[CENTER][h1][color=474747][b]T H E   W I N T E R   S O L D I E R[/b][/color][/h1][hr][sup][h3][color=828282][i][sub]" M a y b e   y o u   d i d n ' t   h e a r ,   S c h ä t z c h e n ?   I t ' s   c o l d   o u t s i d e . "[/sub][/i][/color][/h3]
[img]http://oi66.tinypic.com/rljos1.jpg[/img]
[/sup][h3][sup][sup][color=828282]H E L M U T   J A K O B   Z E M O   /   J A M E S   B U C H A N A N 
  B A R N E S   [color=474747]♦[/color]   ? ? ? / ? ? ? / 1 9 1 9   ( 9 8 )   [color=474747]♦[/color]   M A L E   [color=474747]♦[/color]   T R U E   N E U T R A L[/color][/sup][/sup][/h3][img]IMAGE/BANNER[/img]
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[COLOR=824e5c][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C O N C E P T   A B S T R A C T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i]This interpretation is based on a version of the character that I have been mulling over for sometime. Following their defeat at the hand of the Allies in World War II, the leaders of HYDRA were left with two choices: jump ship to serve under SHIELD or return to operating within the shadows. The remnants of HYDRA survived on in this way, influencing the course of world events with the aid of special operatives known as [b]Winter Soldiers[/b]. Recruited against their will, these assassins and enforcers were mentally conditioned for absolute obedience to their HYDRA masters. As part of their brainwashing, they were fed false and conflicting memories while their own were suppressed, in view of eradicating the person's sense of self, and to ensure their compliance, a method pioneered by Dr. Arnim Zola. When the Winter Soldier was not in use, they were frozen cryogenically, suspending their body's natural ageing process. After Zola's assumed death following a SHIELD raid on their principal facility, the project was thought abandoned and the Winter Soldiers were placed in stasis until such a time as they could be made useful again.

I intend to tell the story of one such Winter Soldier, awoke by accident and struggling to reconcile the two lifetimes sharing his head. One, the son of HYDRA's one-time leader, BARON HEINRICH ZEMO; the other, sidekick and follower of American war hero STEVE ROGERS. Their goals: to find out who they are, and to dismantle HYDRA.

Nothing too lofty.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=824e5c][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]N O T E S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i][b][sub]P E R S O N S   O F   I N T E R E S T[/sub][/b][/i]

[indent]
Dr. Arnim Zola: The engineer of Winter Soldier's current state, and a high ranking HYDRA operative. It is believed that he was killed in 1995, in a raid carried out by SHIELD.

Baron Von Strucker: By most accounts, the leader of the international terrorist group HYDRA. Their are rumours that he has served them for more than a lifetime.

Captain America (Steve Rogers): The American super soldier and hero of World War II. Bucky served under him, alongside Nick Fury's Howling Commandos for much of the war. Cap seemingly died, preventing Baron Heinrich Zemo from launching a super weapon that would have ensured the Axis Powers' victory in the war.

Baron Heinrich Zemo: Father of Helmut Zemo and HYDRA super scientist, he served under the Red Skull up until his defeat at the hands of Captain America. He became the leader of HYDRA and survived many attempts on his life, dying of natural causes after retiring to Brazil.

Colonel Nick Fury: Rumors say the leader of the clandestine SHIELD agency served in WW2, in charge of the Howling Commandos. But that can't be right surely? [/indent][/indent][/indent]


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[CENTER][h1][color=474747][b]T H E   W I N T E R   S O L D I E R[/b][/color][/h1][color=darkgray][b][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/bo5MZKH.jpg[/img][hr]C H A P T E R   O N E :   A W A K E N I N G[/sup][/b][/color][hr][/center]
[color=824e5c][i]Where...[/i][/color]

The voice permeates slowly, finding no response except an echo of itself.

[color=824e5c][i]Where am I?[/i][/color]

This void he found himself in, he knew, was wrong. He could feel it, as if he was tethered to a nightmare, unable to move yet pulled at from every side, and dulled to his senses. Broken. Slow. His name was lost to himself. Time escaped him. He could have been like this for minutes, maybe hours. If only he knew. He tries to scream out, to call on anyone to help.

[color=824e5c][i]Help me... This isn't right. Help![/i][/color]

Not a whisper in response.

[color=824e5c][i]Anyone...[/i][/color] 

Just darkness, as far as his mind's eye could account for. And then a spark. Barely a light. A memory, perhaps? All he could remember was the tremor. He had felt it, despite being suspended as he was.

[color=824e5c][i]What is this?[/i][/color] He asks, lethargic. The darkness was gone.

[hr]
[color=silver][b]'23[sup]rd[/sup] December 1950,
Alaska'[/b][/color]

Heavy footsteps follow the visitor through the snow, his boots caked with mud and as much ice. A thick scarf is draped down the back of his uniform, tight around his neck. The hairs of the man's walrus-tache stand on end, flecked with snow and grease and silhouetted by the rim of a bowler hat. He wades down the path to a well-lit street. Clasped in his hand is a roughly-wrapped bottle of bourbon whisky adorned with a large blue bow. The man passes under the familiar wooden archway of a house. Through the cracks in the downstairs curtains he could make out the orange glow of lamp light and he hears music, more dated than his own tastes but no less welcoming. They were well underway already. A few knocks at the door signal a response. With some speed, the door is opened, the amber light flooding into the porch. Inside, the occupant raises his hand, clutching at his crutch with the other.

