6770/The Lies We Told Ourselves

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The Lies We Told Ourselves
Date of Scene: 02 July 2021
Location: Mina, Nevada
Synopsis: In Mina, Nevada.. the four person wrecking crew comes to town to GFSF after knowingly walking into a trap.
Cast of Characters: Sharon Carter, James Barnes, Sam Wilson, Eric Brooks




Sharon Carter has posed:
MARCH 3RD, 2006:

"If I was a rich man!" Young Sharon sings along with her best friend. Both girls settled upon the roof of Michael Carter's car, bopping along to a weird song they've made up for their talent show that would happen within the week.

"I'd own SHIELD." Sharon declares.
"And I'd co-own it." The girl comments.
"And if we can't, we'll tear that sum-bitch down!" Sharon states, making her fingers like a gun and -pew-pew-ing at the air.

The Young girl laughs and claps as she does so, Sharon shaking her head with a grin. "But for real though, I can't wait til we join. We're going to be the terrible duo.."

JUNE 6th, 2011:

The young girl opens a letter, REJECTED. She and Sharon hug, with the promise of her applying next cycle?

NOW:

The team had been assembled. Familiar faces all around, Sharon staring out of the helicarrier as one of those STRIKE team members of Commander May's choosing, loyal, flies them to their destination. This was a personal mission, as told by those who were gathered there, as told by the look upon Sharon's face as she stares out of the window. She barely shares anything on that flight, just a get up and go and nothing more.

When she moves, they move. And she would do the same for them, no questions.

But here, she had to fill them in, as they were some of the closest and will be soon enough. "We all have that person that we would risk everything for, no question. Parents, best friends, dogs.." She was near mumbling underneath her breath, finally she faces them as she keeps her hands in between her knees whilst gesturing and talking.

"This is a rescue mission; Kawaki Morrison. Five-Nine, approximately one-seven-five, brown skin, brown eyes, female. CIA, deep cover. Message carried with her signature, one that we use when we were teenagers. Obvious trap. But we go in, we grab her, we get the hell out. Back to the Playground by sundown."

Mina, Nevada is where they were headed, a soon to be government black-site that will be used for nuclear testing. What was once a small town was now desolate with a few stragglers, ones that run when they hear the sounds of people approaching so that they could plot and plan Bad Things?. Once the helicarrier touches down upon the ground, it opens up to a sweltering heat in the near darkness and the smell of iron and dust. One could be happy that the town was as barren as it was, it was clear where the path would take them. The tallest building, five stories, near one hundred clicks to the east.

"Gear check and move out."

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky? He was there, through the entire flight. There's that distance, right? The one that friends know, close friends know. It's that perfect amount of 'I need you here and that's close enough'? Bucky was *right there*, quiet because he knows the deal, knows how it goes when the mind's racing with thoughts of 'oh God, what if', knows that talking doesn't help like some people seem to think it does, not all the time. Sometimes the silence of others and the roaring of ones own thoughts is a *necessary* fucking thing.

    Right there, in that 'sweet spot' until they touch down. Silent.


    Even after they land, "We'll get her, Shay," is all that's spoken.

    Gear checked and double checked after those few words, lots of gear, Bucky Barnes likes his gear. Some might say he has a gear fetish. Why? Because he makes things that need dead, well, dead with it; usually quickly and effectively.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    While Sam is willing to take on missions at a drop of a hat for a lot of people, there are conversely very few he'd show up for without getting any details. And right now he's sitting with a couple of them.

    His goggles dangle from his fingertips, hanging between his knees as they fly. Usually Sam is always good for filling the silence, but today he's quiet, contemplative maybe, at least until Sharon starts to give them the rundown.

    "Right. It's always a trap," he says, with a tight smile. No worse than they've faced before, which he tries to communicate with a casual shrug as he leans back.

    Gear check for the Falcon requires a little bit more effort, and more space. He pulls his goggles down over his eyes and looks down to the display screen in his left gauntlet. Preflight check involves the quick deployment and stowing of the wings, some mechanical chirping from Redwing still stored within the wingpack, and the slow spin-up of the engine.

    Everything powers back down and he glances over Bucky, one-two real quick like a partner spot-check (a holdover habit from a different wingman in a different period of his life), and then he nods at Sharon.

Eric Brooks has posed:
One hundred kilometers. Ninety. Seventy-five.

