The Asset had been running all day. He'd managed to keep up a decent pace but late in the afternoon he had started to lag. Now as the sun set, he was walking at what he estimated to be three miles an hour. Unacceptable. He needed rest and sustenance.

He turned back to the way he came and just listened. Nothing. It was odd that he hadn't caught sight of the soldier at all since the clearing. Could it be that the missile had actually taken him out? What else could it be? The American soldier was dead. The idea made him strangely uneasy. He had this crazy urge to go back to the clearing to check on him. Now that truly was insanity. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky, wait up!

James Buchanan Barnes was the man in the army uniform that he'd seen at the museum. While he didn't dispute that he could have once been that man, it certainly wasn't him now. Any memories of his past life were to be excised. Hydra had been very clear and thorough on that point. He wasn't entirely sure why but it wasn't his place to question. That man, whoever he had been, was long dead. He looked back towards the clearing one last time.

Down the next ridge, the Asset came upon what looked like an old machining factory. It had obviously been closed for some time, if not abandoned. He held back until he was sure it was deserted. There were a couple of lights that appeared to be functional so there was still power to the building but no security. He checked twice for cameras, motion detectors, audio detectors, and found nothing. He circled the location three more times before he decided it would be safe enough to hole up for the night. The temperature was already plunging, he was glad for the respite. He turned and looked back once again. There was an emotion there, it pressed against his chest. He wasn't sure but he thought it might be sadness.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Steve hobbled slowly along. Was there really any point? There was no telling how far Bucky had gotten by now and if he chose to keep moving after dark, well… Steve watched his breath curl outwards. It was getting cold. With any luck his former friend would hunker down for the night. It might buy him the time he needed to catch up to him. He started a light jog. His leg protested but he ignored it and kept moving. If they lost him this time, they might not find him before Hydra. The Winter Soldier was a ghost but they knew all his haunts.

Steve picked up speed. He'd never hated anyone in his life but the anger he felt for the ones responsible for what had happened to Bucky sharpened dangerously. Of course, the ones truly responsible were all dead now. While the Hydra of this era was just as culpable, they weren't the ones that made his mind twist darkly. Zola. The man's wheedling tone as he'd casually explained what they'd done, made him want to hurt someone… badly. He couldn't even bear to finish going through all the files. He'd left that to Natasha. He'd seen enough.

Fade to Flashback

"Coronal Zeiss?" The small bespectacled man peered into the office.

"Yes, yes, come in, Doctor. Close the door." Zeiss motioned for the man to take a seat. He really didn't like the little weasel-like scientist. What was the American vernacular? Ah yes, he gave him the creeps.

"I was just running a few projections on the subject," Zola smiled. "I think you will find them most impressive."

The coronal leaned back in his chair. "I doubt that."

Zola frowned, "I don't understand. He's outstanding. Better than we could have hoped." Zeiss had never appreciated his project. Never understood what Herr Schmidt had been trying to accomplish.

"And he is the enemy." Zeiss shook his head, "Doctor, you haven't given us a weapon. You've given the Allies another Captain America."

"That's not true!" Zola huffed. "He has a strong personality but we have made inroads. He's been sent out successfully several times." His cheeks grew red.

"Inroads," the Coronal scoffed. "I wouldn't trust him farther than I can throw him. Tell me, did you send him out independently or was he on a leash?"

"He hasn't been on a solo mission yet, no. His reaction to former allies has been a bit…spotty."

"So I've heard. You've been adjusting his loyalties for nearly three years. I understand some of our best people have worked on him and yet a week ago he killed three guards and a technician. How many is that in total since the project began?"

"Acceptable casualties. At least we know he has no real aversion to killing," Zola pursed his lips in a snit.

"Yes. Now if you could just get him to kill the right people, it would be gratifying." Zeiss shook his head.

"Sir, may I speak frankly…" Zola began.

"No, Doctor Zola, you may not. This isn't a discussion, not this time. I have other projects that I am overseeing. Ones that I think have more chance for success than your pet monster. He is taking up valuable resources that could be put to use elsewhere."

"I oversee most of the project myself…"

"I'm not just talking about facilities and staff," Zeiss interrupted. "I'm talking about the resources that went into outfitting him with an indestructible arm. You know how rare Vibranum is and its being wasted on him." Zeiss threw his hands up. Why the little man was so invested in Asset Seventeen he didn't know but he knew he didn't like it.

"You've seen what he can do with that arm. How his enhanced constitution allows him to wield it."

