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Chapter 2
Elia jolted upright.
The quiet beep that had alarmed her out of her restless sleep was followed by the click of her cell door unlocking and the door swinging open.
She instinctively gripped at the blanket and pressed herself back against the concrete wall.
The man at the door wasn't one she recognized from the last two days. But, truthfully, they all mostly looked alike. Strong builds, black clothes, grim faces. Except for the metal armed soldier. He stood out, his build, his bearing. Everything about him was a threat that was unmatched by any of the other men at the facility.
"Let's go," the man in her doorway said.
This one had a thick accent. Russian or something similar.
Elia had the split second thought of trying to run. Dart past him and out the door into the labyrinth of underground corridors.
But then she thought of how casually Rumlow was instructed to kill her yesterday.
She stood, the thought of what might be waiting for her outside the relative security of her cell making her throat pinch.
The man grabbed her arm and took her from her room.
The adrenaline surge overran any exhaustion she might have had from her lack of sleep the night before. Every time she had closed her eyes, she had seen those two dead men on the floor. Then she would think of the blank look on the metal-armed soldier's face. The way he stared at her and then the light would leave his eyes and he would be looking right through her. She would feel the frantic uneasiness in her gut, sure he was going to send her body to join the broken ones on the floor.
She couldn't close her eyes without jerking awake with a gasp, sure the soldier was looming over her.
Then his screams would echo through her memories. The way he had been willingly strapped down, metal bands around his arms and head. The tortured screams of agony she had heard, even through the door that had closed behind her. And she wasn't entirely sure he wasn't also a victim.
She shook her head slightly, trying to shake loose a coherent thought. Nothing made sense.
She let this soldier drag her down the hall to the gym. It looked vaguely familiar. Maybe she had been here? Yesterday, during the time that was hazy and then…black. Her head spun when she tried to remember anything that happened after they had injected her with something. But she had no idea. Nothing until they were bringing her back to her cell, then pulling her out again to stitch up the terrifying stoic soldier.
The man that was escorting her gave her a hard shove in the small of her back. Elia stumbled forward a couple steps, but caught her balance.
"Sit," he ordered, giving her another shove.
Elia crashed against a weight bench and quickly dropped onto it. She gripped the edge of the bench, like that would keep her from being grabbed and hauled anywhere else. She looked around the gym.
Her mind reeled too quickly for her to try to come up with any sort of idea about what he could be doing with her, let alone any sort of coherent plan to get free. Confusion was as real as her fear.
"I don't know what you want with me," she said. Maybe this man would be more willing to listen than the men who had taken her. Or the one who had ordered the guards to shoot her if she didn't cooperate. "I'm nobody. I don't know—"
He glared at her and left the room without a word. The gym door closed behind him.
Elia sat in the silence. The only sound was the buzzing of the overhead lights. She took a breath. There had been a therapist—one she had only seen for a couple visits—that had told her to take a breath and center herself.
She didn't feel any more centered. But she had focused on a door. Not the one she had been brought in through, but on the opposite end of the gym.
She glanced toward the door the guard had exited. The overwhelming knowledge that she was going to end up dead, whether she obeyed whoever was issuing the orders or not, pressed down on her. Especially if they insisted on putting her in the same room as the man with the metal arm. The one with the blank eyes.
Elia levered herself up from the bench. Her legs didn't feel steady, but she focused on the door across the cinderblock room. She found her stride. Just like jogging after work, right?
She made it to the door. Gripped the handle with numb fingers.
The sound of the other door—the one she had been brought in—opening had her whirling around.
The metal-armed soldier stood in the opposite doorway. His eyes flicked over her emotionlessly.
Elia kept her hand on the door handle at her back. She tried to turn it in uselessly.
It didn't move under her hand. But the soldier moved. He crossed the gym toward her.
Elia pressed back against the door. The handle dug into her lower back.
The soldier didn't come near her. He moved to one side of the gym, near an open area of concrete flooring. He stood there.
Elia swallowed hard. She stayed against the door. The soldier stared straight ahead.
She had no idea what he was waiting for.
The door he had come through had closed behind him. Elia gave the handle at her back another futile jiggle.
The other door opened again and Elia flinched.
