Realise that you

surviving your life

up to this point

– in spite of all you've been

through –

makes you the hero

in your life,

not the victim.

You're a hero.

– Lalah Delia

85.

?

?

Isabel is led into the darkness, unable to see her hand in front of her own face. The guard roughly dragging her along seems to know where he is going, and she reluctantly follows along. She doubts she could even break out of his grasp, let alone make her way out of the building. They turn corner after corner, climb and descend stairs, and Isabel stumbles along blindly, losing track of their path rather quickly. They seem to be moving deeper into the factory and going further down underground into a complex network of tunnels.

Eventually they walk through a doorway, which Isabel accidentally runs into the frame of, and then the guard is stopping, pulling Isabel in front of him. He releases his grip on her upper arm and leaves, slamming the metal door to the room with a loud, metallic bang that echoes through the empty hallways.

Isabel's left alone in the darkness, and her eyes refuse to adjust to anything. She can't see an inch in front of her. She looks around with wide eyes, putting her arms out to attempt to feel her way around the room. The door is behind her, where they'd come in–

"Hello, Miss Barnes," a menacing voice says from somewhere in front of her.

Isabel jumps a mile in the air, spinning toward the voice. There's someone in the room with her and she can't see them at all, but she thinks she recognises the voice.

Isabel hears a click, and then a desk lamp illuminates the room with a faint yellow light. The room is large, set out like an office with bookshelves and filing cabinets lining the walls, a desk in the middle of the room. A familiar figure sits in the chair, her legs propped up on the desk, crossed ankles.

"Madame Hydra," Isabel hisses, glaring at the green-clad woman in front of her.

"Long time no see," Madame Hydra smiles, standing from her desk and walking around toward Isabel. Her steps are graceful and precise, and she prowls like a cat across the room, her heels clacking on the concrete floor and breaking the silence. "I suppose you're wondering why we've brought you here."

"I don't want to hear your evil villain spill," Isabel replies, her words like ice.

"Oh, but you will. I've had this speech planned for months," Madame Hydra deadpans in return. "Now, listen close. I will not be explaining your purpose again."

Isabel doesn't answer. She won't take the bait, even though her chest is tight with fear and her heart is pounding in her head, her thoughts going a mile a minute. She swallows loudly, hoping to push away her fear. She hasn't faced Hydra alone before – she's always had the Commandos or Steve and Bucky protecting her, always had someone to have her back. And now she's all alone. Standing in some godforsaken underground bunker, in the dimly lit corner, shivering from a mixture of fear and intense cold. Alone. Frightened. And wrong. The prospect of being stuck here alone is terrifying. The prospect of Hydra being back is even more terrifying. It's been over a year since she was involved with anything Hydra. She'd thought them long destroyed, as had Peggy and the rest of the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Believed them all dead and any teams dissolved, their movement ended, Hydra disbanded. And yet, her she is, before Madame Hydra in a cavern of tunnels in who knows where, deep in Hydra's hands.

She has no way of telling anyone how wrong they were about Hydra, and how naïve they were to believe them gone.

"It's a real shame about your Captain," Madame Hydra continues, coming to a stop right in front of Isabel. She's a few inches taller, looking down on Isabel intimidatingly, her lips curled into a forced smile. Isabel stares at the scarring down the size of her face from where Steve had burnt her at the Hydra Castle. Perhaps her enhancements weren't like Steve's; to be able to heal as well as he did with no scarring.

"He seemed like such a dreamboat," Madame Hydra continues, snapping Isabel from her thoughts, "handsome, loyal, caring, strong. Everything you could ever want in a man. I suppose you agree whole-heartedly. I know you felt rather deeply for him. We could see it in your eyes, and in his. A real pity…" She trails off.

Isabel forces her face to stay neutral, batting away the tears prickling in her eyes. She can't break now.

"Of course, he was rather talented as well, what with those abilities Doctor Erskine gave him. You have to admire the way he handled the situation. Thrust into power, he grabbed in with two hands and ran with it. Though, he didn't really think about you, did he? Didn't think about how he'd either have to leave you home or take you with him into a warzone. In that way, God's righteous man was rather selfish."

"I chose to go with him–" Isabel attempts to argue.