"Yes, yes, his bones actually fused to it. It's a very impressive weapon, that again, you have given to the enemy. But he won't be needing it, if he's dead. Now will he?"

"Sir. If you could just give me a little more time. You've seen what he's capable of…"

The Coronal sighed, "His abilities aren't the issue. You're not hearing me. The issue is being able to use him confidently. He is unstable. The conditioning seems to work and then it doesn't… and we're back to him killing his handlers."

"A few weeks to come up with a solution is all I ask, Sir."

"You've had three years. Believe me when I say that I don't discount his abilities. It's because of what he's capable of, that he can't, under any circumstances, be allowed to return to our enemy. This makes us look bad, Zola. We need to be able to show proof of concept if the program is to continue and you can't seem to get one assassin under control. Has the new serum shown any viability?"

Zola looked at the wall, "Subjects one through thirty eight have all expired."

"Son of a bitch. Shut it down. Terminate the asset and find a new project or I'll find one for you."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Zola walked slowly down the hall. How dare he? He had worked side by side with Schmidt himself and this second rate pencil pusher was going to shut him down? Ha! He wasn't just going to allow him to pull the plug on his favorite subject. He had years invested in the project and Asset Seventeen was proof of concept. If he could only figure out why the former Sergeant had survived when all the others died… He'd done about everything he could think of, save dissecting the man, and still had no answer. Still, he had friends in high places. The Coronal would soon find that out.

Something was nagging at him. Something that Zeiss had said. The conditioning seemed to work and then it didn't… why was it that it never seemed to stick? He'd never heard of someone going through such conditioning only to have it work then fail over and over again. Either it stuck or the subject died from the trauma, that's how it worked. He was missing something. Maybe, it was the something that would turn this project around.

The last specialists that they had sent to work on the Asset had been especially brutal in their techniques. They employed both a healthy dose of physical torture as well as more horrific forms of psychological pressure. He had been glad for the Asset's enhanced constitution or it would have surely killed him. He had been compliant the longest after those sessions, not that surprising. But previous techniques had also brought the Asset to heel… for awhile.

They'd send him out immediately after his body healed and he would perform well. The Asset was an extraordinary weapon to watch in action. He'd really thought that it would hold that time. But a few months later the Asset was again asserting his will. He just didn't understand. How much torture could a mind take before he just snap… Zola drew in a sharp breath. Oh my. OH MY. Could it be that simple? It would explain a lot, wouldn't it.

He had first discovered the enhanced healing after they had attached the arm. No one was really sure if the arm would even take, but Zola had assured his superiors that Sergeant Barnes was the success that they had been waiting for. He knew it the moment he saw him on the causeway next to his red, white, and blue friend. Barnes should have been dead and yet there he was, up and moving. His success!

Of course, there was nothing that could be done about it then. But the Sergeant's fortuitous fall from the train had given him a second chance. He'd radioed his contact as soon as he saw from the cameras what had happened. He told his contact to get in touch with the Russians immediately. They needed to find Barnes. And find him, they did.

All things considered, he was in remarkable shape. At the time, he'd assumed that the serum had kept the fall from damaging Barnes too badly. He should have known there was more to it. The man's body had still been in flux at the time, still changing. But he had been so caught up with the idea that his serum had worked, that he'd beaten Erskine at his own game that he didn't think it through. He proceeded with the placement of the arm unaware.

Hydra in Russia had been working on a cyborg project for years and had just what he needed. What was surprising was just how well man and machine had merged. It was then that he discovered how far the serum had gone. Barne's bones and nerves had literally fused to the metal. His skin had grown up and around the connection points like the prosthetic was part of him. He started doing other procedures and was ecstatic to learn of the Asset's less obvious enhancements. You broke his bones and they healed without a trace of injury. You cut him and there was never a scar. Never.

It wasn't magic though. He healed very quickly and thoroughly but not miraculously. So it never occurred to him that the Asset's brain might also be able to heal from whatever they did to him. Physically or psychologically. But that would explain why the techniques worked for a period of time then he would relapse. Whatever they did to him, his mind would put itself back together. Little by little, piece by piece.

Zola was giddy. If you could properly define the problem then you could devise a solution. Now he knew that the problem wasn't that the brainwashing techniques didn't work, it was that they weren't permanent. The conditioning was taking its toll on the man, he was responsive… just not reliably. Super soldier or not, he would break at some point. Over the long term, his brain would just stop… fighting. But how long would that take? Five more years? Ten? He didn't have time to wait.

