Rated M: This is the chapter I had in mind when I wrote most of those warnings at the beginning of the story. So we have torture and brainwashing through 'The Chair' from Winter Soldier and Civil War, humiliation, abuse, training a child to be an assassin ... Essentially, if any of that disturbs you or you don't want to read it, please skip the entire chapter. If you scroll to the bottom I will give you a quick rundown of what happens so you can pick up in the next chapter.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

Chapter Five: Remade

The Asset was woken from cryofreeze and he obediently stumbled into the clothes he was given. His body was damp and wracked with shivers, but that was normal. Or at least, as far as he could tell it wasn't unnatural. His mind was disconcertingly blank whenever he was taken out of cryofreeze. He knew nothing but the present moment. He could follow orders, but he was a blank slate. He knew nothing of what was, or what is, or what might be.

Seated in the Chair, he shivered with dread, because while he may not have specific memories, his body remembered what his mind did not. His heart raced and sweat broke out on his already damp skin. Phantom pain spiked across his skull and a pounding headache started up without warning.

But he wasn't strapped in yet. Handler Pierce walked in, holding a yellow folder with his next mission under one arm. He set it in his lap as he sat and he smiled at the Asset.

"Let's start with a blank slate, shall we?" the Handler said pleasantly.

Obediently, the Asset sat back in the chair and accepted the mouth guard between his teeth. He waited while the clamps closed around his arms and legs and head and shut his eyes, struggling to control his panicked breathing as the mechanism lowered over his skull. It sparked and the Asset flinched before full-blown agony erupted in his brain.

He screamed through the mouth-guard and squirmed against his restraints, but it was no use. It never was. All he knew was pain, white-hot and sparking across his brain. It was all-consuming, wiping away any other emotion or thought until he was pain. That was all he was. He was pain. It was his existence, the only one he had ever known.

It stopped at long last and the Asset was calm. His mind was clear and clean and as he opened his eyes, it was like seeing for the first time. Everything was unfamiliar … yet it felt familiar.

And then a voice spoke the First Word.

"Longing."

The Asset's body stiffened, ingrained doors flying open in his mind too painfully fast and making him squirm in discomfort. Though his first trigger word was spoken in Russian, he could understand it perfectly. Most of his orders came in Russian after all. At the moment, he could not recall how he knew that the voice was speaking in a certain language at all, but he did not question it.

"Rusted."

The Asset growled, screwing his eyes shut as more doors opened, causing his already aching head to start pounding. Skills, code-words, methods of correction, relevant training … it was flooding his mind too quickly to process and his head was going to explode.

"Seventeen."

He struggled, crying out against the mouth-guard in his teeth. Stop, stop, slow down, it's too much, too soon …

"Daybreak."

The Asset screamed, bucking against his restraints, straining against his own mind, filling with too much knowledge. Images, sensations, orders, training, even emotions …

"Furnace."

He gasped for air, feeling tears slipping down his face from the agony, screwing his eyes shut against the terrible sense of his mind filling with too much, too quickly. His brain was swelling and filling up, and a strange image came to mind, of filling a rubber balloon with water and then throwing it at a small, skinny boy with messy blond hair and an infectious grin. The image was vaguely familiar and he clung to it with the desperation of a drowning man.

"Nine."

He groaned against his mouth guard, his muscles trembling and his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He clutched the strange image of the grinning, scrawny boy with blond hair and wondered what it meant, since it did not fit with his other programming.

"Benign."

The Asset slowly calmed down. Colours were splashing the tapestry of his thoughts. His mind felt comfortably expanded again.

"Homecoming."

He remembered the Malfunctions. They were not supposed to happen. He carefully plucked the smiling, skinny child out of his immediate thoughts and buried it like contraband in the back of his thoughts, focusing instead on what he now knew would be expected of him.

"One."

He opened his eyes and unconsciously sat up at attention. He was nearly ready now. He understood. This had happened many times before, he knew. He was the Winter Soldier. He was the Fist of Hydra. He was their Asset and he had a mission to fulfill.

"Freight Car."

