The Mechanic || 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘳¹

six

"No, sir," you gasp. "Please, sir, you're hurting me..."

"Don't lie to me, mechanic!" he shouts, lifting you with only one hand until your toes barely touch the ground. You feel how he closes your throat, preventing you from breathing normally. Your breaths get more strained the longer he holds you up. Black points start dancing in your vision, and everything gets blurred, just like in your memory. Pierce asks something again, but you can't hear him. You're too focused on getting air in your lungs before you would pass out.

Then he drops you. You stumble away from him, from the wall, trying to get as much space between you and him as you can. He doesn't back away, instead, he walks up to you. He lifts his fist. And hits you with all his power into your gut.

Your knees buckle and you fall to the ground. Trembling, you try to crawl backward, away from him, away from all the pain he's going to cause you. Trying to swallow the burning feeling in your throat, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your gut. He's towering high above you, looking down at you as though he'd be looking at an insect. An interesting insect, but still just an insect.

A metallic taste gathers in your mouth, makes you want to throw up. Blood trickles out of the corner of your mouth.

"Bring her to the room," he commands in a voice as cold as the cryo-chamber. You want to brush off the guard's hands that grab you and lift you.

You want to scream at him to stop, to shout at all of them.

But you can't. Your throat is too sore to say anything, your limbs too weak to defend yourself. Two guards put your arms around their shoulders and carry you to a room you know all too well.

The chair you built catches your eye as soon as you walk in. The machines around it are all turned on, making suspicious noises in the cold silence of the room. The guards standing around don't move. They watch you being pressed in the chair, being chained to it in a way you constructed yourself.

It all seems so painfully familiar. You've been in this room a thousand times before, watching Bucky getting his mind wiped, watching him being turned back to the Winter Soldier.

Is that what they want to do to you?

But you're not special. You can't fight. You're weak.

Pierce comes closer again. He holds up a small scalpel that reflects the cold bluish light of the lamps. He pulls a chair closer again like he did when the Winter Soldier remembered Captain America.

Thinking the name helps. It clears up the memory slightly. You cling to it as the only sane thought in your head. You can't forget it. If Bucky remembered and got out, you'll be able to do so too.

And he'll help you. You're sure of it. You helped him escape, helped him escape the Winter Soldier. He won't leave you here.

"It would be a shame to lose our most important mechanic, wouldn't it?" Pierce asks while admiring the scalpel in the light. You sniffle slightly and test out the cuffs around your arms, trying to loosen them up, trying to get your arms out.

Pierce smacks his lips when he sees what you're doing. He slightly shakes his head and leans closer, holding out the scalpel right in front of your eyes.

"I'm sure you know what this is. I'm also sure you know that it's not capable of killing someone. But that's an advantage in our case, don't you think?"

He lowers the scalpel to your cheek and slightly brushes over your skin with it. You can't help but whimper slightly when you feel the cold metal against your flesh. He hasn't cut yet, but he will.

You try to swallow down the tears that start collecting in your eyes and it works for a while. Staring at the ceiling, you hear Pierce continue talking.

"I would hate to hurt you. Your work here has been a gift to mankind." Those are the exact words he told the Winter Soldier. "You shaped the century. I would hate to lose your potential now after you've done such magnificent things in the past century."

Your eyes widen and he laughs. "Yes, love. You heard correctly. You've been here for over seventy years. Hard to believe, isn't it? When Hydra saw your way to construct the chair and arm for the Winter Soldier, they decided to preserve you. Your mind and intelligence were too great for them to just let you die of old age. So, they gave you the same procedure as him. You've got the same serum in your veins; did you know that? They had to do that because you had to survive the cryostasis, to preserve your body and mind. Interesting, isn't it? Instead of freezing their leaders, they granted a simple mechanic the life of a super soldier."

The scalpel digs in your skin. You feel it slowly cutting your cheek, separating blood vessels and nerves. You try to dodge the blade, but you can't move. You are completely at Pierce's mercy.

"So, love, tell me. How did he get away? How is it possible that he escaped the control we had over him?"

Blood drops out of the cut and streams over your chin, throat, chest, into the uniform you were given by the guards. The cut isn't deep and doesn't hurt much, but it shows what Pierce will do if you don't give him an answer.

"He... remembered," you say, your voice rough and sore. Pierce takes the scalpel away from your cheek and you start coughing. Blood sputters out of the injury.

"Oh, but that's not it, is it?" Pierce asks and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. "I've been very patient with you. Very, very patient, and tolerant. You don't seem to understand that. I've let you work on this chair always when you wanted, I let you visit him regularly. Do you see where it got me? Do you see where my trust in you got me? I'm asking you one more time: What did you do?"

You spit to the floor. It's red. It's metallic. It's disgusting. You feel Pierce's breath on your face and his gaze on your skin. He raises the scalpel again. This time, he isn't gentle anymore. The blade digs into your skin and flesh, ripping it open. Blood streams down your chin, your neck, your throat. Warm and sticky.

Pierce turns the scalpel in the cut. You scream in pain when he cuts down, turns the scalpel again, digging it into your skin. It's as if he's drawing.

Your cheek is burning when he finally lets you go.

"This," he says, "this is a symbol. You belong to us. You belong to Hydra. Your mind, your body, your strength. You belong to us, no matter how hard you try to escape that."

You don't know what he's talking about. You don't care what he's talking about.

The chair opens its cuffs, and you collapse against the back rest, your head falling back. The blood from your cheek drips into your hair, on the chair, it's everywhere. It can't be that much. You've seen Hydra bosses torture people. It can't be as much blood as what it feels like.

When you had to watch people being tortured, you would close your eyes and ignore their sharp screams, ignore the pain radiating from their trembling body.

This is nothing, compared to them. This was a squib if the worst you'd seen had been a nuke. And that's what scares you.

He won't stop. This wasn't it.

You're scared of what he will do next.