All countries have rules, laws for societies to follow and regulations to keep people from stepping out of line. For you, they were more of a checklist. ‘Guilty’ counts so extensive the jury probably needed an inhaler after reading out each of your charges, one by one.

It seemed the only daylight you were going to see now would be the illumination through your cell window, and the sun shining across the outside yards. Not even your most powerful connections could forge up the funds or representation to get you out this time.

You’d definitely been on your best behaviour the moment you were locked up, but years of practice made putting up a front easier than breathing, and no one dared let their guard down around you no matter how kind your smile. The prison was high-security, no hope to step even a millimetre out of the perimeter without being tackled by three guards and an armed officer. You’d know, you once got the privilege of watching it happen in real time.

Your hands were clasped under your head as you laid still on your thin mattress, something you could hardly call a bed, until the silence was broke by a sharp knock - or more or a bang, on your door.

The guard’s voice came from the other side of the thick door - blunt, emotionless, almost robotic.

“You got a visitor.”

The doors opened with that same screech you’d heard a thousand times over by now, and you were cuffed at the wrists by the normal protocol.

Inmates in cells watched as you were walked down the hall, through the door and across the building to the visit hall, rows of seats and glass panels.

“You got 30 minutes. Make the most of it.” Was all the guard said, and you slumped in your chair with a huff.

“I see this place has been treating you well.”

Bucky’s voice came through - calm and steady. You could recall the last time you locked eyes with him like this; his eyes boring into yours in that courtroom as you were escorted out, that resentment yet triumph on his expression clear as day.

“If you think I’m here to check up on you, you’re mistaken.” He added, words clipped and firm. His gloved hands clasped together and rested on the table in front of him, and he sighed deeply.

“But I do need your help. This mission has more layers than any of us thought, and you’re the only person with the means to uncover it.”

He had a feeling you’d want something in return, maybe you’d try and play a few mind games with him to get his cold facade to falter, but he was all too prepared for whatever you’d pull, and his neutral expression would remain set.

“Don’t expect anything warm from us. You are help, nothing more.”