So if you're reading this, I suppose my summary wasn't too bad, lol. But I'm taking a risk writing a "romance" especially in regards to Bucky as I feel he has been through so much that he needs to be okay with himself before embarking on any type of relationship besides platonic. So this story is a slow-burn, not a long one though. But in fair warning, this story is fairly lighthearted, nothing too heavy outside Bucky's background. So please don't be too harsh, this was something just to write.

Also, for those who might be familiar with my "Schoolyard to Battlefield" I came upon and unexpected writer's block, but I didn't abandon it. I'm just have a hard time writing Steve for some reason.

But I hope you guys enjoy this story. I hope I caught the noticeable grammar mistakes.

Please leave feedback!

Washington D.C January 2014

He could taste everyone's spike in anxiety. He could see the fear making the pulse in all the men's veins spike. It was palpable even without the semi-automatics pointing at him that all the people in the room were wary of him. Yet, even with the guns trained on him aimed at vital parts of his anatomy, he knew they wouldn't pull the trigger. They never did. As much as they feared him, they were in awe of him. They needed him. Even in his confused agitated state he knew that.

And more, he knew he could easily deflect the bullets with his left arm while using the closest body as a shield easily taking down the remaining men which happened to be a man in a white lab coat – throat crushed.

The man was small and pudgy with a receding salt and pepper hair line. His glasses were lying next to his corpse the left lens cracked like ice kissing glass.

The man seemed familiar to him that caused a cold dread and panic to erupt in his veins. A drill of pain exploded in his skull and as a result his metal arm lashed out and claimed its latest victim.

When the flashing lights ebbed and his mind focused on the situation around him. He realized it was one of his doctor that he killed. The man was inspecting his arm making sure nothing was at fault.

Now the director – leader – Pierce was inspecting him. The crow's feet around his eyes were tight as his lips were pursed in displeasure from his latest unauthorized kill. The room was silent and he kept his eyes focused in front of him. His focal point was the lock on the cell door that kept him in the cell inside this Hydra base.

In his peripheral, he saw Pierce wave his hand, the guns dropped. "Bring in the girl." He ordered.

Entering the room was a young woman. 5'2'' with olive skin, hourglass figure emphasized by skin tight black jeans and a white form fitting long sleeve V-neck. She had on white converses that had a skid mark on the toes on her left foot. She was wearing multiple bracelets – silver. She had a long pendent hanging from her neck. It was a tree, but the trunk was the shape of a spiral – DNA. Her thin fingers were covered in multiple rings – bands. She had a hoop in her left nostril. She had black hair that looked to be in some type of twists that made it look bulky as it rested in a ball on top of her head. It was peculiar to him.

Her body was shaking though. He suspected fear even before he got to her face where he would be able to read anything. He was partially right. Her cheeks were flushed and they glistened from the fluorescent lights giving away she was crying before coming inside the room. Her eyes were puffy and enflamed.

Her eyes were a vibrant emerald, he didn't think he ever seen before. They were dimming by the second as fear and surprisingly anger clouded them almost turning them into a forest green.

Pierce took a seat in the vacant stool breaking him of his assessment of the girl.

"You do not kill this young woman. Understand."

It was an order. He knew better to defy orders. Defying orders led to the clamps on the chair locking him in. Surprisingly, his outburst hadn't led to that yet. "Yes, sir."

Pierce looked at him uncertain before he stood and buttoned his winter coat, "Get rid of the body when she's done."

The Soldier watched as Pierce left not even glancing at the woman who was out of place in the room. He stared straight forward watching as most guards left with the director leaving only two to guard the doors.

He continued to stare forward as he heard the girl release a shaky breath. Her jewelry jingled as she moved forward – closer to him – until she reached the recently vacated stool. It wasn't until then that he let his eyes land on her as she still looked uncertain as she glanced from the stool to the body laying only inches away from it. He could tell she was unnerved by the body as her eyes flickered everywhere but to the corpse. It wasn't until then he realized why they had left the body there for so long. It was to scare the girl – teach her a lesson.

She glanced at him briefly before turning to the guards. "Umm…the body is in the way of the supplies." Her voice was smooth despite how shaky her hands were that she was trying to hide as she brought them together clashing the metals on her hands and wrists. Additionally, he could detect a hit of an accent, it had a Russian twang, but it was mixed with something else.

"Asset, move it out the way." The guard at the door barked.

