"Who the hell is Bucky?"
Bucky. I shouldn't have responded. Protocol was to strictly not respond to anything that was told to me, unless I was told to respond. But, for some reason that name, hearing that name was somehow overriding my protocols. No one had ever called me anything other than "The Winter Soldier", so why was he calling me otherwise. Soon it wouldn't matter. He was my target, my mission, nothing more and nothing less.
I raised my gun to take aim, my finger on the trigger. I was about to fire when I was interrupted by that other guy from the bridge, The Captain's sidekick. The sound of a grenade launcher going off broke my focus. I quickly dodged, debris from the explosion flying over my head. I didn't turn around to face them again, instead running down the street and turning a corner. The bank vault was on my left. I turned inside, the HYDRA agents waiting for me. My job was done, protocol be damned, the mission went south and it wasn't my job to fix it. Or was it? I groaned in frustration, putting my metal fist into the nearest wall.
I couldn't shake that feeling. The feeling you get when you think you know someone. But how could I possibly know him when I didn't even know myself? Bucky? Is that who I am? No. I am The Winter Soldier, I belong to HYDRA, I don't know that man on the bridge, and he certainly doesn't know me. I took deep and heavy breaths, trying to keep my emotions in check. Removing my fist from the concrete wall, I turned slowly to face the room. All eyes were on me, it wasn't the usual looks of pride and satisfaction that graced me, but looks of weariness, confusion, and fear.
I ignored them and removed my gear. My weapons went first, followed by my vest, and then my black undershirt. I sat down in the chair and that's when everything came rushing back. The doctors that surrounded me as I awoke from surgery, only to discover my arm was missing. Seeing Zola, standing at the foot of the bed, smiling that sick and twisted smile, sending a chill down my spine. I was vaguely aware of someone touching my arm, the one that can't even be called mine. Hearing Zola's voice, talking about me as if I weren't even human. I struck out at him, trying to get him to go away, to leave me alone. As my fist came in contact with him, I heard a grunt and the sound of someone hitting the floor.
Suddenly, I was no longer in a laboratory, but in that same cruddy bank vault, where they wiped me senseless until I became The Winter Soldier again. The clicking of guns as the safeties were removed brought my attention back to the present, somewhat. I was still thinking back to the man on the bridge when a hand came in contact with my face, jerking my head to the side.
"Mission report now!" the voice demanded. Truthfully I had nothing to report that they didn't already know about, so what was the point. I instead asked the question that had been tormenting my mind.
"The man on the bridge, who was he?"
The man seemed reluctant to answer, but did none the less.
"You met him on an earlier mission", he said. By the way he hesitated before he answered I knew he was lying. They should really no better than to try to lie to me. They created me for efficiency and intelligence and here they were, lying to me. I didn't care, because he had indirectly given me my answer. The man on the bridge was the key, the key to who I am, or at least who I was. The man then went on to babble about how important I was in HYDRA's success. That I was the key to the future. None of that mattered to me, it never did.
"But I knew him…" was all I said as a rebuttal. I knew that wasn't what he was expecting from me, it never was. He should've been used to this by now. It was the same after every assignment. I would complete the mission that they gave me, to end some innocent person's life, and I would give a report on how it went, any setbacks, anything suspicious, etc. But I would always remember something, and they would always give me the same answers. It isn't important or none of it matters, but deep down I knew it did. Then they would wipe me.
So it didn't come as a surprise when they fed me the bit, when they carelessly pushed me back into the chair and strapped me in, when the mask slid into place above my head. I tried to focus on the memory, the man on the bridge. I tried to use it as my anchor, to hold onto it and prevent them from taking it from me, the one thing that could help me figure out who I used to be. But my struggles were futile as the shocking sensation started, it started as a uncomfortable tingle in my head, then quickly escalated to a burning that resounded deep within my brain.
And I screamed as what was once remembered was burned away, only to be replaced by the drive of my next mission.