|EVENT: Target Locked|
|What: There's a reason why Winter Soldier went so easily to the S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier and has been, for the most part, quite cooperative. Now that the target is identified, the real Mission is about to begin.|
Patience is a virtue, they say. Virtues, however, aren't always for those meaning well.
Winter Soldier waited.
He went through the Therapy and he sat in his room/prison cell, waiting. He hadn't regained the trust he had before the incident with Thor, but he didn't need it. It made a few things more challenging, but it didn't put the mission in jeopardy. No, it just meant a slight change of tactics. Timing, however, was key.
First, was the ruse. The guard outside the quarters/cell heard a loud crash. When he opened the door, Winter Soldier was nowhere to be found but the glass mirror in the bathroom was shattered. Just as the communicator was lifted to his lips so he could report this, a makeshift garotte, torn from the bedsheets, wrapped suddenly around his throat. While one hand squeezed, the other plucked the communication device from the guard's hand. The last thing he heard, after the voice on the other end asking if things were all right, was a perfect American accent responding, "Everything's fine. False alarm." The now-dead guard was relieved of his ID and weapons and as the door closed on the body, the device was powered off.
It's a lot harder, if not impossible, to track a device that isn't broadcasting. It will buy him a few minutes at the very least. to find his target.
Doug Ramsey had finally given up and taken to wearing his uniform around the Argus instead of the suit. He didn't like the suit very much, but he'd wear it when a trip down below called for it. The rest of the time, though, he felt /much/ more comfortable with a big, faded yellow X across his chest.
Doug was on his way back to his quarters after a round of training in the gym. He hadn't actually been in the ring himself -- he'd been off to the side, watching the other trainees and paying attention for any signs that his mutation was noticing things without his realizing it. Difficult. Mundane. Not at all exciting.
Natasha is returning from a debriefing on missile codes drop that she and Doug were diverted from. She's heading to her quarters, dressed in her uniform, with every intent to change into sweats and go work out.
Practice every day. That is the edict that Clint has had since he was a little kid. Practice every day. He looks down the firing range at the hanging target in the shape of a humanoid figure. Getting his sight on the target, he quick draws three arrows, one to the face, one of the chest and one to the hand, all seeming to hit at nearly the same time. The proficency is impressive, even causing Clint to crack into a slight smirk, stopping just short of a 'boo-yah.'
Practice every damn day.
Busy times, busy times. Today, however, is slightly less busy for Agent Coulson than usual. Which is why he's actually on the helicarrier for a change and not driving halfway across the country to look at something someone found, or something that fell out of the sky, or... whatever it is of the moment. Point of fact, he's in the unusual situation of wandering down one of the many hallways in the carrier, with a tablet computer full of data in one hand and coffee in the other, absently weaving his way past people when needed.
As if to make a snarkier point, Clint's arrows are knocked off their marks on the target by the precise location of red arrows from the side as someone else is demonstrating -his- technique. As those arrows land on the ground, Roy Harper flashes a grin. "Hullo, Barton."
And Wisdom, looking roughly as dishevelled as a man who was wearing a suit when pretending to be Bruce Willis and hanging off a rolling helicopter midair tends to look, is jogging up the hallway behind Doug, panting. He really /should/ quit smoking. "Oi! Ramsey-- we need-- to talk-- to Coulson-- *huff huff* about Fairchild-- *huff huff* and also there's some robot shit Fury's stuck--" pant pant as he comes up abreast of Doug, "--me with, I didn't have time to ask him." Gulp air. "If I shouldn't be running shit by you for-- stuff. Because. Machine code. And this complete madwoman, seven feet tall. I think I'm in love but she hasn't got eyes or proper vocal chords-- or organs--"
Practice every day.
The super soldier serum altered Captain America's body to the point that he doesn't /need/ to work out. His muscles don't atrophy. He doesn't get stiff and sore and tired. His body works too well for any of that to happen. Nevertheless, he practices every day. It feels good -- it makes him feel alive, even vital, to punch the hell out of a bag that can't fight back. He's heading down the hall in his own uniform, passing Natasha as he goes and raising a hand to wave her way with a brief smile.
