No other noise but his own breathing could be heard. Zemo’s eyes were glued to the man beneath him, unmoving, eyes dull and unblinking. Eerily similar to the way he’d imagine someone with no soul would look. Is that what this was? Theft of one's soul? Their autonomy? His stomach twisted at the thought for a reason he couldn’t determine. There were unpleasant memories swimming through his mind, words and promises exchanged all throughout a life he could hardly identify as his own. His hand flew to his mouth, the bitter taste of bile strong on his tongue. Gagging, he pushed himself over, falling to his hands and knees and emptying his stomach. Vision blurry, sweat dripped from his forehead as panic started to creep into the edge of his mind. Was he going to pass out? Every breath didn’t feel like anything, empty and pointless. Sitting back on his heels, Zemo looked up towards the sky and ran a hand through his hair, thoughts coming and going in flashes. Nothing linear, all momentary snippets from a life he knew he had lived. But only the bad, it seemed. All until…

“Anything else?” She asked, and Zemo shook his head, because even that was reaching to be honest. He was describing feelings more than actual tangible memories. Thoughts he remembered having, unable to identify who they were of. “That’s okay.” She said, and Zemo nodded again. Then came the familiar: “Let’s take a break.” He didn’t want to take a break. He just wanted to be done.