"That's a pretty name," he says softly.
I hear the keys again.
This time, they came for me.
They drag me to one of the experiment rooms, strap me into that rusty metal chair. Same one as always. My wrists and ankles are bound tight. My chest heaves.
That little bastard of a doctor walks in, Zola. His glasses catch the light, making it impossible to see his eyes. That thick German accent sends chills through me.
"We are going to try something different today," he says. "Perhaps if your body experiences... stressors, the serum will activate."
Before I can process what he means, a blast of freezing water hits me like a wall. Straight from a fire hose.
I can't breathe. Can't move. The restraints hold me tight.
I'm drowning in cold.
Then it stops. My teeth chatter uncontrollably. Closest thing to a shower I've had in weeks. I wouldn't recommend it.
A humming sound fills the air. Like an old generator.
Then, agony.
Electricity rips through me. My muscles seize. My jaw clenches so tight I feel something crack. My screams are silent; they die before they can leave my throat.
They shock me over and over, wetting, shocking, beating me awake when I pass out. My body convulses. I vomit what little was left in my stomach, then dry-heave until I taste blood and bile.
My mind drifted off, thinking of home.
My dad was a doctor. Drafted into the medical corps. Came back broken, both legs gone, one eye missing. He never spoke again. Just stared, haunted.
My little sister Jamie, eight years old. I left her with Mrs. Mordok, our neighbor. She lost her own family in the war. She loved having Jamie around, she treat her like her own. I hope they're okay.
I don't remember blacking out. But I come to on the cold stone floor. Still shaking. Still alive.
My hands won't close. My mouth tastes like pennies. My ears ring so loud I can't think.
I see a shadow in front of me.
Bucky. He's alive. Leaning against the bars, reaching through to me.
His mouth moves. I can't hear him. My head feels like it's splitting open.
God, if you're real… let me die. Let this end.
Darkness takes me again.
When I wake, Bucky's still there, sitting against the bars, pale, his head bowed. His arm withdrawn.
I dragged myself over, slowly, every movement screaming with pain.
"Hey," I whisper. "Wake up."
His face is drenched in sweat. His skin's clammy. He's shivering.
I press my hand to his forehead, burning.
He's got a fever.
No help's coming. No medicine. No blanket. No clean water.
But I'm freezing cold.
So I keep my hand there, trying to absorb his heat, trying to cool him down.
This close… he's kind of handsome. Even with the bruises and the grime. His hair's short and messy, would probably look good slicked back.
Dog tags hang from his neck.
James Buchanan Barnes.
Howling Commandos.
So that's his real name. Knew no one was actually named Bucky.
I do what I can, until my hand gets too warm to be any use. Then I gently pull him down, rest his head against the cold floor, his forehead on the cool metal bars.
It's all I can do.
His bandage is yellow. The smell... infection.
I hate myself for thinking it, but maybe it's for the best.
Maybe he won't have to suffer anymore.
But God isn't that kind.
They come for him. Clink of keys. Unlocked cell. Dragged away.
I don't say anything.
What would I say?
If he's lucky, they'll put a bullet in him.
It was nice, for a short while.
Thunk.
I roll over to see a guard dropped my gruel and water again.
I don't eat it.
Maybe I'll starve. Not a great way to go but its better then the alternative.
I don't know how long I stayed like this, lips cracked, stomach hollow. Tongue like sandpaper.
I count the meals they swap out. Six times. Six days?
Shouldn't I be dead?
My dad said humans die after three days of no food and water. Maybe they're feeding me more often. Maybe I've lost count.
Bucky never came back.
Captain America isn't coming.
I can't even cry anymore. No tears left.
He gave me hope. Just with a few words. And I let myself believe.
The door opens.
I can't roll over. Don't have the strength.
A hand grabs my shoulder. I'm dragged down the hallway. My legs trail along the cold floor. Lights flicker overhead.
They place me on a metal table. Strap me down. A belt tightens over my forehead.
Scissors snip through my hair. A blade follows. They shaved my head.
What the hell is this?
"Don't worry," says Zola, stepping into view. "You will become a weapon of Hydra. One of the greatest, perhaps. You just need… a little help with your loyalties."
Something pricks both arms. An IV bag hangs beside me, standard on one side. On the other… the blue stuff.
That serum again.
Maybe it'll kill me this time.
My eyelids grow heavy. They inject something else, something that sends a wave of exhaustion over me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tank, fog curling from its seams. Metal. A small window.
Inside, a shadow. A figure.
Wonder what that is?
And then…
Darkness.