Theme Prompt - Learn

Things had finally quieted down as the sun dropped below the horizon. S.H.I.E.L.D. still stood but, to everyone inside, it was a twisted ruin. Their convictions and their beliefs burned as other agents they’d thought loyal, thought friends, walked around under the banner of Hydra. Those still alive wore shell-shocked expressions, eyes wide and still unbelieving. Those who had joined Hydra wore big, relieved smiles, finally out of the shadows and taking what they felt was their rightful place.

Alexander Pierce wandered idly through his office, wearing the same satisfied smile everyone else was. Now he owned the space, finally claimed it as his own under Hydra. He hadn’t taken part in the fighting, had secreted himself up here in his office with his faithful hound. Turning towards the windows, Pierce studied the man standing silently staring out over the city. This was the first time he’d been back since his supposed death all those years ago yet no trace of recognition glimmered in his eyes or appeared in his stance. The city could be on the moon for all the care the man took of it. Which was exactly as it should be.

“You have done an excellent job,” Pierce said, sauntering up to stand next to the man created to be the opposite of Captain America. Created to be the Winter Soldier. “We have the building and are mopping up the last few areas of resistance. They will learn Hydra can’t be stopped. Cut off one head, two more take its place.”

“Hail Hydra,” the man replied mechanically. That was all he said, the first words he had spoken since giving the announcement Pierce had ordered him to. There was no sense of self in him, no accomplishment or pride or freedom. The man was a weapon, knew he was a weapon and that was that. He turned from the window, long dark hair swinging as he glanced sharply around the room before looking at Pierce. His mask was tucked into a pocket, folding into a surprisingly compact bundle. His outfit was black leather with steel fittings. Simple, utilitarian, efficient. Nothing to mark him as anything other than a tool, a weapon. Even the makeup around his eyes was to help reduce glare and to help him blend into the shadows. A gun was velcro-d to his back within easy reach of his right arm. His other arm glimmered silver, a red star on the shoulder the only drop of color the man sported. Pierce often amused himself that that star stood for all the blood spilled by the Winter Soldier’s hands.

“Sir, we’re having a small problem,” a voice cut through the silence in Pierce’s office. It sounded frantic, worried, while accompanied with yelling and the sharp crack of gunshots. “A clutch of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents has taken one of the labs down on the lower levels. They managed to barricade the entrance and are guarding it with the weaponry inside. Looks like something Stark would have thought up. None of our people can get through.”

“Not to worry,” Pierce replied smoothly, keeping his voice even in an effort to calm down the panicky agent. “I’ll send back up and you won’t have to worry at all.”

“Thank you, sir,” the voice on the other end said, relief clear in the sigh at the end of the sentence. Pierce turned to his weapon and smiled, knowing nothing could stand against the soldier he’d created.

“It’s time for you to change the course of history yet again,” Pierce told the soldier quietly. It had the ring of rehearsed words, something repeated so often that the syllables making up the sentence became meaningless. The Winter Soldier didn’t need reassurances, claims to glory and change. He merely needed orders and waited silently, patiently, for them. “Deal with the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the lab. Then check in with the commanders of each cell and make sure there are no other problems. We need to hold this building securely.”

Nodding, the Winter Soldier stalked out of the room. No expression crossed his face, no excitement or anticipation. He’d been conditioned long ago not to feel any of that. Weapons didn’t feel. He waited patiently on the elevator ride down, methodically checking his weapons and flexing his metal hand. Buried deep down inside him, so deeply that even he didn’t know it was there, a quiet voice contemplated that arm. That voice felt disgust and terror along with a resounding lack of hope. It had been buried for far too long to have any sort of strength left. Or any belief that things might change.

“Ah good, you’re here,” the voice said, belonging to a shorter, stocky Hydra agent. His brown hair was mussed up, as if he’d run fingers through it agitatedly. His brown eyes jumped around the corridor as if expecting an ambush at any moment. The agent pointed towards a door labelled L1. “They’re in there. Go get them. Survivors are not required.”