The man who seemed to be the leader, the one who had ordered the others to shoot her, came through the door first. Director Pierce, Elia silently reminded herself of his name. Rumlow behind him. Two other soldiers in black. A woman and a man in lab coats.
Then a soldier in different uniform came in.
Elia didn't understand the change in the air when he entered.
This soldier was huge. In a leather vest similar to the one the metal armed soldier wore.
"Soldier," Director Pierce spoke.
The soldier with the silver arm turned his head to look at him. "Ready to comply," he said evenly.
It sent an icy chill up her spine.
The director nodded toward the hulking man in leather. "Kill him," he ordered.
Elia flinched back at the command hard enough that the handle jabbed her spine painfully enough to leave a bruise.
The soldier looked at his opponent without any flicker of emotion. The opponent moved closer, a grim smile on his face.
The winter soldier started moving. A determined stride. When he got close enough, he struck out.
Elia wanted to close her eyes. She didn't want to watch whatever was about to happen. She didn't understand why they had brought her here to watch this.
The opponent dodged most of the force of the first kick. He retaliated with a blow that the metal arm easily blocked.
Her eyes darted between them.
The winter soldier fought brutally. The other man moved with lightning speed, light on his feet, striking hard enough to knock the winter soldier back sometimes. But the winter soldier landed every blow with enough force to visibly shake his enemy. He wasn't light on his feet, he moved with strong determination, a ruthless mission playing out in every move. A killing machine.
Elia almost missed the quiet conversation between Director Pierce and Rumlow.
"This serum is different," Pierce said. "The Winter Soldier is a relic from another era. None of the serum survived."
Elia strained to hear over the sound of flesh striking flesh, the occasional clang and whir of a metal arm.
"This is the first time we've managed to produce a promising replica. The previous subjects…didn't tolerate the injections." The scientist's brow furrowed as he watched the fight play out. He leaned over to the woman and murmured something to her. She nodded and lifted the electronic tablet in her hands and made a notation.
The opponent grabbed the winter soldier in a choke hold. The soldier pulled at the arm around his neck. Veins in his forehead throbbed.
"Do you think you can replicate this in other assets?" Pierce looked completely unconcerned that the winter soldier was about to be ended.
Elia could only guess at what it would mean if this new killer managed to overtake the man who had killed a medic and doctor who had been trying to help him.
With a sudden movement, the winter soldier dropped to his knees and powered the man behind him into the air and over his head.
Elia sucked in a breath when he pulled a knife from his vest and twirled it deftly in his fingers as he closed the distance to the other man. But the opponent wasn't done. He jumped back up, drawing his own knife.
Elia bit her lips between her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut.
"The only uncertainty is how he will respond to cryo," a scientist was saying. "Which severely limits the usefulness of any asset. If they have to remain active between missions, it will greatly reduce their longevity."
Sudden silence rang through the gym.
Elia didn't want to look. She kept her eyes closed.
"We'll make adjustments to the formula," the scientist finally said.
Elia opened her eyes. The winter soldier was taking a step back from the motionless form on the floor.
"Good work, Soldier," Pierce said, no warmth in his voice.
The winter soldier didn't make any indication he heard the commendation. He wiped off his knife and tucked it back in his pocket with deft fingers.
Pierce spoke to the soldiers who had followed him in. "Dispose of the body." He turned his attention back to the scientists. "What adjustments can you make?"
Elia didn't hear their hushed answers as they headed for the door. The lifeless body on the floor was lifted and carried out after them.
Rumlow scanned the room until he saw her. "Supplies are by the door," he said to her, then followed the others from the gym.
Elia frantically looked for what supplies he was talking about. Was she supposed to fight this soldier? Who had some sort of serum enhanced strength?
She saw a red box, labeled First Aid.
That's why she was here. They had been serious about not risking any more of their own medics or doctors tending to this assassin.
The winter soldier looked towards her. He moved to the weight bench she had sat on when she first came to the gym.
He sat. No expression. No words. Just sat there.
Elia stared at him. How could he have just killed someone and now sat there like his mind was blank? Like he had no emotion?
The picture of the two men he had killed the day before, broken bodies on the floor after trying to suture him, filled her vision.
