Inferno: Remember Me

Reason

I ALREADY HAVE 78 READS!!! Thanks, y'all. Actually, no one really comments on here, so it feels like a ghost-town. And sorry for not updating in so long, my special group of 5 readers. 

Now, this is a VERY special chapter, and it's... a rollercoaster of emotions, impending doom and whatnot, to say the least. I'll stop beating around the bush, because it feels weird. Now, as my good friend sorrynobodyishome  has given me this idea, I felt it improper to not fully credit them. Bitches, Bros, and Binary Hoes, I present to you: THE FIRST AI-WRITTEN CHAPTER IN THIS STORY!!!

Acknowledgements to Chat-GPT as well. I haven't forgotten about you, old pal. Don't think I'll ever ask you to write again, but you tried your best. Also, thank you for -planetaryfire- for those super-nice comments. It's a short chapter, compared to the others. Moving along now -

You stare at Bucky in disbelief. A microphone in your tent? 

How did Howard manage to pull that off? And why would he do such a thing? You feel a surge of anger and betrayal, mixed with curiosity and confusion. You want to confront Howard and demand an explanation, but you understood why he completely disrespected your privacy. Who wouldn't? But you also want to know more about Bucky and his involvement in this scheme. He was turning out to be a criminal, and you liked that. You'd always had a thing for bad boys. 

You look into his eyes, which are filled with guilt and fear. Ugh! You thought. He was so emotional. He seems to regret telling you the truth, but he also seems to care about you. Odd. He had said that spending time with you was the only part of the equation that mattered. Did he even know what math was? Why did he use it as a metaphor? And what did he mean by that? Did he have feelings for you, or was he just trying to manipulate you? What if he wanted your secrets for world domination?

Was his name even Bucky? What if he was someone called Dagmar? 

You shuddered.

You decide to give him a chance to explain himself. You take a deep breath, stare at him in they eyes for a few minutes, and say, "Bucky, I appreciate your honesty, but I need you to tell me everything. How long has Howard been spying on me? What does he want from me? And what do you want from me?"

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his beautiful hair. He looks around nervously, as if expecting someone to interrupt them. He lowers his voice and says, "Look, Helen, I don't know much, okay? Howard approached me a few days ago, after we met at the bar. I was just enjoying my beer, and he came and sat next to me, and I didn't want to share a drink with him, so I stopped drinking. He said he was a friend of yours, and that he was worried about you. I knew you, so I was also worried about you. He said you were in danger, and that you needed someone to watch your back. He said he had a plan to get you out of this hellhole and into something bigger and better. He said he had a vision for the world. He said he was working on something. He said he needed my help, and that he would reward me generously if I agreed."

You frown. "Reward you how? Is he going to-?"

Bucky hesitates. He looks away and says, "He said he would help me get into the SSR. The Strategic Scientific Reserve. You know, the elite group of scientists and soldiers that work on secret projects to fight the Nazis. He said he had connections, and that he could get me in if I proved myself worthy. He said he had a mission for me, and that it involved you. Do you know what the SSR is? It's very important."

You feel a chill run down your spine. The SSR. You have heard of them, of course. They are the ones who had recruited your aunt Peggy, the legendary spy and your partner. You have always admired them, and you are proud to be part of them. But you also know that they are highly selective and secretive, and that getting in is not easy. Especially not for yourself, even if you were already in it. What does Howard have to do with them? And what does he want you to do? After all, he was just a scientist for SSR. Not an agent, not like you.