[ Bucky takes a steadying breath, trying—really trying to find something good to think about. He has a brain that's no longer pockmarked with blank spots, no longer simply a mish-mash of post-hypnotic suggestion and brutal training. But having access to all the good in addition to the bad makes the simple act of calling up a memory something of a gambling risk.

Still, he tries. ]

Okay... ah, one of the guys that welded my metal arm back on in Russia. I choked him out with that same arm. That was pretty good.