[Death was always that idea that plagued some people. Not him. Brock Rumlow would die when he died and after it all came about, it wouldn't matter because he wouldn't be around to give a shit anymore. It allowed him to live on the edge for much of his life. It also allowed him to endure a significant amount of pain when the need called for it, and in HYDRA, there was always a certain amount of pain associated with the membership. It tested their resolve, forced them to face fears, unearthed all the little details of themselves so they would know exactly what they were capable of.
There was a lesson in pain. It was how he built much of his resolve.
So when he realized his world was gone - everything he had worked for - and he had survived through some odd system of rebuilding damaged minds, bodies and wills, he had been skeptical. Until the simulation which was so real and brought back all the little details that seemed to lurk at the corner of his psyche until that moment. Skepticism turned into surprise which then turned into the usual fight for survival of running from The Storm.
The first simulation, he had run like everyone else. And failed. He had been engulfed in pain like everyone else, like the other person who was making the run with him. It had been pain like dying, but he had fallen to his knees after trembling and shocked by the crystal clear clarity.]
Again.
[He hadn't left after the first time. No, he relived the simulation, the pain, the lesson to be learned in losing that fight. He had been engulfed, torn apart and smashed back together. Find the order in the pain. The second time, he almost threw up, unable to control his muscles for a good five minutes. He went back for a third reliving of The Storm, but this time, he never started to flee. What was the point? He threw himself into that abyss, searching for the lesson to be learned here, fighting through his own physical, mental and emotional cracks until he was wrecked on the floor. A fourth time and maybe, just maybe, his heart skipped one too many beats, but he staggered to his feet, his hair a wild mess, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. He had bitten his lower lip so hard it bled freely. Was this what the asset had felt like? Was this what losing everything felt like? He had been so young the first time.
This was his world. Everything had been taken from him, and there was only this engulfing pain. What was the lesson? His brain raced along the often disjointed ideas that more often than not wouldn't make sense to anyone.
He wiped his blooded lip and chin on his sleeve, shaking his head and then rolling his shoulders.]
Order in pain. Order in pain. Order in pain.
[He paced, back and forth, back and forth. He was clearly considering if he should make another run of it, experience that pain that had been the whole start to whatever this venture was.]
Stasis Unit
[They had told him that this place was here, that there were others like them. He was the kind of man who liked to see the grim reality of the situation for himself, to understand the full scope of what he was getting himself into. He was not faint of heart; he had seen and done some horrible shit in his lifetime so he figured that seeing a bunch of unknown pod people wouldn't be much of a big deal. Mass graves were a big deal; healing people shouldn't be.
It was as he expected, just rows and rows of faces in various degrees of damage. The technology was more interesting at first. He walked up and down each row, looking for faces he recognized and what sort of species of aliens existed outside the realm of his own possibility. There were plenty of interesting things to see, but it was the silence that reminded him of so many places he had been before.
Cities where entire populations had been wiped out. Not even the flies buzzed or the birds sang. It was the silence that would drive madness and loneliness.
He was actually walked by him twice before coming back to make certain. Rollins. The guy was as ugly as he recalled, but it was a familiar face in a sea of nameless oddities. There was damage, and it was plainly not just physical. Loyalty had been a hooking point that had kept him going a long time in his career where he did sometimes wonder what the hell he was doing with himself.
Rollins had been his rock sometimes. More like a rock fist to the side of his head.
It seemed a shame his second-in-command was stuck like this while he walked free. Loyalty was just a reality he understood well. He had made his pact; he was going to work for this place but that didn't mean he had to be alone.
So, he sat down each day in the evening, leaning against Rollins' silent pod and read the messages on the network as if the asshole being put back together could actually hear him. Whatever, Rollins hated it when he just shot his mouth off; it was one of the reasons that he did it, especially here. He knew it would bug Jack.]
Ah yeah, so here's a good one for ya: King of Explodo-Kills: Fucken roll call. No fucken extras either. Sounds like MacGinty, doesn't it? I bet if that asshole was here, he'd still somehow be in marital trouble. Am I right?
[He chuckled and continued to scroll.] Of course I'm right. Your silence tells all, Jackie.
Omage Connecting to server... Looking for someone you can chat with... You’re now chatting with Mr. Rogers... Say hi!
Who wants to be my damn neighbor? No need to push; there's room in the tickle trunk for all of you.
