Sorry for the delay with this chapter. I had to write a quite big homework for chemistry and, huh, I took up watching Supernatural (honestly, if you haven't done it yet and you'd like to keep some free time, don't you ever watch SPN. It feeds on free time.)

Anyway, thanks a lot for the lovely review the really nice person who hides behind the nickname Soldier left on this story. I can't reply to your review since you're not a member of this page, but I loved it. I hope you keep liking the story. :)


The Winter Soldier regains consciousness slowly and painfully. He tries to remember who he is, place himself into time and space even though he doesn't understand either. Why should he care about time if he slips through it, travels in it without order, without a chance to spend it? What is space? He has been to many cities, countries, but he doesn't recall a single place, he doesn't know where he belongs. The only place he knows is the chair and the cryo-tube and that does not seem worth being aware of. And yet he always looks around himself in a futile attempt to perceive his existence. There's something comforting in it, somewhere deep within his mind he knows he has done this many times before.

He sits up because he feels vulnerable and endangered when lying down. His body recalibrates, counting defects, sending his brain report of what is happening in it. He has long before forgotten the concept of pain – in the artificial world where he lived, things such as sensations or experiences had no meaning or value and he soon understood that the more he ignored pain, the better he will survive because nobody really cared about his pain before his mission was over. Once he does what he was told to do, he is allowed to report any discomfort he may feel and he may be relieved of it or not. Otherwise, pain is unimportant and soon he learnt that it only hinders him if he lets it get to him.

Processing the reports his body gives him, he decides the pain in his muscles comes from exertion and that on his wrists, arms, neck or legs from some minor injuries that don't impede his movements. He stretches both his arms in front of himself and hears a satisfying, normal and comforting sound from both of them; a loud crack from the right human shoulder as his bones claim their rightful places and a quiet whirring and humming from the metal one. He carries on with his ritual.

Since he has forgotten who he was or what was his place in the world, he's appreciated his body the more. They could not take that away from him even if he lost a limb; it was his body and his only anchor to the ponderable world. Stretching his muscles, cracking his knuckles and other physical exercises remind him of the fact that whatever they took from him, he still breathes, lives, exists. That fills him with an emotion and even though he can't name it, he thinks he enjoys it.

As he sits cross-legged on the cot on which he woke up, he clings his head towards his right shoulder and holds it on the spot gently with his human hand while he sits at his other hand to stretch the muscles in his neck and nape. After some time he rolls his head a bit and now presses his chin down against his clavicle. He's silent, his breathing even and calm. He feels content as his body executes the tasks his mind has given them. He's not aware of it, but it helps him retain the last bits of reason that was left to him.

He changes his arms and repeats his actions with his left arm holding his head. Then he makes few circles with his head, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation fully. He straightens his back and neck again before he raises his arms, intertwines fingers of both his hands on the back of his head and presses his chin down on his ribcage while he keeps his shoulders where they should be, not letting them rise up. He takes a few breaths and raises his head again with his hands still on the back of his head, pressing his elbows back this time. This opens his ribcage and he allows himself the luxury of deep, loud breaths.

Then he lets go of his hair, stretching his still connected arms in front of himself once more. He doesn't know why, but he quite enjoys this exercise so he remains still in that position for some time, clearing his mind. It's not a difficult task because his brain is quite empty, but he enjoys it anyway. There is something wrong in the words that always calmed and soothed him but they provide him with a direction he should take in his life, give him a purpose and free him of a need to think which he gladly accepts.

I serve HYDRA. I do not have free will. I do not need to think if not told otherwise; HYDRA tells me everything I need to know. HYDRA endeavours to establish peace upon Earth. The intentions of HYDRA are always good however wrong the means seems to be. I am a weapon of HYDRA and I should not think on my own.

The Winter Soldier remains seated as he leans on his right forearm and stretches his left arm up towards the ceiling. There is a pleasant flexion in his left side and he stays in the position for some time as well before he repeats his action on the other side. When he returns into the starting posture, he straightens his back for a while before he lays his torso down onto his legs, placing his forearms on the bedding in front of him.

