1782/We Got Bombs

We Got Bombs
Date of Scene:	02 August 2017
Location:	West Harlem - Mercy's Garage
Synopsis:	Fred and Mercy work on more surprises for Winter Soldier. This time involving ICER bullets.
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Winifred Burkle
Tinyplot:	Tayaniye

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Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy and Fred have been devious building fiends.

Partners if you will in this arms race to build weapons and traps to take down Hydra and their head honcho, Winter Soldier.

Various mines, grenades, drones, bullets with inert foam within and half a Faraday Cage. Though the cage was more Mercy tinkering with it versus the duo. A test to potentially build something more intricate. Viable, even.

Either way, the various traps and weaponry have mostly been packed away. The only thing that currently sits out is the Faraday Cage, because of the slow build, and eleven bullets which can be found standing upright atop a work bench. They almost look like little soldiers waiting for their mission.

Which their mission is to become so much more and hopefully with Fred's help they will become so.

The bullets themselves are somewhat unique as each holds a blue tip. With close enough inspection one can easily see the liquid that resides within those tips. A powerful sedative that gives off an acrid scent to sensitive noses. It brings forth the echo of snake venom, or spider, or even scorpion. Perhaps all three combined. For those with knowledge of SHIELD weaponry they'd be able to identify what the bullets are. ICERs. Sedatives to put the wild things down, even those that are powered.

There were twelve bullets, but hopefully no one will ask the odd number, because then Mercy will have to fess up to what happened. And the explanation is a touch embarrassing.

Either way, Mercy Thompson is once more in her garage, the segmented door open and allow the light from within to spill out towards the parking lot. All guests are welcome so it seems, or at least, the friendly ones are.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The thin brunette slips through the open door. In the days they've worked together, Fred has struck up a friendly rapport with the coyote mechanic. An easy woman to like, she's easily started to think of the other woman as a friend and a compatriot. Used to traveling and staying unseen, she makes her way through the he garage without noise, but she also knows now that Mercy has other ways of tracking and knows she will not alarm her friend by approaching this way.

"Hey Mercy," she greets, her tone as determined as it always is in their pursuit of an arsenal that may be able to take down the Winter Soldier. There's an angry purple bruise on her cheek that she has attempted to cover with makeup, but as a woman not generally used to make up, it only sort of covers it. She brings no attention to it, come to work as always, though there is a coil of tension in her shoulders not generally there when they've met before.

Even to Fred, the acrid smell hits her from the moment she walks in and she wrinkles her nose. "What is that?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Fred isn't the only one that feels that friendly rapport between the two - Mercy does as well.

And perhaps there's also a tinge of a sisterly affection from the older woman.

Either way, they two are definitely partners in crime with building weapons of mass destruction. As for that silent entrance, Mercy does indeed hear it. Her ears and nose are far more sensitive to the movements that most wouldn't hear and so, the mechanic will turn slightly towards the door. Her nose already tells her who's arriving and so, a greeting is already there. "Evening Fred. How're you doing?" She asks, even as her eyes finally turn towards the woman and her face.

At about the same time that the bruise is seen Mercy likewise scents the tension from the other woman. Immediately the mechanic frowns, the notebook that was in her hands being put aside and upon a work bench, as she turns her full attention upon the younger woman. "Hey, you okay? What happened?" The coyote asks concern already coloring her voice; the question about the bullets and what exactly they are is (for the moment) ignored by Mercy. She instead waits for the explanation of that half-hidden purple bruise.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"Oh, you know, I'm okay," Fred shrugs, as if she doesn't know that the bruise on her cheek is a flashing flag. As if she doesn't know Mercy will probably already know that something is wrong. The woman has quite a nose - no pun intended - for that sort of thing that Fred has known, but she doesn't bring it up immediately.

"Just, you know." Fred shrugs her shoulders, anger barely hidden below the surface of the physicists demeanor. She drops her bag on the workbench as always and looks at the bullets lined up there like little potential energies waiting to be released in their deadly fury. Fred feels akin to those bullets very keenly. "He's...he's //using// me," Fred says, her voice tight and angry. "And there's nothing I can do about it." She didn't mean to be emotional tonight. She meant to be professional, to work on these bullets and make it through without speaking of the rage going on inside her. There's a hitch in her voice. "He's just...he coulda killed me and he didn't. And I know the only reason is because it's easier for him to hurt Sam without him knowing where or how I am. And I just...I need to...I need to work. I need to find a way to fix this."

