(You) The Soldier sitting in the bank vault, wires exposed in the metal arm as scientists in white jackets and masks on their faces work to repair the damage that's been done. But it's not the scientists (You) The Soldier focused on. (You) The Soldier staring ahead, eyes on the wall but the mind is a million miles away. There are memories flickering through the mind, half-remembered, jumbled. (You) The Soldier doesn't know what to make of them. You remember— you remember—
(You) The Soldier's face contorts in anger, and the arm lashes out at one of the scientists working on it. The man flies several feet away. Men in black train their guns on the Sodlier, but (You) The Soldier remains seated for now. But (You) The Soldier is angry.
(You) The Soldier is angry.
Dimly, (You) The Soldier aware of voices speaking after a while.
("Sir? He's... he's unstable. Erratic...")
An entourage walks in, an older man leading the way. Blond. Alexander Pierce, the name filters into your awareness. He is the one who is in charge. Hydra's leader.
("Mission report.")
(You) The Soldier doesn't answer. This man is not important right now. (You) The Soldier chasing a thought, chasing it, chasing it...
("Mission report, now.")
There's something that should be remembered. Something—
Alexander Pierce backhands you. It's a heavy-hitting move, though (You) The Soldier has had worse. Just had worse. But it gets your attention. Mission report...?
"That man on the bridge," (You) The Soldier says, your voice hesitant. (He was tall, blond, and (You) The Soldier had been fighting him until he said a name, in that disbelieving voice. Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky?) "Who was he?"
It takes Pierce a moment to respond. "You met him earlier this week on another assignment."
(You) The Soldier takes a moment to process those words, images of the man on the bridge turning in your mind. "I knew him," you say, and it's a truth you can feel in his bones even if you can't say how.
Pierce sits down in front of you. "Your work has been a gift to mankind," he says to (You) The Soldier. "You shaped the century, and I need you to do it one more time. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're going to give it a push. But if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and Hydra can't give the world the freedom it deserves."
(You) The Soldier's face twists as some foreign feeling slices through your belly. "But I knew him." A plaintive statement. It means nothing to these men.
You knew him. Bucky! And the sensation of falling, falling...
(Pierce stands up, turns away. "Prep him."
A scientist speaks up hesitantly. "He's been out of cryo freeze too long."
"Then wipe him, start over.")
(You) The Soldier is being pushed back into the chair, and you allow yourself to be pushed. A mouth guard is being placed into your mouth. (You) The Soldier obediently bites down on it. Clamps go down on your arms, and some part of you knows what's coming even as the whirring of a device around you sounds. Your breathing is quickening as you try not to panic. (Of course you're panicked.) And you're screaming through the mouth guard, through the pain, through the haze of electricity as it hammers at your brain.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
That Man on the Bridge
Date: 2016-07-10 03:55 am (UTC)(You) The Soldier's face contorts in anger, and the arm lashes out at one of the scientists working on it. The man flies several feet away. Men in black train their guns on the Sodlier, but (You) The Soldier remains seated for now. But (You) The Soldier is angry.
(You) The Soldier is angry.
Dimly, (You) The Soldier aware of voices speaking after a while.
("Sir? He's... he's unstable. Erratic...")
An entourage walks in, an older man leading the way. Blond. Alexander Pierce, the name filters into your awareness. He is the one who is in charge. Hydra's leader.
("Mission report.")
(You) The Soldier doesn't answer. This man is not important right now. (You) The Soldier chasing a thought, chasing it, chasing it...
("Mission report, now.")
There's something that should be remembered. Something—
Alexander Pierce backhands you. It's a heavy-hitting move, though (You) The Soldier has had worse. Just had worse. But it gets your attention. Mission report...?
"That man on the bridge," (You) The Soldier says, your voice hesitant. (He was tall, blond, and (You) The Soldier had been fighting him until he said a name, in that disbelieving voice. Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky?) "Who was he?"