All was calm. All was right with the world. He was ready to be who he was created to be.

"Good morning, Soldier."

The Asset took one breath and opened his mouth, the rubber guard was gently taken out by discrete hands and he ran his tongue over his teeth. More than half of the ones in his mouth weren't real, he absently noted. They had been knocked out during his training, or during recalibrations, and had been replaced with superior ones, like his arm. He had been built into an indestructible machine; the fist of Hydra. He was ready.

"Ready to comply," The Winter Soldier answered. Just as he had been taught.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

Sev was still scared, but no longer quite as terrified. For the past few weeks, he had been given liquid food that tasted like oily, grainy water, he was given clothes and allowed to shower every day in warm water, and a few times a week, just after morning rations, he was taken to a gym-like area where he had to practice new exercises under the stern eye of a man who called himself Handler Rumlow. He exercised for an hour, (enduring the weird routine and the occasional painful shock with the guards' strange sticks to keep him focused) and then he was returned to his cell, where he was usually too tired to cry or even think much. After some time, he was always taken to the room of horrors where he was poked and examined by the doctors before they took him back to his cell where they left him for hours at a time, and then after evening rations, he was dragged out by random soldiers who ran him ragged in the gym for a few hours with the exercises Handler Rumlow taught him.

They sometimes hit him with their sticks that burned and sparked when they touched him, and they would shout a word at him. The same word, over and over, every single day, at random times, always accompanied by a shock from their sticks:

Nightfall.

They barked it at him randomly as they made him run laps, and do dozens of push-ups, or sit-ups, or crunches, or lunges, or combinations of the actual fighting stuff they were teaching him.

He now had hundreds of different routines of the martial arts stuff that reminded him of his mum's dueling exercises, and he had to do them over and over and over until he was dripping with sweat and aching all over and stumbling over his own feet while his eyes were falling shut.

Sev would be herded back to his cell and fall onto his cot, so exhausted and achy that he could barely even cry before he fell into a deep sleep that lasted until he was rudely awoken the next day by his door clanging open. And then the whole thing would start over again, like an awful nightmare.

He had given up waiting for Dad to come for him. It had been weeks and weeks now and he was pretty sure nobody was coming. He hadn't seen the snake-smiling man called Pierce in all that time, ever since his first experience with the blue fire. The boy decided that 'Phase Two' really wasn't too bad, even though it left him exhausted and sore. As time went on, Sev realized that he was actually feeling better and healthier than he had in his entire life. He was shocked when he showered (no longer with ice-cold water) and was able to see actual muscle forming on his body where he was pretty sure he'd always been skin and bones no matter how many times James had tried to get him to exercise back home. Before, it had just left him breathless and sweaty. But now, strangely enough, the past few weeks of constant exercise and the strange water-drink they fed him instead of food were making him strong and it was a rather uncomfortable feeling. What were they doing to him?

He was sitting on his hard plastic cot, doing nothing and trying to figure out what time it was outside, when his cell was opened. He got up, ready for his several hours of getting run ragged by random guards … but it was Rumlow at the door. It had been a few days since he'd seen his Handler/trainer and his insides thrummed with alarm at the change in routine.

He silently followed Rumlow out of his cell, careful to walk with his head up and back straight as he'd been ordered. His soft boots barely made a sound on the concrete floor, his soft pants whispered as he walked, and his tight, sleeveless shirt exposed his arms, which weren't quite as stick-thin anymore. Everything here was black. His clothes, training equipment, the guards' uniforms … He longed for sunlight and a bit of colour. Down here, everything was so drab and dull and utilitarian.

They stepped into the gym area and Sev stopped in surprise. Standing in the middle of the room was a familiar stranger. The man stood at attention, heels together, hands at his sides, and eyes straight ahead. It was his kidnapper. Sev shuddered and tried to back up, but Rumlow grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and marched him forward until he stood a few feet away from the man. Seeing him again in brighter light made a huge difference, especially because the man wasn't wearing a black face-mask or cracked goggles over his eyes. He had a round, hollow-looking face with a square jaw, dark, dull eyes that might have been blue, and thick brown hair that fell in shaggy lengths to his round shoulders. His metal arm shone under the fluorescent lights and a red star winked at him from the upper bicep. He was dressed in light boots, soft pants, and a sleeveless shirt, much the same as Sev's outfit, and Sev wondered uneasily what was going on.

