Thread: Of Winter & Of Wonder [Tempt x insufferable]

-- The Chameleon. It was one of the many identities given to him by the men of the Red Room. The moniker suited him well, he supposed. Since he was a child, he'd always had the ability to blend seamlessly with his surroundings, no matter how foreign, no matter how unfamiliar. It was how hed survived as a young orphan on the streets of pre-war Brooklyn, and it was an ability hed only further fine-tuned since then. It was Bucky's first time coming to Satu Mare, a small poverty-stricken town, where stores closed before nightfall, walls were high with razor-wires, vulgar graffiti lining the streets as far as the eye could see, and dirty beggars populating every visible street corner. The atmosphere reeked of desperation, of hopelessness and despair. It was all too familiar. Hed operated in places like this before, an easy transition, taking him less than a day to adjust to his surroundings, transforming himself from a wandering fugitive into another faceless resident of this small, insignificant town. The first twenty-four hours went by quickly. He spent most of his remaining daylight tweaking with the barely-functioning radio hed picked up from one of the small roadside vendors, trying to connect to an international frequency. But other than a few pathetic bursts of static, his attempts were otherwise futile. He slept little during the day, in short shifts of minutes, and spent his night prowling the streets, mentally mapping the entire block from the motel to the train station, from all of the available vantage points, to every escape route, to possible ambush spots. He committed everything to memory, every store to every street corner, and within the next day, he was no longer the unfamiliar visitor, but someone who knew the layout of the town as well as a person whod lived there their entire life. On the third day, he found himself a neighbor male, heavyset from the sound of his footsteps, along with a lighter, younger companion, likely female, from the tap of heels against creaky floorboards. It wasnt a difficult guess as to why the two of them were here, and the sounds of scraping furniture and moaning that soon came through the thin walls quickly confirmed Buckys suspicions. His two newfound neighbors were likely harmless, probably a tourist finding a local date and stopping over at the motel to consummate their transaction. But even still, Bucky couldnt stop the adrenaline that surged almost painfully through his veins, every possible outcome repeatedly running through his head, straining his psyche, leading to a pounding headache that wouldnt go away. His two neighbors went at it the entire night, and so, he waited till morning, until they left before managing to catch up on some sleep, and even then, only minutes passed before he shot upright, the hairs at the back of his neck standing sharp, his weapon instinctively drawn and pointed forward at the empty space before him. He breathed heavily, eyes darting frantically across the room and eventually finding the source of his agitated senses a tiny rodent, scratching at the wall behind the closet space. He exhaled, releasing his grip on the weapon and falling back down onto the bed, fingers digging into his skull, trying to alleviate the headache that quickly returned. He still hadnt quite gotten used to it. His enhanced senses, created by years of extreme conditioning and experimental HYDRA drugs, allowing him to see, sense, and feel, things that a normal person couldnt in the same circumstances like a bead of sweat dripping down the back of a nervous suspect, the released pheromones of a female target he was seducing or, in the case of his abrupt awakening, the sounds of a tiny rodent searching for nearby crumbs. It was different, and easier under HYDRA control he was pumped full of drugs back then, inhibitors that targeted most of his nervous system, keeping his emotions and his impulses in check and under control, keeping him as functioning and as calculative as they needed him to be. But now, without the same drugs, he could barely hold on, his mind unable to cope with all the extra information it needed to process, allowing fear, anxiety, to quickly take its place in the vacuum. He could no longer control the part of him that was always wounded so tightly like a trapped tiger waiting to pounce, the primal part of him that couldnt stop looking for danger, screaming at him to watch your back or DIE. In the months since his escape from HYDRAs control, hed learned that there were ways to drown out the voices, for at least a few long hours of relief, a concoction of drugs and alcohol strong enough to suppress his senses, to dull the headaches thatd been plaguing him for the past week. He needed it desperately, a short reprieve, but he knew he couldnt. Not since hed been framed for the attack on the Wakanda President. Not since half the world