A/n the chapter where i get lazy about the google translate
The next month and a half passed without meaning. The Prototype was thrown into her language lessons, like they were waiting for someone else to take over the physical part of her training. She picked up the languages fast - the benefit of a brain enhanced - but mostly existed in limbo, purposeless and unused. Until one day, she was not called to the learning room, but to the sparring room. Waiting there in the ring was the man she had fought to put in the chair. His hair was a little longer, and his eyes were empty pits, but it was the same man.
"You are to learn from the Asset," her handler said in German to her left - the handlers liked to be out of immediate range of her metal arm. She nodded, stepping onto the ring. "No kill shots," the handler said, a little louder, as if for him as well - the Asset, she supposed. "You may speak to correct moves." The handler spoke one last time.
Both nodded, and stepped forward, further into the ring. The Asset had spent a lot of time in this room so far. It was sparse, mainly because at one point or another throughout his first few weeks of training he'd broken most of the benches and shelving that had previously been on the perimeter of the room. He settled into a guarded stance, watched her do the same, looking her over for the places where her form needed correcting, where her stance was a bit awkward. She had been well-trained, that was clear, but it was equally clear that the training was ongoing.
The Prototype was not interested in drawing this out, despite her guarded stance. He shifted his weight a fraction and she exploded forward before he could decide to make the first move, swinging a fist with an intent to catch his jaw.
He deflected the blow before he fully processed it, the metal of her right arm tinging uncomfortably against the metal of his left. He pushed that arm down and off to the side, turning with the same motion to ram his knee into the side of her thigh just above her knee, aiming to deaden the leg.
She dropped to one knee but grabbed the front of his tac vest as she went, aiming to pull him down over to the other side of her as she pushed off her knee, aiming for another hit at his gut. She pulled the vest, but he didn't budge.
He took the blow to his gut, moving with it to soften it and taking her distraction to drive his metal fist into her ear, his knee coming up under her chin a split second later.
She reeled from the blows, spitting blood onto the sparring mats, and she let go of his vest to roll away and get her bearings, climbing to her feet again doggedly. She stanced again, more cautious this time with the taste of blood in her mouth.
"What did she do wrong, Asset?" The Prototype's handler spoke from the edge of the ring.
"She entered my space too recklessly," the Asset said, the words sounding rote, eyes on the Prototype. "She left herself open and allowed me to gain a further height advantage."
The Prototype rolled out her flesh shoulder as he spoke, twisting her leg back and forth a little. No lasting damage to the joint. The handler nodded in her peripheral vision. "Teach her how to counter the height disadvantage." The handler replied, and nodded again, signaling them to start. The Prototype knew that she didn't need to know that - that it was only relevant when fighting someone as strong as the Asset, of which she had gathered there were not many. But orders were orders.
The Asset nodded, changing gears mentally. "You aren't going to beat my reach," he said, extending his fist slowly to show how much further he could get than her. "So get inside of my guard as fast you can, punch, and then get out. Keep your distance and force me to come to you, then do it again."
She didn't nod, just moved forward again.
Across the room, a door opened, and it seemed as if the Asset's handler was back from whatever had called him away.
She didn't let it distract her.
"Fischer! Over here, we'll use both our eyes," the Prototype's handler called, waving a hand.
Fischer crossed to join his compatriot, watching as the Asset and the Prototype went after each other again. "It's an odd thing, watching them fight," he said after a moment. "Almost too fast to follow."
Schulz nodded a little, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the Prototype get a blow in before jumping back out of range. "Agreed. I think she's faster than him, but it's hard to say without putting them on a walking machine to test them. He's certainly stronger, though hard to say by much - but I heard getting him into the Chair was an ordeal."
Fischer let out an exasperated groan. "He should have been out. We gave him twice his usual sedative. But as soon as she started moving him, he was fighting back."
Schulz shrugged. "They have to be conscious for the Chair to work. No tragedy occurred, the mission was accomplished." He blinked as the Prototype attempted another quick blow but caught one across the chin instead.
"Yes, but he was supposed to wake up in the chair," he sighed. "Oh well. You're right. No tragedy. He'll be interesting now that we can aim him in the right direction."
"The work we'll be able to accomplish," Schulz sighed wistfully. In the ring, the Prototype went flying a few feet as the Asset got a good kick in.
"Once they're both trained," his companion agreed, nodding. "She needs a few weeks. Though her medical knowledge will be useful if either of them become damaged."
Schulz snorted lightly. "If any of it made it through the wipe. We can test it out later."
"True," he sighed. "Well, if it didn't this time, we'll try to fine-tune it. It only lasts so long, anyway."
"Three months so far for the Prototype. I wonder what the limit is. She didn't break during the Asset's wipe, which seems a good sign."
Fischer shrugged. "If we've learned anything, it's that it varies. But yes, that was a good sign. I was worried for a minute there, when he started talking."
