[Underneath Bucky's skin, the programming burns with life, tearing through ice and snow alike. Bright orange gears rip through the earth and boil the mud into steaming muck. Within two more words, Bucky is transparent and fragile, pieces of him ripped away, but by the last, he shatters into a million different pieces, swept away into the sun that is the programming.
Now only the Soldier stands before Sam, the programming clanging and screaming free of locks Bucky keeps on it. His eyes are empty of everything except that same cold that usually runs rampant across the surface of Bucky's mind, that keeps the programming sealed away.
But now it's free and the cold migrates to the Soldier's gaze, waiting for the final call and response.]
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Now only the Soldier stands before Sam, the programming clanging and screaming free of locks Bucky keeps on it. His eyes are empty of everything except that same cold that usually runs rampant across the surface of Bucky's mind, that keeps the programming sealed away.
But now it's free and the cold migrates to the Soldier's gaze, waiting for the final call and response.]