The Asset: The Beginning and End of the Winter Soldier

Chapter Three

The sessions of questions and drugs continued for weeks. He dreaded being restrained in front of the group of Hydra personnel with his mind clouded by the mist, causing doubt in himself along with a growing sense of disquiet that never left even after the drugs, the poison, wore off. He always seemed to regain his sense of self, his name, his past, his identity - in time - when they released him from what he could only comprehend as torture. Each time it took longer for his sense of self to return, until he could not be entirely sure who he really was. He had no proof of his own identity any more than he had proof of what his tormentors kept telling him: that he was a soldier of Hydra. The uncertainty was maddening to him as he grasped that what was being done to him was, at least in part, successful. His ability to keep fighting them was less and as a result he felt like he was losing pieces of himself.

The sessions with the drugs stopped abruptly, and they left him alone, confined to the small room until they came for him once again, using a gas to sedate him so he could not attack them. Bucky was awakened by a man in a Soviet military uniform, who smiled politely down at him. He found he was once again restrained, and that a device was tightly fitted around his skull. He could not move his head, but he strained against the device anyway, though he knew it was likely useless to do so. He could not stop trying to fight, he knew that if he did ever stop fighting them, he would lose everything.

"Soldier," the Soviet officer said, as always speaking Russian. No one used his name any longer, he was only referred to as Soldier. "Today we will be helping you to break free of any weakness that could hold you back."

Bucky only snarled in reply. Trying to argue with anyone who spoke to him in that place had never helped him. A thick piece of rubber was roughly pushed into his mouth. He could hear the hum as the machine was turned on and adjusted. He could smell ozone as it began to get warm. He tried not to be afraid, but he knew that whatever they would do to him would likely hurt and possibly leave traces he wouldn't be able to fully heal from. He froze in shock as a white burst exploded in his mind, blinding him momentarily as if lightning had struck in front of him. Another white explosion and the pain hit him, cascading on every nerve ending until he screamed, muffled against the rubber mouthguard, as his teeth clenched into it involuntarily. A third burst and he felt like he could no longer move. He was barely aware that the machine was turned off, the device on his head was gone and the rubber mouthguard he had bitten through was removed in pieces. The smell of ozone was strong, causing his throat to burn.

"Just a few targeted electric shocks, into your temporal lobes and your amygdala," the officer said in a conversational tone. "I think from now on we will begin to see a change in your responses."

Bucky was dazed as other people pulled him from the machine, dragging him back to the small room where he was thrown to curl up on the floor. He remained on the floor as he tried to gauge what they had done to him. He still had a sense of himself, his name, his past, which caused him some relief, but he could not otherwise feel any sense of being different. As minutes changed to hours, he did feel different. He felt a surge of fear, anger spiking to rage and ebbing to disquiet, causing him to stand suddenly. He paced in the small room, restless, as his emotions spiraled out of control. He wanted to lash out at anyone or anything. To be able to finally strike against his enemies would be the only way out of the hell he found himself in.

In the turmoil of rage and fear, he could feel his sense of self deteriorate enough that he could not be sure who he was. His name, Bucky, was not in doubt, but his past seemed detached from him, as if he had watched someone else live it. A childhood growing up in New York, playing fearlessly among the constant crowds with sisters, with his friend Steve. Adulthood, where he joined the Army immediately after the attack on Pearl Harbor and was sent with the 107th to Europe to fight. Capture, torture, escape with Steve who was so different yet not different. More fighting until he.... Had died? He wasn't sure any longer. How could he have died when he was obviously still alive? He had to be alive, the dead would not feel such churning, violent emotions. He wanted, needed to act on that violence, even as a very small part of his mind tried to resist, to let him know that it was not right, was not really his wish and never had been.