Re: log: steve rogers, tony stark, winter soldier
The moving target in a flag leotard couldn't stick to a plan to save his life. And he was coming up on Bucky, hard, and fast, his breath coming out between teeth as his mind saved every detail of the corridor whipping by, of the sound of footfalls, of it all, with perfect recall. He couldn't stick to a plan, but with a sense of strategy few could rival, Steve was good at thinking on his feet, he was good at improvising, and that was all this was.—His heart was still in his throat, beating blood he'd always had, transformed by the serum, but still his, his from before, and he knew he was catching up.
It was then that voices rang out, through the only door open down at the footend of the hallway. The words were hard, with the edge of a command to them, an order barked—the asset meaning Bucky, and Steve skidded into the room with just enough time to see the bloodless fear play out on one of the turncoat's faces, bug-eyed—and to watch the exchange, a knife to the man's shoulder, a bullet to Bucky's forearm.
Steve moved. He launched himself through the tree trunks wrought sheet metal with his shield up. He didn't bother with stealth, and he didn't bother going around. Through, a straight arrow to the enclave of the two agents. Two shots resounded in the closed space, off of soldered surfaces without softening, just as Steve kicked one of the agents in the stomach, sending him flying and through his own roadblock of filing cabinets, His shield whipped off of his arm, and the man with the knife in his shoulder was lifted off the ground and into the wall with such force, the cement cracked.
The streak of red, white, and blue came back to the man in the flag leotard, an answered at the end of a complex equation: geometry.
The woman used, like his own kind of shield, human, and nothing starred and branded with any beliefs, was slumped sideways, blonde hair trailing out beneath lights shattered. Steve advanced.
"Bucky, come on out. I know there's no exit." He thought about the loss of blood from a bullet through the forearm. "Let me see your arm."