Retired — Roleplayer Guild

C A P T A I N  A M E R I C A 

Frank noticed the tripwire a fraction of a second too late. As his foot crossed the almost imperceptible beam of light, he barely had time enough to shield his head with his forearms. 

A concussive blast slammed into the marine from both sides, and even though his suit absorbed much of the resulting transfer of energy, being that close between the two felt like he was being squeezed in a tight vice. He sprawled onto the ground, reeling from the impact.

"Cap?"

Guess they were smart after all, Frank chastised himself for going against his gut. Of course they'd have prepared... 

"Captain!"

Frank clutched his right ear as he brought himself to his knees. The constant ringing was a testament to the suit not being infallible. 

Sonics? Not typical merc hardware.

Even while his head began to clear from the momentary onslaught, the buzzing in his ear continued. It took a second for Frank to realize it wasn't just a symptom of potential hearing impairment. 

Distorted, Leiberman's voice called to him through the broken earpiece receiver. "Castle, I know you're not dead because I can see your damned vitals, so you better listen to me if you want to stay that way." 

All humor from the civilian contractor's voice was gone as he continued, "both targets have left the hostages and are closing in on you. They're less than thirty feet from rounding the corner directly in front of you. Move!"

That got Frank on his feet in short order. He glanced straight ahead towards the hallway the men would appear from. Roughly ten meters from him, he considered. It would be enough.

The man they would call Captain America shoved aside the mild disorientation, compartmentalizing it for later, and ran. Every pump of his legs, every heavy boot fall on the tiled ground fueled him, pushing him forward faster and faster. As he neared the junction he could hear similarly booted steps rushing closer. Just before crossing the threshold, he lept off of his left leg and tucked his right up towards his chest. 

The resounding crack as Frank's armored knee collided with the chest of a gun-toting mercenary was almost satisfying. The look of pained surprise on the man's face at that moment, though, was completely so.

Frank didn't give the other much time to consider this turn of events. He drove his elbow into the second mercenary's throat at the same time his other hand clutched at the man's firearm. A leg shot out, catching the combatant in the side of the shin. The would-be-assailant roughly dropped to one knee, hacking as he clawed at his own throat. The butt of the man's rifle slamming into his face silenced the coughs.

Whipping around, Frank addressed the first mercenary who was recovering from what was sure to be a few cracked ribs. Stepping on the man's hand as he fumbled for a pistol, the marine reached down and delivered a solid blow to the jaw, ending the fight before it had truly begun. 

"Two hostiles secured," Frank said, unsure if his induction mic was still functioning after the earlier blast. "Moving to check on the hostages."

His words were met with that same subtle buzzing from before. Just as Frank resigned himself to being without proper radio communication for the remainder of the mission, Leiberman's voice squawked out. 

"Negatory, Cap." The note of juvenile amusement had returned to the man's voice. "Heat sigs are showing the boys below are on the move. Seems your entrance spooked them. Bossman wants you apprehending them before they can skedaddle, and— Jesus fuck!"

Leiberman's outburst startled Frank. Despite his views on civilian contractors having a role in military operations, and the technician's clear issues with maintaining proper protocol, not once had Frank heard the man sound so panicked. 

"What is it?" 

"I, Jesus, I don't fucking know. Give me a sec." 

"I need intel, Leiberman..."

"Yeah, well, I don't have any of that at the moment. External sensors just went dark!" 

"What?" Now Frank sounded alarmed. "How the Hell is that even possible? Is... do you have Lieutenant Reed on comms?"

The pilot of the Blackhawk would still be hovering and circling the perimeter of the building. While Leiberman was the chief technical support and responsible for overwatch duties, it was Reed who provided all of the scans. Or, rather, the craft she flew. The UV-1X Super Blackhawk was host to an entire suite of sensors and radars, the best the U.S. government could provide. From infrared and active radar to top-of-the-line imaging technology. The DARPA engineers responsible for its design had crammed as many tools into the Blackhawk as possible. While it didn't have the immediate coverage of satellite surveillance, the sensor board on the helo was far more versatile, reliable, and secure. 

The only way Leiberman would stop receiving data from the craft was if Reed had personally disengaged the sensors. Or if the bird was no longer in the skies.

"No, no. She's fine, we've still got her on radio. And telemetry is still coming in from the Blackhawk. Passives are picking up everything in the vicinity, but anything we had pointed at you is gone. It's like a bubble's been put up around Roxxon and is blocking our sensors."

"There was nothing in the briefing that indicated this group had that capability."

"No, shit," Leiberman chimed in. "I don't even know what could shield an entire building like this so suddenly. It doesn't make any sense."

Frank sighed, already approaching the stairwell leading to the lower floor. "So we're blind."

"I'm doing what I can, Cap, but..."

"Understood. Going radio silent, then. Stay off the comms." 

