Part I: With You In My Head

Sunlight filters in through the slatted window, painting the inside of his eyelids a vivid red that jars him from sleep. The Winter Soldier blinks, taking in a sharp breath as he sits up in the bed, and looks about the small room and its bare, wooden walls. The rest of the room is similarly spartan: an empty chair, a plain, large cabinet. There's a revolver under the pillow and a combat knife on the nightstand. This isn't the first night he's spent here, then, just the only one he remembers. He wonders how long he's been out, but dismisses it as irrelevant. It doesn't do to ask questions, he somehow knows. Not about this.

Standing, he flexes the fingers of his mechanical hand -- an upgrade from the last time. To touch it would be to mistake it for flesh, and it's almost by accident that he discovers the switch by the shoulder joint, the flesh bleeding away to reveal cool, uncompromising metal. The ghost of a smile materializes on his lips. For a moment he looks like a different man.

Better.

With no handler to greet him, he does a sweep of the room on his own. The facts are as simple as they are unusual. Tropical environment, probably some sort of hut or bungalow based on the construction. Early morning, judging by the sun. Among his uniform and usual tools of his trade, he finds Captain America's shield mounted above the collection of rifles in the weapons cabinet. Curious. Just the sight of it draws an instinctive, raw reaction. It must be a fake, he thinks, a decoy, some part of the mission he's yet to be briefed on, but before he has the chance to reach out, to pick it up, he hears movement outside the door.

Snapping to attention, he heads out into the hallway, the knife tucked into the back of his pajamas. Sharp eyes fall on a young man. Taller than himself and possessing the easy grace of the heavily trained, Winter Soldier relies on the lack of a hostile response to designate his company as friendly.

In Russian, he says, "Where were you? I've been up for ten minutes."

Part II: All You Want Is Allegiance

He's down one shield and a bullet, but the Winter Soldier's lost his tail. For now, at least. Leaving behind loose ends isn't his style, but it had been an acceptable risk. An injured kid demands more immediate attention than a fresh young corpse, and the Captain's altruism won out, just as the Winter Soldier knew it would, giving him time to slip away.

Hours later, though, and he's still running hot with adrenaline. The environment provides plenty of cover from prying eyes, but its newness is a liability. Familiarization has become key to the mission's success, and while he's scoped out plenty of ground so far, his intel's not adding up, not when it's placed against the circumstances under which he awoke. All of his gear -- and then some -- had been at his fingertips, yet he was bunking with what turned out to be an enemy. Why? He's trained not to question, conditioned to jump at any order, but the longer he has to dwell on the situation, the more he wonders just what puzzle piece it is that he's missing.

The terrain itself is far less interesting. There's a creek dotted with plain wooden huts that runs west, which he follows for about a mile until he breaks for less populated jungle. The first item of note he comes across is a bright yellow box affixed to a tree, HELP written in bold letters under a big red button. Stopping long enough to examine the tech -- primitive at best, no additional surveillance, not a threat -- the Winter Soldier allows himself a brief moment of amusement.

It'll take far more than a radio to stop him.

His next stop proves more promising. A salvage yard in the middle of the jungle sticks out like a sore thumb, its presence alone an affront to the surrounding greenery. It demands further examination, and like a ghost, the Winter Soldier slips inside.