It was the first time in, well, probably months that Bucky didn't feel like hell itself had taken him for a joy ride. He didn't really care what the break was for anymore, but if he had to guess it had something to do with the arm Zola had fucking seared onto him only a couple of days ago. Yeah, that was an experience he never wanted to remember again. Today something was probably going to happen, though. Zola had been barking orders at the other HYDRA scientists for hours now as they scurried around him.
Bucky hated experiment days the most.
They were doing something with the metal arm, had it open and were messing with the inside. Bucky was thankful he couldn't feel anything from it since he was pretty sure they were doing some soldering given the sparks coming out. Eventually they closed it up and Bucky raised an eyebrow as he waited for the pain that didn't come right away. Because it was always pain.
This time it actually wasn't pain that jolted him though and that was nearly as startling. Like a punch to the gut he was hit with what he could only call 'feedback'. It was impossible to comprehend and yet at the same time made perfect sense. Like his human arm, he could feel where his metal fingers rested, knew how his hand was positioned, knew he was touching the table, felt the straps on his body. All in the vague but sensitive ways he was used to getting information from his limbs.
But he also knew exactly how far apart his fingers were spread, how many centimeters down to exact the millimeters his palm was raised from the table. How much pressure, to several decimal places, he was exerting on each fingertip resting on the surface below his body. What temperature it was beyond just 'cold': he knew the exact degree. It was almost painful, the rush of such intricate information.
Zola was talking again, in something other than English, and Bucky didn't care to listen for familiar phrases like usual. Slowly, he tried moving the metal arm. Wiggled his fingers and was briefly amazed at the dexterity. Pushed up against the straps with a strength he didn't expect until suddenly they tore like wet paper. It was the same ease with which he'd seen Steve rip them off so many months ago and he hadn't even begun to push the arm's limits. Zola and the others in the room hadn't realized yet, but Bucky knew immediately.
This arm? It was all he needed. He would be free. He moved quickly, flipping over the right side of the table so the metal arm could rip the other bonds away and free his other arm. The straps split like water. By then he'd been noticed but the two closest scientists were easy. His human arm crumpled one with a punch and the metal arm sent the other literally flying. He almost laughed. He felt practically giddy. They'd given him the very thing he needed to escape.
When one of the guards raised his gun it was instinct to throw up the metal arm to protect his head and to Bucky's utter surprise there was a clink as the bullet struck, but it didn't break. Didn't even dent the outer layer of metal plates. The flash of data he got basically told him it would take more force than any gun was capable of to break it. Zola had given him a virtually indestructible metal arm.
Zola's shriek of "Don't shoot him!" reminded Bucky of the one thing he had to do before he ran. He felt like he was floating as he stalked across the room, feet barely touching the floor and his prey locked in his sights. Zola stumbled back fearfully and the guards who tried to stop Bucky went down like glass. And then his new metal arm was wrapped around Zola's throat. He had zero intentions of hesitating. The last thing Zola was going to see was his face with murder in his eyes.
It was amazing, the feedback he got from the arm and how quickly he could process it. Zola's temperature, his heart rate, exactly how much force it would take to crush his windpipe personalized for the scientist. All of it came to him in the near instant it took to wrap his fingers around Zola's throat.
And then his arm simply… stopped working. It went limp, the feedback gone. It left a strange emptiness in his mind. The arm dropped from Zola's neck as nothing more than a deadweight hanging from his shoulder and fuck, it was far heavier than he'd realized. It pulled where it was attached, made his collarbone throb, even dragged his left shoulder down. His shock was momentary and then he went for Zola with his human hand. His pause had been enough, though. He didn't get there.
Numerous hands grabbed him and dragged him backwards. He fought hard. He knew it wouldn't change the ending, but he wanted them to feel every goddamn inch. He broke one's nose with a backwards crack of his head and another went down with a broken knee that Bucky managed to kick out perpendicular to the way the man's knee was supposed to bend. He might have snapped one man's ribs, but he couldn't be totally sure with the wild elbow he'd thrown.
It wasn't enough. His metal arm was a deadweight. An anchor. Dragged him down and made him slow. And there were just so many.
They slammed him into a chair and still he fought. Even snarled at Zola when he met the scientist's eyes for a moment; Zola looked excited and Bucky burned at that. Piece by piece they snapped metal clamps shut around his limbs. His arms and legs, his wrist, his chest and neck. Immobilized limb by limb until he could do nothing more than writhe.
And still Zola watched, pleased and smiling pleasantly. Bucky fucking hated that smile.