Blade doesn't like flying. There's nothing stopping him from doing it, he just doesn't enjoy the sensation. Also, he's late. He got the same summons as everyone else, but he was in the middle of killing some things, as one does. Cut to now, where he approaches on the back of a very, very fast motorcycle from the vicinity of that tallest building.

Seventy kilometers. Sixty. The vampire hunter presses the face of his watch, which depresses like a giant button. The action sends a coded pulse to Sharon, letting her know that motorized reinforcements are only a few minutes out.

Sharon Carter has posed:
Sharon says nothing, her lips were tight and near curled up then relaxed. She nods towards James, fixing her own gear, vest.. weapons, checking her pockets twice to make sure all ammo is accounted for and blades. For some reason lately, she likes it up close and personal. "I think that's where we excel." She says of the three of them, soon to be four. "We walk in blind and walk out with results." And often times, gutted by a crazy X-23. "Let's go. Sammy, take the sky."

It was just the three of them, once again, soon to be four. No code names needed, even the comms were on a private channel. So once Sam is up in the air, they'll be in each others ears.

The view from above was such; a desolate town. Infrared would show those stragglers, most of them not surrounding the building in which the CIA operative was held; but they were close by. Most of them seemed to gather around barrels to feed the light into the night. Some even had the gall to stretch out their hands to keep them warm, which was odd. It was hot already, but the cold blooded goons reveled in the flickering flames and paid no mind to what was above.

As Apex Predators that humans are; there was no need to look up.

In the tallest building, there were three figures; one in a chair that looks to be bound, the other two seemingly talking off to the side. Clear and obvious on the third floor, that's where the agent was. Upon the middle floors, male and female figures stand in a straight line, and do not budge an inch. Eerie, as it was.

The pulse that rings in her ear causes Sharon to stop, tapping upon her comms as she continues the quickened path to the building. "Blade is a few minutes out. We can keep moving, he'll take up the rear." Sharon unhooks her automatic rifle the closer they come, keeping to the natural state of infiltration. A lean to, a peek, half-crouched approached.

No orders on this mission, she planned to let everyone do what they do best.

James Barnes has posed:
    Bucky? What he does best? Is go through the door first. It's not some sort of martyr thing, it's a super soldier thing. He's just plain not as squishy as most of his friends. But for now, he's moving out in front of Sharon... and stopping when they get close, but not close enough. A fist up, wait.

    Then his right hand strays to that fancy new tech Nadia made for his ears. See, those things, they have more than the one function.

    They also function as comm units and ... sort of like parabolic microphones. It's the first of the two that he fiddles with now. Is there another signal around that he can pick up with that right ear. Nothing...

    That leaves the second option, the less desirable one, but it works. He switches that right implant to 'Cyborg Hearing Mode', named just for Sam's benefit.

    With ears open, or at least one, he motions for her to continue. ...while he darts off, left, to, hopefully, start picking off stragglers one by one, quietly. Even groups of two or three, it's likely the trained assassin in him can manage quiet. A snapped neck and a well placed foot to the head, a thrown blade to puncture a coratid. Y'know, up close and personal, no guns yet.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    There's no need for Sam to reply; he just walks backwards until his footsteps transition from the sharp sound of metal against metal to the softer thud of dirt. He salutes, two fingers, to Sharon, and then he twists, wings folding out to match the span of his arms as he takes to the sky. Within a few seconds the sounds of the EXO engine is gone from both the range of average and enhanced hearing.

    "Got a few clusters of people scattered around; could be hostiles on watch, but they might be civilians. Be careful."

    Redwing is interpreting the thermal scan as it comes in, each sweep of Sam's head filling out more of the picture in bright reds and yellows against the darker blue of the ambient surroundings. Helpfully, Redwing keeps a marker on Bucky and Sharon's locations, updating it every time Sam looks back that way. No bead yet on their fourth, though Blade is an unknown quantity to Sam and Redwing both.

    For a little while he's silent over comms, but then his drone beeps in his earpiece and overlays a snapshot on his HUD of the three figures. "Might have a lock on our target. Big building, third floor, looks like she's tied up. Two on guard," he reports.

    The rest comes a bit later, once Sam's had time to do a wide circle around the building. "Possible hostiles on the middle floors?" He sounds unsure over the whistle of wind whipping past him.

