Blinking my eyes open, I am met with an unfamiliar environment. The white, sterile walls had no resemblance to the dim lit chambers in Siberia. The sheets beneath me feel soft and unfamiliar, a far cry to the frigid touch of a metal chair. My surroundings buzz with a futuristic aura, seeming like I woke up in a different time–a time that I'm not familiar with. I feel like I'm dreaming, lost in a world that doesn't know I exist.

My mind struggles to understand my location, not knowing where I am or who brought me here. Where the hell are we? My memory fails me again, its usual sharpness toned down into a hazy memory that I can't pinpoint. I push myself up, a sharp pain courses through my body. Looking down at my arm, I see an IV pushing a clear fluid into my body and instinctively, I pull it out. Not again. The act feels familiar, barbaric, and I can't quite figure out why. It's like I've done the same action time and time again, but I don't know when or why.

My thoughts spin, a whirlwind of confusion and frustration racks my brain. The more I try to grasp my reality, the further it slips away like sand between my fingers. Memories tease the corners of my mind like dancing shadows too far out of reach. The harder I try to reach them, the more elusive they become.

          Abruptly, my thoughts are disrupted by footsteps approaching my room. An uneasy feeling washes over me as I realize I have no means of protecting myself. You know your way out of anything. I turn my head, I am met with the figure of Steve Rogers in front of me. His presence causes a ripple effect in my mind, feelings of curiosity and distrust consume me. Cautiously, I move myself to the far side of the bed, narrowing my eyes at him. Don't trust anyone.

"Take it easy," Steve says gently, contrasting the uneasiness within me. He takes a seat across the room, giving me space to feel comfortable. "I know you're confused and that is understandable."

"Where am I?" Before I consider the consequences of my words, I question him with a sense of urgency I've never had. "Where is–"

          Before I can finish my question, Winter walks through the door. My words falter as he enters, drawing my attention like a magnet. His mere presence tugs at something within me, a current flowing within me. But I just don't understand it. It's a strange sensation that I can't shake. My confusion deepens as I stare back at the two men in front of me.

"We're in Wakanda," Winter says, trying to get a read on me. Part of me wants to understand him and the lengths he's gone to bring me here. Another says I'm going to get the hell out of here and never look back. "You're safe here."

The term safe has never been a term I used. Nothing about me is safe. Being held against my will doesn't make me feel 'safe', The concept of safety isn't a custom to someone like me. I was created by Hydra, a tool shaped for destruction. My entire existence is eliminating those who stand as a threat to my creator.

I lock eyes with Winter, narrowing them towards him. "Don't expect me to believe that this is for my well-being? I'm here because it's your purpose, not mine."

His shoulders tense up, a subtle but noticeable reaction to my words. In his gaze, I see something that I can't define–perhaps it may be frustration? Resignation? However, it sparked something within him that's going to make this situation difficult to navigate.

Steve injects before Winter can respond. "We brought you here to help you. To give you the chance to remember who you are." His voice is earnest, filled with a sense of hope.

I roll my eyes, showing my distaste for their so-called 'plan'. "I know who I am. The Red Ghost. I was created by Hydra to wreak havoc on society. That's all I've ever been."

He sighs, his expression softening. A mix of sympathy and regret swirl in his features. "You may not remember now, but we are here to help guide you."

          Looking down at my hands, I see the scars and bruises that cover my hands, traveling up my forearms. They are a roadmap of the battles I've faced during my reign of horrors. The evidence of my wrath is etched into my skin, a constant reminder of the chaos I've caused. Every life I took. And the damages I left behind. We did everything exactly as it was meant to be. I squeeze my eyes shut, as if to push every single thought out of my mind. Everything I've done is a testament to my path, the only path that I have followed for as long as I can remember. Now, they want me to uncover a lost identity. But what if I don't want to know?

"You may try," I say, void of emotion. "But don't waste your time on someone who doesn't want to be saved."

