Brooklyn June 14, 1943

He was headed to the local cinema. The city was abuzz with people. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, the intake on enlistment entries had grown exponentially. Everyone was talking about the ongoing war overseas. For or against, everyone had an opinion, a stance. And it wasn't just seen on the streets, interactions in the shops, bars, parks, homes were all dampened and shaped by the war. As a young man, it was strange, exciting almost. Foreboding rather.

As he neared the entrance to the local cinema, something caught his eye by the side alley door. Two men, one bulky in a blue jacket, the other thin-faced in a beige coat, exited the cinema. The thin man stumbled forward in front of the aggressive blue jacket man. He followed the pair into the alley and couldn't help but roll his eyes when he recognized one of the men sprawled on the ground.

Haphazardly, the thin man stood back up and raised his shaking fists to the other man. "You just don't know when to give up, do ya?" The bigger man mocked as the other man panted. "I can do this all day." He breathed before throwing an ill-aimed punch at the taller man only for his fist to be blocked and the bully to punch him in the face with enough force to send him flying into the trash cans.

At this, Bucky stood in, grabbing the leering man's arm and thrusting him away from his injured friend. "Hey, pick on someone your own size." The man, in a fit of rage, threw a punch at Bucky, which he quickly dodged and landed a solid punch to the man's cheekbone followed by a kick to the butt. Bucky watched as the blue jacket man left the alley before turning to assess his friend. "Y'know, sometimes I think you like getting punched."

Steve's POV:

It had been a disappointing day, to say the least, but it was still a shock to see my closest friend in army attire.

"I had him on the ropes." I argued but even I knew it was false. If Bucky hadn't been here in time I'd, well, I would not be in such a decent state. If dirt-stained pants and a quickly forming bruise on my cheek could be counted as decent. Bucky has always been my closest friend, almost brother in fact. No matter where we went the other was near to follow. No matter how much trouble one was in, the other was sure to rescue. No matter... No matter what we'd always been together.
And now we wouldn't.

We had spoken so long of enlisting. When the war broke out and it had reached the public that there would be an enlistment both Bucky and I had been quick to sign up. Bucky got through.

I didn't.

But I didn't stop trying. Again and again, I enlisted. Lying in every form. Spiraling down circles of desperation. Each failure marked over and over and-

"How many times is this?" Bucky's voice broke through my tangent, shaking me out of my chain of thoughts, and forcing me to focus onto what he was talking about.

I must've dropped the form as I stood up because Bucky appeared to be standing up from a crouched position, holding the damned enlistment papers in his hands, his eyes scanning over the words.

"And you're from Paramus now? It's still illegal to lie on an enlistment form, and seriously, Jersey?"

"Looks like your got your orders." I stated, taking in wholly his fresh army uniform.

"107th ships to England first thing tomorrow."

Tomorrow... tomorrow but that means-

"This is my last night"

That hung around for a second too long. Where has all the time gone?

Intending to lighten the mood, I moved the subject, "So, what's the first stop. Church?"

That got a grin out of Bucky. "Yeah... maybe second stop."

Frowning, I followed Bucky out of the alley to the open streets. It was sometime in the afternoon but people seemed to be bee-lining up the street. "Where are we going?"

My question barely had time to stand before Bucky whipped out a newspaper and handed it to me.

"The future."

Austrian HYDRA Weapons Facility, June 14, 1943

Solider POV:

Three trucks traveled along the unused road, roots and rocks rocking the vehicles as they speedily passed trees and the rare animal here and there. It was not that long ago when many animals of varied size, shape, and colour lived on these lands but it's long since such times. Now tis different times. Much is changed. Much is gone and here and different. No one can go back. We can only march forward, a united front. Hydra. Yet it was times like these where it became most apparent. The wait. The unbearable beginning. The swift hands of God molding the future much like the wind and water carved out the hills and dips of the land. The great drop. So close. We were so close. Staring down the cliff. One more step. One misplaced step and the world would be irrevocably changed. They knew. The animals. The wildlife felt what was coming much like every other man in this truck knew what was coming.

As the truck drove over another especially large tree root, the profound cradle in the carriage rocked. Ahead was the director, Johann Schmidt and his trusted associates, leading the way to the hidden base. Behind was a carriage filled with soldiers and weapons bringing up the rear of the damned entourage. And in the middle, us. Soldiers clad in the uniform of Nazi Germany sat on either side of the carriage, shoulder to shoulder, facing inwards. Silence. No one spoke, laughed, moved. We had orders. We would comply.

Yet even now, it was hard to remain emotionless. To let the deep evil that slipped through the cracks of the cradle wash over us. To not feel the cold touch of bitterness clench at our hearts, daring us to run, hide. Escape.

Hurried footsteps traversed back and forth, ever monitoring the cradle. Zola. Schmidt's scientist. He was initially assigned to work with the Red Skull to create a weapon that would change the outcome of the war. However, as chance would have it, his expertise in human biology would necessitate his required presence now.

The cradle.

It was a large metal crate, about 8 feet long and 3 feet across, designed by Zola himself. It sat in the middle of the carriage, bolted to the floor, pipes and tubes escaping the confines of the box and connecting to readers and computers along the side of the cradle. Zola stood there now, his eyes scanning over the readers, monitoring blood pressure, heart rate, blood toxicity, etc. Every now and then he would alter the intake of fluid going through the tubes inside.

He was stressed. We could all see it. As the road smoothed out to concrete and the shadows of the entrance began to appear, Zola's pace quickened. Whoever, whatever lied in that red-star branded cradle was of importance. Darkness. Evil. A victory that was sure to be ours's. A world that would bow down to whoever held the key to the prison containing the monster.

The carriage doors unlocked.