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade clears the last fifty kilometers with an unceremonious triggering of his bike's nitrous oxide boosters.  When he's on his final approach, he kills the engine and lets his Ducati coast toward the target location.  He's made up for some lost time, but he's still lagging behind. 

After his motorcycle is parked, he unsnaps the clasps on a saddlebag-style hard case.  One by one, he pulls out the components of a broken-down rifle and fits them together.  The finished product has a scope attached, but it's far from a sniper's weapon.  If anything, it's more akin to ranged artillery.  Once it's locked and loaded, Blade fishes a round out of his pocket to fill the empty chamber.  '.50 BEOWULF' is etched around the shell's rim. 

After he tucks away an extra clip, Blade shoulders the rifle.  Then, almost as an afterthought, he stuffs his pockets full of plastic explosives.  Just in case. 

"This is Blade, I'm approaching from the southwest," he murmurs into his mic.  Once he's found a proper firing position, he flattens himself against the ground and peers down his scope.  "I'm on overwatch. I count two friendlies on the ground and one in the air. Confirming multiple additional contacts, ready to fire on your green light."

Sharon Carter has posed:
Bucky would find the path to the least resistence. One would assume as soon as they breach the door, quietly, there would be at least one person who would turn around and ring the alarm. But nothing. The ones that gather to fill the whole of the building stood there; strategically placed, arms up and waiting, eyes staring forward.

One down.. two..

No resistance.

Three.. four..

Pretty soon Bucky would realize that -none- of them are moving..

All the while, Sharon watches, her brows knitting together, lip curling upright, her rifle slowly lowering and..

"James, STOP!" She whispers..

Sam's observations of them being hostiles were correct; but they would give no indication that they were moving yet. They were still minding the business that pays them, even some giving a little push to one another around the fire. If Sam could hear the ruffians, they would be laughing.

Close to the edge of town, Blade's path was already compromised. One goon hid inside the ruined car, dressed in his sunday best. Ruined, tattered clothing, anyone with enhanced smell would immediately tune themselves away from the situation. But as the half-vampire passes, they immediately open their eyes and grin.

Inside, Sharon approaches one of the people standing absolutely still, her hand reaching out to grasp a shoulder and pull them back, their faces vacant. They were alive, they were breathing. But something held their attention and it did not let go, not even in the throes of death.

"What the fu--.."

Blades' arrival causes Sharon to pause, hand pressed against her ear as she listens. "Good copy." She tells Blade and Sam. "I don't like this at all. Hostiles on one aren't moving. They're.." She shakes her head. "..we may have to call in STRIKE. This.." She looks to Bucky, then shakes her head. "..we gotta keep moving.."

And -up- is where they'll go.

James Barnes has posed:
    "Rather take'm out while they're still," Bucky offers in return. Even if that doesn't mean killing them, just... restraining. So much work that, seems pointless when killing's easier. But, this is Sharon's deal, so up they go.

    ...even though he knows leaving LIVE potentially hostile individuals behind them? It'll bite them right in their behinds later. One ear still open to distant sound, he's right at Sharon's front, leading the way up. Because, once again, she's squishier than he is, it's just the way of things.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "What kinda weird shit did you drag me into, Sharon?" Sam asks over comms, and there's a facade of teasing humor over the question, but underneath: genuine concern. The past month or so, he's really started to learn the value of trusting his gut when it starts screaming at him.

    Not that Sam particularly enjoys feeling like he's the prey animal about to be snatched up in the claws of a much bigger bird, but it's a good red flag. Never really steers him wrong.

    For now he's still circling, waiting for his cue. "I can come in through the window, should be a good distraction while you take out the two guarding the target," he says. He banks against an air current and glances downwards, the wind carrying the sound of distant laughter up to him. "Something isn't right here."

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade doesn't get snuck up on.  He does the sneaking.  That's why he's so indignant when he's clouted across the head by the rear guard.  He's not sure what he got hit with, but it hurt and it split a wide gash open across his scalp.  "Contact, southwest!" he shouts. 

For the next few seconds, all that comes across the mic is gunfire.  Very, very loud gunfire. 

Blade is attempting to maneuver himself into a better position to use his rifle, but he's too close to his assailant.  Not to mention how loudly his ears are ringing and the fact that he has blood pouring down between his eyes.  Still, he tries to work the barrel of his weapon around, firing a large-caliber bullet every time he thinks it might hit.

