I Am

There was no alarm blaring on the third level, and for that, the Winter Soldier was grateful.

It faded to a soft whine as they descended. These stairs were stone, seemingly carved out of the wall, a small metal railing jutting out at waist-height to stop clumsy-footed scientists from becoming casualties. In the tasteless green light, the stairwell seemed to fall down into a great abyss. The Soldier recalled the short flight of steps that struck down from the surface, towards the first level, and his calves ached in fond remembrance. He heard Hawkeye’s breath coming in short puffs behind him, over the sounds of three sets of boots descending at a rapid pace. The stone caught the sounds and sent them back, the harsh sounds of the echoes like applause.

After what seemed an eternity, the stairs flattened into a solid floor. The dull, featureless stone room seemed to fall away from the double doors, the bright white paint standing out like a brand. A small lever handle sat in place over a simple key lock. The Soldier took one look at them, and waved Hawkeye over. Sai watched quietly as they huddled up.

“Problem, Buck?” Hawkeye was already reaching into his quiver.

The Soldier nodded at the door. “Locked. You wanna do the honours?”

Hawkeye grinned. “Do I ever.” He unslung his bow, and fished out a few arrows. He slid them smoothly across his fingers, one by one, as he sorted. He discarded one with a blue head; another with a small green tube attached to the bolt; a third with three purple heads. Finally, he settled on one with a red head and a small cartridge attached. He kissed it. Pallid green light reflected on the steel arrowhead as he nocked and drew. Without taking his eyes off the door, he took a few paces back, and up the stairs. His companions followed. It didn’t take a genius to know what was coming next. 

He released the bowstring almost lazily. The arrow whizzed through the air, and the second it made contact with the door a bright flash stabbed at their eyes, leaving a searing after-image. The Soldier blinked at where the doors had met. Now, they had swung slightly inwards, inviting them in with the barest glimpse.

The Soldier drew his sidearm and took point as they advanced, the door swinging at his push. Through the doorway Clint had so elegantly cleared was a short corridor, no more than ten metres. The walls here were solid concrete. The faint green emergency evacuation lights continued to fight the gloom, and it cast a haunting pall over the atmosphere. There were no decorative wall-hangings, no token attempt at habitability; only artless brutalism, right-angles and construction materials, framed within a faint smell of sulphur. I guess the “art” is further on, the Soldier thought, his mouth twisting in distaste. 

Welcome back, James.

There it was again. He hated how little of a surprise it was; he hated how he was expecting it now. Who are you? he thought, already knowing the answer, already knowing it would hear him.

I am the voice you forgot. The organ you buried. The limb you tried to cut away.

Another picture came to mind, unsummoned: a sword parting black, writhing flesh like paper. The Soldier didn’t need to look to recognise that sword at Hawkeye’s hip right now. When– when I attacked Steve, and Clint, in Wakanda - was that you?

Yes.He was vaguely aware of Hawkeye calling his name, and waved him away, distracted. I showed you how insignificant you were before me - and the things we could achieve together.

The Soldier reeled as a sudden wave of vertigo came over him. His hand scrabbled at the wall for purchase. He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths as he continued: You didn’t talk last time. Why now?

You were-

Another picture. A baby, still slathered in its mother’s blood, wailing its first breath.

But you’ve returned. And with me at your side, no one will ever use you to hurt again.

A shock of pink stepped into his view. Warm flesh touched his cheek. The Soldier looked up, his chest rising and falling from stress, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin, and Psylocke was there, and it was as though she understood everything, despite him telling her nothing. Be at ease, James. Sai’s voice spoke inside his mind. It can only hurt you if you allow it.

The Soldier felt it retreat - not fleeing, like a wounded animal, but biding its time. It was a panther who had ruined the hunt, and now it settled back into the bushes to reevaluate its attack. We will see one another again soon, James, the thing inside him promised, its voice fading into some deep crevice of his soul. I will wait.

