bracchium | c o n t a c t

[Throughout the day, Bucky moves from place to place until his mind finally starts to quiet. His memories of where he is come in bits, puzzle pieces dumped into his head. The first thing he does is buy a journal. Back in Bucharest, he’d kept notes on his memories as they came in; he couldn’t stand to lose them, not again. It’s much the same here on Concordia. His notes are meticulous and include as much detail as he can recall, but he returns to them to augment them throughout the day.

He’s not in Russia, he’s not hunting a target, he’s not waiting on evac. His name is Bucky and he’s come to Concordia on a recon mission. Steve’s here. Steve’s small again. Steve knows. Steve told him to imagine walls to keep people out and they were supposed to practice today. Except today is almost over and it’s taken him too long to get his head set on his shoulders again.

In the back of his mind, a beacon glows, like a radar, and moves closer, reaching out for something or someone. It’s reminiscent of the man from earlier in the day, but much more pure and bright; this isn’t a touch that frightens him, instead it harkens him to follow.

The Nest, he figures, someone sent to bring him in. They can’t have their operatives running off in the middle of the night in the middle of a mission, after all. It makes sense, but Bucky’s not about to go hurrying back into a room full of minds he can’t shut out.

Sucking in a breath, he tucks his new journal into his pack and shoulders it. His left sleeve has more or less been cut off underneath the jacket for ease of maneuverability. As he exits his temporary hovel, the beacon in his head doubles in strength, no longer a beckoning but a command. He follows it to a group of three men speaking in hushed tones before they pick up on the scent of easy prey. They step out from under the concrete lintel to tail their target. ]

[ They aren't quiet, a trio of heavy steps smacking against the concrete some meters behind him. The streets are lit with tall lamps and buzzing neon signs, hardly a car passes by as he quickens his steps a bit, ducking into a twenty-four hour convenience store.

He makes it to the door, a soft chime announcing his entrance. The cashier barely flicks his gaze away from the cracked holo-screen fixed into the wall behind the counter. Steve's hands shove into his pockets and he loiters near the back, eyeing the cases of carbonated drinks and beer, waiting out his pursuers.

As much as some people like to insist on the contrary, Steve actually doesn't enjoy getting beat up and/or mugged - the mess on Avera has instilled some caution in him. ]

[Bucky watches from the distance as a small silhouette tucks into a convenience store and the three punks pause in their pursuit to group up around the corner. They talk animatedly as Bucky makes up his mind to dispatch them before their prey walks into an ambush. He passes the convenience store door before stopping beside the trio.

The first of the gang glances up at Bucky's approach.] 'ey, what're you lookin' at?

[Rather than reply, he slings his pack from his shoulder to pull out a pen.]

Oi! You listenin'?

[ His quick exit was enough to distract him from the tension building nearby - ]

( ? )

[ The thread between them buzzes with a wordless question. Steve's still inside the shop but he's staring out the tall windows in the front, starting to make his way back to the door. The cashier gives him a scrutinizing once-over. ]

[A host. That's who went into the store, that was the beacon he'd followed. The buzzing connection distracts him from his task and when one of the trio steps closer to him, he acts on instinct. The pen in his right hand is thrust into the hollow of the throat of the one standing closest to him, not quite strong enough to pierce the trachea. A scream of pain fills the thoroughfare and Bucky straightens as the first stumbles back, hands clamouring about his neck.

Bucky follows up with a kick square to his chest and then the other two are on him in a heartbeat.]

[ The shout rings in his ears as he opens the door, the cashier now leaning over with counter with vague curiosity - before settling back in his seat. Not worth it. Fingerless gloves slip out of Steve's pockets, he nearly drops them in a hurried attempt to get them over his hands. ]

Hey!

[ The scuffle's already under way as he turns the corner. The first attacker is still choking, eyes watering and his hand pressed against the wall. Steve ignores him, barreling toward the pair that are ganging up on Bucky. His fighting technique still isn't up to par, but he's a bit stronger than he looks - and his gloves have built in tasers. One of Bucky's assailants turns to the sound of someone approaching. ]

[The buzzing in Bucky's brain intensifies at the shout behind him. Dammit. He'd wanted this fight to be done before the other host came out of the store. He'll have to juggle the two assailants to keep them off the newcomer. One of them turns in battle and Bucky pushes his brief advantage to grab the guy by the back of the neck and slam him down onto the street face-first.

He means to stop the other with his left arm, but as he raises it, he finds the empty sleeve hanging off his arm instead.]

[ Steve's forced to skid to an abrupt stop as the man hits the pavement. His thumb press down on his wrist (one, two, three) just in time to not-quite-block a blow to the left side of his head, knuckles pounding into the cartilage of his ear. His skull rings with bright points of light, neck twisting painfully, but his hand makes contact with an arm and the man drops to the pavement with a dull thud. ]

[Bucky stares up at his empty sleeve for a moment too long and then the other host is moving to block the hit meant for him. A crackle of electricity lights the assailant up and Bucky's climbing back to his feet to put down the last one. The guy's hands are still trying to wrap around the pen in his throat when Bucky reaches for him. His fingers curl about the other's neck as he brings up his knee. When both limbs come into contact, a similar crack of electricity sparks and drops the third to the ground.