Looking up to Mercy, her eyes are hard, but a bit glassy with tears. There's conviction, anger and defiance there. She hasn't at all explained what happened to her, but she also sort of has. "We need to get him."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
As that partial explanation is slowly told by Fred, Mercy's own expression turns much more grim. While her anger isn't as evident as the other woman's, it's there. The coyote's lips compress to a thin line as she listens to all of what Fred has to say.

It's only when the other woman is finished that Mercy will say, "We will stop him, Fred. I promise." Which Mercy should know better to promise such a thing, but she can't quite stop herself from stating that, "And we'll get both Sam and Claire back safely too." Unspoken is the 'alive' - they'll get them back alive. Another promise that she shouldn't have said, but again, it's there.

Understanding that the other woman needs to be busy, to keep some of those hard emotions at bay, Mercy will finally roll back to the bullets standing in a row. "Why don't we get started with these -" Begins the dark-haired mechanic, even as she steps closer to the work bench. "- And while I'd /love/ to tell you the name of these bullets, I can't. Apparently that's classified, so your guess is as good as mine as to what they specifically are. A SHIELD agent gave them to me and told me to make them into something better." A wry tone can now be heard in Mercy's voice, "I can tell you they're filled with some kind of sedative. Very strong and very quick acting. I'm hoping we can potentially turn them into an aerosol form; kind of like a tear gas grenade, or smoke bomb. Though we may have to double up on the capsules to make sure the sedative isn't diluted too much in aerosol form."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The assurance is met with a look from Fred, one of hope, exhaustion and overall gratefulness. She listened, she assured, but she did not push. Instead, she focuses on the task at hand, the things that brought them together and that gives Fred a chance to escape her own head. That's important. Her mind tends to get crowded with thoughts and possibilities and and an endless scope of what may or may not have been. Mercy's focus grounds her.

"These, yes, okay." Fred focuses on the bullets in front of them. "MSBs, mystery sleepy bullets. Have you managed to get the head off of them?" That blue tip looks certainly like it's something that should be inspected if they'd like to aerosol the contents. "It looks a bit dangerous, we might just sedate ourselves if we try, but we'll need to get it off of the bullet to see if we can manage to weaponize it for something other than just a penetrative substance."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"MSBs." Mercy says, an amused sound from the coyote now, "I like that. My name for them wasn't nearly so interesting."

Mentally she was calling them the WTF-bullets, but out-loud just bullets.

It's that question about whether she's been able to extract the blue capsule that causes the mechanic to grimace. "That's a firm no. There was a twelfth one, but let's just say when I tried to get the capsule out I found the effectiveness of those little things. They act fast."

"We should probably save two to be used as regular bullets, against him. The aerosol form I was thinking we could use against any back-up he might bring with him." Continues the coyote, even as she steps over to another work bench. Upon it sits several tools of her trade. She's pull out the more delicate ones, thin needle-nose pliers, small wrenches, screwdrivers and more. The needle-nose pliers will be brought over and once back near the bullets Mercy picks up one. Carefully.

And while Mercy strives to keep the conversation light, she will ask, "Where did he find you? It makes me worried he really does seem to be going after all his ... friends - and their allies and loved ones too. Which like you said, for you, it's likely to keep Sam in line, but still."

Mercy finds all this psychological warfare distasteful.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"Ah," Fred replies as she finds out that Mercy attempted to find out more about the bullets and was less than successful in that endeavor. "I see." Rolling her shoulders, she gives a smile to Mercy. There's a nod at the sage advice to leave two as bullets and she immediately removes two bullets from her mental calculations as to how to make these bullets more stable as well as multi-target. "Good call."

The wheels of the Fred Burkle brain are turning and as she looks at these bullets and know that Mercy has attempted - without success to pry the sedative parts of the head off of it without success, she comes up with a few thoughts. "I got a million ideas and I'm not sure if any of them are gonna work," she tells Mercy. "First, we shave off the bottom continually on one until we find the point where it tries to put us to sleep. Second, we cut off where we can and use that as our projectile. Third is we make a small device that has this bullet at the bottom, then it hits a high pressured heat and so then it evaporates and gets whatever it can. The last is some sort of joke flower gun, where you hit a button and there's a bullet, but it really just sprays all this sleep gas."

