freightcars: (Bɪɢ Dɪᴘᴘᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴘ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏғ)
ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ ([personal profile] freightcars) wrote in [personal profile] definingfuture 2018-12-01 06:12 am (UTC)

[ The arm's not impressive. Frankly, it's shittier than the one his Tony blew off back in Siberia. It's a replacement crafted by the powers that be, and purchased with the salary afforded to him as a cop in the Up. It opens doors. Regulates temperature. Registers touch in a rudimentary way, but not so much texture. He couldn't tell cloth apart, but he can feel the warmth of fingertips.

Health-wise, physically, he's at peak. Has to be, thanks to the stuff pumping through him. Probably could have slept better the night before, but it's just a small blip in an otherwise artificially flawless picture.

Mentally, on the other hand... ]


Wanda ripped the words out of my head.

[ He curls (flesh) fingers around the mug, but doesn't lift it. It's a tactile excuse. A preoccupation for his hand. ]

Not the programming, I mean, the... the actual words. I can't even... remember them, and if you say 'em out loud it's like my brain just...

[ Locks up for a second. Freezes up trying to build any kind of cognitive synaptic understanding, trying to chase neural pathways that have been closed. He can't comprehend them anymore. Mental blue screen of death, reboot, move on. ]

Can't do math in Russian now, for what it's worth.

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