6088/Falling Frost: The Last Word

Falling Frost: The Last Word
Date of Scene:	02 January 2019
Location:	Triskelion, New York City
Synopsis:	In a harrowing attempt to escape, Winter comes to blows with Steve Rogers and, for once, the tide turns in the favor of words rather than weaponry.
Cast of Characters:	Winter Soldier, Captain America
Tinyplot:	Falling Frost

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Winter Soldier has posed:
It's been quiet. Too quiet, as the cliche goes. Winter's been positively docile, letting the techs and the docs handle and examine him without even a twitch or sound of protest. Out of the boot, apparently wholly healed and restored; the Soviet version of the serum may've been a knockoff, but it still does a wonderful job of keeping him up and running. He's even been observed pacing and exercising in his little clear-walled cell, though most of his time is still spent huddled mute on the mattress in the corner.

Now, however, just as the jungle calls the panther out of his cage, programming's goaded him into action. And it's readily clear that Winter's only been held because he consented to be held....for now the security level resounds to the hammer blows of that alloy fist busily taking out the locking mechanism on his door. It only takes a moment, and then he's free, heading for one of the exits at a dog-trot - not racing, not yet.

Captain America has posed:
Even dulled through thick walls of steel and concrete, the sturdy blows of the alloy arm against weaker metal hinges can be heard. Between rotations -- Winter had to pick between rotations of security staff. As such, he'll soon meet a single SHIELD security agent. The man, young but hard of eye and with an air of deadly business about himself, pales at the sight of the loose Solider, but still stands his ground.

From his hip, he pulls a handgun and levels it at Winter. "FREEZE, NOW!" His bark echoes in the barren white hallways, sure to draw more attention unless he's quickly silenced. If approached further, his finger may slip. Modern weaponry is sure to fire swift and sure.

Winter Soldier has posed:
But can he fire before Winter's on him? The rule of thumb for a safe distance for someone attacking a target is twenty one feet....and while the Soldier starts that far away, he's not there for long. Moving with that startling speed, he's in the young agent's guard in instants. A blow of the metal hand and the pistol goes skittering down the concrete-floored corridor - and then Winter's palming his skull to smash his head against the outer wall of an empty cell. Not hard enough to kill, but enough so someone's gonna need an MRI, post-haste. All with that terrible grace. Then Winter's hurrying to collect the weaponry from his fallen foe. From bare hands to pistol, tazer, and knife....and he plucks the radio from him as well, fitting it into his own ear. All the better to listen to where his opponents are....and think he is.

Captain America has posed:
A fallen pile of loose limbs on the floor, the security agent is no longer in his way. The atmosphere down here in Security is close and quiet, heavy and sterile. No futher sounds along the barren hallways.

Into the ear piece comes the bored check-in: "You there yet, Jared?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
Best as he can, he feigns a voice equally bored. "Yeah. I'm getting a fault on Barnes's lock. Everything looks good, he's apparently asleep, but might wanna send a tech down here so it won't keep throwing the system off. Last thing we wanna do is spend the night chasing ghosts, right?"

Captain America has posed:
A nasally laugh from the other end. "God, tell me about it. I dunno what the big deal about this guy is. All he does is sit there and stare at the wall, like some brain-dead dog. I'll send Morgan down. Hey, I'll make you a deal. You taze the spooky bastard, I'll take you to that strip club and buy you body shots. Deal?"

There's the muffled sound of the other voice leaning away from the mic, but it can be inferred that he's sending down this tech post-haste. It won't be but a minute before a slighter figure comes around the corner in a wool cardigan and tan slacks, looking a little nervous behind the thin-rimmed glasses about having to fiddle with the lock on the Winter Soldier's cell door.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"It's a thought," he agrees, with a low laugh - that idiot frat-bro chuckle. "I guess it's cause he's what's left of the Captain's old friend. I gotta feel sorry for Rogers - it must suck seeing your foxhole buddy turned into something out of a zombie movie. Sigining off."

And he's behind a corner, ready to pounce. It's not somewhere off the cameras, and the alarms are already starting up in earnest, up in control. But before the heavy guns can come, he's pounced the tech and brought him down, too. Rifling his pockets not for weaponry, but for more gear. And then he's heading for one of the emergency exits, picking up his pace. The opening gambit's worked, but it'll be a long game to come.

