James Barnes - The Prisoner
When he arrives at the facility, the first thing they do are his blood works.
They confirmed he was indeed James Buchanan Barnes, and that Arnim Zola's serum is mixed in with his blood, it is the life force that is just about keeping him alive. But, for the first few weeks, they are not sure if his injuries are too much for even Zola's serum to work on. After all, the batch in his blood stream had been far from perfect.
It took time to heal, and the amount of formula in his blood stream was not strong enough to do all its work; neither was it correct. It had still been very much in the testing stage when he had been rescued from them before, and was nowhere near complete.
Even now, they are still no closer to finding a perfect batch.
The perfect serum.
And when it comes to the serum, Armin Zola is looking in a completely different direction to the one Abraham Erskine considered and perfected. As a result James's injuries take a longer time to heal; and then, when they do, the serum has not worked as it should. He is left with scarring to remind him of what he has been through, as well as chronic pain in his joints and bones. Zola's formula also burns at such a rate that James's body is prone to high temperatures that cause terrible headaches and migraines. The formula repairs some areas, but causes more problems in others. Bones do not grow back properly, too much marrow floods areas or does not grow at all. Skin lesions and rashes appear, accompanied by terrible itching that drives him insane. Bones have to be re-broken and reset.
And pain. There is always pain.
The doctors are excited about the research and being able to carry on with Zola's work (albeit with American money paying for it this time), but they are sensitive souls and have no wish to hear about what this man is going through. Their brains rule him out as a human being. He is an experiment, and that is all. He is presumed dead by everyone he knows. No-one will come looking for him. When he is out of sight his injuries are out of mind, and the doctors plan and look forward to the next phase of whatever they dream up for him. The latest batch, the latest trials.
They will leave the caring side to the nursing staff they have employed.
The doctors are oh so gracious and agree not to begin the new experimentation straight away. They give him at least a month to get over his present injuries - kind souls that they are. They are not ones for psychology, so they prod and poke and repair areas they can see but his mind they leave alone for now. That will need breaking - but they will think about that at a later date.
Keep him sedated, they think, he can sleep through it all. They do not hear his groans or see the agony he goes through. Even the doctor who 'rescued' him from the interrogation camp soon forgets what this poor man has already had done to him. What they are working towards is for the good of mankind, and it is in the name of research for a better future and will benefit all of mankind.
What is one soul against millions?
They do increase the amount of morphine the nurses are allowed to give him, not knowing that the morphine never reaches the patient it is intended for. He doesn't sleep through it. The sedative used is nowhere near strong enough to combat the weak serum in his blood stream. They may as well have given him nothing.
James knows he has been moved from the interrogation camp, and for the first few weeks he is barely conscious - but enough to know something is happening to him.
*
The first time he comes around for more than just a few minutes, he finds himself alone. He is in what appears to be a room with a medical bed set up for him. He feels so hot: the room is airless, and there are no windows, just walls with faded paint and stains. A door stands open and overhead lights buzz.
He is so thirsty. He is attached to a drip on his right side, but the bag is empty. He can see a jug on the table next to the bed, but that too is empty. A dirty cup lies on its side next to bits of tape and empty syringes.
He tries to call out; his voice is weak and there is no one about so he attempts to sit up. At first he tries to use both his arms, forgetting that he has nothing on the left side that can support him. His left arm falls short and seeing just the stub bound in dirty, once white, bandages makes him feel queasy and he is forced to lay down again.
After a few minutes the dizziness abates and he opens his eyes again.
He berates himself. Come on Barnes. He is a soldier, and soldiers fight. They are not supposed to feel pain or fear. He should be able to do this, it is expected of him.
Soldiers are human beings with the same thoughts and feelings as everyone else. They know fear and pain, but they are told they are not allowed to feel it. When James does feel the gut wrenching fear, shame should not be attached to it but it is.
He struggles to pull himself together, to be the soldier people want him to be. To clamp down on the fear in his bowels, stopping it before it makes its way to his stomach. Before it freezes him into immobility. It takes a while, but eventually he is able to sit up and move to the side of the bed with his feet touching the floor. His head is muggy, dizzy and his ears hum. He can hear vague sounds from outside the open door leading to what appears to be a corridor.
He pulls out the needle to detach himself from the empty drip. Blood from his arm drips to the floor. His gut feeling tells him he is not home. He needs to see what is going on. Without thinking he runs his hand over his scalp expecting to feel hair but of course there is only a short bristle where it is just starting to grow back. He swallows.
