My Name Is Bucky

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I jumped the fence that separated my gate from the others. I needed to blend in. A guy with a backpack running away from something didn't look very innocent.

I jogged up the steps, looking left and right as to avoid him. I found a large crowd of people traveling across a road. I joined them.

The man's reaction was burned into my mind. I knew him. Pain shot through my head.

Stop. Where do you know him?
A mission.

Which one?
The failed one. Captain America.

As soon as I thought of that name, a searing pain shot through my head. I fell to the ground in the middle of the crowd, and I heard a woman's voice trying to talk to me. I pushed her aside and ran up so quickly that I almost tripped.

I ran down the street. All of the lights and sounds swirled together. I couldn't make anything out. I didn't know anything.

Think, dammit.

Name
The Winter Soldier

Rank
Sergeant

Mission
Kill Nick Fury

Status
Off the grid

I held my head in my hands. What was happening? Why was I even off mission? That was a really dumb decision.

The man. Falcon.

I just retained my memory of how I truly knew him. I knew that he was from a past mission with captain America, but I started to recount the details of that mission.

He had known me. Captain America, I mean. He knew me. What did he call me? Pain shot through my head again.

I'm starting to notice that I'm not allowed to remember anything important. Like my name. Because that's what he called me.

In my memory, it's just a blur. Everything is normal, and then it's like a TV censor went off and blocked out a curse word. I'm not allowed to remember because they don't want me to.

I hate being their pet. I hate it. They should be afraid of me, if anything. I'm a killer. A bad, bad, person. I pulled my hood up over my head and readjusted my pack.

I headed out of an alleyway and kept my head low. I had gotten worse at blending in. They'll find me. At this point, I'm not even worried about Falcon. I'm worried about them. My handlers.

I gripped the worn down strap of my backpack. People were talking on their phones, running into other people, bumping into things. I scowled.

I wanted a normal life. I know that he, I mean I, had one at some point. He wrote about it in journals. Something about a friend named- I can't remember.

In his journals, my journals, dammit, the name was always crossed out. Like they wanted to taunt me. They liked to dangle the prize in front of my face to yank it away when I got close.

I didn't notice that I was standing still. The woman from the subway was staring at me. We made eye contact. She's pathetic. Can't do much. I've seen her in practice.

I raised my eyebrow before sprinting down the sidewalk and turning into random alleys and nooks that I could get into. I heard her behind me.

I dropped the backpack. Screw unnecessary attachment. Taking a deep breath, I launched myself into the ladder of an apartment building. It was maybe 8 feet off the ground.

Without shifting it down, I climbed up onto the roof and jumped to the next roof top. I jumped onto a lower rooftop from there, and climbed down into the alleyway.

My head started to pound. Now was not the time for me to try and remember something. I don't even know why he'd have a memory in an alleyway! Jesus Christ.

The woman ran past me on the street, failing to notice me within the small nook near the back of the alley. I tried to catch my breath. Something wasn't right with me, but when was it ever?

I had lost my glove somewhere in the scuffle, and my metal hand glistened in the harsh light. I shoved that hand into my pocket and headed out to the opposite street of the lady.

The street was quiet. There was one man walking a large dog, on his phone. With so many people on their phones, they'll never notice me.

Now, I wouldn't really call these streets the scenic route, but they worked. They were out of the way of the traffic and tiny. I normally hid in plain sight, so the agent won't look here until later.

What was a bit difficult to hide was my posture. I walked like a soldier. I could hunch my back, and I have on occasion, but it doesn't make me look any different.

I took the money that I had stored in my wallet and headed to a crappy convenience store on the corner. The door got stuck, so I had to use more force than necessary to open the door.

It smelled like liquor and peppermint. The man behind the counter looked to be in his middle ages. He counted some money in his hand before putting it into an envelope. He shut the cash register and talked to a young guy who had just walked into the line.

Pretty sure that was illegal. Too bad I didn't care.

I slowly sulked in the aisles. Everything was cheap, which was a plus. I grabbed a handful of microwaveable Mac and cheese, a bottle of water, and skittles.

When added up, it totaled $13. If I rationed this correctly, I could eat for eight days. It was okay if I didn't eat here and there. I'd just have to have enough food and money to last until I could take some money.

I headed to the old counter. The other guy had gone already. As I was setting my items down, I noticed posters in the bulletin board on the back. Wouldn't you know, there was a wanted poster for none other than me. I read the name, and my head started to pound.