THE CHAIN, B. Barnes daughter

1. plan b

October 7th, 2003

THE OLD MAN HELD a small baby wrapped up in a small blanket. He hated the baby. She was just a mistake, number seven. That was her—it's named Seven. She was made from The Winter Soldiers DNA plus the mother, whom they killed an hour after she was born, which was only around two hours ago.

The old man's voice sliced through the air like a knife, sending a chill down Soldat's spine as he struggled against his restraints. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, mingling with the remnants of his past, wiped clean from his memory.

With a deliberate motion, the old man unlatched Soldat's restraints, freeing him from their confining grasp. As Soldat blinked, his vision clearing, he found himself face to face with a small baby cradled in the old man's arms.

Confusion clouded Soldat's features as he gazed at the infant, his mind grappling with the sudden revelation. "Your child, Soldat," the old man spoke, his voice as cold as ice. "Its name is Seven, made from you."

Bucky's brow furrowed with uncertainty, his gaze flickering between the old man and the tiny bundle in his arms. A child? His child? The notion seemed unfathomable, yet a surge of unfamiliar emotion stirred within him, bubbling to the surface like a long-forgotten memory.

Love.

Soldat knew he wasn't supposed to feel such a thing, yet the sensation washed over him with an intensity he couldn't deny. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, genuine and unbidden.

But before he could fully comprehend the depth of his newfound emotion, the old man snatched the baby from his arms, wrenching her away with cruel indifference. Seven's cries pierced the air, a heartbreaking symphony of fear and confusion.

"Where are you taking her?" Soldat's voice cracked with desperation, his heart pounding in his chest as panic threatened to consume him.

"It, Soldat," the old man corrected, his tone chillingly detached.

Soldat's muscles tensed with rage as he struggled against his restraints, his cries falling on deaf ears. "Give her back!" he pleaded, his voice raw with anguish.

But the old man remained unmoved, his gaze icy and unforgiving. "Wipe him," he commanded, turning to the four men who had appeared at his side. With a nod, they advanced, overpowering Soldat and dragging him back into the suffocating embrace of his restraints.

Soldat's screams echoed through the chamber, a haunting lament for the child he had only just begun to know. "Give her back!" he cried out, his voice a desperate plea that fell on deaf ears as the old man disappeared into the shadows, taking Seven with him.

January 19th, 2008

THE WINTER SOLDIERS CHEST HEAVED
with exertion as he clung to the ends of the armrests, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. The pain that seared through his mind was excruciating, a relentless assault that left him gasping for air.

The memories, or what remained of them, flickered like dying embers in his fractured mind. Each wipe, each jolt of electricity, tore away another piece of his identity, leaving behind nothing but a hollow shell of the man he once was.

Failure gnawed at him like a festering wound, a constant reminder of his shortcomings. He was the Winter Soldier, a weapon honed to perfection, yet here he was, stumbling blindly through mission after mission, his once impeccable record stained by defeat.

The old man, their leader, loomed over him with a mask of barely contained fury. This was not how it was supposed to be. The Winter Soldier was supposed to be infallible, a force to be reckoned with. And yet, here he was, faltering at every turn.