A/N: Content Warning - Brief mentions of alcohol use.

(Formatting is kicking my ass. This chapter looks so much better in google docs. Grrrr...)

12 January, 1945

Department X: KGB Science Division

While testing new experimental submarines earlier this month, Captain Karpov came upon the exceptional discovery of the well-known "Captain America's" comrade Sergeant James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes' frozen body. At the time, we had reason to believe that his body contained a Super-Soldier Serum, and if we were able to extract it we could have replicated it and used it to Russia's advantage in any upcoming wars. Unfortunately, after extensive blood testing was done, we found that our beliefs were incorrect, and that the body did not contain any serum.

However, we have intelligence that while in a prison camp the Sergeant was experimented upon by Dr. Arnim Zola, of Hydra renown; who until recently was in hiding. In an attempt to discover a way to use the American to our advantage, we sent out our best operatives to retrieve Zola and bring him to Department X with the promise of freedom in return for his assistance.

After agreeing to this deal, Dr. Zola became very useful to us. He used Hydra technology to revive Sergeant Barnes, and is now creating a new arm to replace that which he lost in an explosion.

Along with the limb lost, it appears that Barnes sustained considerable brain damage in an apparent explosion and subsequent freezing which led to his discovery. This damage has proven to have caused a significant if not complete loss of long-term memory, according to scanning and interpretation by our best neuroscientists. However, the man's reflex-memory seems to be entirely intact.
We unfortunately discovered this when, after being revived, Sergeant Barnes became violent and required emergency sedatives to be subdued. Because of this, when his new arm is finished, he will be returned to a state of cryostasis so that more testing may be performed and Dr. Zola can find a way to keep Barnes under control.

6 April, 1950
Dr. Zola

In the past five years no progress reports have been made because, quite frankly, I have made little to no progress in my endeavors. This project has somehow become my life's work, and I have almost nothing to show for it after half a decade.

The asset has been in and out of cryostasis 11 times since he was originally revived. In most of those cases, he was kept in a coma. In 4 of them he was awakened only to become violently agitated immediately or soon after. Because of this my inventions have not been tested on the asset while awake but for a single time. Otherwise all tests on the subject have been performed while he remained unconscious.The only full testing which has been executed upon conscious participants was performed on prisoners of the Soviet Union.

I was able to achieve minor victories in prisoner testing. Long-term memory erasure was not attained for any notable period of time, but many victories in the wiping of recent memory have come about. Fortunately, I have previously confirmed that massive long-term memory loss has already naturally occurred in this project's primary asset, and our true goal has always been that of short-term memory control.

I am optimistic that the combination of mental implantations and sensory deprivation, which has proven highly effective, can be paired with targeted short-term memory control and will bring about immense improvements in the asset's behavior and usefulness.

16 May, 1950
Dr. Zola
Update on Codename: Project Winter Soldier

Since my last report, the subject has recently been removed from stasis and kept conscious in the hopes that his most recent reprogramming has remained in effect and that my efforts to promote docility will prove successful. So far, he has displayed no recollection of previous experiences since his original revival. After his brain has fully warmed, within 18 hours he will undergo assessment through Obedience Protocol 4. Following completion of the protocol he will be subjected to further mental implantations and sensory deprivation, the extent of which will depend on his behavior.

After what seems like a long sleep I wake up and immediately feel a flash of sharp pain in my head. I reach up with both hands and rub my temples in circles with my fore- and middle fingers. A short moment later the pain dissipates. It felt strange. Just a quick flash of intense pain and then gone. I shake my head and put my mind on other matters.

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the cot to stand. Then I go over to the sink and wash my face and hands. As I look into the mirror made of reflective metal, I can hardly recognize myself. When I straighten, I notice scarring on my left side that I hadn't spotted before. I lift my left arm and turn my side toward the mirror, rotating slightly to see my back.

Starting inside my underarm and continuing along the rib cage down to my hip, a large circular region of skin with various spike-like protrusions is lighter colored than the rest of my torso. The scarring stretches out to the middle of my back and the smaller protrusions just barely cross over my spine. It looks almost like someone took a bucket of milk and splashed it on me from a distance, leaving a stain.

I go back to facing the mirror front-on and observe the border where the metal arm and my flesh shoulder meet. Along the border the flesh is raised. A line of bright red skin traces the metal shoulder, and burn marks branch out nearly as far as my nipple. I run my right hand's fingertips along the scarring. It feels smooth and almost hot to the touch.

I realize that I'm avoiding pushing the black button that will inflict reality upon me. I want anything besides being awake, here. Everything is dark. It's as if I'm underground. Then I remember that I haven't seen any windows to the outside. I don't even know if it's day or night. I don't know what day it is! I will have to ask for more details about my situation. The people here have barely given me any information aside from what I received while wearing the strange helmet last night (or was it night?). All I know is that they want my help to put the West down, and that it seems they are willing to take drastic measures to achieve that goal. I won't get any answers sitting around in this tiny room, so I pick up the t-shirt I had taken off in the middle of the night and pull it on. Then I step over and push the button.