Somebody opens the door abruptly, storms into the room and shuts it behind himself. The Soldier sits up, uninterested and apathetic to his whereabouts. He doesn't fight for his life if he doesn't have a mission to complete or is not exposed to imminent danger. A person entering a room doesn't count as a threat so he sits on his bunk calmly, waiting to acquire further information.

"New mission!" the man shouts and throws a file of papers towards the Soldier.

The assassin nods and takes it into his hands to inspect it. As he opens it, he notices there are only a few photographs of people and some drawings of a vehicle he has never seen before. There is nothing about the people on the photos and he wants to ask why but I do not question missions HYDRA gives me because I am a weapon and do not understand the situation. So he takes his time looking at them in attempt to remember them.

"Your primary task will be to guard one of the helicarriers, you have a design of them enclosed in the file. We suspect one of the people you see in the photographs will attempt to damage the helicarrier, we do not know how yet. You will be aboard it and you will kill everybody who might appear on it and attempt to damage it but the priority is to keep the helicarrier in motion and untouched. Any questions?" the man gives instructions.

The Soldier looks at the picture of the unknown vehicle. The shape of it indicates it operates in air and he assumed there won't be any people aboard it, therefore it was not designated to carry people. His body responds to the idea with a flashback from the fall. He knows he mustn't let anything distract him so he ignores the feeling. Instead, he concentrates on the task that awaits him. Is anything unclear? No. Does he understand what he is supposed to do? Yes. He shakes his head.

"Good. Come with me, it's time." The man says, turns to leave and doesn't give the Soldier a second glance.

The asset stands up with regret that he won't get to finish his exercise but he understands missions are the most important things. Or aren't they? He knows that was a daring thought and that it was wrong. How could he even think of that? My missions are important for the peace of the whole world. If HYDRA gives the mission to me I do not question it. He bites the inside of his cheek and he tastes something strange. Blood, his mind gives him the explanation. And that is good because he has to be punished for what he thought about.

The man in front of him doesn't show any sign that he noticed the Soldier's inner battle. He keeps walking until they reach a room full of armour, weapons and other supplies the Soldier knows so well. There is something comforting in being in the familiar room and having something to occupy his mind with. He is not given time to think as another man appears and hands him a pile of clothing. The Soldier puts on some boxers, socks, undershirt and a pair of light sweatpants without interest but rather gracefully. There is nobody to admire the beauty of his movements, but even when doing something as casual as dressing up he looks elegant like a cat.

Then he is given his usual set of plastic guards and he straps them to his legs and his right arm. He continues putting his gear up as he puts on a pair of trousers, his usual boots and finally the one-sleeve waistcoat that leaves his metal arm free. He fastens the straps on it and pulls the leashes that hold his gun safely to his back over his head and fastens the buckles on it. The last thing missing is his belt and when he's ready, they check if he has done everything properly. He has – naturally – and he is given his usual set of weapons – a gun, some knives and a small dagger. When he puts them to their places, they lead him out of the room and through a long corridor into the secret garage of HYDRA.

The Soldier sits in a shining polished maserati without any interest. He doesn't look out of the darkened window either and he stares onto his lap, deep in thoughts. He concentrates on the mission that awaits him, replays the drawing of the vehicle in his mind and watches at the photos safely stored in his memory. Some of them go unnoticed, such as a picture of a pretty woman with dark hair, some seem distantly familiar to the Soldier and he has to shut his mind down in attempt to stop it from distracting him as he recalls the last photo.

He didn't allow himself to think about it back then when he was given the file because there was much more to think about but it keeps returning to him now. He doesn't think he has ever seen the man in the picture before; he doesn't recognise the blue eyes or the red, blue and white uniform with a star. But his body responds to it, he feels something strange, a signal that is very similar to that of feeling empty stomach and fatigue. He does not recall feeling this about a person and he is frightened; why should he want to see a person, to spend time with them. He should not want anything, but he realises they need him to say when he requires something. Yes, they can repair his body – connect it to other machines via some wires, tubes and pipes – but can they repair his...mind is the word?