***

          The unfamiliar environment met of sterile, white walls feel more like a prison than a place for healing. A man named T'Challa, the King of Wakanda, made sure that I was given the best 'care' due to their advancements in technology. They're all the same; they will experiment on us. They want to help–more than I'd like to admit–but I feel more in confinement, like every move I make is monitored and controlled.

I sit at the edge of the bed, my feet barely grazing the floor. My fingers trace the intricate floral design on the blanket, keeping my mind occupied for the time being. This is the first time in my life I've been without a mission to pursue. The absence of my purpose feels like a void. I've spent my life following orders, honing in on my combat skills, and training to become the assassin I'm destined to be. It's all I've ever been trained for, and now that's been ripped out from under me.

          In Wakanda, I feel as if I'm losing a part of myself. The familiar weight and comfort of my weapons is absent. My uniform is no longer in my possession, making me feel like they're stripping me of what I am. An unfamiliar feeling of emptiness and lack of purpose consumes me. All I've been accustomed to is gone, too far out of reach. This emptiness is unnerving, like a void echoing within me. The adrenaline that used to course through my veins during missions, the tension of danger, the thrill of the kill – it's all been replaced by an unsettling stillness. It's as if a piece of me has been taken, leaving me incomplete.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, and I tense, my senses are on high alert. The door opens, and Winter walks through the door, his presence is unnerving and reassuring. He's been the only constant thing that's walked through my life, but now, he walks a different life than I.

"Still adjusting to this place?" His voice is gentle, a stark difference from the assassin he used to be.

I shrug, my gaze dropping back to my hands as they continue to trace the blanket. I don't trust my words, they could betray me and be used against me if I'm not smart. Part of me wants to lash out, demand answers, and to control my own life. The other part of me feels anchored to this room, to confront my part and understand who I am. But how do I explain my conflicting thoughts to someone I don't know how to trust?

"I know you're frustrated," he says, empathetically. "It takes time. Wakanda is different from the world that we're used to."

I scoff, balling my hands into fists as I bring them closer to me. I refuse to look at him. "Why? What's the point of digging up a past that has been buried? I was–am–content on what I've become–the Red Ghost, the asset."

I feel his gaze burning into me as he moves to sit next to me. The closeness makes me feel uneasy, not quite sure what his intentions are. "Your life was taken from you. You deserve to know your truth."

My eyes meet his, a skeptical look filling my features. A storm is brewing within me, my anger boiling, but I try my best to contain it. "Did you ever think I chose this for myself? That forgetting is easier than consuming myself with the burden of knowing?"

He sighs, running a hand through his long hair. Something hangs heavy on his chest, but I can't read him. "I know what you've been through. The experiments, training, all of it. But there was a time where you were more than a weapon. You were..." his voice trails off, stopping him from saying too much.

I remain silent, my eyes moving from his to the wall in front of me. He is right–I can't deny that he understands the depths of the torture that ensured on me. Some of it doesn't make sense, it seems like more of a dream than a reality. Everything I've ever done sticks with me. I remember every kill, every mission, everything. It's etched into my mind like an unhealed wound. And his words only fuel a fire within me that I can't comprehend–unwiring the conditioning, the habits, the fear of knowing the truth lays heavy on my mind.

"You were the one person who saw the best in me," his voice breaks the silence, bringing my attention back to him. "Even when I was at my lowest, you saw something worth saving. I believe that person is still in you."

I shake my head, refusing to believe I would ever help him escape Hydra's control. I did not help him. My mind is a labyrinth of Hydra's control, keeping me in line and level headed. The idea of any sort of rebellion against Hydra is impossible for me to understand. A whirlwind of confusion, anger, and a strange sense of yearning surge my mind. I cannot ignore his words, but I can refuse to let them in.

"You know nothing, Winter. Whatever you think we had, it's gone," I seeth, letting him know of my frustration. "I told you once that I will loathe you for the rest of my life."