Breathe. No, find 3 things she could feel. Or go for a run. That had been another suggestion, but it came from a web search, not a therapist. Or take a class. Take a class and gain some control. She had done that, even though she never went back to the therapist who suggested it.
Ok, she needed to move. Not go over every coping mechanism that had ever failed her. She needed to focus.
Elia hated to leave the security of the door at her back. But what if Rumlow or the others were waiting outside the gym, guns ready to shoot her if she didn't help the soldier?
She carefully crossed the gym. She faltered when she came to the blood smeared on the floor where the other man had been slain.
She was going to—she couldn't—
Ellia clutched at her throat, willing herself to keep breathing.
You can't die from a panic attack.
That's what the doctor had said, the first time she had gone to the emergency room in high school, sure she was having a heart attack.
Her heart fluttered like it was going to fast to actually beat now.
She tried, she tried everything she could think of. Counting, focusing on a sound—
She looked over at the soldier.
The soldier didn't move. His blue eyes watched her.
She had to pull herself together. She had to—had to—she couldn't—
She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
The blood was what centered her. Reminded her of what she needed to do.
She focused on the pain. Slowed her breathing. The man still sat, unmoving, watching her.
With unsteady steps, Elia gave him wide berth and got to the first aid box. The metal box rattled when she picked it up, too loud in the silent room.
Should she talk to him? Keep her mouth shut and hope he didn't lash out?
But he looked calm today. He didn't have the edge of confusion stealing over his eyes. He was blank. Almost unresponsive.
"You—you have a cut on your—on—" Elia motioned toward his left temple.
She set the box on the bench next to him, trying to keep as much distance between them as she could.
She opened it and rummaged through quickly with trembling fingers until she found gloves and antiseptic. She clumsily managed to get the gloves on.
"Th—this will hurt," she stammered, opening the antiseptic, then cringed. Not like it would hurt worse than the knife that had sliced at him. Or the super strength fists that had pummeled him.
He didn't move as she cleaned that cut. Found a cold pack she could pop a seal on and activate and press to his jaw.
"I don't think your jaw is broken," she said. "I don't—don't know if they have an x-ray machine here."
But he had some super serum flowing through his blood. Maybe he would heal more quickly.
She frowned when she noticed another cut, below his jaw. She started to reach to move his hair, then froze, remembering who—what—her patient was.
"I need to—can I—your hair…"
He barely flicked his eyes toward her, but moved his head so she could see the cut more easily.
She needed to get this done as quickly as she could so she could get away from him.
Every single muscle in her body was tensed, ready to leap away if he moved toward her at all. The uncertainty of when he would attack was enough to make her vision start to narrow, black creeping in around the edges. But she had to focus. Had to get through—
She gripped the edge of the bench to keep from falling over as black spots danced in front of her vision. She lowered her head enough to take some deep breaths, but they didn't help. Not when she was waiting for him to grab her at any second.
OK, she had to do this. It was this or a gun that was most likely on the other side of the door.
She straightened enough to get back to work, but acutely aware that she was about to collapse. With unsteady hands, she pushed his hair back and examined the cut there. She didn't dare turn fully away from him. She spilled a box of bandaids across the floor and fumbled to pick them up.
A larger hand landed next to hers and Elia scrambled backwards, a scream catching in her throat.
The soldier glanced at her without emotion, then gathered the spilled mess and tossed it back into the first aid box. He pulled a larger bandage from the box and placed it over the cut that Elia thought might need butterfly strips.
Without another look towards her, he stood and went to the door. It opened for him and he disappeared without a sound.
Elia finally collapsed back, every limb weak now that she didn't have to brace for a fight.
The door opened again and the guard was back.
Elia didn't wait for him to grab her arm. She got to her feet and quickly followed after him back to her cell.
#
"We don't have any information on this operative."
Nick Fury's voice was low with concern.
Steve looked at the pictures, grainy stills from security cameras. The man in the pictures had the posture of a soldier—assurance and motive in every movement. But there was also a lack of reaction that wasn't normal for a soldier.
Steve leaned in closer to study the soldier. There wasn't much to see. His eyes were covered with goggles, a mask over the bottom half of his face.