"You have your orders, Soldier," Handler Rumlow growled, shoving Sev toward the man. "Begin."

"Combat ready stance," the man, the Asset, the Soldier, said in a firm, but toneless voice.

Sev dropped automatically into the position he'd been drilled in for the past month. He dropped one foot back, widened his stance, and raised his loose hands as high as his chin. He relaxed, though he was nervous, and wondered what was next.

Without warning, the man's flesh hand came flying toward him, and Sev gasped as he automatically raised one hand to block it. There was a lot more force behind it that he was used to from Rumlow, and he staggered under the unexpected weight. Distracted, he didn't notice the metal arm fly up and hit him in the gut until he was flying backwards. He'd never been hit like that in his entire life and he lay on his back, mouth open as he fought for air.

"Again," the metal-armed Soldier ordered him.

Wheezing, trembling, Sev wrapped his arms around his middle and let out a hoarse croaking noise, begging for a little time. But apparently, his training was not a time to be coddled. He was yanked up by the front of his shirt and set roughly on his feet before a fist came toward him again. This time, Sev hunched his chin and raised his arm, twisting his hand to grab his opponent's wrist. He turned aside, twisting the man's wrist before they froze, that move finished. The man suddenly whipped his wrist free and pivoted, aiming a kick at his knee. Sev skipped aside and dodged another fist before his other foot was kicked out from under him. His knee screamed in pain as he came down hard and a fist connected with his temple, making him see stars. He gasped and almost fell over, but the man's hand grabbed his shoulder and threw him onto his back, saving him the trouble.

"Again," the Asset commanded him tonelessly.

Sev had no choice. He got up and got knocked down again. And again. And again. He wondered how many times he would have to fall down and get back up before he really, truly couldn't rise again. But so far, the Asset wasn't punching or hitting as hard as he really could, and Sev was grateful, but he also wanted to learn as fast as possible so he could hopefully avoid getting knocked down or hit at all. He was so focused that he failed to pay attention to his surroundings, Rumlow's number one rule. One of the guards stepped forward and before Seve even realized he was there and could spin to defend himself, the man hit him with his sparking baton.

"Daisies," the man intoned, and smoothly stepped away, almost before Sev had even fallen to one knee on pain. The Asset didn't let up just because a guard stepped in to sabotage him, (with another weird word). The metal hand grabbed his arm and the other hand twisted him around until he was sure his arm would break. Sev panted as he was held in that uncomfortable position for a few seconds, and the Asset released him, right onto the concrete floor.

"Again," he ordered.

Sev groaned and stumbled to his feet. Again.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

More weeks passed than Sev could count. He didn't really think anymore. His new word, Daisies, was added to Nightfall, with the same unpredictable routine of being electrocuted and told the new word, but he had no idea what they meant. Nightfall was for training and Daisies was for sparring, but why? Sev couldn't understand it, though sometimes the guards would bark words at the Asset that sounded like another language. He would snap to attention and listen, going even more emotionless and blank than before. The man was always harder on Sev when he was really blank like that too, so maybe it was some sort of secret code telling the Asset to stop going so easy on him. Sev wondered if maybe his own strange words would become a code too. He sometimes found himself saying the words in his own head and remembering each time they had been said to him. It actually helped him to remember combinations and moves that he had been drilled in before. Sev was getting better at his training, which was kind of nice, being able to be good at something. He wasn't stupid; he knew he was getting good. But what was he getting good for?