Nodding again, the Winter Soldier studied the door for a moment. It was strong but every door had a weak spot. And no door he’d come across yet could stand up to the strength in his metal arm. The other Hydra agents scrambled out of the way as that metal arm whipped back and forward, punching through the metal of the door. Then, the Winter Soldier pushed forward, tearing the door off its frame and letting it clatter to the floor. Bullets flew at him as loyal S.H.I.E.L.D agents fired, screams accompanying the sharp cracks. He threw himself into a roll, dodging to the left and taking cover behind one of the counters. Myriad metal parts covered the counter, none recognizably familiar. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he counted the distinctive screams then peeked over the edge of the counter. There were eight agents in here, eight people fighting against something that was all but inevitable. It wouldn’t change what was destined but it would change their fates.

During a lull in the shots, the Soldier grabbed the gun off his back and shot to his feet. He fired quickly, taking one agent in the chest and another in the head. He counted them off easily, concentrating on the six remaining ones. Every gun swung towards him but he jumped over the counter and raced away from the shots. Coming up to the side of one agent, he snapped out with the metal arm and crushed that agent’s windpipe. She dropped, choking with hands scrabbling at her throat. Kicking the gun away was second nature even if she wouldn’t be needing it in a few seconds. Another agent screamed and rushed him. Emotions, getting in the way. Perhaps they had been together but it didn’t matter. Not to a weapon. The fourth agent went down as the Winter Soldier shot him, breath gurgling from the bullet holes in his lungs.

“Fall back!” a woman’s voice screamed and the three remaining agents retreated through a small door in the back of the lab. There was another lab back there, one with a window that it would be possible to escape through.

The Winter Soldier followed, sauntering forward as he chambered another round in his gun. A quick check showed his knife snug in its sheathe. He wouldn’t use that unless he had no other weapons. Always start with the most efficient and move down from there. Even if he lost the knife, hand to hand combat would take care of anything. More gunshots sprayed the area around him as he walked through the doorway but this time he didn’t dodge. The agents were panicking now, rats backed into a corner and their aim was suffering from it. They knew he was walking death, their death, but they couldn’t change it. The woman who screamed was the first to die in this room, three neat bulletholes in her throat. She wouldn’t be screaming again. The final two agents exchanged glances, full of despair and terror, before lying down their weapons.

“We surrender,” the blond man said, raising his hands above his head as he dropped to his knees. The woman nodded with the words, her red hair swinging. Abruptly, the Winter Soldier froze. Red hair... there was something about red hair, some memory of laughter and shared privation that sparked in his mind. The woman froze too as she got a good look at his face, confusion and recognition flashing across it.

“Wait, aren’t you...?” the woman stammered, mouth working as she tried to speak several times and failed. “I know you. You’re Bucky, Captain America’s friend. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I don’t know any Bucky,” the Winter Soldier replied though a thread of doubt entered his voice. There was even more to that than there was to the red hair. A cascade of memories, warmth and laughter and companionship, a friendship that had turned to family. The image of a skinny blond man with a cocky grin accompanied those feelings and the quiet voice clamored to be heard. Clamored of freedom and joy and love. But training and conditioning won out, the Winter Soldier quashing every memory methodically and coldly. A weapon didn’t have family, couldn’t love. “You are willing to surrender and stop fighting?”

“Yes, we are,” the man replied, though there was a thread of defiance in his eyes. Defiance and challenge that the Winter Soldier recognized. He’d dealt with enough people to know when they would never stop fighting, no matter what lies might fall from their lips. He raised his gun and shot the man twice in the chest. The woman followed as she scrambled to her feet, not nearly as cleanly but just as effective. He left their bodies where they fell, blood pooling around them as they cooled in death. No longer a threat and therefore no longer important.

“Job’s done,” the Winter Soldier announced coldly when he walked back out of the labs. The other Hydra agents let out a small cheer, talking excitedly that the building was finally theirs. This had been one of the last pockets of resistance. S.H.I.E.L.D had fallen far easier than anyone had believed. Then again, no one really knew how many Hydra agents were secreted inside until they’d all risen today. He walked away, back to the elevator to go to Pierce’s office. For the first time, he had questions. Maybe Pierce would even answer them. The image of a blond man wouldn’t go away and the Winter Soldier needed to know who he was. Needed to learn why he knew him.