"Soviet?" Steve asked, noting the red star on the man's shoulder.
"The Winter Soldier," Natasha Romanoff said.
Steve and Fury looked back at her.
She came the rest of the way into the room behind them, her face neutral in the face of the killer Fury had been briefing Steve on.
Her eyes studied the picture briefly, then turned back to Fury. "There were rumors. Back in Russia."
"What do you know about him?" Fury asked.
Natasha perched on the arm of Steve's chair. "Not much, no one does. The guy's a ghost. They've been talking about him for decades."
"Decades?" Steve asked.
She shrugged a shoulder. "Urban myths tend to linger. Especially if they come out of a country that thrives on suppressing the truth."
He slid a sheaf of papers across the low table between the armchairs in the corner of his office.
Natasha leaned forward and picked them up. Steve had already seen the report. He and Fury waited while Natasha scanned it.
She looked up, no change in her expression. Steve appreciated that not much rattled the agent, but he sometimes wished he could read her better.
"So you don't think this guy is responsible for all this?" Fury asked with a nod toward the papers.
"Do you think he's been operating for over seventy years?" Natasha countered.
"That's impossible," Steve said. There was no way the guy in the pictures was ninety years old.
Natasha and Fury both looked at him.
Natasha cocked an eyebrow.
Steve frowned. "I was in ice. Not a Soviet operative for the last seventy years."
Fury made a sound of agreement. "Rogers is right. HYDRA most likely has had a series of Winter Soldiers. All trained the same way, with the same weapons."
Steve leaned into the picture again. "And the same arm?"
Fury took the papers back from Natasha. "It's possible."
Steve didn't like the idea that HYDRA had a way to replace this soldier if they took him down. But the thought of someone like him—someone from another era preserved into another time—was…not worth thinking about.
He cleared his throat and focused on the information they did have.
"Do we know anything about this current winter soldier?"
"Only that he's ruthless," Fury said. "We think he's the one who took out Senator Fields."
Steve knew activity at S.H.I.E.L.D. had been ramped up since the assassination two days before. Senator Fields had been heavily involved with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s activities- especially the counter espionage and security units.
"We suspect HYDRA, but there are rumors underground that it was Senator Marks."
Natasha stood and bent over the profile of the potential instigator. Steve knew Senator Marks didn't trust the Avengers Initiative. He had made no secret about his mission to hamstring the freedoms enhanced individuals had, especially the Avengers.
"Nice guy," Natasha said wryly, reading through the Senator's quotes about the Avengers. " 'Freaks of nature who should be exterminated.'" She slid the paper away. "People voted for this guy?"
"People fear what they don't understand," Fury said.
Steve thought of the world he had left, the one that had been his last memory before being pulled from the ice. He had seen first hand what that kind of prejudice could lead to.
"So what's our plan?" he asked.
"First, we find out if Marks has any ties to HYDRA. Then we find out how deep his involvement is with Project Insight."
"And then?" Steve asked.
"Then we take care of the threat."
Steve didn't want to think about what might happen if the threat proved to be less than cooperative. But he nodded once, showing he understood the serious risk S.H.I.E.L.D. was currently facing.
"I'm going to look over the files Agent Romanoff was able to get from the ship's computer. We'll see if there's anything to link Senator Marks to the project."
"And this guy?" Natasha asked, angling her head toward the picture of the soldier.
"We're going to hope we can face that guy and get him out of the picture," Fury said, the simplicity of the plan not matching with all the pieces Steve knew would have to be involved.
But Steve didn't say that. He simply gave Fury a small tip of his head. "Sir," he said in parting.
Fury nodded back at him, releasing Steve from their briefing.
Steve strode out of the office. Whatever HYDRA had done to train a Winter Soldier, Steve would have to be better trained. Stronger, faster.
#
"Let's go."
Elia jumped up at the order. She hadn't moved quickly enough getting into her cell the day before and had an aching jaw and bruise to show for it. She didn't want to earn another fist to her face.
Rumlow was recognizable to her. Pleasure at her fast reaction was clear in his eyes. "Maybe we won't have to drug you again," he said.