Sharon Carter has posed:
"This isn't right.." Sharon says to Bucky. And it wasn't, they were just.. there. Even though he had a point, much like those earlier missions that the three have done together, she wanted to get this one over with. She wanted to get her friend home.

This time, her hand was upon Bucky's shoulder, he was leading the charge and she'd be right on his six, always in contact. He moves, she moves. He pushes her down, good. She'll live to see another day.

"Something just walked over my grave.." Sharon blurts out.. something she didn't mean to say over comms, but it happened..

What kind of shit did Sharon drag Sam into?

Revenge.

Since Mina, Nevada was now a destitute town; the government saw fit to wire it up with speakers. Speakers that meant to bring the call of a military strike, a nuclear strike, or some errant missile that would hit a dummy and blast it to kingdom come and decorate the horizon with a mushroom cloud. And yet.. this is not what it will be used for. Not this night.

"We have.." A womans voice, filling the speakers. "..some handsome man on a perch who is about to die.."

Gun fire on the mics. It was as if that woman was watching from above, high above Sam's head. "..oh no.." She says.

"..and is that -THE- Winter Soldier? THE WAR CRIMINAL?" She emphasizes..

Now, the gathered goons begin to move from their spots, within their tattered coats, semi-automatic rifles, shotguns, and glocks were produced. Their movements were slow, creating a perimeter around the central building where Bucky and Sharon were..

"..is that an Avenger?" She speaks over the gunfire.. was Blade in trouble?

"..but there she isss!" The woman sings out. "Sharon.. mutherfucking CARTER!"

Depending on where they were, that cybornetic hearing would quite possibly come into play..

Or not..

All it would take is ten clicks before that sound is realized.. a bomb. A bomb. A ticking bomb that was set to go off in a matter of seconds that would kill -ALL- who were inside of that building and possibly out.

And if it didn't?

The goons were ready to unleash holy hell into the rubble at the first sign of movement.

"Oooooooo.. overkill!" The woman delightfully sings!

James Barnes has posed:
    He didn't become the Fist of HYDRA, the FBI's boogeyman by playing it safe, by not being aware of his surroundings at all times, by not being able to weigh his options in a matter of a span of less than even seconds.

    There's no hesitation and when he doesn't hesitate, Bucky Barnes is *fast*. Maybe even faster than this situation got too hot to be in the middle of...

    Before Sharon can even blink, she'll find herself with a Bucky barreling down on her, aiming to take her along with him when he bales out the closest motherfucking window he can lay eyes on. Really, how likely is it that she can get out of his way? It's gonna hurt, both of them probably, but him a little more? Maybe? He can take it.

    If he's successful, he'll angle his own fall in such away that she's cushioned by him when they hit the ground. A roll, puts him on top, her tucked in safe under him, that metal arm of his protecting her head. It's a hail Mary at best, but... maybe.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "You think it's me she's talking about?" is what Sam asks when the speaker-woman calls someone handsome. The death threat is, y'know, less nice, but it's not like him to ignore a compliment.

    Blade's call across the comms brings a momentary pause to Sam's flight path, but the pop-pop-pop of rapid gunfire from that direction spurs him back into action. From his wingpack, Redwing deploys, the drone's miniature jet engine burning bright against the backdrop of the night sky as it arcs over the abandoned town.

    The cheerful computerized beep of greeting it gives Blade is probably lost beneath the sound of the turret gun that lowers from its underhatch. At worst Redwing is laying down some cover fire at the feet of Blade's assailant; the drone's AI is excellent at mitigating potential friendly fire, so it really just depends on how much of a clear shot it can get.

    Plus it's got plenty of maneuverability in the air to find a good firing angle, even without Sam calling the shots directly via one of his interfaces with his robot bird.

    He hears the breaking of glass first, unaware of where precisely it's coming from, but then he sees a blur of heat falling, too fast and too far away for him to make out. "What the hell?" Through his thermals it's impossible to tell who--or what--it is, but on instinct, Sam puts on a burst of speed, redlining the EXO-suit's engine as he skirts the edge of the building towards it.

    There's no way he'll make it in time. That's just the reality of the situation, there's too much distance for him to cover and not enough for whoever's falling.