"I guess there's got to be a point where you abandon your ambition and think about everyone else," Madame Hydra continues as though Isabel hadn't spoken. "Your Captain couldn't see that line, obviously, or else he wouldn't have sacrificed himself in the Valkyrie and left you all alone. If he wasn't Captain America, you would never have ended up here as a prisoner of war, there would've been no Howling Commandos–"

"But then Hydra would've won, and where would the world be then?" Isabel interrupts, her voice fiery and her blood boiling within her veins. She knows these things Madame Hydra is saying aren't true, that she's just trying to separate Isabel's loyalty from Steve, to turn her against the only things she's ever known. How wrong she is.

Madame Hydra considers this. "So, you'd give up your freedom, your brother's freedom, and the Captain's life to save everyone else?"

"Well we didn't exactly have a choice, but yes. The lives of a few for the lives of many."

Madame Hydra breathes out through her nose like an angered bull, apparently aggravated that she hasn't been able to intimidate Isabel. "Well, it's a shame the Captain went down in the Valkyrie. We had plans to capture him again at the next raid, him and the other Commandos. You escaped our grasp last time, but we made further preparations to contain you all. Together, you all could have been a real use to Hydra, had you been fighting for the correct side. Hydra would have been unstoppable."

"We never would have fought for you," Isabel argues.

"Maybe not voluntarily," Madame Hydra agrees. "But as you've already seen, as we've already proved, it is surprising what you can make one do under certain circumstances. You may have destroyed our first prototype chair, but we had the blueprints and we made others. Multiple. With that technology, even the most loyal and patriotic can be… persuaded. That's where you come in."

"What do you mean?" Isabel asks, shying away from the dark woman, who only takes a step closer.

"Your brother, Sergeant Barnes? I hear he was very loyal to the Allied cause. In fact, I saw his determination for myself. He didn't shut his trap the entire time he was held captive for us, and then even when he was liberated and offered a ticket home, he stayed on to fight with Captain America and the Howling Commandos. Now, that is persistence, something Hydra needs more of. And we will have him, we just need to make some adjustments to his mentality."

Isabel's jaw drops, and she stares at Madame Hydra critically, searching for signs of a lie. But the woman's face is devoid of emotion, only her raised eyebrow giving away any feelings she may have, more amused than anything by the situation.

"Bucky's dead," Isabel whispers, but her voice rises with hysterics as what Madame Hydra is saying somewhat dawns on her. "What are you saying? That you have Bucky?!"

"Bucky? Is that what you call him?" Madame Hydra laughs, loud and piercing and utterly devoid of humour. "Oh, what a kind-hearted nickname. It certainly won't suit him when we're finished with him."

"No!" Isabel cries, lunging toward Madame Hydra with her hands outstretched trying to do anything; to hit her, slap her, strangle her. "No! Don't touch him, don't you dare!"

Madame Hydra easily grabs Isabel's wrists, her hands tightening around them hard enough that Isabel thinks her bones may snap. "Too late, honey," Madame Hydra sneers.

She pushes then, causing Isabel to stumble backward into the wall behind them. The viper catches up within a second, pining Isabel against the wall by her shoulders.

"Sergeant Barnes has been with us for over a year now. A German brigade found him at the bottom of a ravine below the train tracks, missing an arm and bleeding out into the snow. They took him before the Captain could find him and handed him over to us when they recognized him. Unfortunately, being the stars of your own comic can have its downfall. We fixed his stub of an arm and gave him a new one. It's only a prototype, so it's not working as well as we'd hope for at the moment, but our scientists are working on it."

"No, please," Isabel cries, all thoughts of staying strong flying out the window as her eyes sting with tears. "Just leave him be, he's been through enough."

Madame Hydra raises her eyebrow. "If we had left him in that ravine, he would have died. We saved his life, something your little search party failed to do."

"Steve would've found him if you'd just left him alone."

"And he would've died. He only survived because we preserved his body while we assessed the damage. Without that precious time, he would've died. Your little friend Howard Stark has failed to create a cryostasis chamber as of yet. You couldn't have saved him, but we did. And at Hydra, we believe in the "a life for a life" phrase. We saved his life after he took many of ours, now he owes us."

Isabel gulps down her fear. "What do you want with him?"

"He is going to help us shape the world. Your brother has undeniable strategic and weaponry skill, and we have enough sense to admire that, and also to admit that he would be an effective asset. Obviously, it would have been optimum to have the Captain as well, and even the Commandos, but I'm certain we can shape the Sergeant into the perfect soldier. We want to train him to work for us as an assassin. A ghost. No one will know who he is, or what he does, or that he even exists. He'll be as stealth as a fox and as brave as a lion, with the knowledge of an entire army and without the fear and autonomy of any of them. If our serums work successfully, he'll be as strong as an army as well."