He shrugged. "I wasn't there, but I heard he kissed her. Don't know about you, but if anything was going to snap me out of it, that would have been it."
"Yeah," Fischer sighed. "You ready for the transfer?" He leaned against the ropes of the ring, watching the Prototype manage to get the Asset in a hold, only to be flipped over his shoulder onto the ground.
He nodded. "I've been brushing up on my Russian. Not sure I'll be picked to follow her anyway."
"I've been trying, but I'm terrible at language anyway. Not that it matters. We just need to be able to talk to each other. But I don't know if I want to go. I mean, it's fucking Russia."
"If it's the cold you're worried about, it can't be much worse than Austria, can it?" He snorted. "Or is it the people? As far as I'm aware, there's a cell well underway there." In the ring the Prototype snarled loudly as the Asset caught her in a painful hold.
"It's everything. The cold, and the people, and the food, and the snow..." He sighed. "It's not warm here, but at least it's not desolate."
"Well, the war is going poorly. Not much choice but to relocate," Schulz sighed. "I rather freeze my ass off in Siberia than let the allies put me on trial."
"True, I suppose," he said with a sigh. "But Russia. Why not Mumbai or Japan or Argentina? Somewhere warm? Would it kill them for once?" He winced slightly as the Asset rammed the Prototype into a ring pole and there was the sharp crack of something breaking. It was hard to tell if it was the pole, a bone, or the metal arm. "Alright, break it up!"
The two broke apart immediately, the Prototype holding her arm at a stiff angle. Schulz swore. "Did you break something?" He asked loudly, and she turned to face him, stepping away from the Asset as she did so. She rolled her arm.
"Probable. Minor, possibly. Can work through it."
"No," Schulz muttered. "Last thing we need is you healing the damned bone crooked. Go to the infirmary now before it starts to set."
The Prototype shrugged with the metal arm, reaching down with that hand to feel the flesh arm where it hurt. She felt around for a few seconds, then wrapped her hand around her arm. She squeezed, feeling the break. "Clean break. Won't be crooked. I'll still go if you want."
He considered her. "How long will it take you to heal it?" he asked, walking to the edge of the ring. The Asset stood behind her, eerily still, waiting.
She shrugged again. "Not sure. Haven't had a break before." She tested the break again. "It doesn't feel very bad. Probably not long."
"Alright. Go to medical anyway. I want them watching you and getting a speed on your healing. Go now." He motioned her off.
Fischer stepped up. "Asset, return to quarters." The Asset nodded, turning and leaving without comment.
Schulz watched them go, and clapped Fischer on the shoulder. "I should follow up on medical. Get your head straight about Russia."
As it happened, Schulz and Fischer were both selected for the transfer to Russia, which was how they found themselves standing next to a train on a day that had lost the meaning of time to the ambiguous grey of a cloudy snowshower. It could have been eight in the morning or four in the afternoon, and you wouldn't have known the difference. According to the station clock, however, it was just before eleven, and the train was being loaded with everything that would need to transfer their operations to Russia.
Fischer pulled his coat a little tighter, obviously displeased with the weather. "They are taking long enough to load up," he grumbled, glancing at the Asset, who stood, unmoving, beside him. "Unnerving how still they stand."
"Yes. Surprised they thawed him out just to protect the transfer. The Prototype is in her tube. That might be what's taking so long. Heaviest thing we own, pretty much," he chuckled dryly, observing the Asset along with Fischer. "Guess the higher ups are concerned we'll be intercepted."
"I don't blame them," he said, shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. "Can you imagine if the Allied bastards got a hold of one of them? Or, god forbid, both?"
Shulz spat off to the side. "Don't want to, thanks. We already lost the war. Hitler is dead. They would find us with such evidence, and we would be the enemy on the frontline, very suddenly."
"I want nothing to do with it," Fischer agreed. "The Asset makes a good wall between us and them. He'll keep them in check if they decide to cause problems."
He nodded. "How do you feel his training of the Prototype is going? Think he could train others just as easily?"
Fischer let out a bark of laughter. "Do you honestly think anyone else would survive? We know what the Prototype is capable of, and even when the two of them are being... Well. Gentle is not the right word, but still. Even then, they break bones."
"Mmm," Schulz said thoughtfully. "We will need to train teams that know what they are capable of. Risk an accident, otherwise."
Fischer raised an eyebrow, his eyes shifting slightly toward the Asset as if to say do you really want to say that in front of him? "I'm not worried," he said with a shrug. "They behave."
"They behave," he agreed, though with an air of a but coming. "But their orders are to complete missions, not to protect our soldiers. Our men should know that. I fear otherwise we risk someone being stepped on." His tone was arch. He didn't care about the Asset being right there. They behaved, Fischer was right. It didn't matter how you talked about them, feet away. They behaved.