"Dum Dum," the man greets, making a brief salute. His gesture is met in kind.

"Fred." The man known as Dugan shuffles indoors, handing the bottle to his host, Fred Jones. During World War Two they had served alongside each other as Howling Commandos. However, Jones was unable to see the war to its close after losing his right leg

"I can guess at what this is," the veteran nods, lifting the vessel with care. He could feel the cold slosh of the liquid within pass up and down the glass as he shook it gently in his hand. "I'll stick it with the others," he pauses before correcting himself. "I'll stick it with what ever's left." The music can be heard much more clearly inside the house, the vocalist warbling with some vigor. Dum Dum can't help but wince. He shrugs.

"Of all the fellas I know, you have to be th' hardest bastard to buy a gift for." His cheeks rise to a smile. Trying to make out the other guests, his eyes dance around the wallpapered hallway, looking past the doorway.

"Fury not able to make it tonight?" Jones interupts.

"He sends his regards. I just got off the horn with him. Sounded like he was in for a long night."

"Well tell him he's always welcome at my door..." Dugan nods as response. Fred Jones looks at his watch. "The rest are through this way, anyway. They've already gotten at the deck." He laughs, turning. The members of the Howling Commandos had very little to do with each other these days but they usually found the time for a night of poker here and there. Behind them, the music dies, the needle of the record player finding momentary peace. A yell can be heard from the other room:

"I'll get it then!" Eric Koenig barks. "Keep an eye on Cohen too. I don't like the way he's been eyeing the pot." As the two filter into the dining room they are flanked by the blonde. "Dugan, glad you could make it. If you excuse me..." He mills past them to the record player and browses the collection for a second.

"Something this side of the bronze age this time, for God's sake!" Cohen speaks up. He turns to Dugan. "Evening, Corporal."

"Glad you're still with us," he chuckles, "SHIELD could still use a man with your grit." In the background Koenig shuffles a record out of its sleeve.

"Retirement suits me much better, friend." Dugan shrugs, looking down the table at the assembled group with a bristly grin. To Cohen's left was Morita and his right, Manelli. Taking up the last seat was James Barnes.

"Certainly didn't expect to see you here." He notes, eyes fixed on the youngest member of the group. [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ycFQiYqG0k0]The needle hits[/url]. His eyes open slowly. At first look he might be waking up, but his face quickly turns to worry.

[b][color=824e5c][i]"This isn't right."[/i][/color][/b]

The music ebbs on, the only noise to be made as an uneasy silence takes the room.

"What's that, cub?" The man before him was pale in complexion and had a smattering of scars about his face. His hair was long and shaggy and matted with dirt, and his eye sockets were dark, as if a cresent moon might be too bright for him. He was donned in a black tactical outfit, standard issue for those in his company. His left arm was missing, replaced by a silver-tinted bionic prosthetic. Despite all of this, they say nothing.

[b][color=824e5c][i]"This isn't... I remember this, I think."[/i][/color][/b] Bucky looks up with a pained expression. [b][color=824e5c][i]"But not like this... I... I have to get up..."[/i][/color][/b] His one-time second-in-command ruffles his lip as his brow furrows, turning to Cohen. 

"The kid been at the sauce or something?" 

[b][color=824e5c][i]"You're not listening!"[/i][/color][/b] Bucky stands up, sluggish. The force he rises with shifts the table, the players' cards flying down the green mat as the chips land in a heap. 

"I think you need to sit your ass down."

[b][color=824e5c][i]"Dum Dum? Listen to me!"[/i][/color][/b] The old soldier simply moves his hand to his side. [b][color=824e5c][i]"This didn't happen. It couldn't have."[/i][/color][/b] The man stops, the slightest sensation passing him. It felt warm, like the faintest touch of a breeze. He wasn't sure why he was cold. He walks to the window. 

"This is your last chance, boy."

[b][color=824e5c][i]"I don't understand - this feels real. I remember this. All of this. But it's all wrong. You're dead!"[/i][/color][/b] He points with a metal finger, eyes sharp. He feels as if a haze is lifted as he darts on his heel, meeting each of the Commandos eyeline. They looked at him as if he were an intruder. An interloper. In his own dreams. Dugan walks forward purposefully, his outstretched hand meeting Barnes' face with some force, planting him down on the poker table with the strength of an ex-circus strongman. He punches him in the chest before the man has time to raise his hands. The victim tries to take a breath as he's laid into. He opens his eyes and looks up. Dum Dum was no longer looking down at him. Instead, a taller man, his face a host to a long, purple cowl. White eyes glare through the holes of the mask, popping, enraged.

[b][color=824e5c][i]"Father?"[/i][/color][/b] He asks, instinctively. [i]Father?[/i]

The fists keep coming, not tiring. All he can hear are the thuds blowing against his chest, and the drone of the music going on.

"You are a disappointment, Helmut. I deserved better." Helmut, as he had been called, continues to resist the beatings. He feels the heat on his face, stronger now.

[b][color=824e5c][i]"This isn't real!"[/i][/color][/b] The Winter Soldier thrashes, his arms connecting with something solid. And then a crash.


[sup][b]T o   b e   c o n t i n u e d .[/b][/sup]

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