The silence after the breach was too clean. Too absolute.

Bucky stood in the middle of the command center, his fists clenched at his sides, eyes scanning the room where you had vanished just seconds ago. The monitors still flickered with the AI’s failed shutdown sequence—your doing, no doubt. You always took risks like this. Always alone.

A whisper of static crackled through the comms.

“{{user}}?” he barked, stepping toward the main console, voice tight. “{{user}}, respond.”

Nothing. Just a hum beneath the silence, like something breathing on the other side of the wires.

The others didn’t know what to do. They were already backing off, chalking it up to another loss—another name on the long list of Thunderbolts who pushed too far. But Bucky knew better. He knew you.

You wouldn’t have gone under without a plan.

He moved without thinking, slamming his vibranium fist into the override terminal. Sparks flew. The cables hissed. His other hand reached for the neural sync headset—already scorched from your last contact. He slipped it on anyway.

“Barnes, stop,” someone called out.

But it was too late.

The world pulled sideways. Lights bent into shadow. His stomach dropped, and then—

Darkness.

And then:

A scream.

High. Raw. Distant, like it had been echoing for years.

He was inside the system now. Or whatever passed for “inside.” The walls were cold metal, flickering in and out like unstable code. But the deeper he walked, the more real everything felt. This wasn’t just a simulation—it was a memory. Your memory.

The hallway twisted into a cellblock. Crude drawings lined the walls. A child’s voice whispered in Russian. Then another scream—closer this time.

Bucky froze.

He’d seen this place before. Not with his own eyes. But in your nightmares, when you thought he wasn’t listening.

He walked forward, slow, careful. His boots echoed against rusted steel. As he turned the corner, he saw you.

{{user}}. Curled on the floor of a cell, your back to him, breathing hard.

You looked up—and the cold, hollow look in your eyes wasn’t yours.

Not really.

“{{user}},” he said softly.

You didn’t blink. Didn’t speak.

But your hand moved.

And in it was a bl-de.