Captain America The New Era

A NEW ERA  
ALICE CORSAIRS

CHAPTER I:  
The Nameless Soldier

His first conscious thought was that of cold. It hung in the air like a vapor, pricking at his bare skin like icy needles. The cold had seeped through the thin pants he wore, and even the blood moving sluggishly through his veins seemed frozen. It was as if the cold was an inescapable part of him. His throat burned, and when he finally pried open his eyelids, he saw that his breath came in puffs of white.

A parody of a window hung directly in front of him. He could see nothing through the frost-coated glass, only faint silhouettes that blocked the light for seconds at a time before vanishing again.

The soldier stood motionless, waiting, till at last the heavy metal door was drawn open. Two men stood before him—one slender with a shock of red hair, the other a strong African American man. Both wore pristine white lab coats and shiny nametags, but he could still see the bulge of a gun beneath their sweater vests and khakis. These were killers, not scientists.

Both men moved forward and simultaneously began undoing his restraints. The soldier watched carefully at the red-haired man reached for the cuff that bound his right wrist. Face set, he undid the locks with relative ease. The soldier flexed his hand—how strange it was that metal could ache just as flesh and bone could—and the other man flinched back almost imperceptibly.

He stayed still after that, and when he was completely free, the soldier followed the two men out of the cold metal box that had been his only home for years.

Unconsciously, he reached up and ran his fingers through his hair—it was almost down to his shoulders now, but he couldn't remember how long it had been when he had gone in. Once, they had kept him in there for more than three years, and he had re-emerged with a beard and hair nearly down to his elbows.

"How long has it been?" he wondered aloud, his voice cracked from disuse. Both men said nothing, didn't even look at him, but the soldier saw that the red-haired one stiffened slightly.

The man was afraid of him, the soldier realized. "_How long_?" he repeated threateningly, and this time he flinched. Without moving, the man answered, "58 days."

_ 58 days_. The words dropped like a stone into the silence. That was nearly two months. It had been summer when he had gone under, but now the leaves would be dyed with vibrant shades of red and orange, and the first trace of cold would saturate the air.

The scientists led him down a dimly lit hallway. There wasn't a soul in sight, but this was not unusual—the soldier's contact with people was kept limited, for reasons he didn't completely understand. He didn't mind, however—the eight or nine people he saw were enough.

The trio came to a stop before a heavy metal door. Behind it, the soldier knew, awaited one of the nine people he ever saw. Behind it was a man who had cured him of ever wanting to see more men.

He entered the room, and the scientists followed. The blank white walls had not changed, nor had the metal folding chair that he sat down in immediately. An old wooden table was the only other piece of furniture in the room, and behind it sat the same man, wearing the same grey suit.

He had told the soldier his name was Alexander Pierce. He was old, with a weathered face and the eyes of a much younger man. His hair had been dyed a reddish-brown colour, though streaks of grey had begun to show through. He was the only person who seemed at ease with the soldier—everyone else treated him with extreme caution, as though he were a bomb, liable to blow up at any second. They all feared him, but Alexander Pierce never showed fear. If the soldier hadn't known better, he'd have thought the man was afraid of nothing at all.

Pierce's face had been solemn, but once the door opened, his face stretched into a smile. "The Winter Soldier," he greeted him. "It's good to see you again. Are you well-rested?"

The soldier didn't answer, just stared at him. The other man's confidence never wavered. "Come, sit down," Pierce encouraged, and he complied wordlessly. "We have a mission for you."

"I know."

"Of course!" He laughed easily, and reached into the desk, drawing out a slim black folder. Pierce slid the packet across the table, too fast, and the soldier's metal arm snagged the packet before it could hit the floor. The movement was quick, unnaturally so, and he could feel the two men shift uneasily behind him.

Ignoring them, the soldier gingerly placed the folder back on the tabletop and flipped it open with a flick of his wrist. A dark-haired girl stared back at him. The images were grainy, probably taken from surveillance cameras, but he could see she was tall and slender with short, messy brown hair. Her serious dark eyes were framed by thick lashes that contrasted sharply with the pallor of her face.

He stared at the images for a long time, memorizing her features. At length, he asked, "Where will I find her?"

"She'll be in Georgetown at approximately 19 o'clock tonight," he supplied, pressing his fingertips together.

"Her name?"

"We're not sure. We're hoping to find out this evening."

The soldier blanched, looking up for the first time. "I have to _talk_ to her?" This was unusual; it was always go in, kill, and leave. Interrogation—really, people skills in general—seemed out of his range of abilities.

Pierce tipped his head to the side. "Or I could, if you like. We'll be sending in a team of five men with you, and then me."

The soldier's brow furrowed as he stared down at the girl's image, and his right hand clenched in frustration. "Why makes her so different?" he demanded. The hardest mission he'd ever been sent on had required eight men. Pierce had never gone on a mission, not once.

The older man's eyes narrowed. "That's not your concern," he reminded the soldier, his voice hard. It was the first time his voice had been anything but friendly.

The soldier nodded, and lapsed into silence once more. Pierce stood, and clapped him on the back, signaling that they were done.

"Good," he said lightly, all trace of hostility gone. "You will spend the rest of the day training for tonight. Prepare yourself. This girl is more dangerous than she looks."

The soldier nodded, but he wasn't really listening anymore. He stared at the very first picture. The girl was looking over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on something he couldn't see. Her eyes were hard, her expression arrogant. _More dangerous than she looks._

Unconsciously, he reached for the picture. "Can I—Can I keep this?"

"Of course," Pierce flashed him an easy smile. "It will serve you well to remember her face."

A paperclip held the image in place, and the soldier gingerly slid it out.

"I know."

6


End file.

Captain America, Adventure, Romance