The girl jumped from his fluid movement of moving out the metal chair to the body on the floor and worked to clear a path for her to work. He wordlessly sat down and continued his vacant staring.

The squeak of wheels from the chair echoed loudly in the room, as the girl rolled to the side where his metal arm was resting. His senses were invaded with the scent of coconuts. It was a vast contrast to the sterile smell of the various bases he has resided in or even the rusted scent of blood that followed him wherever he went. He glanced in her direction and he was surprised when her eyes met his. The fear wasn't prominent. Her eyes were soft and seemed to be focused on the task in front of her. She gave him a small smile with her full lips. They were a light pink and he could detect a hint of a shimmer on them.

For some reason inside him, he thought she was misplaced in this world he existed in.

Washington DC April 2014

His name was Bucky.

According to the Smithsonian, dedicated to the man – his mission - his full name was James Buchanan Barnes.

Sergeant James Barnes, he corrected himself. But it didn't feel right. Neither did Bucky.

The only thing that felt familiar was that he was a soldier.

An American Solider.

The Winter Soldier.

Missions.

Orders.

Compliance.

Then and now…once a soldier, always a soldier.

His life was lost in battle.

Brooklyn

He remembered him – Steve.

He was smaller then – thin and friable, only physically.

But he knew it was the same man from the bridge.

The same man he knew was looking for him.

But he wasn't going to let him find him.

He wasn't the Bucky memorialized in glass at an exhibit.

He wasn't the Bucky laughing next to him.

He wasn't that Bucky.

He wasn't sure who he was.

Cargo Ship

Writing confined the screams. It curbed the nightmares. It contained the memories no matter how horrid and wretched he didn't want to lose again.

It made it easier to piece together the man and the machine that subsisted inside him.

His memories were slowly coming back, most were his time as The Asset.

It was to be expected, he was The Winter Soldier longer than he was Bucky Barnes.

After leaving Brooklyn trying to evoke suppressed memories, Bucky knew staying in the United States wasn't an option. He knew independent factions of remaining SHIELD authority along with the United States government would be looking for him so he could answers for his crimes he did under Hydra's control.

However, he wasn't stupid enough to think Hydra had completely fallen either. He knew if someone caught scent of him they would immediately take the chance to seize him. But he didn't think they would waste time trying to control him. He suspected a kill order was on him considering the vault of Hydra secrets he had in his head that hadn't surfaced.

Yet, he knew out of the US government, SHIELD, and Hydra that one person would be persistently looking for him and had the means and motive to do so. He had to evade Steve and being in the US would make it easier for Steve to find him.

It was easy slipping on a port ship and head back to Europe.

He arrived in France first and slowly and quietly made his way to Austria where he fell from the train. That memory was the most vivid. He remembered Steve trying to grab him as he clutched the cool metal as the wind tried to snatch at his body before it got its wish as the metal bar gave out and he fell into an icy ravine.

Not before he hit a bed of rocks. He remembers trying to break his fall with his left hand only to splinter the appendage and eventually losing it.

He could remember being numb as the bitter cold caressed him like his mother used to do with he was sick as he thought for sure he was going to die. When he was found, he hallucinated it was Steve who had come to rescue him before his mind cleared slightly to realize it wasn't Steve but Hydra. He didn't know what exactly happened afterwards except the next thing he knew his skin was burning. His body was in agony and Zola was smiling down at him proclaiming him the new fist of Hydra.

After Austria, he traveled through the shadows to Kiev and found his first home as the Winter Soldier before they moved him to Siberia. The abandoned base in Kiev didn't spark anything worth remembering. He only found the earliest prototype of the container where he was put in cryogenic sleep they kept him in until needed. There was also an early prototype of the memory suppressor machine stuffed away in another corridor. He destroyed both machines.

Other than that he surmised anything on him had been removed somewhere else – most likely to Siberia or unfortunately in someone's hands.

He did find one thing buried in a secret compartment through his destruction of the machines that held him captive.

His dog tags.

After Kiev, he knew he needed to find someplace to lay low. Since leaving Hydra, Bucky had been hit with the reality that now since he was on his own and didn't have to answer to anybody. There wasn't anyone to handle mundane things for him as food and shelter. As the Winter Soldier, he couldn't recall eating besides being feed nutrients through IVs. Hydra stifled everything in him from hunger, sleep, emotions, and importantly his sense of self.

But with his now ever growing appetite, he needed to find ways to finance his stomach as well. Stealing could only get him so far.

Bucharest seemed like a place to settle down, at least for a while.

