The brief had said dead or alive. Can he kill her? Maybe. Super-strength against augmented strength, his quick reflexes against her enhanced ones, vibranium arm against cybernetic implants. He stands the best chance out of anyone else they could’ve sent, but it would be a very close fight. He would not come out of it unscathed; he’d be hurt, injured, bleeding, maybe even close to death himself. The two assassins would be evenly-matched. He’d carved his way through human targets over the course of his gruesome career, but Gamora Zen Whoberi Ben Titan was not a human target. She’d give him a run for his money. He’s not even sure if he would walk away from it alive.
So why, after everything, should he lay down his life in service of this shit mission?
It turns out that once you’ve betrayed one cause, it’s easier to do it again, easier to claw your way out of that rut and finally, agonisingly, conceive of something outside of blind obedience. He’s walked away from worse masters with shorter tempers and deeper vindictiveness. All it had taken last time was splitting his knuckles open on Steve Rogers’ teeth. This time—
Bucky puts the safety on his rifle back on. (A distinctive click, audible to someone with enhanced hearing.) And he slings it back into the holster on his back, no longer immediately to hand, a weapon sheathed.
Outside the warehouse, SWORD has an eye on both of their blurry heat signatures (and the ones of agents now gone, their bodies slowly cooling), but they don’t have a clear view on the assets. They don’t have ears on the facility.
So Bucky raises his hands first, fingers reaching for the sky, as he slowly rises up behind that cover and puts his skull back into plain view. Open palms, unarmed, a white flag. A truce.
no subject
The brief had said dead or alive. Can he kill her? Maybe. Super-strength against augmented strength, his quick reflexes against her enhanced ones, vibranium arm against cybernetic implants. He stands the best chance out of anyone else they could’ve sent, but it would be a very close fight. He would not come out of it unscathed; he’d be hurt, injured, bleeding, maybe even close to death himself. The two assassins would be evenly-matched. He’d carved his way through human targets over the course of his gruesome career, but Gamora Zen Whoberi Ben Titan was not a human target. She’d give him a run for his money. He’s not even sure if he would walk away from it alive.
So why, after everything, should he lay down his life in service of this shit mission?
It turns out that once you’ve betrayed one cause, it’s easier to do it again, easier to claw your way out of that rut and finally, agonisingly, conceive of something outside of blind obedience. He’s walked away from worse masters with shorter tempers and deeper vindictiveness. All it had taken last time was splitting his knuckles open on Steve Rogers’ teeth. This time—
Bucky puts the safety on his rifle back on. (A distinctive click, audible to someone with enhanced hearing.) And he slings it back into the holster on his back, no longer immediately to hand, a weapon sheathed.
Outside the warehouse, SWORD has an eye on both of their blurry heat signatures (and the ones of agents now gone, their bodies slowly cooling), but they don’t have a clear view on the assets. They don’t have ears on the facility.
So Bucky raises his hands first, fingers reaching for the sky, as he slowly rises up behind that cover and puts his skull back into plain view. Open palms, unarmed, a white flag. A truce.