Charlie didn't even have time to resist.

The goon grabbed her roughly by the arms, lifting her off her knees as Bucky shouted hoarsely from his chains. She cried out in pain, her wounded side erupting with fresh blood, but the man didn't care. He slammed her into the chair like she weighed nothing, metal restraints locking down over her wrists, ankles, and chest before she could so much as breathe.

Bucky lost it. "Don't touch her! You son of a—"

The villain pressed the button. The large machine above her head sparking with electricity. They didn't even have the decency to give her a mouthguard. Charlie screamed through clenched teeth as they wiped her. Buckys heart was surely shattered as he remembered the pain.

Bucky pulled so hard against his restraints that the cuffs at his wrist began to bleed again.

"Stop! Stop it—please, stop!" he choked.

The villain crouched next to Charlie, stroking her hair like a twisted parent once the shocks were done.

"She's already been primed, James. Deep in that lovely mind of hers are files and files of programming Hydra perfected… built on your legacy."

He stood slowly and faced Bucky.

"But to finish what we started—we need you."

He held up a thin black notebook. On its page, in blood-red ink, were her trigger words. A bastardization of what they once did to him—now twisted for her.

Bucky stared at it, breathing like a cornered animal.

"I won't do it."

The villain tilted his head, mock disappointment coloring his voice. "That's sweet."

Then, without pause, he lifted his pistol and aimed it at Charlie's temple.

"Say them, or I splatter her brains across the floor."

Charlie was whimpering in the chair, eyelids fluttering, her breath hitching in short, terrified gasps.

Bucky was shaking, head bowed, a broken sound crawling out of his throat.

"Don't make me do this."

"Say them!"

Bucky opened his mouth. The words scraped his throat like glass.

One by one, he forced them out, his voice wrecked and unsteady—each one like a nail in his own coffin:

"Zerkalo…mirror"

Charlie's head dropped to the back of the seat.

"Uglerod… — carbon"

A moan.

"Delta… — delta"

Breath getting heavier.

"Moroz… — frost"

A groan as she tried to fight it.

"Odinatsat'… — eleven"

"No!" she yelled as if remembering the last time.

"Statika… — static"

She's pulling against the restraints.

"Zhelezo… — iron"

She is able to break the ones on her hands. Hands flying to cup her skull as she screams

"Vozmushcheniye… — vex"

Bucky can barely breathe. Tears streaming down his face.

"Kontrol… — control"

Another scream.

"Bez molviya… — silence"

Her body arched in the chair, muscles seizing violently as the final word hit her. The lights flickered.

The room was so still it felt like time itself was holding its breath.

Charlie hadn't moved for a long beat. Her body slumped in the chair, her hair clinging to her sweat-soaked face, smoke curling around her like a warning.

Then—she inhaled.

Mechanical.

Sharp.

Too steady to be real.

She opened her eyes.

They weren't hers.

That warmth, the fire, the spark that always lived behind them—it was gone. Replaced by a glassy stillness. Like she was staring through the world instead of at it.

She blinked once.

And then, like something had rebooted inside her, she stood—without needing help, without hesitation. The remaining straps at her ankles opening with the press of the goons button.

Every movement was fluid, calculated.

Silent.

She didn't look at Bucky.

She didn't look at the villain.

She looked straight ahead, like waiting for an order.

Then, in a voice completely void of emotion, she spoke.

"Gotova podchinyat'sya."

"Ready to comply."

Bucky felt like the air had been ripped from his lungs.

He pulled forward against his restraints, the chains groaning with tension.

"No," he rasped. "No. Charlie—don't do this. Fight it. You can fight it—"

But she didn't even flinch.

Didn't even blink.

The villain was beaming like a proud artist admiring his work.

"Isn't she beautiful, James? A perfect mirror of you. Even more refined. She was our last great experiment. Your legacy's masterpiece."

He stepped closer to her, circling slowly.

"She doesn't even remember you now."

Bucky shook his head violently, tears falling freely.

"Charlie, please. Look at me. You know me. It's Bucky. Just—look at me."

For the first time, her head turned slightly toward him.

But her eyes were still wrong.

"Awaiting orders," she said, in English this time. Cold. Robotic.

And Bucky's heart shattered.

The room buzzed with a sickening kind of silence—the kind that hums under your skin and warns you something terrible is about to happen.

Bucky was still straining against the chains, eyes locked on Charlie. He was whispering her name over and over like a prayer, a lifeline, anything that might pull her back from wherever they'd taken her mind.

But she didn't react.

Didn't even twitch.

The villain gave a mock sigh as he stepped behind her, clapping a hand on her shoulder like she was a favored weapon.

"You always did hate when they made you perform, didn't you, James? But she… she's different."

He turned toward the goon who had strapped her back into the chair minutes earlier. The man stiffened, confused.

"You, come forward," the villain commanded.

The goon hesitated, clearly unsure what this was about.

"Sir, what—?"

"Come. Now."

The man stepped forward.

The villain's smile twisted.

"Asset," he said coolly to Charlie, "unichtozhit' tsel'" (eliminate the target)

Charlie didn't blink.

Didn't ask.

Didn't hesitate.

She moved.

Fast.

Faster than Bucky had seen her move before—no sound, no warning, just a blur of trained precision. One second the goon was standing there, stunned. The next, Charlie struck him in the throat with the heel of her palm, crushing his windpipe before his body had time to react. He staggered back, gasping, arms flailing.

