[Winter Soldier] What the movie didn't tell us

Brock Rumlow:


I was back at the lab two hours later after the nerds in the laboratory had erased Winter Soldier’s memory by the excessive electro-shock. I went there with the other two members of S.T.R.I.K.E. team. Let’s say they was Bob and Guy. On phone, a scientist told me that the subject was very dangerous.

Hell, I’ve  known, for years, that he bites.

Why do they have to warn me now?

I had my answer instantly after I’d entered the room. Winter Soldier had been dressed. He was sitting on the same chair I’d watched him being tortured earlier. He was looking at the ceiling with the same old pouting pug expression on his face. A drop of saliva was dripping from his lips.

He was drooling.

“What the hell--”

A young male scientist, I could tell by his soft calm voice that he was the one who had talked to me on phone, came to wipe the subject’s lips. He told me. “The subject’s condition isn’t stable. He and his memory both.”

“You told me that he’s dangerous,” I crossed my arms.

“We don’t know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t remember any of us. Does it not sound dangerous to you?”

“Sir,” Bob said, “If he doesn’t remember us, what if he attacks us too.”

“He won’t.” I assured him but the scientist interrupted me.

“He might. We need more time to--.”

“We don’t have time, Doctor. The mission’s awaiting.” I grabbed the chair turning the soldier to face me. “Remember us?”

Winter pug shook his head.

“Fine.” I told my comrades. “We’ll bring him with us, leave him alone on one of the ships, then tell him to kill anyone he meets. No one is going to meet him there anyway, except, that guy.”

“Should we handcuff him when we drive there?” Guy asked.

“We won’t if he behaves.”

Suddenly, Winter Soldier pointed his finger at me. “You.”

“What?”

“You.”

I knew he was trying to communicate with me. Like a toddler.

I damned this operation. Pierce gave an order to erase his memory as if his brain was a drawing. Not only he would become very confused after receiving the treatment, he would also become a retard. I lost count of the times I had to teach him to talk like a grownup. Every time took a while. But at this moment, while was what I didn’t have. Time was running short.

“It’s not you.” I corrected him. “It’s Rumlow.”

He pointed at me again. “Rumlow.”

“Attaboy.” I turned to my team. “OK. You. Bring the car around.” I directed Bob then Guy. “And you. Help me get this guy upstairs.”

“It’s not you.” Winter Soldier cut in.

I looked at him, brows knitting.

“Rumlow should say,” he pointed at Bob and Guy, repeating my words. “OK. Rumlow.  Bring the car around. And Rumlow. Help me get this guy upstairs.”

Everyone was speechless.

Bob’s phone rang. Pierce was calling. Bob answered the phone then handed the phone to me. “Sir, Mr. Pierce wants to talk to you.”

“Give me a minute.” I pressed my temple.

The assassin looked at Bob and made a bitter face. “Rumlow should say, Mr. Pierce wants to talk to Rumlow.”

“Sir, Mr. Pierce demands--”

“I said ‘wait a minute’! Rumlow is my name! Not a fucking pronoun!”

- Let's end here -

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