Fischer shrugged, but then sighed in relief as the passenger car finally opened. "Thank god. Let's go. I want out of this damned snow." He crunched across the platform, pausing to brush snow off of his coat and hat briefly before stepping aboard. The Asset followed silently.
"With pleasure," Schulz huffed, his breath swirling in front of his face as he followed. Nevermind that they were headed for a far snowier locale.
Despite precautions, the train ride was relatively peaceful. Snow on the tracks slowed them only twice, and by the time they arrived at the station outside of Leningrad two days later, Fischer had begun to adjust to the cold slightly. The Asset had spent most of that time in a sleeper car, confined and under supervision, sleeping or improving his russian.
Schulz met Fischer outside after overseeing the removal of the Prototype's tube (until Müller had shown up and taken over), dressed for the weather, a hat pulled low over his forehead. "Do you miss the uniforms, Fischer?" He asked when he stopped beside the man he was beginning to feel a sort of brotherhood with. "I do. I like letting the average soviet bastard who he is dealing with. I'm going to have to adjust to being... Stealthier."
"It won't matter once we're inside," he said with a shrug, pulling his collar up a little higher and snugging down his hat. "It's not like anyone who's there won't know who we are."
"True," he said, pulling his gloves a little tighter. He glanced down the line of the train, where twelve men were hauling the Prototype's cryo tube off the car. "God, they better not drop that thing."
Fischer let out a nervous bark of laughter. "It's cold enough out here to keep her down anyway," he pointed out, turning on his heel and heading for the doors. "Come on, I don't want to watch them struggle with it."
"You're right, it just makes me nervous," he said, following Fischer. "We'll be ready for the test trial soon."
"Any word on what that will be? Or is command still keeping that close to their chest?" Fischer asked, flashing his clearance badge at a frozen guard.
Schulz did the same before answering. "Some nobodies in Siberia no one will miss. They should be armed, but if you live in Siberia without a gun you're asking to be eaten by a bear."
"True," he said with a laugh. "But I don't think that will be a problem. I'd challenge a tank to stop these two. One nobody with a hunting rifle isn't going to make a dent."
"Several nobodies," he corrected. "And this is mostly to see if they can get the job done and work together to do it. They have yet to pick the mission handlers. Pray it's not you or me - I don't look forward to being stuck in a leaky safehouse out in the snows for a day or three while they complete the mission."
"Fuck," he muttered. "That sounds horrible." They finally reached the large metal front doors, and he scanned his badge. Schulz did the same, and the door swung open. They stepped inside, sighing at the warmth.
"Hail Hydra," Schulz said in response, a cheeky tone to it that he would never have used in front of a superior.
"Still," he said as he shrugged out of his heavy overcoat. "There's commendations for us in this, if things go the way they are supposed to."
"I don't care about commendations, I care that they won't break programming the second we leave the two alone for five minutes," he muttered, yanking off his gloves and stuffing them in his overcoat, which he began to unbutton.
"That's fair, I suppose." He took his hat off, and tucked his gloves into it. "Let's go find out what rooms we're assigned. With how long we're stationed, they had better be decent."
Schulz snorted, nodding and taking his own hat off. "Yes, let's."
The mission was three days later. They (the two handlers and the two soldiers) traveled in a small army truck, the soldiers crammed into the back with the weapons and the rations. They'd started being referred to as Soldats, which the Prototype had no opinion about - just accepted and moved on without thought. The most thought she gave to anything was the ache at the crux of her right shoulder, where the cold metal of her arm met flesh. The Asset sat beside her, but she ignored him. Nothing good would come of paying too much attention to him outside the sparring ring. The extent of her thoughts for him were the orders her handler had given to her before she left. The Asset is to be protected, but not at the cost of your own life. Do your best to stop him from falling into enemy hands. Your best.
The Asset found the slow jostle of the truck to be oddly relaxing. There was something almost familiar about the motion, though he had no idea why. He stared out the window in the back, watching the snowy road twist away behind them, and listened to the breathing of the Protoype. His new charge. The Prototype is to be protected, but not at the cost of your own life. Do your best to stop her from falling into enemy hands. Your best.
The truck eventually stopped, and she heard the front doors open and shut, and then footsteps crunching through the snow. They came into view a moment later - their handlers - and one of them pulled down the half door. "This is your stop. Grab the bags in front of you. They contain everything you need to complete the mission and return to where the two of us are holed up. C'mon, move." He spoke in German, but she knew enough by now to begin following directions, standing stooped in the truck and slinging her bag's strap over her shoulder.
The Asset did the same, sliding his arms into the pack and settling it onto his shoulders as he jumped down out of the truck after the Prototype. The wind was harsh, whipping up snow and ice, but he wasn't cold. Between his insulated uniform and the serum, he was within acceptable temperature limits. He glanced at the location of the sun to get his bearings, looked to the Prototype to confirm she was ready, and headed off of the road toward the woods.