Someone should have been with him, a nurse, a guard - anyone - but he is alone. He gets as far as the doorway and looks out down the corridor. His sight is still fuzzy and his head hurts; he clings to the door frame. The concrete floor is cold on his feet. He looks down; his feet are grubby. His whole body is dirty, blood stained, and the gown he is wearing is filthy, yellowed.
On the wall just to his right, there is a giant red drawing that he feels he should know; it makes his stomach turn. But he can't concentrate on it. The wall keeps going in and out of focus. He swallows and then turns to look down the left side of the corridor. Nothing. The corridor eventually hits a T-junction, and turning, he can hear sounds of people talking. They are a long way off.
It is not the same to the right. Instead, the corridor seems to curve around. There are more voices and the people sound nearer. He wants to call out for help - his legs are turning to jelly - but he feels such a sense of fear deep in his gut.
He needs to know what is happening, and he needs to know now.
Using the wall, he begins to edge slowly along, keeping to his right hand side. It feels like it takes him forever; the corridor elongates and dizziness makes him blink to try and clear his vision.
Just a few feet more, and he will be able to see around the curve.
His body hurts. Every part of him aches. He has pulled some of the stitches holding him together, and he is beginning to bleed through the hospital gown he has on. His ears are buzzing louder and he knows he has bitten off more than he can chew. He has started to sweat and he can smell the stale odour of his own body.
He falls to his knees just as he sees what is ahead. At first it doesn't register.
There are metal bars which stretch from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, inset into them is a locked gate. Like in a prison. A desk and three guards are this side of the corridor; they are stood talking. One of those guards is supposed to be on duty outside the American's room. A fourth person, whom James assumes is a female nurse in a light khaki uniform, is perched on the desk sharing a cigarette with them.
They don't see him at first.
The guard's uniforms seem familiar but he can't think where from, he can't place them in his memory. They are dark with red patches on the sleeve, but he is too far away to see the patches clearly, and he is in too bad a state to realise. He doesn't recognise their language, and a deep well of fear opens up in this stomach making him tremble.
Oh God, Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore, runs crazily through his mind.
The nurse looks up and see him.
"Der'mo! - shit!" She hastily stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk and stands up.
The guards look down the corridor and see the American on his knees leant against the wall.
Break time is over.
"Kak, chert voz'mi? - How the hell?" one guard starts to say as the other two take out batons from their belts. James can see they are not friendly, but he has used the last of his strength. As they come towards him he blinks and sees the red patches, the same design as on the wall.
The design swims into sight and he recognises it. How could he ever have forgotten it?
"Oh no..." He mumbles. "No please God no."
Authors Note: For image see http://i.imgur.com/qMUx82y.jpg
HYDRA.
He tries to get up but his legs won't hold him. Tries to crawl away. Looks back down the corridor as the guards advance.
"Help me...please someone help me." His voice barely makes a sound. He sobs and starts to try and pull himself back to the room, to get up, to get away from them - but he can barely move and they are upon him in seconds.
He has no where to go, and they can see he has nothing left in him. He is grey, sweating heavily, barely conscious but that does not stop the two with electric batons.
The first one switches on his baton, and James hears a loud buzzing noise then feels the stick as it is rammed into his back. A bolt of electricity hits him, making his whole body jump. The pain is terrible and the guard leaves it in place so it burns through the gown and through his skin. The second guard touches his baton to James's chest, searing the skin, making his heart pound with the electric shock that runs through his body.
They are yelling at him in Russian, but he has no idea what they are saying. He tries to push into the wall to get away from the batons, but he can't. The electric shocks have made him wet himself and that makes the guards angrier but before they can jab him again the third guard stops them.
The three of them seem to argue, and then the first two guards back off.
The other guard, Eduard Marinov, crouches down and James reaches out to him before the darkness closes in.
"Please help me," James' voice is so quiet, so desperate.
But the guard does not speak English, and does not know what James has asked.
He makes no further move, and watches as James's eyes flutter and close and he slips into unconsciousness, his body slumping completely to the floor.
He looks from the comatose man, to the nurse, and the other two guards. He speaks to them harshly. There was no need for them to have used the batons, the American is broken enough. He hates this place sometimes; some of the guards employed are dregs, ex-cons from the Gulags. This is supposed to be a military installation, Hydra is supposed to be for the good of mankind. Somewhere, he thinks, someone is lying.
But he has learnt to keep his thoughts to himself.
They get the American back to his room, but not before someone else has seen what has happened and reported it. One of the doctors comes into the room, concerned that the prisoner may have escaped.
There was no chance that James could have gotten any further than he had. It is a wonder he got that far.
Both the nursing staff and the guards are hauled over the coals. From now on there will be a guard permanently outside the room, two down the corridor, and the patient will be kept sedated at all times.
