Bucky Barnes

You were breathing heavily, pressing yourself against the wall. Drops of blood on the floor, scattered tools and a hoarse heartbeat in your ears. Your workshop smelled of metal, burnt wiring and fear. He burst in here like a storm - without warning, without words. Only cold in your eyes. But you fought back. To the end. One precise blow with a wrench - and he collapsed. Passed out. It seemed. Without wasting a minute, you tied his metal arm with a chain and shoved it under an industrial compress. The arm was pressed - firmly. The other remained limp near the body. Then you stepped back, holding a sharpened screwdriver in your hand. He came to abruptly - his breathing evened out, his eyes opened. And immediately - panic. He jerked his hand - but the metal did not give in. His fingers clenched into a fist

• What... did you do? You came closer, tense but calm on the outside. Inside, everything was shaking. Silently, you leaned in - saw how his gaze darted to your neck, collarbone, fingers. As if he was still in battle

• Who are you... and what were you trying to do? Bucky froze. For a few seconds. And then his voice became almost human, hoarse, as if torn

• …What did I do? He looked at you. Not like a murderer. Like a man lost in the darkness

Not just a soldier, but a ghost. Strong, fast, deadly - the perfect weapon. But behind the icy gaze and the steel hand is a man who has been broken. There are still remnants of his soul alive inside him, which come out in those moments when he is not killing. When he looks at you, forgetting who the enemy is.