The next five chapters will cover some of the most important events that take place between 1945 and 2014—though not all of them! If you think I've left something out, it was most likely on purpose.


1955

Siberia

The laboratory concealed in the depths of the U.S.S.R.'s Hydra compound was normally as silent as a tomb and nearly empty. The concrete walls built into the sprawling underground base effectively sealed off any unwanted noises, even from the very next room, allowing the few remaining scientists to go about their work in peace. The fortress had largely been abandoned since the end of the war, but the researchers who were left dedicated their entire lives to rebuilding Hydra to its former glory.

Today, however, the laboratory was bustling with activity. Dozens of doctors and scientists hurried about, making sure everything was progressing smoothly for their current visitor. They had been preparing for this day for years, and were determined to make sure not a toe was out of line. After all, this was their last hope.

"He is in good condition, I trust?" Arnim Zola asked, fixing the doctor in front of him with a cold stare. Ten years spent in captivity had aged him, and he walked with a slight stoop, but his eyes were still alight with intelligence. He was confident that S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't be able to trace him here. He had worked tirelessly to convince them that he had fully renounced his previous ways.

"Yes, Herr Zola," the doctor replied, moving aside to show him the patient in question, who had successfully been awakened from cryosleep the previous day. "The subject's vital signs are stable; however, he does have a tendency to become…aggressive when conscious. I recommend constant sedation until the problem is resolved."

Zola stepped forward to examine the man lying on the gurney in the middle of the laboratory. He was heavily anesthetized, kept unconscious with a tranquilizer that was intended for use on large animals—nothing else had worked on him. A white sheet was pulled up to his waist, and there was nothing but a bloody stump where his left arm had once been.

"Sergeant Barnes," Zola mused, a slow smile spreading across his face. He observed the soldier for another moment before turning to the doctor. "And you say he was found like this?"

"We have cauterized the wound and made another clean incision, but yes. The cryofreezing process was more successful than even I imagined. It is as if not a day has passed since his body was recovered." Pride colored the doctor's voice. "Truly, we have perfected cryostasis."

Zola was nodding in approval. "Your contributions will not be overlooked, General Karpov. Have you made any progress on the prototype, by any chance?"

"As a matter of fact, we have." Karpov beckoned for another scientist to come forward with his newest design, holding it out for Zola to inspect. It was a carefully designed and intricately built metal arm, made with vibranium taken straight from Wakanda. Even now without an owner, its gears whirred and hummed as if it was alive. It represented the very best of Hydra's engineering, made to mimic the look and feel of a human arm to its owner—only infinitely stronger. A bright red star was painted on the shoulder, a symbol of Russia's involvement in the organization.

Zola hummed in agreement. "This will serve us well, I think," he said, turning it over; the metal gleamed under the harsh glare of the overhead lights. "When can it be installed?"

"Whenever you wish, Herr Zola," said Karpov, inclining his head respectfully. "We can begin the procedure right away. I hope this soldier will be of use to Hydra."

A pleased expression dawned on Zola's face, and he turned around to look at the soldier in question again. This time there was no mistaking the gleam of triumph in his eyes.

"Oh, he will be."


But James Barnes was not Hydra's only successful subject. Situated in the opposite corner of the laboratory was another empty cryotube. Lying on a gurney similar to Barnes's, her face holding a faint blue tinge, was a woman who could be no older than twenty-five. Dark hair framed her pale face, the stark contrast between the two almost jarring. Her eyes were shut, and tiny ice crystals glinted on her long lashes. Her cheekbones were stretched so tightly across her face that her skin seemed moments away from caving in, leaving only a skeleton, and the veins running along her bony limbs were clearly visible. She looked as if she belonged in a morgue rather than a laboratory.

"This is the second American we retrieved," Karpov told Zola, clasping his hands behind his back as he surveyed her. "Unfortunately, we could not find any further identification."

"Luckily, I am familiar with Nurse Hartley," Zola said, slowly circling the table as he examined her. "Were she and Sergeant Barnes found together?"

Karpov shook his head. "She was about a mile from the gorge, but judging by her tracks she was heading in that direction. He was in worse condition than she was, which leads me to believe he had been there longer."