painted him as a wanted terrorist. He needed to stay focus, to keep himself one step ahead of the people hunting him, he needed the voices . ------------------------ -REDACTED- SOMEWHERE DEEP WITHIN SOVIET RUSSIA 194??? James Bucky Barnes came to suddenly, lungs burning, limbs twisting painfully in their confines. Someone had splashed a bucket of ice water over his face, bringing him back to consciousness he blinked, momentarily disorientated by the experience, trying to focus on his surroundings, trying to find clues as to where he might be a small unmarked room, fluorescent lighting, no windows, white surgical walls. Unfamiliar. He didnt know where he was. Then the door in front of him swung open and a tall lanky figure entered. The man wore a surgical mask and a pair of gloves, his eyes hidden behind a pair of tiny rimmed-spectacles. He nodded to someone beyond the room, to where Bucky could not see, and two more men entered. The newcomers wore regular army slacks, but with an insignia Bucky did not recognize. A strange symbol, enveloped by brushes of scarlet red. The man in the surgical mask stopped in front of him. Who are you? he asked, his accent Russian, his tone strange, like it wasnt a question, but more a confirmation. What is your name? Bucky did not hesitate. James Buchanan Barnes, United States Army Sergeant, Serial No. 32557038. The man was quiet for a second, then he repeated. Who are you? What is your name. James Buchanan Barnes, Unite- Bucky did not manage to finish his sentence, as one of the two soldiers that entered took a quick step ahead, a cold towel quickly wrapped around Buckys face. He tried to twist away from the towel, but there was little he could achieve being strapped down to his seat. The man pulled, the towel tightening, restricting the flow of air. Bucky started to heave, desperately trying to inhale when a dose of ice water shot straight towards the center of the towel, soaking it completely. He tried to avoid the water, but it kept coming, and within a short minute, he was choking and coughing and buckling against his restraints. He must had blacked out until someone poured another bucket of water over his face. Who are you? the man in the mask asked again. What is your name? Bucky squeezed his eyes shut for a long second, his teeth chattering, the restraints digging so painfully into his skin that he was bleeding. James Buchana-- The towel was thrown over his face once again. ------------------------ SATU MARE current day It was a strange thing, to wake from a dream of a memory. The Red Room. It was a place he hadnt thought of in the longest time. A period of his life long before falling into HYDRAs control, the memory itself so long passed it felt like he was looking through the viewing-lens of anothers life. The men of the Red Room were the ones who pulled him out from the ice and brought him back to Russia, they were the ones who wiped his memory, indoctrinated him to their cause, and gave him his bionic arm. They were the ones who turned him into the person he was today. It was a long time since hed last thought of them. The majority of them were already dead, either from old age or by his hands. It was the first thing he did since breaking free of his mental implants. It didnt matter if they were HYDRA or the Red Room. He hunted them down and killed them all. On the fourth day, came another. Buckys eyes slowly flickered open, listening to the approaching footsteps, accompanied by the wheeling of a luggage case, which, in the quiet motel hallway, was as deafening as an air siren. He stepped away from the bed at the sound of approach, moving over to the doorway and pressing his ear against the wooden frame. The footsteps came closer, closer, then stopped right in front of room 101. The decoy room. His senses went into overdrive, his body coiled, ready to spring into action depending on the outcome of the next few seconds. He waited, time slowing down as he focused, but a few long seconds passed and the hallway still remained quiet, untouched by the fiery eruptions he planted. His trap was not triggered. The footsteps continued. Slowly, one steady step followed by another. There was only a single person. Hed expected an entire strike-team to descend on the motel, not a single being. He waited until the footsteps neared his room then stepped right past, stopping at the one directly next to his. The sound of an unlocking door came next, and all was quiet for the next minute. Too quiet . He could hear his own heartbeat pounding loudly against his chest, almost like a warning, alongside the voices in his head screaming at him to run. Then he saw her, through the viewhole of the door. She stepped outside of her room and into the hallway, lasso glowing, sword and shield in hand, cloak swirling forward with each strong, confident step. He stumbled backwards, blinded by momentary spots of pain, as memories shot forth like