View source for 5977/Not Such a Quiet Morning Jog

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2018/12/12
|Location=New York City
|Synopsis=Summary needed
|Cast of Characters=112, 229, 1595
|Tinyplot=Falling Frost
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:112|Steve Rogers (112)}} has posed:'''<br>It's early in the morning in New York City, enough so that the commuters are all bundled up on the sidewalks and in their various sundry vehicles, taxi and suburban alike. Steve's woken up early today in order to take advantage of the cold and the quiet. While the first attribute of the wanely-lit sky and the frost clinging to the grass of the park in silvery glitters isn't his favorite, the second is. <br><br>The sound of the city itself seems distant as he jogs along the cement paths of Central Park. He's not got his earbuds in to appreciate the sound of relative silence interrupted by the steady beat of his feet and his heart, by the regular puff of his breath and swing of limbs. It's a trance-like state and he travels at a brisk pace in his sweatpants and thermal-lined jacket. He exits a near-tunneled patch of trees long since having lost their leaves and out into the open, a silhouette in the pre-dawn light.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:'''<br>The streets are decorated for the coming holidays. Once upon a time, two poor kids used to look in the glittering windows of the department stores, talking about what they'd get, if only they had the money. The time of year for celebrating family, for conjuring up old nostalgia. <br><br> ....which there's not even a glimmer of, in the cold blue eye behind the gleaming lens of the scope. This might be any metropolis on the globe, as far as the Soldier's concerned. Just an array of cover and challenges and lines of fire to be calculated. It took him days to set up this hide, on the gravel rooftop atop one of the posh apartment buildings that flanks the Park. Now he's draped under a worn blanket, the rifle's muzzle pointing out a hole created by a brick pried out of the low parapet....and he's alone as any tiger in the jungle, nevermind the teeming masses of humanity beneath him. <br><br> Masked, but no goggles, breath contained so there's no fogging the scope....and each one drawn carefully, timing it with the footsteps of that running figure. Steve's a creature of habit, and Winter's in wait for him. <br><br> The rifle's report is suppressed - not silent, the way the movies show it, but softened and diffused to something like a car backfiring.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:112|Steve Rogers (112)}} has posed:'''<br>There's little warning, even for a super-soldier's hearing. A split second after hearing what sounds like a large wasp flying nearby and then a lightning strike of impact. Steve's smooth stride immediately stumbles into something jelly-kneed and he crumples onto his hands and knees, gone breathless and pin-pointed.<br><br>They drive it into your skull in training -- keep moving, even if you've been shot -- don't remain a target, even if you leave a trail. He can feel the warmth of his own blood leaving him and soaking into his shirt; more bubbles onto his skin as he forces himself to his feet and then turns back the way he came. The cover of the trees should be enough to allow him to go to ground and call in help via his cell phone -- <br><br>-- because the upwelling of crimson is accompanied by the fracturing of brittle denial: this can only be the Winter Solider's handiwork.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:'''<br>It's enough to call up memories of the war - at least for the big soldier. The way the German snipers might wound a man in the open and let him howl for help - all the better to lure his comrades into the line of fire. Not that Buck ever played that game, as the Commandos' designated marksman, a cruelty he'd never descend to. <br><br> Winter, however, is another animal entirely. Training says to fire and move, before some costumed do-gooder homes in on him. But that wasn't a kill shot, and Steve is a tough old man.....and there's help not far away, in the heart of the city. <br><br> So there's another *crack* echoing off the walls of the apartment building. He's not to be taken, not to fall into the hands of SHIELD again, so there's no waiting for someone to come looking for him. This time the round takes Steve right below the hip, a shot meant to cripple. Maybe even leave Steve there for Winter to descend from his perch and come make sure of things by hand.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:112|Steve Rogers (112)}} has posed:'''<br>The impact of the second bullet isn't as dramatic as the movies make it out to be. No one's thrown back as if suddenly hit by a bus. There's a puft of fine blood spray from Steve's thigh and he's moving at a fast-enough shambling speed that he tumbles once when that leg gives out entirely. He's in the shadow of the leafless trees upon collapse. Making soft sounds of bone-deep agony, he drags that wounded leg behind him and attempts to crawl it to the defense of the spread of wide trunks and roots.