He knew by now that he was being molded into a weapon. Sometimes, it was terrifying to wonder what Handler Pierce meant when he said he was going to do great things with Sev. He wished he could talk about it with the Asset, who he was actually starting to like once he understood some key things about the chap. The Asset was a prisoner like he was, forced to train him and fed the same disgusting water rations as he did. The Asset had been ordered to be hard on him and they were watched by guards every time they trained, and punished if either of them said anything that wasn't related to training. Sev made that mistake on day eight, asking the Asset what his name was during a lull in their sparring. The guards flicked out their stun batons and marched up to them. The Asset dropped to his knees, his dull eyes flashing with apprehension, but Sev thought he was going to be given his new word (Daisies) again and braced himself for a painful little tap on the shoulder or arm. But one of the men hit him in the lower back with the electric prod and he fell to his knees with a scream of pain. They were both lashed several times with the batons and sternly ordered to focus on their training 'or else'.

Sev didn't say anything else during training again, not even his usual pleas for time to recover when he was pushed to his limits. He didn't want those electric burns on his back again, even though he healed really fast now. They hurt for hours after, and he'd gotten the Asset in trouble too, which made him feel bad.

But the Asset made the same mistake some weeks later when Sev managed to knock him down with an excellent kick. The man flashed him a slight smile as he as standing back up, no more than a quirk of the corner of his mouth, and told him, "Good job, kid." The guards were on them with the electrocuting rods again, and the flash of horror in the Asset's dark blue eyes when they dragged him away after their 'discipline' for some time in 'the Chair' haunted Sev for days. The Asset returned the next day for training, as dull-eyed and toneless as he'd been on the first day, and went over several of their first lessons as if he couldn't remember teaching him before. But Sev was careful to be silent and just focus on the sparring, and they moved quickly through their old lessons as the small boy proved that he remembered them.

He wondered what 'the Chair' was, that it would create such a terrible change in the strong man. But Sev decided he never wanted to know.

The random guards, who showed up after evening rations, had started teaching him how to use various weapons once the Asset was there to beat him into exhaustion every day. He got a new word for the weapons training too: Plateau. Now what did Nightfall, Daisies, and Plateau have to do with running laps, practicing martial arts, and shooting targets? He didn't know, and he couldn't figure it out.

Sev did realize something amazing once they started teaching him how to shoot muggle guns, though. He could see the target perfectly. How long had it been since he'd needed glasses? He couldn't even remember the last time he'd even thought of them. But the elation at being able to see so perfectly and so clearly caused him to ace his marksmanship tests, even when they were moving. Dad had once told him that he'd inherited his father's skill for catching small, fast moving objects. He had chased practice snitches all over the yard and house ever since he could walk. Not even James had been able to beat him, even though his brother was much bigger and taller. Richards, his shooting trainer, was impressed, and then turned him over to a man who taught him how to throw knives. After Sev got the hang of that, he was acing the knife-throwing exercises too.

It must have been eleven or twelve weeks since his training started when Rumlow informed him that he was ready for some kind of exam.

Handler Pierce, the creepy old man with the snake-smile, came for his test. Sev demonstrated his skills with weapons first: shooting targets, throwing knives at them, fighting an opponent with a knife and then with a stun baton. He held his own, which was alright. He'd only been in training for close to three months, after all. But he even fought the Asset one-on-one. He was fast and he was small. He used that to his advantage. That and the fact that he was much stronger than he used to be; much stronger than any eight year old had any right to be, to be honest. He wore his stronger opponent down and the spar ended with Pierce calling a halt before either of them won, which filled Sev with pride and excitement even though he knew the Asset had been going easy on him.

After the test, he was taken to the medical room and examined by the two doctors who had injected the blue fire into his body. He was still terrified, but they didn't have to tie him to the table this time. They examined the bruises he'd gotten during training, old sparring injuries, and other things to determine how fast he was healing. Luckily, the entire exam, while lengthy, was not very painful. They treated him like a thing, not a person, and never once talked to him. They called him 'the project' and 'the subject'. They poked his aching bruises and throbbing scrapes, prodded him and scanned him and discussed the 'samples' they needed from him. They measured his metabolism by making him drink some very salty water and waiting until he was ready for the bathroom. They tested his urine, took samples of his saliva and hair, and then took some of his blood and muscle tissue, which hurt, but the needle prick healed almost as soon as the needle was out and the incision in his arm started healing once it was sutured. Once they finished with all that, Sev was shivering with cold and fear and he felt queerly like an insignificant 'thing' himself. The doctors declared him 'ready' and 'a success' and 'a triumph of modern science', whatever that all meant.