Business as usual on the helicarrier. That's what Winter Soldier was counting on. Get in and get the job done before racing to escape. Not knowing how, or if it's even possible, to locate others via the communication device, he makes for the first logical location: His target's quarters. Catching sight of both Black Widow and his target, he ducks behind a corner to wait for his prey to come to him. As soon as Captain America turns that corner, he'll find the barrel of a gun at the back of his head, "Do not raise the alarm." His voice is low in volume, but it does seem to be an order. Whether or not his target obeys is another story. "Continue walking. Normally," comes the next order, as if no one will think it odd that he's out of his quarters if he's escorted by Captain America. Doug turns when he hears his name and blinks once, coming to a halt to let Pete catch up without, you know, dropping dead. "Whoa, whoa, slow down. Breathe first," he says with a light laugh, reaching out to clap Wisdom on the shoulder. "Then talk. I caught the bit about needing to speak with Coulson, but what's the rest?" he asks curiously, loosely folding his arms. As to the events elsewhere, he remains -- for the moment -- oblivious.
That smirk on Clint's face fades away as he watches one of his three shots get deflected away from it's clear target. He stares at the direction from where Harper's voice comes from, giving him a very particular finger before actually cracking a smile again. "Spiteful, Harper. Just straight spiteful," he says before notching a new arrow. "Still eating you up that she gave /me/ her number?"
As he's about to shoot another arrow at his poor fake target, Clint frowns deeply at the information piping into his hearing aid/com device stuck in his ear. Tapping it he nods his head, his voice flat and professional. "Barton and Harper investigating now, over."
The Widow returns Cap's wave, one hand on the keypad lock for her quarters. She punches in her code and steps inside, tossing a file folder on her desk.
By purest happenstance, Coulson's path takes him through the same bit of the deck where everything's happening. Or about to. He manages to turn another corner into the hall where the Soldier's made his move, though the rather large frame that is Captain America makes it terribly hard to notice the problem from this angle. So instead he perks visibly, smiles, and calls down the hall as he approaches. "Morning, Cap," he grins. "See the Yankees game yesterday?" Because everyone knows Cap loves the Yankees. He's CAPTAIN AMERICA. Unusual for Coulson to miss little details like.. ah... well... the stickup. But again. CAPTAIN AMERICA. Right.
Arching an eyebrow, the redhaired archer drawls, oh so sarcastically. "What, that a gorgeous blonde, built like a brickhouse with helluva smoking stacks, decided she wanted -me- to give you her number? You think that's eating me, being an errand boy?"
THUNK goes another arrow.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Barton."
Gasp gasp, yes. The windblown and more-rumpled-than-normal Wisdom, sans jacket, badge clipped to his collar and shirtsleeve torn, rests there for a second with his hands on his knees, bent, half-laughing as he catches his breath. "Sorry. Right. It's a-- thing, it's a tech investigation thing, cleared one below the two of us, I just-- do you know a Sesha at all? She--" There's a pause. "Oh my god I hear Coulson." He straightens and turns back toward the way he came, squinting. "Did talking about him -summon- him? Are you about to be busy or do you want to quick run the problem by him while he's, you know, on the carrier." He doesn't actually wait for a yes or no; if he gets a no he can always tell Phil himself. So: Pete just heads for Coulson's voice.
Naturally, when the good Captain feels a cold gunbarrel against the back of his head he freezes, hands clenching just briefly before he turns his head just slightly. Not enough to see behind him, but he recognizes the voice well enough. "Soldier, stand down," he says, his voice even and very quiet. He doesn't start walking again immediately, continuing with: "We can talk this out if you put the gun down."
As Coulson approaches, though, the Captain tenses all the more. To his credit, it's probably not because Coulson might ask him for an autograph again. "Agent Coulson. Afternoon. Say, those papers you wanted me to sign?" There were no such papers. "Like an idiot, I left them in the training room; they're there now if you'd like to pick them up. Sorry about that." Meaningful, slightly tense smile.
It's at about this time that someone else passes by the door that was supposed to have a guard at it...and somehow doesn't. "Durant?" is called, apparently the name of the guy who -was- there. After there's no answer, the crew member uses his own ID card to unlock the door, only to find Durant there, with a cloth garotte still about his neck and his weapons missing. The silent alarm is triggered and the crewmember speaks over his comm, "Winter Soldier has escaped...he is armed..." as if Captain America wasn't already aware of it.
"Talk? There is no 'talk'..." Winter Soldier starts, but then Coulson shows up. Well, if they want to do this the hard way. The gun moves from the back of Captain America's neck to just over his shoulder to fire at the Agent in front of him. After that, he goes to move the gun back on his real target with the intent to get him moving.
