The tall, broad-shouldered man lay motionless on a cot in the infirmary. His stillness was in stark contrast to the activity in the room – mechanical whirring and buzzing of medical equipment, the low rumble of subdued voices, the tapping of footsteps on the hard linoleum floor, soft clinking of glass beakers and tubes. Various parts of the patient's body was covered in sterile white bandages. The only indications of life were the sporadic movements beneath his eyelids and the steady rhythmic beeping from the heart rate monitor to which he was attached.
Bright fluorescent lights highlighted the waxen pallor of his skin, which juxtaposed markedly with his thick black hair and dark stubble on his cheeks. His breathing was shallow and even, and the serene look that had settled on his face rendered an almost childlike quality to his otherwise sharp masculine features of angular cheekbones, a strong patrician nose and a square jawline. Oblivious to the bustle around him, he lay quietly in repose.
Nearby, two men gazed down at the injured man. One pair of pale blue eyes shifted momentarily from the patient to the doctor standing next to the cot, the glacial stare unwavering in its intensity. The voice that accompanied the steely look was even, its tone perfunctory and the enunciation of his words, despite the clipped accent, was crisp. "I take it his wounds are healing satisfactorily?"
The harried-looking doctor nodded hastily and cleared his throat before speaking, visibly intimidated by the presence of the enigmatic leader. He chose his words carefully. "We removed the bullet fragments from his upper thigh and lower back. He has lost a substantial amount of blood, however, and he'll be kept under sedation for a while longer while his body recovers from the surgery."
The taller man frowned at the words, and the doctor visibly tensed, bracing himself for a reprimand.
"I want to be notified as soon as he regains consciousness," the man said curtly to the doctor, indicating his unexpected approval of the reply he received. The tension in the doctor's shoulders lessened marginally in response.
"Yes, sir." The physician's reply was immediate, representative of the power the leader possessed in evoking unquestioning obedience – and fear – from his minions.
The Baron nodded slightly and turned his attention to the patient once more. "There is much work to be done. And I need him awake in order to begin."
Skye, you have to go back. Stay safe ...
The sound of his own words echoed in the abyss as the nothingness enveloped him. The sight of her tear-streaked face was already dimming as he stepped backwards away from her. Thankful that his last image would be of her, he was calm, ready to embrace his fate knowing that she was safe. He waited without fear for death to claim him.
He was never a religious man; he didn't believe in an afterlife, be it heaven or hell. You had one shot at existence and when it ended, that was it. There was life and there was death. And when life was extinguished, everything else would come to an end as well – the pain, the guilt, the remorse, the regret. That much was for certain, and he both expected and welcomed the simple finality of it all.
What he didn't expect was the harsh white light to pierce his consciousness, pull him from the brink and dump him unceremoniously back into the land of the living. Ward winced as his nerve endings registered the dull ache in his wounds. He hurt all over. An incessant throbbing in his temples only served to compound the pain in his thigh and lower back, and he reached a hand to touch the side of his head. Or at least, he tried to.
He soon discovered that his discomfort was the least of his worries.
"What the hell?" Ward mumbled wearily, still groggy from the latent effects of the sedation in his system. He was definitely not expecting to wake up tethered to a hospital gurney, unable to move his limbs. Managing to turn his head to the side, he spotted a man in a white lab coat hovering around the side of the cot. "Where am I?" Ward growled at him.
He was met with silence. But Ward already knew where he was. Or specifically, who had him. If it wasn't SHIELD – which it clearly was not – there was only one other possibility. Hail HYDRA, he thought derisively, suppressing a shudder.
"Hey, I'm talking to you. Are you deaf or something?" Ward hissed at the man, hoping to provoke him into stepping closer to the cot and within reach of his shackled hands. He could twist and snap the man's wrist in the blink of an eye and then demand to be released – he just had to be close enough ...
As though sensing Ward's intentions, the doctor backed away from him and walked briskly out of the room.
"Goddammit," Ward muttered, his hands clenched into fists as he attempted to move his restrained arms to no avail.
It was a futile struggle; the thick steel cuffs that had his wrists and ankles bound to the hospital bed were snug and unrelenting against his skin. There was no way he would be able to free himself of them like he did the flimsy ones he escaped from while in transit under FBI custody to Christian. No, it was going to take more than a dislocated thumb to extricate himself of these particular restraints. He desperately ran through the vaults of his subconscious, searched through the catalogues of information that he had spent years filing away as a specialist for anything that would help him escape. His addled mind came up with nothing. With his frustration mounting, he felt all the fight in him slowly evaporating.
