The light was growing from black to soft gray.
Rain pattered on his face. He blinked, but did not move. He had not slept, but he had managed to spend several hours resting, letting his mind slip into an unfocused state, while his senses remained vigilant. He would eventually need to sleep, but it would be another day or so before the lack would become problematic.
A soft rustle against one of the trash cans snapped him to full awareness. He quickly weighed his options, and decided that remaining in place would expose him to the least chance of discovery from simple passersby. Flight or combat would remain valid secondary courses of action.. There was another sound, a thump, and the scent of a wet animal. A large dog's head peered around the trash can. It stopped in mid-step, as if surprised to see him. His hands tightened. An image of military dogs flashed before him, walking on leashes with their handlers, a snarling dog that leaped and bit at his arm, sometimes the metal one, sometimes not. It was unlikely that HYDRA or SHIELD would send a dog, but not impossible. It was large and solidly muscular, with a wrinkled face and sloppy jowls. It had short yellow fur and golden eyes that were looking directly into his. He had the distinct impression that the dog was performing its own threat analysis.
Directive One: CONDITION ASSESSMENT
Mobility unknown. Defensive capability unknown. Head, abdominal and leg injuries still evident but moderate. Right shoulder mobile but severely compromised. Prosthetic arm functional.
Directive Two: EVADE CAPTURE
In progress. Minimal probability of immediate capture.
Unknown animal, canine: Approximately 60-70 lbs. Musculature concentrated in head and upper body, smaller hindquarters.
Threat Estimate: Undetermined.
Neutralization plan: Open-hand strike to cranium with prosthetic hand. Grip above eye socket and below mandible, crush skull.
He wasn't sure what it meant, but the dog began to wag its tail, and tentatively stepped forward. He took a shallow breath, and quietly positioned his metal hand, but he did not want to risk breaking cover and possibly making a lot of noise until absolutely necessary. The animal came closer, sniffed him experimentally, then sat down beside him.
His training had covered military dogs, guard dogs, and attack dogs. He knew how to evade, disable, or kill a dog. But what action was appropriate when it just sat there and stared at him?
Directive Three: REPORT TO ALTERNATE RENDEZVOUS POINT
Unable to comply.
His ears were suddenly filled with the high-pitched whir of a rotating sawblade, and he tried to plead with the doctor in the thick glasses, but there was something in his mouth that kept him from speaking and he could only whimper.
Help me, Steve
A dog barked in the distance.
He gasped and was lying on his side in the muddy alley. It was still raining. It was still morning. He uncoiled himself slowly and sat up. Assess, Evade, Report. Those three directives had evidently been programmed into him in case of mission failure. He was fairly certain that the conditioned punishments were reactivated memories. They were too vivid to have been created artificially, and none of them had resulted in any real-time injury. But that would imply that calling for Steve had actually occurred as well. Why would he have wanted Steve? If Steve was the same as Captain America, hadn't Steve actually tried to kill him? Captain America had beaten him and choked him. He was the enemy.
But then why had he clung to that name? It was important in some way.
He covered his face with both hands. The accumulated physical damage made it difficult to think about anything other than automatically fulfilling the programmed directives, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could resist obeying the third in any case. Even if he did, sooner or later the punishment would wear him down enough to make mistakes, and HYDRA would find him. It would just be later than they'd originally wanted.
Something rough and warm scrubbed his face, near his ear. The dog was licking his cheek. He parted his hands to look. The dog stuck its wet nose into the gap between his fingers and snuffled. He grimaced and pushed the wrinkled face away with his metal hand, recalculating how to crush its head. He hoped he wouldn't have to kill the dog, though. It was not an impediment.
"Boneyyyy!" a man's voice rose and fell from somewhere nearby, to the left. "Where are ya, Yellowbone?"
The dog raised its head, and its ears perked up in the direction of the call. It wagged its tail.
A man appeared at the alley entrance, and stood squinting into the shadows past the trash cans. "Hey, Boney, there you are! You hungry? Whoa…"