But Handler Pierce seemed very pleased about all of it. He declared that their 'Summer Soldier' be 'cryo-ed' until Phase Three was ready, and so they could see how he 'handled it'. One of the medics injected something cold into Sev's arm that made him feel clumsy and sleepy right away. He had to be carried out by the guards, who brought him to a room that looked like a packing center at a post office. They put him in a box like a coffin with weird wires all around him inside, and he shivered because the box was cold and he was naked and afraid. They shut the box and immediately, cold liquid flowed in, coating his bare skin in frozen mist. He gasped and the cold bit him down to the bone before he fell away into cold darkness, wondering if he'd been frozen to death.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

Alexander Pierce was more than pleased at the way Hydra's plans were moving forward. SHIELD had received and approved the final modifications from Stark for the Project Insight Helicarriers just today. In a few months, they should be all ready to move on, and show the world what they were capable of. Unfortunately, while Project Insight would give them a large measure of control over the world's population, Hydra itself was proof that corruption always grew from within. Their Miracle Project in Sokovia was hitting dead end after dead end. Most of the volunteers had died, a few had gone insane, and one had turned horribly violent.

They had then turned to magical volunteers, hoping that perhaps something in the physiology would give those individuals the ability to withstand the process. But something worse had happened to those unfortunate wizards and the witch. They had become Obscuruses, horrifically devoured by the excess of their own magic. Project Miracle was now housed in a much sturdier facility after the last one had been destroyed and the local scientists were making adjustments with their methods and volunteers, but it wasn't looking good. If they couldn't tap the mind controlling powers of the Scepter, they might have to fall back to the original plans for the Summer Soldier program, which meant the Chair.

A child army might be considered problematic today, but soon enough the world would see what a mercy it was. These young ones would know no other existence, no other happiness, but to serve Hydra forever. Their young, resilient bodies would absorb and adapt to the new Enhancement-Serum which Hydra had developed over the last fifty years without the excess of dangers seen in earlier trials. The second round of Winter Soldiers which they had developed in the nineties had become uncontrollable and chaotic, and they were practically immune to the Chair, as they did not understand pain. They were only driven by the urge to kill and destroy everything in their reach. But the program had been so ridiculously expensive and disappointingly intensive that the five former soldiers were still sleeping in Siberia. Pierce had hoped that the Scepter would have given them the means to control those Winter Soldiers, but if they couldn't even control willing subjects, how would they control rebellious, violent monsters that only existed to destroy?

No matter. Training up younger soldiers to obey out of fear could only go so far. Hence, the Chair. Unfortunate tool though it was, Pierce knew it was effective. They needed to cut the boy's ties to his past. With their current Asset and the boy both now in cryo-freeze, the Vault was silent and dark. Today, he would be returning to the facility to begin training the boy to his own set of trigger words. Already, during his physical training, a word had been repeated at him at random, along with the shock prod.

Nightfall.

Daisies.

Plateau.

They were ready to introduce the other four words. But first, their little Soldier needed to learn his name.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

Sev squinted as light and awareness seemed to return. His whole body was numb, but he was beginning to feel cold. His teeth were chattering. He shivered while large, strong hands pulled him out of the cold box he was in, and someone tossed clothes at him. His skin was wet and he was shivering so hard he couldn't really think. Someone with rough hands dragged the light pants and shirt over his damp skin while he blinked and shivered and wondered why it was so hard to think. He was overwhelmed with too much sensory information.

He didn't protest as the rough hands propelled him out of the cold concrete room with the strange machines and glowing, blinking lights. He stumbled down a concrete hall and randomly wondered if he would ever see the sky again. His bare feet stumbled on the rough floor and he fell on his face. He groaned as the shockwave rolled through his aching body, but he didn't feel quite as cold anymore. The large hands yanked him back to his feet and shoved him along. He glanced down absently and noted that a nice layer of skin had been shorn off the top of his foot just above his big toe where he'd stumbled. There was a little blood beading up, but he could already feel it tingling. It would heal soon.