A few moments later the man I recognize as my ever-so-kind trainer opens the door. "Come with me," he growls in Russian. Apparently the people with less authority than Dr. Zola hadn't known I could understand their native language before now. I guess I didn't either.

"Yes, sir." I say, and then follow behind him down the hallway. I'm relieved to see the man doesn't have a rod attached to his belt. Perhaps this training session will be a bit more friendly than the last. Then I remember I have questions that need answering.

"Where exactly are we?" I ask in Russian.

"No questions," he snaps, "I am here to train and test you physically and nothing else. You are not to question me. You are to do as I say, and if not, you already know what happens."

I should have seen this coming. I was hoping his behavior in the first training session was completely and totally an act, but I guess I was only half right. I just hope there aren't more severe forms of discipline here than what I've already experienced. It seems that the only way I can make my way to fully understanding this place and my role in it is through hard work, obedience, and patience. If I can't accept that, the probability of undergoing a punishment even harsher than the last only rises. We reach the doors to the training room and step on to the mats.

The trainer turns to me and says,"Today we will do simple yet difficult physical testing and training. Begin continuous push-ups until I tell you to stop. Now."

I immediately drop to the floor and start doing as he says without question. The push ups are incredibly easy. My left arm has no reason to become fatigued, so when my right begins to tire, I adjust my position and place more of my weight on the other side. The trainer stands next to me with his arms crossed and says nothing for quite a while. As I'm beginning to get bored, the man tells me to stop. I get up and he writes something on a clipboard that he had gotten out while I was on all fours.

For the next hour or so, the instructor puts me through several more tests, including running laps, sit ups, squats, weight lifting and pull ups. The entire time I'm incredibly bored. I only put in a small amount of effort instead of all my energy, and the questions I've been asking myself since I woke up continue to run through my head.

Finally, the trainer grabs a small, blunt knife from some shelves in the corner and tosses it to me. Then he gets himself one. He walks back over to me and gets into a fighting stance, motioning for me to attack. I flip the knife in my right hand so that I'm holding it in a more comfortable way, then rush forward with an overhand swipe. He blocks it easily and counters the attack with a swipe at my side, but I'm able to dodge and get in my own overhand strike. We rally back and forth, blocking each other's kicks and strikes for several minutes. He comes at me with another overhand strike which I block with my left hand, grabbing his wrist and twisting so he can't move his arm. Then I come in and jab him in the ribs with the tip of my knife. Of course, the knife is blunt and he is wearing armor under his uniform, so the hit doesn't damage him. Otherwise, it would have been a lethal hit, going between his ribs and into his vital organs. I let go of his arm and stand in a neutral position.

"Very good. Your knife skills are as good as everything else. But there are still things I can teach you. It seems you have finally worked up a sweat. We are done for today." At last, the trainer seems to be at least slightly impressed with my performance, so I decide now is as good a time as any to try and ask more questions.

"How do I even know how to do all of these things without any training? Was I a soldier in my life before this? How can I speak more than one language?"

The trainer's light demeanor immediately vanishes and he punches me in the face. "I told you NO QUESTIONS. None of this matters! You are here now, and you do as Department X says without doubts or reservations. You should be happy you are not dead!"

Suddenly, another surge of pain like the one I had earlier in my room flashes through my head. I grunt and clutch the sides of my skull, and bursts of light appear in my vision. There's a loud, high-pitched ringing in my ears and the pain is overwhelming. I drop to my knees as the ringing gets louder and the pain even more intense. Everything blurs. I can hear the trainer shouting something but it's muffled and I can't make out any words. Then the outside world disappears.

I sit at the bar and watch the other former POWs laughing and shaking hands with Steve over their beers, agreeing to join his new squad and put their lives on the line as if it was all fun and games. Steve grins and gets up from his chair, then walks over to join me.

"See? I told you. They're all idiots." I say with a smirk on my face as I take another sip of scotch.

"How about you?" Steve asks as he takes a seat beside me. "You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"

I sigh through my nose and shake my head. "Hell no... That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight...I'm following him." I look up at the man who used to be shorter than me and wonder if he really knows what he's getting himself into. Then I joke, "But you're keeping the outfit, right?"

"You know what?" he says with a grin, "It's kind of growing on me."

I laugh and signal the bartender to bring another drink for Steve.

"You gonna be alright, Buck?"

"I'll get used to it," I say with a tinge of doubt.

My eyes snap open. I'm back on the training room floor with half a dozen people looking over me. My trainer, Viktoriya, and Dr. Zola, plus a few other men I've seen before throughout the department are staring down at me. They all look rather worried. One of the men I don't know kneels down and shines a small light in my eye.

