It's time for a swap! (roomsswap) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-06-08 10:42:00 |
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He remembered blood. He remembered pleasure. Decades of both. Decades of seeing blood splatter and feeling a sense of satisfaction, of work well done. Completing his mission was his only reason for being, and when it was over, he felt accomplished. Deaths were meaningful, it meant he was following orders, for the cause. Occasionally he would forget the cause. He would not want to go back to the chamber, he fled, his mind unclear and cluttered, grasping for something he couldn't understand. They found him, they always found him, and it was wiped, that's what they'd say, wipe him clean and start over. The words haunted him, especially now when he remembered every single one of them. The Cosmic Cube gave him clarity, and there was cruelty in that, like curing a rabid animal after he'd already been marked for death. On good days he woke up and the memories fit together like a checkered puzzle, enough that he knew things, but they didn't feel fresh and real. On bad days, he couldn't remember who he was exactly, it took some time to get his head right. This was the worst day he had since Steve Rogers died and he wasn't there to save him. The memories came back in a rush, mixed in with the others, and he sprang out of bed, grabbing a gun in the movement. Expecting someone there? He didn't know. He just knew he had to kill someone, there was danger around him. There was blood on him. Blood felt natural to him, like soap on anyone else, but he washed the blood off his body, didn't he? No that was in the other body, the one where he was like Logan, he recognized the claws, the senses, the old man used to complain about it all the time. Shit, now he understood. He was more than the Soldier. He went blank and then filled in the middle ground, and that was the horrific part. This wasn't programming, it was a blend of them and a blend of him, made into a type of monster Bucky didn't recognize. Or maybe he did, and that was the problem. His hands shook so hard he had to holster his gun. Two girls. One he slept with first, oh god, she didn't know, she didn't realize. He was out of control, it was stupid for him to think things were different. He immediately got his small knapsack together, his jacket, and all of his weapons. A knife was missing. There was blood on him, so whoever had his body? Did something bad too. And it was probably his fault, it was probably this all over again. He destroyed everything he touched. He had to go before he did it to Steve and Tasha again. A piece of paper was put on the common room floor kitchen, written in his distinct rushed handwriting. Had to go. Don't look for me. There was a smudge of blood on the note, and then he was gone. |