He entered a room that was cozy compared to most of the bunkers in this weird place and blinked stupidly as he looked around. The smiling snake-faced man was there, in his nice suit, sitting in a chair, In front of him was a different chair, which looked kind of scary. It looked a lot like the chair James had sat in at the dentist when his crooked tooth got extracted. He wondered if he needed a tooth extracted too and experimentally ran his numb tongue along his teeth as he shivered again.

The smiling snake man nodded at him and two masked medics grabbed Sev by the arms. They deposited him in the chair and strapped his wrists down. His heart began to pound, but he felt too slow and stupid to ask what was going on. He slumped in the chair and let his eyes close. The medics strapped his legs and chest next, and then they ran a softer band across his forehead to keep his head still. The small boy grimaced and ran his tongue along his teeth again, wondering which one they were going to take. He hadn't even lost his baby teeth yet.

A machine hummed strangely and Sev's eyes popped open. He was starting to wake up, to be more aware … and he suddenly realized that being strapped down in a bizarre chair with a humming thing bearing down on his head was a bad thing, and he started squirming.

"Wha's … goin' … what're you doin'?" Sev slurred, his mouth and tongue getting tangled up as he struggled to ask.

"What is your name?" the smiling snake-man asked gently.

Sev stopped struggling and blinked at the man. It was the first time anybody had asked his name here.

"Severus Albus Potter," he replied promptly, though his voice was a little shaky.

"No," the snake-faced man smiled. "It's not."

White hot pain lanced across his head along with the sound of crackling and burning like one of old Mr. Weasley's broken radios, flashing light behind his eyelids like lightning, and Sev screamed until the darkness came.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

"Your name is Summer Soldier Zero," the Handler said gently. "Do you understand?"

He squinted. The lights were too bright, everything was spinning out of focus and his every muscle and nerve burned. What was the question again?"

"So what is your name?"

His mouth didn't work right. His head hurt. His brain felt shaken up and jumbled. But he knew what his name was. "Sev'rus … Al … al … Albus … Pot … Potter …"

"No, Summer Soldier Zero," the patient voice came again. "That is not your name. Let's try that again."

Pain. Flashes. Darkness.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

"You are Summer Soldier Zero," the voice boomed in his aching ears.

He flinched and moaned, keeping his eyes shut. "N-no …" he sobbed. He didn't even know what he was saying no to. His voice hurt, but his throat tingled as healing started to happen.

"Your name is Summer Soldier Zero," the voice repeated.

"S'not," he moaned deliriously, struggling weakly. "L-lemme … g-go …"

"Stubborn one, isn't he? Let's go again."

The sparks like lightning flashed beyond his eyelids and the agonizing pain stabbed through his brain and around his head. He howled and struggled, but he tumbled down into the dark again. He was too weak to fight back.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

"What is your name?"

"S-Sev'rus …" he sobbed weakly. It wasn't Summer whatever zero. He wasn't a soldier. He was a kid! "P-please … s-stop …" he begged.

"I do hate doing this," the smiling man sighed, sounding like he was no longer smiling. "Your name is not that, boy. It's Summer Soldier Zero. Say it."

"N-no …" No, it's not, he tried to say. But his mouth felt numb and his lips felt stiff and stupid and there was blood in his mouth. Had he bitten his tongue while he was screaming?

"Do it again."

Agony.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

"Your name, Asset. My patience grows thin."

He felt blessedly numb. Blessedly stupid. His brain was going in circles. He couldn't open his eyes. The lightning was flashing on the inside, and opening his eyes made the light outside stab his eyeballs. Name. He needed a name. His name. Oh right; he remembered, though it was foggy and hard to think.

"Sev …" he croaked. "Sev'rus … Al … Albus …"

"Summer Soldier Zero!" the voice shouted. "Repeat it!"

"P-please … no …" he whimpered. Let me die, mister. I can't take it anymore. I don't know what you want.

"Again."

The pain and the lightning came, piercing his skull and letting the past fall away almost before he could scream.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

"What is your name?"