A wave of intense anger rushes over me. All of these sons of bitches have been deceiving me from the first moment I woke up in the lab. This whole time they've been trying to turn me into a traitor!
Without another thought, I jump up, knocking the aide with the light over, and immediately lunge at Zola, wrapping my hands around his neck and shaking him violently. His eyes bulge as he makes choking sounds and tries in vain to pry my hands away.

"What is going on? Who are you people?! Why am I here? I want answers you fucking toad! Tell me what I want to know! Where am I? Where's Steve?! What is this-" My questions are cut off as the other four men grab me from behind and rip my grip off of Zola. I yell in frustration as they pull me back a few steps, and they pin my arms behind my back, pushing my head down so that I'm looking at my feet. I struggle to get out of their grips, but they're strong and the fight is four against one. They push me to my knees.

After collecting himself and smoothing his shirt, Dr. Zola speaks in Russian. "Alexei, since you seem to be at least partly responsible for this event, go home. Report to your superiors and do not return until you are summoned."

"Yes sir." I hear the voice of my trainer behind me say with a hint of reluctance. He walks past me to the door and opens it.

"And Alexei," Zola calls after the man, "On your way out, inform the others in the laboratory of the situation. Instruct them to get ready and to wait for my orders." Alexei gives a curt nod in response. "Hail Hydra," Zola says. Alexei gives a quick salute and exits.

At the last two words, a scream of fury bursts out of me involuntarily. I thrash around for a while, trying to get out of the grips of the people holding me back from snapping Zola's neck on the spot. I curse at them in Russian and English.

"Now, now, Winter Soldier, I thought we had begun to get along," the scientist closes his eyes and removes his spectacles. "I was hoping very much we could avoid any further unnecessary pain in your process of evolution."

The frustration in his words pulls me into a sense of inexplicably familiar hopelessness.

"Take him to the laboratory and prep him. We need to get the procedure done as quickly as possible, while the damage is still minimal," Zola instructs the men holding me down.

With that, they drag me backwards while I struggle against them. I'm pulled out of the training room, through the hallway, and back to the lab. When we get there, they thrust me into the same chair as always and hold me down as they fasten the restraints around my body. I have to get away from these people. Nothing is right. Nothing has been right since the moment that I first woke up.

I hear Dr. Zola enter the room and he approaches me. I look up and give him the most menacing expression I can, paired with a slight growl from low in my throat. "You stupid Nazi bastard! Let me go!" I yell at him and spit in his face. He pulls out a handkerchief and wipes off the drool.

"I am sorry, Winter Soldier, but you have given me no choice. Your memory must be kept under control," he says while walking behind me. I soon hear the hum of a machine powering on. My instincts and Zola's words tell me I'm about to experience horrible suffering.

The hopelessness I began to feel in the training gym intensifies. I put all of my effort into grasping at the memory that came to me when I lost consciousness. My name is Bucky. My name is James Buchanan Barnes. I remind myself silently. But I also need to do whatever possible to get out of this chair.

I begin to sob and beg the scientist who is in control to spare me. If I'm convincing enough, maybe he'll believe in my ignorance, since it was real only less than an hour ago. "Please, Dr. Zola! Please! I don't know what happened. Something just came over me! I'm sorry! I won't do it again! Don't do this!" The pleas contain more desperation from within me than I expected. I know with everything in me that I have to do all that's in my power to escape whatever the scientist plans to do next. The tears that I've worked up are streaming down my face.

"That is enough. These things happen, Winter Soldier. Everything will be fine. Soon you will forget. Now be quiet and open your mouth," Zola says sternly.

With that, gloved hands grab my chin and pry my mouth open, placing a plastic bit inside. The back of my chair reclines slightly and I look up and behind me as much as possible to see what torture is coming. Above me is a machine with two black curving metal arms ending in concave plates. The plates are exuding arcing currents of electricity.

Remembering the pain of Alexei's cattle prod, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, bracing myself for what's about to come. There's nothing I can do but cling to my thoughts. I'm Bucky Barnes. James Bucky Barnes. I'm an American. These people are my enemies. Bucky Barnes... I hear the machine start to move. The buzzing of electricity comes close to my ears, and the metal plates press together around both sides of my head.

With a loud buzzing, the electricity shoots out from the plates and my eyes force themselves open. I scream in miserable pain through the mouthguard my jaw is clenched around as the shocks flow through my skull, and enter my brain. All of the muscles in my body flex in protest, and my back arches against the restraints holding me in the chair.

I struggle to breathe as the unbearable pain of every one of my nerves firing at once continues. My heart is beating faster than it ever has before. My head hurts so badly I think it could explode. Everything that happened earlier is forgotten. My entire body continues to react violently to the shocks, and as the machine continues to run, my mind relinquishes any authority over itself, and my thoughts lose all meaning. I have no awareness except that of the pain.