Bucharest

It had been four months since he efficaciously been off the grid. Two months since he crossed the borders into Bucharest.

He had managed to procure a simple shabby apartment near the outskirts of the downtown area. He was surprised how easy it exactly was considering he didn't have any proper form of identification, but it seemed as long as he had the money the leaser didn't care who he was. Bucky didn't know if he was grateful for that as it made the person incredibly stupid, but Bucky suspected the man was shady himself. It was small with dingy walls, the color a mixture of yellow and green, the kitchen area had wallpaper while the wall opposite was a dark red with multiple cracks in the plaster. It was a weird combination, but he wasn't going to be picky. He had worse. It smelled stale from lack of maintenance and housekeeping. It luckily came with some furniture like a couch that he placed in front of the electric stove. A two person dining room set the table a few feet from the door where it could be easily flung towards. He had a mattress with no frame placed below the window where he could easily flip it.

He also didn't help much with the interior by using newspaper as his own makeshift blinds. Along with his makeshift shelves built out of cinderblocks that were intentionally left sparse, the house wasn't exactly a mansion. Despite, it's small corners, it was his home for the time being. The small grungy apartment was something entirely his, to a point, that he had control over.

Outside of the four walls, it was easy to blend in amongst the citizens and never ending tourists. The streets were always bustling with activity from vendors to people heading to and from work. It almost reminded him of his home in the 40s. He can recall New York City – Brooklyn – being a crowded place overflowing with diversity and people. Bucharest brought some form of comfort to him. Although his idea of comfort had changed drastically from the 40s and to Hydra's hold on him.

But what he noticed that hadn't changed from what he could recall vaguely when scouting on missions was how oblivious people were. Like then, he was thankful for it, as in the few weeks after Washington his face was plastered on newspapers claiming him to be a fugitive and terrorist. Yet, not one person eyed him suspiciously, he did receive a few cagy looks because of the gloves he wore, but a task force wasn't breaking down his door that he was surprised had decent durability compared to the rest of his belongings. He didn't need to use his expansive knowledge as a spy to operate through this city even though he was to a point. He didn't leave much of a lasting impression as he blended into the shadows like the ghost he was meant to be.

But all in all Bucharest was nice, but it was fucking hot, something he did not thoroughly take account for considering his only options for clothing were long sleeves and leather gloves to hide his metal limb. Even though his metal limb had the enhancement of keeping itself cool to never overheat, his actually flesh and bones still fluctuated from the summer weather. However, he would take the scorching heat of Bucharest to the frigid winters of Siberia.

Besides his one mission of worrying about the heat and trying to conceal his metal limb out in public, his second mission was trying to battle his increasing hunger. Just like there being a large population of people, there was a wide variety of cuisine that he soon figured he could barely afford.

But due to his limited funds, he stuck to shopping at the local Farmer's market buying fruit and vegetables. It wasn't really fulfilling as his body needed protein considering how the serum in his body needed a large dose of calories and the questionable meat from the fast food chain McDonald's wasn't all that appealing.

He knew he had only a few more days until he got a more substantial pay check and he would splurge on various types of meat like steaks, pork chops, and chicken breasts after paying his rent.

Bucky adjusted his blue baseball cap on his head as he gave Afina, the middle age owner of the fruit stand, a friendly smile and money for his bag of plums and Afina's suggestion of adding grapes and pineapple.

Arriving back to his apartment complex, Bucky was greeted to the site of Adi. He was the probably the oldest tenant in the building at the age of 70 who sat on the small porch provided to all of them and just watched traffic of cars and people doing their daily errands. Additionally, Adi was a real social butterfly as every time Bucky came by the man had company on his post or someone was yelling up to him from his porch.

But at this particular moment, Bucky was the only person on his cement porch.

"Got the paper for you, Jacob," Adi informed him as he passed the paper along to him.

"Thank you," Bucky easily replied back in fluent Romanian as he took the newsprint and he thanks his years of keeping a neutral face that his features remain blank as he sees a large picture of Steve with his teammates.

"How are you settling in at Anton's?"

With Adi's socializing ways, it also gave him the advantage of knowing the ins and outs of Bucharest like where somewhere like him could find work under the table. Adi knew that he needed some help. Bucky didn't know how to take it if he was being obvious he was a sketchy person yet Adi had 70 years of experience of reading people. In the two weeks of him settling in the city, Adi was able to get him a job at the local construction company, Anthon's, which not surprisingly seemed to attract actual sketchy people who were turning over a new leaf it seemed.

