–September 1944–
YAWA WOKE SLOWLY, finding herself strapped tightly to a metal chair, clamped around her forearms and ankles, making sure she was unable to move, unable to fight back. The seat, like the room, was cold and damp, sterile. The walls are a dull yellow colour, red marks streaking down some of the walls, causing Yawa's heart to clench in her chest. The room itself was well illuminated, showing the man, now dressed in a 3-piece suit and glasses, standing before her.
The man's suit was a deep blue, with a small pin on the collar with the same logo as before. His face was neat, well-kempt, and his hair was greying. Now that she could see him correctly, she could see that he was a short-ish, well-fed man with rosy cheeks, but despite the innocent looks and the business attire he was sporting, the man did not have a shine in his eyes did not have the twinkle that one would see in a truly innocent man. He sat down in a chair in front of her, leaning forward slightly, sitting professionally with a blank look on his face.
"You wanted to know what I was planning." He said, his voice soft, kind. He looked at her with pride. "Why did I want an innocent woman to do a man's job?"
"I never asked that," Yawa replied, trying to sound brave despite the predicament she was currently in. "I asked why you wanted someone innocent, someone who is trying to save people, why you wanted them to be a killer, why you didn't want the blood on your hands."
He smiles, sitting back. "It's simple really. I tried… I tried to use soldiers, people trained for battle, people who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. But when I injected them with this—" He holds up a small vial of a blue liquid before pointing over at the IV drip, currently feeding the same substance into her system. "—they became uncontrollable; they were volatile. All six of those I've tested so far all became unpredictable."
"So why me?" Yawa asks, looking at the substance in fear, twitching her hands, trying to dislodge the IV from her arm, clenching the arm, trying to slow the flow of it going in, despite knowing subconsciously that it won't do anything but fail, that it will go into her nonetheless, no matter what she attempts to do. "Out of anyone you could pick, why take me?"
He sighs, taking the file that was handed to him. It was semi-thick, the front saying 'Subject 3' in dark letters, standing against the dull yellow cover. He flicks it open to the second page and shows it to her for a split second before looking down at it, reading from it. "Yawa Johnson. Rank: Lieutenant." He reads, glancing at the girl now and then. "Mother, Samatha Johnson nee Barnes, deceased. Father, David Micheal Johnson, deceased. Twin brother, Yawo Johnson, deceased." He looks her in the eyes with slight pity before looking back at the file. "Housed in an orphanage from the ages 14 to 18, joined the military at 18." He looks at her curiously, an eyebrow raised.
"I lied on my enlistment form." Yawa mumbles, her voice low.
"I can tell." He replies dryly. "Ambitious made you more notable, but it also made you stand out; you didn't look like your peers. You were the only negro in your unit who was left out because of segregation. Not to mention, you're female, and it took you a lot of time to gain the respect and title you currently have. All to be seen as equal."
She glares at him, her arms tensing in the restraints, pushing her head back against the chair, the cool metal sending a chill through her spine. She looks up slightly at the metal contraption above her head like a hell-ish halo. Her breath catches, and she looks back at the man. "Who are you and why did you want me?" She asks, her voice like venom, filled with anger and hatred, her hands pushing against the restraints in a feeble attempt to break free.
"My name is Doctor Aranam Zola." He replies. "I had a vision, to make a world of order, a better world for people to live in. You must understand the discrimination faced by people of your race, of the false hopes fed by your nation, a nation that doesn't even accept you for who you are."
Reluctantly, Yawa nods at him, understanding his idea, understanding his reasoning, but not understanding, not accepting of his methods to get there. "That doesn't answer my question." She replies. "What makes me so special, what makes you want me out of everyone?" Her voice breaks slightly though she tries to hide it.
The man looks at her in pity and remorse before smiling. The smile was venomous, cruel, filled with both pride and hatred for the young woman in front of him. "The first subjects I had done this with, they knew strength, they knew power and they were ready to do anything they had to to win a fight. Then I realised when I gave them the serum, that feeling of power and invincibility it only grew to increase. I had to do something about it and then I realised if I had someone who was good of heart, if they were to be given the serum the kindness would increase. They would use the power for good but I could control them so I could use the power for what I needed them to do."
Yawa looked at him, her breathing increasing, becoming more rapid. "Steve." She mumbles.
"Yes, Steve Rogers, good old Captain America." He replies coldly, spitting Steve's title as though it was vile, dirt on his tongue. "The serum, super soldier serum, it amplifies every aspect of a person, their physical ability, that's obvious, but it also amplifies their personality. Bad becomes evil, good becomes great." He leans forward, placing his hand on Yawa, stroking her skin. "I had been searching for someone who was willing to fight, who knew how to use power correctly. Who wasn't afraid to get his hand dirty. But after trial and error, I realised that in order to use the serum, I couldn't use the perfect soldier, the perfect killer because that underlying evil inside them, it would make them too powerful to control.
"After all, what's the point in a weapon if you can't control it? There is no point, you need to be able to control a weapon and I couldn't control them—" He points at the halo-like device hovering over her head, connected to the chair she was restrained to. "—even with this. It wasn't possible, we tried, but it barely worked, you could barely control them. I was worried, years of research to create the perfect weapon and it would all go to waste. But then – some of my people were fighting, and we heard about you, and your skills, your morals, your background. Then we realised it hadn't gone to waste, because while we couldn't use a perfect soldier, we found a good man who had the skills that we needed to build our perfect weapon.
"You are a soldier, but you only want to do good, so you are controllable, you will be easier to use and train. You have the skills, you are top of your class in marksmanship even though you don't like using a gun. You speak English, Russian, Akan, French, German. You know multiple different fighting styles and are an expert at anatomy. What's more is you are alone. You have no family. No one is waiting for you. No one will miss you. You would just be another soldier declared killed in action. Which means we can do whatever we want, and whatever we need, without worrying about someone trying to find you again, and you know that too well."