Captain America has posed:
Poor Morgan. He never signed up for sudden cranial impact to cement walls. Down he slumps too, and for Winter's efforts, his rifling through pockets earns him a staff keycard that'll open a good number of doors in the Triskelion with a swipe alone. No need to skin fingerprints! What a boon.

"Hey, Jared, did Morgan make it down there?" This is the other end of the mic again. "I didn't get a blip from him. You -- " Startled silence falls and even as Winter travels, he won't miss the whimpered whisper of, "Fuck my life, it's YOU!?" Someone's checked the cameras at a glance. Run, Winter, run, security knows you're loose now!

Winter Soldier has posed:
Now he's running for the exits, determined to get out into the Triskelion at large before full lockdown happens. Otherwise he'll be like a dog who managed to get out of the house only to be stuck in a fenced yard. Now the hunt's on in earnest. And the question is....is his main objective maximum damage before recapture, or genuine escape? Hard to tell.

Captain America has posed:
A terrible conundrum for security, at least right off the bat: lockdown the security area at risk of the stolen keycard overriding the protocols? Or send out a wildfire-flurry of warnings across the campus and disrupt the entire place like a hornet's nest?

It appears at first that they're going to try and keep him immediately contained to that lower level of whitewash and cold. Get beyond an emergency exit and out into one of the sidehalls of the Triskelion, where grey concrete rat-tunnels lead to stairwells up and down, and Winter will find a small tac-team headed his way. Three at most, the men in black gear, down to riot helmets and automatic weapons, are prepared for a shoot-out, but not necessarily for an ambush. Their vests may be padded, but the act of rushing into their personal space in surprise is nearly fool-proof, especially when a well-swung knife can reach between seams and collar beneath chin.

Winter Soldier has posed:
They can't get distance enough to fire on him, once he's gotten up on them with that same dispatch, pouncing on them like one of the Aliens. One throat cut, one poor guy tazed into insensibility, and one neck broken....and the unconscious guy, nearest to his size and breadth, summarily stripped. Even Winter can't fight everyone while garbed only in sweatpants, right? Poor Luis Vasquez, he's going to wake up in his underwear.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Now he's armed and armored, and to first glances, one of them. Just another armed agent, ready to deal with the escaping soldier. How long does he have before they realize that he's a wolf in sheepdog's clothing? Enough time to get up those stairs to the nearest way out? Winter intends to try, though he's carrying his rifle at the ready.

Captain America has posed:
The potential for horror continues to increase. Heavily armed and now padded, very little but brute force will likely prove enough to stop the juggernaut Soldier. Whomever was on the end of the mic has gone silent, but it's easy enough to catch snippets of brisk commands in the background: Squad Beta not answering, send in Squad Alpha, lethal force permitted when engaging.

Then, across the comms, a stern voice, booking no argument: "Hold sanction on force, Agent Rogers in-route."

The stairwell itself is devoid of personnel when first entered, but not for long. The sound of a door opening up two levels above is followed by the quick-step thudding of boots. This must be Squad Alpha, on their way to cut off his escape route!

Winter Soldier has posed:
He's an anonymous figure, a black knight. He comes up the stairs at an urgent trot, but not a flat-out run. And when he's in sight, offers silent hand-signals. Danger's close, proceed silently, he's dealing with his own injury - and then a tapping of his helmet to mime that his own comms gear is out. Let them pound past him in search of a ghost that'll already have drifted by.

Captain America has posed:
While at first more automatic weaponry levels at him, Squad Alpha's not about to shoot one of their own. The lead of the team speaks into the comms, not knowing of the lie offered by Winter in disguise.

"We got an injured agent, still in-route to Security. What're the orders, Rogers?"

Flying back, "Keep him pinned. Don't let him slip by. ETA one minute." He sounds like he's booking it by the noticeable breathing.

"You got it, Cap." The team flows past the disguised Soldier save for one agent who lingers, if only to chide him.

"You never could duck, Vasquez. Get to the infirmary, we got the slippery bastard." And then the agent continues down the two levels of stairs after his group, leaving a clear route out into the side halls of the Triskelion's ground floor level.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Rogers. That's a hit right in the programming. There's the prospect of the door right before him....and instead, he's turning to where he might be able to catch Steve with a chestful of high velocity rounds. Third time's the charm, right? Assuming Steve isn't in his own armor. Though he always does leave his cjaw and throat vulnerable. The Captain's helmet isn't full-face.