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade's attacker is joined by a second, then a third.  The crowd grows.  He's given up on his firearm and is lashing out with heavy, hammering punches, but he can't seem to gain any ground.  He can't even get all the way to his feet, covering fire or no. 

THOKK!  A knife jams between his ribs from behind. 

KRSSH!  A liquor bottle is broken against the back of his head, widening the wound that's already there. 

"This is Blade.  My position is compromised.  I repeat, overwatch is--shit!"

That's his last transmission.  Redwing might be able to catch a quick visual of him sliding down a storm drain, though it's anyone's guess as to whether he's been killed, captured, or suffered an equipment failure.  Whatever the case, his telemetry has gone dark and his radio is silent.

Sharon Carter has posed:
"And.. we all.. go.."

KRAKA-THOOMM!!

Imagine a giant toddler knocking down a house made of their blocks with a stamp of their feet. Imagine that sound ten-fold and larger than life. Imagine the night sky soon turned day with the way the building itself explodes, the demolition charges placed in such a way that the building collapses inward instead of toppling outward.

The goons who lined the perimeter were caught in the dust of the collapse, hands already lifting to shield their faces from the asbestos that infiltrates their sight and lungs. Coughing all around; the goons didn't expect this.

And Morrison didn't tell them either.

Bucky was quick, but seeing that initial turn, she knew what that meant. Rifle that was once held upward is dropped to her side to avoid impaling him.. and out of the window they go. The wash of heat plays across their backs as the force from the blast pushes them a little bit farther than necessary. And once they land upon the ground? Sharon -heaves-. The wind completely knocked out of her sails, and it was -hard- to get it back. So much so, that she began to claw at her neck to try for an opening to get -something- into her lungs.

Sam might face the same fate. His barreling towards the explosion in middair might net him with a shower of glass and fire. Quite possibly cement that showers outward from such a force that tugged it downward. Gravity, folks. It's what they're eating for dinner.

"Oh.. look.. I think I -know- who that is.." The woman says over the speakers. "..Eric? My.. my.. my.. SHIELD has amassed a COLORFUL crew, right?" Laughter now, which continues on. Laughter that continues on with the means of more foot soldiers on the attack. Blade was but one man and they were many; many who carried guns. Many who stabbed at him, kicked. Brutalized the half vampire..

Would there be anything left of him?

"We made a pact, Sharon. That we, we would OWN SHIELD. OWN IT. And I'VE COME TO COLLECT!"

Agent Morrison, clearly held a grudge. A grudge at being left behind, at being considered nothing. At being mocked in -her- own mind by Sharon, especially when she called her chosen agency.. 'Sanctioned Terrorists.' And it stung..

"I. Am. Coming to collect. SHIELD will BURN. And it will start with the FOUR OF YOU!"

It was like it was on cue. Mayhem. Those who held the perimeter still fought to see, but they were determined to blast at the rubble with the clear thought that Bucky, Sharon.. and MAYBE Sam were inside.

And Blade? With those many goons, good as -dead-.

James Barnes has posed:
    He KNEW they should have killed the whole fucking lot of them! Never again will Bucky listen to 'Buck, stop'. Every throat in this place should have been slit. Violence isn't always BAD.

    He'll reflect on all of that later, but for now... he's doing the best he can with what he's got. He's a super soldier, he's not invincible, that fall hurt. But the serum running through his veins does give him the advantage of being able to blow off that hurt for the time being.

     Still curled around Sharon protectively - he'll think about the awkward of their close proximity now and things from the past later as well - he scrambles for any weapon he has within reach.

    He doesn't have to reach far. He swings the SMG he had strapped on during the fall around and just lays it open. He doesn't even know what he's shooting at or where? He's just shooting, one handed, from a prone position that's half stomach, half side.

    "I'm not SHIELD you fucking CUNT!"

    It's true, he's not, not anymore.

    ... is he yelling? It sounds like he's not, but he should be. His right ear's bleeding, eardrum blown from the combination of the blast and the enhanced hearing and the left one's ringing from the blast alone.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Explosions aren't the dramatic, slow-motion things that action films would have you believe. Sam's seen the real thing plenty of times, maybe too often for any reasonable human, but it's not as if he pretends to be one of those. He's self-aware enough for that much, at least.

    So the bomb Sam isn't even aware of goes off, and he gets all of a half-second to react. Enough time to pivot, maybe get one of his wings up to give him some meager amount of cover, but he's in midair.