"Their previous attachment may provoke some difficulties, I fear," Zola muttered, almost to himself. "Has she been awoken yet?"

"Not yet," said Karpov. His hand hovered over the saline drip keeping her unconscious. "Would you care for us to do so?"

Zola paused, considering, before his curiosity won out and he nodded. "You may." But he gestured at Karpov to pause. "The bracelet on her wrist. Take it."

The general nodded and unfastened the clasp, lifting the bracelet up for Zola to inspect. He took it and examined it for a moment before closing his stubby fingers around the chain and dropping it into his pocket. "When she wakes, wipe her," he told Karpov, who wasted no time in removing the intravenous needle from the side of her neck. Now that her body temperature had stabilized, it wouldn't take long for her to awaken.

Zola and Karpov watched with clinical interest as the woman's pulse quickened and her eyes slowly opened, groggily taking in her surroundings. As soon as her gaze landed on Zola, her expression twisted into one of utmost loathing, but she was too weak to attack him. "Where are the others?" she growled. "They had you trapped."

Zola raised his eyebrows. "I am afraid you are the one who is trapped, Fräulein. And you have been trapped for quite a while." He tilted his head in consideration. "Ten years, in fact. You see, you were fortunate enough to be discovered by a group of loyal Hydra soldiers who happened to be quite advanced in the science of cryostasis."

She stared at him, uncomprehending, before her head whipped around to take in the empty cryotube and the doctors that surrounded her, and snarled a string of curses that impressed even Karpov. Zola, sensing what was about to happen, gestured for a nearby doctor to inject her again. Seconds after the needle pierced her skin, she went limp, her head lolling back onto the gurney.

Zola gave a displeased sigh as he watched her breathing even out again. "Perhaps she should have been wiped first," he mused.

When her vitals had been re-evaluated and approved, Karpov went to work on preparing the procedure. The machine was Zola's pride and joy—although Karpov and Johann Fennhoff had both contributed ideas and designs, Zola preferred to take the majority of the credit. Its first test subjects, traitors and prisoners of the Soviet Union, had finished their tests with complete compliance, even going so far as to become spies for the U.S.S.R. Of course, repeated wipes would make the results even more effective, but Zola did not need to concern himself with that at the moment, not when he had both Barnes and Hartley at his disposal. He watched with growing excitement as Karpov fitted the girl's head with the appropriate pieces, propping her up into a sitting position.

"You may proceed when ready, General," Zola said. Karpov moved to flip a switch on the nearby monitor, and electricity immediately began to crackle around the headpieces as the machine began the wiping process. This time Zola couldn't contain his smile.

But it quickly faded from his face as, without warning, a jolt of blue fire streaked across the girl's head and straight into the mechanism holding her down. The machine ground to a stop and smoke issued faintly from it as the tendrils of unnatural blue slowly faded, freeing her of its own accord.

"Sir, the gamma radiation is spiking," a doctor called across the room. "This is an unknown element—"

"The Tesseract's energy is protecting her," Zola breathed, and reached for his notebook to document his findings. "It still lingers in her blood."

"Pardon me?" Karpov asked incredulously. He looked absolutely livid at the machine's failure.

Zola, however, remained calm. "Keep her on ice," he ordered Karpov. "Sergeant Barnes may be more valuable to us at the moment, but I have experimented more thoroughly on her. I shall have to undertake a closer study to see the true results of my experiment. I do not wish to see my efforts go to waste—I am sure you understand."

A muscle jumped in Karpov's jaw, but he gave a tight nod. "Of course, Doctor."

Zola's pen scribbled feverishly across the pages of his notebook as he recounted the outcome of the failed wipe. "The subjects must not be permitted to know of each other's presence," he said, vaguely waving his hand in the direction of the other cryotube. "I have the utmost confidence that Fennhoff's technology will be effective on Sergeant Barnes, but it is wise not to allow the girl to see him."

Only years of rigorous training and discipline as one of the Soviet army's top generals kept Karpov from grabbing Zola by the shoulder and shaking him, demanding that he see sense. Instead, he gave another stiff nod and reluctantly followed his orders.