When the alert comes down, Natasha slides her bracers back on, which she'd been removing. She also grabs her gun rigs, putting them on: two shoulder holsters, two hip holsters, and a thigh holster. She rushes out of her room. "Check all the security cameras, is anyone not reporting in?" she barks up to the bridge.
"I hear him too," Doug confirms to Pete, thinking a moment before he nods and falls into step with him. "We may as well see him now --" And then the silent alarm is blaring in his ear. And /then/ he hears the gunshot, and he can tell where it's coming from. He doesn't even think, he just breaks out into a flat sprint towards the sound, one hand darting for his earpiece. "Shots fired on the personnel deck!"
"Hey, it's a big city out there Harper," Clint says flippantly as he notches his own next arrow. "I'm sure there is a blonde bombshell slash scientist slash business owner out there waiting for you too," he says with a slight sing-song cadence.
Joking quickly dies down once that report hits his ear. "Making your move, huh?" he mutters to himself as he starts to move away from the firing range and jets down the hall, taking his bow and arrows with him. He warned 'James' what would happen if and when he stepped out of line. Time to make sure he's isn't a liar. "Lets head to the personell wing, Harper, see if we can track down our Rusky house guest." Phillip J. Coulson is a highly trained and supurbly experienced agent-- his dossier says so in no less than three seperate places. It also says that he is resourceful and adaptable. But still, there's only so much one can do when recognizing the very familiar shape of a gun barrel pointed in one's direction. The Agent has time to do precisely two things before the Winter Soldier's gun flares-- throw the hot coffee in his right hand at the enemy, and bring the tablet in his hand up to try and cover the aim point.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. tablet is ruggedized, solid mil-spec hardware, and as such, it does a fair job at... well, being a shield. How appropriate. Still, it's a thin, light tablet and doesn't do a whole lot more than slow the shots and deflect them-- fortunately enough so that the hammering impacts don't kill him outright. But he goes down anyhow with a shocked grunt and crumples against the wall while he tries to drag the sidearm out of his jacket stubbornly.
"Oh well, just so -you- know, I'm meeting with a brunette bombshell slash ambassador," Roy grins, before he listens to the report, clicking the remote.
"Wait, who's making his move...?" Roy is already running, down the hall. "The guy that was locked up in solitary down there?" No, instant recall was -not- his thing...
And then the sound of gunshots echoes down the corridor, and Roy swears, dashing faster. "Gunshots fired, gunshots fired!" he shouts over the comm. And the smoker who just caught his breath? Wisdom runs correctly this time, paying as much attention to his breathing as to his bolting like a bat outta hell, keeping it even-- he's only slightly behind Ramsey, pulling his own gun from where he keeps it jammed in the back of his waistband and ditching it to one side in the hall. "COULSON--" he uses that precious breath to yell, "--MEDIC! DON'T SHOOT!" And then *he* comes around the corner, hands up and empty, taking as quick stock of the situation as he can in a split second."
When the gun moves, Captain America knows exactly where it's going. It's why he ducks down suddenly, turning and bending his arm and bracing it so that the elbow aimed directly for a spot just beneath the Winter Soldier's breastbone will really, really hit hard. He keeps turning, following up the first attempted blow with a hand moving to wrench the wrist of the gun-wielding hand. "Apparently we're doing this the hard way!" he says, adding: "Our guest is out! Agent Coulson is down!" He rattles off the deck name, but he doesn't have time to do much other than keep Bucky busy.
Winter Soldier doesn't have Super-Soldier serum in him and while his reflexes may be good, he gets that elbow in the solar plexus doubling him over. He tries not to let go of the gun, attempting to block with his metal arm. He still needs to get rid of his target, but it's too hard to aim when the gun is being wrested from his grip. He kicks out a leg towards Captain America's side to try and push him away so he can regain his sole hold on the weapon before others converge on them. He will fire another shot from the gun as if a warning...or maybe to even cause enough of a brief distraction that he can quickly regroup.
The noise is audible once Natasha steps out of her quarters. She rushes in that direction, coming up behind the pair, and then slides like she's coming into home, trying to take James' legs out from under him when Cap hits him up high.
Look at Wisdom, being all cautious. Doug blasts right past him, skidding to a halt in the mouth of the hallway, where he stands motionless for a heartbeat. He sees the struggle between two living legends and the guy who pulled a gun on Thor -- and he sees Coulson.
Trusting Natasha and Captain America to handle the rough stuff, Doug rushes to Coulson's side, thinking absolutely nothing of putting himself between the wounded man and the ensuing scuffle. "You alright, sir?" he asks quickly, giving him a quick looking-over before he tries to get an arm under his /other/ shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you out of here."
