Control

First Mistake

1946

I twist the wedding ring on my finger one time...two times...three times...

The small golden band shone in the dim light of the Russian bunker and it gave me hope and solace as I followed the soldiers down the hallway. This was a job. This was a place that I belonged and I was needed here. HYDRA was the only place that I belonged after my husband was killed.

Everything was going to be alright.

But, it wasn't alright.

The apprehension in the air threatened to crush me and, seemingly without reason, I was terrified.

I knew what it meant to be summoned by Arnim Zola. I had been here long enough to know that it was likely not a good thing that would be bringing me into his presence. I was but a lowly combat nurse, as far as he was concerned. To make matters worse, I was a woman. No matter how skilled I was, I would never be privy to the inner workings of HYDRA...but, they would, at least, let me treat their wounds.

When I am not taken to the office of Zola, and I am instead dragged to a dark, almost cell-like room, I am confused.

Zola stands in the room, fixing his round glasses and strutting about in an expensive suit as he stares at a man that is sitting in the middle of the room with him, strapped to a large, metal chair. The first thing I note is that he is covered in blood. Once I am past that, I realize his entire left arm is made, not from flesh and bone, but a bright, silver alloy.

I can't help but to wonder why I am here. I'm a nurse. Is the man injured? That would explain the blood...

I bow my head to Arnim Zola as he looks me over. I'm sure I look a sight. I'm a slight American woman with short cornsilk hair who wears men's trousers and shirts to better perform for HYDRA what they task me with. I have only ever met him in person twice and he has never personally addressed me.

For him to ask for me personally, I knew it was either my death warrant or my reputation precedes me.

"Leave us," he tersely says to the two guards who escorted me into the room. The door behind me slams shut and I am left alone with Zola. I blink, trying to will my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

I feel tears prick my green eyes as the fear starts to overwhelm me.

Short of killing me immediately, Zola begins to speak in his accented English. "You are a nurse, yes?"

I am surprised by the question. Of course I was a nurse. What was he trying to say? "Y-yes, sir," I say, quietly. If I appear to be the quiet, demure woman, perhaps I can smoothly navigate this situation.

"Ms. Sokolov, may I present to you the Winter Soldier," he swept an arm toward the frightening sight in the chair. I'm not sure what sees, but he nods, approvingly, and he looks back at the chained man. "I want you to fix him."

I blink. "I...I'm sorry?" I am not sure if I heard him right. Did he say he wants me to "fix" him?

Zola nods. "He is injured...and he won't let anyone else near him so that he can be sedated. I would like you to try."

I feel my entire body tense. "Do...do you want me to sedate him or would you like me to assess his wounds?"

Zola considered this for a moment before he finally decides what he needs to say to me. "Assess his wounds and treat him. If he refuses, we will sedate him."

I look at the man from a distance. He is wearing a leather "vest" that I'm sure used to be a coat. His hair looks like it hasn't been cut in some time and falls into his face in greasy disarray. Under his breath, he mutters. I don't go closer to him.