bracchium | some saw the sun; (for fossils)

[The Soldier stood statuesque before the prisoner, rifle in hand, loaded and cocked despite orders to not kill. There's something about this man that disturbs the programming buzzing under his skin, something that unsettles the natural order that confines the Soldier to his duties. Even with his full mask and goggles, The Soldier feels bare- exposed- before this one man.

Maybe it's because the Soldier doesn't know why he was sent for an extraction mission instead of an assassination, because he can hear distant voices in his ear, cries for help that end in a bark of gunfire. Why did this man deserve to live when all the others met terrible ends? It's not his place to question, but the Soldier doubts and he's not entirely sure it's the first time either.

He remembers waking up in the chair, screaming until his voice broke. Mission details about capture and extraction to Siberia. Do not, under any circumstances, kill the target. Holding back had been difficult, not pushing for death at every swing of his knife, but then the Soldier was able to land a few shots he'll be reprimanded for later.

But he did it. The prisoner is here and alive, mostly. The Soldier wants to run, to hand off to the next handler, rather than stand in this awfully small room with a man that unsettles him so deeply, but his orders were to not allow the prisoner to die. So here he is, watching for breathing and consciousness.

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[ In an instant, the Soldier’s hands still, frozen at the reply. Why would he leave? He is a weapon, to be discharged and then locked up again. He has no reason to be anywhere but here. Except-

flames lick his feet as he struggles to push them to move along the factory floor. Looking back over the lake of fire, desperate, “Not without you!”

His heart stops in his chest, his jaw clenched. What the hell was that? But the assault doesn’t stop there. He blinks and he can identify the face on the other side of the molten pit and itt’s-

It’s the prisoner, the target. He was there, in the fire, but that’s impossible.

He looks up, confused and uncertain and questioning. Who the hell

A door rattles somewhere distant, a shuffle of footsteps on stairs.]

[ He hears the sound of someone else moving in the distance, somehow, through the buzzing in his ears. Sees the confusion in Bucky's eyes through the growing haze. His eyebrows knit together and it's fear and frustration creeping up his chest-- ]

Go--

[ The last thing he manages to say as he starts to pass out again. ]

[No. He can’t let this happen. Something deep inside, beneath the layers and layers of conditioning, tells him to stay, to help this prisoner. Not without him. Not in the fire, not now. The Soldier doesn’t even understand why or how, but he can’t leave Steve behind.

Steve. Steve. That kid from Brooklyn.

The footsteps drum closer and the Soldier doesn’t have much time. Sucking in a breath, he pierces the needle into the torn fabric around the knife wound and unsheathes his knife.

But what is he doing? His mission is to capture, to not kill. A rescue is very much the opposite. He can’t-

The footsteps arrive at the door.]

Not without you.

[And he slices through the zip ties around the prisoner’s wrists before stepping back.]

[ He doesn't see the knife coming out, just feels his arms slip from the binding and fall to his sides. Without anything holding him up he starts slumping forward, a hand balancing on his knee at the last second before he falls out of the chair.

There are voices coming from the stairs now. Steve doesn't look as though he's got much fight in him, though he's struggling to get to his feet. Reaches out to Bucky's shoulder. ]

C'mon...

[ They have to move.

Or, rather, Bucky's going to have to do most of the moving for them.

(it's like seventy years ago, you scraping him off the pavement) ]

[When the prisoner collapses to the floor, something inside the Soldier tears, screams in a way it didn't before. He pauses halfway through another step back as the programming and the fragments of a skinny kid from Brooklyn clash behind closed doors. He's failed his mission. In releasing the prisoner, he has completely failed his mission. The handlers on the other side of those stairs will send him back into cold storage, never to wake again. That's what happens to erratic weapons.

He knows that. How, he's not so sure on, but he knows if he gets caught here and now, he'll never walk free again.

But why is he suddenly so worried about his freedom? Since when did he become so selfish?

Too many thoughts tumble through his head, too many to consider all at once. And the voices are so loud.

He ignores the hand reaching for him to move for the chair, scoop it up, and wedge it beneath the door handle. Wait- no- what is he doing, he can't-

Shaking his head, the Soldier returns to the prisoner, to Steve. He doesn't know where they're going, other than out of here.]

[ He steadies himself against a wall instead, one forearm braced against cold concrete. ]

Exits?

[ Blocking the door keeps the men on the other side out, but they're stuck if that's also they're only way out.

They need a plan.

He needs to stand up straight. ]

[The Soldier looks back at the prisoner and then to the door separating them from the gaggle of handlers attempting to break it down. He doesn't know any other way out, but the other side of the concrete wall is another hallway that should lead them away from the cell.

Is he prepared to go this far for a flash of something in his mind? A glitch? A malfunction?

He taps the concrete next to the prisoner with two metal fingers. He could break through it.]

some saw the sun; (for fossils)

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i am forever slow

it's ok i am too