monicawoe (monicawoe) wrote,
monicawoe
monicawoe

Siberia (1953)

A one-shot mission set in the How They Make You a Weapon 'verse.

written for peachofhighgarden's prompt: 1953, Siberia, red flare

word-count: ~800
characters: The Winter Soldier, OCs
The terrain is uneven. Densely growing pines lie ahead, and you weave through them, boots skimming over roots and uneven rock.

"Do not stop until you reach the extraction point. Move as quickly as you can." The commands were clear, as was the red flare signaling the location of the extraction point. Even without a clear line of sight, you know that it's less than eight hundred meters away, now.

You follow your instincts and drive forward until the trees start to thin and you reach a clearing. A snow-covered, steep slope lies ahead. You force your legs to move faster, making up for time lost in the thick of the forest.

Three degrees to the east. You correct your course as you head up the incline, choosing the path with the best footholds. There are goats above you that skitter aside, jumping out of your path as you climb.

The mountain levels out. Your pace increases again, legs burning pleasantly as lactic acid builds and recedes nearly instantly. It feels exhilarating to run this quickly, this far and you wonder if you've always been able to. For some reason, you think the answer is no, but you have no idea why.

The flare was fired less than two hundred meters away. You're nearly at your goal. You run faster, across the flat rock of the mountaintop, boots sending up snowdust in their wake.

Then the ground simply stops.

You're at the edge of a cliff—a chasm, less than twenty meters wide, over two kilometers straight down to the bottom.

The toes of your boots are right at the edge. The extraction point is less than thirty meters away - just on the other side the chasm. You should step back, take a running start, leap across. You can make the jump.

But something is wrong. Your body no longer responds to you commands.

"Докладывайте" says the small grey box strapped to your belt.

You're supposed to respond.

"Доложить немедленно," the voice says.

You stare down at the box on your belt. Your left hand is covered in a metal glove, that extends all the way up your wrist.

The wind from the chasm below howls up, blowing snow against your cheeks and you feel the ground below you shake—hear the screech of steel on iron, a train thundering across a mountain-side track. Your left shoulder twitches.

The box at your hip crackles again "Soldier, proceed to extraction point. Now."

You try to reach for the box, but your fingers are completely numb, as is your entire left arm. It hangs limply from your side.

A shudder runs down your spine and your equilibrium falters. You stagger forwards, feel metal scrape against the inside your skull. You remember falling, falling, falling and the impact of the unforgiving rock. Unbearable pain. A man's voice shouts, "Bucky, no!" His hand reaches for you.

#

Something sharp pushes into your left shoulder.

"И сколько еще раз они заставят нас это проделать? The nerve connections are perfect. Our work is perfect."

"So was Yuri's."

A flare of pain shoots up the inside of your arm. The air smells like singed wires.

"All receptors online. As they were last time. And the time before that."

"That's what I keep telling them. Doesn't matter. They want us to run the tests again, we run them again. I don't want to end up like Yuri, and neither do you."

Your fingers curl and flex, curl and flex.

"It's not us. Not the arm. It's him."

You turn your head. The men in white stare at you. The one on the left stands quickly, knocking over his rolling chair.

After eighty seconds of silence without instruction, you prompt them, "Mission objectives?"

"I'll get the general," says the man on the right, standing slowly, hands raised. He's sweating.

#

"Do you understand your mission, soldier?" the general asks. He stands in front of a helicopter, flanked by two soldiers. Their guns are held at the ready and they're pretending not to stare at you.

"Yes, sir."

"Repeat the objectives."

"Wait for the flare. That is the location of the extraction point. Reach extraction point as quickly as possible. All obstacles are surmountable."

"That's right." The general's lips curl down in displeasure. "Let's see if you can remember that this time." He turns his back on you.

The helicopter departs, sending a flurry of snow into the air.

Moments later, you see a red flare in the distance. You start running.

The terrain is uneven. Densely growing pines lie ahead, and you weave through them, boots skimming over roots and uneven rock.
Translations:
Докладывайте
Report

Доложить немедленно
Report immediately

И сколько еще раз они заставят нас это проделать?
How many times are they going to make us do this?

Tags: bucky barnes, htmyaw, mcu, prompts, winter soldier
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