Through his agitation, there was one thing that kept him sane – the image of Skye. His consciousness was ablaze with thoughts of her – soft brown eyes shining with compassion, soft lips curved into a ready smile ... It saved him from succumbing to the dark pits of despair at his dire circumstances. She was alive and that was all that mattered. His life was insignificant in comparison. Resigned to his fate, he braced himself for whatever HYDRA had in store for him.
The beep beep beep of a code being entered drew Ward's attention to the door and he snapped his head abruptly in its direction. His eyes widened as he set eyes on his visitor.
There is a hell after all. The devil exists and his name is Baron Wolfgang von Strucker.
"Agent Grant Douglas Ward. May I say it is a pleasure to finally meet you," Stucker said, smiling knowingly as he looked down at the man on the bed. The smile did not reach his eyes, which held a decidedly predatory glint. Ward suddenly thought of a cat playing idly with an injured mouse in its paws.
"The pleasure is all yours," Ward mumbled, glaring at the man standing before him.
"I appreciate your candour," Strucker said, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Forgive me for the precautions," he continued, gesturing to his restraints. "But I felt they were necessary, given your specialist skills. And you'll be pleased to know that we took the liberty of ridding you of the bracelet and tracking device from your thigh. I can't have SHIELD getting wind of your survival and discovering your whereabouts. Not until I'm ready for them."
Ward said nothing. He turned his head to the side, breaking eye contact with the Baron.
"So ... Agent Ward. I had heard good things about you," Strucker continued, seemingly unaffected by Ward's attempt at ignoring him. "Your supervising officer John Garrett had nothing but glowing praise for you. A fine soldier in battle. Quite the effective double agent during your time infiltrating SHIELD. Loyal to the end. Whitehall, on the other hand – he was a little more reserved in his judgement of you. Hadn't made his mind up yet, before his demise."
I was loyal to Garrett, not HYDRA.
Ward chose not to voice his thought; he simply refused to acknowledge the formidable looking man hovering over him. He wondered how much longer he could remain silent, testing the Baron's limits before his patience ran out. The head of HYDRA, for the time being at least, seemed undeterred by Ward's refusal to speak.
"I want you to know that I was impressed with the message you left for me with one of my men in regards to the girl. Some would say it was foolish but I found it intriguing. You do not fear me. Perhaps the insolence of it should've angered me but your determination actually piqued my interest. I don't come across many men who dare to taunt me in such a brazen manner."
"What do you want?" Ward said finally, through clenched teeth.
"Come now – let's not bother with games, shall we?" The Baron spoke softly. "I would've thought that the reason was obvious. Why would I bother saving your life, committing time and resources to restoring you to health? You are an asset, Agent Ward. One I wish to acquire."
"I'm not an agent anymore," Ward said with conviction. "Haven't been for some time now. I tried that once. Didn't do me much good. Last thing I want right now is to be an agent for HYDRA again," he spat out, eyeing the man before him with contempt. "So you're wasting your time. I have no interest in working for HYDRA. Never again." Ward was adamant. He had to resist this. He would not betray Skye again.
"I have men who are skilled in the art of persuasion," Strucker said calmly, his benign words causing Ward to raise an eyebrow. He saw through the euphemism for what it really was. Ward's eyes shone with rebellion. Torture. No matter – he was trained to withstand it. He had spent his entire life compartmentalizing pain, carefully storing it away in his subconscious so that it would not consume him; he could handle pain.
"But I don't want to resort to breaking you – not physically anyway," Strucker continued, an undercurrent of menace painting his words. "I need you strong. You are a exemplary specimen of a soldier – I'd like you to stay that way. So ... we will keep you in prime physical condition. Your mind, your will, however – that is another story."
"You can save your breath," Ward repeated. "I will never work for you."
"Agent Ward. It is such a pity we can't convince you to join our cause willingly," Strucker said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "But I must say I did anticipate this to be your response."
"Why bother with the speech then?" Ward snarled, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Just get on with it. What's it to be? Torture? Brainwashing? I'm familiar with HYDRA's tactics of persuasion."
"I admire your resistance. You are strong. Mentally and physically." Strucker said, amused at the banter in which he clearly had the upper hand. He leaned close to Ward, his face mere inches away from the former SHIELD agent's. "But you will break. Even the strongest of wills succumbs eventually. And when you do, I have plans for you. Grand plans."
