Prologue

Waking the Soldier was a delicate process. The Soldier couldn't be left in cryostasis with a completely empty brain – the body needed to remember how to walk, how to use a spoon, how to understand language, and how to fire a weapon. The Soldier needed to retain an understanding of stealth, and tactics. Other than that, it didn't matter. Empty space could be jammed on top of memories, like piling huge cardboard boxes in the front room of a house to make it look full.

When that didn't work long-term, more aggressive methods became necessary to keep the Soldier in line. A complex array of electrodes was hooked up to the Soldier, then attached to a system that delivered a precise sequence of shocks that Hydra had found essentially carpet-bombed the Soldier's emotion-related memories. The Soldier was left with skills – machinery, weaponry, and strategy – but those related to emotion were suppressed for several days.

The Soldier could grow unstable after that time, and would need to be re-stabilized to ensure mission success. This generally took no more than thirty minutes, and was considered a mild inconvenience. In shaping the century, there was no room for hesitation, or emotion. Left without re-stabilization, the Soldier's previous memories would return as they were triggered by the environment, and without the context of other related memories to provide a framework, would confuse and distract from the mission.

These procedures, and the careful steps used to ensure compliance, were recorded in a small red book with a black star – starred like the Soldier – to maintain consistency across handlers. A series of trigger words activated a base protocol of compliance, and established the Soldier's commander for the mission, until the Soldier was to be placed back into storage or otherwise re-stabilized.

Consistency.

Accuracy.

Vigilance.

These were the desired traits for a Hydra Commander.

The Soldier was Hydra's greatest asset, and could not be allowed to deviate.

1991

A ringing of activation bells cut through the silence surrounding the void.

Sensation returned swiftly with a fanged bite.

The air was cold.

The Soldier didn't like cold.

The cold felt like the empty time between missions, spent idly drifting in a vast expanse of nothingness where he so often failed to remember the passage of time, then needed to catch up all at once. He knew if he breathed in, the air would bite at his lungs like mocking pinpricks.

Breathe, a female voice instructed in his head.

He breathed. The cold nipped at his lungs, as he had expected.

One more, the voice asked.

He repeated the breath.

Good, came the praise.

The Soldier opened his eyes. Foggy, uncertain of the world around him, he was led from his icy chamber to a different chair. He remembered this chair – from before and every before that had ever been. This was the way the fog in his brain was cleared away, leaving a serene emptiness where only useful things remained.

The clearing away of uncertain things hurt, but necessity overruled comfort. The Soldier's body tightened and cried out in pain as his mind was cleared, like a sharp blade cutting through a bed of grass to reveal the bare soil below. It took away the thought of a coarse sensation that rippled across his fingertips. It took away a burning in his chest that felt like running out of air. It took away an ache in his arm, where he did not have an arm but a weapon. It took away confusion, and fear, and uncertainty. It stilled the waters of his mind.

The pain stopped running through the Soldier's body, and words echoed sharply in the room.

"Zhelaniye. Rzhavyy. Semnadtsat."

Thoughts slid into place, like bullets into an empty cartridge. An identification of command and of purpose.

Click.

Of shaping the century.

Click.

"Rassvet. Pech'. Devyat'."

Then the voice. Breathe. The consistent command and stability of the voice. The only thing that remained both before and after uncertainty was cleared away; it was attached to something with no name below the bare soil of his mind. The Soldier's chest heaved in reflexive compliance. Good, the voice praised.

Click.

"Dobroserdechnyy. Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu. Odin."

The useful certainties followed – the feeling of loading a rifle, of checking a sight.

Click.

Following a target. Breaking a spine.

Click click.

"Gruzovoy vagon."

The Soldier's body slackened as threads severed and burned in his mind. It was a relief to feel them fall away, to be left only with the things of which he could be certain. They would be back, slithering in from the dark, but for a short time he would be certain.

The magazine, full of ammunition, loaded in his mind. This weapon did not come equipped with a safety.

"Dobroye utro, Soldat," his commander greeted.

The Soldier opened his eyes.

"Ya gotov otvechat'."

Ready to comply.

A/N: Welcome back, readers! I know so many of you were devastated by the end of Who is Alice Shaw (WIAS from now on), and many (many) of you messaged me to beg for a sequel. Fear not! This has been in the works since I was about halfway through writing WIAS, and I never intended to leave you hanging forever. I can't say I didn't enjoy watching you squirm, though.

I intend to do some serious content-writing before I start posting full chapters, so please have patience. Consider this a promise to continue the story!

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