The sound of gunshots causes Clint to double his effort, sprinting in the direction of the sound. He pauses in the hallway. His eyes quickly assess the situationm as he squints. Between the distance and the fact that Cap is blocking a clear shot? Yeah, he's not going to get a clean shot. "Dammit," he mutters before he glances towards Harper close behind him. "You get a clear shot, you take it, clear?" he says before he glances towards the brawl breaking out. He cues through his auto-quiver as he takes a leftward point against the wall, steadying his aim and waiting for a clear shot, the tip of his arrow crackling with electrical charge. Just give me daylight, he thinks.
Good thing he practiced.
Coulson gives up trying to get to his gun when he manages to fumble it and realizes the blood is soaking into his suit somewhat profusely and his priority shifts to trying to get his handkerchef wadded into place instead. "Careless," he bites out when Doug asks. "Lucky. Tablet kept it from hitting anything really bad." He thinks, anyway. It's hard to think through being shot. Nothing new there.
Assessing the situation quickly, Roy frowns. No, the glue arrow was out here. no way was he risking affixing anyone to a dangerous escapee. Ditto the net arrow. Regular arrow and...
Taking aim in the vicinity of the groin area, Roy waits until James -begins- to move so that his thigh would be open, and fires.
'Medic' nothing -- thankfully everyone's looking at something else. Wisdom drops into a roll to the right, hitting the wall between the Dougoulson Gestalt and the Brouhaha with his knees up in front of his chest, then shoves himself into a slide against that wall, flipping his upper hand-- now glowing bright and fingers elongating in a split second. The long top halves disconnect as he flings his hand like he's shaking water off it, aiming five shards of superheated plasma at the junction of arm and shoulder: his lower hand makes a grab for the Winter Soldier's metal wrist, or elbow, whatever he can reach, as he finishes the slide and slams into the floor.
Black Widow's going low. Captain America's going high. He didn't even need to shout 'Vatican cameos!' because that's just how in tune they can be. He's managing to avoid all the shots aimed at Bucky, which is just as well -- as the hot knives go for the man's metal arm he wrenches at the flesh-and-bone wrist, trying to take the gun or at the very least point it up at the ceiling where it probably won't hurt anyone. "You're not getting out of this! STAND DOWN! This is not your day, soldier!"
Winter Soldier is off-balance enough after the kick that Widow's sweep brings him down. At least, it would if Captain America didn't grab his wrist. Awkward. Very awkward. Snarling, he tries to turn the gun so that it can fire at the Super-Soldier...or, hell, anyone else! That is, until his left arm is severed at the shoulder by Wisdom's hot knives. It may be metal, but it's somehow neurologically attached and it probably still hurts for he screams in pain and rage. The arrow to his thigh certainly doesn't help. At this point, he's just going to drop the gun and wrench his flesh and bone arm free to at least try to make a run for it. Damn it...it's his second failed mission now.
Wisdom now has a robot arm. Even as Winter Soldier tries to break free, the metal arm shoots an energy bolt at its captor.
The Widow rolls back to her feet. "James! Stop this! Fight the programming!" Natasha hollers. At least she hopes it's the programming and the soldier isn't doing this on his own. That would be bad for him. She fires her Widow's Line grapple at the Winter Soldier's feet, trying to trip him up. <re>
"You'll be fine," Doug assures Coulson, reaching for the handkerchef to firmly hold it in place with his hand. As the battle rages around them, Doug gives Coulson a quiet count -- 1, 2, 3 -- and then hauls him up to his feet so he can quickly, if awkward, hurry him away from the fight, retreating towards Clint and Roy. He tries to keep his and Coulson's heads down and out of the way, so as not to obscure their line of fire any more than it already is.
Hawkeye lifts his bow as he sees the flurry of action before him, only to see that the general flurry of activity has overwhelmed the sole soldier. If the initial whip line catches the fleeing Winter Soldier, Clint puts his guard down...at least, he does until the stray robo-arm starts to fire at Wisdom. He lifts the bow and gives off a quick snap shot at the arm. Clint's not a scientist--he leaves that to the eggheads, but taser plus electronics usually equals shorted electronics from Clint's experience.
