"… We're losing most of her skillset in any case. The amount of information she'll need to catch up on to be the kind of asset she was for Leviathan back in the day… Yeah, I don't think that's doable. She can't navigate life in this century. The likelihood of her slipping up over something we didn't think to include in her re-education because we couldn't have foreseen it'll become an issue is too great," I conclude despite finding myself face to face with about the worst skip-to-the-good-news expression I've seen of late. "You can still drop her in a warzone and watch her decimate the enemy, because physically she's as formidable as ever. But if you hoped for someone who can fake their way through social situations… She's going to completely miss a popcultural reference everyone who grew up in the nineties wouldn't have even registered and there goes her cover. She's revealed as someone out of her time and we lose the advantage we were hoping for."
"What a long and convoluted way of telling me we do not have the Winter Soldier replacement we were hoping for."
"Well, if you don't want convoluted maybe put a professional on this. Because – and I've been saying this for over a week now – this is not really my area of expertise. I deal with brains in a completely different context," I reply, holding his eyes and not putting up with this nonsense. "As in when they don't talk back at me. I can tell you that despite the appearances she's not the kind of certified sociopath we like because the part of her brain dealing with empathy? That's all still in working order. They just beaten her out of the habit of using it. But to ask someone like me to make a final call on whether or not we have a superspy material is just wasting everyone's time. Get an intelligence expert to evaluate her."
"We are in process of acquiring one," he informs me tonelessly.
"Sir, all due respect, we're all adults here. Just say we're kidnapping one. We all know that's what we do here, right?" I say, looking around at the support stuff who, yeah, seem unbothered by me spelling it out. Because why would they? It's just another act of gratuitous villainy the more proactive members of Hydra are up to. No one has any illusions about that.
"Forgive me for saying this, Doctor," he says with just a hint of a smile, "but you seem to be really struggling with this assignment. Normally you at least attempt to hide your distaste for your work. What's different about this subject…?" he says and leaves it there. Though he might as well have said is her sad backstory getting to you?
"I'm struggling with this assignment because I have the wrong skillset for it. It has nothing to do with whether or not I'm empathizing because, again, I know what we do here," I reply.
There's no need to add that since they paid for my education and majority of my research and on at least one occasion broke me out of prison I'm the last person that's likely to start making waves.
The other scientists in the complex might be either truly that naïve or so good at staying in denial that they might be able to someday claim they didn't know. Not me. I always knew. I grew up knowing – and isn't that its own, special flavor of tragic…?
"Just assign dealing with her to someone else so I can go back to doing what I'm actually good at."
"Why, of course, Doctor," he says in that dangerously calm tone that's meant to remind me that I'm not the one giving orders around here, he is.
This would be the perfect moment to start glaring at him or straight ask him something along the lines of what the fuck do you want from me? Both options that can only be described as bad for my long term survival. Which he knows, hence baiting me into an outburst of some kind. Because this is his idea of fun, being just naturally malicious – as all people who seem to do well in Hydra are. And isn't that a pattern worth remarking on...?
"How long until you acquire your expert?" I ask instead, in a perfectly calm, reasonable tone, just to let him know he can keep dreaming of getting a raise out of me.
At the end of the day I'm the intellectual superior of all the trigger happy Hydra footsoldiers and I'm just gonna continue showing off that fact until someone loses their patience and shoots me for it. And bleeding out I'll still go out of my way to remind them that violence is the last refuge of the incompetent...
That's what I tell myself anyway. Though as soon as the meeting wraps up I do the slightly out of character thing of heading right back to the part of the compound we're keeping the so-called subject.
The subject I just spent a solid hour explaining I don't know how to make useful... Yeah. It seems to be that kind of a day.
"Back so soon?" smiles Dottie seeing me enter. Her calm once again makes me question whether she's really a prisoner here. Because she looks for all the world as someone who's exactly where she wants to be.
"You know I'm a neuroscientist, right?"
"You may have mentioned it in passing."
