the winter soldier (metallic) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2014-07-15 08:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, bucky barnes / winter soldier (mcu) |
Who: Hobo Bucky Barnes, a doctor, and some NPCs
When: Today, around 2pm.
Where: A bank in Washington DC.
What: Bucky gets a little payback.
Rating: Hard R for murder.
Four guards are stationed outside the AP Bank in Washington DC. That's three more than a normal bank, even by DC standards. This isn't a normal bank, though. Everyone who uses it or works in it is HYDRA. This is their first step for laundering money in the United States. Even more than that, it's where James Barnes was tortured, mind-wiped, and made to do things that labeled him a monster. Once upon a time, he believed the HYDRA mantra. They were bringing order from chaos, and the Winter Soldier was an instrument of that order to shape the world. Maybe he had just been programmed to believe in it. Nothing in his head was necessarily his after all. He didn't know what he could trust, except this: he had nothing. But he was seeing the light now. They had used him. He hadn't returned to his handlers. The same people looking for him were the ones who had trained him to disappear. Their asset was long gone. He had the look of a man who had woken up too many times in the middle of the night drenched in sweat under too many bridges, terrified that he was back in the ice. He'd slept enough, he told himself every night as he shakily got to his feet. He had to keep moving. Paranoia wasn't just in his head, he knew. There had been a few close calls, too many faces with variations of recognition. He shouldn't have remained in DC after the helicarriers went down, but he wanted them to get cozy enough in the bank. AP Bank hadn't been outed with the mass of HYDRA secrets. Neither was he, for that matter. The world thought he died a long time ago. He'd spent a lot of time combing through SHIELD and HYDRA files at libraries, looking for himself. Nothing. Not a single peep about the Winter Soldier. That would be useful. This all had to be timed right. Bucky knew there was a shift change for the security cameras. It didn't give him much of a window, but it should be enough to disable the four guards walking perimeter. The first guard was silenced with a sharp twist of the neck, quick and painless. More than he deserved really. The second and third were both garroted. The fourth was trickier. He must have heard something, because the man spun around at the last second. Bucky dropped the garrote wire and reached for his knife. It was less than a second, but it was enough time for the guy to rabbit. Shit. There wasn't any time to go after him. The guards were due to make their appearances, and if he wasn't inside when it happened, they'd go into lock down. That was protocol. He'd have to track the guy down later. Finding out who he was wouldn't be tricky. HYDRA was a stickler about their documentation, even when it came to shredding it. His palm print still worked on the back door. They must have figured he'd been injured and would return if he could. Maybe he shouldn't have killed those guards after all. The staircase down was dimly lit as usual. At the bottom, he had a choice: go left into the armory or right into his own personal room of horrors. He stared for what felt like hours. He could get out of this nightmare easily. Go, sit down in the chair, let the doctor wipe everything he'd felt for the last month. It was painful, but you forgot the pain once you were blissfully hollow. In reality, it was more like four seconds. The doctor wasn't surprised to see him, but he was pleased. Or at least, as pleased as any of Bucky's handlers got. "It's about time you got here. They should have issued standard protocol weeks ago." Standard protocol. Bucky grit his teeth. Meant that all the newspapers were filled with subliminal code to have him return. Good thing he hadn't picked up a paper. Who read papers anymore? Even Bucky knew that. Those newspaper codes sometimes reset him. He'd been smart enough this time not to bother. "I got lost." "Of course you did." Though he turned his back, Bucky could see the annoyance on his face. But there was moreā¦ relief. He must have been swinging for not being able to get him back. "Get in the chair." When Bucky didn't move, the doctor growled, "That's an order." His bionic hand re-calibrated and clenched firmly. The doctor turned around to a face full of metal. There was a sickening crunch as the man's nose snapped, and he began howling in pain. It didn't stop Bucky from kicking him squarely in the chest with the bulk of his boot, sucking the wind right out of him. The doctor flailed like a rag doll right into the chair. The metal arm held the doctor firmly in place until the chair's clamps tightened. He'd seen it so many times that even though he'd been wiped over and over again, it had become a reflex memory to watch the doctor's fingers trigger the equipment. Just before the visor came down, Bucky jumped on the chair and leaned into the doctor's face. "I don't take orders anymore." The armory door always stuck. Bucky had to stuff part of a shirt into the hinges to keep it from squeaking as he shoved it open. Sniper rifles from every era and country lined the walls. Pistols from all over were displayed in tight groups. There was shelf after shelf of grenades of all kinds. He felt like he was home for the first time in forever. Was that the programming? No, this was all he'd ever known. Even the boy on the wall at the Smithsonian was a killer -- a sniper and a scout. He began loading up every pouch in his uniform with bullets, grenades, cartridges. Anything he could get his hands on that would fit. Then he loaded up a bag with a grenade launcher, several sniper rifles, and pistols. He slung a few more over his shoulder and loaded up his holster. He'd be prepared for the next site. The doctor stared blankly ahead as Bucky led him upstairs and out of the back of the bank. They were a few blocks away when he pressed the trigger to detonate the bombs he'd organized in the basement. Behind him, he heard screams and the wail of sirens. It didn't make everything better, but it certainly helped. If he could put a stop to the HYDRA threat -- to reverse at least some of what he'd done in HYDRA's name -- then he has a responsibility to. The collapse of the bank was almost as satisfying as it was to leave the doctor wandering the National Mall with nothing but a dumb expression on his face. |