There is a battle between the two factions who have appeared.
The Captain and his companion are holding their own well, and he isn't quite sure where his loyalties lie to begin with, so he simply watches; trying to sort reality from the shifting and confusing images his mind keeps painting over it.
One moment a large blonde man in street clothes is hurling his shield at an assailant, the next, it's a thin man in army fatigues, blood trickling down his chest from the wound there. The next, he's in the full Captain America uniform; and there are three neat holes, one through his thigh, one through his shoulder, and one directly through his midsection. Then he is simply the blonde man again.
The other man, at his side, morphs from the winged man to a large moustachioed man in a bowler hat, to a woman in a military uniform, and back. Sometimes he has wings, sometimes he doesn't.
Watching the operatives is no better. He keeps seeing the face of the Leader, of Zola, of various handlers. At least two of these people he's certain are dead. The others would not be here to retrieve him.
Objectively, the Soldier knows most of what he sees isn't real. It can't be. Reality cannot bend itself back and forth this way. But that brings him no closer to determining the true edges of that reality. They are too frayed, too blurred. He can't see around his own malfunction.
His attention suddenly snaps back to razor-sharp focus when he sees an operative flanking the Captain. Neither Steve nor the other man seem to have noticed them yet.
He does not stop to think, just acts, launching himself onto the man's back and sinking his knife into the side of their neck with a growl. He staggers as they fall together, stumbling back to his feet with difficulty. Hot crimson spatters the front of his uniform.
The noise of the room grinds momentarily to a halt, as every eye turns to stare at him.
"Bucky!"
"The asset!"