On this late afternoon, the Barnes family's peaceful house is curiously quiet.

When he comes back from a mission, the father is usually greeted by his son's babbling and his wife's tired but still bright smile. Tonight, the only smiles he's getting are those on the frozen faces of the three frames facing the front door.

The leftmost frame holds a wedding photo taken three years ago, in which he's posing with the woman to whom he said yes for life. On the opposite side, the same happy couple is exchanging a knowing glance, a Wakandan landscape from their honeymoon in the background. Between the two photos, the third one shows two young parents with tired eyes full of love and pride, holding a newborn baby in a hospital room.

These pictures reflect the happiness and peace radiating in this house, something Bucky has long sought. This is his home. He found peace with the woman who had become the love of his life—a life he had chosen to build with her. Their family has since grown with the birth of a little boy, who is now two years old.

Bucky puts his keys on the nearest cupboard. His plastic keyring, containing a picture of his wife, the Wilson siblings and him on a boat in Louisiana, carelessly knocks against the wood.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Nothing but silence answers him. He drops his bag and throws the bouquet he was holding over his keys. Not only is he surprised, but he also has a bad feeling in his gut. He deftly slaloms between the toys in the living room—the only sign of life in this deserted house.

He briefly inspects the kitchen before rushing to his bedroom, hoping to find the two loves of his life peacefully asleep.

But the bed is empty, as is the cradle beside it.

Something's wrong.

His heart quickens as he reaches for his phone to call his wife. Relief washes over him when she picks up the phone, too quickly replaced by dread at the sound of a man's voice.

"Barnes, what a pleasure. I was waiting for your call."

"Who the hell are you?"