I took a few moments to breathe in the free air, crisp and cold against my skin, before snapping myself back.
I have to get out of here.
But how?
From the look of it, I'm on a snow-covered mountain in the middle of nowhere. I can walk, sure, but god, that would take forever. And I don't even know which direction to go.
I turn back into the facility. As I walk past the dead guards, I strip a pair of boots off one of them.
They won't need them anymore.
I take his pistol and spare magazines, plus the combat knife strapped to his hip. I clip the knife to my side and stuff the pistol into my coat pockets.
Back in that cursed exam room, I rummage through a doctor's abandoned backpack. Just snacks, keys, a few books, and a tablet.
I don't really know how to use tablets. I've seen people with them, but never closely enough to figure them out. Better not to risk it. The keys are just for offices or lockers, useless.
I slide the snacks back into the bag and move to the medical cabinet. Inside: IV bags and drugs.
All of it toxic.
This is what they were pumping into me to keep the baby alive. It hurt, god, it still hurts, but I'll visit with my friend Pain until you're born, little one.
I pack as many of the IV bags and drugs as I can. They should last me a while. After that… I'll either need more or start cutting limbs again.
I wander deeper into the facility, searching for a way out.
I don't find much.
I pass the room where they programmed Bucky, the machine still, silent. But the air carries the echo of his screams. I can hear them even now.
Then I find a giant reinforced metal door.
The cryo chambers…. There in there.
I remember this hallway. My legs tremble. My heart pounds harder.
Fear.
The door is thick, dense with bolts and steel. Getting through it would take hours, maybe more.
Bucky might be behind it.
I stare.
I don't owe him anything, I tell myself. But I keep standing there, calculating how long it would take to open it.
Behind me, footsteps.
I freeze.
Multiple boots moving through the halls. Reinforcements. One of those bastards must've sounded an alarm.
That could actually be helpful.
They probably came here by helicopter.
I'll be needing that.
I move fast to the armory, not a big one, just enough to arm us before missions. But they always kept charges there.
I grab what explosives I can find. Not enough to level the facility, but that's not what I want.
I just need to kill them, quickly, without risking a bullet to the stomach.
I have to move carefully now. I can't let the little one get hurt.
I was reckless earlier.
I rig the charges down a hallway they haven't swept yet. Remote detonator in hand, I hide around the corner.
I listen.
Four… five… six.
Six men.
They really thought six guys could take me down.
Idiots.
They made me a flawless weapon. They should've known better.
BOOM.
I set off the charges, tearing through the corridor. Five down. The sixth had lagged behind, he's alive, barely, lost his leg and god knows what else.
I walk over. Blood and shredded guts coat the floor beneath my boots. He's dragging himself away, leaving a thick trail behind like a slug on the sidewalk.
My sister used to help slugs get back into the grass whenever she found one on a summer day.
I won't be as kind.
I rip a metal rod from the wall and stroll over. Without pause, I drive it through his remaining leg and into the concrete, pinning him in place.
"AAAAAHHHHH!"
He rolls to face me. Our eyes meet, his still hidden behind tactical goggles, but I see the defiance anyway.
"Where's the chopper you came in?" I ask, calm.
He doesn't answer. Just starts convulsing and gagging.
"Hail Hydra," he chokes, then stiffens.
Cyanide.
Of course. Hydra agents never get taken alive.
Annoying.
I leave him there, just another piece of meat for the next fool who shows up.
As I navigate toward the exit, I glance back at that massive steel door.
If you're behind there, Bucky… I'm sorry. I'll come back for you. But not now.
Not yet.
More voices echo through the halls, more reinforcements. I pick up my pace, pushing out into the cold, biting air.
The sky stretches wide above me, endless, open. A thousand possibilities.
I trudge around the facility, the snow deep and heavy.
There it is: the helipad. And, as expected, a CH-47 Chinook chopper, military-grade.
My ride out of here.
Thanks, Hydra, for teaching me how to fly just about anything.
I climb into the pilot seat. The system lights up, fully operational.
A map and compass hidden off to the side.
I manage to fly a good distance, making it all the way to Kazakhstan. I land in a small forest clearing. Desolate.
But peaceful.
In the back of the chopper, I pop a few poison pills. I don't know what I'm taking, only that they gave them to me, not the baby. They'll hurt me, not you.
I lie down, stroking my stomach, humming softly.
I feel a kick.
Thank god.
You're okay.
A joyful smile stretches across my face, tears sliding down my cheeks.
"We're free, little one," I whisper, feeling another kick.
The first I've felt. I was always in too much pain before to notice.
It doesn't hurt.
I like it.
It reminds me I'm not alone anymore.
I have you.
"I promise… Mama's gonna protect you. They'll never hurt you," I whisper.
Outside, owls hoot. The wind rustles the leaves. Crickets chirp their strange little lullaby.
My thoughts drift to Bucky.
I shouldn't have left him. But… I don't even know if that was him back there. Hydra moved us between chambers all the time.
Besides, I have to protect our baby.
Strange to think that way. This little one isn't just mine.
They're yours too, Bucky.
You have a kid.
Did you ever want one?
Do you even like kids?
You strike me as the type who'd want to play baseball with a son. Or braid a daughter's hair, clumsily but with a proud smile.
I hope… someday… you'll be free too.
So you can meet them.
So we can meet again.
I want to see the real you, the one full of hope and kindness, even after losing your arm.
Not the weapon Hydra made you.
I remember when they made you touch me.
Every time.
You fought it at first.
I saw it.
Even when you obeyed, something in you still resisted. A sadness lingered in those crystal-blue eyes, like a ripple across still water. Confused. Broken. But still… present.
Did you know, I used to get lost in those beautiful eyes of yours.
It was the closest I could get to the blue skies.
You never hurt me.
You could've, with that metal arm.
But you didn't. You were careful.
As if it was the only thing you could do for me, show me some tiny sliver of mercy.
It mattered.
You matter.
I don't hate you, Bucky.
It wasn't your fault.
I hope I get the chance to tell you that someday.
When we're both safe, I'll try to find you.
So you, too, can see the endless sky.
Feel the breeze through that long brown hair of yours.
Feel the sun on your skin.
Hear our child's laughter.
Pure.
Free.
Untouched by all this pain.
I'll make sure of it.