She grabbed the knife off his belt and drove it straight into his side—once, twice, three times.

Then she slammed him to the ground, straddling his chest like she'd done this a hundred times before, and shoved the blade under his chin, jerking it upward. His body stilled. Blood soaked the concrete.

She stood up slowly, graceful even in carnage.

Bucky was frozen in horror.

She had executed him like a soldier.

Like him.

"Target neutralized," she said, breathing steady.

The villain clapped, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.

"Isn't she magnificent? All that power, all that discipline. It's like watching a ballet. She's everything they wished you could've been. And the best part—she doesn't even know you anymore."

Bucky didn't answer.

Couldn't.

His eyes were locked on her hands—bloodied but loose, relaxed. Not shaking.

Not human.

"Charlie," he choked out.

Nothing.

Charlie stood over the lifeless body of the man she'd just killed, her breathing low and even, hands streaked with blood.

Bucky couldn't look away.

Not from the slick, mechanical precision she moved with.

Not from the crimson on her face.

And not from her eyes—the way they were empty.

She wasn't even there.

"What do you want from me?" Bucky snarled, voice raw. "You got your show. You win. Just—stop this."

The villain smiled, amused by the desperation in his voice. He walked in slow, thoughtful circles around Charlie, who remained eerily still, posture straight like a soldier at attention.

"No, James," he said softly. "This isn't about winning. This is about breaking."

He stopped behind Charlie, his fingers brushing her shoulder as if admiring a prized possession. Bucky flinched.

"You were Hydra's greatest regret. All that strength, all that programming… and yet so much resistance. But her?" He tilted his head. "She took to it beautifully. All those little test runs… Her brain absorbs the shocks now. The electricity doesn't even faze her. You know what that means, don't you?"

Bucky didn't answer. Couldn't.

"She's stable. A masterpiece." His eyes gleamed. "And she's yours."

The villain turned his attention back to Charlie.

"Ко мне." (Ko mnye.)
(Come to me.)

Charlie stepped over the body and walked to him without hesitation.

Bucky gritted his teeth.

"Stop this."

"Kneel," the villain ordered.

She dropped to her knees.

Bucky thrashed against the restraints.

"God—Charlie, don't listen to him!"

She didn't move.

"She can't hear you now," the villain said with a mock sigh. "She's beautifully obedient. Perfectly engineered."

He snapped his fingers.

Charlie stood again, gaze locked forward.

"Now let's give our friend a little demonstration of obedience. Shall we?"

He leaned close to her ear.

"Скажи ему, что он тебя подвёл." (Skazhi yemu, chto on tebya podvyol.)
(Tell him he failed you.)

She turned slowly toward Bucky.

Her voice came out flat, robotic.

"You failed me."

Bucky's chest caved in around those words. He shook his head, eyes watering now.

"No. No, you know that's not true, Charlie—please, you know me—"

"Он мне не нужен." (On mne ne nuzhen.)
(I don't need him.)

"Stop!" Bucky shouted. "Stop putting words in her mouth!"

The villain just smiled.

"That's the beauty of it, James. They're not my words. They're hers… now."

Charlie stood still, blood on her jaw, expression unreadable.

The villain turned back to Bucky and crouched beside him.

"Now…what shall we have her do next?"

Inside her mind, it wasn't quiet.

It wasn't empty.

It was chaos dressed in stillness.

Behind the iron walls, Charlie was screaming.

She could feel her body move—she knew she had walked, knelt, spoken, killed—but her voice didn't belong to her. It was like she was a ghost trapped behind glass, palms pressed to a transparent wall while someone else puppeted her form.

"You failed me."

She'd heard herself say it.

But it wasn't her.

A million memories raced behind her eyes. A thousand pieces of herself trying to climb back to the surface. Her childhood in the bayou. The classroom. The taste of gumbo. Sam's laugh. The first time she'd seen Bucky's half-smile when he wasn't looking. Her name on his lips.

And then—the pain.

The chair. The static. The ice.

The click of boots on concrete.

The words.

Ten sharp syllables in Russian, crashing through her skull like a stone through stained glass.

Mirror. Carbon. Delta. Frost. Eleven. Static. Iron. Vex. Control. Silence.

She couldn't stop them.

Each one had detonated something buried in her mind. A landmine she didn't remember planting.

And then—she was gone.

But not completely.

"Wake up," a voice whispered in the dark. Her own voice.

She was standing in a memory she didn't recognize—one she didn't know if she'd lived or dreamed.

Cold metal floors. Fluorescent lights. A man in a lab coat who never smiled. Her hands in restraints. The same words being read to her again. And again. Until she couldn't remember who she was.

"You're not her. You're ours."

Back in reality, her body remained still, stoic in front of the villain. Her fingers were twitching faintly at her sides.

"Ready to comply."

But inside? Inside she was pounding fists against the locked door of her own consciousness.

"Fight."

"Come back."

"His name is Bucky."

Her fingers twitched again.

One step.

That was all she needed.

A crack in the armor.

And Bucky's voice, ragged and full of fire, was starting to reach her even through the static.

"Charlie, I know you're in there. I know you." he said.

The villain was laughing again, speaking over her.

But inside, Charlie's breath caught.

And in the vast, shattering dark of her stolen mind—

A sliver of light.