Captain America has posed:
It won't be but a minute until Squad Alpha finds the bloodied bodies of all but Vasquez. Seconds tick by in the interim as slow as treacle, as fast as a spark of light. The stairwell is silent, no odd sounds echoing back to Winter. Across the comms, a flurry of commands and warnings to take each corner carefully, god only knows if an ambush is set up.

Little do they know.

The stairwell's thin cloak of calm is rudely shattered by the sound of a spangled metal disc CLANG-CLANG-CLANGING as it ricochets off the concrete interior walls! A silvered-blur released from the cocked arm of one SWAT team member extra than initially counted in the stream of Squad Alpha. Someone slipped in through the Basement Floor 1 door while the ruckus of stomping boots covered the sound!

Winter Soldier has posed:
He knows that music of old, the almost melodic chiming of a big vibranium bell. Cling clang CLONG - and even warned of its approach, it hits him right in the arm. The assault rifle goes clattering down the stairwell, uselessly. It doesn't go off, modern guns are better engineered than that....but strike one goes to Rogers.

Once he can, though, Winter's pouncing on the shield. Two can play at that game, Rogers - and it'll take Steve's head off, if he can discus it right into the vulnerable neck-seam of the SWAT armor.

Captain America has posed:
The sound and sight of the assault rifle dissembling even as it succumbs to Vibranium's impact damage is a moral boost. Already, here comes Steve up the stairwell, incognito as the rest of the SWAT team members save for his movements. No doubt Winter can now pick out the subject of his mission despite the anonymity of matte-black and visored helmet. He moves with envious grace despite his muscled bulk. The Captain lunges up the stairwell with a low, swift approach, ready to throw himself to either side. The risks outweight the momentary loss of his shield. If he can get in close enough, it'll become a thing of hand-to-hand combat and there's nothing like uneven flooring to level the playing field.

Winter Soldier has posed:
That old sure grace that Steve can never hide or disguise, the motion of someone who knows his body's capabilities with a precision beyond the average man's imaginings.

His old friend.

His target.

His mission.

Winter's got the advantage of high ground, and he's loath to surrender. But he wings the shield down as hard and fast as he can, hurling it back at STeve in hopes it'll knock him arse over teakettle and take him back down.

Captain America has posed:
Almost -- almost fast enough to close the gap. Too close to jag to one side and be missed by the flung shield. Steve catches it right in his padded chest with an outrush of air from his lungs. Winter's got enough umph behind his throw to send the Captain backwards in balance. It means tucking his chin and rolling backwards down the stairs in one semi-bulky bundle of armored gear and shield. At the next landing down, the man rolls into a turtled crouch, looking overtop his spangled shield. A quick motion and he's flipped up the visor.

"Don't make me come up there again, punk! Get down on the ground, now!" Apparently, the Captain is no longer playing around. If there's any hesitation on his part due to his childhood friend and brother-sans-blood, it isn't showing. The shout echoes in the stairwell.

Across the comms: "Squad Beta down! Cap, he's in Vasquez's gear!" A bit late for that reminder.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Black Knight, indeed, knife in one hand, pistol in the other, expression hidden behind the dark mirror of the helmet visor. He has no intention at all of yielding to Steven's command, it seems. He should run, should get out before he's taken again....but there's one of his primary targets so very close. Surely one more try for the Captain will prove the charm.

Of course the stairwell echoes to the report of the pistol. Feeding Steven a few rounds face first will get him just as dead, after all.

Captain America has posed:
The Vibranium shield does its job. Agent Carter's wrath couldn't blunt the disc in WWII and today's weaponry can do little more. Steve feels the bullets' impacts jar up his forearm in a familiar quick tingling and then he's charging up the stairs again, intending to bowl right into Winter and slam the air out of him against the concrete wall if nothing else. He's just as quick as his initial approach, churning legs up the blocky stairs as if gravity meant nothing to him. His visor still up, the man's blue eyes are on display and shockingly cold.

On Basement Floor 2, the door rattles -- and rattles. Someone (named Steve) might have jammed the handle something good. Sparks fly from the destroyed panel next to the doorframe. Across the comms: "Cap! Cap, status report?!" The leader of SWAT Squad Alpha shouts more. "Around! Find another way in!"

Winter Soldier has posed:
He'll end up hemmed in, if he doesn't keep on out right now. But was he ever intended to really escape? Hard to know. AS Steve comes charging up, Winter tries to drop low, take Steve down into a grapple close enough that he can't use the shield. The pistol's holstered - this'll be an affair for blades, clearly.