It takes Pierce a moment to respond. "You met him earlier this week on another assignment."
(You) The Soldier takes a moment to process those words, images of the man on the bridge turning in your mind. "I knew him," you say, and it's a truth you can feel in his bones even if you can't say how.
Pierce sits down in front of you. "Your work has been a gift to mankind," he says to (You) The Soldier. "You shaped the century, and I need you to do it one more time. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're going to give it a push. But if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and Hydra can't give the world the freedom it deserves."
(You) The Soldier's face twists as some foreign feeling slices through your belly. "But I knew him." A plaintive statement. It means nothing to these men.
You knew him. Bucky! And the sensation of falling, falling...
(Pierce stands up, turns away. "Prep him."
A scientist speaks up hesitantly. "He's been out of cryo freeze too long."
"Then wipe him, start over.")
(You) The Soldier is being pushed back into the chair, and you allow yourself to be pushed. A mouth guard is being placed into your mouth. (You) The Soldier obediently bites down on it. Clamps go down on your arms, and some part of you knows what's coming even as the whirring of a device around you sounds. Your breathing is quickening as you try not to panic. (Of course you're panicked.) And you're screaming through the mouth guard, through the pain, through the haze of electricity as it hammers at your brain.
Y̵̦̘̻̰͌̅̈͊̅̋́o̧̟̺̩̟ͣͩ̎̄̄̿u̺͔̽͜ͅ ̈́̐̌̉r͖̠͈̤̣̱ͮͣ̃̃͑e̛̟̭̫͑̄ͅm̪̭ͪ͛ͬ͛ë́͐̔̍m̦͈͚̯͍̲̱̋ḇ̰̝̼ͮ̔͑̍̊͌ͪeͧ̒ͯ͝r̳͎͚͕͗ͬ̈͂̽ͨ—̲͈̞͙̘̝̭ͬ̒ͦ́̉̓ ̗̰̜͎ͥͥT̥̣̰̼͓̺̓͌h͕͇͎͕́ͤͬͫ͐̕a̟̗̜͕̲̞̯̾̊͌͡t̠͑͝ ̱̝̬̭ͭͬ̉ͯ͜ͅm̺͉̹̻̱̊a͇ͤ̃̿ͫn̺̘̣͇ͨ ͔͓͉̘̭̈ͨ̈́ͪͩ͐̿ǫ̳̻ͪ͗́̍ͫͅn̼̍̄̓̒ͪ̊ ͇̖̝̩͕̼̲̃̈̆̊ẗ̷̥̱̪̭̙ͩͨ͐́͒h̠e̻͇̻̫̾ͩ̎̒ͅ ̣ͬ̓̾͡b͍̟̙̱̞͈r̳̟͆̊ī͉̻ͤͩ͜ḋͫ̓ͧͪ̿̈́͜g͙͊͌e̤̝ͣ
̝͇̲͈̭͕
͍̫̯̲̞̬͚Y̰̱̙̹͔̭͌ͥͮ̉ͬͩͥ́ͅo̟̳̩̹͉͊̉͆ͭ̕ų̗̰͉ͪͭ͆ͦ̅̋̓ ̙͎̱͖̱̙͐͝r̤͎͇͎ͮ̅̆̓e̫̥͠ͅm̰ͪ͛̑̂̌
̦̗̲̝͔ͭ̈́ͅë̮́̌ͮm͔̖̄̈́̕
̗̟̝̲͞b̪͇̱͒̇͌̉̒̃e͓̳͙͌͆̂ͧ̒̋
͚̠̟̦̙͖͓͒ͭ̔r͇̞.̨̫̳͆̿̒͊ ͖̺̥̄ͩ͊͊͡
͈̳͈͇̣̲̘̇ͫ͆͗̾̈́̐.̧̠ͦͯ͐̌ͣ
͇̐͊̀.̠͓̽ͬ̔̓̋̈̚ͅ
Nothing.