HYDRA knew their dirty secrets wouldn't stay secret forever. They knew that someone would break into their base, steal their Super Soldiers.
So they created failsafes.
Helmut Zemo killed the five Super Soldiers in their capsules that day. A bullet...
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ONE
Apologies were always so trivial to Bucky Barnes.
The two words. 'I'm sorry'. Those words might possibly be the words he hates most in the world. The words that pretend they can erase the world's greatest wrongs. The words that pretend to heal, but are only a band-aid on a gaping wound. The words that are meant to be a blessing, a gift, but are thrown around like everyday inconsequentialities.
After all, what is their true purpose? To show regret? Sorrow? Empathy? Are people so moronic and reliant that they must all use the same meaningless phrase to show grief rather than creating their own ways of showing remorse?
Bucky fought a war for people, and then he fought another, and another, and all he wishes he could do is look down at the list in his little book and telepathically connect to each one, each name he wronged, each name he hurt, and apologise.
But apologies mean nothing, especially to the extend of which Bucky violated each and every person on that list.
Not every name is on that list, however, contrary to Doctor Raynor's wishes. There's one he missed out. It was years ago that he tried to rectify it, after all, and there was no saving what he'd done. It was useless from the start.
Then again, it had all reason to be.
There are certain things he's done that he can live with, things that torture him at night but manage to stay in his dreams. Then there are those things that never end; the nightmares that leak unsuspectingly into the daytime like black ink spreading on a page.
His teeth grit harshly as he's thrown back into the memory for a moment, back into that cold, dark night almost seventy years ago. There have been many points to determine when his life's changed – after all, there was meeting Steve, the Second World War, getting caught by HYDRA, nearly dying, becoming the Winter Soldier – but this was a significant one, too.
For ten years he'd been alone, whether he was able to feel it or not. After that, he wasn't alone anymore.
"So our first move is grand theft auto?" Sam questions quizzically as the dim lights flicker on overhead, illuminating old yet shiny paint and the various makes and models of the last century out on display in the warehouse.
For a moment, Zemo allows himself to smile knowingly, enjoying the upper-hand. "These are mine," he tells them as he opens some of the backs, revealing weapons for the Avengers to take, albeit hesitantly, as he himself grabs a bag from a car, packing things inside.
"Collected by family over the generations. I spent years hunting people HYDRA recruited to recreate the serum. Because once it's out there, someone can create an army of people... like the Avengers." His look is pointed towards them as he closes the car door, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "I ended the Winter Soldier program once before. I have no intention to leave my work unfinished. To do this, we'll have to scale a ladder of lowlifes."