Her tone is rapid, she's speaking as she thinks, which is a general way of how Fred talks, but at least it's focused on something general. However, the question is met with a look. "He was at my home. He pushed his way into my room. I got a few defensive mechanisms in place now involving a falling axe, but I wasn't ready for that at the time. I think he knows all about us. Sounded like he was watching."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Yes, Mercy sedated herself for a bit there.

Not her best moment, but it is what it is.

That initial smile of Fred's earns a grin from the coyote. Then it's back to business, as Fred considers the problem from all angles. When the other woman begins to list potential ideas and work arounds, Mercy turns attentive. Her foot taps idly as she considers each scenario, even that joke-flower-gun idea. "I'm leaning towards your third idea. Make a small device with the bullet inside and hit with some heat to release the sedative and allow it to disperse. If we can attach a timer in some fashion then we could prime it, wait a few seconds, toss it and hopefully get the sedative to release while it's dropping within a group." A glance will be given to Fred then, to make sure she's following along.

Setting aside the pliers, Mercy will turn the bullet around slightly, "I think we can potentially cut the bullet in half, without hitting the capsule inside. Anything higher and I'd be worried -"

The last part is what brings Mercy's gaze back to Fred's face, "Your home." She says grimly, "I imagined he threatened you?" Her eyes turn towards that somewhat covered bruise upon Fred's cheek, before they shift away again. Not polite to stare, after all. With the mention of a falling axe, Mercy can't quite help the eyebrow raise as she tries to determine whether Fred is joking or not. When her senses tell her that the other woman isn't, Mercy adds, "Well, I'm glad you're taking precautions ... Just be careful still. I wouldn't put it past him to find you elsewhere."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"Things can happen anywhere," Fred tells Mercy very seriously - more seriously than perhaps the mechanic might think the thin brunette is capable of being. "But, I'm ready. Or, if not, I'll be ready." That is a promise, a hope, a lot of things at once. As for the Winter Soldier threatening her, the anger and rage crumples - only slightly, only for a moment to something far more vulnerable - "No, he just...he told me how my being out here made it easier for them. Easier to hurt him. Made him..." she swallows, rolling her shoulders back as she does it, "...more docile." Fred is generally not a woman who holds back on things. She doesn't know how. Five years on Pylea generally makes her a lightning rod of emotion and energy that she reveals and feels as it happens. It certainly bears its head now. "I'll show him. He'll //wish// he took me in when he could."

Things start to focus again and she thinks back to why they are here: the bullets and making them into a proper aerosol. That's something she can sink her teeth into. "Yes, that was the most plausible idea I could think of as I was saying things. I'm not sure about mechanism of the delay on our time schedule, but I certainly think we can manage something. Is it possible to get more of these? Where did you happen to get them?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The mention of being ready, or eventually being ready, earns a nod from Mercy. "That's all any of us can do. Be ready and try to be prepared." Agrees Mercy, her attention mostly on Fred still, though there's a bit for the bullets. Especially the one being held.

It's only when the woman continues to speak and that anger and rage seems to desert her, that Mercy sets the bullet back atop the work bench. "More docile." The coyote finally manages, her nostrils flaring slightly with her own emotions now. Anger and disgust combine in her voice. "Like he's some kind of animal -" Though it doesn't seem to surprise Mercy Thompson; not with how those two Hydra handlers treated him. He was more of an it, a thing, versus a he. Those last words more emotionally charge words brings Mercy's attention back to the conversation. "No, I'm glad he didn't take you. What you're doing here, with all of this." She'll wave a hand about the garage, "It's going to balance the playing field." Which Mercy believes, even if sometimes before sleep her brain says otherwise. "They won't be expecting all of this."

