If he had ever needed concrete proof that Santana was not an Agent, that would have been it. No one in his entire recollection had ever taken his presence with less of a rational response. He flexed the fingers of his metal arm into a fist, causing the bands to race up his arm. He wouldn't hurt her, but he would show her why HYDRA was not a presence with which it was wise to play.
"Have I surprised you, Agent Orange?" he asked, taking a step further into the room. "I was under the impression you would require a weekly report from me."
Driving the point home would be easy; she was young, and James Barnes/Bucky/The Asset was sure she had no idea what he was capable of. A little harmless demonstration, a short speech about minding herself--yes. He would be done soon.
"Unless, of course, you are not an Agent of HYDRA," he said. The word felt heavier on his tongue than he quite remembered, but it was nothing. You are to be the new fist of HYDRA. He tightened his fist. Yes. Fist of HYDRA. That was good, wasn't it? He was doing his job.