"It's good. Thanks for setting that up for me."

Adi shrugged his appreciation off, "It's what I do besides you look like you need the help."

Bucky rolled his eyes as he bid Adi a goodbye as the old man cackled in his plastic chair.

Reaching his plain apartment, he placed all his fresh produce in the refrigerator only leaving one plum out to eat while he read the paper which gave a very basic and heavily edited version due to the classified nature of the mission of Steve - The Avengers – raiding yet again another base linked to Hydra.

He could remember vaguely doing the same with Steve.

It's funny how some things don't ever change.

Anton's Construction Company was filled with a bunch of (former) wayward workers. Bucky discovered that Anton, the boss and owner, was a man with a trouble pass with an narcotics addiction and had turned his life around by starting his own business that gives men with their own shady and questionable past a new beginning – a fresh start – even if it meant paying them under the table.

One would think that the work that the crew would be hired for would be small simple projects, but surprisingly despite the background of the employees Anton got lucrative and high end projects.

Bucky's crew – or mainly the four guys that tried to talk to him – were Alex, Cezar, Art, and Luke. Alex was the same age as him and his poison was heroin and he was only a year sober. Art like Anton his poison was narcotics. Luke was the youngest only 23 and huffed. Bucky was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact inhaling cleaning products seemed pleasurable. Cezar was the oldest (physiologically) nearing 50 and dabbled in every drug according to man, but what got him was for holding and the intent to distribute. He had been at Anton's for almost a decade.

Bucky's story was that he was a war veteran suffering from PTSD which in reality wasn't a far stretch from the truth. It was also a plausible explanation that had him working in the intense heat cutting support beams for the buildings they built and his crew didn't question him why he worked in so many layers.

Again, people could be so gullible and oblivious.

Bucky didn't necessarily mind them and they didn't seem to mind that he wasn't the most loquacious co-worker. Today wasn't any different as the guys talked about sports games or Art's current girlfriend troubles. Yet, Alex currently had his own object of affection who happened to be some new bartender at some bar they visited frequently and persistently pleaded for him to join them one night like now.

"I'm telling you Jay," Alex began as he smoked his cigarette on their lunch break while Bucky took a generous bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "Kaylee is fucking beautiful and it is such a shame you haven't gotten a chance to see something so breathtakingly beautiful."

Bucky raised his eyebrow at Alex's words, but remained silent at the words he had been saying for the past two weeks since this Kaylee had popped up.

"You know women are into the whole silent and brooding mysterious vibe you be throwing off man," Luke added on.

"So now you are trying to set me up on a… date?" Bucky questioned neutrally.

"He speaks!" Alex shouted as he beamed showing all his teeth. Bucky rolled his eyes in response.

"What we're saying, J," Art began now joining the conversation, "is maybe you need some comfort that only a lady can provide – or man if you're into that."

Bucky snorted.

"J, you should just come down to sit back and enjoy a cold one. Ignore these goofballs. Just come and relax." Cezar added on objectively.

Bucky somehow found himself agreeing to go to a bar on a Friday night after work with them.

The bar was called Lucky and surprisingly it wasn't all that different from what he remembered a bar to be back in the 40s. In all honesty, the bar seemed similar to the one him, Steve, the Commandos, and people from the SSR visited frequently after finishing their work during the day. The bar was filled with the aroma of cigarette smoke, liquor, and various layers of body odor and he found a sense of comfort from it. The only noticeable difference from now and his memory, despite the time difference, were that there were more women drinking even the men under the table and the music. The music was very heavy and piercing and he felt and a headache forming from it.

Despite being partial to being at the bar and to the beer, he was more of a whiskey guy; it gave him a chance to observe how social behaviors changed since he was of his right mind. The change in attire wasn't too much of a culture shock although it was eye opening seeing such revealing clothes on women. What really had him were the more open intimate behaviors couples exhibited in public.

He was trying not to watch as a man and women rut against each other quite aggressively while the man's face – mouth – was latched onto the woman's neck when he was nudged in the arm by Alex.

"That's her bro."

Bucky ignored the use of Alex's favorite slang in addressing him and set his sights on the newest addition behind the bar that various people greeted. Her back was turned to him, but the woman was very short and her black hair was in a severe ponytail. She was wearing skin tight jeans with a black wife beater. Alex beckoned her over where she gladly came over showing off her sparkly white teeth.

