Chapter Text
: Mission Tactics
The asset failed its mission.
That was bad enough, outright. No matter the circumstances, if an asset failed a mission, there was hell to pay after. It didn’t matter if you were facing a super-soldier with inadequate supplies. It didn’t matter if said blue-eyed punk used code words to cause your internal systems to malfunction. It didn’t even matter that you weren’t properly briefed on what a Bucky was or a Howling Commando or any background knowledge that would have prepared it for the mission.
What mattered wasn’t that the asset sunk Captain America into the Potomac river successfully. What mattered was that the mission was to eliminate Captain America and not only did the asset fail to do that, it actively dragged him out of the river and resuscitated him.
Safe to say, the asset fucked up big time and was not looking forward to following the mission failure protocol. It had to go back to base and face the music, regardless of how painful that music would be.
Go back to base, the asset told itself crossly. It was going to hurt, yes. It was going to scar, indubitably.
It’s going to be worse the longer you put it off. The asset sat by the window of a Starbucks procrastinating its torture.
Half an hour prior, it had washed itself off with a backyard tap and stole clothes off of a city-dweller’s washing line to better protect its cover. People weren’t paying much attention. There were exploding Helicarriers in the sky and some sort of mass information leak if the 9 o’ clock news was correct. No one noticed a stray asset sitting by a window.
No one except its mission.
“Bucky?” The asset blinked as Captain America sat across from it. He was still damp from the Potomac. He was going to draw attention to it! “Bucky, is that you?”
It should run but… Maybe with enough time the asset could overcome the mission’s code words and manage to poison him? It was worth a shot and was better than facing punishment.
The asset pulled out a spare shirt from its duffel bag stuffed with stolen laundry and crossly handed it to the Captain. Befuddled, the blonde man slipped it over himself. The asset thought mildly that at least its mission was compliant.
“Bucky, you pulled me from the river, didn’t you?” Captain America had a gift for stating the obvious. “Can you say something? I didn’t knock anything loose, did I?” The Captain gave it a slanted smile as if he was joking with it.
The asset shoved its coffee over to him, having used sleight-of-hand during the Avenger’s inane chatter to drop a flavourless suicide-capsule into it. It wasn’t enough to drop a super-soldier but maybe if the Captain was incapacitated, it would give it time to gather a stronger poison to finish its mission.
Its handlers always stashed a few of these in its supplies in case it needed to pursue a more subtle approach to assassination. There was no risk to HYDRA’s property as the asset had been dosed enough times with this particular poison that its body had built up an immunity.
Looking grateful, the Captain brought the mug up to his lips. SMASH! As if with a mind of its own, the asset’s flesh hand leapt out and smacked the coffee out of the mission’s grip.
Usually its metal hand was the one that acted autonomously from its mind. Those stupid code words were so annoying.
Hot coffee soared through the air and made a puddle on the linoleum floor. A tired Starbucks worker gave the asset a disgruntled look. It glared right back. There was a reason that the green Starbucks lady on the logo had tentacles for hair. This coffee franchise was obviously a covert HYDRA operation: the logo wasn’t even pretending to not be a hydra.
HYDRA was everywhere. It was a phrase its handlers constantly reminded the asset of in case it got any funny ideas about running off. No doubt that Starbucks worker would report it to head office. Augh.
“What was that for?” Captain America harriedly said after the asset was escorted out. He had given a scrawled autograph to placate the Starbucks worker before following after it. Great, now HYDRA will have written evidence that the asset was failing its mission. “Why did you do that?”
“It was poisoned,” the asset explained tersely. Thanks to the mission’s code words from the hangar, it couldn’t even do non-lethal damage to its mission. This was terribly inconvenient.
“Poisoned?” The Captain looked alarmed. He glanced up and down the side-walk as if suspicious of passersby. “Someone tried to poison you?”
No. I tried to poison you.
The asset said nothing. The asset was tired. Uselessly hanging around the mission was only further degrading its internal systems. It was a self-efficacious determined asset, loyal to HYDRA, determined to avoid punishment and gain reward. It did not need this right now.
With a glare and a one finger salute, the asset bid its mission farewell and scaled up the side of a Manhattan building like a spider up a dry waterspout.
“Bucky! Wait!” The Captain called after it from below but it was no use. The asset was free.