"You're delusional," Ward said, almost wistfully. "Just like John turned out to be."
"On the contrary. I have very clear goals and motivations." Strucker continued to deliver his verbal manifesto to the hapless man strapped to the cot. "You will help me strengthen my army. You will fight by my side and bring down my enemies one by one. Starting with Coulson and SHIELD."
"You talk a lot, you know that?" Ward said, genuinely surprised. He had expected the HYDRA leader to be a man of few words. It was quite the opposite. The Baron reminded him of Garrett and his penchant for long-winded, rambling speeches. God, how the man loved the sound of his own voice. Maybe it was a symptom of megalomania. Or just plain insanity.
"I know my predecessor, Whitehall, was rather fond of the Faustus method of recruitment," Strucker said, oblivious to the Ward's disdain. "I do not share his faith in the technique. Frankly, I have neither the patience nor inclination for such an archaic approach of convincing reluctant recruits to join our cause. Especially a lengthy 'mind-control' strategy that has proven to be flawed on more than one occasion. I am a man of science, and such pseudo-scientific psychological indoctrination tactics do not appeal to my proclivities. I prefer a more direct, pragmatic approach. One that is guaranteed to be most effective. "
He motioned to a foot soldier standing by the door. He promptly left and returned with two scientists behind him who carefully pushed a metal trolley into the room. A long menacing-looking weapon with a golden handle and sharp blade rested on a stand in the middle of the tray. Embedded in the blade was a crystal that cast out an eerie blue light on the white walls around them. It possessed an ethereal quality that gave it an illusion of floating inches above the trolley as opposed to merely resting on it. Ward felt himself drawn to the hypnotic pulsating radiance of the stone, unable to tear his gaze away.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" Strucker said, noticing Ward's reaction. "A most priceless artifact. I had it brought over from our research facility in Sokovia, in anticipation of our interaction."
"I've had experience with alien weaponry," Ward said, attempting to keep his voice from trembling. "That ... thing is no different. Can't be any worse than what the Berserker staff did to me."
"You compare this to the Berserker staff?" Strucker laughed, the chilling sound reverberating off the walls. "The Berserker staff was the weapon of the minions, of the drones. This," – he motioned to the spear – "this is an instrument fit for a god. Designed to be wielded only by one in a position of power. It responds to power and gives power in return."
Ward pursed his lips and remained silent. He tore his gaze away from the scepter and turned his attention to the ceiling.
"This, Agent Ward, is the future. We are only beginning to unlock its potential; we have but scratched the surface of its capabilities." Strucker's tone took on one of awe as he continued to gaze at the scepter. "Its uses have been diverse. One such use is that it does all the convincing that is needed. Compliance is guaranteed, without need for all the tedious 'Take a deep breath. Calm your mind' repetition."
He picked up the scepter reverently, admiring the weight of it in his gloved hands. "Now is the age of miracles. The girl – Daisy, Skye – she is one such miracle. She is special, but by no means unique. I wish to acquire her for my collection. She means something to you too, yes?" Strucker asked, a smile broadening on his face. "I was most disappointed when she evaded capture. But relieved that she survived the effects of the dart – thanks to you. I'm sure – with your help – she'll be mine soon enough. Then you'll both fight together. For me."
Ward struggled fruitlessly against his steel restraints at the mention of Skye's name. He was livid, anger burning high on his cheeks. "She will never be yours ..."
"I grow tired of your defiance," Strucker said quietly, stepping closer to Ward with the scepter raised over him. Ward grunted in frustration as he recoiled from its proximity, furious at his inability to avoid contact with the weapon. The Baron placed the tip of the blade against Ward's chest, right above his heart. A grim smile played on his lips before he spoke again. "Time to surrender, Agent Ward."
A wisp of light travelled from point of contact, briefly illuminating Ward's skin a dusky blue. He managed a strangled cry before the tendrils snaked its mottled veins up his neck and a blankness settled into his eyes, transforming them from pools of jet black into a bright fluorescent shade of azure. He turned his blue-tinged vacant stare slowly towards the Baron; his capitulation was swift and merciless.
"You will bring the girl to me," Strucker said, his voice dropping several degrees cooler. "Am I clear, Agent Ward?"
There was a fraction of a second of hesitation before the last of Ward's willpower surrendered to the dominance of the staff. He spoke, his tone mechanical, rigid and totally devoid of emotion.
"Yes, sir."