"It's not that easy. There's programming, protocols. Even without HYDRA, I don't fucking know how to." The plates in its metal arm ripple once, and it makes itself unclench its fist. "I don't know how."

The need to be told what to do. The inability to find anything to do with all its free time. The continued instinct to seek out handlers. The intense need to not be a person. How does one even cope with all that? How does one even get by when there's no mission?