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A Soldier for All Seasons

Captive or Commodity?

By SyncerePublished 10 months ago 18 min read
1
An Origin Story

There were only two of us in the small suite. Though the distance from where I sat on the plush, white loveseat was no more than 50 paces from his post near the door, the divide felt quite vast.

"What's your name, Soldier Boy?"

The stoic, pile of muscles refused to speak. He just stood there, holding his rifle, ever dutiful. I could tell any trace of a former life or allegiance was wiped clean. He was little more than a guard dog now.

"Ignoring me seems like a fruitless endeavor. After all, aren't you supposed to be my bodyguard? I think that warrants passing interaction."

"Shut up," he growled at me.

"Someone is testy without their coffee," I chirped annoyingly. "Is that it? You want some java? I make a mean cup." I got up and walked into the small, adjoining kitchenette. Retrieving a mug from a sandalwood cabinet, I busied myself brewing a fresh pot.

"You realize I can hurt you, don't you? I can crush your vocal cords without breaking a sweat."

"Don't threaten me with a good time," I shot back, tickled by the notion. I could hear the whir of his metallic prosthetic as he clenched and unclenched his fist. "You can relax- I'm just joking."

The angry man sulked in silence.

“You know, I’m not the prisoner here.” I watched his jaw clench and knew I’d struck a nerve. “You’re new and they think I can’t manipulate you. So for our collective punishment, we’re stuck with each other.”

“I'm just following orders. And you can't manipulate me.”

“You sure about that, Soldier Boy? I can read minds. I can bend any man’s will to my whim. Schmidt is throwing a temper tantrum because I don’t obey his more perverse desires. But you? You’re an empty-headed, tin man. A ridiculous foot soldier for an organization you know nothing of. And should you step out of line, you’re easily disposable.”

He finally turned around and faced me. “You talk too much. You know, I could put a bullet in your skull and they’d probably promote me.”

I laughed out loud, long and hard. His jaw clenched in what looked to be a painful manner. He was getting angrier by the moment and I found it hilarious.

“You realize you have no choice but to suffer me, right? You kill me, you’ll never see another sunrise. Not that you could, but for fun let’s say you did shoot me. They are watching us right now; you wouldn’t make it two steps out of this room afterwards.”

“At least I’d get some peace and quiet,” he grumbled, turning his back on me again.

“Peace? Do you know the meaning of the word?" I took my cup of java back to my perch on the couch. "I ask because you are filled with angst. Which is surprising since you have no idea who you are.” 

His head snapped back around. “What’d you say?”

“You have no clue as to who you are. You are a shell with no identity. And even though you know this isn’t the life you were meant to lead, you’re so lost you’d take up even the most unworthy cause.”

“That’s not true. The world is changing and we’re making it safer. That’s the only cause I’d ever need to make my path righteous.” 

“Right. And holding a gun to a woman, who could disarm you before you draw your next breath, is making the world safer?” I blew on the hot beverage and took an exaggerated sip to annoy him.

“We could test that theory very easily,” he said in what he believed to be a threatening tone.

“Do it, then!” I jeered, setting aside my mug. “If you think you’re so bad ass, shoot me, Soldier Boy!”

He slung the rifle over his shoulder and drew his Walther P38 from a holster on his hip. Taking several purposeful strides in my direction, he stepped around the small table, and raised the weapon. I barely blinked as he got closer, and a fraction of a moment later the piece of steel was pointed at my head. I remained seated and looked up slowly, the cold metal dragging downward until it was directly between my eyes and I was staring into his.

He wasn’t the least bit phased but neither was I. “The safety is on,” I reminded him. He didn’t budge an inch, studying my face. “Have you forgotten how to shoot? Performance issues plague many a man.”

Shaking his head, he lowered it out of my face. I stared him down indignantly. His arm began trembling as he raised the gun again, pointing it squarely at my chest. His brow furrowed as he used the safety-decocking lever to lower the hammer. “What the hell-?”

A deliciously evil smile spread across my face as the realization he wasn’t in control of his actions dawned on him. He put his finger on the trigger involuntarily and I read the genuine panic in his eyes. Deciding I made my point, I released my telekinetic hold on him and he immediately ejected the cartridge and tossed the gun aside.

“Are you insane? I could’ve killed you!”

