"Your memory is a monster; you forget- it doesn't. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you- and summons them to your recall with a will of it's own. You think you have a memory; but it has you."

-John Irvin

                The words lingered in the air; both of them knew that there was a good chance the truck was bugged. She remember when he was the Winter Soldier and was hunting her. It had been a twisted experiment to see how long her mutated cells would last in his body and work with him, and it had failed. That kept her alive, him being unable to keep her powers in his system and tonight showed that they still needed her. 

             She glanced up at Bucky, wishing that he knew who he was, but knowing that it would take more than a mind link to make him remember. There was no way that he could have known she had linked minds with him; only when he had her mutation did he feel the bridge. Regular people didn't feel it. But he did hear her say his name when she let it slip, that had been a mistake she had made a long time ago that pushed HYDRA to send her out in the snow to be hunted down. Sitting beside him again, she realized that HYDRA had given her another chance, and she had once again failed. She'd heard the saying before, curiosity killed the cat. The pulsing sound of blood rushed to her ears, as if her heart was right behind her eyes, throbbing violently.

               Ophelia could only hope that by completing her mission, being the one to fire the bullet, would be enough.

                He had said that he knew her, and that rekindled a fire that had been softly burning within her. It had been dormant for a long time, but it had never stopped burning. As the fire grew within her, she composed herself as the situation at hand was not going to be one that was gratifying. She'd made the mistake already by saying his name, creating the mental bridge with him. They were a ticking time bomb, and HYDRA was about to set it off.

                "Yes," she replied carefully; she knew if she let him piece together who she was, his memories would be stronger than if she just told him. The brain liked to celebrate when it finished a puzzle; success would lead to more memories, she hoped. She knew their time was short, and that she was going to be subject to something awful, and yet she couldn't help herself. 

                Bucky looked down at his lap, his now long brown hair wavering slightly through the motion. Glancing back up at her, he pursed his lips together and shook his head. He was trying to figure out who she was, but he simply could not remember. Or perhaps he was trying to figure out who he was; Ophelia was unsure. 

              The mental bridge that Ophelia had created with him was strong, but not strong enough. To her, this was a little bit of an experiment, as she had never caused a bridge with someone more than once. That person was almost always brought to base and killed off. A few times she was sent in to find wounded HYDRA members, but once they were brought back they rarely fell short again. In Bucky's case, she had created the bridge three times now. This time it was strong enough to remind her of who, or what, she was, and remind Bucky that he did know her. Unless that had been her verbal slip up; she was no longer in his mind, the pathway had diminished. 

               Ophelia had never truly been told of the extent of her powers; she did not know what she was entirely capable of. Whether or not she was able to do more within a person's head she was unclear. But now that she had linked with Bucky three times, she felt as though she had more of an impact on him. The only other possibility she could think of was that she had a deeper-set relationship with Bucky than she did with any other person she linked with; a history of sorts that would bubble to the surface when she entered his mind. She was still a mystery to herself.

                "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, pulling his lips back into an apologetic smile.

                "You call me O."

                "O," he repeated, saying it a few times under his breath. He shook his head. "No..."

                "Your name is..." She paused, did she dare try this again? 

                "Bucky," he replied, a tone of realization in his words. He looked at Ophelia again. "O..."

                 "We have to go back to the base," Ophelia said quietly. The words hung in the air, prominent and pungent. It was true, there was no escaping HYDRA. "They'll come for me. They'll come for us."

                  Bucky's hands gripped the steering wheel hard, his eyes sunk and his shoulders lowered into a hunch. They both knew that she was right. They wouldn't get far, and they both knew what they would face when they inevitably got caught. HYDRA had infiltrated the world; nowhere would be safe.

                   They didn't have a chance to make their choice, though. Lights all around the truck blinded Ophelia, and she knew that there time was up. 

                   HYDRA must have bugged the truck, and knew their mistake. She would later discover that they would never learn, they consistently made the same mistake with her and Bucky, because they needed her. The doors were yanked open and nothing could be done in the short amount of time it took for them to stun both Bucky and her, draining their consciousness in a matter of seconds. They had been prepared this time for him to fight back, and so the sedative they used was potent enough to knock out Ophelia in a matter of seconds and slow Bucky down to a sluggish and non-responsive state before anyone could get in harms way.

***

               When Ophelia woke, she realized she was upon a gurney and strapped down. The scent of leather and metal filled her nostrils, antiseptic too. A dull throb of a headache pulsed in the back of her head, and she closed her eyes for a moment. They brought her to a room, but it was not the one with the electric chair. This room was far more frightening. The bare walls were windowless and a dull grey throughout as they were metal. She could see the bolts that held the walls together. Fluorescent lights dangled from wires coming out of the ceiling; they flickered over Ophelia as she looked up at them. A record player sat in the far corner, seemingly out of place. 

             There was a chair in the room, but it was not the one she was so familiar with. Instead, it was a plain metal just like the rest of the room, with restraints made of leather and rusted metal. They left her on the stretcher, though, then the guards who wheeled her in left. She pulled against the restraints fiercely, though it did her no good, and left her with chafed, sore wrists.

