The room is pitch black; the dim hallway lights do nothing for it. Thankfully, I brought a flashlight. Unsurprisingly, Bucky flicks his own on, like a boy scout, always prepared.
We step inside and are hit with the stuffy smell of dust. I shine my light around, revealing an office. Bookshelves line the walls, a desk sits at the center. Aside from the dust, nothing is damaged, the room is untouched by the elements.
We start scanning the books. A whining sound draws my attention to Bucky. He is gently swatting her hand away from the shelves as she tries to reach the books. That girl will read anything.
Proud of him for learning to say no to her though.
The books are a mix of German and Russian, no surprise, they mostly are about military tactics, combat, a little psychology. My eyes catch a filing cabinet in the back corner behind the desk. I stride over and yank it open. Bucky continues sifting through the books, flipping pages to check for anything hidden.
Inside the cabinet, I find a single stack of seven files. I pull them out and place them on the desk. Opening the first, I see a blonde woman I vaguely remember.
"She was one of the Hydra agents who went through the program," Bucky whispers, joining me at the desk. The next four files are the same, but we know where these five are we just passed them. I toss them aside, uninterested.
The next file is Bucky's. I hesitate, unsure if he wants to see it, given what I read about his file during the leak and everything I lived through with him.
"It's fine," he whispers, taking it from me.
The final file is mine. At the top, it reads "Top Secret." The first page lists my personal information, origins, description. At the bottom, there's a list of dates from the 40s, each paired with a milliliter amount and a batch number, my injections. I skim the following pages detailing the original activation of the serum. Nothing I care to relive.
A whining sound interrupts my reading. Both of us turn to see Mira reaching for a book again. Bucky sighs, pulls a small book from his jacket pocket and hands it to her.
I raise an eyebrow.
"I found a bookstore that sells mini books," he explains. "Only like two hundred small pages, but it keeps her busy. I got in the habit of carrying them."
"Huh. Smart."
"Sam said I could get books on a smart phone, so I might have to do that when we get back."
Damn, books on a phone. Guess that would make it easier and we would have way less books in the house.
Bucky starts prying open the desk drawers as I return to my file. The final pages detail my missions, ending with the one where I was "killed in action." Sent to assassinate a target, accidentally blown up in the process. But there's nothing about the breeding experiment. The file reads as if I really died. Why is this information so hard to find?
In a fit of rage, I slam the file shut and throw the fancy clock that sits on the desk across the room, it shatters into pieces when it hits the wall. I collapse into the old, firm leather chair behind me, burying my face in my hands. The chair is uncomfortable, no cushion left, though it's been sitting here for god knows how long so makes sense.
"He would want to keep it close, within reach, but not obvious," Bucky mutters.
I lift my head out of my hands. "What?"
"Some of my file is redacted. That means there's either more files or, if this agent is like the others I've encountered, a journal. Hidden somewhere close so he could access it, but not others." He rises, scanning the room.
He's right. Every scientist kept a journal of their work, documenting their triumphs in creating perfect weapons. I crouch and search the desk, no compartments. Bucky traces the walls with his bare hand, searching for seams.
We turn the entire room upside down, even ripping down bookshelves to find only cement behind them. Where the hell could it be? Does it even exist?
"Maybe he took it when this place was abandoned?" I mutter, hope draining.
"Maybe. They wouldn't leave something like that behind." he says picking his file off the desk and slipping it into his jacket.
In another burst of frustration, I flip the desk and kick the chair against the wall.
I need to work on suppressing my anger in front of my kid. Looking at Mira, she seems unfazed, content with her book, probably used to it. I did this often in Madripoor whenever someone gave idiotic reports.
"Let's get the hell out of here," I say, heading for the door.
I turn to see Bucky still standing there. Damn. Did I freak him out? He walks over and rights the chair, then begins pulling out the old foam.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"The chair base is too thick," he replies. Flipping it over, he pries the legs from the base. Splitting it in two, revealing a small secret compartment on the bottom. Inside is exactly what we're looking for, a black leather-bound journal, tied with string.
"That's his journal," I mutter.
"Probably," Bucky replies.
"Can we go now? This place is creepy," Mira says, resting her head on his shoulder. We both chuckle.
"Yes, let's get the hell out of this creepy place," I say.