Control

Bloodshed

1946

I am not called for the Soldier for two weeks. Every morning as I dress, I have a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I have come to identify as guilt. The same questions keep haunting me. Was this worth it? How was I any different from the men that tortured a potentially innocent Allied soldier? While I had never physically harmed him, was I not enabling this? The war was over. He should have been returned to his country...and, yet, HYDRA kept him.

I couldn't help but wonder if the United States was aware, or if they simply did not care about a single, lowly American soldier.

The latter option was truly terrifying.

Arriving at the Bunker has become a terrifying prospect to me. My nerves are always on high alert as I wait for a soldier - or, perhaps, even Zola himself - to come for me, announcing my execution. Each day that passes marks a breath of relief for me as every day I survive, I fear less and less that I am going to be signing my own death warrant over giving a prisoner chocolate...

I fear more and more that the captured soldier is dead.

Treating the Winter Soldier has apparently endeared me to Arnim Zola. Now, I have a newly established routine, as Zola has determined that I am now trustworthy within the organization. I am expected to treat wounds from soldiers within the HYDRA facility...and I have now become Herr Zola's personal secretary. I file his paperwork, I speak when spoken to, and I comply with any task he deems fit.

I am never taken to see the Winter Soldier and I knew better than to ask about him.

Asking showed weakness and affection for the enemy.

I didn't know him and should not care for his fate, at all.

And, yet, he did not leave my mind.

One day, I am filing paperwork - a task that is menial and below me, but I choose to comply with because I need everyone to know that they can trust me - when Herr Zola comes to get me. He is so quiet that I don't hear him enter into his office until he is right next to me. "Ms. Sokolov!" Zola practically shouts at me, the urgency in his voice is strange to me, somewhere between panic and excitement.

I cry out and drop the file folder that I had in my hand. Papers scatter to the floor, covering it like snow. I immediately bend to begin picking them up. "My apologies, sir," I say, quietly, bowing my head and not meeting his eyes. I try to clasp my knees together to bend down in my skirt. Of course, it is the one day I make the choice to wear a skirt...

I glance up to see him waving his hand at me. "Nevermind that," he says, impatiently. "Come with me. There is something I wish you to see...and bring paper. I may need to dictate to you."

I bite my lip, but set the file on the floor and go to my desk for one of the pads of paper he has provided me. I quickly follow him in my kitten heels as he practically runs through the dank, dark hallways of the bunker. I worry at the inside of my lip, unsure where we are going. There are very few places within the HYDRA base that I have been allowed to go alone, and it was never very deep within it.

I follow behind Zola, demurely, until we reach a room that does not look familiar to me. The room is nondescript, grey and heavily lit with fluorescent lamps, much like the rest of the bunker, but, this room has a large, glass window in one wall, directly overlooking some kind of...observation room. Zola and I are not the only ones in the room. There are three soldiers and two men wearing long, white, sterile coats standing there, all facing the window. They briefly glance up to Zola we enter, but say nothing, save for a quick nod.