My eyes fixed on my target, and I leapt, my metal hand gripping a black steel dagger. I landed hard on a car, crushing the windshield and putting a hole in the roof. I stood up, swaggering off, keeping my eyes on my mission: The young man with close-cropped blond hair who was walking down the sidewalk. He turned in alarm, hearing the sound of the destruction I had caused. I straightened up, sprinting towards him, dagger raised. I sprang forward, ready to land the killing blow. Surprisingly, he dodged, and I scowled, aiming once again. I lunged, and he raised a defensive arm against mine, throwing me off. He pushed away, and I flipped my knife around for another stab. He reached out and grabbed my mask, throwing it onto the ground. I stopped and looked up, surprised. He was too, and he asked, “...Bucky?” Bucky? “Who the heck is Bucky?” I said, glaring at him. Before he could respond, I threw myself at him in a tackle, but he shook me off and ran. Disgusted, I turned and climbed over the wall of cars that had swerved and careened to try and avoid us. I sat motionless as the tiny robot repaired and upgraded my arm. I thought about earlier in the week. Bucky… Something about that name seemed familiar. I thought for a while, trying to remember, when it hit me like a runaway train. Cold wind.... A friend… Falling.... Pain Fear ZOLA PIERCE I wrenched away from the machine, and the H.Y.D.R.A. men standing nearby raised their guns, loaded and ready to fire upon command. I sat still, hearing footsteps from far away becoming steadily louder. The steel bar door opened at the other end of the room, and Pierce walked in. I scowled at him, but he paid no notice. He knelt down, looking me in the eye, and I looked at the floor, my scowl melting away. I finally looked at him, expressionless. “You met someone,” he said, “Earlier this week on another assignment. Who was he?” I sighed. “...I knew him.” Pierce stood up, still keeping his eyes on me. “Prep him,” he said to the H.Y.D.R.A. men, who had lowered their guns. “But sir,” one of them protested, “He’s been out of cryo too long.” Pierce glared at me before walking out of the room. “Then wipe him and start over.” One of the men gave me a mouthpiece, and I took it with a glare of contempt. I was pushed back into the metal chair I had come to hate, and an operator turned it on. The coldly familiar restraints clicked around my arms, and the device thrummed as the metal arms reached down and locked onto my face. My breathing became quicker, and I braced for what would come. No matter how hard I tried, however, I could never escape how excruciating it was. I screamed in agony, my teeth clenched against the mouthpiece, and the H.Y.D.R.A. men looked away.
I faced my target again, this time in the middle of an exploding Helicarrier. For some reason, he had dressed in a suit that looked like a flag. Something in my memory clicked, very faintly, but I ignored it. He looked at me. “You know me…” He said. I narrowed my eyes. “No, I don’t!” I snapped. He sighed. “Bucky, you’ve known me your whole life. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes-” “SHUT UP!” I shouted, trying to drown out the lies that escaped his lips. He had dropped his shield now, and looked me square in the eyes, which was horribly unnerving. “I’m not gonna fight you,” He insisted, “You’re my friend.” It was too much to bear now. With a roar of fury, I tackled him, pinning him to the metal beam with my leg. Below us, open air yawned, and the ocean, far away, waited to swallow us whole. My right hand on his neck, I struck a clean punch on his jaw. “You’re my mission,” I yelled. I struck him again and again. With each blow I screamed, “YOU’RE! MY! MISSION!” I wanted him dead, and not because I had to: it was because he had brought so much pain and confusion to my life. I wanted him gone. “Then finish it,” he half-whispered, half-moaned. “...’Cause I’m with you… to the end… of the line.” I stopped short. The memory blazed clear in my mind: It was the 40’s, a long time ago, and we had gotten back to his--Steve’s, I realized--apartment after his mother’s funeral. He had been silent throughout the entire program. It hurt to see my best friend like this, so I put a caring hand on his shoulder. “I’m with you to the end of the line.” I gasped, my fist frozen in mid-air. I stared at Steve, my eyes wide, my mouth open in shock. My mind was a battlefield of confusion about Steve and what happened and most of all, who I was. My mind still racing, I realized I would have to deal with Pierce again if I let him go, but I didn’t want to go back. I let Steve drop into the ocean. As I watched him fall, I whispered, “What have I done?” before making up my mind to dive after him. I smacked the cold water hard, but I ignored the sting as I grabbed ahold of Steve and started swimming back up. I broke the surface and dragged Steve to shore with one hand. He had passed out, and I felt guilty leaving him there. I sighed, releasing my grip when we were both on ground, then walked away, unsure of where to go next. One thing I knew though: I wasn’t going back to H.Y.D.R.A…. ★★★
