Wolverine out for the count... Natalia sent back to surface to retrieve him -- yeah, she really liked that... Steve still searching topside for a threat that went back into the hole it came from... And still no sign of Jason. Experience would have me saying that it's been about a day and a half, two days since this mess was first dropped on my doorstep, but the truth of the matter is, I lost track of time hours ago. Could be next week for how tired I am.
I'm running on fumes. On each rush of adrenaline that hits me when I think I've found a lead. The food down in Rapture makes me long for the days of Army rations, but the provisions I brought with me are limited, so it's been potato chips and water for a while, now. Not what you'd call the breakfast of champions, but it's keeping me going. Moving...
And I need to keep moving. I always figured this Batman bastard was something special based on Jason's training alone, but if he can down someone like Logan without getting eviscerated in the process--
The snippet of a voice catches Bucky's ear, stopping him in his tracks. He knows it's not his quarry, but he hasn't the time to draw another fight right now, and avoiding whoever else might be lurking in Rapture's depths may just be the smartest move he's made in the days. It could be a sign, though, a clue, and it's without hesitation that he presses onwards, silent as ghost, with skin just as white. Only the stern line of his jaw is visible from under the cowl, but there's no hiding the physical toll of his journey. He's pale, clammy with sweat. His teeth grit together even as his legs protest. He might not feel a damn thing, too focused is he on resolving the issue he's been burdened with, but it's still there, that burn he refuses to acknowledge.
Seconds stretch into minutes. Though it's not mere chance that finds Bucky staring at the back of a figure decked in black upon rounding the next corner, he sends his thanks to luck, regardless. Even at this distance, it's clear to see that Natalia hadn't been exaggerating about his size; he's as big as Steve, if not bigger, the cape making it difficult to truly gauge, though not impossible. Bucky's strong, but not that tall, a few inches short of six feet. He's got the arm for leverage, a secret weapon hidden under his uniform that can withstand a rocket at close range, but overpowering Batman likely won't be an option, especially when Bucky doesn't know the full range of toys the man's got at his disposal.
But Bucky doesn't need toys. Not when he has the shield gripped tightly in his hand. Not when he's got a fresh surge of rage to feed exhausted muscles. And not when he's got the best aim this side of Bullseye. There are no opening missives. No grand statements to announce his presence. They're both dressed the part for the theater of their work, Captain America and Batman both, but it's the soldier in Bucky that stays his tongue until the shield's already cutting through the air and it's too late to move.
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I'm running on fumes. On each rush of adrenaline that hits me when I think I've found a lead. The food down in Rapture makes me long for the days of Army rations, but the provisions I brought with me are limited, so it's been potato chips and water for a while, now. Not what you'd call the breakfast of champions, but it's keeping me going. Moving...
And I need to keep moving. I always figured this Batman bastard was something special based on Jason's training alone, but if he can down someone like Logan without getting eviscerated in the process--
The snippet of a voice catches Bucky's ear, stopping him in his tracks. He knows it's not his quarry, but he hasn't the time to draw another fight right now, and avoiding whoever else might be lurking in Rapture's depths may just be the smartest move he's made in the days. It could be a sign, though, a clue, and it's without hesitation that he presses onwards, silent as ghost, with skin just as white. Only the stern line of his jaw is visible from under the cowl, but there's no hiding the physical toll of his journey. He's pale, clammy with sweat. His teeth grit together even as his legs protest. He might not feel a damn thing, too focused is he on resolving the issue he's been burdened with, but it's still there, that burn he refuses to acknowledge.
Seconds stretch into minutes. Though it's not mere chance that finds Bucky staring at the back of a figure decked in black upon rounding the next corner, he sends his thanks to luck, regardless. Even at this distance, it's clear to see that Natalia hadn't been exaggerating about his size; he's as big as Steve, if not bigger, the cape making it difficult to truly gauge, though not impossible. Bucky's strong, but not that tall, a few inches short of six feet. He's got the arm for leverage, a secret weapon hidden under his uniform that can withstand a rocket at close range, but overpowering Batman likely won't be an option, especially when Bucky doesn't know the full range of toys the man's got at his disposal.
But Bucky doesn't need toys. Not when he has the shield gripped tightly in his hand. Not when he's got a fresh surge of rage to feed exhausted muscles. And not when he's got the best aim this side of Bullseye. There are no opening missives. No grand statements to announce his presence. They're both dressed the part for the theater of their work, Captain America and Batman both, but it's the soldier in Bucky that stays his tongue until the shield's already cutting through the air and it's too late to move.
"Knock, knock."