Chapter Text
"Tell me you have something," John said. He was looking terrible. dark bags under his eyes, his hair messy and looking like it hadn't been washed for a few days, a scruffy suit with a wrinkled shirt unlike his normal primp and clean look. He was losing it. Weeks have passed, and there is still no sign of his daughter. What if she was dead? What if Hydra had already disposed of her, and now they were searching for a body? He had to say this was his hardest time being president. His mind wasn't focused, and he barely got any sleep. Between having to listen to the rest of his team trying to convince him he needed to move somewhere safer and trying to find his daughter with S.H.I.E.L.D., he was forgetting how to be president.
The team was in his oval office, all perched on the edges of their seats. Since their failed attempt at rescue, they had no new information, and after looking into every rabbit hole, there was nothing. They were right about what they said about the winter soldier. He was a ghost who could just disappear and never be seen again. and now he had the president's daughter along with him.
The team looked at each other, using their eyes to communicate and decide who was going to break the news to him that there was nothing new. Steve decided to take one for the team, and his low sigh immediately gave John the impression he wasn't hoping for.
"We've been searching everywhere we can, looking at everything," Steve started as John pushed himself off the desk and rubbed his face hard, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was depraved of sleep, wanting to fall onto the couch and sleep for days, but he couldn't. This guilt of his daughter being kidnapped and used by Hydra had him awake every night, and he wasn't going to sleep until she was safe. He forced himself over to the window, leaning against it and staring outside, his eyes welling up with tears.
"Tell me honestly. What are the possibilities that we're looking for a body now?" He hoped he'd never have to say that in his entire life, and yet here he was, coming to terms with the fact that he might never see her again.
The team stared at each other with wide eyes. They weren't going to sit here and sugarcoat the situation. John had a point. There was a chance Hydra was done with the girl for many reasons and got rid of her weeks or days ago. but Steve didn't want to think like that, and he was determined he was going to track her down.
"Hydra must want her for a reason, obviously to get to you and your power. If they really wanted to just take her and kill her, they would have told us by now," Steve assured.
"But what if they have, and this is their way of stringing us along? Hydra is evil and sadistic and could be doing anything to her," he sighed, turning from the window a bit.
"We are searching, Mr. Presdient; right now it's taking time. Their most feared assassin has her, and he's pretty damn good at hiding." Steve stood up, slowly walking to John, ignoring the guards and people around him. As he stood behind him, he slowly lifted his hand, pressing it on his shoulder, and squeezed softly. John didn't flinch and, in fact, relaxed underneath the super soldier's touch.
"I promised I would find her; I don't break my promises," he whispered, and John turned to him, eyes low and lips frowning. It looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just nodded and turned to stare back out the window.
Hydra-base Siberia
Violet knelt on the cold, hard floor, the knee protectors protecting her knees from the freezing concrete underneath her. Her eyes were focused forward, her lips pressed tightly together, and nothing but her slow breathing could be heard from her silence, just as he would want her. Heavy boots scuffed around her as Bucky circled her, like vultures picking out their prey to feast on. Her mind was blank, like a dark, open space filled with nothing. She waited patiently for a command, an order, or a sentence. any indication for her to move or speak.
"From now on, you address me as Sir, your commanding officer and handler; any delay in your response to me or address will incur punishment," he informed her evilly, and as if right on cue, she answered.
"Yes, sir," she replied, her voice low, and a smile crept on Bucky's face.
"You're learning fast; in a moment, we'll begin your training. I have a mission for you tomorrow, and it needs to be completed before sunset. Of course, any delay or disobedience will be punished," he informed casually.
"Yes, sir." She was like a robot, with the same word answer to every question, and it sent a tingle through Bucky's body. Finally, he was in control of someone; finally, he'd be the one to sit back and give the orders, the punishment, and the rewards if he believed she behaved well enough for one.
"Good girl, I think my bosses are going to be very pleased with you. Once you're ready, I'll tell them, and you'll be sent out on a very important mission." Bucky stood behind her, her hands creeping around her neck, cupping her jaw, and dragging upwards to gather her hair into a high ponytail, tying it with a black band. His touch was cold and hot at the same time, and the mix of his flesh and metal was both comforting and uncomfortable.
"You are going to change the world for Hydra, and it's going to be glorious," he said as he leaned down and whispered in her ear, his tongue darting out to lick the side of her face and bite the top of her ear. Violet didn't flinch, her eyes slowly drifting closed at the feel of his teeth scraping across her sensitive ear. With her hair out of her face, the leather uniform felt more constricting around her neck, and the squeak of it as she slightly moved.
Bucky picked up a small handgun from a table line with various weapons. He held it out for Violet, who looked up a smidge and stared up at him.
"This is your weapon; you will learn how to use it, and once you've become addicted to it, more will be added to your belt, but for now, this will do," he said, and Violet answered.
"Yes, sir." Bucky grinned.
The gun was cold and heavier than she expected. She had never held a gun before in her life, and the feeling was new. She passed the thing between both hands, staring at every detail. Her eyes stared down at the trigger, the part that would determine whether someone lives or dies. Her finger couldn't help but curl around it as if she were going to fire it, but something held her back from doing so. Punishment. She didn't have to be told that if she fired it without his permission, she'd be punished, and Bucky knew she was thinking that.
