WARNING: blood, torture (whipping), and period-typical racism in this chapter. The mature rating is just to be safe. I do not approve of Hydra's actions; they are a manipulative, horrendous group and poor Bucky just needs a break. Feel free to skip this chapter if you do not want to read it. If you want, you can read up to the /\/\/\/\/\ since everything after that is the scene with the warning tags.
Chapter Three: Consequences
Freedom only lasted three weeks.
The noon sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky, blinding the asset. The light stung, making its tired eyes tear up. It had been aimlessly wandering the buildings near the bar, with no real plan in mind. It had been on autopilot for the past few weeks, confused, in pain, hungry, and extremely exhausted.
Hunger pangs were a familiar concept, fading to the background with the other minor aches and pains it had grown accustomed to. However, it had never been this malnourished. It received nutrition through an IV or a liquid pumped through a tube shoved down its throat. Regular, human food did not sit well with its stomach. The asset, unfortunately, discovered that after eating some scavenged cucumbers and strawberries on day seven and promptly throwing it up after thirty minutes. The asset decided to ditch eating and stuck only to drinking water when needed.
Sleep was also only granted in extreme circumstances by permission from a current handler. Rest only happened after completed missions, and since it was technically still in mission mode, the asset could not sleep without the command.
By now, the asset would have already received a shower, clean clothes, the tasteless sludge for food, and a blanket or pillow, if its handlers had thought it deserved an award for a job well done.
Out here, alone, the asset's clothes had dried over time, leaving a constant itch. Every passing day only grew worse as the exhaustion increased. The asset's wounds healed a lot slower than usual. A headache pulsed at the front of its head, growing in pressure like a volcano about to burst. Its eyelids became heavy to the point that the asset was stuck squinting, yet mission protocol did not allow rest. It never completed the mission.
Freedom was starting to look less welcoming.
The asset had thought about going back. It would gladly accept any punishment, if only for the chance to possibly re-earn a shower and some food. It would not complain if it never earned a blanket or pillow, as long as its handlers would allow it to return and work to regain Hydra's generosity.
The lack of food, pain, exhaustion, and not sleeping for nearly twenty-one days allowed a team of Hydra agents to corner the asset in a dead-end alley three weeks after the bar fight.
The team had actually arrived in Goyang after week two, but the asset - still scandalously resisting its programming - kept outmaneuvering the agents in a twisted game of hide-and-seek. Only, in this game, the seekers were equipped with weapons, and the hider's mind was so clouded over by sleep deprivation that it awkwardly stumbled into a dead-end between two buildings connected by a large brick wall.
The asset quietly watched the team split off into three groups. Two of the groups climbed to the roof of opposite buildings, while the third kept their guns raised at the opening of the alley.
A figure stepped forward in the third group, both hands raised to show the asset that the man meant no harm. Yet, the several guns pointed at the asset's chest begged to differ.
"Soldier," the figure, the asset recognized as its mission handler, said in Russian, "we have been looking for you.
"If you come willingly, we will give you a nice warm shower. Would you like that: a shower and some food? I will even talk to Doctor Zola about finding a nice upgrade for your arm," the handler, Lieutenant Nikolai Orlov, gestured at the severed limb hanging uselessly from the asset's left shoulder.