<br><br>Quick - quick - faster, crawl faster - adrenaline and the super-soldier serum buffers him against the worst of it, but he's not going anywhere fast as he crams himself up against the far side of a girthy old maple. His hands shake madly as he tries to fish his cell phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants, but it's hard to get into the loose material when every breath is like a knife twisting in his guts. "God...dammit," he whispers as he fumbles yet.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:'''<br>There isn't a third shot. The unseen shooter doesn't dare wait. Perhaps this'll be a near miss, in terms of taking down the Captain permanently....Steve's damn near impossible to kill by ordinary means, right? <br><br> Or maybe the shooter's coming by some other path to make sure of his target. There's something nightmarish about it, knowing there's a predator unseen, approaching. One that knows for a certainty Steve's bleeding badly.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:112|Steve Rogers (112)}} has posed:'''<br>Finally -- finally, the cell phone is in his hand. It continues shaking madly as he thumbs at the touch-screen with a red-smeared finger. Grimacing down at it, the Captain has to pause and lean his head back against the trunk of the tree because yes: there's an awful lot of blood loss going on at this point. A hard scrunch of eyes and grit of jaw and he looks down at it again as he finally thumbs in the right combination of numbers. Quick, to the text widget, and he tries using the sliding aspect of the text-input program.<br><br>//CAP EXFIL CODE WINTER//. He thumbs at the send button on the screen and watches it go. That text will blip up on someone's cell phone in a few seconds and then - watch SHIELD scramble the jets.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:'''<br>Is he coming? Hard to know. Waiting to see if his prey bleeds out undercover, or to see what SHIELD assets show up? For he knows there are many who know his pattern, his habits, as if he were any other predator hunted by humans. <br><br> Does the Soldier dare risk it?<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:112|Steve Rogers (112)}} has posed:'''<br>A nightmare indeed. Time runs treacle-slow while the world begins to take on the fever-bright edges of bloodloss. SHIELD must be only five minutes out. Steve lets his head drop as he hears the shockingly-loud sound of his phone receiving another text in return: //AFFIRMATIVE//. Someone knows he's here and someone's coming, probably with fury and thunder. Bummer that the ping is so counter to the muted silence of the park around him. He's left to sit against the tree with the thumping of his heart that he tries to keep steady by lieu of careful breathing.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1595|Shadowlite (1595)}} has posed:'''<br>'CAP EXFIL CODE WINTER' is basically military speak for 'get me the hell out of here quick, I have a Jason Bourne wannabe on my ass'. Normally, SHIELD would be at least five minutes out, even with the fastest aircraft.<br><br>Lucky for them, Shadowlite is willing to come along on minutes notice, despite his 24 hours policy. Looks like Captain America gets an exception from the mutant.<br><br>Black lightning flits back and forth in the sky about twenty feet above the 'party' as a tunnel through the Darkforce Dimension is opened. It takes about six seconds for the hole in reality to open to a point people can go through, but after a few more seconds, a person encased in a black shell and flying on a black saucer comes out of that portal. "This had bett-oh." The mans distorted voice can be heard from above as he watches the scene, "you two really need to get a room." Shadowlite quips, "there are easier ways to have a relationship, you know."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:'''<br>Winter's made his way down from the rooftop to street level, keeping an eye out for- oh, there it is, that dark figure appearing above the trees. That's the downside to operating in the Triskelion's backyard - nearly instant response time for SHIELD backup. <br><br> It's enough to scotch any plans he might have to creep up on the wounded Steve and finish this by hand. Curses, foiled again.....but there's no real anger in him. He gets tortured whether or not he succeeds, so there's nothing punitive that functions as a spur. He doesn't run or skulk away; he's only in civilian clothes, long hair tucked up under a ballcap, to all appearances just another onlooker pausing a moment to gawk at the antics of the superpowered. Then he's walking along the pavement, heading for a nearby subway entrance.<br> <br>
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