I Never Told You What I Do For A Living | Bucky Barnes

12. Hail HYDRA!

Chapter 12
Hail HYDRA!

I felt like I was losing who I was. Our days consisted of the same things – get up, eat, train, and so on. And if we didn't do what HYDRA wanted us to, we went to the Memory Suppressing Machine, which they used to suppress our memories, and as a way to brainwash us. After consistent usage, it started to erase our memories completely. Only a few to begin with, but eventually, it took all of them.

Every day, without fail, they would recite ten simple, unassuming words, that when said, would give HYDRA full control of our minds, and in turn, would give them control of our bodies.

They would say the words when they put us in the MSM as well, so that we were sure to remember them subconsciously, and would recognize the words, even if we couldn't remember them. So no matter what they did to us, they would always have control over us. Even if we did manage to escape, they would always be able to lead us back to where they wanted, do whatever they wanted.

Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car. Who would've thought that these words could turn us into brainwashed zombies? Soldiers who'd been forced into this life, even though we couldn't remember how we got into it, or the life we might've had before any of this started. I wanted so desperately to remember.

Did we have a family before this? Friends? Where had we lived? What had our jobs been? Or had this been our life before? Were we scientists who'd volunteered for this life? But then, who would willingly choose a life like this? No, I liked to think that somebody out there missed us, and had never stopped trying to find out what had happened to us.

The Winter Soldier Program is what they called this project we were involved with, and to make sure we knew who was who, they called Bucky, Soldier, and I was called Phantom. We were both being trained to be ghosts, where people didn't know what we looked like, but everybody was afraid. Nobody wanted to be on our hit list because they knew that no matter how much protection they had, we would stop at nothing to kill our target – even if it meant taking the lives of the innocent. It was our jobs, and something told me I'd done this before.

So over the years of our captivity and torture, we trained and trained. In everything from hand-to-hand, to weapons – from knives to pistols, to rifles, and everything in between – and languages. Everything we learned, seemed familiar, but it was just one of those things that didn't seem to make sense to me. Why would I recognize it, if I'd never done it before?

We killed scientists who threatened our cause, a president who defied to comply with what we wanted, politicians who wouldn't do as we told them. All they had to do, was put us in the MSM, say those ten words in Russian, and then tell us what they wanted us to do.

Not once did we ever ask if what we were doing was right, because this was all we knew. I might not like it, but what else were we suppose to do? If we complained about what we were doing, then we had our heads put in the metaphorical blender, until we learned not to say anything, or we wouldn't remember what we were complaining about in the first place.

Without a doubt, the thing I hated most about this place, wasn't the killing, or the training, or the disorientation I always felt when we woke up. It was the Memory Suppressing Machine. They would put something in our mouths to bite down on, and then our arms our get restrained, before part of the machine lowered onto both sides of our faces, and electricity started to shock us. It wasn't like a small electric shock, it was the most painful thing you could think of, multiplied by ten. Whenever I was put in it, it always caused me to scream.

Anybody standing round the machine when it was on, could hear the electricity running through it. And you could hear the screams echoing throughout the building, depending on whether the doors were open or not. I could still remember the Soldier screaming round the mouth guard when he didn't comply with an order they gave him.