"You already made him into a super-soldier," Isabel says. "I've been monitoring him. He's like Steve."

"Yes. Herr Schmidt was the original super-soldier, thanks to Erskine's formula. We developed another version, one that wouldn't affect the person as it affected Schmidt, which we began administering to Sergeant Barnes back in nineteen-forty-three, before he was obtained by the Captain. He is the only subject to have survived being dosed with super-soldier serum thus far without major issues and setbacks. The others, some of whom the Commandos found in our factories, either died during the procedure or of their extreme medical and psychiatric complications. We aren't sure what made Sergeant Barnes so special, but it doesn't matter so much as that he survived. And now that we have him back in our possession, we can continue with our original intents for him."

None of this is anything that Isabel doesn't know, apart from the information that Hydra has Bucky again, that Bucky is alive. All those months she spent moping around the base, going home to Brooklyn thinking he was dead, and instead he's been suffering within Hydra's grasp the entire time. It makes her stomach lurch with guilt and sickness.

"And of course, how ironic will it be that a celebrated American war hero will assist in the downfall of his own society to pave the way for a world dominated by Hydra," Madame Hydra notes with a laugh, her eyes gleaming in the dull light.

"He'll never help you. He'll resist you until his last breath," Isabel argues.

For that, Madame Hydra slams her back into the wall, hard.

"You're right, he is resisting. His mind is very strong, and he's extremely strong-willed. We've attempted to wipe his mind twenty-three times since we've had him in our possession. The machine has been tested on other experiments and they showed significant signs of memory loss after five wipes, but your brother doesn't seem to forget. Some of his memories may be becoming blurred, but he always remembers and recognises you, the Captain, the Commandos, and what he is fighting for. All he has said since he awakened with his new arm is his name, rank and serial number." Madame Hydra pauses, looking Isabel up and down calculatingly. "We feel he needs some motivation to behave and cooperate. No one can possibly resist forever, particularly not at their sister's expense."

"So, what? I'm reduced to bait?" Isabel sneers.

"Yes, you are. I know it will be hard to adjust – you've always been the reason for them to fight, not the reason for them to give up. But he'll still be fighting. Just for us, rather than for you."

Isabel is silent for a moment, before she glares up at Madame Hydra. "I don't believe you. You don't have Bucky. This is just some plot to…" she stops, because she doesn't know why else Hydra would want her.

"You want to see him? Fine, I'll show him to you," Madame Hydra sneers. "Perhaps then you will believe me."

With that, and leaving so many questions in Isabel's mind, Madame Hydra grabs Isabel's upper arm and drags her from the room down the hallway. The hallway is lit this time by small lightbulbs mounted to the wall, but Isabel still stumbles over the uneven ground beneath them. They eventually stop in another room, where one wall is entirely glass. On the other side of the glass is a sterile medical room, with an operating table in the middle and machinery scattered along the far wall.

The room is occupied only by a male figure sitting on the edge of the table, his back to the window. The man has a head of long, ratty, dark hair. He's shirtless with surgical scars all across his torso, all across his back, up and down his spine; red marks that are raw and painful and not even bandaged. But they're healing, somehow, some of the smaller marks already turning white. His left flesh arm is entirely missing, replaced at the shoulder by a silver arm made of bulky metal plates, connecting slopping to the shoulder with a dangerous and painful amount of scar tissue.

Isabel gasps, her hands flying to cover her mouth when she realizes the man is Bucky.

"Bucky," she can only whisper, unable to find her voice. She pulls toward him and Madame Hydra releases her arm. She runs to the glass, pounding on it with her fists to get his attention. "Bucky!" She yells, her voice finally returning to her, coming out loud and hysterical and high-pitched.

Bucky's head snaps up and he pauses, staring at the far wall. He tilts his head slightly to the side, listening.

"What is that? Why is he so scarred?" Isabel cries, looking backward at Madame Hydra in the doorway.

"His arm is attached to his nerves, and to his spinal cord. It is the only way he could control it and feel with it," Madame Hydra responds, looking at her fingernails as though bored.