Blank. Nothing. What is my name? What is a name? Did he have one? Of course he did. He had to have a name. Everything had a name. But he didn't know his name. He felt like he should. He was too tired to think or answer, so he just sat, breathing and numbly ignoring the pain sparking in every inch of his body.

"What is your name, Asset?"

"A-Asset …" he whispered, blood dribbling down his chin. His body shook and twitched minutely in the restraints. He remembered flashing pain drilling into his brain … and nothing more.

"You are Summer Soldier Zero; repeat that."

"S-Summer …" Wait … summer was a time when it was warm outside, and that meant warmth, and a garden … and gold. Golden sunlight, golden balls with fluttering wings, golden highlights in red or brown hair, golden flowers with brown centers … What was this he was remembering? A fuzzy image of a black-haired man with glasses. The man was laughing, tossing a small yellow ball with small flapping wings at him. He was catching it, snatching it out of the air.

Great catch, son. The echoes of memory faded, leaving him in a spinning little room of torture and concrete. Tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Soldier?"

"N-no …" he whispered hoarsely. "J-just a … just a kid … not a …"

A frustrated sigh. "Again, and we won't get him back up again after this. He's had enough for today. We can try again tomorrow."

He whimpered even before the pain started again, and he lost himself in the agony of his own raw throat just as the fire consumed his head.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

He woke in the concrete cell. His whole body was shivering and he was both cold and burning hot. The pain made tears roll down his cheeks and he cried, but stayed as quiet as possible. His mind felt like it had been shaken around a few times and everything was out of order. Bits and flashes came to him as he lay there, aching too much to even curl up for warmth.

What is your name?

Your name is Summer Soldier Zero.

Again.

The boy choked and retched, and then managed to lunge upright and vomit over the side of his bed. There was nothing in his stomach but bile that burned his mouth and made him dry-heave some more. He spat the nasty stuff out and lay back down, exhausted and trembling.

Remember, he ordered himself. You have to remember.

But remember what? He couldn't think clearly anymore. It was easier to simply not think and just lie here as if dead. But somehow, he knew there was something Important. He couldn't just lie here and do nothing ... but he fell into a dark sleep before he could even push his aching brain in that direction.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

He struggled when they came for him again. He screamed and begged for help, and fought with all his might. The men hit him and barked a strange word at him. They hit him until he obeyed, and they still told him the word. Somehow, other words came to mind. Nightfall. Daisies. Plateau.

This one was Arid.

It meant obedience.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

He learned to fear The Chair. Sometimes, he thought of a man with a square jaw and fear in his dark blue eyes, but he could not place him. His mind was fracturing. It was being taken apart and put back together every time they dragged him, kicking and screaming, to the Chair. Arid was invoked, fists fell, electricity made his whole body burn, but he could not stop fearing the Chair.

"What is your name?" Handler Pierce demanded every time he was strapped in.

"Summer Soldier Zero," he replied. Sometimes, another word almost leapt from his mouth, something that started with 'Sev'. But he never got further because the sparks and the pain always followed. Even when the other designation appeared in his mind, he learned to say what he was supposed to, nothing else. Anything to escape the Chair.

But they 'wiped' him anyway. Each and every time.

The images and memories that used to be his were falling far away, hiding in the recesses of his mind where they could no longer be used to torture him. Sometimes, well, a lot of times, he screamed for someone designated as Daddy, or Mummy. He had no idea who they were, but he was always, always wiped thoroughly when he said such designations. He learned to keep certain words to himself.

He was a fast learner.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

He did not know time, and he did not know what came Before. He knew only that he was the Summer Soldier.

He was Zero, because he was the first. Nothing came Before. There was only the After.

Nightfall.

He could last. He could push his body to and beyond endurance to get the job done. He was tough and strong and agile.

Daisies.

He could fight. He was small, but fast. He could twist and leap and strike and nobody saw him coming. He fought men larger than himself and beat them. He broke fingers and wrists with ease and felt nothing as they screamed, because he was rewarded when he did not show reactions. Somewhere deep inside, he might have felt satisfaction, or guilt … But he did not acknowledge them and they stayed deep inside where they could not get him Disciplined.