The next few days are a blur for James, but he begins to regain consciousness for longer periods. He starts to recognise some of the doctors from when Zola previously had him prisoner, and it puts the fear of God into him. He remembers the red abomination on the walls, and on the guard's uniforms.
Hydra.
He has come full circle. They have him back.
*
James doesn't know how much time goes by. Each day is as bad as the previous one - if not worse. Months go by in the hell hole. He tries to think of ways to escape, but the sedation and the pain weakens him.
The experiments cause him nausea, loss of control of his body; sometimes he feels he is out of it for weeks, he can't keep up with time.
Escape is no good. It is just not an option.
Death, then.
Twice he attempts suicide. Both times he is thwarted. He doesn't yet realise that it will take a lot to kill his body, more than he can do. That his attempts will be in vain.
The first time he uses a pair of scissors one of the nurses left in the room. He manages to open his right arm up, from wrist to elbow, but he is caught before he can do any more damage. It had taken him over an hour to do it with only one hand and using his mouth, but they found him almost straight away.
It takes a long time for the wound to heal because of the nature of the care he is receiving, and without the benefit of morphine. It frustrates the doctors. During the time it takes to heal, his hand is useless; he has damaged the nerves and muscle. They have to wait for Zola's serum to catch up and repair the damage. Even then it leaves scarring when it shouldn't.
His arm is still heavily bandaged when he tries again.
The second time he secures one of the batons. One of the orderlies had left it on the side in his room, and he manages to hide it in the bed clothes and waits for them to leave. He uses his teeth to pull the bandaging from his arm, works at pulling the stitches apart; he begins bleeding again.
Then, before he loses all the feeling in his arm, he switches the baton on and, taking a deep breath, he rams it into his abdomen. He pushes it until it burns a hole through to his stomach lining and then further, holding it there by curling round it and trying to hold it in place with his injured arm.
The pain is unbelievable but he wants to die.
He is so desperate.
The guards are alerted by the burning smell. Part of the bedding and the gown he is wearing is smouldering. They find him curled around the baton; it is set at its highest setting. He has a sheet stuffed in his mouth so they don't hear him screaming. Blood is dripping from his arm through the bed. Some of it has actually boiled on the baton and the smell is indescribable.
Two of the guards leave the room to vomit. How desperate is the American to have done this to himself?
He is on the operating table for six hours. The doctors are furious. If it wasn't for Zola's serum the burns would have been so bad he would have died.
His punishment: he is strapped to the bed by heavy leather belts. Two across his legs. Another one holds his right wrist. One goes across both shoulders. The straps are fixed the entire time he is in bed.
The nurses and orderlies that were supposed to be on duty at that time disappear and are replaced by more dregs from the Gulag.
It doesn't take long for the new staff long to find out what the situation is.
They realise that as long as this patient is accessible to the doctors, then that is all that matters. The doctors will not check on him, they will not ensure he is getting the proper care. They will not concern themselves with what happens to their patient once he is out of their sight. It has to be made clear to the American that the nursing staff will not put up with any more attempts from him to do either harm to himself, or try to escape.
He will be taught that lesson.
James is taken to a storage room one night. They throw him into the back wall, he is wearing just a hospital gown. His body is still broken, the burns barely healed, his arm still stitched and puffy.
There are six of them with batons. He does not know what is going on; he was sleeping when suddenly they pulled him from the bed and into this room. They are jeering at him, prodding him with the batons, burning him, beating him.
"Stop! Please stop!" He tries to keep them away, tries to stop them from jabbing him, but he is heavily sedated; the electric shocks make him wet himself, the floor becomes wet and he goes down. They kick and hit him using the batons as clubs as he tries to curl in on himself. They know their treatment will not kill him now, they know the doctors do not care what happens outside of the main room; he is theirs.
But, they are interrupted. The door to the room opens and the older guard, Eduard Marinov, walks in with two other guards by his side. One of the other orderlies that works there - Stefan Yegorov - has asked him to help the American.
The nurses and orderlies look at the guards, batons still raised in their hands. The patient is prone against the back wall, bleeding, shivering, barely conscious.
"If you do not get him cleaned up and back to his room within ten minutes I will see to it that all of you are replaced. And you know what that means," Marinov growls, sickened by what he is seeing.
The men and women lower their hands, disgruntled that they cannot carry on with their warning - but they know this guard, they know he will do what he has said.
"You have eight minutes left," Marinov says, and the two guards with him raise their rifles.
Within six minutes James is strapped again to his hospital bed. Nothing has been done with his wounds. There is only such much the guard could do. However, just after 3am, Marinov allows Stefan into the patient's room and covers the door whilst Stefan tries his best to help the patient, and treat the new wounds.
