The file was not a full one, nothing that detailed everything that had happened, but it provided snippets of a timeline for him. He knew there had to be something more than this because the file was too thin for all that he had lived through and done. He might have been a top secret file, but he suspected that he was still someone that had opened up the way to a different kind of history.
The Russians had found him, or they had found what was left of him anyway. He had lost his left arm just above the elbow in the fall, the rest of it relatively useless to him. He had been brought to Russia for care, but Hydra was still infiltrated there and someone altered Zola after he had been stabilized. He had been given a Soviet prosthetic after Zola was finished with him, using material from Stephanie's blood to enhance him similarly.
He had been violent, confused and had little in the way of memories. He had struggled against both what was done to him and what he couldn't remember. A caged animal, he thought as he flipped through the pages. They had begun to condition him, to deeply ingrain cues and commands to soothe him. Suddenly he knew; the back of his neck, his throat and his feet were highly sensitive to command. Scientists used his feet when he woke to keep him from thrashing and fighting back; Hydra agents often got a hold of his neck, bowing his head, forcing him to his knees as he gave in and went still. Ready to be commanded.
Other commands and conditioning was listed, but he knew in his bones it was there, seeping in his flesh. If he was triggered, he could either explode like a bomb or mewl and docile as a kitten depending on what it was. Only certain Hydra agents knew the true depth of it all. And the Soviets; they had a hand in him, had given him the original code name that he bore.
He abandoned the file on the bed, torn up and raw as he moved from the bedroom to instead fill the doorway of the bathroom. She was sleeping, trying to anyway. She looked peaceful, yet darkness raged in his mind, age old erratic behaviours wanting to attack her, to pummel her into the dirt, but he didn't. She was his safe place.
no subject
The Russians had found him, or they had found what was left of him anyway. He had lost his left arm just above the elbow in the fall, the rest of it relatively useless to him. He had been brought to Russia for care, but Hydra was still infiltrated there and someone altered Zola after he had been stabilized. He had been given a Soviet prosthetic after Zola was finished with him, using material from Stephanie's blood to enhance him similarly.
He had been violent, confused and had little in the way of memories. He had struggled against both what was done to him and what he couldn't remember. A caged animal, he thought as he flipped through the pages. They had begun to condition him, to deeply ingrain cues and commands to soothe him. Suddenly he knew; the back of his neck, his throat and his feet were highly sensitive to command. Scientists used his feet when he woke to keep him from thrashing and fighting back; Hydra agents often got a hold of his neck, bowing his head, forcing him to his knees as he gave in and went still. Ready to be commanded.
Other commands and conditioning was listed, but he knew in his bones it was there, seeping in his flesh. If he was triggered, he could either explode like a bomb or mewl and docile as a kitten depending on what it was. Only certain Hydra agents knew the true depth of it all. And the Soviets; they had a hand in him, had given him the original code name that he bore.
He abandoned the file on the bed, torn up and raw as he moved from the bedroom to instead fill the doorway of the bathroom. She was sleeping, trying to anyway. She looked peaceful, yet darkness raged in his mind, age old erratic behaviours wanting to attack her, to pummel her into the dirt, but he didn't. She was his safe place.
"You shouldn't sleep there."