Bucharest, Romania.
This sinful city, once a paradise for the Blood Clan and werewolves, had gradually regained order on the surface under the Sanctum Sorcerers' systematic cleansing. Those Dark Creatures were once again under supervision and no longer stood at the top of the food chain.
Wearing a baseball cap and a gray coat, his face covered in stubble, Bucky pushed open the door and saw Steve in uniform, holding a vibranium shield. The two looked at each other, and an almost distant, time-worn feeling rose between them.
The muscles tensed throughout his body relaxed. If it had been anyone else, he might have rushed forward and snapped their neck with that metal arm.
"Before you left America, you went to the museum. What did everything there remind you of?"
Hope shone in Steve's eyes. They kept a tacit distance between them; neither knew whether the man before him was Barnes, Captain America's old friend, or the Winter Soldier.
"Some fragmented memories. You're Steve Rogers. We knew each other before... in Brooklyn. Back then, you were still a skinny little guy who stuffed newspapers into his shoes..."
Bucky stood motionless, frowning as though he were trying hard to recall something.
Ever since he had nearly been beaten to death by Iron Man, the deeply buried memories locked away in his mind had burst forth like floodwaters through an opened dam, crashing into his brain.
Disjointed, chaotic images flashed through his mind like scenes in a passing lantern show—fleeting glimpses that vanished in an instant, impossible to grasp.
"We delivered milk to rich people and worked as paperboys for tips... When we were kids, we spread couch cushions across the floor and played kings and guards. You risked breaking the law to go from one recruitment station to another so you