She followed him without comment, forging through the snow in his wake. The mission targets were three men, about ten clicks away. Armed, but not considered particularly dangerous. She foresaw they would be easy targets - as they were supposed to be. This was a test, and one she had to perform well on. The Asset would report on her actions, just as she would his.
The snow eased slightly once they entered the trees, the terrain becoming easier to navigate. They crunched through icy-covered pine needles in silence, each keeping a careful watch on their surroundings as they moved, wary of shadows in the dark forest.
She was the first to speak, as the house came into view. "I'll knock on the front door. You find a window. Agreed?"
The Asset trailed in the opposite direction, the snow muffling his steps, sticking to the treeline until the Prototype caused a distraction.
The Prototype made it to the front door without any issues, her eyes scanning the house's windows. Her metal arm was obscured by her uniform - a soviet soldier uniform, for cover - and she rolled it slightly as she approached the front door, feeling it whir in the cold. She knocked with her flesh hand, a one-two movement, and then stepped back and waited. It took a minute, but the front door did eventually open - a man with a big beard stood there with a poorly concealed pistol in his belt. "What?" he asked in Russian, clearly suspicious. She smiled a little. He relaxed a fraction. And then she was exploding forward, metal arm shooting up to grab his throat, her flesh hand pulling the pistol out of his belt and raising it up. She shot him under the jaw, and he collapsed. She stepped over him, tucking the gun into her belt so no one else could pick it up. She pulled out the weapon that had been given to her by her handlers. Time to find the rest of the targets.
Once he heard the gunfire, the Asset was moving. He approached a window, glanced through and- upon seeing that it was a bedroom and it was empty- smashing through it with his metal arm and unlocking it, pushing it up and climbing in, gun already drawn as he moved toward the center of the small building.
The Prototype heard the glass break to the left side of the house, so she focused on the right, shutting the door behind her and advancing forward with her gun drawn. The first room on the right was clear - mostly full of crates and boxes, and a second of listening told her there was no one inside any of them. The next room was empty at first glance, but she could hear the man's breathing - could hear his heartbeat if she wanted to - behind the door. It was foolish to assume he wasn't armed - possibly with something nasty, like a shotgun. She stayed in the doorway for a moment, deciding what to do, so focused on the harsh breathing of the man hiding behind the door that she barely turned in time to block a hit from an ax from the third man with her right arm.
The Asset was on an empty side of the house. No matter, he would hear the struggle. She shot the man in the gut as she tore the ax out of his hand, but that was apparently not enough to put this particular man down. He threw himself towards her, getting in her space, just as she had been taught by the Asset not to let happen. The harsh breathing on the other side of the door was now in the doorway, the second man joining the fight. She hoped the Asset made an appearance sooner rather than later.
The Asset knew his side was quiet- no breathing, no pulse, no warmth- and he didn't bother slowing, walking past the shattered glass of the window and clearing the room. Then he heard the clash of metal on metal and turned his attention toward it, clearing the central room and noting the body by the door as he moved. He entered the next room with a quick glance to either side, then focused his attention ahead, raising his gun to put two bullets through the head of the man about to shoot the Prototype.
The Prototype tore herself out of the man's grasp and buried the ax in his head, noting the two gunshots and the body they had killed as the body in front of her dropped backwards, still twitching. She put her gun back in her belt, tossing the other one back to the floor.
"Pick it up," the Asset said as he crossed the room. "Sweep the rest of the building first." He started walking along, kicking boxes.
She picked up the gun again automatically, used to following orders. "They said three targets. We killed three targets," she said, the pistol loose in her hand. She stood still, listening. It was difficult to tell over his kicking, but she thought the building was empty.
"Intel can always be wrong. They have a friend visit for drinks. They have a hunter ask to warm up." He shoved a particularly heavy crate with his boot, before pulling it open with his metal hand.
Inside was a body, but not a living one. A soldier, in the same soviet uniform they were wearing - only likely a real copy. The Prototype saw the sudden but brief stillness in the Asset, and leaned over to peer in herself. "I don't hear anybody in the building," she said, as if they hadn't discovered a body.
"Neither did I," he agreed, returning the lid, and glancing up, mentally counting the number of similar boxes in the room. Four more this size and shape. All corpses?
He stared for another moment, but realized it didn't matter. The Prototype was correct. The mission was complete. "Let's head to the rendezvous."
She nodded, dropping the pistol again and following him back out into the driving snow. Her shoulder began to ache again as they went out into the cold. Maybe it was worth mentioning to a handler.
A/n yall it be hard to write characters who do not speak often or aren't supposed to do anything they're not ordered to do XD
There will be a second chapter out today!
Supertramp - Goodbye Stranger