"You can breathe. You can blink. You can cry. Hell, they're all gonna be doing that!" -Negan; The Walking Dead
Sometimes she'd wonder what it even meant. Why was H.Y.D.R.A. so protective of her? She'd been cooperative with them; she hadn't acted out in any way that would be considered treacherous. She knew where her position in H.Y.D.R.A. was. So what was wrong?
Listening intently to her surroundings, she could hear the faintest sounds of the guards coming down the hall; she could almost hear the things they were muttering to each other. Both consciously and unconsciously, she straightened her shoulders even more, making sure her back was as straight as could be. A habit that had been seared into her brain through years of training at H.Y.D.R.A.
Her cell door opened. Two men—with semi automatic rifles in their hands—stood on the other side, looking at her with stony expressions.
"Mr. Nowak needs to see you," one of the men said.
Without even uttering a word, she stood up and approached the two men, who—almost hurriedly—directed her into the direction Mr. Nowak would be waiting for her. The man in question was in charge of overseeing a majority of H.Y.D.R.A.'s operations, at least for the time being. He was in charge of going over important planning, the "handling" of specific people who were on H.Y.D.R.A.'s radar, and the occasional "sweep" of all post missions. Mr. Nowak was respected and feared by a large number of H.Y.D.R.A.'s underlings, but in regards to the organization's veteran operatives, their opinions of the man were relatively kept hidden.
The two men stopped in front of another door. They had her going down a series of hallways until they reached the very last door at the fifth hallway they had gone down. The man on her right looked back at her for a moment before unlocking the door. H.Y.D.R.A. was about its secrecy, no matter how trivial. When the code was accepted, the door opened and the two men stepped aside, holding their guns tightly in their hands, waiting for her to step out of line. When she walked in—the room itself was an improvement to the one she occasionally found herself in, but she wasn't in any position to say anything like that—she saw a man standing near the furthest table, his back to her, looking at something intently.
"Thank you," he said. "I'll take it from here."
The door closed, but she knew they were still standing at the other end. She stood closest to the door, her face neutral. Nearly expressionless. The man, Mr. Nowak, wore a nice suit and held himself with an air of authority. Nowak was young, more than likely in his mid- to late-thirties, with his black hair slicked back.
"You're probably wondering why you're here." A light Polish accent laced his words. When he turned, she looked him directly in the eyes. His icy blue eyes stared, unblinkingly, back. "Are you aware of Operation Insight?" he asked, arching an almost perfect eyebrow at her.
She nodded wordlessly.
"Good." He nodded, looking almost impressed. "If you're aware of it, then you must have known of its failure."
Again, she nodded wordlessly.
Nowak nodded. "With Operation Insight having failed the way it did, H.Y.D.R.A. is facing problems beyond its control," he said. "Mr. Pierce was killed by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Nick Fury. All of H.Y.D.R.A.'s encrypted data was leaked by the Black Widow. We've been compromised. Not only that, but we've lost our greatest weapon: the Winter Soldier." He looked at her carefully, looking for the teensiest crack. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She nodded.
"With the Winter Soldier on the lose," he went on, "in the. . . .delicate condition he's in, it would be dangerous for him to be in the public. He needs to be here, with us. Where we can control him. Don't you agree?"
No response.
"I've heard nothing but good things about you," he added. "Your work for H.Y.D.R.A. is unparalleled. I've heard that you're nearly as terrifying as the Winter Soldier."
She remained unresponsive to his praise.
"Tell me, Undertaker, how well will you be able to track down our Soldier and bring him back?"
-0-0-0-0-
Some days, she'd wonder why her brain would feel funny most of the time. She'd only have memories of all the terrible things she ever did, but no memories on anything good. She'd have phantom sensations of immense pain and agony, but she couldn't really understand where it was coming from. What was causing the pain? Why was she experiencing it? Where had the name Undertaker come from? She had questions—questions she didn't even know she wanted answers to until recently—that she wanted answers to.
It would be considered unwise to voice those questions. She had a feeling it would end badly.
After listening to what Mr. Nowak had said, she was escorted out of the room and into the room she'd use to prepare for her mission. It seemed easy enough—find the Winter Soldier and bring him back. H.Y.D.R.A.'s prized possession.
A thought popped into her head.
Why was the Soldier so important?
The thought was pushed aside. If it wasn't going to benefit her in the long run, it wasn't needed. It wasn't necessary. Her H.Y.D.R.A. training made it clear that she only needed what would benefit the mission; what would benefit H.Y.D.R.A. in the long run.
How beneficial were thoughts on the Winter Soldier's importance? Or why she had a codename? It wasn't.
Looking at the arsenal in front of her, she had to keep in mind which would be best in case the Soldier attempted to attack. The two men who led her to Mr. Nowak's stood just a couple feet behind her, keeping a close eye on her movements. Their bodies twitching with anticipation.
Knives that could be easily hidden and unnoticeable. Guns that could go unnoticed, as well. Wear the appropriate clothing that could hide the weapons properly. Make sure the weapons are secure enough to not inflict self harm. Those were the guidelines she went by when she was sent on missions.
Once she had the appropriate attire on—after Mr. Nowak requested she be cleaned up for the mission (clean ups were never fun)—she had been taken to the arsenal room where she'd get her weapons.
When she had what she needed, she turned to face the two men. The men looked at each other for a moment, before turning and walking, opening the door with her right on their heels. She was going to be briefed by Mr. Nowak.
If she was going to bring the Soldier back, she was going to do it the right way.
(A/N):
Hopefully this first chapter was decent. It's going to be a Bucky/OC story, and I really do hope it's not super clichéd or whatever. If you've got ideas on how the story could lay out, I'd be more than happy to read what you have to say.
Nothing in this franchise belongs to me.
Since Thanksgiving is pretty much here—or it's pretty dang close, so why not?—I hope you all have a lovely and safe Thanksgiving.
I promise that more of the Undertaker's past will be put into light as the story progresses, so please don't get irritated if it doesn't happen immediately. I'm hoping to have at least a little bit of anonymity.
Let me know if there's anything I should improve on.
Thank you,
Scarlet Tchaikovsky