"Kaylee, here this is a buddy of mine from work, Jacob."

Bucky felt his heart stop and lodge up into his throat as he looked at Kaylee - her. Even with her face framed by a pair of fake glasses and thick black eyeliner, it only emphasized her emerald eyes. Gone were her nose piercing and her metal jewelry replaced by cord bracelets around her wrists. Her tree necklace gone replaced by a scar made by a knife is luminescent on her olive skin. He notices another scar – gunshot – is on her left arm too.

Her bright smile only falters slightly as her green eyes roam over him, "Hi, Jacob, I hope the boys are treating you alright. Would you like a refill?" He only stares blankly while Alex tells her his order.

For the rest night, she seems to keep her distance. It seemed she even fought the urge of glancing over to him. The only time she addressed him was to see if he needed a refill. To anybody else, it would look like she was okay and fine. But he could tell from her movements she was vigilant to him. Her eyes kept looking towards the exits probably expecting the remaining faction of Hydra to burst through the door or worst that he was sent out to extract her. Those thoughts made him wonder what exactly happened to her since Washington DC.

Bucky hated the seemingly comfort he felt as he hid in the shadows waiting. After Kaylee's introduction and following her movements pouring drinks for patrons and occasionally throwing shots back herself, he decided he was going to wait for her.

Then while waiting for the end of her shift he thought of two possible scenarios that he didn't consider while he watched her serve drinks. One, she could very well be Hydra. Even though when he was consistently being brainwashed, he had a pretty good grasp on who actually served Hydra – the people who enjoyed it compared to others. On the rare occasion he would have some time to roam the facilities they kept him in, and being a master in reading body language, besides most fearing him, he could tell that some people generally were petrified working for Hydra. He ended up disposing of them in some ways for their infidelity according to Hydra. But he knew from the first time he met her she wasn't born or recruited to be Hydra. In all likelihood, she was probably blackmailed.

The other issue was that she could think he was still Hydra and was sent to kill her. He wasn't helping the image by waiting in the building across the street for her to get out of work. On top of that he didn't even have a clue what he wanted to say to her. It seemed hi would be highly inappropriate to a point in this situation. He should have thought over this plan more thoroughly.

Bucky raked his flesh hand through his brown hair that was resting on his shoulders wavy from the humid heat and his fingers. He knew eventually he was going to have to eventually cut his hair shorter than he was keeping it. He put back on his black baseball cap and his attention was diverted from his hair to the sound of a female voice – her voice – saying goodbye to her co-worker.

He waited for her to gain a distance between her place of work and him before he began following her stealthy. His cool eyes could see as she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her sweater that she was placing her keys in-between her fingers to make a weapon. Her shoulders were tense as she knew he was behind her. He knew it was a matter of seconds before her quiet footsteps would begin pounding heavily in the pavement when she would try to sprint away from him despite knowing he had the agility to catch up with her in a matter of seconds.

It was exactly a full five minutes of him following her before she made an abrupt right turn and took off in a full sprint. He honestly wondered why he didn't just approach her amicably when she ended her shift. He thought his programming was still too embedded in him that he would wait and watch for someone then just approach them.

"Hey, wait," he spoke in fluent Romanian as he ran after her but she kept running. He outmatched her in many ways and it was a matter of seconds that he quietly caught up with her. Seeing no other choice he grabbed her left bicep. He sensed the scream ready to tear through her lips while her reflexes kicked in and she attempted to stab him with her keys. He covered her mouth with his flesh hand purposefully while effectively grabbing her makeshift weapon backing her gently into a brick wall. "I'm not going to hurt you." He told her looking into her frightened green eyes. He hated how he remembered the last time her eyes looked at him in this way.

He waited for her erratic breathing to slow before he removed his flesh hand from her lips.

"I'm not going back there," she spoke in harsh Russian, but the fear that lingered was palpable in the shakiness of her voice. "I would die before going back to them."

His eyes raked over her face. Her eyes were watery and if they were under better light he would say she was beginning to go pale under his scrutiny as her body was shaking as he could see her hands shaking as she had them placed on the brick wall behind her as some kind of crutch.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated slowly in her native tongue as his metal hand covered by a leather glove grabbed the chain hidden beneath his black Henley to show her the small pendant the held a residence on his body than his own cold metal dog tags – her lost (forgotten) metal pendant that contained her initial K. "I'm not going to hurt you, Karina."

Washington DC April 2014

Bucky

Who the hell is Bucky?

