Fandom The Hydra Faction

[foggymorals]

The current head of Hydra had some extremely Russian name that Nephele got wrong every time. Not to mention he was some frail thing that looked like he could be blown away by the wind. He looked ghoulish in a way. Short, pasty skin, beady eyes, yellow teeth, and a manner similar to a weasel. Even so, he was judge, jury, and executioner at the Hydra compound. He told you to jump and you asked how high. He also held every single program ever created under his little tiny thumb. Each and every soldier was a product of his sick and corrupted brain. He was the boogeyman.

Nephele currently lived at the compound, as she had been granted a year of sabbatical after completing her 22 mission successfully. The room gifted to her was nothing more than a supply closet they so “graciously” cleaned out for her. There were grease stains on the floor, and walls, and questionable-looking liquids on every orifice of the room. A thin, yellow-tinted mattress was simply laid on the ground. No bed frame or anything. Not even those metal mental asylum ones. Really showed how they valued her service. It would’ve been more comfortable to sleep on the cold floor.

For the first few weeks of her time off, she followed the same routine every day. It was get up, breakfast, train, and then anything else that was needed. Which was usually checking on operatives in the field and mission updates. Every program experiment had a tracker embedded in their neck, transmitting a signal back to Hydra. No soldier could escape. Not that the thought could ever really occur to them, what with having to go through so many brainwashes. Along with that, each operative had an earpiece that could contact Hydra, but only in the direst of emergencies. Only a few had used that.

That morning followed the same structure as every other morning. Nephele woke up, ate, and trained. It was a little after lunch that she reported to the comms room to see if any assistance was needed. This time, instead of a few people milling around and checking on screens, a dozen or so were gathered around Hydra’s head. From afar she couldn’t hear anything, but he appeared to be quite animated in what he was telling them. Not wanting to interrupt, she stayed by the door. After a bit, the group broke up and each went to their own computer.
A deafening screech emitted from the earpiece in her ear. She instinctively cupped her ears, but it did no good. After a few seconds, the terrible noise subsided and words could be distinguished.

“...Award. Different. Chain. Forward. Palace,” A man’s voice read off. He continued with a series of numbers, “...72°24'04.8"N 69°38'33.4"E.”

To someone who might’ve accidentally picked up on the signal, it would sound like a bunch of jargon. But for a few people around the world, something in their brains were activated.

 

[PlusUltra]

The energetic Megan had been woken up just under an hour ago and the usual stasis grogginess was clearly a distant memory, her jumpy movements looking around and greeting the familiar personnel and new alike, though the lack of a verbal filter may have been grating to a few of them. There was a high possibility she might even be bouncing off the walls at the moment, well if she wasn't still firmly secured in the portable energy pod that had been wheeled around like a psychiatric journey with a mesh of energy restraints over her limbs. Blow the restraints however nearly all her features were concealed below the complicated metallic suit she was entombed in, with only the vague outline of her eyes actually visible along with constant flashing of the mouthpiece with each word she spoke.

The greetings had quickly evolved into talking, a lot of talking and questions, and more questions as she appeared to gleam the answers herself through deduction and ask new ones before her targets could respond. It was this that was most grating as trying to get a word in edgeways was a challenge.

"So how long was I under this time? Did they clean up that whole Russian thing? I don't hear the clicky popping anymore so they have to have it by now, plus you all have new uniforms so it's got to have been at least a few years, hmm not that would take longer to fix so maybe 10?, thats a shame, I never did get to bring one of those dogs back but guess there likely gone by now anyway. Oh i could get a new one, but then i guess the who stasis thing would mean they might not get fed and they need that. What about that Palestine mission? I mean was good thing someone else gave directions, why do they name so many places the same name? Lack of creativity or i guess just stealing it if it sounds cool. So we doing more tests? Hmm no your not that doctor doctor type, not to say you dont have a doctorate...though you likely dont since those guys are too busy, unless it was from one of those smaller places? Not important anyway i suppose, So guess that means a mission maybe? oh neat!, I love getting out, the stasis is like "Blip Blip" so guess it wasnt boring, then again not really getting to dream, did you have a few nice dreams?"

The personnel escorting her were more than certain they had done something seriously wrong to deal with this, and the older ones who had encountered the girl previously may have been having PTSD-like flashbacks by the look of it. Fortunately, they were saved by finally arriving at their destination. "So do i get to be flown this time? or is it going to be there who rocket thing? hmm no suppose its more a missile? those have guidance systems so yeah a missile and...."

The girl was finely cut off by a sound going off in her ear, seemingly a man with far more authorisation had got around to putting the grunts out of their misery with several magic words "Cirrus, Socrates, Particle, Decibel, Hurricane, Dolphin, Tulip...72°24'04.8"N 69°38'33.4"E." the strange suited girl's eyes seeming to flash in response as a switch was flipped.

 

[4Frogsinawig]

Thomp
Clang
Thomp Thomp
Clang

Hit, dodge, hit again, dodge
Anya's ungloved fist thudded against the punching bag, her knuckles slightly red from how long she had been going at it. She 'dodged' the bag as it swung back towards her for what must have been the hundredth time.

'Its cold'
'it has been colder'
'Isn't this supposed to make you warm?'

A near miss of the punching bag shook the small girl out of her thoughts

'focus, Huntsmen, you are being watched. Don't let them see you falter'
'Failure wont be excepted'

Thomp
A swift right hook
Thomp
Followed immediately by jab from her left hand
Thomp
The bag buckled under the force of her kick, ramming into the wall behind it
Crack

Instead of stopping the bag, Anya simply stepped out of the way, paying the littlest of mind to the new web like crack in the concrete wall. Her knuckles returned to their normal color almost as soon as they were given more than a second of reprieve from the stiff fabric of the bag, only the slightest splotch of red still viable when she grabbed for her metal water bottle. Anya alternated between deep breaths and sips of water, going through the motions of bringing her heart rate back down despite knowing that she didn't need to bother with such things anymore.