Five seconds passed. Ten. He felt every one. Fifteen. Only when twenty seconds had passed, and his head was still silent, did the Soldier allow his shoulders to slump, his back to fall against the wall with the weight of a thousand lifetimes, the breath to shoot in and out of his lungs like a bellows. His sidearm was on the floor. When did I…? He pushed himself off the wall. God. I came back. God help me, I really did. He could taste blood.

He looked up at Psylocke. “I heard you,” he began. “You were in my brain.”

Psylocke nodded. “Telepathy is one of my gifts,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I heard your thoughts.”

The Soldier hesitated. “Did you also hear…?” 

Psylocke nodded. Her eyes never left his. “Remember, James,” she assured. “Your mind is their weapon. Let them play with it, and you are theirs.”

He nodded. His mind swept over his frayed nerves, and willed them to settle. It felt his heart racing like a small animal, and slowed its sprint. He clenched and relaxed his fingers, took a deep breath, and nodded at Psylocke a second time. 

He turned to Clint, who was rolling backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet, trying and failing to dispel the nervous energy. “You okay, Buck? We should’ve known it was a bad idea to come back here, Cap could’ve dealt with it, it’s a HYDRA base, he eats them for breakfast, and Sai could kill the thing, we could’ve sat at home and played cards while–” 

The Soldier held up a hand. God in heaven, Clint. “I’m fine. You can stop now.”

Hawkeye stopped. His mouth worked, as if he were chewing the words before spitting them out. “But you’re hurting,” he finally managed. 

Not for long, hopefully. “All soldiers have war wounds, Clint,” the Soldier dismissed, scanning the corridor once more. “Mine are just a bit fresher.”

Two doors beckoned either side. On the left, LAB. 1 and LAB. 2. These were painted white, like the doubles they had parted on their way, giving an air of hygiene and cleanliness. On the right, MAINTENANCEand SECURITY ONLY were unpainted steel, with signs drilled on. Straight on, set into the wall at the end of thee corridor, was some kind of airlock door. Security first, he thought. He placed his hand on the handle, and pushed. It didn’t budge. Oh, screw this, he thought. He coiled his vibranium fingers into a fist, drew back his arm, and drove it forward like a jackhammer. The door crumpled like paper as the lock gave and swung inwards, slamming against the inside wall with a crash like a gunshot.

The security room was little more than a converted broom cupboard. A couple of coffee-stained office chairs were tucked into a simple desk. The long wall was mosaiced with monitors, each displaying a different feed. Column five, row four - twenty monitors, the Soldier calculated. His eyes swept over them. There were the four corpses Psylocke had dispatched with breathtaking speed. There was the Punisher, sitting in the airfield, his eyes sweeping the terrain like a guard dog, a rifle in one hand, a rocket launcher in the other. I’d almost be impressed if he weren’t crazy.

And there–

The Soldier smiled. He put away his sidearm, and tapped a finger to his ear. “Steve. C’me in, Steve. You read?”

On one monitor, a figure in blue stopped rummaging through a bag at his side, and put a finger to his ear. “Buck. How’re things going down there?”

Something about hearing Captain America’s voice always helped settle the Winter Soldier’s nerves. “We’re on the third level. Making our way down. What’re you doing off the airfield?”

A frown furrowed the Captain’s face. The Soldier saw him do a quick check over his shoulder. “How did you–”

“Hey, Big Blue.” Hawkeye’s voice cut in. “We’re at a security office. Look up. Left a bit. More. Theeeere you go. Smile, you’re on camera.”

He did. Most people loved that smile. It was America’s smile. But to the Soldier, it always seemed a little sad. Like he could still see the kid from Brooklyn in there somewhere, the kid that got left behind. 

“Hey, Buck.” Cap put two fingers to his head and skipped them away in a mock salute. “Frank told me about the mission you gave him. He mixed some portable explosives with some jet fuel, and made some bombs powerful enough to bring this place down.” He dug one such creation out of a satchel bag at his hip. At first sight, it was little more than a simple plastic explosive - but if it had a jet fuelled kick... 

“How many have you got?”

“Castle guessed we had enough for the first and second floors, but if the second floor has an armoury like the map said, then with a little time, we can rig the whole damn place.”

The Soldier nodded. “And how’re things going topside?”