And just like that, the focus is back again to the weaponry. Or the potential that's there. "I can ask if we can have more, but I won't lie this is probably all we're going to get." Mercy says apologetically, her gaze dropping to the eleven bullets standing so straight. "So, we're going to have to make them count." As to where they came from, Mercy continues with her explaination, "A SHIELD Agent named Melinda May. She was checking in on 'friends' of the Soldier's; I'm going to assume to see how we were all doing. Before she left she handed me the bullets to help in this ... war. So, unless you have some contacts in SHIELD I think this is going to be it."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
It's hard to gauge Fred's emotions right now. There is anger, fear, guilt...quite a lot of energy and feeling coming out of one small person. "I'm not glad," Fred says firmly, though with conviction. "However, he misjudged." Fred picks up one of the MSBs and looks at it, the potential of it firm - though still hypothetical - in her mind. "He could have killed me or taken me to wherever they took Sam. But, he didn't. You and me? We'll show him why that was a mistake." It's clear that she hates the idea that her safety is being used to make Sam's torture the easier.

"May," Fred says, things starting to come more into focus. "I've heard of her. She's worked with Sam before. She gave you these?" she asks, holding up the one bullet she's already taken. "I...Sam told me to try and get in contact with SHIELD. And with Agent May. Maybe....maybe there's something there." She hasn't yet, it seems, perhaps the contact was fuzzy before now, but there's a conviction. "I don't know anyone in SHIELD, but Sam might and maybe through him we might be able to get more."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Some of what Fred is feeling is scented by the coyote, though not everything, some emotions blend in with others too seamlessly for her to label. But, there's enough there to give a general window into Fred's state of mind and concern once more darkens Mercy's gaze. The anger, fear, guilt. She understands this. Those are some of the same emotions that Mercy feels.

Would this have happened if Claire and Mercy hadn't stopped the maintenance so many months ago. Was that what caused this ball to roll? Or was it something else? Would they have found him if he hadn't gone off the grid after the whole Coyote episode. Those internal thoughts of the mechanic's causes a small sigh to leave her lips.

"Definitely misjudged." Mercy says in complete agreement, "And with the others that are helping it has to go our way. It has to." And while there's a sound of conviction within Mercy's voice, it's not quite as solid as it may sound. Those words are both for Fred, but also herself. To convince herself that they'll win this war and not all die.

"I have a number for her." Mercy says, stepping away from the work bench again. This time a drawer will be pulled open and from it a small white business card will be found. The only thing found upon the business card is a phone number. There's no name, or logo, just a phone number. "She said to leave a message if she doesn't answer. When she can get back to you she will. If you want to take it go ahead, I already programmed it in my phone."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred does not have the superior scent or personal readability that Mercy has. All she knows is that she likes Mercy and trusts her, which is why she lets her guard down and tells her about the fears about Sam and how the Winter Soldier threatened her. It's unclear as to whether Mercy's words sound hollow or not. Either way, Fred takes them properly. There's a quick hand snaked out to reach to Mercy's arm. It's brief, but a tight grip. It reveals a connection, a thankfulness, whatever she can through that brief contact.

Then, she looks down at the bullets in front of them. "That would be...good. I was gonna just walk up to SHIELD soon," she says. And with what Mercy knows of Fred, that is not just bravado. She probably would have just walked up to SHIELD and asked to speak to May and hope to get an audience and not put in a cell. She takes the number down to call later. That is a new and good contact.

Now, though, there are bullets and things to build in front of them. Taking a breath, she takes some more of the scrap that Mercy has brought out. "Okay, let's start this."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
That touch upon Mercy's arm earns a smile from the coyote.

It's enough to pull the mechanic back from some of her own worrisome thoughts. Because there is so much to worry about, but for now it's focused once again.

Well, focused after the brief laugh Mercy allows at the mention of SHIELD an walking up to them. "Well, if you had done that I'm pretty sure you'd have met Agent May. Along with a whole bunch of /other/ agents." States the woman with a touch of sardonic humor there; after all, May gave Mercy the impression of controlled violence. Mercy can only assume the majority of the other agents are in a similar vein.

But then, it's back to the sleepy grenades that need to be created. Metal can be readily found within the garage, as well as tools, and paper and pen should ideas need to be sketched out. Along with that Mercy will likewise offer drink and food if wanted or needed and finally, when a successful grenade has been created beer will be found as well.

After all, tinkering and engineering is typically more failures than not, so every invention that actually proves successful must acknowledged.