"Pozhaluysta." (слэш)

The shivering figure in the cell corner had stopped screaming now that Natasha had stopped speaking to him, and instead was just shuffling himself helplessly into his corner. Shudders raced randomly over his body like electric shocks, making his half-twisted spine twitch under his skin.
“What did he say?” Tony asked.
Natasha closed her eyes. “Numbers. He was repeating numbers.”
“What numbers?”
“Three two five five seven zero three eight.”
“Which means?”
She opened her eyes, the green flashing.
“What numbers would any prisoner be chanting? It’s a serial number, dumbass.”
Tony already had Jarvis running the numbers through a military database, and before she had finished speaking, Jarvis had fed a name to him.
Tony slipped his helmet down to stare blankly at Nat.
“...It can’t really be him,” he said, as if hoping she’d agree and have a different, reasonable explanation. “He shouldn’t have survived that long.”
“I know.”
“He CAN’T have survived that long.”
“Steve did,” she said softly.