“They’ve stopped coming. Either we got ‘em all, or they’ve wised up. Be careful down there.”

“We will.”

“Then let you know when I’m done. Out.”

On the screen, the Captain’s finger fell away from his ear. He strode off, shoulders high, head straight ahead. A man on a mission, just like always, the Soldier reflected. 

“There are no screens for this floor.” Psylocke’s voice split the silence. 

The Soldier scanned the screens, and found that she was right. “Guess they don’t want any evidence of what’s going on down here. Pity. Could’ve used the info.” He turned to his team. “We done here?” he concluded. Hawkeye nodded. Psylocke inclined her head. They stepped back out to the hall.

The two LABs were in front of him now. The doors were calling to him. The Soldier sighed, and pushed at the handle of LAB. 1. 

His heart felt like it stopped as he looked inside. 

The room was cavernous, the size of a house that had been gutted and its shell used for a laboratory. The walls had been painted a soft ceramic white, while the carpets were a thin, curly wool. Against most of the walls were tables, with microscopes and computers, notebooks and television screens. The entire room stank of cleaning chemicals. But against the wall facing the door was the true horror.

Nine tanks stood in a row, craning over him like monoliths. Each was filled with an unknown fluid that the Soldier had no interest in learning about, even as one belched a bubble that sifted through the viscous formula to the surface to pop lazily. Thick tubing connected the tanks to computer terminals, and each was a blur of light and noise. Inside eight of the tanks was the silhouette of a human form.

The farthest right tank was shattered. On its ruins was printed the words CANARY.

Hawkeye’s hand touched the Soldier’s shoulder. He barely felt it. 

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.

“Buck.” It was Hawkeye. He was trying to keep the tremble out of his voice, and failing. “You’re… you’re all right.”

A humourless chuckle escaped the Soldier’s lips. His eyes were drinking in the room, but they kept getting pulled back to that ruined tank. He took a few steps towards it. The things you didto me here, he thought. I was getting better. I was healing. After everything I had done, they still forgave me. He took some more steps forward. Steve forgave me. Clint forgave me. They trusted me. I was learning to trust them, too. Maybe even to trust myself. 

There were no more steps to take. The ruined tank was barely a metre in front of him. The dancing lights of the computer panel reflected on his vibranium arm. His companions hadn’t taken a single step. He barely noticed. You made me… less. Tried to take away Bucky, again. No. Not after everything I did to piece him back together. No. No.

His vibranium hand extended out, as if it had a life of its own, and took hold of the console. He moved his fingers along it, almost caressing it.

No. He put his other hand on the device, and squeezed. Glass crunched in his steel hand as the screen folded in upon itself. Metal squealed as it bent, and plastic buttons cracked and crumbled to pieces. Sparks flew before his face like fireflies. Harder and harder he crushed it, twisting the computer into scrap. Half-kept memories danced behind his eyes as his fingers worked, too fast for his mind to recognise them. He didn’t try. He simply revelled in the sensation of it all.

Then it was over. He had a hunk of metal in his vibranium hand no bigger than a tennis ball. He tossed it up and down a couple of times idly, before tossing it in a baseball pitch at the nearest tank. It struck the glass with a deafening crash, and the cocktail within began glooping out. It had the viscosity of ketchup. The sight of it was simultaneously revolting and liberating beyond his wildest dreams.

Pathetic. Are they not?

Just like that, the high was gone. His jaw set itself.

I would still be here if you had YOUR way. I’d still be your fucking canary.

But you are not.

Another image: a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. 

And now you have returned.

Yeah. To kill you.

You are welcome to try. And finally, when you have exorcised your anger–

Image: a knight, resplendent in his armour, atop a warhorse. 

We can destroy those who have wronged us.

The Soldier felt another presence in his mind, like a reflection on the water. Psylocke. He gently pushed her away, willing her to leave, and she was gone.

I have a gift for you. Come forward–

Image: the airlock doors, at the end of the tunnel.

-you will find it there.

And behind it, me.

The presence receded.

Hawkeye spoke first, from his side. His eyes were heavy with uncertainty. “Buck, you can… you can cry off, if you need to.”

