salvation ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟐

021. unmade

I PROBABLY WOKE the entire compound with my screaming. I mean, if they were sleeping. It's the middle of the day, but who knows what their schedule is down here, maybe they do most of their work during the dead of night, but it's the middle of the day down here, but it's backward, and—

I was really fucking loud, is what I'm trying to say. 

My wrists burned in the tight grip of the strong agent behind me, who was pushing me just as forcefully as the one in front pulling me to their desired destination. I whirled my head to see if Bucky was still standing there, if I could only lay my eyes on him one more time. But he was gone, walking past a raging stranger that was no one to him. 

He'd said it that way, anyhow. 

Strands of hair flew in front of my face as I shook my body, doing my best to wriggle out of this death grip I was clasped in. But it seemed that I was weaker than I thought I was, and the guard holding me was trained in holding unwilling prisoners. 

They shoved me into a room that I took no attempt to memorize, as I knew I would do anything to get out of here and find my way to Bucky. I was so close, I just needed to see him again. I just needed to get one more glance of that face that I needed to breathe, and I would be okay. 

A pang of pain shot through my wrists and legs as I was wrestled onto a stretcher-like bed. It was cruder than that of a hospital, but at least one step up from the tables at a morgue. I felt my wrists being strapped down, my ankles falling to the same fate, and before I knew it, a strap was being threaded over my neck. I was trapped on this table, and I could do nothing to move my body. I was subject to whatever they wanted to do to me. 

My vision blurred in fury as I spat in the rugged face of the man leaning over me. "What, are you gonna make me one of your assets, too?" I seethed, reveling in the look of disgust that morphed his features as he wiped his face. "Just like Hydra?"

The second agent, the one who'd been pulling me from the front, jerked at the sound of the organization, glaring hard at me. 

"Admit it," I scoffed, "you could never exist without the ones you hate the most." A breathy, cruel chuckle left my lips as I sneered, "It's poetic, really." My sardonic tone faded, though, as I registered one of them moving something on a table beside me, out of my peripheral view. 

He sighed exasperatedly, and spoke darkly, "We're ready to give her the serum, sir." My heart dropped as I recognized the syringe that he held in his hand, filled to the brim with a bubbling, orange substance that had already torn my world apart one year ago. 

I swallowed roughly, the confidence ebbing from my bones. "No," I mumbled, though it pained me to beg so quickly, giving up my rage so fast. But being faced with the very thing that took Bucky from me was so horrifying that I could think to do nothing else but beg. In just one swift movement, I could be fated to be just like him, my mind separated from my body. 

I could be unmade. Just like Bucky. 

A nasally voice spoke up, that of a much younger man than the agents. "That won't be necessary, Thorne," he deescalated the situation. I couldn't see him, but my mind conjured a weaselly face to match his rat-like voice. "I know just what to do with this one."

He came to stand over me, his features coming into focus. His hair was a greasy and matted mess of black that he had swept back into a bun, his eyes sparkling with more than just playful mischief, but sardonic manipulation, more like. I shuddered under his cold gaze. His lips separated into a wide smirk, and he spoke again in his high-pitched voice. "You've done a great deal of work to get here, haven't you?"