A Birdie Lost in Time | Bucky Barnes

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The following months had the girl training with the best agents available at the Siberian facility.

It was a day in late summer when the Russian brought her into the interrogation room as usual, but this time he wasn't interested in giving her imagined scenarios to ponder.

"At the end of this week we have a squad of agents infiltrating Berlin to extract a politician from his home. I am going to give you the briefing package given to the squad, and I want you to draft a plan of action."

And so, she did. When she'd finished the plan, there were notes scribbled on the margins to account for even the slightest of plan change. Low gas, unexpected visits, suicide attempts. Her brain worked as if putting together a jig saw puzzle, focused on the pieces but always considering the bigger picture.

Something that she did ease, though again, she didn't remember learning or even practicing. It was like instinct—like her life depended on it.

And maybe it did. Maybe if she hadn't handed the Russian the dozen sheets of paper covered in neat, careful writing, he wouldn't have let her return to the gym. Maybe he would have pulled the gun from his waist and let red mix with black ink. Maybe her mind, ever calculating and aware, knew that there was strategic risk in failing, and so it ensured that she never did.

She didn't know though. She simply did.

At the end of that week, the squad followed the plan she'd laid out, even relying on one of her margin suggestions when the schedule didn't fall exactly on time. But just as she'd predicted, the politician was dealt with, the world not even questioning the "accident" he'd had; he was known for overindulging on a certain white substance, after all.

The following day, their pawn was moved into place; Hydra's symbol slowly overtaking the board.

After that it was routine to have her examine missions—to test her mental prowess at any chance available. And the Russian was glad for it; he wanted to show her off, his little ptichka.

Because while her physical abilities were excellent, they were commonplace among the first-rate recruits and agents who walked the halls. Her mind though—the mind that he had bent and broken to his will without affecting its intellect—that was special.

Of course, there was the issue of her memory, which the Russian frustratingly realised occasionally struggled to remember recent events. Possibly a side effect of the drugs, possibly a side effect of the electroshock, the doctors weren't certain. Her mind hadn't been her own for the better part of a year, and once they started tampering, they didn't stop, meaning there was no way of knowing if taking her off the drug would make a difference.

But the minor side effect was worth the result and so she was kept on a steady flow of whatever compound the doctors concocted, getting injections every ten days to keep her mind pliable.

Then, when fall was in full force again, it was agreed to send the girl on her first mission.

The other officers couldn't deny her worth, and considering she'd shown her obedience time and time again, they had no reason not to let her partake in the mission along side the Soldat. For curiosities sake at least.

A simple mission, they'd all agreed in the briefing room. One where she could stay among agents, observed for her field ability as well as for any sign of retroaction—because the last thing they needed, was her to revert back to her arrogant, lippy, knowledge-filled self. For that reason, the night before she shipped out, she was injected with a micro-dose of the chemical concoction, a booster, the doctors called it—and then was fitted with a shock anklet.