Up until this point, they had used standard protocols in applying conditioning because in a normal situation any more would kill the subject or at least render him drooling on his shirt for the rest of his life. Even a super soldier had limits. But what if by doing this, they were allowing some small vestige of Barne's sense of self to remain and that was why the conditioning failed again and again? As his brain healed, it was able to latch on to whatever bit of his identity was left and rebuild the man.

The solution was simple. Now that he realized that Barne's brain was capable of healing from extraordinary trauma like the rest of his body, he thought he had just the thing. He would burn out every last bit of James Barnes' soul.

"You want to do what?"

"I want to lobotomize him with high voltage. I want to excise his entire identity until we have a clean slate to work with," Zola explained breathlessly, obviously excited by the plan.

"I can think of easier ways to kill that young man," Zeiss responded rather disgustedly. The scientist was clearly a sadist. He took far too much delight in the idea.

"If I'm right… and I am. We won't be killing him. We'll be creating him, don't you see! Whatever damage is done, it will heal. We can reeducate him in any manner we see fit as often as we need. There will be nothing left of the original man to return. It's far more humane than continued conditioning, that as you pointed out, has been ineffectual. And you lose nothing in letting me try."

"Hm." He didn't need to like the scientist as long as he brought him results. And Hydra's lack of delivery on their promised version of Erskine's super soldier had been a continued embarrassment. "So it either 'kills him or he walks away the Hydra weapon you promised?... I think, I can live with that."

Zola smiled.

The Asset worked his way deep into the maze of corridors and rooms. There was graffiti on the walls and damp spreading across the ceiling. But there was nothing on the floors to indicate trespassers. No one had been here in awhile.

On the second floor, he came upon a machinist's area. There were a couple of large presses and an engine left to rust but more importantly the room was defendable and had more than two escape routes. This was what he had been looking for, a tactical advantage.

He found a large steel barrel and grabbed it, tossing some old wood planks into it. Judging it to be far enough from the windows that no one would see the light, he lit it up. Standing close, the Asset unzipped his jacket to let the heat in, it felt good. His mechanical arm, of course, didn't feel the cold but the area where flesh merged to metal would start to ache when his arm got too frosty.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a protein bar. It was the only one that he had left, he would have to think about resupplying himself tomorrow. But first, he needed to decide what he was going to do now that the situation had changed. Once his description was released by the police, Hydra would follow. This would be the closest they'd come in nearly two years. He had the American to thank for that.

He'd been careful to stay away from Hydra safe houses and the like, knowing that they would be waiting to reacquire him. That left him with petty crime to get the money and supplies that he needed. As it turned out, he was actually adept at stealing. He found he preferred it. If he was skillful no one even knew that anything was missing until he was long gone. There was no fighting, no screaming, and no killing. Except for the personnel sent to retrieve him, he hadn't killed anyone in nearly two years. He figured that was a record. It didn't make him feel better exactly but there was some sense of accomplishment.

Given that he wasn't supposed to operate autonomously, he thought that he was doing quite well in making his own decisions. Until the hot chocolate. That had been a bone headed mistake, plain and simple. It had almost cost him his freedom. But there had been something so… so… he didn't even know the word for it. He'd just decided that he wanted it so he went to the café to have it. It was a heady sensation, freedom.

Memories danced at the edge of his mind. Would it really be so bad to think about them? Yes. It would. Hydra might not be able to punish him but such thoughts only caused confusion. And confusion when you were on the run could cost you your life… or worse. But the American… you've known me your whole life. You're my friend.

The little blonde boy, the one who was always following him, always telling him to wait up, he glanced up at the window. "Stevie. You're Stevie." You've known me your whole life. "I knew him," he murmured.

"Come on, Stevie. You can do it. I know you can." *I can't, Bucky. I can't.* "Take my hand. You don't have to be afraid." Unconsciously, the Asset reached out, grasping at the air. He blinked his eyes rapidly and the memory faded. Pierce really should have been more stringent with the wipes.

He walked over to the window and looked out to the North. The moon shone blue across the landscape. He should be glad the American was dead. Steve. His name was Steve. I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal. His head was starting to hurt. He rubbed at his forehead. He needed to let the memories go before it got worse... and it would get much worse. But he couldn't. He found he didn't want to, not this time. He wanted to know. He wanted to understand. This man had been chasing him for two years. That had to mean something.

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. The Asset looked out into the distance and a small smile touched his lips, "I have a name."