Coulson nods shortly at Doug, then gives a strangled grunt as he takes the help and does his part to evacuate himself. There isn't very many ways to make this comfortable. He sort of wishes black suits came with drag handles like army gear, not for the first time, as he staggers along with Doug. Legs are fine, but it's amazing how movement transfers through the body. Once clear, he leans against a wall and pants. "Medics should be here soon, he assures... himself, actually. "This is going to be a real pain in the neck," he notes lightly with a wry, if pained, grin at Doug.
As his arrow hits home, Roy is already grasping for his next arrow. That the Winter Soldier is breaking free and running encourages Roy to go for the glue arrow, this time aiming ahead of the Winter Soldier's path and firing... aiming to put a nice set of glue on the escape route.
MORE F'ING LIGHTNING. "Why-- WHY--" buzzes Wisdom through clenched teeth, seized up; he grabs hold of the arm zapping him, with the additional zap of taser, and his hands flare *brilliantly* and slag the thing into three pieces and a bunch of swiftly-cooling pools of darkening melted steel on the floor, on his shirt, on his trousers. "...is it /always/..." he's rolled up against the wall again, and is breathing raggedly; he picks up the hand and fumbles with it until it is, in fact, giving the finger, then jams it against the floor to set into a cooling puddle of wrist. "Legtrish." Eyes, closed. Too much going on. Tired. Brain hurts. "Fffffuuuuuu."
"Don't kill -- " Though nobody's likely to actually /kill/ the Soldier. Just beat him badly. He shouts in surprise when the metal arm comes flying off but the gun's gone, and as the Winter Soldier tries to make a run for it, Captain America leaps on him to tackle him down as Natasha seeks to entangle his legs. Binding his hands should be fun when he only has one, but his greater strength and weight should be enough to keep the prisoner down.
The half-melted arm twitches as it tries to do something, but the inner workings are too messed up to really have any effect. The Soldier is trying to run but the combination of the arrow in his leg, Widow's grapple line, and now Captain America tackling him, he goes down, probably right into Arsenal's Glue-arrow. It's probably safe to say that this mission has been compromised. There is a string of cursing in Russian and English as he tries to get up from under the bigger, heavier Captain America. Without his cybernetic arm to help him, he's off-balance and is working off of adrenaline. The glue isn't helping either.
"I'm sorry James," Natasha says, right before she kicks him upside the head intending to knock him out.
Doug settles into a crouch next to Coulson so he can keep the pressure on the wound. Poor Pete. He is, for the moment, left to smoulder while Doug tends to his mentor. "Yeah, probably. But this just means you can get people to wait on you for a little while. You'll be up and about in no time." As he tries to keep Coulson attentive and in decent spirits, he brings his free hand up to his comm to give a more specific location for those medics to report to. Quickly, if they don't mind, and send someone for Wisdom while they're at it. Just don't take the glue-y hall, that would be awkward.
With the arm taken care of, Hawkeye closes the gap between himself and his bestest partner. Glancing down at the downed Winter Soldier, he glances slowly towards Natasha. "I won't say I told you so right now, but know that it /is/ coming," he says as he shakes his bow, collapsing it and locking it into the slot set into the side of his auto-quiver.
Lowering his bow as the Captain takes the Winter Soldier down, Roy takes a deep breath, before walking over to the Winter Soldier. As he reaches down to offer to help Captain America up, he can't help but grin. "Sir. Glad to meet you at last. You're an inspiration to us all."
"... hate. Everything," mumbles Wisdom, belabouredly pushing himself up the wall, hands shaking. "Can't you lot get a fucking telepath or something. Christ." He finally gets himself to his feet, leaning against the wall, stuff still burning his clothes; he's scowling, one eyebrow twitching. "Tell the medics I don't need them. I'm going to bed. With vodka." And: he slouches off back around the corner and down the hall.
As much as Cap doesn't relish the idea of poking around in someone's mind, it's sounding like it might be a good plan. He glances back to the twitching Wisdom, who distracts him long enough that he almost doesn't catch the Black Widow's kick to James's head. He winces, but he starts securing the dazed man with a sad shake of his head. "No more games," he says, starting to move to his knees and -- hm. He gives Roy a faintly amused grin and raises a hand, clasping his briefly and saying: "The pleasure's mine. Honest. Even more so if you've got some solvent for this glue..." Considering that his knees appear to be stuck to the floor. Eheh.
Winter Soldier is also stuck to the floor, and after Black Widow's kick to the head, he's out for the count. His entire body goes limp as he lays, in the glue, unconscious, with only one arm, and bleeding from the wound in his leg.