W A S H I N G T O N, D. C.

April 12th, 2014

I don't even remember the exact moment I woke up. One moment I was holding my baby daughter, calming her down and putting her back to sleep. The next everything was dark and cold. Extremely cold, to the point where it would burn if I tried to move.

And there were also the voices. Men yelling at each other as if the world was ending. Between blurs and screams, I managed to understand one of their exchanges.

"Mission report!"

"It's done. Captain America is dead."

But that's it. Nothing more than that. It all felt like a dream. Or better said, a nightmare.

By the time I regained consciousness, many hours had passed. But I didn't know that. I wake up tied to the bed of a cheap motel room. I have no idea what has happened. I don't know where I was. And most important, I don't know who the man staring at me from the other side of the room is.

"Calm down." He says to me before I have the chance to react to the situation. I am tied to a bed and I don't remember anything for God knows how long. That should be enough to freak out but what he tells me next isn't help at all. "You've just woken up from hibernation. You are gonna experience some side effects."

My first instinct is to yell, cry for help so someone could save me from the psychopath who had kidnapped me. Yet, when I try to scream, my voice barely comes out.

"Wh..."

"You've got questions." He approaches the bed I'm laying on with a glass filled with a liquid. It takes me a few seconds to realize it's only water. I drink it all, discovering how thirsty I actually am. "I know."

I look at the man. He is scruffy looking, with long dark hair that almost reaches his shoulders and a three-day beard. He seems angry and he looks like he isn't someone to mess up with. And still, there is something in his eyes that pulls me to trust him.

"Where am I?"

He waits a few seconds before replying. "Three hours north of D.C."

I nod. For a moment, I think he is going to tell me everything. "Why am I here? Who are you?"

I shouldn't have taken my chance for granted. Two questions were too many to answer at the same time. He ignores me and interrogates me instead. "Do you remember who you are?"

I think that's a very personal question that I don't have to answer to him. But I do answer it in my head.

I am Anna Lewis. I'm 23 years old. I live in Queens with my husband and daughter. And I have no idea what I'm doing in D.C.

"Are you gonna hurt me?"

"No." He tells me in a soothing voice but it doesn't calm me. The situation is making me desperate and the only thing I want to do is to go back home. Back with my family.

"Just tell me what happened." I beg him. "Please..."

He sighs. "HYDRA just fell. Do you know what HYDRA is?"

I shake my head. I've never heard of HYDRA.

"HYDRA was an authoritarian organization infiltrated in SHIELD and responsible for the greatest catastrophes in contemporary history."

Now I nod, but I still don't understand. He's dropping names and assuming I know about them when in fact I think I'm having a fever dream and nothing is real. "What's SHIELD?"

I can see that it's hard for him to not facepalm himself. "Do you even remember your name?" I nod again, but I don't tell it to him. He still hasn't told me anything and I'm just more confused than before. I feel the back of my eyes burning as tears start building up. "Well, I think we'll finish sooner if you tell me what you know." He lowers his voice, knowing that pressuring me would do no good. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I-I was putting my daughter to sleep." I say, trying to calm down. "I had spent the last few days studying for my final exams but also planning something for her first birthday and the holidays."He looked away from me and narrowed his eyes, like he was trying to remember something. What I didn't know is that he was actually counting.

"When was she born?"

"1999." I simply answer, not knowing what my daughter's birthday has to do with any of this.

"That was 15 years ago."

I blink, still not understanding. "What?"

"It's 2014." He says and I now know for a fact that this can't be real. Yeah right, first hibernation, then strange world organizations and now time travel. I feel like Marty McFly when he wakes up and sees the young version of his mother.

"It can't be... It can't be. I must be dreaming, it has to be that."

"Hey, calm down. You're not dreaming." He keeps a calm tone, but again, it doesn't work and I'm on the verge of hyperventilation. "You don't remember anything because you were brainwashed. You blacked out when you were activated."

"What? Activated...? What are you talking about?"

"You're a Winter Soldier." He sighs like it's difficult for him to say those words. "A ruthless assassin trained to follow orders from HYDRA."

"I'm not that." I say, offended. I also push my body forward but I don't achieve much. My hands are still tied to the bed. "I don't know how to fight and I would never hurt a fly." I move again and this time my hands break free. But the nightmare continues when I eventually see my arms. They are not flesh anymore. Instead of forearms, I have metal parts. I don't know if my actual arms are still there or if I completely lost them. However, I can see that there's still skin in the palm of my hands. I stare at them like I'm stoned for the first time. "What the hell?"

"I took your file." The man says while he holds up a brown folder with weird symbols and numbers on its cover. He leaves it on the table in the middle of the room before he keeps talking. "Everything you want to know about your past. Whenever you want to see it, I'll leave it here."

It seems like he's about to leave the room so I stop him before he can. "Wait." Surprisingly, he does and he turns around to look at me. "Who are you?" I ask my unanswered question once again.

"Another Winter Soldier." He opens the door and before walking out of it he finishes. "Barnes."

He leaves and I hear the door locking from the outside. The whole situation is taking way too long to be a nightmare and I have to tell myself that theory may be wrong. I look back at my arms again, examining them. They don't feel like metal at all. I can move them perfectly and I wouldn't even notice they were like that if no one told me. Then I remember that, in fact, I hadn't realized I had them until I saw it with my own eyes. The metal is shining and it looks like it has taken some hits. It's not dented or rusted or anything. But it's definitely old.

I feel a soreness I'm my shoulder when I lift my arm up to see closer. The feeling travels down my back and I let out a grunt. My whole body aches. Now I know why my kidnapper has left me alone. I wouldn't be able to go anywhere, even if I wanted to.

I look at the table in the middle of the motel room. More specifically, I look at the file. I would be lying to myself if I said I didn't feel tempted to have a look at it. I get up of the bed, cursing as my articulations ache when I move them, and I make my way to the table. I fall on a chair next to it and I finally grab the folder.

I don't understand anything written on it, but the longer I stare at it I begin to recognise its true meaning. What I thought were symbols are actually letters. I don't know how, because I don't know the language, but I recognize those are Russian words. Still, I can't read what they say.

I open the file and everything is in Russian. There's handwritten parts, typed parts and even pictures, but nothing makes sense since I don't understand the language. There's one picture that catches my attention, though. It looks like me.

But I'm dead.

My eyes are closed and my face is pale, with a blueish undertone. It looks like I'm in a morgue and I swear it's the creepiest thing I've ever seen. I want to close the folder and go back to bed with the hope to wake up back at home. But instead, I turn the page and I feel like I've found a hidden treasure.

It's a file with my personal information. My name, my birthdate, my nationality, my family,... But nothing's right. My name is wrong. It says it's Müller, in lieu of Lewis or even my maiden name, Matthews. It also says I've got a brother, that I speak a bunch of different languages (and I definitely know I don't) and that I was born in a country named Sokovia, wherever that is.

Then there're more pictures. Pictures of me handling guns. Pictures of crime scenes. People hurt. Evidence. Blood. Death.

This time, I close the folder and look away horrified. There are tears starting to creep out from the corner of my eyes. I may not understand anything that's written, but it doesn't take me long to know what that file is. This is a criminal record and the worst part is: it's mine.

I'm the criminal.