Bucky's head is filled with a sudden emptiness, a vacuum sucking the last five minutes out of his head.]

[ His equilibrium is taking its time resetting, vision blurred and ear buzzing painfully. He staggers a bit, trying to settle his eyes on the downed men to determine whether or not they're breathing.

There's a bystander on the other side of the street watching. ]

Edited 2016-05-31 00:07 (UTC)

[Without Bucky in the driver's seat, his mind relies on the programming built by HYDRA. It asses the situation, the three downed enemies, one ally, and the rubberneck across the street. No witnesses. He plucks the pen from the throat of the guy in front of him and throws it like a knife before reaching over to try and heft Steve up to his feet. Back to the safehouse. Go, go, go.]

[ While an impressive throw for something that lacks any weight, the pen doesn't make its mark and the pedestrian decides to book it. Steve's wrenched back onto his feet to the sound of the guy who got his face smashed into the pavement groaning. It's hard to feel sorry for him - though there's definite relief flooding through Steve.

He grabs hold of Bucky's arm, unaware of the shift in him. ]

C'mon -

Edited 2016-05-31 00:40 (UTC)

[The groan from one of the assailants catches Bucky's attention. With Steve upright, Bucky steps forward to finish the job. Static buzzes in his head, undercut by calculations of force and easy locations to apply such force to kill. When Steve comes into contact with his arm, it's only amplified with distant shrieks of pain from memories he hasn't touched in years.]

[ The noise cuts through him, his teeth clacking together. The hand on Bucky's arm tightens, yanking him away from the man on the ground moaning about his broken nose. ]

Leave him alone, he's done. [ His head hasn't stopped spinning, but he's picked a direction and he's attempting to drag them both in it, away from the scene. ]

[Steve's words are just enough of a command to embed themselves into the programming. He does as ordered and steps back to escort Steve back to the safehouse. Every step is mechanical and practiced, his feet guiding themselves across pavement and grating alike. Up one street, down another, double-back to hide their route, and then they're at a shoddy hole in the wall with a door almost too small for Bucky to fit through.]

[ As much as he tries to pay attention to where Bucky's leading them, most of the walk is a blur of vaguely familiar streets set a horrendous soundtrack of buzzing and throbbing in his head. His gives the door a dubious look before entering. ]

What is this?

[Bucky doesn't reply as he follows Steve in and closes the door behind them. Beside the door is a chair he props underneath the handle. Inside isn't much bigger than the door, with just enough room for a cot, a small table with a couple notes written on it, and some free-dried meals. He squats down to pull a tiny medical kit from under the cot before stepping back in a silent invitation to sit.]

[ He stands near the doorway for a moment, ignoring the offer to sit down. His gaze sweeps across the tiny room (more cramped than he's ever lived in) before settling on the table, then back to Bucky. ]

Planning on staying here a while? [ He grimaces, moving toward the cot to sit. ]

[Bucky watches Steve take in the state of his 'safehouse,' but doesn't react. It's safe and that's all he needs. From the medical kit, he produces a cold compress that he activates by breaking the solution inside over his knee.

He doesn't answer and instead offers the compress in silence.]

[ He sucks in a breath, scanning his friend's face and ignoring the compress held out to him. ]

Bucky. [ Say something. ]

[That, at least, seems to start bringing Bucky back into his head. He blinks slowly at Steve, processing what he's seeing in pieces.]

My name is Bucky. [He furrows his brows as more pieces click into place.]

[ He holds Bucky's gaze, unease settling over him. ]

You sure you don't need that? [ Nodding at the compress, the humor in his tone is forced. A beat, then, carefully he ventures: ] You remember how we got here?

[It's slow coming back, but Bucky continues to hold the compress out for Steve. Climbing out from under the blizzard of static in his head is easier with Steve's presence, once more like a beacon.

He swallows again, blinking at Steve.] No.

[Last he remembered, he was leaving, but he didn't know why or the source of the blossoming bruise on the side of Steve's head.] I know you.

[ That slow, creeping horror from yesterday is returning, settling in the pit of his stomach.

It's another few seconds before he's finally able to take the compress, pressing the cold plastic against his face with a wince. ] You remember the Station? The trip to the city?

[ He's hoping the answers to both of those are going to be yes. ]

[That's right. The Station. They were here on a mission. This was Steve sitting in front of him and they talked yesterday. Steve knows.]

We were supposed to practice. [And then he's finally wrapping his head around the empty space in his head. Blank spaces only mean one thing and his furrowed brows deepen as he takes in Steve's appearance.

Oh god. His voice drops as morbid need to know takes over.] What'd I do?

желание I know you are the answer, but I forgot the question.	печь There will always be a lie in believe.
один Whatever is static is dead.	рассвет The world is too quiet.

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