Chapter Two: Prologue to the Old War
"My name is Grant Ward, and for fifteen years, I have worked as an Agent of HYDRA, working inside of an organisation known as SHIELD, but before that, like everyone else, I was just a nobody - I had no skills, no training, and I was a scared, lost, little boy.
My life has since been filled with danger, riddled with perils, and filled with pain, but within that, I found the sense of family I had always craved.
Most of my life was consumed by darkness, so much so, that it became a part of me.
I awakened a monster inside of myself, and I allowed it to fester, and grow, until I no longer had it in me to control it, but it wasn't always like this.
My name is Grant Ward… and this is my story"
Wyoming Woodlands
(Exact Location Unknown)
Fifteen Years Ago
The two of them sat in the silence that had become his frequent, and at times, sole companion, while they finished off what was left of the tacos John had brought. From his place at his feet, Buddy whined at the smell of the taco meat, and after rolling his eyes, Grant threw some of it onto the floor, where the dog scarfed it down, while John sprang to his feet, filled with energy, and brimming with a well-concealed excitement.
"Come on then kid. We've eaten, and it's time we got going. I've got a little trip planned for us. You've been at it here, solo, for a year now, and I think it's time we stepped up your training"
Standing up, Buddy whined again as he was forced off his bed on Grant's boots, as the boy brushed the crumbs off of his cargo trousers, "Where are we going John?"
Across from him, John smirked at the noise of his voice breaking at the end of his sentence, before he turned back to face him with a straight stare, "Just shut up and get in the jeep"
Silently and obediently, he kept quiet as he began to grab some of the essentials, while John took the time to look-over the set-up he'd made for himself. His camp hadn't changed that much since the last visit. He's been there for a year now according to John, and the camp still consisted of other people's stolen equipment, and he can't help the twinge of pride he feels whenever John makes an approving noise as each section of the camp was examined separately.
Knowing that they're leaving, that he doesn't know where they're going, or what to expect, and still remembering his lesson from the first time they went anywhere, he threw on his warmer jacket, before grabbing a compass, hunting knife, and some of his spare clothes, tossing them into a stolen rucksack, before pocketing Buddy's lead, as he attempted to shepherd the dog into the backseat.
He waited for John to finish his review of the camp, before they both slid into the front seats. He stayed stock-still as his mentor ran his eyes over his appearance, taking every second he could to scrutinize him and his appearance, taking in everything from his clothing and haircut, before lingering on the spot where he had strapped the knife to his right thigh and smiling at him, looking caught between impressed and pleased at his decisions, and Grant can't help the warm feeling of pride that bubbles up within him at his success.
Without waiting any longer, the older man slid the key into the ignition, letting the engine come to life, and gunning the engine. In their silence, he allows himself to be driven, stopping only to let John unquestioningly place Buddy in a pet's home, until they reach the Jackson Hole Airport.
He feels the panic start to well up inside him, before John reaches over, placing a string, guiding hand on his shoulder and silently manages to reassure him that everything will all be alright. The light squeeze does it, it comforts him, and it shouldn't, he shouldn't trust John - even John said so - but it helps him feel more relaxed.
Because he believes him.
He believes John when he says everything will be alright.
And why shouldn't he?
John Garrett has never once lied to him the entire time they've been together.
They pass through a small, private passport control area without a hitch, despite him holding his breath, and the two of them are then waved straight past the metal detector, and it seems that John has quite a few friends here, because they aren't made to go through the detector itself, and the security guards working seem only too happy to ignore the hunting knife he has strapped to his leg.
There's no waiting, no queueing and no check-in, as John guides Grant through the airport, which a seeming familiarity with the place, slipping through the corridors and terminals with an ease that Grant does his best to emulate from his place next to him.
Though the younger boy isn't sure how successful he's being.
They walk through to an external terminal, walking past queues for buses and the like, and stepping straight outside into the crisp Wyoming air.
There's a small luggage cart waiting for them, and Grant follows his mentor onto the backseats without prompting, and listens as John gives their driver the word to get going.
The three of them cross the asphalt, and he takes a moment to get a good look at the real world, which he hasn't seen in months. He barely has time to take in the bright lights and the noise of the jet engines before he's being pushed off of the cart, and made to board a small piper plane, which looks as sturdy as though it had been built in the fifties.
He wants to protest, but doesn't before John tells him to buckle in and get some sleep.
It's just a feeling in his gut, but Grant thinks it might be the best thing for him.
He doesn't know how long it is, before he finds himself being shaken awake for the second time since they set off - the first time having been for food. Real food that he hadn't had to chase down and skin, and the hot cooked meal had tasted divine, even if the older man had forced himself to swallow his own down, he thought it was brilliant.
With a hand gesture, John beckoned the younger boy over to where he was crouched, and Grant moved without thinking, bending down next to him, and looking out at the water below.
"Over there kid"
He followed John's outstretched hand, following the direction he was pointing in, until he could make out the small circle in the distance, which grew slowly, but steadily bigger finds himself looking down upon an island, and his questioning gaze searches for John, who answers his unasked question.
"We're currently somewhere over the North China Sea. This particular island is abandoned, but the Chinese call it Lian Yu, it means 'Purgatory' in Mandarin, and a few years ago, the Chinese government sold it to a private buyer, who just so happened to be very… friendly with a few of the higher-ups. We occasionally use it for the training of mercenaries - that's mercs - who decide they want to be fast-tracked into becoming full blown agents. The current head trainer down there is a man called Edward Fyers, and he agreed to oversee some of your training, while I'm being sent undercover for a few. I should back to check on your training in, oh I don't know, say about six months kid, and now… it's time for your next lesson"
"Okay John, what's that?"
"Just to remember, from this height you have to give it a good ten count before you pull the yellow cord. If that fails, then pull the orange one. If you land in the water, pull the green one. Try not to die on the way down"
"Wait, what?"
At his outburst, John motioned to the parachute that someone, no doubt John, had somehow managed to slip onto his sleeping form, before he pushed him out of the side of the plane.
The air chills him to the bone instantly.
The wind whistles through his ears.
His silent scream lodges itself in his throat as he falls.
He remembers the lesson though.
And never again will a drop frighten him.
The various greens of the island rise up into his line of sight as he falls, and the inky blackness of the water creeps closer.
Ice covers his skin, and black fills his vision.
He grabs for the green handle, but it's cold - too cold for him to be able to feel anything - and he flounders, lost in the water.
And then everything fades to black.