October 1, 1944 – The Asset

Today I write with renewed vigor, because the impossible has happened! I shall write how it came about, as my busy fingers need something to do while I wait for my food to be finished.

The Soviet soldier returned the day with three other men. He marched through my doorway and stepped aside as his two fellow soldiers trotted in behind him, half carrying, half dragging a figure between them.

I stood with such force the my chair slid a full foot. The Soviet looked at me, and gave a sly smile. He knew that I found what I was looking for.

Sergeant James Barnes was the figure they held up.

I walked toward him like one would approach an injured mutt. His left arm was mangled, torn off just above the elbow, with a bloody bandage wrapped around it. Nothing that couldn't be fixed. He could barely stand, but he looked slightly more muscular than he did when I last saw him, though battered and beaten. I laughed to myself, and said, "Brilliant."

He heard my voice and raised his head. When his eyes met mine he hissed like a caged cat, and immediately his brow creases into a glare of contempt, but in his eyes I saw fear. The hate in them almost blotted it out, but it was there. He was terrified of me.

"You," was all he managed.

I stepped forward and motioned for the soldier to get my honored guest into a better level. They forced him to the his knees with a grunt. He glared at me again, gritting his teeth, but again: I saw fear.

I grasped his hair and looked him over. He growled at me, and uttered curses below his breath.

He seemed to be in fairly good shape for falling off the side of mountain, although he could use a few days in an infirmary. His arm – or at least what was left of it – was, as I said previously, nothing to be concerned of. I could design him something much more useful.

After examining him, I stood back and asked what the Soviets wanted for him. They said €500,000. I agreed. I asked if they could escort him to my secret HYDRA development base, which I and the few HYDRA agents that still lived had put together. They complied, and soon, Sergeant Barnes was in the back of a stealth vehicle, with his legs cuffed together, with a soldier on either side.

His look of defiance had faded, and a desperate expression plagued him. He stared at the floor, but I could see his eyes were wide, and sweat trickled down his face. Even though he had no idea where we were headed, he started shaking as we came to a stop.

I climbed out of the truck and led the way to the secret entrance. The two soldiers dragged SGT. Barnes along, but he began to struggle. He leaned away from the them, trying to wrench his one arm free. They finally gripped the back of his neck and forced him inside like a child.

When we got to the main lab, my fellow escapee scientists stared. The knew about my experiment, and I'm sure that a one armed, bloodied soldier was not what they were expecting. I stared back at them, then said:

"Prepare a room."

They quickly did as I said, and within minutes, a sterile room was arranged.

I gestured to the soldiers, telling them to please strap the subject to the operation table.

They moved in, and suddenly Barnes revolted. He yanked away, stumbling backward with a wild look.

"No," he said, and he looked at me. "No."

The soldiers grabbed him and yanked him toward the table, and his voice rose as he repeated himself. He grew frantic, and elbowed the soldier on his right in the stomach as hard as he could. The soldier went down, and Barnes swung toward the second soldier, hitting him in the nose. The Soviet grunted and fell backward as Barnes backed away. The subject grabbed a scalpel off a nearby surgeon table and held it in front of him. I quickly ducked behind a desk: I did not want to be sliced to bits just before I confirmed my greatest findings. I heard him yelling vicious threats, but his voice was cracking. "I'm not getting back on that table," he rasped.

Then I heard a sharp zip! and a thud.

The others pronounced it clear, and I crawled into view. The subject lay on the floor, a tranquilizer sticking in his neck. The two soldiers had now climbed yo their feet, and looked as angry as injured bears. They hauled him up and slammed him on the table, strapping him down quickly and then huffing to the exit. They gave one last nod to me, and then left.

I breathed a sigh a relief, and then looked at the table where the subject was held. I smiled.

I had work to do.

I leave now, as the first of my improvements is about to be applied.

A. Zola

A/N: Okay, Zola is really excited, so he's going to be writing a lot more. (Honestly now that we're into Bucky's life I magically find more to type. I'm weird like that. Bucky feels.) This installment wasn't supposed to be till tomorrow, but this is for BelieveInTheHoundsOfJustice60. ;)