Captain America has posed:
The advantage of high ground goes to Winter. As Steve approaches, he has to commit to equilibrium of balance and speed. A deft ducking on the other Soldier's part and he's close to sacked with as much force as a professional linebacker on top of the assassin's bolstered strength.

With the shield now useless on the outside of Winter's back, the pair go tumbling backwards down the stairwell once more. The concrete steps hurt just as much as the last time Steve went down them. All the while, he's trying to grab at the knife-wielding wrist to keep the flashing tac-blade from lodging itself between seams of SWAT gear padding. The tumbling only stops with the introduction of the wall on the next landing down.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Not exactly puppies tumbling around a cardboard box, is it? It's the alloy hand that's got the blade, and its strength is terrible, as he tries to get it in through the open visor. Stabbed in the eye is dead, too. Also attempting to lock his legs around Steve's, and keep the Captain from tossing him away.

Captain America has posed:
Having landed on the bottom and acted as the padding between wall and Winter, Steve's already gasping for air even as he fights to keep the pointed blade from descending further into his face. One can see by the strain around his eyes that it's taking monumental strength on his own part to hold it at bay -- and only at bay, as if forcing it backwards may take better leverage on his part. An attempt to insert the rugged sole of a boot into Winter's torso fails. It skims off the smooth surface of the padded SWAT gear and instead bounces off the holsters at the assassin's hips, rattling the pistol.

He then tries bringing the edge of the Vibranium shield sideways and into the helmeted head of his attacker for a brutal stunning. It's unsettling seeing his own strain reflected back in the visor's semi-polished opaque surface.

Winter Soldier has posed:
No heavy breath from behind that mirrored visor. HE might as well be fighting something wholly a robot, rather than the cyborg amputee war buddy. Winter gets a leg around Steven's waist - a far cry from his usual swift, slashing attack. Now he's a limpet, refusing to be pried off.....and the human hand suddenly goes for the seam between gorget and helmet. He can just choke Steve to death, maybe.

The blow to his helmet cracks it, a long fissure darting around the black hemisphere. The visor pops loose from the deformation, and now there's glimpse of one crazed blue eye set in pale skin.....and by the way it's sort of crinkled at the edge, he might be smiling.

Captain America has posed:
That expression glimmering in madness through the crack of the damaged helmet is not something Steve missed or likes to see in his nightmares in the darkest hours. He's able to writhe beneath Winter and eel his head to once side, avoiding the attempt at a solid throttling. None of that again! Still grimacing in his attempt to keep the tac-knife at bay, he tries to bring the shield's edge around at that helmet again. The fractured exterior won't hold up to another blow and if he can stun his combatant, all the better.

Across the comms: "Cap, we're incoming!" Steve shouts back, not muffled by his helmet's opened visor,

"Negative, hold, Squad Alpha! Hold!" He can't keep the strain from his voice, but it's apparently enough to keep the SWAT team waiting in the hallway outside from intruding upon their scuffle at this time.

Winter Soldier has posed:
It doesn't shatter the helmet. But it does turn it, so suddenly Winter can't see the target right in front of him. Not that it matters hugely, they're still grappled close as lovers. Close enough to keep the squad from firing into this melee and perforating Steven. He's still trying to get the knife in by feel, if nothing else. The glinting tip hovers all too close to one true-blue eye.

Captain America has posed:
Sweat beadlets on Steve's temples inside the helmet. He can still see and the inexorable downwards push of the blade is too close. His jaw grits with pressure against the interior padding of the helmet before he shouts again, this time at Winter himself,

"Drop it right now, Barnes! DROP - IT!" A shove at the alloy wrist to gain himself an inch of grace. "Don't make me say it!" he grinds out. Another solid swing of the shield's edge aimed for the blinding, compromised helmet, this time attempting to knock either it off Winter's head or the assassin himself off of Steve.

Winter Soldier has posed:
This time, Steve succeeds, on both counts. The helmet splits like a cut orange, and the edge of the shield goes through, right above the ear. Hard enough to ring Winter's chimes - he even goes limp, for a moment, as blood starts to stream down from the scalpwound. But Steve hasn't put him down yet, though he has banished that maniac smile. Now he's trying for a side-slash with the knife again.

