Chapter Text
The laboratory was drowning in subdued light and the soft sound of footsteps. Two slim guys wearing eyeglasses and white shirts walked back and forth between a chair and three monitors. They whispered while steel walls and shiny ceiling were listening to them quietly. The room was packed with chilly air and stunk like a hospital, the place that reeked of white lies saying that injections wouldn’t be terrible. Hospital’s smell offered a chance to live, yet gave out a strong odor of deathless mortality, foul cleanliness, and seasoned sickness of mind.
The metal cold grave was enclosed by three levels of thick metal bars and cage doors, secured by a fully armed hit squad standing at every corner. This place was called laboratory but it was a torture chamber. Amid the guns was Sergeant James Barnes strapped to the electroshock chair. His sorrowful face was covered with damp brown hair and beads of nervous sweat.
Sitting across the room facing the soldier, Brock’s wrists and ankles were tied up to a metal chair. He was stripped of his shirt. Comparing himself to Barnes, the HYDRA agent felt underrated by the number of guns pointing at him. Fresh blood clung to his left eye and corners of his mouth. He had fought a great deal before being lashed to this goddamn chair like a goddamn livestock. Sadly, only a SIG Sauer pushed at the back of his head while Barnes was being watched closely like a deadly lion.
The grated door squeaked open and slammed shut. Alexander Pierce led a security team inside. He was wearing an expensive three piece suit and an arrogantly arrogant face. He took off his eyeglasses.
Day in, day out, Pierce’s gesture manifested a vibe of power and hubris. He was intelligent. Smart as a whip. And unkind. He had the brain, the authority, and the insensitivity, three things that shouldn’t come in the same package unless you wanted to destroy mankind. Alexander Goodwin Pierce owned a perfect mind without feelings. He had a heart that lacked pounding. His wide eyes were like those of a baby doll, made of cheap glass, fake and disturbing.
Pierce asked, “how are you boys doing?” He took a step to the middle of Brock and Barnes.
No one answered.
The old man turned his pale face to Brock, both hands stuffed in his pants’ pockets. “I can’t believe you two were screwing. Are you out of your mind?” Pierce rarely showed any emotions but this time, his thin lips noticeably contorted with anger. Antipathy was plain to see.
Still, Brock didn’t give any answers. He lowered his eyes to the floor when he heard Pierce say, “you dogs, both of you.”
Brock lifted his head. He looked the old man in the eye and got slapped across the face. Pierce took a rifle from his bodyguard. He hit Brock with it. Again. And again. And again. Brock didn’t yelp.
Barnes watched every blow from across the room. Their eyes locked. The hit turned his head, but Brock always swung it back to meet the man sitting opposite to him. The soldier clenched his fists. The fists got tighter and tighter as the rifle’s stock delivered a harder and harder blow to Brock’s head.
Only when Brock’s chin was smeared with blood did Pierce stop. “You are a disgrace,” Pierce spat the words out. “I could have killed you. But you are still useful. I’ll let you live but you must apologize. Now.”
Brock tried to speak but his breath only ended with a bitter groan.
“Try harder.” Pierce encouraged him with another shot to the gut. “Say it won’t happen again.”
Brock clenched his jaw and kept still. If he was going to say something to Pierce, it wouldn’t sound like an apology.
Pierce didn’t mind waiting but his patient was quickly running low. He returned the rifle to the guard and snapped his finger. The nerds in white shirts came forward. The boss jerked his chin to Barnes. “Wipe him.”
Barnes’ eyes widened. He shook his arms but they were perfectly tied up. Even so, the hit squad pointed their guns at him without fail.
“Erase all of his memories,” Pierce ordered, “especially the distasteful ones.”
“No!” Brock shouted.
The scientists pushed Barnes against the back of the chair—the routine they had been doing over and over since Barnes was made Winter Soldier. HYDRA put the soldier in the cryogenic storage, only brought him out when they wanted a job done.
They would wash Barnes’ memories away with electroshock until the man was left with nothing except his immortal empty shell, then sent him out to do their dirty jobs.
Pierce studied Brock. An evil smile appeared on the corner of the older man’s mouth. “Be happy. You got the best seat to watch the show. To watch him forget all about you.”
“Son of a bitch! Let him go!”
Pierce tilted his head. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll kill you, bastard.”
Pierce laughed and talked to the guards. “Punish him.”
The man behind Brock’s back smacked him with the SIG Sauer then grabbed his hair as the other guy punched him in the face. The next blows struck him in the gut. Heavy fists rammed his stomach. His piss would be bloody tomorrow if Pierce let him live. Brock gritted his teeth refusing to cry out in pain. But the punches hurt enough. He threw up blood and couldn’t help letting pathetic moans escape.
Barnes’ face was painted with ire. Watching Brock being punished, the soldier clenched his jaw and growled. Barnes jerked his metal arm sharply and this time he broke free. Barnes pushed himself off the chair. However, before he could do anything, the man behind Brock’s back thrust the gun to Brock’s temple. “Sit the fuck down or I blow his head off.”
Brock tried to look at Barnes but his vision was fuzzy. He only saw a blurred figure silently drop back to the chair, and then, he heard Pierce laugh.
“How precious!” Pierce clapped his hands. “Do you have any words to say to each other before I proceed?”
“Don’t fight it. Get out of here alive.” Barnes’ voice was hoarse and wailing. “We’ve done this so many times. If I were you, I wouldn’t bat an eye. And if you meet my pal, please, please tell Rogers....”
“When you gotta go, you gotta go,” Pierce interjected with a smile. The old man clapped his hands. “Winter Soldier has made up his mind so, go on. Wash him clean.”
Barnes laid himself on the chair. His beautiful eyes were wet with despair. He fixed his glare at Brock, parted his lips just wide enough to accept the gum-shield into his mouth. All without protest. The soldier huffed sharply when the electroshock machine was turned on.
The guards threw Brock on the floor. Brock was smitten with clubs and combat boots, but those things couldn’t hurt him anymore.
Only Winter Soldier’s scream of agony could cut him to the core.