Plateau.

He could use weapons to get his job done. He could shoot, or throw knives, or stab or slash if he needed to. Red soon became a colour he knew well. The sound of impact as a weapon shattered flesh or bone became familiar. He could use weapons or improvise them out of whatever came to mind, and he knew he was strong.

Arid.

He obeyed every order. While he was blindfolded and his ankles were tied, they beat him while they ordered him to 'Report to his Handler'. He reported, eventually. He was blind and hobbled and he had no idea which man was his Handler. He figured it out. They gave him orders, he carried them out as quickly as possible. Hesitation was punished with rods or fists or boots, refusal was punished with the Chair. He was smart. He avoided the Chair and the prod and the beatings and just did what he was told. There was no reason not to anymore. He couldn't recall any other way to live.

Thirteen.

He could kill. He was small and young; he knew that. But he could kill. They brought in a pig and had him shoot it. They brought a lamb next time and he obediently stabbed it in the heart. They brought a dog and he cut its throat. They congratulated him and rewarded him with no Chair. When he hesitated to stab a helpless little piglet, squealing frantically as it tried to escape, they put him in the Chair for a while until he didn't remember anymore.

Mistletoe.

He learned codes and phrases. He learned how to talk efficiently. He once remembered telling another Asset they talked funny and it made him laugh because he was talking funny now too. They put him in the Chair. He learned that Summer Soldier Zero did not laugh, and did not make that mistake again.

Eagle.

He was the Summer Soldier.

He was Zero. First of many.

They declared him ready.

His first mission was to continue training along with the new Summer Soldiers in Base Sokovia.

The Summer Soldier obediently stepped into the cryo-freeze tank for transport to his new mission. But he felt nothing. He was blank. Hollow. Empty. His last conscious thought startled him, since the Chair had removed all malfunctions and all past references.

Daddy, you never came for me.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

Alexander Pierce could not contain his grin of triumph as he settled in his comfortable armchair with some reports so classified he couldn't even bring them to the privacy of his office. A breakthrough had been reported in Sokovia. Mere days ago, the research team had discovered that while the scepter of Loki could not be harnessed to control the minds of others, when exposed to it enough, some subjects were starting to develop strange abilities. A squib child from Britain, part of their experiments for almost seven or eight years now, had developed almost-magical powers after lengthy exposure to the scepter. Although he was only able to fly and see through walls, it was not useless, even if it was rather odd. Gathering other children of magical parents without magic themselves would be the final test. Having a child army was one thing. But if those children had miraculous powers ...

In the words of Base Sokovia's proud Baron Wolfgang von Strucker: "There is nothing more horrifying than a miracle."

Alexander Pierce could not agree more. Raising his glass in a salute to the empty, darkened sitting room of his apartment, he grinned triumphantly. "Hail Hydra," he whispered, downing the liquor in one gulp.

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

Alright, for those who perhaps did not read the chapter, here is a summary: The Asset is assigned to train eight-and-a-half year old Sev in combat and the boy notices that he is changing, and not for the better. After a few weeks, Sev finishes his basic training and is frozen for a week or two to see how he handles it. After he comes out, he is brainwiped by The Chair and accepts his new name: Summer Soldier Zero. He still has 'malfunctions' (memories) like Bucky did, but he hides them as well as he can to protect himself. Alexander Pierce receives news that the Scepter is giving squibs weird powers and he is once again optimistic about controlling the world.

Okay, so this was a doozy of a chapter. I must have edited this one almost a dozen times before I felt remotely satisfied with it. I hope you all enjoy this, despite how terrible are the events it depicts. Next chapter does a time skip and we probably won't see Sev again for a long while. I had an entirely different direction worked out for his character, but I decided to go a different route by focusing primarily on Harry for this fic. We might get Pierce's POV a few more times, and mentions of Sev, but I don't think he will physically appear again until Avenge 4 ... Yikes, I'm already thinking ahead to Age of Ultron.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this and I do appreciate your reviews!