Marvelous Mutations

Bucky, of course, had no money.

Not a single coin, not even a scrap of anything remotely valuable on him.

If you had to assign a price to anything he carried, it would be his metal arm. That was the only thing that might be worth trading.

But.

While the arm was an exceptional piece of combat engineering, it was irreplaceable for Bucky, and completely useless to anyone else. No one in their right mind would chop off their own arm just to attach a hunk of metal, no matter how shiny or powerful it looked.

Besides, Luke didn't need it.

With Extremis running through his body, even if he lost an arm, it would regenerate in seconds. And the system seemed to favor more theatrical resolutions anyway.

So, after briefly entertaining the thought of pawning Bucky's arm as a joke, Luke waved the idea away.

"Well, you're broke, brainwashed, and your only asset is off-limits," Luke said with a shrug, leaning against the counter. "Looks like we're done here."

He gave Bucky a casual nudge toward the door.

Bucky didn't resist. He was dazed, silent, his brow furrowed as if something inside his head was frantically rearranging itself. He stumbled slightly as he stepped out of the grocery store, the cool night air hitting him like a slap.

The war inside his mind was spiraling out of control.

The mission: to kill Luke Yale.

Luke's words: too casual, too kind for someone he just tried to kill.

The Lucky Cat, its hypnotic gaze whispering thoughts of capitalism and retail therapy.

These three conflicting forces were like storms clashing in his skull.

Still, some programming remained intact.

When a mission failed or something abnormal occurred, the Winter Soldier had one absolute command: return to base for recalibration.

And so, like a ghost moving through the shadows, Bucky silently disappeared into the night, retracing his steps to the hidden Hydra facility.

Unbeknownst to him, nestled in the bushes nearby, a pair of blue eyes glinted in the dark.

Doggo lay prone in the grass, tail still, eyes narrowed with focus. He didn't move, didn't bark. Didn't even twitch even though he really wanted to scratch his side.

His orders were clear: track the target.

And despite his carnivorous urges screaming for a midnight snack, Doggo obediently watched Bucky vanish into the Hydra stronghold.

He wouldn't follow unless commanded.

After all, Luke's word was law.

…

Half an hour later.

Inside the dim corridors of Hydra's underground base, silence reigned.

The Winter Soldier sat rigidly in a cold metal chair within a soundproof interrogation room. His eyes were distant, jaw clenched. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly.

Before him, a Hydra operative in a lab coat flipped through a clipboard, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the assassin's blank expression.

In a surveillance room beyond the interrogation chamber, Alexander Pierce leaned forward on a plush leather sofa, eyes fixed on the monitor.

Behind tinted glass, he watched everything.

The secret chamber had been built specifically for him; insulated, concealed, accessible only through a coded elevator. It was where he commanded the invisible empire Hydra had embedded within S.H.I.E.L.D.

As far as Pierce was concerned, things were going smoothly.

Until now.

…

The scientist, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a perpetually anxious demeanor, stood in front of Bucky and took a deep breath.

He began the activation sequence in Russian:

"Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace… Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One… Freight car."

Each word struck Bucky like a hammer to the skull. His body trembled. His fingers twitched.

But when the final word was spoken, Bucky's eyes snapped into focus.

The blank stare returned.

Almost.

The man hesitated. Something wasn't right.

He leaned in, clipboard tight in hand. "Soldier. Report the results and process of this mission."

Normally, the Winter Soldier would recite everything with military precision; entry method, targets encountered, complications, outcomes.

But this time.

"Task… me… grocery store… Luke…" Bucky mumbled, his voice cracking like a failing motor. He clutched his head. "Shopping… I didn't… I didn't buy anything…"

The scientist froze.

"…What?"

"I want money…" Bucky growled softly. "Shopping… I have to… need to…"

Then suddenly, Bucky shot upright in the chair, his entire body tensing like a spring.

"I NEED TO SHOP!!" he roared.

The clipboard slipped from the scientist's hand and clattered to the floor. He stumbled backward in terror.

Bucky's eyes were wide, bloodshot, brimming with confusion and desperation.

He kept shaking his head, muttering.

"I want to go shopping… I need… I need money… There were shelves, candy, a girl in a red-dress, prices, but… no money…"

…

Inside the surveillance chamber, Pierce stood in alarm.

"What the hell?" he muttered, his voice low and venomous.

The display in front of him showed the once-predictable Winter Soldier in full meltdown.

Shopping?

Pierce's jaw clenched as he stared at the man who had never once questioned an order, never once failed a mission, now spiraling into what looked like a consumer crisis.

"This is impossible…" Pierce whispered.

The Hydra agent inside the interrogation room tried again, this time louder, firmer. "Soldier! Calm down. What was your mission?"

Bucky blinked, his breathing ragged. Then something clicked. His head snapped up.

"My mission… is… SHOPPING!"

He declared it like a holy revelation.

…

Pierce's fingers curled into a fist.

"No," he said coldly with his teeth gritted. "This isn't just a failed mission. It's sabotage."

The only explanation was that something, or someone, had interfered with Bucky's programming. And given the target, it wasn't hard to guess who.

Luke Yale.

…

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