Isabel turns back around to Bucky, who hasn't moved yet, his head still tilted and listening. "Bucky! It's Isabel, turn around! Bucky!" Isabel cries frantically, fearful that Madame Hydra will drag her away before they can talk. "James, please!"

Bucky turns around slowly, almost as though he thinks it may be a trap. When his eyes finally land on Isabel, they go wide. In a second, he's met her at the glass, putting his hands over where Isabel's are. He looks terrified, eyes wide, puffy, face covered in bruises. The front of him is even more scarred and scratched than his back, covered in bruises and welts that would make the average person flinch with every movement.

The glass between them feels like it's an entire ocean with how it keeps them away from each other. It's cold under their hands.

Isabel is the first familiar face Bucky's seen in months, years, however long Hydra's had him in their possession. She's the first person not associated with Hydra. The rush of relief that courses through him takes over before he can register it.

And then, it hits him like a truck, the reality of their situation. He panics, realising that if Isabel is here, alone, that means she's been found by Hydra. She hasn't got any backup; Steve isn't beside her with his shield, the Commandos aren't behind her with their weapons to break him out, Peggy isn't tagging along to avenge her loved ones. Isabel's alone, aside from Madame Hydra standing patiently by the door.

Isabel's crying, saying his name over and over like a prayer. Bucky realises she must have thought he died when he fell from the train. It could have been days, weeks, or months since she's seen him, thinking he's been gone the entire time. Bucky isn't entirely sure how long it's been, the entire time a blur of torture and pain and intense cold.

Part of Bucky wishes Steve had walked around that corner and seen him lying there. He wishes Steve could have taken him back to base, though he knows he probably wouldn't have survived without Hydra's technology. He didn't need the scientists to tell him that, even though they did, many times. But in other ways, he wishes he had died at the bottom of that ravine, because he knows where he is and what Hydra has in store for him. Death would have been much better than the terrible, horrendous fate awaiting him.

"Isabel!" Bucky shouts back, panic lacing his voice. His voice is rough and faint from screaming, his throat roar. "What are you doing here?"

His panic for her takes over, and he begins to bang his metal fist against the glass, trying to bring it down and reach her. She can't be here, she can't be at Hydra, this isn't happening, he thinks over and over, banging the metal of his hand into the glass.

"They took me from Brooklyn," Isabel replies. "I–"

Her mouth opens to say more, but it's then that she notices Bucky's left fist up close, that it's made entirely of metal plates joined together to form the curved and bends of the arm. The plates are barely held together, the arm a shonky job that was hastily made as a prototype before they could flesh him out an efficient arm. The arm attached to him doesn't always respond according to Bucky's wishes, like it has a mind of its own. Worse, every movement of it causes Bucky pain, firing up a storm in his mind that he can't escape, but he keeps hitting the glass, attempting to smash through and get to his sister.

Isabel's eyes follow his arm to his shoulder, uncovered due to his lack of a shirt, and widen at the sight of the raw skin where the metal attaches. Cuts, burns, and open wounds line the metal on his shoulder and look awfully painful. And scars and cuts like scratches, as though Bucky had been clawing his own arm off. The nails on Bucky's other hand have dried blood underneath them. Isabel feels sick.

Bucky pauses in his action when he notices the look of fear on his sister's face, and his own face falls into one of betrayal and rejection.

Isabel recovers from her shock rather quickly, looking up fearfully into Bucky's eyes like she's looking to him for help. She's scared, Bucky realises. She isn't scared of him, she's scared for him and for herself, and scared of what Hydra has and will do to them if they stay. It strikes Bucky that she's got the same expression on that she used to have as a child, looking to her big brother to fix everything. The same expression she held on every mission, looking to Bucky or Steve for guidance when they were trapped or for support when she was terrified. It strikes up the match in Bucky again, reignites his protective flame hotter and brighter than it's ever been in his life.

He restarts his banging on the glass, desperate.

The glass cracks underneath Bucky's metal fist, splintering up and down the surface in an intricate cobweb of splinters, revealing its vulnerability. One more punch and it'll shatter.

Bucky draws his arm back for one last hit, when he hears the door to his room open behind him, and a painful pinch in the side of his neck. The liquid, the tranquiliser, spreads quickly through his veins through his neck, a thick, warm liquid that slides through his entire body. The world begins to spin and blur, and Bucky only vaguely registers that Isabel is screaming his name on the other side of the glass as he falls backward.

He's unconscious before he even hits the floor.