I rolled my eyes and sat back. “You still seem impossibly deluded as to who is in control here.”

“Crazy bitch,” he muttered, backing away from me.  

“I’ve been called worse.”

“So … when you said all that stuff about being able to get in my head-”

“Yes, I meant literally.”

“Does that mean you’re the one who took my memories?”

“I’m not in the business of inflicting amnesia. Your memory loss is a direct result of your trauma.”

“What trauma?”

“Seriously? You have a prosthetic made of the strongest substance on Earth. Is that normal to your mind?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“What do you know? What’s the earliest possible memory that you can conjure?” I asked curiously.

The man was truly baffled. He grabbed his head with his right hand and rubbed it through his shaggy hair. “Everything is a blank,” he muttered in disbelief, beginning to pace the room. 

“Okay, maybe that was too much to ask of you. Where were you right before this? Before you were ordered here to guard me?”

“I-I don’t know. Why don’t I know?”

“Because someone doesn’t want you to know. Someone wants to keep you in the dark. You’re being used, Soldier Boy.”

“Stop calling me that! My name is-“

“What? What’s your name?”

With an angry shout, he slammed his metal fist into the wall, breaking through the sheet rock like it was balsa wood. I got up and walked over to him as he sank to his knees in defeat. I knelt down in front of him, using my right hand to raise his chin. Hot, angry tears pooled in his steel blue eyes as he stared at me.

“Do you know my name, soldier?” I asked softly. He shook his head that he didn’t. 

“Wolfe,” I said softly. “You can call me Wolfe.”

“Ok, Wolfe. What are we doing here?”

“You tell me.” 

“I don’t know!” he cried out. “All I know is I’m supposed to guard you. You’re my mission right now.”

"What's your directive exactly?"

"Stick close to you like your shadow. Make sure you're safe."

"And if we come under attack?"

"I would die before letting harm come to you."

"Are you sure? Not too long ago you held a gun to me. What if you had accidentally shot me?"

"I'd pay for it with my life." Hia answers were becoming more rote. Mechanical even.

"Are you sure about that, soldier?"

"Yes."

"Who gave you this command?"

"Red Skull."

"Who is your allegiance to?"

"Hydra."

I gave him a dimpled smile. "Listen to me, Soldier Boy. You're going to be just fine as long as you stay on mission."

He stared deeply into my eyes as if searching for more answers. "Your eyes..." he trailed off before he could finish the thought.

"My eyes what?"

"There's flecks of green ... it's so familiar." We stared at each other in silence for a full moment.

"I'm going to help you," I decided to let him know.

"Why would you help me? You said it yourself- I'm disposable."

"Because this is only the beginning, and I'd really love to be alive at the end of our time together. Looks like we're going to have to trust each other."

"Why does he keep you locked up?"

"Schmidt? He doesn't like when he doesn't get his way. And who says I'm locked up?"

He glanced around warily. "We've literally been locked in this room all this time. And I'm guarding you. With guns."

"Oh, that. Yeah, I'm free to go whenever I should please, Soldier Boy. I told you before- you're not in control."

I got to my feet and offered him my hand. He took it and rose up as well. "I don't understand."

"You will."

His brow furrowed as he looked around the room. Gone were the guns he previously brandished. He looked at the spot where he'd punched a hole in the wall to find it was undamaged. The couch I sat on previously was no longer there and neither was the small kitchenette. As I walked past him to get to the door he reached out to grab my arm but missed. The carefully projected room began to dissipate into the nothingness of his darkened subconscious.

"What the hell is going on, Wolfe?" His bewildered look was almost adorable.

"I told you; I'm not the prisoner. It's time for you to wake up, soldier."

________________

I opened my eyes to a blinding light. A moment later it was gone and I blinked a few times, trying to clear my field of vision. I could hear her before my eyes could focus on her face. She was holding a pen light directly above me, staring down at me in contemplative scrutiny.

"Pupils equally reactive and dilated," she said matter of factly.

I realized at that moment that I couldn't move. My head was locked in place, as we're both my arms and legs. There was also something hard on my palate, preventing me from speaking.

What the hell? I thought half a second before my other senses started kicking in.

The drafty and dank room we were in seemed to be in an underground base. I was strapped to what looked to be a dentist's chair, the lighting muted at best. There was a large metal sink and cabinets along the wall to my left, a rolling tray with linens and utensils to my right.

