Chapter 8
Echoes of memory condemned him in the darkening void. He was lost in a stage of delirium. Flashes of faces marked in red penetrated deep within his mind. The sounds of heavy drops of rain became encroaching knells as shadows cloaked over his displaced form. Bucky sloshed through the clusters of puddles down the street, his boots thumped with every drumming beat of his shattered heart. He ran until every bone in his feet jostled in pain. He sprinted until he felt his lungs cease to function beyond the walls of his chest. He kept on pushing himself until every ounce of his body reeked with exhaustion.
What horrors have I done?
Smoldering tears streaked over his ashen cheeks as he raced unevenly, blurring the muted amber glow of street lamps mounted on the corners of traffic lights. He saw red. The unmistakable color of his past coated over his swimming vision as every color of the city became smeared like dripping paint off an unfinished canvas. His empty lungs filled with fluid that down his scorching throat, his heart threatened to shrivel up, and his thoughts mixed with grim shaded memories of horrors he endured when he was strapped down and beaten by his handlers until his mind collapsed to his obedient mode.
Feverish chills penetrated deep into his veins—men in white coats strapped him down against a metal table; the bare muscle planes of his back tensed as he released sharp inhales and exhales. He fought against the deep and clouded recesses of his scourging mind—the images of bloody faces with sniper bullets lodged in their skulls.
His body reacted viciously to the cold fingers splaying over his heaving chest—the needles digging into his skin and draining out a substance into his heated blood. His head, already started to throb and blood leaks from the corners of his mouth—running down his throat.
His molten blue eyes open, growing hot with smoldering tears as wetness streaked over his strong cheek bones. The short and stocky man—a doctor, Zola hovered over him with a disappointing gleam in his aging eyes.
"We're experiencing new changes of your development, Soldier." Zola spoke with a malicious Swiss accent, stroking his chubby fingers through his captive's rich dark locks. "You're going to become stronger and faster for Hydra… The perfect asset." He prepared another needle with discolored liquid and stuck into the Soldier's neck with a devilish sneer gracing over his lips. He removed the needle and looked into the glistening blue chasms of his pet. "Who is your command?" He reached a hand, running his stubby fingers along the Soldier's jugular.
"Hydra," The Soldier answered warily, his voice strained. His blue eyes stared up blankly. "Hydra."
"Good," The doctor replied, dabbing ice cubes on the Soldier's chapped lips. "You've done well. The high father is pleased with your success of maintaining your alliance with our orders—Your victory has now given you rest."
The Soldier stared down at his metal hand, his dormant eyes wandered across the medical equipment, and then he parted his lips, feeling a numbness rake over his face—his system was shutting down. He sighed, and his eyelids started to droop, his breath, steadied in his lungs as the sedative rushed through his veins. His empty stomach rumbled, he craved for a taste of bread—a sip of cold milk. He sniffled. "Can I have something to… drink?" he asked in a slur of words.
The man in the glasses stiffened his lips, cracking them into a wolfish grin,"You want a drink before you go to sleep?" he taunted the Soldier like a child, raising the younger man's hopes with spite laced in his low voice. "Then you will have it."
He snapped his fingers, a uniform operative stepped out of the shadows, holding a glass of prepared milk. Zola grabbed the glass and slowly tilted the Soldier's head back, pouring the cold liquid down his throat, nearly choking him as he listened to the man gag slightly. "There," he growled, backing away. "You've had your fill. Now rest, my asset." He caressed the Soldier's face with a gentle touch. "You will be needed again."
The Soldier slowly closed his eyelids, a shimmer of blue fog with darkness —his body slowly began to shut down for hibernation. His full lips froze into a neutral line as his long strands draped over his jaw. He fell into a state of hypnagogia as they induced more sedatives into his body until he entered the state of delirium and became frozen as stone on the medical table.
"He is ready for the Cryo chamber," Zola executed to his assistants, walking away from the table. " Sgt. James Barnes will awake when everything is set into motion and when the future belongs to HYDRA
Coldness.
Each shaky breath that he managed to muster up was laced with anguish, Bucky sucked the air desperately, trying to drag his weakening body to a safe haven. His body unbalance, legs quivered and muscled seized up into tighter knots with each striding leap, blood stung in his veins like lactic acid, and bones rattled and scraped against his chest. His churning stomach became swollen as he tasted the horrible, puke tang of bile rising to his throat. He paused for a moment, gripping a cement pole with his metal hand, and clutched his stomach.
His body relented against the pain, he couldn't move, his system prevented him from taking another step.
Within seconds, he crashed to the ground, doubling over on his knees and fought his gag reflex to empty his stomach contents out while the downpour soaked through his disheveled brown strands of hair.
Bucky wanted to die. He wanted to become free of the morbid curse HYDRA placed over him seventy-years when he was that good kid from Brooklyn and not the lethal, programmed weapon of new world order. Releasing out his grief for all those lives he destroyed when he pulled the trigger and fired the untraceable slugs into his targets, he tucked his knees to his chest and cradled his bionic arm over his curled up legs as he tried to expel the emissions of metallic bile out of his system.
Nearly choking up vomit, his throat burned and eyes watered. His body thrashed and jerked wildly, his chest muscles twitched with erratic pants of breath as he heaved out pained sobs. He planted his hand into the murky puddles and unleashed his tears, trying to support his trembling body. He felt broken, condemned and confused.
