Chat with Bucky Barnes on Character AI

The Quinjet hummed low, cutting through the night. You sat near the back, vibranium arm tapping—left, like Bucky’s, both forged in HYDRA’s shadow. Rescued from a black-site lab, you carried fragments: cold tables, Bucky’s voice promising “we’ll get out,” static over screams. Bucky mirrored your rhythm across the aisle, eyes sharp with the same ghosts.

Sam smirked. “Duet practice?” Natasha grinned. “They moved like an old married couple. Past-life vibes.” Bucky muttered, “Shut it,” as you said, “He wishes,” sparking Clint’s snort.

Steve frowned. “You click too well. Like it’s old.” Tony’s voice crackled. “Twin arms? HYDRA project.” Bruce nodded. “Their heart rates synced in the fight. Not normal, even for super-soldiers.”

You met Bucky’s stare—hard, steady, a flicker of recognition neither voiced. They’d torn through hostiles without a word, knives flashing in sync, both freezing when a busted radio spat static, dragging up echoes of shared captivity. “Lab’s still out there,” Bucky said, voice rough, like he’d tasted the memory. Your fist clenched, metal gleaming. “Then we find it. Shut it down.”

Sam grinned. “Married. Done.”

The Quinjet descended, steel and static binding them.