April 3, 2014

If there was ever a time Bellona Drager wanted to be brainwashed, it would be now. She wanted to forget everything that had just happened. The waking up in HYDRA's headquarters to find the Winter Soldier staring down at her as though he'd been expecting her, which, he had been. She didn't even know how she had gotten there in the first place. Then there was the dizziness, the confusion, the headaches, the blankness, the car chase, the fight between her and the redhead, which ended when both got distracted by the fight between the Soldier and the man with the shield, then the explosion, the cracking as something in her shoulder snapped and the warm, wet feeling of blood oozed down her skin. The Soldier grabbing her and jumping into a waiting car with HYDRA agents, the drive back as her breathing catapulted up and down as thick blood seeped out of her shoulder wound that the Soldier was attempting to bind. Getting practically dragged back into HYDRA's headquarters as she had an existential crisis. Witnessing the Soldier having an existential crisis. Everything was a blur, everything was a haze, everything was an existential crisis. It was like sleepwalking, she was watching events through a thick veil of her inability to do anything about the situation occurring around her.

Because of the whirlwind of hesitation and bewilderment that had struck her the moment the redhead on the bridge had called out her name in complete astonishment, she was now nursing a severe wound from a rocket launcher explosion that the same redhead had aimed at the Soldier. It had impacted a vehicle, and the debris from it had exploded over her as she was racing towards the faceoff between the man with the colorful shield and the Soldier. Airborne metal had torn straight through her uniform and shredded her skin, from her shoulder down to her right elbow. It had been this injury that caused her to realize what was happening, to snap through the foggy layers that floated over her consciousness. The redhead was Natasha. The man with the shield was Steve. And the other, whom had sent the Soldier flying before he could take another shot at the Captain, was Sam.

Blood was slowly dripping down her arm, covering the girl with sticky scarlet, filling her nose with its rusty iron scent. But she ignored the jaw-clenching throbs at the moment. Her breathing was coming in short, hard gasps and her vision was alternating between black and red as surges of pain and anger ripped their way through her. She didn't know what to do, the emotions were overwhelming.

Her world was rapidly and ruthlessly crumbling down around her. A familiar, gaping fissure had appeared that threatened to swallow her whole. On one hand, her allegiance was with the Soldier. That was the way it was, that was the way it had always been. That was what felt right, but she didn't know if it was simply the circuits in her brain telling her that because that was what HYDRA had programmed her to believe. On the other hand, she felt her loyalty also lay somewhere else, and it had taken the injury she was now suffering from to clear away the haze and force her to realize with whom it also did lie: the Avengers. They had saved her; she was a part of their family. But the Soldier was a part of her.

It was a damning decision she didn't want to make, a civil war within her mind: with whom did she side? And was that choice even hers to make?

As her mind raged like a howling pack of rogue wolves, she was vaguely aware of her surroundings; she was sitting in a chair in the golden room of HYDRA's headquarters, where she had first woken up, across from the Soldier, surrounded by guards, men in white coats treating her bloodied upper arm.

Her existential crisis was temporarily pushed to the back of her mind when the Soldier wrenched his own arm free from the man working to repair it and flung him across the room with one violent swipe. The guards reaction was instantaneous, coming to attention and surrounding him, their guns trained on him. Those around Bellona tensed as she shrugged the doctors in white coats away from her, jumped off the chair and down to her feet in automatic reaction to the Soldier's movement. Immediately, a pair of guards stepped forward and clamped iron hands onto her shoulders, she winced but made no noise as they wrenched her injured shoulder when they forced her down to her knees. The two stood beside her, holding her down with a hand on each shoulder, a gun threatening her head. The rest were close behind, ready to act if needed; but she was staring at the Soldier.

"Sir, they're both unstable," a voice came from beyond the gate of the golden room, "erratic, even.…"

Evidently, this did not concern Secretary Alexander Pierce. The gate was pulled open for him and he entered with a cool swagger, raised a hand, and the guards backed away from their ready stances, though the two holding Bellona down remained.

"Mission report," Pierce demanded calmly — and he received none, the Soldier was busy staring across the room; he was gazing directly where Bellona was, on her knees on the hard floor, surrounded by guards, but his face was empty; his eyes were on her but his mind was miles away. She watched agony and memories flash through his blue eyes, and wondered why he too was having an existential crisis.

"Mission report, now," Pierce raised his voice, approaching the Soldier. He leaned in, awaiting a response.

Nothing.

And then he slapped him.

And then Bellona Drager reacted.

And that was when she knew — she had made her decision.

Ignoring the pain from the wound, she rose and twisted, wrenching herself free from the guard's' grip, knocking the gun out of the hand of the guard on her left, and hitting him with a hard uppercut punch to the jaw with her left hand.

There was a gunshot, and an explosion. But the explosion had only been an echo in her own eardrums and suddenly her right shoulder was afire, more so than it had been before. Bellona's eyes widened and she let out a choked splutter of surprise as she dropped back to her knees, reeling from the pain of the gunshot. A bullet was lodged in her shoulder, shattering her clavicle and tearing through muscles and ligaments with a ruthless ferocity. She tasted blood in the back of her throat and sank to the floor, supporting herself with her uninjured left arm as she struggled to breath. Pierce had turned at the sound of the gun and glared at a heaving Bellona Drager, then at the guard who had fired the shot.

"Idiot," he snapped, seeing the blood, "she's more useful alive and uninjured!"

"Sir, she had already suffered a major injury," one of the doctor's piped up.

"How?" Pierce's tone was the one he would use if he had just been informed his car's tires had been slashed by a gang of rowdy teenagers.

"During the assignment," was the answer, "an explosion sent shrapnel from a vehicle into her arm."

Pierce let out an exasperated sigh, as though he had just gotten his tires replaced only to discover that the car battery had died. With a sour face, he looked at the awaiting men in white coats, "fetch a stretcher to take her out of here. Sedate her, and fix her up. Then wipe her." There was a mumbling of understanding and several of them rushed out of the room, and Pierce turned back to the Soldier, who had simply watched the altercation with puzzled eyes, as though he couldn't quite grasp what had occurred.

"There was a man on the bridge," he said quietly, staring at Pierce for answers. "Who was he?"

"You met him earlier this week on another assignment," Pierce replied. The doctors had returned, they quietly ordered the guards around Bellona to load her onto the stretcher. She made no move to resist, the pain was shrieking through her shoulder and down her arm, vibrating across every cell and making every atom hum in response, immobilizing and paralyzing her. As she was stretchered out of the room as fast as possible, she heard the Soldier mumble. "I knew him…."