Elia didn't want to know what they might be drugging her for again. But more than that, she didn't want to be drugged. She didn't want to wake up not knowing what had happened. She didn't want the thudding in her head while she tried to clear her thoughts as she woke up. So she fell in step with him without hesitation.
Rumlow went throught he winding corridors. The entered an elevator and he pushed a button, none of them were labeled.
Elia forced herself not to back away from him. She stood next to him, denying every fiber of her being that wanted to shy away or fidget. She stood stock still. Anything to avoid an injection of that powerful sedative again. Not that she really wanted to remain conscious and watch a brutal fight to the death again, either.
The elevator stopped, the doors sliding open nearly soundlessly.
The doors opened directly into a garage.
Two men in black stood near an oversized black SUV. A third man stood a short distance from them.
He looked over when Rumlow and Elia stepped out of the elevator.
Elia looked at his bruises, the cut on his jaw, from the fatal battle the day before. They were already noticeably healing.
He kept watching her as they approached.
"She's awake," one of the men said.
"She's compliant," Rumlow responded. He handed a capped syringe to the winter soldier. "If that changes…"
The soldier took the syringe without any change in expression, unzipping a pocket on his cargo pants and stowing the syringe away.
Elia met his eyes, fear at the idea of being drugged unconscious again starting to claw at her chest. The idea of not knowing what these men were doing, why they needed her, was enough to build the clawing to a physical pain.
"Let's go," one of the men said.
Rumlow got in the front seat and a new hand clasped Elia's arm.
The soldier dispassionately moved her into the back seat. Elia didn't resist, even as she struggled for every breath.
The vehicle started and moved from the garage to a long ramp, headlights against rock walls the only lights.
It was a slight incline climb until a gate opened at the end of the tunnel and the vehicle emerged into the woods.
"Leaving the facility now," the driver spoke into his earpiece.
The gravel road was rough, but the driver went at a steady speed. Every bump jostled Elia, knocking her against the silent soldier beside her. She tried holding herself rigid, but fighting the uneven ride only meant she lurched against the man that much harder with every bump. He was solid. Unmoving.
She breathed a sigh of relief when they turned out onto a highway, smooth road under their wheels.
When they approached the outskirts of DC, Elia's heart thudded against her ribcage. Her apartment wasn't that far. Maybe she could…
But the vehicle turned away, heading toward the prosperous neighborhood, a a gated community.
Elia bit down hard on her lip. She knew this community. She had cared for two kids here. Grace Fields had been in remission from leukemia for almost four months now. Elia had spent her weekends off making extra money by caring for the preteen until recently. Adelaide Marks was younger, only five years old, but prone to pneumonia. Elia had been hired several times to care for her at home on oxygen to save the family a lengthy hospital stay.
The suburban pulled off the road, into the cover of trees a short distance from the gate with a guardhouse.
The doors opened, and the men got out. Elia stayed in her seat, frozen in place, not sure what was happening.
Rumlow reached into the backseat and grabbed her arm, pulling her from the vehicle, dropping her unceremoniously on the ground. Before she could get her bearings, the soldier was hauling her to her feet.
"This will be easier with her here," one of the men commented in the quiet as they all started pulling guns from beneath the seats, checking that they were loaded, double checking the guns strapped to their legs.
"It worked out in your favor that you didn't shoot her like you were supposed to," Rumlow said with a dark look at the soldier.
Elia sucked in a breath so hard it knifed her lungs. She looked up at the soldier. His grip was steady on her arm and didn't flinch with the underlying disapproval from Rumlow.
"Yeah, well it saves us bypassing a whole security system," one of the men said. "Besides, the wife came back early. It was probably easier to just get her out of there than risk her being alive and a witness when the lady came home and found her husband dead."
Elia's breath came faster, but it didn't reach her lungs. Where had she been? Who was dead?
Her head spun and black spots danced in front of her eyes. The soldier looked at her, reading her growing panic.
Elia thought for sure he was going to pull out the syringe.
"Please don't…" She couldn't say the words, she wasn't even sure she fully formed them, but the soldier watched her, not reaching for the syringe.
Without a word, he put a hand over her mouth, his metal arm locking around her, picking her up until her feet cleared the ground.
"Let's go," he said.
#