AaAaA
‘Mission tactics and adaptability’ referred to a strictly regulated protocol. In layman’s terms, it was the asset’s ability to make choices while separated from handlers. The basics went like this:
- do not die
- complete your last provided mission
- make as small an impact as possible
- come back to base when safe to
- remain HYDRA’s property
Unfortunately for the asset, the organisation that had owned it for the past seventy years just imploded into approximately a gazillion pieces. HYDRA was in the news which meant HYDRA was in tatters. Returning to base was a recipe for enemy capture.
What a bummer.
Handler Pierce was dead. Handler Rumlow was an idiot whose sadism would affect the asset’s future mission capability. Handler ZOLA was senile and needed a reboot that the asset was not permitted to give. The asset didn’t remember any of the other handlers. The base it had been unfrozen in was now under public scrutiny. The other base it remembered and had since visited had been blown up.
The incredibly small part of its programming that revolved around mission tactics and adaptability was taking centre stage in the asset’s life. Never before for so many consecutive days had it had to make its own decisions. And there were so many decisions that it had to make like where to go; what cover to take; what to do; what to eat; what to drink; how long to sleep for; and on and on it went.
It was ill-equipped for it. It knew in theory that its body required things like nutrients and REM sleep. Technicians typically organised such things on its behalf. It wasn’t pleasant but the feeding tube did its job and the cryotube kept it well rested. The specifics of how to care for its body were a bit hazy.
This was probably why it was falling asleep on the metro as it stalked Captain America. The mission’s code words had yet to wear off but the asset held out hope. One day it would finally be able to gank the punk!
“Bucky?”
For fuck’s sake. He’d used that code word again. Mentally the asset reset its internal timer to zero. Most code words had a half-life where their effectiveness degraded with each hour that passed. It hadn’t observed any half-life of these code words but remained vigilantly hopeful. Without hope there was only pain.
The asset was not a fan of pain. This was why it was so effective for its conditioning but was also why it wasn’t trying especially hard to find a viable handler.
“Bucky!” Its mission scooted into the empty seat beside the asset. Despite its attempts to not make any waves, the asset was having difficulty appearing not-homeless or not-a-threat. It couldn’t help but glare at anyone who moved inside its personal space bubble. Unlike some assets or operatives who had a personal space bubble that gave them enough space to stretch their legs, the asset’s bubble was approximately the size of an entire train car. “Bucky, I’m so glad to see you again.”
The asset glared at its mission. If only it could appear like-a-threat to this punk, but noooooo, even attempting to murder him didn’t dissuade his enthusiasm. Why did its mission seem to think they were on friendly terms? Had he suffered permanent neurological impairment from his time in the river? The asset retrieved a penlight from its pocket and shined it in the mission’s eyes.
“Ow!” The mission complained, shielding his eyes. “What are you doing that for? Can you please just talk to me?” The mission’s pupils were equal and reactive to light. It should have been a bad thing - healthy missions were harder missions, after all - but the asset was deeply malfunctioning.
It was a relief. It glared at its mission again and slouched down in its seat crossly. The least its mission could have done was not wake it from its nap.
AaAaAa
Its mission’s lack of self-preservation instinct meant there was no reason to remain covert in its observations and preparations. The asset instead decided to follow its mission more closely. It would scope out how exactly this man was overriding the Fist of HYDRA’s notorious amorality.
It was weird that it was being affected by this random bloke. Its emotional programming was up in arms. The comforting fog that it subsided in was shaken by the image of this somehow-too-tall mission. It had to actively stop its lips from curling upwards - a deeply concerning biological error - or its eyes from crying. The latter was less uncommon and typically only occurred during corrective therapies, not when staring at a suspiciously symmetrical face and dimpled chin.
With no idea how to get in contact with its mother organisation, the asset let the mission lead it back to its home. He lived in a grey skyscraper with a robotic voice that echoed in the elevator. The asset stayed close. Only it would eliminate its mission.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” The mission sniffled. “I should have looked for you. I’ll never forgive myself for that, Buck.” He appeared to think that the asset’s silent treatment was some sort of personal grudge against him.
Its mission had seriously messed up priorities. It had tried to eliminate him but all he cared about was some sort of train incident from some long ago war. The asset stared at its mission more closely. He looked like he was in his twenties. Was he having psychosis? Why was he talking about World War II? A war from 70 years ago was hardly relevant to the asset and its mission.
