haven ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟏

into the ice

EPILOGUE—INTO THE ICE
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HE WAS IN agony, but it didn't bother him as much as it used to. He could just barely remember, in the depths of his mind, what happened last time. The serums, the metal clamp that squeezed and electrocuted his brain, just bits and pieces that tore his body and mind apart. 

It was all back, the memories blinking in and out of his brain in a matter of moments. But then there was something else. Beyond the torture and the decades used as a weapon for evil, there was someone else.

He couldn't remember the name, nor the reason she was pushed to the front of his memories. But she was there nonetheless, her pink lips smiling at him gently, her dark brown eyes open wide as she peered down at him. Her mouth opened, and when she spoke, a hundred different things came out at once:

"Hey there, Buck."

"It's about time you woke up, you sleep like a dog."

"Don't you want to talk about it?"

"You're...something."

"Thank you for being...you."

He couldn't remember when she'd said those things, and he didn't know whether or not his brain was telling the truth. Too many years had gone by when he couldn't trust his own mind, having been played with too many times. He slipped into the same trap as he turned his head, discomfort wriggling its way through his body. 

Without meaning to, his eyes opened and surveyed the scene around him. Or maybe it was the light being shined directly into his eyes. 

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Barnes," a gruff voice interrupted his thoughts. A thick accent made his words hard to understand, but he was so disoriented that he couldn't recognize it. "We were beginning to wonder if our assets had injected you with too much of the serum." A hand roughly clapped his shoulder, jolting him to reality. "Of course, they told us you were more tolerant than the others."

The words swam around in his head, confusion bubbling up to the surface. As usual, he didn't process what was being told to him, he just let it be said and float around his consciousness. 

The light turned off and left him momentarily blind from the sudden loss of light, but he slowly adjusted to the more natural lighting coming from a window somewhere behind him, the pale sunlight casting a shadow over the left side of his body. From what he could tell, he was laying on a table that one might find in a morgue, the walls gray and unfeeling. 

He felt heavier than usual, like he was weighed down by an invisible force. Then again, that wasn't unfamiliar for him. Besides, he would rather be confused like this than know the horrors of what he'd done. That was always the worst part. 

"Now, you just lay back and rest, you've got a visitor waiting to see you." The man—clad in a white lab coat and thick-rimmed glasses that magnified his eyes to an alarmingly large size—smiled at him kindly, but the gesture lost its niceties when he arranged his...tools on the smaller table beside him. Included in the pile was a miniature saw, like the one used to cut bone. 

He was beginning to think he really was in a morgue. But then...was he dead?

"No, you're very much alive, my dear boy," he said, the rough voice contrasting with the kind words. "I'm sorry our surroundings are so grim for the time being. But I requested that my works be moved to a more settling location. We'll see if the boss deems it necessary." Wiping his hands on his lab coat, he nodded. "Alright, you ready? Good."