Despite having a nicer room, courtesy of the complicated politics concerning her, Hydra, and the Red Room, there was only so much for a girl to do. In one corner stood her punching bag, her 'dresser' (an old suite case with a depiction of some child cartoon across the front) shared the wall with it and the door....the locked door. Diagonal from the bag was Anya's bed, it had a simple metal frame and a thin blanket. A simple luxury that she had earned after one of her missions. There was a cardboard box beside the bed where Anya would keep her 'trinkets' (Ie: her water bottle and her toiletries). Anya found herself sitting cross-legged on her bed, picking at her nails for something to do, when the unmistakable sound of the heavy deadbolt being moved out of place rang on the other side of the door. With a soft sigh, the raven haired girl stood from the bed and made her way to the center of the room. The rules had been made very clear at the beginning of her training

Stand in the center of the room, hands loose at your sides

Don't make eye contact

Only speak when told

it was a pity that the other widows had such a hard time following such simple rules.

Anya stood in the center of her room, arms loose at her sides, gaze trained forward, mouth shut. The deadbolt finished squeaking and the metal door opened. Anya didn't need to look at his face to recolonize her handler, his obsessively cleaned leather shoes and uneven gait gave him away before he had said a word.

or, the words

The man cleared his throat, flipped through his clipboard, and began.

"Coalition, Build, Cycle, Cause, Ear, Nationalist. 72°24'04.8"N 69°38'33.4"E."

A Pause

"God speed, Huntsmen. Hail Hydra"

Hail Hydra

 

[HolographicHydra]

Jay really didn't know what to think of his current handler. Of course, he wasn't created to really have an opinion on the woman herself, or in fact an opinion on anything, but that didn't stop him from thinking to himself sometimes. He liked to think he was smarter than they gave him any credit for. After all, his previous handler, of whom Jay hadn't seen for some time, had only ever treated Jay like some stupidly dangerous pet.

He'd almost gotten used to the annoying head pats, the way the man had spoken to him like he would never understand, and the way he wasn't really allowed to talk. To that man, of whom Jay hadn't even been given a name for and had just been calling 'Mr. Fluffy' in his head, Jay was truly nothing more than an animal. And maybe, if Jay hadn't been so well trained and built, he would have really been bothered by it. If, of course, Jay could ever remember being completely human, or being treated as such. Which... He couldn't. And that was fine.

But now, waiting in a safe-house after a completed mission, Jay was being thrown for a loop. Perched on a wooden stool as he 'preened' his metal feathers, he watched his handler carefully. Or, well, he watched her feet, knowing better than to stare at her face. She'd actually introduced herself. Jessica. Weird. Unheard of. Hell, she'd even checked him over for wounds properly, instead of just taking his word for it. And fed him. More than the usual amount anyway. What was she up to? It really was weird and, as they waited for the go ahead to return to base, or indeed to go to wherever they were off to next, Jay had nothing more to do than to sort out his feathers, and debate it inwardly.

She'd been talking to someone earlier, but nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. Despite Jay's noise-cancelling earpieces, he'd still been able to hear her loud and clear, and nothing suspicious had been said. She was being too... too nice. And it was making him entirely uneasy. Not that he was going to ask. She hadn't actually done anything that could be classed as something like treason, but he just... wasn't used to it. Maybe he was the weird one.

Not that he had more time to contemplate it. He doubled over as a ear-splitting screech came from his earpieces, catching his attention, and then stilled as a string of familiar words were spoken in his ear, "Falcon. Icarus. Wreck. Freak. Apex. Blade. 72°24'04.8"N 69°38'33.4"E."

 

[Sepokku]

“Well that doesn’t track. Ours is the way of way of peace, my hand guided by Michael’s for the sake of justice.”

Silence was the only response.

“Exactly! And now who is in charge of Stark Industries? Potts! Don’t kids these days know pot is bad for you?” John scratched at the back of his head while he walked to the door. Rapping his hand against it twice he turned on his heel and crossed over to his bed in three long strides. The empty Ark sat on his bed, the lid laying on a nightstand in the corner. “It’s like no one can see a conspiracy until it’s too late. Not us though. We’re different.”

He raised his voice a little, “Right Grigori?”

The HYDRA agent stationed outside his room neglected to answer. They rarely answered, John liked to think it was because they had nothing to say. Which was fine by him as it allowed more time for him to educate them. They tended to change posts biannually, which was an awfully short time to save someone’s soul.

Crossing over to the closed door, he dropped to all fours and started to talk even louder so that Grigori couldn’t ignore him, “Have you met any aliens yet? The best agents have. If you haven’t met any then you’re expendable.” He stood back up and knocked on the door, “Do you like being expendable? Will anyone miss you when youre gone? Doing the big dirt nap? I won’t. You’re a bad conversationalist. It’s not an enviable trait.”

Bezalel said something funny, a voice echoing in from that place in between; it made John laugh. Just a chuckle at first, then it grew and grew until he was doubled over on the floor howling with laughter. Suddenly he stopped, “Too soon man.”

Standing up, John made his way to the bed, picking up the Ark and depositing it on his nightstand next to its lid. His door slid open, at the same time the speaker in his room droned out, “Keter. Dao. Ein. Sof. Hod. Fallere. 72°24'04.8"N 69°38'33.4"E."