After staring at him for a long time Zola ordered "Bring me the interrupter." Immediately someone hurried out of the room. Bucky didn't want to know what 'the interrupter' was, but he was definitely about to find out.
"Should I ask what it does? Or it is a surprise?" Bucky asked sarcastically. His wit was about the only thing he had left to use and until they gagged him he was going to use it. It might not be the best option, but if he could strike the right nerve one of the guards might shoot him and put an end to this. At least that'd be quick.
"Actually, sergeant, you've already experienced it." Zola said as he moved over to a tray of medical equipment and started messing with something on the tray top. "It took some refining, of course, but now I think it's ready and I can't afford any more time trying to break you."
Bucky almost asked what Zola meant by the 'can't afford more time' comment but he was busy trying to remember everything Zola had done to him. He couldn't think of anything Zola had used on him that could be called an 'interrupter'. But it was something that could supposedly break him? Or worse, with the way Zola talked about it. That scared him.
The door opened and the man who had left came back, dragging a large battery-esc machine with something that looked vaguely helmet shaped attached to it. Bucky didn't know what it was or what it does and he really didn't want to find out. He knows he's going to anyway.
It was placed next to him and Zola started looking it over. After a few moments Zola picked up the helmet part and Bucky thrashed his head hard enough one of the guards came over and grabbed him, forcing him still as Zola maneuvered the parts of the helmet into place. The left side of his face was covered almost entirely, though his eye was exposed, and another piece covered most of his right cheek. It was painfully tight around his head.
Zola stepped back and studied him. Bucky glared at him as fiercely as possible. After a moment Zola said "Gag him. I don't want him to bite his tongue."
Someone seemed to almost instantly pull a piece of fabric from somewhere and quickly tied it around his head from behind, pulled it so tight in his mouth Bucky would have been surprised to find out the corners of his mouth weren't bleeding. Even so, if he were honest, it was more humiliating than painful. Finally Zola seemed satisfied as he stepped back. "Goodbye, sergeant. I think I will miss your colorful retorts. You have been a wonderful subject."
Zola's goodbye sent a chill of fear down Bucky's spine in a way he hadn't experienced since the time Steve got so sick one winter he'd been given his last rites. It almost happens in slow motion, Zola reaching over and pressing a button on the main part of the machine. Then every nerve in his body lit up and he knew exactly what Zola had been talking about. Way back at Azzano Zola had electrocuted him through nodes on his face and this was that, but a thousand times worse.
His scream was muffled and the gag caught his tears. His head throbbed and every part of him was twitching, except for the stupid, dead metal arm. He remained conscious longer than he thought anyone could while in that much pain and it was a relief when he finally passed out.
There was… a voice. A voice saying words. He didn't know the words, couldn't understand them. Was he supposed to? Should he know them? He didn't know the answer. Didn't have any answers, actually. His thoughts came to him slowly like crawling through mud.
Had he ever crawled through mud? He must have. He could taste it in his mouth and feel it against his skin. It was... irritating. It made him colder and weighed down everything; his clothes, his pack, his… gun? Everything about that image was right, except he couldn't recall any more. Why had he been in mud? How long ago? What color had his clothes been? Had there been a breeze? Who had he been with? What gun had he had?
But at the moment there wasn't any mud. He was sitting in a… chair? Yes, a chair. He could feel it against his butt and his back, holding his weight. He was bound to it. Cold metal clamps kept his limbs in place. He shifted a little. Everything hurt. He knew he'd felt this kind of pain before but there were no details. No where or how or why. It just was something he knew he somehow had experience with.
"Soldier? Are you ready to comply?" He understood those sudden words, knew that language. Slowly he forced his eyes open, wondered if the question was directed at him (Was he Soldier? That didn't seem like a name, like his name, but that was what they called him so maybe it was?) The speaker was standing in front of him holding a red book, waiting for him to speak. The man's clothes were military and he was wearing weapons both visibly and concealed. He was not the only one in the room armed that way.
His, Soldier's, instinct was to simply answer 'yes' but that felt almost... informal. Wrong. He couldn't say why, but the thought of giving the wrong answer made his blood run cold. Sent phantom pains running through his limbs. "Ready?" He offered cautiously.
That seemed to be the right answer as the military man closed the book and stepped back. Another man took his place. Soldier knew this one, he knew him. The white coat, the glasses… His left shoulder throbbed and his heart skipped a few beats, a combination of nausea and fear coursing through him. He couldn't help recoiling a little, leaning back into the chair as he tried to keep his expression neutral. He didn't know if he was meant to be afraid or not and did not want to get punished.