"You can tell that's the entirely wrong kind of person for dealing with you if the end game is to make you a spy we can use, right? Of course you can. If you didn't before the fact I just showed up for a quick chat about how much of an asshole my boss is is gonna tip you off in three… two…"
"Are you alright, Doctor?" she asks, still smirking. Though there is just a hint of concern in her tone, despite the bravado.
And doesn't that say it all…? When someone who's been brainwashed and enslaved since the earliest childhood, finally broke free for a brief period only to get recaptured and woken up decades later and in the same unescapable situation all over again wants to know if I'm alright...
"Not alright, Dottie. So far from alright in fact I can't even remember the last time…" I say, pacing around the room as she watches me through the transparent wall of her cell, visibly amused. "I mean I'm fine with us using brainwashed assassins because I have to be fine with it, right? I work for Hydra. That comes with the territory. What is not in my job description is to be the person that screws someone's brain so badly they end up what amounts to nothing more than a weapon that, sure, is shaped like a person, but... I mean, this is the kind of crap my father used to do for them... I'm not having a moral dilemma," I say quickly, seeing she's about to accuse me of just that.
"Clearly," she replies, tonelessly. The sarcasm making me roll my eyes.
"I'm not," I repeat. It's about as convincing as it was the first time around. "I know that even if I knew what I was doing there's actually nothing I can do to you. All the damage was done decades ago. You're as broken as someone can be. There's no breaking you further same as there's no putting you back into some approximation of a person again. Your psyche is just… one big scar at this point."
"That's a creepy metaphor."
"Well, so are you. Creepy that is. I'm not insulting you, I'm describing you. And that's actually a hilarious reference but you didn't understand it because of course you didn't. You're stuck living in a world that just about survived a world war. The crap we've been through in just the last decade would melt your brain if you knew."
Her expression makes it clear she's not really seeing the joke, which… fair enough. "Oh, what am I doing…? I mean, really… What is this? Is this me having a breakdown? Because from where I stand it feels like this might be me having a breakdown. And you don't care. You just want out. Which will never happen by the way. They're idiots for keeping you on ice for this long and bigger idiots for waking you up now. It's not even about you, they just wanted a moral boost because their favorite toy started acting like a real boy again and ran off and… you know what? Good for him…"
"I think you're right," she interrupts finally. "You are having a breakdown. Do go on, though. It's rather entertaining."
"Thanks, Dots," I say with a grin that is far from amused.
But then, if I can't laugh at myself who can I laugh at? Definitely not this scary Russian. Everything about her adds up to something that just makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry myself to sleep. She's basically the embodiment of everything I hate about the human nature – a perfect example of the amount of damage someone can take and still keep moving. Carrying long dead parts of themselves around while going through the motions, faking being just fine so thoroughly even they end up believing it.
"So they woke me up to replace someone?" she asks, seemingly just to change the subject. As though she didn't know…
"Yes and no. There was someone you should probably think of as a far superior model. He was around for decades and they got a little too used to having that in their corner. So they decided we can just turn you into Winter Soldier 2.0… Which would be a stupid idea even if everything you knew wasn't so out of date. And I know what you're thinking," I add with a smile that is just a touch more genuine. "And yes, this is a whole lot of classified information I should not be telling you. But what's the point of keeping it from you. You're never going to make use of it. There's no leaving this place for you. They already know you're not really what they want. You'll go back on ice or… Oh. Oh, Dottie," I say before I can think better of it.
"What?"
"Don't… I saw it," I say, holding her eyes. For the first time it's her that looks away first.
"If you don't think that's the best possible outcome for me you haven't read my file all the way through," she says only and her voice is toneless. Dead. She doesn't even aggressively remind me not to pity her because she doesn't care whether I do.
She's past caring.
She just wants it to be over…
"Well, for what it's worth... I think I might be there with you," I sigh, coming closer to the glass wall separating us.
And when she turns to face you again there's just a hint of her usual smile…
"Suicide pact?" she suggests.
"Sounds great," I grin. And the worst part? I've never meant anything more...
