Part 1: Winter 1944

The only thing Liesl could think when she saw his face for the first time was this—the soldier should be dead. But he wasn't.

She wasn't a doctor or a nurse, but she swept over the man's bloodied body with wet rags and a gentle touch. HYDRA scientists and medical specialists bustled around her, yammering in German and Russian about his blood pressure and breathing—steady, despite the massive fall from the train. Liesl cupped his face with her hands, but he did not react to her touch.

"I've seen him before," Zola said, his porkish face reddening with excitement. "We've tested him for strength and healing. He's an excellent candidate for the serum."

Liesl's eyes followed his voice. The other men murmured in agreement; she bit her lip, knowing that their optimism would likely kill this man.

"He'll need surgery first," she said aloud. As the only woman in the research compound, she always attracted attention whenever she spoke. "His arm needs to be amputated. Otherwise, he'll die of infection and blood loss."

"Where's the doctor?" another man said. Though many men in HYDRA were doctors, Liesl knew they were referring to her father, Emil Weber, head surgeon of HYDRA.

"Here," Emil said. He didn't bother to glove his hands before inspecting the soldier's broken arm. "We'll have to amputate at the shoulder. We should begin immediately. Liesl, please, the anesthetic."

She nodded, obeying her father. He was the only man whose orders she took; as much as she despised this cavern of evil, it was her only chance at survival—at a normal life after the war.

When she handed him the liquid, she asked, "Where's his file?"

Emil nodded to the counter behind him. As she moved away, medical staff filed around the soldier, their hands working quickly to save his life.

Liesl knew well that this would be the last time HYDRA would try to save him.

She sat in the chair next to her workstation in the adjacent room and opened the folder, thumbing through the files from the other HYDRA facility; they were meticulous in their record keeping, but Liesl was looking for one detail.

Towards the back of his file, she found it: a photo of the man in American uniform and his name—Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

Barnes survived surgery and was recovering quickly—she assumed, in part, thanks to HYDRA's earlier tampering. Though it was not her responsibility, she checked his vitals every hour and ensured he had a steady supply of pain medication. So long as no one, especially not Zola nor her father, caught her, she could ensure the soldier's comfort as well as her own (at least in her conscience).

After a few days of unconsciousness, Barnes opened his eyes and called out with a weak, gravelly voice.

"Hello?"

The sound of his voice after days of silence sent a shockwave up Liesl's spine. She bolted from her workspace into the recovery room, where Barnes weakly struggled against his restraints with his right arm, while his left nub, still covered in gauze and bandages, remained still.

"Don't move," she instructed, her German accent heavy. "You will be okay."

Barnes managed to open his eyes wide enough to look at her—his eyes narrowed in disgust at the sight of her.

"Where am I?" he demanded. "Who are you? Let me go!"

The sharp rise in his voice signaled the entrance of Zola, who smiled smugly to himself.

"Ah, Sergeant Barnes," he trilled. "Welcome back."

Sedation was the only solution to calming Barnes down. As he dozed into a medical-induced sleep, Liesl couldn't help but feel badly for him. Further research into his files showed that he was a close companion of Captain America, who undoubtedly was searching hell and high water for his friend. Liesl wished him success, but knew it was unlikely.

She had been hopeful that as her years working for HYDRA dragged on, she might grow less attached to each soldier—each patient—they experimented on. But, as her father noted, she had a soft heart.

In fact, her father was the only reason HYDRA hadn't banished her to the Siberian winter or put a bullet in her temple. Liesl had been caught on more than one occasion mercy killing patients. She always intended for their overdoses to look like accidents or medical failures, but post-mortem blood tests showed that Liesl had tampered.

Her punishment was swift and severe—she was beaten and assaulted while her father watched on with a careful eye. He never let them rape or severely injure her, but she carried the scars of these "reprogramming sessions" with her always. Liesl hadn't been reprimanded in nearly six months, which was now her longest streak. The HYDRA superiors were beginning to trust her again. But unbeknownst to them, she hadn't changed—she had just gotten better at hiding her evidence.

In fact, whenever she met a new patient, Liesl often imagined how they would die in her hands. It was a morbid thought, but it kept these men from becoming super slaves for the Third Reich; it gave them time for Captain America to liberate them.

Hope was the most potent drug of all in the HYDRA facility. Without it, Liesl would have pulled the trigger herself.

After a few days of recovery, Liesl assisted the medical staff in implementing one of HYDRA's most revered projects unto Barnes: the metal arm. The ultimate goal—the vision—was to turn Barnes into the Winter Soldier, Captain America's vicious foil; a single man with the strength and brutality of an entire army. HYDRA had been discussing the project for over a year to little success—partially her undoing. The medical staff worked diligently to attach the arm to Barnes's nervous system so that it functioned as a normal prosthetic. Barnes was unlike any other patient HYDRA had taken in; he was promising.

Liesl watched with an anxious gut as they woke Barnes from his medically-induced sleep and instructed him to move his metal arm. He clenched his fist, and the room broke out into cheers and applause. Barnes was stronger than she and they anticipated.

His willpower was too. Barnes fought—verbally and physically—during every subsequent procedure that would ensure his ultimate strength. He was sedated more often than Liesl was comfortable with, but it was the only option unless she finished her now stalled project—a memory eraser that would brainwash him into the super soldier. Liesl regretted ever thinking of the concept—it was done in a moment of weakness, of a need to impress. But it was too late to turn back now.

During the night, Barnes took to shouting his lungs raw, hopeful that someone might rescue him—or, perhaps, come put a bullet in his head. Unfortunately for him, HYDRA had other plans.

But so did Liesl.

"Soldat," she said sharply. Barnes stopped wailing and glared at her. "What do you need?"

"A way out," he quipped.

"Unlikely," she replied, approaching him slowly. "HYDRA values you. Do you need sedation? Food? Water?"

Barnes scoffed. "I won't cooperate. You might as well kill me now."

"Not unless I want to lose my life," she said casually. Her dark eyes met his blue, and an unfamiliar sensation roared in her gut.

"You prefer to live with this?" Barnes countered, "Rather than die? Coward."

His word cut her to her core, but she was determined to show that she was in charge.

"We do what we must to survive," she said simply. "Again, soldat. Food? Water?"

Barnes watched her carefully, as if considering whether or not she was genuine.

"Nothing," he said finally, his tone softer. "Except your name."

"Annelise," she said after a beat. "I prefer Liesl… it was my grandmother's name."

"Why not hide with her?"

"She and my mother were Jewish," Liesl explained shortly. Neither Germany nor HYDRA were happy with her heritage, but her father's reputation saved her life. Her face, though, resembled her grandmother's—thin, mousy, with thick brown curls matching her eyes, covered with equally thick lenses.

Barnes's face softened. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not. They stood up for what they believed in. I've never had a choice."

"You always do," Barnes said. He held up his human arm. "We could go, Liesl. You and me."

She scoffed. "Go where? We'd die in the cold."

"Better die there than here."

Liesl considered this for a beat. She was unsure of why she felt so attracted to this strange soldier, when nearly every other man had begged her for escape in the past. But, thankfully, the feeling was fleeting.

"I'll get you water," she said curtly. "You must be parched from the screaming."

As she turned on her heel to get a cup of water, she heard Barnes say, "Wait."

Even though she knew better, she stopped in her step.

He said, "Call me Bucky."

She nodded, though she was certain he didn't see, and then walked out of the room.