Everybody's got a past.
But Anna Lewis doesn't remember a thing about hers.
One moment she was at home with her husband and baby, the next one she found herself in a dark motel room with a metal-limbed man who tells her she's a lethal assassin. Tha...
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May 24th, 2016
The only thing I feel as I regain consciousness is a great pressure on my arms that immobilizes them. Hopelessly, I try to move them but I fail. They're trapped under an industrial press and there's no way I can get out of here alone. I think I'm in an industrial warehouse, but it has to be abandoned. That would explain the press. What worries me, though, is who has brought me here.
And why?
I try to remember what happened, but it's all a black blur. I think hard about the last thing I was doing... I think we were in Berlin. Captain America's face pops up in my mind. Why do I remember him? The last time I saw him was on the news when they were talking about...
Vienna. The bombing. Someone framed Bucky with that bombing, but it wasn't him. It's all coming back now.
"Bucky." I gasp when I see eventually see him. My bottom lip hurts when I open my mouth to speak, but I ignore it. Buck's laying in front of me, basically in the same position, but only with his bionic arm under the press. "Bucky." My voice is higher and more anxious the second time I call him, he's not responding and won't wake up.
"He's fine." I hear someone say. I recognize that voice... It's Wilson. The Falcon. "He's just unconscious, but he'll be up in no time." I can only turn my head enough to see him from the corner of my eye, but that doesn't matter because I choose to disregard him.
"Anna..." Bucky lifts his head up looking for me.
"Hey." I call him. "I'm here."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes." I assure him, although my lip is burning and both of my arms are numb. "I'm okay, see."
"Hey, Cap!" As soon as Sam alerts him, Rogers runs to us.
"Steve..."
He stands a few feet away from us, unwilling to step closer. "Which Bucky am I talking to?"
"Your mom's name was Sarah." Bucky says, making me turn my head to look at him confused. Could it be that he's finally remembered? A laugh escapes from him as he keeps reminiscing. "You used to wear newspapers in your shoes."
"Can't read that in a museum." Steve chuckles in relieve, but Sam doesn't seem to be one hundred percent convinced.
"Just like that, we're supposed to be cool?"
Taking no notice of him once more, I turn to the blue-eyed blond man for some clarification of the past few hours. "Steve, what did we do?"