He should report malfunction of his brain before the mission. Maybe it's not very serious and they would have time to mend it. But maybe they wouldn't, they'd not be able to prepare him on time, his mission would fail and HYDRA would not manage to complete their task of giving the world peace. He cannot report it now. He may endanger the mission and the malfunction does not have any major influence on his ability to fulfil his task.

The Soldier closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. He has never been anxious before a mission – he knows he has always been firm and reliable, he remembers he has served HYDRA loyally every time they needed him. Maybe the recollections are false, because there's something lingering just beneath the surface, something that keeps nagging him and makes him reach for it but always escapes his attention. If he didn't know better, he'd say it infuriates him.

Nevertheless, there's something that seems to choke him, makes his lungs feel smaller as if they couldn't take in more air, something that elevates his heartbeat and makes him hear the rush of his blood in his ears. He tries to breathe evenly but his hands shake. Maybe he should report the malfunction after all – it seems to be spreading. He can't afford to be weak or vulnerable.

And yet... they said they won't need him after this task is over. Therefore this mission is much more important than it appears and a huge part of the success of it depends on the Soldier. He must report malfunction immediately. Or must he suppress it because there's no time? It makes him feel strange and there's some terrible feeling in his stomach. Not the same as when he's beaten but equally uncomfortable.

"Hey, you!" somebody shouts. Winter Soldier thinks he might be the addressed but he can't focus – inhale, exhale, inhale

"What are you doing?" the person goes on but Winter doesn't pay any attention to it. He doesn't recall feeling this awful before. Hurt, beaten, broken, raped even but never this. His head felt like it was spinning and it was just so uncomfortable. He wished for some relief, anything really, he'd prefer to be beaten because at least he'd understand what is causing his distress.

"Pull back, now. It's sick. Quickly!" the voice screams. The car comes to a halt on the side of the road. Somebody opens the door the Soldier is sitting by and drags him out of the vehicle. The handler supports him as if he is important – as if he is a person – and he feels guilty because of that. They certainly made sure he was okay before they sent him on this mission. He is not malfunctioning; they never sent him on a mission if he wasn't functional. He's acting as if he was human, as if he could feel anything.

"Oh my god, I hope it's not sick! We're doomed if it doesn't do its job." Somebody grumbles as he paces back and forth behind Winter. Somebody else holds him as the Soldier takes in deep breaths. He feels the terrible feeling in his gut leaving him, the dizziness leaves slowly but he feels sleepy, so tired and exhausted, he just wants to lie down and sleep...

"You alright?" Some other man lowers his face to level it with the Soldier's and the asset nods hesitatingly. The man supporting him lets go of him and touches his forehead. The Soldier is confused by the man's actions but he knows better than to resist his handlers. It feels different than the other touches he is used to receive – usually they hurt, either physically or mentally. Sometimes both. As if his body's memories kicked in – the long gone memories of something that could have never happened because it seems as if he was a man in them – and he remembers a nice feeling when somebody was curled in his arms. A thin, pale human form hidden in his embrace as if he could protect, like, love somebody. It appears to be very surreal – the Soldier is not capable of that. Besides, who would want comfort from him? He is a tool, a thing, and who asks a lifeless object for comfort?

"He doesn't have a fever," the man draws his hand back and the moment of sentiment is gone. The Soldier blinks a few times, his eyelashes fluttering a bit too slowly, and he stares at his keepers blankly. Who was the man talking about? The Soldier was not he, indicating a person. So who were they talking about?

"What a shame we don't have a time to check that out in the other parts of its body," somebody else chuckles and even though the Soldier doesn't understand the words, he's heard the voice before and it does not evoke nice memories within him. He steps away from the source of the voice instinctively and bows his head in attempt to divert whoever this voice belongs to from doing those awful things.

"You're gross," the man who attended to the Soldier previously responds, "he remembers, you know? I can see it in his eyes; he remembers what you did to him. You should be more careful, if somebody found out..."

"Eyes? Him? Well that's really romantic! Are you defending it or something?" the other man laughs terribly in the distance.

"Come into the car," the "nice handler", as the Soldier calls him, mutters and he shoves the asset forward. Winter walks obediently and tries to erase the last few minutes from his memory.