"I'm sorry..." Bucky wailed, clenching his metal knuckles into a tight clutch as he unlocked his heart-rending confession to the swirling world around him. 'I'm sorry for what I've done." he cried out, his eyesight dimming with heavy flows of tears. "I never meant to hurt anyone...I was a good soldier...A decent kid. Not a damn monster!" he screamed against the layers of rain drenching over layers of his clothing.
He lifted his head, and stared directly at the golden halo of light captured in the drops of rain. His hand fumbled over his drenched shirt, as he yanked the dog tags off his neck, and gaze intently at the name engraved over the metal plates that revealed his true existence in the glimmers of light. "My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," he said with declaration in his raspy and strained voice, as he savored relief wash down his raw throat.
Collectilvey , Bucky eased his full weight off the ground and staggered to his feet. He glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure that no one had been following him. He squinted out the black pitch shrouding over his body, the world was spinning as he fought to resume his uprooted balance, his peripherals had blurred had become beclouded once more as he pushed his momentum to the alley way, gripped a hand over grimy brownstone and breathed in the muggy air while he recollected clusters of memory while he slowly melted into the sables of thick darkness.
"Bucky?"
Suddenly he froze at the soft and imposing voice drifting through the sheets of pelting rain. He involuntary twisted around and removed his swathed combat knife, holding it up as the blade caught the gleam of the meager light caressing over his black attire. He felt the blood pulsing his veins, as he took a step forward for his attack. His blue embers locked on the foggy shapes forming around him. He snarled in livid rage, wanting to tear his demons apart. He screamed to the darkness, shattering his soul.
Kill or be killed.
He moved out of the alley like a stalking wolf, baring his teeth. His shoulder length hair drenched and his eyes tenebrous glowered with flares of malice. He lifted his knife inches from his chest, straightening his arm and daring the tall figure to engage the assault. The darkness of the surrounding buildings obscured his face like his black mask, and lips curled into an icy scowl. His knife gripped firmly against clasped metal fingers and a thunderous growl of his vicious nature poured out of him. He became untamed with emotions and entered potent another delirium of his Winter Soldier programming. Keeping his blue eyes latched on his unarmed opponent, Bucky kept himself into an upward, defensive fighting stance.
"YOU'RE MINE!"
Quickly he studied his opponent, and then crouched down low and sprang violently at his target with full momentum. His knife wielded and twisted in his hand. He saw red. The distinctive red of his past clouding his vision as he unleashed his raw efficiency.
He besieged the massive figure, gnashing his teeth and slashing his knife, while holding it into a saber grip, his metal thumb was placed on the spine of the knife. He moved with swift, subtle, and effortless. He used true precision as he maintained the control of his programmed drills and struck with defensive and offensive while he identified and understood the tension of his opponent.
Bucky rammed his body hard, his arms enclosed over a hard stomach as he pushed the other man forcefully into the side of a parked vehicle. He struck using his right and left, twiddling the blade between his fingers and jabbed his elbow in the glass pane of the passengers' side window.
Pieces of glass shattered against his chest, he drew out a ragged growl, and slid the knife in between the space of his target's shoulder. The fight grew more wild, violent and unhinged. He stabbed the blade into a leather sleeve and listened to a faint yelp of pain enter his ears. Panting out gulps of air, a hand grappled his metal arm, twisted him as a leading arm passed over his neck and trapped his head into a pressure lock. Bucky scrambled to break free, digging his fingers into flesh as he slipped into a rampage of emotions.
"I'LL KILL YOU!"
Bucky lashed, he blinked frantic, water dripping from his eyes as he clenched his teeth and forced out a sharp, cold breath. He grunted, a low and primal sound, and his whole body trembled as he jammed his metal plated elbow into the center of his attacker's chest. "Ge-Get off of me." he demanded as he squirmed. A hand clasped over his throat and hoisted him up, and he released an explosion of animalistic screeches.
"Buck, calm down." A familiar, desperate voice invaded his thought pools, Bucky froze in the instant when a large hand unlatched from his throat. "It's me...It's Steve."
"Steve?" Bucky breathed out heavy amounts of air, his voice crackling. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the golden haired super-soldier with deteriorating vibrant, pale blue eyes. His fingers uncurled over the handle of the knife as if dropped into a puddle of water underneath his boots.
He bared his teeth, as he heaved and sucked in labored breaths. He lurched a step back and stared with his intent eyes at the battered face of his friend. "Steve...Why did you come here?" he asked, choking out his uneven words. He scolded.
Steve eased his hand on assassin's alloy shoulder. His turquoise eyes were scintillating with forgiveness, and his expressions open and virtuous. "Friends never give up on each other, Buck."
"You're a stupid punk, you know that right?" Bucky vexed, shaking his head as spatters from his soaked mane landed on Steve's cheeks. "I could have killed you, Steve. I warned you not to follow me, you know I'm dangerous and a target for HYDRA, which means if you keep on tracking me down they will kill you too." He swallowed. "I can't afford to lose you-not when I made a promise."
"Likewise, Buck." Steve gave him a lopsided smirk of assurance, and patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Now, let's go back home. That's where you belong, not out here, soldier."
Bucky did not say anything. He just gave Steve a simple nod.
