𝐻𝑦𝑑𝑟𝑎'𝑠 𝑅𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑎

Part Five

Trigger Warning: Violence, Blood, etc will be making an appearance in this chapter.

BUCKY'S POV
"What the hell is this?" I question the man with glasses.

The lights glow red as the sound of sirens fills my ears.

"Why don't we discuss your home, not Romania, certainly not Brooklyn, no."
He begins, digging through a bag. Slowly pulling out a book, a black star stamped on the cover.
"I mean, your real home." He finishes, removing his glasses.

He stands up from his chair holding a flashlight. Opened the book and begins to read the words out loud.

"Желание," ("Longing,") He reads out loud the words, goosebumps covering my arms.

I squeeze my eyes shut, holding on to the memories that make James Buchanan Barnes.

He opens his mouth to continue, but the sound of someone banging against the door interrupted him.

The cell door slams against the cold floor, and a figure marches toward the man holding the red leather book.

A metal hand wraps around the man's neck, dropping the book as his shoes brush against the floor.

His legs begin thrashing as he struggles to breathe. His body hits the floor as the metal hand releases its grip.

The figure starts toward my cell, my chest tightening as they get closer.

They slowly take off their mask and goggles, dropping them to the floor.

Revealing the woman from the alleyway in Romania. Guilt flows in my veins remembering, leaving her in a pool of her blood.

Her actions showed no emotion but her (E/C) eyes showed fear and remorse.

Her cheek was swollen and red as if she was burned. Scars and bruises covered her face and neck.

She is broken on the inside.

Her metal hand clenched tightly in a fist, throwing punch after punch at the glass of the cell.

The glass cracks with every punch she throws.

Ripping off the cell door with her metal arm. Without hesitation undoing the restraints.

She reaches for her holster, taking out a pistol.

Y/N'S POV
I take the pistol out of my holster, using the pistol to tilt the man's head brushing his long, brown hair out of his face.

His jawline is purple with bruises.  Shaking my head and removed the pistol from his sharp jawline.

The pistol still in my hand, I switch the safety on.

I make eye contact with the man that left me in a pool of my blood.

Shoving the firearm back into its holster.

The sound of a gunshot will draw attention.

Tears slid down my cheek as my metal hand made contact with the man's neck. His eyes widened with fear and my stomach turned with guilt.

"Ты моя миссия,"
("You are my mission,")
"Я не покажу милосердия."
("I will show no mercy.") my hand tightens around the man's throat, triggering him to hit my metal arm repeatedly.

The guilt grows as the man continues to hit my robotic arm.

Hydra had informed me that this man was a threat, dangerous. But all I see in this man's eyes was fear.

He was drowning in loss and agony.

He was broken and tired on the inside.

My grip on the man's throat loosens as pain courses through me. Clenching my stomach. Remembering the bullet wound.

Blood soaking my suit.

My vision is blurry. As my body hits the cold floor.