A/N: I was snowed in today (not kidding, it was easily 6 inches; yay Wyoming), so here's another chapter :) It's a rough one.
3. Now I'm breaking down your door, to try and save your swollen face
He waits silently, hidden among the wreckage. There is a lot to choose from. When the targets have been captured, he watches to see if they will be killed right away. The thought of his mission being finished by someone else is distasteful. The men pack their prisoners in one of several vans and they drive away. He considers briefly, then walks over to one of the undamaged vehicles. He rips the door open with his left hand and climbs inside. The keys are conveniently in the ignition. Police are trying to rope off the area, but he gets through and follows the group of vans.
His arm is damaged. It does not respond quite right. He will have to go in soon for them to fix it. The vans drive to a secluded area, a large drainage pipe. He stops some ways away and approaches silently on foot. The sounds that greet him make it fairly obvious that the targets have escaped. Men shout and are shouted at, as they run around searching aimlessly. He goes in for a closer look to make sure. There is no way to know when they cut the hole in the floor of the vehicle, so he goes back to base, defeated. There is nothing more he can do out here. He will give his mission report and the man will tell him if he should pursue it again or not.
Base is in the vault of a bank. There is a back door so he can enter unobserved. His handlers are there. They are vaguely familiar to him. He is led into the vault, and sits down on a metal chair of some sort. He has sat here before, he is sure. There is machinery behind him, and screens on either side. He has been injured in the fight, though not significantly. His arm is damaged, though.
He removes his gear so his handlers can more easily deal with the cybernetics. No one speaks to him, but he can remember being told to do so on a previous occasion. A man comes forward wearing a white shirt and bow tie, and inspects the damage. Something is familiar about him, too. He thinks of the mission, and strange visions suddenly fill his thoughts.
"Bucky! No!" the target's yell rips through his consciousness.
Falling, lying in the snow.
Being dragged, the stump of his arm leaving a trail of blood.
Lying on a table, with a little circular saw removing the dead flesh.
Waking up to find he has two hands again, but one is metal.
Reaching out to strangle the nearest doctor.
"Sergeant Barnes… the new fist of Hydra!" a voice says triumphantly.
Being locked in a coffin-sized space, looking out a tiny window as it gets very, very cold.
Barnes, Barnes, Barnes… Bucky? The words reverberate in his head. Who is that? Someone without a metal arm, he decides. He becomes aware of someone working on his arm, and he lashes out, sending the man flying. He sits, tense and ready, breathing hard, waiting for someone else to approach while he tries to make sense of the confusion of scenes passing through his head.
He is vaguely aware of the vault door being opened and the man coming in. The man is more familiar than anyone else in the room. Maybe he can help. He waves aside the armed men who surround the soldier and pulls up a chair to face him. "Mission report," the man orders. He wants to reply, but there is something important he needs to remember about the mission. Something he needs to know. "Mission report, now" the man repeats, losing patience. When he doesn't answer, the man strikes him across the face. He blinks a few times, focusing on the room instead of what is in his head.
"The man on the bridge," he says slowly. "Who was he?" There is something important, something important, something important. It is for the mission. For the mission. For the mission. He'll tell him what it was. He'll tell him.
"You met him earlier this week on another assignment," the man replies calmly, leaning forward to study him.
"I knew him," the soldier states hesitantly, certain of the fact but unfamiliar with the idea, staring at something no one else can see. He remembers the assignment in question. He'd caught the man's shield and thrown it back. That isn't it. There is something else. He knows him from somewhere else. It is important.
"Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time," the man says sincerely. "Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning, we're giving it a push. But if you don't do your part, I can't do mine. And HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves," he explains, watching the soldier's reaction.
He looks away from where he has been staring and looks at the floor, pursing his lips. "But I knew him," he says at last, frowning at his inability to place the conviction he felt. He looks up at the man, meeting his eye, trying to make him understand. It is important.
"Prep him," the man says flatly, standing up.
So the soldier has failed some test. He isn't going to find out how he knew the man on the bridge. The man who called him Bucky and stared at him, so different from how all these men look at him.
"He's been out of cryosleep too long," the man with the bowtie protests.
The soldier doesn't know what they were talking about. He doesn't care. He frowns deeply, trying to remember. Try to remember, try to remember.
"Then wipe him and start over," the man says impatiently.
Two men step forward, pushing on the soldier's shoulders, forcing him to lean back in the chair. He doesn't resist. He doesn't look at any of them. They never look at him. He licks his lips and opens his mouth as one of the men, the one with the bowtie, approaches and holds out a mouth guard. He bites down, a spark of frustration flashing through him.
A sharp jolt on his back makes him straighten in the chair, and metal restraints close over his arms. Two on his right and one on his left. Why only one on his metal arm? Can he escape them? Probably, but there has never been a reason to. They will hold him while the procedure is done, so he won't hurt himself. That's what he has been told by the man, anyway. At some point. He can't remember.
Something like panic fills his chest as memories of pain flutter through his mind. He doesn't like this chair. He doesn't like what happens to him in it. He tries desperately to remember what is going to happen, but can't. He can remember waking up here, and that doesn't seem painful. But something bad is going to happen. And he still can't place where he knows the man from the bridge. He clings to the thought as a metal contraption is lowered around his head. He can hear the electrical hum it makes as it rests near his ears, can feel the sparks between the connections.
Pain explodes through his mind and he screams against the mouth guard, his body tensing against the restraints.
He is lying back in a metal chair. He doesn't like the chair. There are restraints on his arms. His right arm hurts where the metal of the chair dug into it. A lot of other places hurt, too. A man in a bowtie is crouched beside him, using a torch on his metal arm. There are a lot of men in the room, all armed and dressed in battle gear. He isn't. He spots his own gear on a table nearby and feels comforted. This will soon be over and he'll go back to work.
A man steps forward, into his line of sight. The man. The soldier knows him. He usually gets orders from him. He waits patiently.
"You failed your mission today," the man explains, almost gently. The soldier frowns. He doesn't fail missions. He would be useless if he failed a mission. He listens carefully. He isn't going to fail again.
"You had two targets, level 6. But maybe that was too much. Your mission is just one target. Today, HYDRA is going to launch three hellicarriers. They will bring the world back from chaos. Your job is the make sure all three are launched according to plan. Use any means necessary. You are an expert. You will be successful. There is a man who will try to stop you. He was your target. You need to finish the job. Don't let me down again. Don't let HYDRA down," the man says. He pats the soldier on the shoulder and leaves.