insistent stars in a dark sky, his head throbbing so painfully in its aftermath he half expected his skull to crack right open. That woman. Hed seen her before. So long before it was like from another life. ------------------------ LEIPZIG, GERMANY 1952 Hed been waiting at that exact same spot for almost two long days now, hidden by the foliage of the forests opening, a tiny spot in the mud between thick shrubbery, the front end of his rifle as inconspicuous as the dozens of protruding twigs and branches around him. He was hidden deep in the middle of an active battlefield, watching soldiers from both sides of the war exchanging fire, but joining neither end. He was on a mission, but he wasnt here to win them the war. That fight was long over. The men of the Red Room knew of their defeat. It wasnt why he was here today. Theyd chosen him for this specific task not because of his ability to kill, but because of how efficient he was at operating undetected behind enemy lines. Theyd sent him not because they needed soldiers, but a ghost. He watched the battlefield through the scope of his rifle, like hed been doing for the past two days, watching as hundreds of soldiers charged and hundreds of soldiers fell, watching as the mist rose slowly from the wet ground from last nights rain like the souls of the dead living their bodies behind. A haunting sight, but strangely beautiful. On the third day, came his target. She crashed into the battlefield, a tall woman in armor, charging through the trenches, deflecting bullets with her bracelets and cutting down dozens of men with nothing but a sword of steel. He followed her movements with his rifles scope, its ranged magnified so closely he could see the individual droplets of blood splattered across her chest guard none of it hers. - - wonder woman That was what the men of the Red Room called her. Hed read the file on her, he knew how dangerous she was. He knew of the many rumors surrounding her, from being a genetically enhanced human to an actual Amazonian god. But her origins did not matter to him. He only wanted to know if she bled. The scope moved towards her unprotected flank, and his finger pressed lightly against the trigger, curling inwards, holding, but not quite with enough pressure to release the loaded chamber. Because she wasnt his target, at least not today. Firing at her would only reveal his position, and it would be detrimental to finding a better opportunity to landing a shot on his actual target. His scope moved forward, past the woman and her four escorts, zooming instead onto the one stumbling person in-between them all a man dressed in the colors of Nazi black-white-red. The traitor . Or so hed been told. A defector planning to release details of experimental soviet weaponry to the Allied forces in exchange for amnesty. A traitor to his country. Not that Bucky actually cared. It was a mission to him, nothing more. He inhaled. Exhaled. Then pulled the trigger. All was calm for a single second, and in the next, the mans head exploded into a mist of red, his bodys forward momentum sending him crumpling into a nearby ditch. The men around him immediately rushed to his side, some in shock, incomprehension at the scene, others, Bucky did not know, because in seconds, he was already gone, slipping back into the shadows, leaving behind only a small disturbed spot in the foliage. ------------------------ SATU MARE current day It was her. The woman from that time. More than half a century passed and not looking a single day older. He didnt quite believe his eyes, momentarily lost between reality and hallucinations, a dream of the past. Then in the next second, he watched, eyes widening, as she lanced her shield forward, sending it flying in the direction of the decoy room. There was a loud boom, and as fire washed over the hallway, Bucky came to the quick conclusion that the woman standing beyond the doorway was very, very real , and very, very dangerous. He reacted in the next second, training and instinct taking over, launching himself across to the opposite side of the room, drawing his pistol in midleap and firing two shots in the direction of the doorway where hed lodged his last two grenades against the wooden beams holding up that side of the wall. The explosions were instantaneous, the concussive waves swallowing the entire hallway as the shockwave sent him crashing through the window and towards the street below. He rolled across dirty asphalt, his bionic arm taking the brunt of the impact. Another explosion erupted above him, his hands reaching up to shield himself from the falling debris as he staggered away from the burning building, pausing for a second to pull a shard of glass out from his shoulder. Ignoring the ringing in his ears, he steadied himself and started sprinting in the opposite direction. He did not know if the woman survived the explosion, but he wasnt about to stay and find out.