             Once upon a time, Ophelia had been a meek excuse of a human being. The way HYDRA treated her made her believe that she was worth nothing, and that there was nothing in this world to fight for. Do as HYDRA said, survive, receive reward or punishment. It wasn't until she met Bucky and was told she was worth more that she saw she was worth fighting for. She did not deserve the treatment that she got from HYDRA, and she understood now that she was a prisoner here. Part of her wanted to fight for Bucky, but she knew that she had to fight for herself before anyone else. She was no longer the sad, obedient mutation they had made her. That spark that had ignited inside of her had grown into that of a dull flame, but it would still be many years before it turned into a forest fire.

                A gurney with tools placed neatly on top of it was wheeled out; various pernicious devices that they were sure to use on her to get information. A masked man walked up to her; he was wearing a hazmat suit and his face could not be seen, his gloved hands grabbed Ophelia's chin and he studied her quickly. Shaking his head, he nodded towards another man. That man turned on a record; the crackle of the needle touching the vinyl.

                He grabbed a scalpel and looked at her, and only then did he speak. "What is your name?"

                "Ophelia," she said quickly, though she was unsure what they wanted from her. She would give them the answers they wanted to a point, but she had to fight through the pain she was about to have bestowed upon her. She was scared, but did not want to show them that.

                "When did you remember who you were?" He pressed the tip of the scalpel to the tip of his gloved finger, spinning it tauntingly.

                She wondered what to tell them. It had been her decision to link with Bucky, even though she had a gut feeling it was a bad idea to begin with. Curiousity and courage edged her along, and she knew she had made a mistake the second she had done it. And so she lied, "I don't remember." 

                He sighed, bringing the scalpel to the light, examining it theatrically. He brought it down just below her navel, pressing the remarkably sharp blade to her skin and letting the blood bead around, then slide down her skin. It didn't hurt as badly as she would have imagined, as the blade was extremely sharp and so it made smooth lacerations. But she knew that this was just to show her what he was able to do to her. She bit her lip and watched as he dragged the scalpel up, keeping the wounds surface level, but still drawing lots of blood. Her torso was a mess already, but the pain was nothing compared to the electrical shocks. 

                As her flesh was now covered in her own dark red blood, she looked up at the man, but not with pleading eyes. Her fingernails dug into her palms, trying to hold in the urge to cry out in pain. She would not beg. Sensing her resilience, he began to carve something in her stomach, this time deep enough to cause Ophelia to scream. She could not tell what he was making in her flesh, but she could feel all the neurons in her body sparking up, diving to the pain and all the blood spilling out of her. 

                She groaned, writhing slightly, nearly biting off her own tongue. She fought against it for as long as she could, but she knew it would not stop. There was no point in lying, there was no point in holding back what they wanted anymore. Either way, they would get what they wanted because they always did. When the pain became too much, she caved. "Okay! Okay! I remember!"

                He stopped, watching Ophelia as she breathed heavily; sharp breaths. She might pass out, at least then she would have some peace. "Go on," he urged with a tone like velvet.

               "I created a bridge with him... ah..." She groaned in pain, wanting to wrap her hands around her torn apart abdomen. "He didn't feel it, but I- I said his name, that's what caused him to remember. Please..."

                "Very good," he replied as if she was a dog that had finally managed the trick it was being taught. But there was malicious intent in his voice, and she knew the pain wasn't over yet.

                "Please, let me go. I won't do it again..." she said with a shaking voice. "I know what I did wrong, please."

                "We can't keep your memories intact," he told her with a tone that suggested he was upset about it, but deeper down Ophelia heard the sadism in there. "I have a few more questions."

                Ophelia breathed in through her nose, nostrils flaring with rage towards this man. 

                "Does the Winter Soldier remember the Captain?"

                "I don't know," she said honestly; she had been superficial upon entering his mind, she was only looking for his recent memories of her. Truthfully, she had only been looking for how she recognized him, and she found it. She found all of it, but that did not mean that Bucky had seen it. He didn't remember her, not entirely. 

                "Ophelia..." he sighed, "you can trust me."

                "He didn't say anything, he... he only remembered me." She believed this to be true. "Only that he knew me." 

                "It isn't all about what was said." He brought the cold and bloodied scalpel back to her skin, which flamed up as it was freshly wounded, still dripping blood. A stream of the fluid trickled down her side, tickling her, but she hardly felt it amongst all the pain. "It is about what was exchanged in your mental bridge. Tell me what you saw in his head."

                "I only remembered him. Bucky," she said. "And he only had the time to remember me. That's it!"

                He sighed. "It's a shame to damage your flesh, you have beautiful skin. But I can't leave you like this; unfinished."

                "Please... don't."

                But it was too late; he brought the blade back down to her skin to finish off the twisted carving he had begun only minutes prior. Her screams filled the room as she completed his task, and when he was done, he wiped the blade down upon a white towel that turned red and looked upon her body. He carefully placed the scalpel back on the tray and sighed, "I guess you were telling the truth..."

                 Everyone left, and the lights were turned out.

                 The music kept playing over and over.