    He's in midair with a few hundred tons of cement, glass, and metal raining down around him. The concussive force of the blast hits him first and sends him backwards. Without Redwing docked there's no way the EXO thrusters can fire in any meaningful way to counter his momentum.

    Wherever Sam ends up, he's down for the count. No response over comms.

Sharon Carter has posed:
There was no sight or sound of Blade. Sharon could only hope that he made it out alive.

But first, she had to BREATHE.

The shrill gasp of air was drowned out by the sound of gunfire. Sharon couldn't hear herself, unlike Bucky, both eardrums were compromised and everything seemed so far away. But -THANKFULLY- Bucky managed to keep her alive, even though falling down hurt so bad that she was left disoriented..

As Bucky begins to wildly fire, Sharon rolls onto her stomach and begins to crawl.

"Coward.." The woman says over the speaker. "..leave the Winter Soldier to fight your battles.." The woman sounded sad.. but not even sorry.

Bullets rain into the dust and hit their targets. Some being picked off by friendly fire, the others by the spray that Bucky provides. Some shots weren't lethal, the others that happen to hit their mark were. Mina, Nevada did not have time to suffer the fate of a nuclear blast. The wrecking crew came into town and ruined -everything-. Sam, James, Sharon and Blade caused more damage just by making an appearance, and with Sam caught up in the blast and landing closer to the helicarrier than the others..

He seemingly lucks out.. but.. not by a huge margin.

"I spent all this time.." Kawaki says. "..all this time ammassing an army and you only brought three. And I -see- them now, Sharon. I see them! WE LEAVE."

The order was barely listened to over the gunfire.. but after a while.. through the dust there was silence. If Bucky continued to fire, he would kill; the bodies adding to the dead already in service from the building collapse and fire. And Sam..

"James.." Sharon manages to squeeze out as she continues to try to crawl away from the damage. She could only get so far before she drops to the ground.. she herself radio silent as well.

Leaving Bucky utterly alone.

James Barnes has posed:
    Nothing, no one... is left alive by the time Bucky's finished. If it takes every round of ammunition he has, Sharon has, everyone has... not. a. soul. is left alive. And more than a few of the fallen get spat upon, they do, a mixture of blood from a busted lip and well... spit.

    He knows that voice now, a name, that woman... it's all burned into his brain and added to a list that just keeps growing. That bitch will die and she'll know the Winter Soldier is the one responsible for her death. Fuck this SHIT!

    Dude is calm though, too calm, when he goes about helping his friends, two of his closest, get back to where they need to be. If they're down, he'll carry them. If they're up, he'll offer silent assistance. He'll even fish Blade out of the shit filled sewers without complaint or snark. Even back then, in Russia, he was always full of snark for Blade.

    ...and then he'll fly them home if there's no other pilot. Silent. It's a dark kinda silence, heavy and foreboding really. Fuck. This. Shit.

    It's the LAST time anyone tells him 'stop James' and he actually listens. Enemies die, it's what they're supposed to do.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    The count, as it turns out, is only a count of ten. He comes back to as a screeching groan of metal shearing sounds, and honestly Sam's not sure if that was some part of the building's structure giving way or just in his head.

    Kind of feels like it was just his head. Sam blinks, and then blinks again, and then there's gunfire pinging around his location, someone firing into the rubble he's made an unfortunate nest of in his rough landing. He tries to bring his arm around, extend a wing into shield formation, but it doesn't respond.

    It takes a second or two before Sam realizes it's because the wing is almost entirely disconnected from his pack, hanging on only by a few fraying wires.

    So he rolls, biting off a groan as it puts pressure on something that hurts. His side? His arm? His shoulder? No idea. But the other wing is still functional and it provides enough cover that Sam doesn't get shot while Bucky, and then Redwing who swoops in to provide further covering fire, manages to put down the hostiles in the immediate area. Enough that Sam can drag himself to his feet, limping and bleeding and clutching his stomach like he's about to keel over, but on his feet.

    He has the decency not to spit blood until he's safely tucked away on the quinjet, and then it's mostly just him coughing into his elbow in as measured a manner as he can manage. Mostly because Sam feels like his insides might become outsides if he coughs too hard.

    "We maybe need to reevalute our stance on walking headfirst into traps," he eventually says after a long silence, his voice coming out on a wheeze.