What's that weird grinding noise?
Hazy eyes blink open to a surging, bright, and burning pain in what remains of his left arm - not to say that much remains. When he finally manages to straggle his blurry gaze in the right direction, there is a tiny worn-out looking bone-saw biting into his arm, slicing the tattered mess of flesh and shattered bone off clean at the shoulder.
He's probably not really meant to be awake for this, but whatever they gave him in the truck is wearing off. He almost wishes they'd knock him out again, as terrifying as it is not to know what they're doing to him, just so he could be spared seeing this.
With mounting horror, he watches the bloody muscle fibers slowly give way, chips of bone flying in wide arcs as the saw skips and tears its way through.
His eyes widen sluggishly and he tries to struggle, to jerk away from whoever is doing this, to run -panic flooding his veins; but his body won't respond. He can't move an inch. Not so much as a single weak twitch results from the wildfire of raw fear that's blazing through him. The scream that's rising in his chest stays trapped there, building like steam. A thin wailing sound is all that escapes.
Someone's head twists to study him at the sudden noise, apparently alarmed. When he fails to move or struggle, the person wielding the saw relaxes again, and goes on about their business, ignoring him. They know he's awake. There was eye-contact. No one cares.
The blurry shape of a person with the saw starts to hum and he realizes with a start that it's a woman. … A cheerful woman at that. The disconnect only makes the horror that much more palpable.
They don't bother putting him under again.
Tears of agony, frustration, and fear linger on his cheeks by the time the amputation is done. Bucky feels ragged and exhausted. He's terrified, his left side is on fire, and he still can't move. A rough bandage is cinched over the raw nub of what was once an arm, and he squeezes his eyes shut around a searing wave of fresh pain as they snug it into place. They're not making any effort to be gentle with him, that's for sure.
He has no way to gauge how much time has passed, as disoriented as he is, but it feels like several hours at least. The dull tinking of metal tools in a steel sink echoes in the small space, somewhere off to his left. There is more tuneless humming as the plumbing shrieks and splashing water joins the background noise. Bucky's head is heavy and swimming. Every nerve in his body screams for relief that won't come. The noise it makes in his brain is deafening.
Two more people approach from somewhere across the room. There is some discussion, apparently about what to do with him. His captors argue quietly for a while before finally opting to leave their prisoner where he is, strapping him down to the frigid metal table. Someone tosses a sheet over him, almost as an afterthought. They are still conversing lightly amongst themselves as the three of them troop out and shut off the lights. The sound of a heavy deadbolt sliding home thuds ominously in the still room. None of them bother glancing back.
Bucky closes his eyes in the dark, and tries vainly to sleep. He's too weak to struggle.
A/N: We'll be back to Steve in the next chapter.