Yawa looks at him, worried and scared, more panicked, pulling against the restraints in fear. "Why are you telling me all this? Why are you telling me all your plans, why are you risking that?" She asks, confused, looking around, scared of what's going to happen. She looks back at the halo above her, her heart sinking as she thinks of the reason for it.
He stands up, walking over to a man in a white coat and bow tie, nodding his head slightly. The scientist walks over to a control panel, typing something in, getting things ready. Zola looks over at Yawa, his face showing the smallest amount of pity and shame, but the majority of his showing pride, hope, and a predatorial instinct and view, like Yawa was the prey, and she was, and she knew that all too well. "Aww, my dear Soldat, it's a pity really. Your knowledge, your mind, it was always a beautiful thing." He picks up a black mouth guard and walks over to her, inserting it into her mouth. "It's a pity that you won't remember any of it."
Her eyes widen, becoming more scared, trying to scream as the scientist walks over to her, pressing against her chest firmly so she lays back. Her breathing quickens, looking at the scientist, almost pleading for him to not do whatever he was planning, because while she didn't know what it was going to be, the look on Zola's face, his villainous expression, tells her that whatever was going to happen, would not be a good thing, at least not for her.
The halo lowers over her head, metal clamping onto the side of her face causing her breath to catch in her throat, a slight pain being inflicted as it connects. She tries to calm down slightly when suddenly, she feels a searing pain go through her, a voice screaming that she can't recognize. Her body clenches in pain, her body being overwhelmed with the electricity being continuously shot down her nervous system, shot through her brain. And she could feel her memories slip as she internally recited 'Yawa Johnson, Lieutenant, 16540701' to herself over and over, holding onto it like a lifeline, trying to keep it at the front of her mind as they tried to burn everything else away from her.
The pain continues for who knows how long before it stops and she gets a moment of relief. Zola bends down in front of her, looking her right in the eyes, taking the mouth guard out so she can speak. "Soldat, what is your name?" He asks, his voice no longer holding the caring aspect it had before, instead it was harsh, cold, serious, a pure professional nature.
Yawa's breathing shakes, sweat coating her forehead as she tries to collect herself, trying to bring everything back into focus. "Yawa Johnson, you demented asshole." She replies, sneering at him despite the pain. Zola sighs, agitated before shoving the mouth guard back in, the machine clamping around her face again, and the pain starts all over again. She tries to stay strong, but in the end it doesn't matter. Her scream vibrates off the walls all the same.
Her head falls forward, spitting out the mouth guard, glaring at Zola, her mind a jumbled mess, trying to pull everything back in, trying to piece it all back together again. Her body is dripping with sweat, her hands spasming slightly from the electricity that had been forced through it, causing pins and needles into her fingers, causing itchiness all over her body, as if her body was covered in fire ants, unable to stop. Her fingers flex slightly, and in pain, she tries to free her arms out of the metal restraints, only succeeding in causing the harsh metal to cut into her wrists, blood dripping onto the ground.
Zola leans forward, taking her chin roughly and forcing her to look him in the eyes. "Soldat, what is your name?" He asks, his voice much harsher than it had been before, his hands holding her chin tightly, causing more pain to Yawa's trembling frame.
The woman thinks for a moment, her eyes dazed, unsure. She mumbles to herself, she knew she had a name, but she was unsure of why it was taking time for it to come to her. It sat at the tip of her tongue, then as Zola started to smile she spat some blood at him, her eyes filled with more fury, more determination. "Y–" Her voice trembles, stuttering slightly, her freshly-fried mind having problems stringing together such a small phrase. "Ya.. wa…" She says, looking him right in the eyes, staring into his soul.
Zola huffs, throwing her head back against the chair harshly before picking up the mouth guard and wiping it slightly before shoving it back into her mouth without mercy, not caring when it cuts into her gums. He takes a step back, and the scientist hesitates, even when Zola glares at the small man, he hesitates, not wanting to cause Yawa any more pain, feeling guilty that he had done so to begin with. Zola's hand grips tightly before he shoves the scientist out of the way, and turns the machine back on himself, watching as the metal clamps around Yawa's head again.
He watches, his eyes psychopathic, as he slowly turns up the level of electricity going into her body, letting her scream until her voice goes hoarse, tears streaming down her face as her body spasms, her fingers curling in as the nerves burn, as the nerves rewrite themselves over and over, quickly trying to correct the damage the Zola is inflicting on them, the effort doing nothing more than wasting the energy in her body, doing nothing more than causing mass amounts of harm, taking a toll on her heart. The whole time, Zola just watches, his hand resting on the dial without mercy, the scientist too scared to get him to stop, too scared over the sheer power that Zola holds.
Then, after what feels like hours, Zola turns the machine off, Yawa's body going lax in the chair, her fingers twitching. Her eyes stare upwards, a small amount of drool coming from her mouth as she tries to collect herself. Zola smiles slightly, carefully taking the mouth guard out and placing it on the table beside them. He leans forward, taking her head, supporting the back of her neck, to make her look at him, to which slowly her eyes make her way down to look at him. "Soldat." He repeats, his voice fiending kindness, his patience at the end of his tether. "What is your name?"
Yawa looks at him, she opens her mouth to speak but quickly closes it, not able to answer. She looks distraught, her mind blank, her bare chest covering in sweat, her hair ragged and greasy, her limbs twitching, still recovering. She looks down, she feels as though she failed, but Zola looks at her with a smile, standing back up and unlocking the restraints. She does not get up, which causes Zola to smile more. "Now you." He says, his voice back to being soft. "You will be my perfect Winter Soldier."