave his compliance. What is the mission? One of the men steps forward. His eyes are hard. He walks confidently. He is in peak condition. He has scars. He is a fighter. He is a killer.

The Winter Soldier watches. He waits for his mission.

Behind him, he hears his Handler speaking to the strange man.

"The Winter Soldier is trained to handle any form of attack. It can work both independently and by command. Every mission has been a success and it has shown a remarkable ability to adapt to and quickly learn new hand-to-hand combat styles."

The Soldier tenses. Now he understands. His mission is an exhibition. To show this new man –a new Handler?– that he is worth the time, effort, and money put into him.

He waits.

The five people, those meant to fight him, stare back. He gauges all of them. Each are in peak condition. They have few flaws. Nothing obvious.

They attack all at once.

The Soldier fends them off. Pushing them away. Blocking punches. Deflecting kicks. It is not easy. He doesn't consider punching back. He was not given permission.

Not yet.

The command comes in a strange voice. The voice of the soft Handler.

"Kill them Soldier."

He obliges.

He is taken away from the facility. When he finds out he is leaving, he expects to be packed away with the rest of the cargo. But they put him in a military chopper with his Handlers. The two men ignore him. Discussing something called the Weapon Plus Program. He is surrounded by guards and accompanied by a tutting scientist. No one will tell him where they are going.

He does not ask.

They arrive at a new facility. This one is above ground. His Handler, the Colonel tells the Soft Handler that it looks like a prison. The helicopter lands inside the wall and he is pushed off the transport before the other passengers. The helicopter leaves the moment everyone exits. He is hurried through a side door and does not see much other than fenced yards and concrete walls. He notices that the largest building, the one he is being led towards sits on the side of a hill. As though the bottom part of the hill had been carved out and built in. The inside is different. It looks more like a hospital. He is led to a lift. Here, his Handlers continue down the hall. He is prodded into the lift and sent down.

Five floors.

The lift opens to a long, brightly lit hallway. He is escorted down the passage. They pass an open doorway. The room is long and full of beds and cabinets. It has a military feel to it but there is something soft something feminine about it as well. There is another on the other side of the hall.

He is pushed to the farthest end of the hall, past the dorm rooms and past a few closed doors. Eighty-seven paces. The door on the furthest end is opened and he is beckoned through. The door is shut and locked behind him.

A bed, a cabinet, a small toilet area, and a small desk that holds a tray with a meager meal of щи and dark хлеб are the only furnishings in the small room. A change of gray clothing lies against the pillow along with sheets for the bare cot.

He knows how to care for himself. He does not have to do so very often but he knows how. He makes the bed and strips his clothes off. He washes in the basin before changing into the gray pants. His tactical gear is placed in the cabinet. He was only allowed one knife and it is placed on the desk next to the tray of food.

He sits on the bed and considers the small meal. Food has always been offered on one of three occasions. Either he has done something the merits a reward, they are testing his body against poisons, or he will not be frozen again for some time and therefore must have sustenance other than the intravenous nutrients given when he sleeps. He looks around. There is something about this room that screams permanence. As though he is supposed to be here for more than one night at least.

He eats the food.

щи - a beef and cabbage soup

хлеб - bread