Ding.
The elevator arrived at its intended destination. It followed its mission out and clocked a slender technician with a goatee chugging a jug of coffee and… an officer?
She had a HYDRA symbol on her silver bracelet. It was the ouroborous, a snake eating its own tail, a less commonly worn talisman that only the elite members of the organisation were permitted to wear. The redhead was in high heels, hair up in a ponytail, and held the bearing of a woman who held the world in the palm of her hand. Its mission, who ranked highly enough to be wanted dead by HYDRA’s finest, made polite smalltalk with the dame. She glanced at the asset with some measure of concern and it stood to attention.
“Is he okay?” The officer-dame asked and its stomach knotted in embarrassment.
“He’s got a touch of shellshock, Pepper,” lied its mission. Why was he trying to ingratiate himself with an officer? Why was he sabotaging the asset?
The asset knelt before the officer before its mission could spew anymore lies. Recognising its superior by her garb and bearing, it said, “Asset reporting for debrief.”
“Debrief?” Officer Pepper ordered with a high lilt in her voice.
The technician rushed over to interfere - its arm whirred, preparing to protect the officer - and its mission held him back with a muttered word of, “A debrief would be nice, Tony.”
“Affirmative.” Heart pounding in its ears, guilty for its days of evading HYDRA, the asset said in a neutral and measured monotone, “The asset has been tailing its mission Captain America for 6.5 days. Mission failure. The asset experiences emotional and biological dysfunction. Asset reporting for recalibration, maintenance, and punishment.”
“Thank you for that, Bucky.” The officer’s voice was still high and lilting. The asset did not know why she was formulating her tone to sound so weak but assumed that there was a greater plan in the works. After all, she had infiltrated the highest level of Stark tower. This officer was in a league of her own. “Thank you,” she repeated, this time more firmly. “May I call you Bucky?”
“Yes.” The asset said. The officer could call it whatever she wished.
“Can you stand up from your knees, Bucky?” She ordered, phrasing it as a question. It was a strange idiosyncrasy but all handlers and officers had their individualised quirks. It would just have to get to know her and adapt itself to her needs. It would be the perfect asset for Officer Pepper. Perhaps then the punishment would not be so great, the weak selfish part of it whined.
It stood.
“Can you stay right there?” She added. It wondered if the punishment was already beginning. It had once been ordered to stand in place for three whole days. Every time it faltered, it was jabbed with an electric baton. “I’m going to call someone,” Officer Pepper whispered to the technician and its mission as the asset stood frozen in place. It would not move an iota. “I think he needs expert help, Steve.”
Something tight in its chest released. It was getting recalibrated. Finally. Although the asset dreaded the process it acknowledged its necessity. Without recalibration it would be like a piano out of tune. It wouldn’t be right and it would start to feel the consequences.
Officer Pepper instilled in it a huge measure of trust. She had not chained it or sent it straight to the chair. She believed in its obedience. She did not immediately punish it for its failures. Truly, she was a merciful officer and the asset was relieved to be back in HYDRA’s hands. It had been difficult operating on ‘mission tactics and adaptability’. Now it didn’t have to think. It only had to obey.
“Bucky?” Its mission tried to distract it from its order to ‘stay right there’. “Bucky, Pepper is going to call in a professional. Is that okay with you?” Its mission was sniffling again. “Bucky, please, just talk to me. Tell me what you need.”
You’re not the boss of me, the asset thought in frustration. Missions weren’t handlers. Missions weren’t officers. Missions weren’t even technicians! Why did this mission feel like he had a right to order it around?
“Bucky, you can sit down now, if you want to,” Officer Pepper added - it sat down immediately - after a brief discussion with the technician about whether she was ‘okay’ and how the technician could ‘handle this’ if she wanted. Yes, a very obedient technician, as one would expect from such a competent officer.
“Oop, there you go, I suppose. Water’s fine, right?” She asked the technician for confirmation on how to handle the asset, respecting his expertise. The technician nodded and said something about the information being in the asset's ‘files’. Ah yes, its operational manual. Not only was the officer researching how to properly ensure its optimal performance, she was humble enough to ask for advice from her team.
Drinking the water that she ordered it to drink, the asset looked forward to her choice of handler designation. It was sure to be an intelligent and well-thought out decision.
After recalibration therapy, that was.