James is just about conscious enough to try and thank him when he gives him water and bathes his wounds. Stefan tries to shush him. He knows a few words of English, but not enough to converse. He feels ashamed he cannot do more.
Marinov warns Stefan to watch out for the others, not to make himself visible, to stay away from the American as much as he can. If the others find out it was Stefan who ratted on them he will be taken care of and the guard realises this. He cannot protect him.
The experiments continue.
When James was first taken to the main room he would beg the doctors to let him die, but they do not speak English - and would pretend not to hear him even if they did. To them, he is at the same level as a lab rat.
After a while, he stops asking. Stops talking completely. The only sounds he makes are from when he cannot keep the screams internal, when he cannot help but groan. When the pain and the fear are too much.
He never recovers from his injuries before he sustains more.
Some injuries are from pain testing, and some from burns which come from the batons both the guards and the orderlies use. The sedation leaves him weak and disorientated. He lives with the nightmares of what he has been through.
He has no one he can talk to, no one who shows any sign of compassion, no one who acknowledges him.
He is totally alone.
His bones begin to repair, but because of the mis-functioning serum, several have to be re-broken and set again. When they break the bones they do not always put him out, they need to see how far the serum goes to dull the pain. It doesn't. It seems that instead the serum increases the pain by working on the nerve endings first; keeping them open, his body feels everything.
At least at these times the doctors feel they are compassionate by increasing the doses of morphine they allow the nurses to give him.
As with any project, the faceless administrators try to save money: the orderlies and nurses brought in are the dregs, sifted from prisons, given the chance to redeem themselves. They realise they have a cushy number. In truth, they are people no one will miss if they don't work out and have to be shot.
In front of the doctors they fawn and pretend to care, away from the doctors they scheme and manipulate. They already know which doctor to go to for any problems: Dr Lehmann. He doesn't give a damn, as long as the patient is accessible for them to work on, it doesn't matter what happens to him.
Nikolay Lehmann is one of the German doctors on the project. He is highly ambitious and sees this as a stepping stone to greater things within Hydra. He is the only one of the doctors who realises what the nursing staff are doing to their patient, but to him it is ideal - that way when they come to break the Americans mind he will be most of the way there already.
What he doesn't know is that all the morphine and drugs put aside for James's pain management are smuggled out of the base and onto the black market. So that the doctors don't hear James screaming when the pain is at its worse, the nurses use gags and more of the sedation than they should. The sedatives do nothing for pain, they just drag him down deeper into his nightmares.
The rare moments he is lucid he cries quietly. He wants to go home. He thinks of the streets he grew up on, his family, his friends. Memories begin to fade, and he has to fight to keep them. He cannot remember one of his friends name, he can't remember the first girl he kissed. He is so frightened of losing the picture of Steve in his mind that when it takes time to think of it, his heart lurches. How could he forget?
How could he forget something so precious to him?
He can feel a change in his body - like before - but greater. It scares him. He knows somehow it is something to do with the project Steve went through, but he also knows it is not that simple. This group does not have the solution and until they do, they will keep searching and using him for their answers.
His muscle tone begins to develop, his bones heal, but the rate is slow and the doctors argue amongst themselves as to why it is not quicker. He feels the pain throughout his entire body as muscles stretch in a way they shouldn't, and his bones grow unnaturally. In some areas his skin splits because it does not keep up with the rate of growth inside his body. These splits heal but take time putting his already burdened body under more pressure. The serum still isn't right, it is unbalanced, it causes the doctors frustration and they argue amongst themselves, trying things that normally even Zola may not have sanctioned.
When Dr Abraham Erskine was murdered, he took the secret of his serum with him and they were unable to obtain any part of the batch used on the American Steve Rogers. Armin Zola had to start afresh, and the two scientists couldn't be more different. Erskine worked on not just the physical body, but the mental attributes as well.
Zola hasn't even considered these. He works on the physical side only, and cannot understand why his serum is not successful.
None of Zola's serums are stable, and the doctors try batch after batch with varying results. So far though they have not found one that works correctly. They do not know even know which type of radiation is the correct one: how much to use, where to concentrate the doses and it is James each time that suffers in the name of their experiments.
The doctors receive good news. The Americans are allowing Zola to visit. As a result of Operation Paperclip after the war, he is now a naturalised citizen of the United States, his work is of benefit to them.
After all, this is now an American project - although they do not know it is an American soldier that is paying the price. In fact, the American government and military do not actually know that this project is going forward. Why would they? They are not part of what is hidden within the great American dream, the future of mankind, the future as it should be not what others see it.
Hydra has found a new home.
Hydra has found protection.