Spread out amongst the room were armed soldiers, rifles in hand. The woman, Wolfe, donned a white lab coat, her long curly locks bouncing around with her every move. A vaguely familiar man in the form of a stout, balding scientist stood close by scribbling notes on a pad as he peered over wire rimmed glasses. He was the only other one in the room wearing a lab coat. I couldn't recall his name, but I knew that voice.

I also recognized one more individual; his formidable form towering at 6 ft and donning a long, leather coat and matching gloves. He was conversing with the woman. They spoke in hushed tones but I managed to catch a few words. The words 'serum' and 'captive' were used. Also, something about precious metals. Though I couldn't move much, a piercing pain drew my gaze downward. Where there should've been flesh and bone making up my left arm, there was only metal and pain. There was also several tubes hooked to my body and running from two separate bags of fluid hanging on hooks behind me.

As I felt more pressure and pain, I tried to move to no avail. The rattling of the chair beneath me banging against an instrument tray grew increasingly louder as I groaned and fought against the restraints. Both the man and woman in lab coats rushed to my side as I tried to scream out in agony.

"Push morphine now, Dr. Zola!"

The stout man obliged, and I began to feel woozy. The last thing I recalled as I drifted back to an unconscious state was the look of concern in her large, amber colored eyes. I wondered briefly where I'd seen those beautiful eyes before as the world faded to black.

___________________

“He’s neurologically intact, despite the lack of memory and sense of identity. He’s mission oriented and claimed his allegiance to Hydra. He doesn’t seem too obsessed with detail; he’s singular in purpose once given his task. All in all, it seems you were successful in building your super soldier.”

“Excellent. You are to continue your sessions with him every day for the next month. Should anything shift, I want to be alerted immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied demurely.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Johann said lowering his voice. He caressed the left side of my face, gently running his fingers through my hair. I winced at his touch, the tender area by my eye throbbing a bit. I could see the smirk on Arnim’s face from the corner of my eye. “You will join me once you’ve finished up here?” Though posed as a question, I knew it was Johann’s way of giving me a direct order. I nodded my agreement.

“Sir, what should we do with the prisoner?” Arnim’s annoying accent pierced the thick silence. “Should he be placed in the cell or the chamber?”

“What do you think, Doctor?” Johann asked, not bothering to tear his gaze away from me.

“If its not too much trouble, he needs a clean room. His wounds are still raw, his mental state still fragile. Until he’s been fully reprogrammed, he needs to believe he’s not a prisoner. To that end, he needs to treated humanely, and that includes giving him a proper identity.”

“If we use his name he may begin to recall his past,” Arnim interjected.

“We stay away from nicknames. I understand he goes by Bucky according to intel. Why don’t we use his last name? He’s obviously used to that having served in the army. He needs structure similar to what he’s had to normalize his new circumstances.”

“You heard Dr. Wolfe. Any reference to the prisoner will be ‘soldier’ or his last name. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Arnim grumbled.

“I’ll be taking my leave now,” Johann stated more so to me than any of the soldiers. They all stood at attention to pay their master respect. I simply nodded, remaining seated.

“Hail Hydra!” Arnim shouted out, cueing the others to echo the sentiment.

They remained at attention until Johann exited. Arnim looked over at me, squinting his beady eyes through his ridiculous spectacles. “I suppose we should ready a room for the captive.”

“Yes, a clean room. He’ll need a comfortable bed- not a cot. Fresh linens daily, pillows and blankets, and his meals on time. He’ll need escorts to and from the facilities- he will require certain levels of assistance while his arm heals. No one is to harm him in any way. Should he require discipline, you report any and all infractions to Dr. Zola and myself. Note, I did not say ‘or’ gentleman- both. Ultimately, I will decide if and how to mete out such punishments. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” A chorus from the 5 soldiers in the room rounded.

I nodded my satisfaction. “You’re dismissed!” I advised. “Please, let me know when the soldier’s quarters are ready.”

The men went to go carry out orders while I began packing up some of my utensils. Arnim did the same, giving me cold glances every so often. Growing increasingly incensed with his obvious disapproval, I spoke up.

“What is your issue, Dr. Zola? Did I do something to offend you?” I asked sarcastically.

“Why do they call you ‘sir’?”

