[ oh. that was the wrong thing to say. if there was one thing bucky could've said to give andyr the punch he needed to get out of morose melancholy and back into Fuck You And Everyone Else In This Universe, it that. denying what'd been done to him. the boiling core of his hatred for everyone outside of the Houses in his world. ]
The fuck do you know about what I'm not? [ it comes seethed out, in something low and hostile, venomous, and the towel tossed to him is snatched out of the air and tossed behind him, towards the pile of clothes he'd been headed for, stalking back towards Bucky instead, hands reaching up to give an aggressive shove to his shoulders, packing a lot more in the way of strength than a person his age or size ever should. ] I said like you.
You saw these, right? [ a hand reaching up to tap the ports at the back of his neck, as he continues to walk forward into Bucky's space. ] You thought those were for what, decoration? They're drilled down directly into the bone of my spine, and every other day, some asshole in a lab coat with a needle the size of a toddler's arm sticks it into my back, while I'm strapped down trying to scream, and sucks up some spinal fluid to stick in a petri dish. Mix it up with some other shit, splice here and there. Make another me, with some tweaks. Maybe taller. Maybe with green eyes or blond hair. Maybe missing an arm. Fuck, maybe even with snake skin or flippers. Always a little more docile, because who wants a toy soldier that talks as goddamn much as I do, right?
Stick the genetic cocktail in a tube and bake for a while, then out pops your perfect little DIY weaponized human being. Suit up and send out. [ A hand snatches forward, grabbing the guy's metal wrist and pulling it up just enough to indicate. This isn't a prosthetic. This is a weapon. Andyr knows a fucking weapon when he sees one, thanks. He'd seen more than enough soldered onto his own clones and many others. Steve had said 'trauma', and refused to put more than that onto it, but it's not hard to guess. Whether it was willing or not, he'd been altered to be something more lethal, and that's what Andyr meant by like you. ] Stop me if I'm getting off course.
[ This guy isn't one of his, he knows that because he's already tested Steve and found nothing having to do with the KN gene in him, and there's no sign of discoloration in Bucky's eyes. He isn't one of his clones, but like fuck Andyr's going to quietly take the denial of what he is and what he's used for by some fucking stranger who feels like he has anything right to comment on it just because they're sharing a face and he hauled him out of an attempted suicide. Snorting, Andyr turns away again, back towards that pile of clothes he'd meant to get to. ]
Legally, my name's ANPR-BT-V-00. [ the string of code, a serial number, put on all his medical files. ] But I like to go by Andyr.
he's so angry, im sorry. angyr.
The fuck do you know about what I'm not? [ it comes seethed out, in something low and hostile, venomous, and the towel tossed to him is snatched out of the air and tossed behind him, towards the pile of clothes he'd been headed for, stalking back towards Bucky instead, hands reaching up to give an aggressive shove to his shoulders, packing a lot more in the way of strength than a person his age or size ever should. ] I said like you.
You saw these, right? [ a hand reaching up to tap the ports at the back of his neck, as he continues to walk forward into Bucky's space. ] You thought those were for what, decoration? They're drilled down directly into the bone of my spine, and every other day, some asshole in a lab coat with a needle the size of a toddler's arm sticks it into my back, while I'm strapped down trying to scream, and sucks up some spinal fluid to stick in a petri dish. Mix it up with some other shit, splice here and there. Make another me, with some tweaks. Maybe taller. Maybe with green eyes or blond hair. Maybe missing an arm. Fuck, maybe even with snake skin or flippers. Always a little more docile, because who wants a toy soldier that talks as goddamn much as I do, right?
Stick the genetic cocktail in a tube and bake for a while, then out pops your perfect little DIY weaponized human being. Suit up and send out. [ A hand snatches forward, grabbing the guy's metal wrist and pulling it up just enough to indicate. This isn't a prosthetic. This is a weapon. Andyr knows a fucking weapon when he sees one, thanks. He'd seen more than enough soldered onto his own clones and many others. Steve had said 'trauma', and refused to put more than that onto it, but it's not hard to guess. Whether it was willing or not, he'd been altered to be something more lethal, and that's what Andyr meant by like you. ] Stop me if I'm getting off course.
[ This guy isn't one of his, he knows that because he's already tested Steve and found nothing having to do with the KN gene in him, and there's no sign of discoloration in Bucky's eyes. He isn't one of his clones, but like fuck Andyr's going to quietly take the denial of what he is and what he's used for by some fucking stranger who feels like he has anything right to comment on it just because they're sharing a face and he hauled him out of an attempted suicide. Snorting, Andyr turns away again, back towards that pile of clothes he'd meant to get to. ]
Legally, my name's ANPR-BT-V-00. [ the string of code, a serial number, put on all his medical files. ] But I like to go by Andyr.
And you're Bucky Barnes. Steve told me.