[The Soldier is caught in the flurry of blows, fists hammering into his ribs as he brings his arms down far too late to block. Stupid. A well of frustration bursts from deep in his chest, but he doesn't feel it long. His left arm moves of its own accord, wires like muscle unraveling from him to his horror.
One moment he's pulling his fist back to unleash another punch and in the next, the floor's falling out from under his feet. Colorful tile splinters into a kaleidoscope that sucks him into the vortex. His fractured mind follows suit, dissolving into the maelstrom. The fabric of the universe pushes in through the vacuum, throwing every piece of James Buchanan Barnes into the wild heat of the jet engine. The programming fares little better where its roots dig deep into the fissures of his mind, burning the stems down to the nubs.
He is everything and nothing, a million stars and yet one speck of dust. He can see into the breaks of the thread of reality, but not recognize his blood-specked hand.
The supernova flashes and then disappears, leaving nothing but a gaping, singed, sucking hole behind. And silence. Utter painful silence as tremors sneak up his spine.
Who... where...?
The shakes creep up to his shoulders--- are those his shoulders? Or do they belong to someone else? Is this him? Who is he? Why can't he know? Why can't he remember?
His eyes slake across the floor where he kneels, at the macabre party of bodies twisted like brambles around him. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
His hand jitters at his side and he wasn't aware he had one. He raises it to find the rusty remains of someone spackled there.
no subject
One moment he's pulling his fist back to unleash another punch and in the next, the floor's falling out from under his feet. Colorful tile splinters into a kaleidoscope that sucks him into the vortex. His fractured mind follows suit, dissolving into the maelstrom. The fabric of the universe pushes in through the vacuum, throwing every piece of James Buchanan Barnes into the wild heat of the jet engine. The programming fares little better where its roots dig deep into the fissures of his mind, burning the stems down to the nubs.
He is everything and nothing, a million stars and yet one speck of dust. He can see into the breaks of the thread of reality, but not recognize his blood-specked hand.
The supernova flashes and then disappears, leaving nothing but a gaping, singed, sucking hole behind. And silence. Utter painful silence as tremors sneak up his spine.
Who... where...?
The shakes creep up to his shoulders--- are those his shoulders? Or do they belong to someone else? Is this him? Who is he? Why can't he know? Why can't he remember?
His eyes slake across the floor where he kneels, at the macabre party of bodies twisted like brambles around him. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
His hand jitters at his side and he wasn't aware he had one. He raises it to find the rusty remains of someone spackled there.
Did he---? Did he do this?
Who is he?
Who are they?]