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SEPTEMBER 10TH, 1995
"HYDRA HAS BEEN waiting for this moment," The man grasping Cynthia's arm mused. "Waiting for the day we would finally come face to face with the girl that softened our soldier."
"Oh, did I make him soft? Sorry, I guess I'll have to try harder next time." Cynthia replied, grinning. She knew she was pushing their buttons, and she didn't care. She truly didn't care that they might hurt her, as long as Jamie was safe. Right now, she felt her fear bouncing off the walls.
"Cocky, are we?" The man replied again. "I'll let you know, Cynthia, that your pretend father is waiting for you."
"And is he getting punished for lying?" Cynthia asked, and the man nodded.
"You're all getting punished," He replied before opening the door in front of them, revealing a large room. And, in the middle of it was Bucky—hooked up to some machine, and Cynthia's heart plummeted. And before him, was David. On his knees, with a gun pointed at the back of his head.
"I'm sorry," David called out to Cynthia, "I'm sorry you had to take my daughter's identity."
"Shut up," The man holding Cynthia's arm snapped. He looked over at her, and said, "What? Not so cocky anymore, are we?"
"You're the one who should have left her alone, John, she doesn't have anything to do with this," David seethed, and the soldier pointing their gun at his head kicked his back, and John replied, "That's where you're wrong, David. She has everything to do with this."
And then, faster than Cynthia could blink, the soldier shot David. "No!" Cynthia screamed, putting a hand over her mouth as hot tears poured down her face. Cynthia felt herself fall to the floor, and John said, "And this, this is what happens Cynthia, when you try and live someone else's life."
Cynthia then looked up at Bucky, who was looking right at her. "Has anyone by chance found that little girl? You know the one, Cynthia. That you spared, when you weren't supposed to."
"You told," Cynthia took her hand away from her mouth as she took a gasping breath and looked at Bucky.
"He had no choice," John snapped, grabbing Cynthia's hair and pulling her up. "Now—Wipe him, and start over."
Cynthia yelped in pain as Bucky screamed out in agony.
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The cell Cynthia had been put in was more of a cage than a cell.
There was no privacy, she was surrounded by guards constantly, and all she had been given from her previous outfit was a white tank top, and a matching pair of underwear.
All her weapons and other clothes had been taken away—save for the outfit that now sat on a mannequin across the room, an outfit that would be her "uniform" for when she fought. But whom, or what exactly, had been her unanswered questions.
It had been three hours since David died, three since Bucky had been tortured. And all because of Cynthia. When she had seen Bucky for the first time in three years, she didn't think seeing him again and again over the years would lead to this. But thank god she was smart, and had protected Jamie his entire life.
"You look bored," One of the guards said, and Cynthia looked over at him. "I'm Owen. Do you want to play a game?"
Eyebrows furrowing, Cynthia replied, "What kind of game?"
"Oh, you know, just one where you take off your clothes, and we get to watch," Owen replied, grinning. "We haven't had someone to play with in a while."
Cynthia's face turned up in disgust, and she replied, "If I play your game, you can't touch me . . . "
"Oh, I think we can," Owen said, turning a switch on his baton, making it buzz with electricity.
Cynthia felt her face drain of its color.
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The feel of this scratchy and stuffy uniform made Cynthia feel a little sick.
With HYDRA buttons and designs accenting it's patterns, Cynthia felt more like a barbie doll more than some sort of "warrior."
"What, you don't like it?" John's voice came from behind her, and Cynthia looked at him through the mirror.
"It's a . . . Bit much, you don't think?" Cynthia finally said, her voice hoarse from crying.
"No, I mean, from what I had seen from your old uniform was that it didn't show off much skin . . . And that's what we wanted, more skin showing. Oh, and to see how your healing power worked."
Thank god Cynthia had saved Millie from HYDRA. But she hated it here, hated it so much, and she hadn't even been here for an entire day. "The . . . Guards have already seen how it works," Cynthia quietly told John. "I played a . . . Game with the group of them."
"Wonderful. You'll be starting your training soon, since fighting starts on Tuesday." John explained, and a panicked thought came to Cynthia's head: It's only Sunday.
"Who will I be fighting?" Cynthia asked when John came up behind her, brushing strands of hair away from her neck.
"Your Winter Soldier," He whispered into her neck, and Cynthia cringed.
"I know I made him soft, but . . . Why don't you guys just wipe his memories so much he doesn't remember me? And just leave me alone?" Cynthia asked, shaking her head, and John buried his head further into his neck before pulling away. Cynthia instantly noticed the small mark that he had left there.
"He already has, doll face," John replied, "But this way is easier. You're mine, and you'll stay mine for a long time. And if my soldier remembers you . . . " He trailed off. "Then he'll see that you're mine, and there's nothing he can do to change that."
Cynthia kept her eyes on the mirror, where John's hands had positioned themselves on her stomach. "You're mine," He said again into her neck.
Cynthia refused to say it back. John dug his nails into her sides, and growled, "Say it." Cynthia shook her head, trying to suppress the tears. "No. I won't say it."
This time, John dug his nails in harder, shaking her, and growled again, biting her skin, "Say it!"
"I'm yours," Cynthia finally whispered, her voice breaking.