“It’s a term of respect. Something you lack, obviously.”

“I have the utmost respect for those who deserve it, Fräulein. But you are in fact a woman-“

“I am a doctor. I am a soldier. And I’ve got more balls than you. Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I allow you to breathe the same air as me and I validate your worthless existence within the walls of this institution. You’re technologically minded, yes. And you are technically a doctor. But your skills are meager and impotent next to my qualifications.”

“Are your ‘qualifications’ how you earned yourself a black eye? Or are your skills on your knees lacking? They have a term for your kind where I’m from and it’s not 'doctor'. Wench perhaps? Or with that black eye and your black skin, more apt would be the term 'nigg-' “ Arnim stopped short, a gurgling noise barely escaping his mouth. His face turned a semi-satisfactory shade of plum, his bug eyes bulging out of his head whilst he struggled for air.

I raised my right hand and the short man panicked even more as he began to levitate. Holding him in place several inches above the ground, I delighted in his squirming like a worm on a hook. I allowed him to get to the point of nearly passing out before finally releasing my telekinetic hold. He crashed to the floor, his glasses falling from his round face. He needed several minutes of gasping before his breathing normalized. He clambered for his glasses, fear in his eyes. I hadn’t broken a sweat or moved an inch from my seated position.

It was then I noted the piercing grayish-blue eyes trained on me. Barnes was awake. He’d witnessed that interaction. His eyes didn’t betray his thoughts, however. He closed them again before Zola could take notice of him.

“Get out of my sight or so help me I will get up. And Arnim … you don’t want me to get up,” I said in an even tone.

The scientist got to his feet as quickly as he could, grabbed his folder and rushed out. Taking a deep breath, I composed myself and turned my attention back to my patient. I grabbed a clean cloth from the tray beside me and walked over to the metal sink on the other side of Barnes.

I ran the towelette under hot water and wrung it out before returning to his side. Gently, I wiped down his neck and chest in silence. His eyes were back on me, though he couldn’t move his head. I felt him hold his breath when I reached his abs. His torso was rock solid, sparse hairs making up his happy trail. He was in impeccable form considering the injuries he sustained when he’d fallen from a speeding train several weeks prior.

I repeated the actions on his face with fresh linen and cold water before holding a tray beneath his chin. I helped him remove the bit and mouth guard that kept him not only silent, but from swallowing his own tongue. I offered him a cool glass of water, holding it in place for him. He drank greedily, undoubtedly feeling parched. He continued sizing me up as I moved about but said nothing.

Finally, I released his head from the halo and undid the restraint on his prosthetic. I hesitated before undoing the restraint on his right arm.

“You’re not feeling any pain right now due to the morphine drip. I assure you, if you try to engage in any violence once I undo your prominent arm, you will feel excruciating pain unlike any you’ve ever experienced.”

I loosened his restraint and he raised his arm, stretching it out. I half expected he’d attempt to wrap his hand around my throat. Surprisingly, he did not. I helped him sit up and he grabbed his cup of water again. I got one more cloth and ran it under hot water. I used this one to wipe down his back carefully.

“We’ll get you a fresh change of clothes once you’ve bathed and gotten to your room.”

“You mean my cell?” His voice came out forced, gruff even.

“No, I mean your room. Meal times are usually set but due to your procedure yesterday you haven’t eaten as yet. So, I will have a hot meal prepped for you whilst you get situated. I do need to dress and bandage your shoulder before that can happen. I suspect that right now, while you’re still medicated, it would be best to do so.” I set about gathering gauze, bandages, and a sling.

“Are you … am I …” he couldn’t quite seem to find his words. “Are you an angel?”

“Excuse me?” I asked still somewhat distracted.

“Are you my angel? Am I dead?” he asked, his brow furrowed. I stopped what I was doing and gave him my full attention. His face suggested he was genuinely asking me these questions.

"No, soldier, you’re not dead. You’re at an underground base of operations for the organization of which you hold an important role. You suffered a traumatic fall when you escaped an interment camp. You are safe now. You are where you belong. You're with Hydra."

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About the Creator

Syncere

Syncere (noun) An author/poet & barely tolerable human being. Masterful trickster of family & friends, as they actually support her. In another life, could've been a failed comedienne. In the grand scheme of the multiverse, she already is.

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