"Oh, you bastard. You want it for yourself, don't you? You think it'll remember you were nice to it and it will give itself to you willingly." Unfortunately the rapist doesn't wish to drop the subject. The Soldier is seated on the back seat and he stares out of the window as the door is closed behind him, trying not to hear what the men talk about. The person who was attentive to him sits behind the steering wheel while his companion storms into the passenger's seat and talks again.

"Whatever you want, but I can tell you, there's nothing better than to fuck something vulnerable, feel it struggle and watch it give up slowly. It's twice as good as-" his eyes glisten, the Soldier can see it in the rear view mirror and it makes him feel terrible again. Pictures are flashing in front of his eyes, his body hurts at the recollection and his eyes fill with the salty liquid he has seen in his victims.

"Could you shut up?! Look at him, you're frightening him. Do you wish to be responsible for the failure of his mission if he has a breakdown?" the driver snaps and glares at his companion curtly.

"Whatever you say." The latter shrugs but there's a smug grin upon its face. "You know, the bosses said it won't be needed anymore. I guess I'll ask them to give it to me, I'd use some reward for my hard work."

"Are you nuts? The only thing you deserve is a psychiatric care. Just... don't talk about it, alright?" The driver waits to receive an answer but the car is silent. After a short ride they arrive to a place the Soldier's never been to.

He gets out of the car and is lead to a huge hall with so much various machines it gives him a headache. Is it a scrap yard? Will they leave him there and never retrieve him? Or are the handlers going to do what they were talking about after all? But why would they give him the mission file and make him put on his gear? And then he sees it, the vehicles whose drawings he was given previously. It seems like they're being prepared for taking off.

"So this is the one," he is lead towards of the helicarriers. It seems to him they all look alike but maybe he's wrong. It doesn't matter anyway – he doesn't understand why he distracts himself with something this stupid. I do not think on my own. They show him a way in and close the door behind him. He recalls the drawings he saw and remembers there was something like a core, a control centre and he assumed that was the most important part of the vessel. He runs through the vehicle and finds what he was searching for. Then, everything is just a routine and the Soldier calms down eventually. There's too much to be thought about for it to leave space for redundant memories. And yet the Soldier feels like this day was going to be very important.

He secures the surroundings, finds every possible way in or out, decides where it would be the easiest to shoot and finally finds an observation on the upper deck of the helicarrier. As he sits down on it and watches preparations for taking off, he can't find anything to distract himself with.

What is so special about the man on the photo that it keeps resurfacing in his mind even if he shoves it back every time? As the Soldier watches the picture in his mind, sees the slight smile on rosy lips, the gleaming midday-sky blue eyes or the slight wrinkle between the man's eyebrows, it doesn't let him rest. Is it because the man is so handsome? The Soldier thinks the man is very handsome, beautiful even, but that can't be the problem. He remembers many of his targets were good-looking; no that he has their pictures in his mind, HYDRA wiped it out, but their physical appearance, however pleasing, never interfered with his ability to kill them. Handsome men, pretty women; parents of children that would never have the same life they could have without Winter's intervention. Something about the orphaned children makes him feel... sad? Sorry? He doesn't know, but suddenly he is sure he doesn't want any child to lose a parent, as if he knew what it feels like.

Does the man on the photo have children? Maybe a loving wife – for some reason, the Soldier sees her as a very pretty lady with dark red lips, huge brown eyes and in a uniform – and some equally perfect offspring. No, that's not it. The Soldier does not think he's right in this assumption.

So what is it? Why does he feel repulsed when he thinks about killing that man? What makes him hesitate, what makes his chest tighten at the idea? Why are his eyes clouded when he imagines the beautiful face pierced with a hole for a bullet in the forehead? The Soldier stands up and begins marching back and forth, shaking his head in attempt to clear his mind. But the thoughts are getting worse.

Who are you? He asks the stranger in his mind, trying to create some connection between them. What have you done to affect me this way? I don't know you, I don't want to know you, I don't want to want anything.

The ceiling above his head opens suddenly and the vehicles rise into the air slowly. He stands still, staring in front of himself and wishes with all his mind to never see the man who causes such a mess within his mind.