Captain America has posed:
The knife blurs in matte-black. Steve winces away, but not before the hot proof of impact begins to well up. A slice from mid-cheek bone, barely grazing the orbital socket, opens from there and back nearly up into his temple. Only the helmet's solid build keeps the tac-knife from continuing further in its path. The blade's edge bounces off the hard material and out of view. Holding one eye closed out of reflex, the Captain then rolls and lands both booted feet square into the center mass of the Winter Soldier. It's like being kicked by a kangaroo on steroids, or hammered with the sudden screeching impact of a small car. There's little other direction to fly other than into a very solid concrete wall. Steve then immediately scrambles to see if he can grab up his murderous old parti-cyborg buddy into a headlock.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Except that he feels it coming, and manages to eel out of the way. Starting to flag, just a little - that wound is streaming blood. Scalp wounds are always awful messes. He's not so much bounced off the wall as using it to deliberately rebound and roll Steve over. And that terrible knife is still in his hand. "Sir, get him off you," calls one of the squad members. Maybe they can taze them both into submission.

Captain America has posed:
"I'm working on it!" It's not a command to the squad, necessarily, but angry enough to make the men balk at approaching further from their viewpoint on the next landing up.

Steve takes the tackle like the champ he is and swears a spitted blue streak in Gaelic. The swing of the tac-blade is halted by a shift of the shield and clangs the Vibranium disc hollowly. Now back down upon the landing, he tries to grab at the alloy wrist again and keep the weapon from encroaching into his personal space again. The blood leaking from his face is cooling tacky where it's tracked between skin and helmet-foam.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Then there's a sudden wrench, and the shield goes clanging away down the stairwell like a dropped saucer. That grin returns, and god, it's a horrible sight, with the Soldier's face a carnival mask of blood and sweat. STill clinging to Steven, trying to get at vulnerable flesh again. He hasn't spoken - not a curse or a cry - and the pale stare never wavers.

Captain America has posed:
Everything slows down to a feverish reel of reality around him. Steve can hear the readying of weaponry from above, horrendous snaps of gear clicking into place, even as the muzzles of the squad's weapons train on the back of the Winter Soldier. Clanging away, there goes the shield, down and down and down, until it rolls outside-down and begins a saucer-like rounding of noise, around and around and around on the concrete.

That manic smile, devoid of any delight but that of succor from punishment at yet another failed mission, will haunt Steve in its crimson-streaked, wild-eyed focus. He sees the knife arc back again and knows, by dint of long-lived experience, that this blow wrought by alloy arm can't be blocked. It'll break through the SWAT armor and touch skin, even if not deep.

Shouting in his ear from the Squad's leader is ignored, tuned out to a buzz of English to be remembered when the brain slows down long enough to contemplate what happened.

Steve's pained snarl is revealed even as he catches the bottom curvature of the open visor and pulls the helmet down to reveal his lips. Fresh blood smudges down his skin where the padding drags like a foam paintbrush.

His lips form two words in anguish -- in Russian -- with a strained susurrus of two-beat syllables a-piece. They whip out towards Winter with the wind of a snapped bullwhip, aimed to catch him right between the eyes.

Winter Soldier has posed:
As if that fixed grin weren't nightmare fuel enough....the moment of blank confusion with the tiniest spark of lucidity buried within it is somehow worse. As if, for that fraction of a second, it were actually Bucky looking back at him. Then the words strike home, and he's out like a light. Limp as a rag, tumbling off Steve with the least touch.

Captain America has posed:
"...gers! Agent Rogers!"

Steve snaps out of his horrified staring at the limp body of his friend. He yanks the SWAT helmet completely from his head, heedless of his facial wound, and reaches out with a bare hand to touch at the man's neck. A pulse proves life and he drops his chin to utter a rough, close-throated sigh of relief. Old habits die hard. Even as the Squad comes pounding down the stairs, guns still aimed, he kicks away the tac-knife. It flies into space and down the stairwell to clatter into obscurity several levels below. With trained efficiency, the Squad strips Winter of all weaponry before whipping out a pair of handcuffs better suited for a god than a man. While still lying on the ground, he's rolled to his stomach and secured with hands behind his back.

Steve makes his way to his feet with a noted lack of the earlier grace, as if the adrenaline burning away is leaving hollowness in his bones and weakness of muscles. The Squad leader lifts up his visor to stare dead at the Captain, shock clear as day on his own face despite the relative covering of the SWAT gear.

"Captain, what the hell was that?!"

Steve doesn't look away from the Winter Soldier even as he's hauled up underneath his armpits, all limp predatory weight. The years that have passed show on his face and, for once, there's no mask of bravery or stoicism. He remains silent, and, for what it's worth, that might be an answer in itself.