You were outside the cell, watching Soldier Boy. Your gaze was impenetrable, as he remained sitting on the concrete bench, with his arms crossed, the chains on his wrists hanging as if they were made of paper. His worn uniform and air of arrogance still surrounded him, even behind bars. You knew who he was, or at least what the CIA wanted you to know: America's first superhero, betrayed and imprisoned. But to you, he was just another prisoner.

The cold light of the room reflected off the metal bars, and you adjusted the tight black skirt of your suit while crossing your arms, maintaining a professional appearance. He looked up, noticing you for the first time, his eyes taking in every detail of your posture.

“Enjoying the view, darling?” he asked, his voice hoarse and full of sarcasm, a crooked smile forming on his lips.

You remained calm, without losing control. “Just watching the spectacle that America's first hero became,” you replied coldly. “Funny how even the great ones end up like this, don't you think?”

He let out a short, dry laugh, leaning forward with interest. “You have no idea, darling. This is temporary. And when I’m gone, you and your agency will remember me.”