Control.

"Fate, my dear."

TW: TORTURE AND BLOOD AND SA MENTIONS

This was painful to write, I'm sorry besties.
- J
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They leave you in the dark room for what seems like a long time. You count your heartbeats to steady yourself. What the actual fuck can you do now?

You try to wiggle your body, find a weakness in your restraints, but you can't find any.

Bucky's words play on repeat on your mind and you let the tears stream free out of your eyes. Just like the room, you fall into darkness.
There's so many emotions running through you, you can't focus on anything but Bucky's face. The only person you wish eagerly to see walk through the door.

But life isn't fair and that's not what happens.

The light switches on and you shut your eyes fearfully. The same old man walks in with an evil grin, holding some sort of equipment in his clammy hands.

You eye him up with nothing but hatred but it doesn't faze him in the slightest. He pulls up a chair to sit in front of you, too close for comfort.

"I apologise for losing my temper, dear." The man reaches to caress your broken lip and you jolt away from his touch.

"You are quite remarkable, Y/N. I always thought so." He says, like it's supposed to be a compliment.
"I don't give a shit about what you think." You spit in his face, landing right on his left cheek.

The man stands up slowly, pulling a handkerchief of his back pocket to clean himself. He turns his back to pick up a long metal spike.

"I really don't appreciate that kind of behaviour." He drives the spike slowly into your right shoulder, coming out on the other side. He's precise enough that it won't kill you. It just hurts like a bitch.

You grind your teeth in an effort to hold out any screams, not giving him the satisfaction.
The pain is so great it makes you tear up again. The man smiles at your tears, amused.

The angry approach isn't going to work on this one, you need to switch tactics.

"Your selfcontrol is impressive." He wipes away a tear of your face, licking it off his finger with delight. Disgusting.

"Please..." You hiccup, leaning into your desperation. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh no, my dear. You've always been a very good girl." His chubby hands go to cup your face and you lock your muscles, fighting the urge to jerk away.

"My name is Adrik Solkov, but you can call me Doctor. I prefer it." You nod and he continues. "I've worked on you many times before, Y/N. I studied your genetics extensively."

You shake your head. The blood drips down your shoulder, staining the white vest. "Why? I'm just ordinary."

"You are no such thing!" The Doctor pulls away, scrambling through the instruments on the table beside you. "You'll see, I'll bring your memories back."

You shrink in fear. You have no clue how he intends to do it, but you know in your soul it's not going to be pleasant. This seems to entertain the man, seeing you terrified and hopeless.

You start crying, sobbing loudly. "I don't know anything, I don't even know who I am."

"Of course you don't, my dear. Those fake American heroes never bothered to explain your greatness."