91.
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"He won't do that," Isabel warns.
Everything in the room goes dead silent. The Winter Soldier stares at Isabel, waiting for her to say something else, waiting for his orders. His eyes are wide like a child's, but cold like steel. There's nothing in there, no recognition, no love or care. Isabel gulps, questioning her thought pattern… Perhaps she's wrong about the man in front of her who only somewhat resembles the brother she used to know?
"Won't do what, exactly?" Madame Hydra asks carefully. Her eyes pierce into the back of Isabel's head, sharp. It's like they're stabbing her.
"He won't kill her," Isabel says, looking back slightly over her shoulder. The silhouette of Madame is just visible in her peripheral vision. "He'll remember her. No amount of programming could take that away."
Madame Hydra stares at Isabel. Isabel looks away, staring at Bucky through her lashes, eyes pleading. Please wake up. Please, wake up and get us out of this mess. Don't do this! The Winter Soldier stares back, eyebrows furrowing slightly as she stares at him. Perhaps he can sense her change in mood, different from other times she's given him a mission. There's a heavy feeling to the room.
Madame Hydra steps forward toward Isabel, coming up side by side to her. She towers significantly over Isabel, looking down on her with a sneer. "You underestimate our abilities, Barnes. Our technology is like no other. The Winter Soldier will prevail."
Isabel is silent for a minute. "And if I refuse to read this?" She asks, holding that damned red book in her hands, pages open to reveal the next victim.
"You don't want to know the answer to that."
Isabel sighs. She stares at the Winter Soldier for a long while, before closing the red book.
"Asset, you are tasked to kill…" She pauses, the name sitting on the end of her tongue. She can't say it. Don't do it, Isabel. How could you do this? "Agent Peggy Carter."
Her voice is only a whisper, but the Asset hears. He nods slowly, calculatingly staring at her, before standing. Isabel watches as the Winter Soldier leaves the room, flanked by an army of soldiers. His eyes are so cold and determined. His mind is fixated to the mission.
Isabel feels sick with guilt. She feels the contents of her stomach rise up, and then she's vomiting right there beside Madame Hydra, in front of that metallic memory wiping machine. She goes and goes, tears forming in her eyes, until there is nothing else to bring back up. Not that there was anything in her stomach anyway but a few packets of grey goo. She wipes her tears and then she stands then, bent over, heaving for breath. She holds one arm around her stomach, and one hand clenches her chest over her heart. She feels like her chest is so tight, she can't breathe.
Madame Hydra watches silent, a look of disgust plastered across her aging face.
"You knew her well," is all Ophelia says, her voice surprisingly quiet.
Isabel can't respond. All she does is nod. Vomit-filled saliva drools down her chin, falling toward the door. Her tears fall from her cheeks, mixing with the pile of goop from her stomach.
She finally stands up, after a few minutes of silence. "Put me back under. I can't stand to be here when it's done."
Peggy walks down the street with her grocery shopping tucked safely in a paper bag under her arm. It's a warm night in Washington, the cloud cover holding in the day's heat. Peggy relishes nights like these. It makes her walk home from Shield blissful. She doesn't mind having to stop for groceries after a long day when she gets these peaceful moments to herself.
The kids are at home, impatiently waiting for dinner. Poor Daniel is probably having to entertain them until she returns. The cupboards were looking pretty bare, the fridge possibly worse. Peggy will be the saviour with the food she's lugging.
Peggy's nearly home, only about a two-minute walk away, when she gets a heavy feeling settle over her, and the hairs at the back of her neck raise. She pauses and looks around carefully at the near deserted streets. It's unusually quiet for such a lovely night, though she supposes it is just a regular Tuesday.
Peggy's eyes fall on a dark figure, just standing in the shadows of a nearby alleyway. She stops entirely, staring at the figure. She cannot see its face, but the person is staring right back at her – she can feel it.
The person steps to the side, slightly out of the shadow, and their face is only slightly lit by the dim moonlight casted by the overcast sky.
Peggy reaches slowly into her handbag, withdrawing a pistol.
The person just stands there, looking at her. She still can't see their face. She can tell by their physique and stance that it's a man, tall and intimidating. Sinister and unforgiving.
"Who are you?" She eventually calls out, slowly raising her pistol.
The man does not respond.
A few seconds tick by. "Whoever you are, I suggest you be on your way," Peggy calls, her voice laced with warning.
The man steps out of the darkness into the light of the streetlamp. His hair is long and dark around his face, part of the fringe falling over his eyes. His face itself is covered by a mask over his nose and mouth that looks tight and uncomfortable. The black mask makes his skin look impossibly pale. His eyes are painted with black charcoal, covering his brows. The eyes look dark and deep like the ocean as they stare at her through the blackness.
"Final warning," Peggy sneers, clicking off the safety.
Suddenly, the man's facial expression, or as much as Peggy can see of it, changes. He moves from utterly terrifying to utterly terrified. His eyes begin to dart back and forth over Peggy's face, to her hair, up and down her body.
The man looks confused, takes a small step backward, away from her. Peggy lowers her gun, ever so slightly, and the man takes another step back. He raises his hands, slowly, palms open, and stares wide-eyed at Peggy.
The man says something to her, but it's so muffled by his mask that she can't make it out.
Before Peggy can question him, there's a low crackle, as though it were coming from the man's ear, from a radio receiver. The man smacks his ear at it, looking horrified. He pulls the transmitter from his own ear and throws it away, into the gutter.
He lowers his gun, staring at Peggy with utter fear and confusion. He reaches behind his head and unclips his mask, and it falls to the ground with a clatter. But before he can look up and Peggy can get a good look at him, there's an almighty bang that resounds from the third story of the building behind the man.
Peggy feels a heat and pain in her shoulder immediately. She looks down at her shoulder, seeing a pool of blood begin to emerge and soak into the pale blue of her dress. She looks up, at the man, who is looking up at the building where a sniper sits in the window, rifle still pointed at Peggy.
She falls to the ground with the pain of the gunshot, crying out, and the groceries still in her hand slip from her grasp, flying all over the concrete. The blood starts to flow quickly onto the ground.
And when Peggy looks up, the man is gone as though he'd been nothing but a figment of her imagination.