He stands up, anxiously pacing the room, his presence unwavering at my resistance. He responds steadily, his voice aggressive and dominant. Nothing I say makes him back down. "You can hate me. You can ignore me. You can shut me out. But I will never leave you behind. Never. Do you understand that?"

The weight of his words are heavy. His declaration pierces through my defenses. It's a promise that unsettles me, but also, warms something inside. I am not ready to pull down my defenses and allow myself to understand who I am. We don't want to know. My eyes harden as I look at him, mirroring the feeling I have inside.

"I don't need your assurances," I voice strained, trying to keep myself in line. "I don't need anyone. I never did."

As he turns away, leaving the door ajar, the connection I have with him always stays with me. No matter how fiercely I deny it, it persists, and one day, I will get around to understanding it. It's a current I can't miss, one that sticks with me like a faded scar. It's a piece of a puzzle that doesn't fit yet, but I cannot ignore its existence. Its meaning. Someday, when the walls in my mind begin to crumble, I might find some truth to it.

          Alone once more, my intrusive thoughts swarm in, bearing down on me like an unrelenting storm. We need to escape. This is not where we're supposed to be. The room feels smaller now, the walls feeling like they're slowly caving in on me. I am trapped within the depths of my own mind and I'm struggling to stay afloat.

Minutes tick by, and my solitude is interrupted by Wakandan doctors coming in. They move with a quiet grace, carefully treading around me, not knowing what kind of mood I am in. Kill them. I push my thoughts aside, I cannot hurt them. Gently, they leave a tray of food and water on my bedside table, giving me a sincere smile as they place it down. They are cautious, like they can tell I am a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode.

I watch them from my place on the bed, my jaw clenched tightly as my hands ball into fists again. I'm angry that they can stand there and allow me to be held captive. The memories of my icy chamber surge my mind, the dread of it consuming me whole. My heart begins to race, desperation taking over me. I need to get out of this room. I need to be free from the chains that bound me here. I need to find some semblance of control in my life again.

          With a sudden rush of adrenaline, I push myself off the bed and make a beeline towards the open door. The doctors notice my intent, their voices raising an alarm for my escape. They try to stop me, but they're not quick enough. But I'm not thinking clearly. I am driven by a need to escape, to run from the memories that threaten to consume me. I don't know where to go, but I know that running is what I'm good at.

I reach the corridor, just outside of my room. The walls all look the same, not sure of what direction leads me to freedom. I halt at a door in front of me, my hands trembling as I grip the handle. It doesn't budge. The more I pull, the tighter it gets, and my escape further and further away. It's like trying to unlock a door in my mind, a battle against my conditioning and the fear of captivity. My heart pounds against my chest as I wish for a freedom that doesn't come.

          Before I can make the door open, strong arms wrap around me, pulling me back from the brink of destruction. They anchor me, pulling me back from my own self destruction. The struggle that consumes my mind is a mirror to my physical reality. A physical battle of freedom and the part of me that wants to be saved. I struggle against the arms that surround me, but I cannot break free. I turn in the arms, trying to battle my way out, but his arms wrap around me like a forcefield of protection. Bucky.

"Easy, Princess," Bucky's voice breaks through the chaos, putting me at ease. He is my lifeline, grounding me in the war of my mind. "I'm here. You're not alone."

I cling to him and his words. They bring me back from the edge, from the point of no return. The door remains closed, an exit that I can't break through alone. Knowing that he's here with me makes me feel hopeful. Hopeful that the worst won't happen to me after this incident.

My lips part, ready to express my gratitude. But I'm met with a sudden, icy sensation in my arm. I glance down to see the needle one of the Wakandan doctors is putting in. My vision blurs, the world around me becoming an unfocused surrounding of lights and voices. His face is the last thing I see before the darkness claims me, pulling me into its suffocating hold. Goodnight, Red.

a/n - now, i get to finally write the best scenes. i hope you all enjoyed this!! bavalon will be the death of me - kenz :)