"It's quite exhilarating the first time you fire it; you'll be shocked at first, but after the first time, it becomes as simple as spreading butter." He couldn't help but run his hand over her head, as if she were a dog asking to be petted, and trailed it over her ponytail, flicking the hair behind her and resting his hand on the back of her neck.
"I think it's time we practice," he said, and Violet cranked her head back to stare up at him, her handler. His dark eyes were fixed on her, and he saw the slight confusion in her eyes. He slowly grinned and nodded his head in another direction as he began to walk away.
"Come," he ordered, and Violet stood, her boots scuffing the floor as she followed her new master into a dim room. It didn't take long for the whimpers and cries to be heard, and a quick flick of a light illuminated the room, shining down on the whimpering figure in the middle of the room. a man, most likely in his 40s, strung up by chains hanging him from the ceiling, clothes ripped and no shoes, tears streaming down his face.
In her head, she knew not to breathe a word or oppose this. So she stood silently behind her handler as he grabbed a box of bullets that clattered, metal hitting metal. He snatched the gun from her hands, feeding the bullets one by one into the cylinder, his fingers acting so smoky like he'd done this thousands of times. A quick click, and the gun was ready. He forced it back into her hands while he ordered her.
"The most important part is taking your aim—the point where you want that bullet to go. Point your gun at his leg; we'll start off easy." His low voice was in her ear as he stood behind her, watching with narrowed eyes, and he couldn't help but creep his hand into hers, moving the gun into the correct position. For someone who's never shot a gun, it was hard to gather your aim and shoot. For Bucky, it was a piece of cake. He could do this with his eyes closed. Violet stared at the man, watching as he pleaded, whimpered, and fought against the chains holding him up. but there was no feeling inside her. Everything she would have felt before was gone now, washed away with her mind and memory. She was just a piece of clay now to mould into whatever Hydra needed her to be—an assassin, a slave to do their bidding, a pet for her handler.
"Now put your finger on the trigger." His order was clear, and she didn't hesitate.
"No, please, please don't," the man begged, trying to move out of the firing line.
"Do it," he whispered, and her finger squeezed it gently, as if she were trying to fight back for the longest she could before the trigger snapped back and the bullet flew across the room. right in the upper thigh. The boom of the shot echoed against the walls, and the chilling scream of the man erupted as blood poured from his wound.
Bucky smirked, a soft chuckle erupting from his throat, and he pressed his lips to her cheek before whispering in her ear.
"Very good, Soldat, now his shoulder, right now," he ordered, and Violet lifted her hand to aim the gun at his shoulder. Bucky had since dropped his hand, leaving her in control of the firearm. A second shot rang out, and a howling scream came from the bleeding man. He was scrambling on the floor, his feet just touching, and blood poured down his body, coating his ripped clothes and soaking him.
Bucky ordered her to shoot his other leg, aiming for his shin, and to his delight, the bullet hit him square in the centre. Bucky grinned, pressing his lips to her ear.
"Now put him out of his misery; you can decide where," he said as he stepped back, watching in glory as she was about to end his life. There was one bullet left—one to end his life. Violet lifted the gun high, aiming it square at his neck, the perfect kill point for a quick death. The man groaned, his eyes barely being able to keep open, and swallowed hard.
"Please, please have mercy," he begged, and something clicked.
Mercy. She had begged for mercy before. begged for the pain and suffering to stop. Something flashed in her mind—a memory of her begging for her handler to stop as he shocked and electrocuted her mind into mush. Violet's shoulders slumped down, her arms slowly lowering, meaning the gun moved from its original point. The man gasped in shock as he saw the change in her and the realisation come to her.
As she stared at the whimpering man, she saw the blood, the tears, and the pain.
'What have I done? her mind said. Her eyes fell to the gun in her hand, the clunky piece of metal resting perfectly in her fingers.
"Let's go," Bucky ordered, noticing the change in her stance.
"No," she whispered. This is not her. She wasn't a killer; she wasn't a cruel and evil person who took people's lives. She couldn't remember what she was before, but it certainly wasn't this. She looked up in horror at the man, who was barely breathing, but was relieved that the girl in front of him had ceased her fire.
"Kill him, Soldat; that's an order." Bucky gritted through his teeth as he stomped over, and Violet turned to him with wide eyes and parted lips, her head shaking.
"No," she whispered. She couldn't allow herself to fall this deep. to become a killer. She couldn't remember who she was before, but she knew inside she wasn't this.
"When I order you to do something, you will obey. Shoot him!" He ordered once more, and Violet looked at the scared man, pleading silently. Her hand was shaking, the metal of the gun clattering, and she took a deep swallow, turning back to her handler. With as much confidence as she could muster up, she stared up at him with hard eyes.
"No," she answered. Bucky took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring and his metal hand balling up into a tight fist. Within seconds, he snatched the gun from her and fired the last bullet at the man. He only glanced over to take the shot, and the bullet hit the jugular, blood squirting, and the man instantly fell to his death, hanging by the chains, a pool of blood forming underneath him.
Violet gasped, jumping slightly, and before she even had a chance to look at what had happened, the butt of the gun smacked her head, forcing her to the ground with a loud scream. Her body smacked the concrete, the wind knocked her out, and her vision went blurry for a moment. She coughed, feeling something cold trickle down her head, and before she could even comprehend what the hell just happened, her ankle was grabbed by the thick metal hand of her master, and she was dragged from the room.