Echoes

Rusted

The gaps in the soldier's memory were slowly being filled in. Of course, Dugan tried his best to help. After Dugan had gotten the broken glass at the solider's feet cleaned up and ordered two more drinks, they resumed their conversation. 

The soldier did not remember much of his old life– his life before becoming a prisoner of war. However, what he did remember, the bits and pieces, were mostly prompted by Dugan. To his credit, he didn't seem as rattles as he should have been.

The soldier remembered parts of his life at Hydra and told Dugan what he could. He felt freer now– somehow. Most of the soldier's life was unpleasant to hear or remember, but for the first time in his life since Hydra, the soldier talked. Talked like a human being rather than a machine. And for the first time in his life since Hydra, the soldier laughed. Hus humanity was coming back to him, rusty as it was. 

Dugan was a good listener. Although he seemed quite chatty before, he was mostly silent now. The soldier told him that now that he knew this information, Hydra would never let Dugan rest until he was dead.

 Timothy Dugan simply laughed. "Let them come, Barnes. This old soul won't be here much longer anyway."

"Do me a favour Dugan," the soldier said as they were leaving. "Don't tell anyone about this. Don't make me into anything more than a ghost story."

Dugan smiled sadly. " I guess that's all you'll ever be."

The radio seemed to blare louder. For a moment, the sports game was interrupted by a short phrase. "Code: Sputnik." Presently, it resumed as normal.

Only– at hearing the words, the soldier's mind shut down. Everything went black.

The soldier woke back in the chair. In Hydra. He was strapped down. The harsh light made his head hurt– either from the drink that Dugan gave him or from the sickness he felt at having his humanity ripped away from him.

"Mission report soldier."

He did not want to tell his superior of his mission, but he could not stop the flow of words. His superior's face became redder by the minute. The knife he twirled in his hand spun quickly. When the soldier finally finished speaking, his superior smacked him in the face with the hilt of his knife so hard, it drew blood."

"Drinking? Hydra's assassin went out drinking on a mission?" the officer yelled at him. The officer pulled out a flask of his own and poured vodka into a glass before throwing it on the soldier, who flinched. "If you like drinking so much boy, at least keep it Russian."

It burned as it trickled into his eyes., yet the soldier did not say anything. He didn't dare to. He simply sat there, trying to remember the brief taste of freedom he had. He knew what would come next; Hydra would Wipe him and they would start over. Just as they always did.

The soldier could see Hydra's scientists preparing for a Wipe. Brief flashes of memory came back to him. As Hydra's puppet, he watched a redheaded girl among twenty-seven others rise to the top of her class. As Hydra's puppet, he trained these girls to be assassins. The best in Russia. He watched the redhead become the best of the Krasnaya Komnata. She was his little red ballerina. And he was–

He was Sergeant James  Buchanan Barnes of the 107th. He repeated his title over and over again like a mantra. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th. He would not forget himself this time.

The mask descended. My name is  Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. My name–

The pain increased and he faltered. Still, he held on tightly to the words– and his identity as it was being ripped away from him. "My name is James Buchanan Barnes. My name is James Buchanan Barnes. My name is James Buchanan Barnes." He paused. "My... purpose is to serve." It didn't sound right. He tried again. "I am... a weapon." Not quite right. What was it? What was his mantra?

Then he knew. There was no doubt."I am a weapon. My purpose is to serve. Hail Hydra."