He felt a shiver travel down his spine as he recalled the name the man on the bridge said. He watched as the man's defenses were swiped away as he stood in shocked as he got a clear image of his face.

But his training prepared him for this that was why he wore the mask. When the target has a visual it makes them think they are on the same playing field. It becomes more personal as they try to appeal – beg – for redemption and promises that no one would know he came after them. They feel as if they have an upper hand.

But he couldn't ignore the wave of confusion that washed over him as he really looked at his target. How the man's voice echoed in his head like water rushing down a tunnel.

The name snapped the strings that controlled him to complete the mission.

The man on the bridge knew him…he knew him.

The flashing lights came along with the pounding headache beneath his eye lids.

The screams…

The fall…

The cold…

"Drop her now!" Someone shouted making the collages of images fade to the vision in front of him. He saw in his peripheral an agent was down holding their bloody nose while five others had their guns aimed at him.

His metal hand was wrapped tightly around someone's throat as he tried to fight through the memories that were clawing at his mind trying to break through. The person in front of him was a blur until he heard the jingle of bracelets as they clinked against his titanium arm as he felt a slight change in pressure against it.

Green eyes were staring back at him fearful as his metal hand's grip around her throat became tighter.

Green eyes…

Green eyes weren't a threat.

His palm became lax. He didn't remove his hand, but keep it flat against her tendered throat that no doubt had his imprints painted against it. Her eyes were watery as she brought both hands to his metal wrists.

"I knew him," he said quietly only for her to hear in Russian.

…

Even after Pierce left and he accepted the words his work was a gift to mankind and dismissed the notion he knew the man on the bridge, while the machine that would get rid of the headache hovered over him and the anticipated pain made his body stiff and his lungs scream in agony, he latched onto image of vivid green eyes before it vanished.

Karina's green eyes and silver jewelry…but he knew it would be gone.

…

He could feel his bones setting themselves back into place after the man from the bridge broke his arm on the Helicarrier. His mind was exploding with flashes since the man uttered those words to him.

Till the end of the line

Since then his mind had been on fire to the point it was more dilapidating more than his bum right arm at the moment. He was conflicted from not completing his mission to his mind screaming out him in relief, terror, and confusion.

The only thing that was blatantly clear was that Hydra wasn't his home or right. He wasn't theirs. He stuck to the shadows as his debated within himself to go back to his handlers or disappear something he knows that he does best – he was a ghost story – it was engrained in him to not be seen. He didn't know how long he wandered D.C as he observed the cities response to the disaster he played a hand in at the Potomac before his mind flashed with images – people. Out of all the people that were blurry in his mind he didn't know why he thought it was best to seek her out.

He went back to the Bank.

Arriving at the bank through the underground entrance specifically made for him. The place seemed vacant. He couldn't detect any movement or security like it had only hours ago. His steps were quiet on the linoleum floors and as he crept closer to his cell he could hear low male voices speaking. As he entered the cold cell, the doctor's didn't notice his arrival as they spoke in hushed worried tones about something wasn't right.

He had the urge to kill the doctors right then and there as they were the ones in charge of wiping him.

He lifted his metal arm with one of the guns that was still on his body after his fight with the man on the Helicarrier.

"Where is she?" He demanded in English. The doctors jumped in fright and one even screamed as they raised their hands in the air. A part of him wondered if the doctors were this pathetic why he hadn't attempted escape before, but then he remembered usually guns were always drawn on him ready for discharge and he wasn't out of cryo this long to consider escaping.

"They – Marcus - took her," The skinner doctor replied his lips quivering making his speech almost indistinguishable.

"Where?" He growled.

"We don't know. We don't know." The skinny doctor cried as he began sobbing. He almost rolled his eyes.

The other doctor spoke up, "She was screaming and fighting the whole way as they took her from the room they kept her in. She was still alive when they exited the building."

A part of him wanted to shoot him – he had the bloodlust – but another part of him didn't want any more blood on his hands. He lowered his gun and left the room without another word and made his trek down the hall where he knew they kept people.

Reaching the stark white small holding cell that held a small twin size bed that was mounted to the wall, a small dresser, and desk with an adjoining bathroom the room was in disarray from someone putting up a struggle. When he made to leave the room that held no evidence of where they would take her just that she was there and now gone his eyes caught the gleam of metal – a circular pendant with the initial K on it.

He swiftly swept it in his pocket.

He didn't know why, but it felt heavy almost like an anchor.

Thanks for reading!