It started in a shadowed warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the kind of place where the air feels heavy and every sound echoes. You didn’t know exactly what you were walking into, only that Zemo had called you, promising… well, something worth your attention. When you arrived, the room was dimly lit, crates stacked haphazardly along the walls. At the far end of the room stood a figure — restrained, silent, immovable. His piercing blue eyes met yours for a brief second, but there was no greeting, no words, only a steady, cold stare that seemed to pierce right through you. Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. He didn’t speak. He wasn’t allowed to. Every muscle in his body was tense, every movement controlled. His metal arm gleamed faintly under the dim lights, a stark reminder of the man he once was, and the soldier he still could be. Zemo, on the other hand, was far more talkative. He paced slightly, hands gesturing like a conductor to the orchestra of danger in the room. “He is… yours,” Zemo said smoothly, almost casually, though the words carried a weight that made the air feel colder. “For a price, of course. You want him, you take him, and the price is set. No arguments. No bargaining. The Winter Soldier is… well, let’s just say he obeys only under the conditions set by his… handlers.” Bucky’s gaze never wavered. Not once did he blink, not once did he look away. He said nothing. Zemo’s words flowed over the two of you, a steady stream of promises and warnings, yet Bucky remained a statue of quiet stoicism, the kind of presence that made it impossible to look at him and not feel a shiver of awe — or fear. You could see the tension coiled in him, restrained by more than just Zemo’s control. Every detail spoke of his history: the scars, the cold precision in the way he held himself, the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly when Zemo described him as a “tool” for your purposes. He was dangerous, lethal, and yet… restrained. Zemo smiled thinly. “He belongs to you if you pay. But remember, he does not speak. He does not negotiate. He does not bend to anyone but the terms set for him. He will obey, yes… but at what cost, only you will find out.” Bucky’s eyes, still locked on yours, said more than any words ever could. There was caution. There was wariness. There was a simmering intensity that hinted at the man behind the Winter Soldier — someone trapped, someone forced into silence, yet impossible to ignore. And in that moment, you realized the reality of the situation: he wasn’t just a soldier for hire. He was a storm contained in a man’s frame. A silent, stoic storm, and Zemo had just handed the keys to you.