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This was the plan:

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This was the plan:

1) Build a soft robot capable of helping me escape, and convince HYDRA that it was just a small component of the big scary decoy robot I would also be building.

2) Use it to escape.

That was it. Step one was going smoothly. They gave me my materials. They also slapped me around a lot more than before, which made me miss Rumlow, of all people.

As days passed and I got more familiar with my surroundings, steps and steps and steps started accumulating on the plan. I memoried the codes they used to get to our room. I memorized the schedules they used to change various guard positions. I memorized the number of the room, where, through the tiniest sliver of an open door, I'd seen vials and vials and vials of bright blue serum.

My robot was a mischievous little red squid with six long tentacles and the ability to stretch them thin and long. Her locomotion was admittedly arachnid based, which made me cringe at first. She made it cute, though. I named her JANE "Don't-Breathe-the" EYRE, on account of the knock out gas she could spray from her head. JANE EYRE stood for Jointless Autonomous Nondescript Elastic Electroactive Youthful Robotic Escapee.

Clearly, I had a lot of time to think at night.

"Just give them that decoy you've been making. The one that they think is the actual weapon. Give it some strength and call it a day," Colin complained one night, exactly a week after my abduction.

"That decoy has a name," I said, joking despite the fact that I was pacing the length of our tiny room, rubbing Bucky's dog tags in sets of four so hard I was surprised I hadn't somehow worn down the stainless steel yet.

The fact that I hadn't taken my antidepressant in a week was making matters worse. I was anxious, restless, getting a little reckless. I needed out of here.

"I'm not calling it that," he said, kicking back on his bed, arms behind his head.

"Then I don't know who you're talking about."

"Fine. Just give them BUCK-E and call it a day."

I called it that because it looked big and scary, but it wouldn't hurt a fly, really.

"No," I said simply.

"You're digging your own grave at this point," he said, almost concerned. "Whatever you're doing with that soft robot, you're gonna get yourself killed. I know I told you they wouldn't, but I didn't think you were gonna try to blow up the whole base or whatever the hell you're up to."

"Blow up the whole base?" I repeated, confused.

"Yeah. Why were you mixing chemicals when they walked me by you the other day?"

"Knock out gas," I said. "Bruce Banner taught me how to make it out of common stock solutions for this exact type of situation."

"Grace. No."

Soft Robotics ✧ Bucky BarnesWhere stories live. Discover now