"Hello, Soldier." The man in the white coat said and for some reason that name felt even more wrong coming from this man. "Do you know where you are?"
Soldier shook his head with just the smallest movement. It made his stomach curl to answer but he couldn't think of why answering was such an awful thing to do. He just knew it was, and yet he'd answered anyway. Why? (He knew why; not answering would mean pain.)
The doctor (Doctor? Why was this man 'doctor'? He wasn't any different from any of the other white coated men in the room that Soldier felt were scientists) smiled a little at that. "Do you know who you are?" He asked next.
"Soldier?" He offered quietly, fear at answering wrong made his human hand tremble, and the doctor nodded without noticing. The trembling faded a little, knowing he'd answered in a way that wouldn't result in pain.
"Yes, in a manner of speaking. You are our Winter Soldier. Our most valuable asset." The doctor said.
He swallowed hard then softly offered "I don't remember." He didn't know if that was the right thing to say and he knew he was going to be hurt if he said the wrong thing. But he didn't know what the right thing was.
But the doctor's smile grew and he knew it was genuine this time. His fear eased a little; not remembering wouldn't get him hurt then. Good. It was something to work with, anyway.
"You were not meant to." The doctor said and he frowned a little. Because, what? That made no sense at all to him. Why would he not be meant to remember? "You were chosen for this. You are special in a way others are not and you cannot be held back by things like memories. You must only focus on your missions. Do you understand?" The doctor asked.
Slowly he nodded. Because 'mission' was a word he knew. It tugged at something deep in his core, some fundamental part of him that understood. Missions were vital. He could not let anything stop him from accomplishing his. But… what was his mission? He felt like he had one, already. It rattled around like pressure in his head, but no matter how hard he focused on it he could only get the vaguest of impressions. Mostly the warmth of another body near him, held by both of his arms but it didn't feel like the way he understood things to feel with his metal arm.
The doctor noticed him staring at it. "You were hurt." He offered and Soldier... Winter? No, he liked Soldier better. Winter was cold and brought sickness, coughing not his own and a deep fear that very much was. Soldier looked at the doctor.
"What is my mission?" He asked and the doctor looked surprised, before his expression settled into a pleased smile.
"You will be given many missions, soldier. But first you must rest. You will remain untouched by time, brought out as needed and kept in stasis when not. This is to preserve your skills and build a legend HYDRA can use." He explained and suddenly the clamps came open.
Soldier twitched in surprise and for the briefest of moments after it sprang open every instinct in him screamed at him to kill the doctor in front of him and flee. It would be so, so easy, he knew it would, and he wanted it. Wanted to feel the man's neck break in his hands and then he would run, run as far and as fast as he could.
The instinct scared him. He gripped the chair instead and slowly got to his feet. Despite the overwhelming pain he'd felt only minutes ago when he tried to move, now he felt nothing. Rolling his shoulders and stretching felt good. He could shift his weight easily, knew that any punch or kick he through would be hard enough to break bone. That strength brought him a sense of security. He could fight, if needed. Easily even.
So he followed the doctor through the halls of a bunker, subtly studied the black masked guards and men in military uniforms who stopped to watch them pass. They all had the same awed expression as they looked at him and it grated his nerves. He didn't like being stared at like that. He almost growled at them when the doctor opened a large metal door and led him inside.
This room was smaller than all the others and unoccupied aside from one man, who was neither a guard nor military, who stood beside a machine. It was a large metal cylinder out of which white smoke was falling. There was an upright platform inside shaped enough like a human silhouette Soldier knew it was for him. He hadn't seen a machine like this before; nothing came up from his subconscious to give him any idea what it was or what it did. He didn't know if that was good or bad. The doctor has said it would keep him in stasis; that didn't sound like too terrible a thing to experience.
"Are you ready?" The doctor asked and he nodded. This may not be a mission, but it was orders and orders were meant to be followed. Still, he couldn't shake the wrongness pooling in his core as he settled against the platform. A metal door slid down in front of him, sealing him inside with a hiss of air. There was a small glass porthole that he could see out of, and that they could no doubt see into.
He took a slow breath, unsure what exactly he was preparing for but preparing for pain nonetheless. There was a blast of cold that felt distantly familiar, like he knew what it was like to be so utterly freezing down to his bones it made everything numb. But this was so much sharper. So much faster. Briefly, he actually burned from head to toe, not a single centimeter untouched by it. Then, almost as suddenly as it had struck him, everything went numb and black.