“No,” he replied, too harshly. The purple gloved hand came down off his shoulder. Now the uncertainty behind Hawkeye’s had evolved fully into sympathy. The Soldier made himself relax his muscles. “The voice in my head… it’s getting louder,” he confessed. “Clearer. It’s waiting for us. It’s got a gift for me.”

Silence fell for a moment. Then:

“Then what are we waiting for?” Psylocke asked. “Let us put an end to this.”

They left. He never looked at the tank again.

Back in the hallway, the Soldier stepped towards the airlock door. It had no handle; only a simple green button set into it. He hesitated, and pressed it. The door slid open smoothly. Hidden behind was a small room with plastic walls, and an identical door on the other side. As the last of them stepped through - Hawkeye, who was occasionally checking behind them for pursuers - the door slid shut once more. A hissing noise began, and air shot in through holes in the floor and ceiling. Gas!, the Soldier’s reflexes screamed- before a light kicked in above the door in front of them. It read DECONTAMINATION IN PROGRESS. Right. Can’t risk the superhuman soldiers getting the sniffles. Behind him, Psylocke wrestled with her skirt as the jets buffeted it. 

Eventually, the jets subsided, and the door slid open - to a sight that was both horrifying and satisfying in equal measure.

The decontamination chamber opened into what seemed to be a giant prison wing. Poured concrete walls tinged the whole room grey, while lights hanging from the ceiling bathed it in a harsh white. A dozen cells extended on each side, separated by thick steel bars. Against one wall was a rack of sidearms, but the Soldier knew they were replicas. It’s just like back in Russia, he mused. Best way to make the super-soldiers stronger is by putting them against each other. But the unpleasant memories the room conjured up were nothing compared to the horrors it housed now.

Bodies of security guards were piled in the centre of the room in what could only be disguised as a “heap”. At a quick estimate, the Soldier estimated two dozen, artlessly piled. They looked fresh, but the corpse-stink was already starting to spread across the room. Psylocke pulled her scarf over her nose, while Hawkeye tried to cover his face with his hood, with limited success. 

“I guess this is my ‘gift’,” the Soldier grimaced. “Sai - were these here when you scouted?”

Psylocke shook her head. “When I infiltrated this place, this naraka was empty. As it should be.” 

The bite in her voice took the Soldier by surprise. He took a step closer towards the pile. “Anything we can learn from them? How to kill this… this particular demon?”

The ninja stood before the bodies. “Perhaps.” She grabbed one by the arm, and hauled it down. Six bullet-holes in his chest stood out like red zeroes, calling their eyes to see the slaughter. 

“Shot.” He scanned the other bodies. “Him too. And him. Think they all have been.”

“Hysteria.” Psylocke stood. “The demon reached inside their minds. Called on them to kill one another.”

Forwards, James. I am here.

The voice was louder now. The Soldier felt a tugging sensation, dragging him onwards, and almost lost his balance. Oh, hell.

Hawkeye’s hands steadied him. “Buck, come on, we have to leave, you can’t–”

“No.”

Psylocke’s voice surprised both of them. Something had changed in her face. It was set now. It promised drawn blades and loaded guns. “It dies. Now.” She turned to Hawkeye. “You wait outside. Ensure we are not followed.”

“What? No ‘Clinton’? And why aren’t I invited?”

“You are dangerous.”

“I thought that was the point.”

Psylocke’s eyes blazed. “The yokai past those doors is able to manipulate minds. We can afford no more risk than we must. I go to kill it. James comes because it is connected to him. No one else.”

He can’t come, the Soldier realised. If something happens… and he goes off the handle… He met Hawkeye’s eyes. “I know you want to help, Clint,” he murmured, “but she’s right. I’m not having my death on your conscience.”

Hawkeye looked back and forth between them, desperate to make some retort, but finding none. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But come back to me.”

The Soldier gave him a half-smile, and nodded at Psylocke. “Let’s go.”

At the back of the vast prison room, tucked away around a corner, was a door with yet another keypad. The Soldier flexed his vibranium fingers, drew back his fist, and cleared the way.