Brock Rumlow | MCU
[Death was always that idea that plagued some people. Not him. Brock Rumlow would die when he died and after it all came about, it wouldn't matter because he wouldn't be around to give a shit anymore. It allowed him to live on the edge for much of his life. It also allowed him to endure a significant amount of pain when the need called for it, and in HYDRA, there was always a certain amount of pain associated with the membership. It tested their resolve, forced them to face fears, unearthed all the little details of themselves so they would know exactly what they were capable of.
There was a lesson in pain. It was how he built much of his resolve.
So when he realized his world was gone - everything he had worked for - and he had survived through some odd system of rebuilding damaged minds, bodies and wills, he had been skeptical. Until the simulation which was so real and brought back all the little details that seemed to lurk at the corner of his psyche until that moment. Skepticism turned into surprise which then turned into the usual fight for survival of running from The Storm.
The first simulation, he had run like everyone else. And failed. He had been engulfed in pain like everyone else, like the other person who was making the run with him. It had been pain like dying, but he had fallen to his knees after trembling and shocked by the crystal clear clarity.]
Again.
[He hadn't left after the first time. No, he relived the simulation, the pain, the lesson to be learned in losing that fight. He had been engulfed, torn apart and smashed back together. Find the order in the pain. The second time, he almost threw up, unable to control his muscles for a good five minutes. He went back for a third reliving of The Storm, but this time, he never started to flee. What was the point? He threw himself into that abyss, searching for the lesson to be learned here, fighting through his own physical, mental and emotional cracks until he was wrecked on the floor. A fourth time and maybe, just maybe, his heart skipped one too many beats, but he staggered to his feet, his hair a wild mess, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. He had bitten his lower lip so hard it bled freely. Was this what the asset had felt like? Was this what losing everything felt like? He had been so young the first time.
This was his world. Everything had been taken from him, and there was only this engulfing pain. What was the lesson? His brain raced along the often disjointed ideas that more often than not wouldn't make sense to anyone.
He wiped his blooded lip and chin on his sleeve, shaking his head and then rolling his shoulders.]
Order in pain. Order in pain. Order in pain.
[He paced, back and forth, back and forth. He was clearly considering if he should make another run of it, experience that pain that had been the whole start to whatever this venture was.]
Stasis Unit
[They had told him that this place was here, that there were others like them. He was the kind of man who liked to see the grim reality of the situation for himself, to understand the full scope of what he was getting himself into. He was not faint of heart; he had seen and done some horrible shit in his lifetime so he figured that seeing a bunch of unknown pod people wouldn't be much of a big deal. Mass graves were a big deal; healing people shouldn't be.
It was as he expected, just rows and rows of faces in various degrees of damage. The technology was more interesting at first. He walked up and down each row, looking for faces he recognized and what sort of species of aliens existed outside the realm of his own possibility. There were plenty of interesting things to see, but it was the silence that reminded him of so many places he had been before.
Cities where entire populations had been wiped out. Not even the flies buzzed or the birds sang. It was the silence that would drive madness and loneliness.
He was actually walked by him twice before coming back to make certain. Rollins. The guy was as ugly as he recalled, but it was a familiar face in a sea of nameless oddities. There was damage, and it was plainly not just physical. Loyalty had been a hooking point that had kept him going a long time in his career where he did sometimes wonder what the hell he was doing with himself.
Rollins had been his rock sometimes. More like a rock fist to the side of his head.
It seemed a shame his second-in-command was stuck like this while he walked free. Loyalty was just a reality he understood well. He had made his pact; he was going to work for this place but that didn't mean he had to be alone.
So, he sat down each day in the evening, leaning against Rollins' silent pod and read the messages on the network as if the asshole being put back together could actually hear him. Whatever, Rollins hated it when he just shot his mouth off; it was one of the reasons that he did it, especially here. He knew it would bug Jack.]
Ah yeah, so here's a good one for ya: King of Explodo-Kills: Fucken roll call. No fucken extras either. Sounds like MacGinty, doesn't it? I bet if that asshole was here, he'd still somehow be in marital trouble. Am I right?
[He chuckled and continued to scroll.] Of course I'm right. Your silence tells all, Jackie.
Omage
Connecting to server...
Looking for someone you can chat with...
You’re now chatting with Mr. Rogers... Say hi!
Who wants to be my damn neighbor? No need to push; there's room in the tickle trunk for all of you.
Wildcard
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