Salvage Operation

The Potomac churned with debris. Three massive helicarriers—technological marvels meant to eliminate threats before they materialized—now reduced to twisted metal and smoke. A fitting metaphor, Maria Hill thought, for SHIELD itself.

"Sector four clear," crackled a voice over her comm unit. "Moving to sector five."

She stood on the riverbank, tablet in hand, coordinating the remnants of what had once been the world's premier intelligence agency. Now they were just people in unmarked tactical gear, trying to salvage what they could before various government agencies descended.

"Keep it moving," she responded. "Priority is any tech with data storage capabilities. Secondary objective remains surveillance for high-value targets."

That was the sanitised way of saying they were looking for bodies—specifically, two bodies. Captain America and the Winter Soldier. The assassin who had terrorized intelligence communities for fifty years, now revealed to be James Buchanan Barnes, war hero and Captain America's long-lost friend.

Phil Coulson approached, his normally immaculate suit showing signs of the past forty-eight hours—wrinkled sleeves, loosened tie, a smudge of ash on one shoulder.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Rogers hasn't been found yet. Witness reports suggest he washed ashore downstream, but was removed by civilians before our teams arrived."

Coulson nodded. "And the other one?"

Hill hesitated. "Nothing confirmed."

Their conversation was interrupted by an urgent voice over the comm.

"Agent Hill, we've got something in sector seven. Riverbank, east side, under debris. Male, unconscious, metal arm visible. Requesting instructions."

Hill and Coulson locked eyes. The Winter Soldier.

"Maintain position. Secure perimeter. We're inbound," Hill responded, already moving.

They made their way quickly along the muddy riverbank, past teams recovering debris and dodging the first responders who had finally been allowed access to the scene. The destruction was staggering—parts of the Triskelion had collapsed, smoke still billowing from what had once been SHIELD headquarters.

Four agents had established a perimeter around a section of collapsed concrete and twisted metal. As Hill and Coulson approached, they could see what had drawn their attention.

A man lay half-submerged in the shallow water, unmoving. Dark hair obscured his face, but the gleam of metal was unmistakable—his left arm, exposed where his tactical gear had been torn away, fingers still dug into the mud of the riverbank as if he had dragged himself from deeper water before collapsing.

"Is he alive?" Coulson asked.

One of the agents nodded. "Breathing detected. Appears unconscious. Multiple injuries visible."

Hill assessed the situation quickly. "We need to move him before local authorities expand their perimeter. Get a medical team here immediately, and prepare the extraction vehicle."

"Should we neutralize the arm?" one agent asked, hand hovering over his weapon.

"Negative," Coulson said firmly. "We need him intact."

The team moved efficiently, clearing debris from around the Winter Soldier. Up close, his injuries were more apparent—a gunshot wound to his right shoulder, facial contusions, possibly broken ribs from the way his breathing hitched.

As they prepared to move him onto a stretcher, his eyes snapped open.

The reaction was immediate and violent. Despite his injuries, the Winter Soldier lashed out with the metal arm, sending one agent flying backward. He tried to rise, movements uncoordinated but still dangerous.

"Soldat, stand down!" Hill shouted in Russian, weapon trained on him.

His eyes—wild, confused, almost feral—darted between them. There was no recognition, just instinct. He managed to get to his knees before his body betrayed him, a pained sound escaping his lips as his right arm gave out.

"Barnes," Coulson said, his voice deliberately calm. "We're not HYDRA."

The name seemed to register somewhere behind those eyes, causing a momentary hesitation—just long enough for the tactical team to move in. The Winter Soldier attempted to fight back, but his movements were sluggish, uncoordinated. Blood darkened the water around him.

It took four agents to restrain him, and even then, he continued to struggle until a medic administered a sedative. As the drug took effect, his eyes remained open, disoriented and filled with something Hill hadn't expected to see.

Fear.

"He should be terminated immediately," Colonel Ross insisted, pacing the length of the makeshift command center they'd established in an abandoned SHIELD safe house. "The risk is unacceptable."

Coulson remained seated, reviewing the initial medical assessment on his tablet. "The Winter Soldier is perhaps the most valuable intelligence asset we could have recovered from this disaster. He's been inside HYDRA for decades."

"He's a weapon, Coulson. One that's malfunctioning, by all accounts. Rogers clearly triggered something in his programming."

"Which makes him even more valuable," Coulson countered. "If HYDRA's conditioning can be broken, it opens possibilities we haven't considered."

Hill stood by the monitors displaying the secured medical bay where the Winter Soldier lay unconscious, restrained by reinforced restraints specially designed for enhanced individuals. Medical staff worked around him, treating his wounds with wary efficiency.

"His injuries are severe," she reported. "Multiple gunshot wounds, broken ribs, internal bleeding. Even with enhanced healing, he'll be incapacitated for at least twenty-four hours."

Ross snorted. "You hope. We don't know enough about his enhancements to make that assumption."

"Which is exactly why we need to study him," Coulson said, his tone reasonable but firm. "This isn't just about Barnes. It's about the serum HYDRA used, the neural interface of that arm, the conditioning techniques they perfected. Information we need."

"And when he wakes up and tears through your containment?" Ross challenged.

"That's why we're moving him to the Sandbox," Coulson replied. "The facility was designed for containing enhanced individuals. It survived the HYDRA reveal with minimal infiltration. Security protocols are being upgraded as we speak."

Ross wasn't satisfied. "I want military oversight. If you're keeping this weapon, it's with full containment protocols, regular status reports, and the understanding that if he shows any sign of reverting to HYDRA programming, termination is immediate."

Coulson didn't immediately agree, his gaze drifting to the monitor. The medical team had removed the Winter Soldier's tactical gear. Without it, the juncture where metal met flesh was visible—a mass of scar tissue that spoke of procedures performed without concern for the subject's comfort or dignity.

"We're not HYDRA," Coulson said quietly. "We don't destroy valuable assets, and we don't just release security threats."

"He's not a prisoner of war, Coulson. He's a weapon. One that's killed dozens, possibly hundreds of people. Including your own agents."

"Under HYDRA's control. Which means everything he knows about their operations, their protocols, their bases—it's all in his head. If we can access that information—"

"That's a significant 'if,'" Hill interjected, ever practical. "From what we know of HYDRA's conditioning, extracting reliable intelligence won't be simple."

Coulson nodded, acknowledging the challenge. "Which is why I've already reached out to Dr. Hayes. He's a neurologist specializing in memory recovery and trauma. Was on the SHIELD science division watch list before everything went sideways."

Ross's expression darkened. "A civilian?"

"A genius with the necessary expertise and no known HYDRA connections," Coulson corrected. "He's being vetted and transported to the Sandbox as we speak."

A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the beeping of medical equipment on the monitors. Ross clearly wanted to argue further, but even he had to acknowledge that eliminating the Winter Soldier meant losing potentially crucial intelligence.

"Fine," he finally conceded. "But I want daily reports, full containment protocols, and military personnel present during all interrogations."

"Agreed," Coulson said, rising from his seat. "But let's be clear about one thing: as far as the world is concerned, the Winter Soldier died in the Potomac. If word gets out that we have Barnes in custody..."

"Rogers would tear apart whatever is left of SHIELD to get to him," Hill finished.

"Exactly. And I'm not convinced he'd be wrong to do so." Coulson turned to the monitors one last time. "Transport leaves in thirty minutes. I want our best people on this, and I want it quiet."

As they dispersed to prepare for the transfer, Hill lingered, watching the unconscious form on the screen. James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Asset. Weapon. Victim?