To say he didn't like this turn of events would be an understatement. Unforeseen circumstances and aspects going awry was par for the course in this line of work, Frank knew, but for there to be such a disconnect between the gathered intel and what was being experienced was disconcerting. It meant that either he was operating with piss poor intelligence officers or this mercenary group had dramatically changed their modus operandi in the last several months. Neither of which were comfortable thoughts at this moment. 

He moved carefully down the stairwell, not willing to make the same mistake as he had when first entering the building. His eyes scanned meticulously for more trip mines or other potential hazards. Without his eyes in the sky, Frank needed to be more cautious. While he was confident operating purely off of his instincts and abilities, the fact that he was going into direct confrontation without backup against what was now seeming like an unknown threat factor was always something to be wary of. 

"Soyez prudent. Exposez le cœur et nous mourrons tous." A voice trailed down a long corridor as Frank reached the end of the steps. 

Creeping down the hallway, Frank slowly removed the shield from his back and slotted it onto his left gauntlet. He could hear further down and to the right the shuffling of feet. As he neared, this was joined by a soft, oscillating hum. 

"Nous avons perdu le contact avec Alexandre. Faut-il continuer?" A voice different from the first spoke up, this time much closer to Frank's position. 

"Lui et les autres sont déjà perdus. Nous les pleurerons plus tard. Plus important encore, nous devons terminer la mission," answered the first.

The corridor ended up ahead, branching off into two separate paths to the left and right. From the latter, Frank could hear the approaching mercenaries. 

If the initial scans before the sensors were lost could be trusted, there would only be four hostiles remaining on this level. Two, he at least knew, were seconds from rounding the corner. With any luck, the others would be, too, and he could catch them all off guard at once.

Two figures dressed in the now-familiar militaristic garb stepped into the main corridor. Carried between the two was a long, steel-blue cylinder. The oscillating hum emanated from it, now louder than before. They halted less than fifteen meters away as they noticed Frank blocking their path. Immediately following them were another two individuals. 

One, a slight man dressed in loose fatigues but sporting no kevlar or weaponry, nearly walked into his two comrades. The last of the mercenaries shared the previous armored look but lacked a helmet, instead sporting an unusually extravagant pair of sunglasses. Taller than the rest, his lensed gaze met Frank's from across the hall. 

Frank took only a split second to consider the options. One unarmed man, physically unimposing. Two unable to reach a weapon, their hands preoccupied with the task of holding their hefty loot. And one man whose face had been plastered on dozens of mission briefing papers. 

In a fluid motion, Frank hurled the star-spangled disc towards his target. He aimed it chest-high, both intending to deliver a debilitating blow and draw focus away from his position. Before the shield was even halfway down the corridor, Frank was already charging forward. 

The taller mercenary stepped forward and pivoted sharply, rotating and lifting his body in an impressive display. A left leg lashed out like a whip, a weighted boot connecting with Captain America's shield on the underside. The effortless move sent the metal saucer careening far over his colleague's heads and clattering against the rear wall. 

He called softly over his shoulder to his compatriots, "aller. Livrez l'article. Je vais gérer celui-ci." 

The three others quickly turned and began retreating down the left hallway. 

Frank crouched as he approached the one who had deflected his previous attack. With the momentum that the suit had built up from his short sprint, he intended to launch himself forward in a tackle that would carry him and the mercenary into the back wall. The power of the tackle, enhanced by the vibranium weave, would be enough to at least disorient the man long enough for Frank to put him out of the fight for good. Then he could catch up with the others before they managed to escape. 

Honestly, had he not already been committed to his charge, just a mere handful of meters away from his foe, Frank would have approached more cautiously. The amount of skill his target had displayed with that kick, the power needed to knock the shield off course, it was enough to tell Frank this man was a level above the other mercenaries he had dispatched moments before. 

It was that initial respect that had been earned that caused Frank to size his opponent up once more at the moment before his leaping tackle. And subsequently what allowed him to spot the danger before it was too late.

He pushed off the ground with all his strength, trusting the suit to do its job and redirect the gathered kinetic energy. Instead of colliding with the mercenary, though, Frank was carried in an arc that sent him flying over the man's head. The hidden blade that had been produced from a sleeve harmlessly stabbed the air where Frank's throat would have been had he continued with the tackle. 

While this rendition of the Captain America suit was surely a technical marvel and more than impressive in its defensive capabilities, the vibranium weave only absorbed the impact of kinetic energies. Piercing and slashing weapons were capable of penetrating the suit. There were, of course, sections protected by standard kevlar and plating, but they were focused mostly on the torso to not prohibit mobility. Had he not avoided it, the stiletto dagger would have punctured him with ease. 

Landing aside his discarded shield, Frank struck up a defensive stance. 

"Georges Batroc," the marine said. "You don't disappoint."

"Ah, you know my name. I am flattered," came the response in a thick French accent. 

"You've made more than a few waves in recent years." 

"It is always a pleasure to meet a fan. I must apologize, I cannot give you an autograph." As he spoke, Batroc's head panned ever so slightly to the left, confirming his fellows had gotten far enough away. 

"Okay. We dance now, no?" 

Before finishing his words, Georges was already moving. He feinted with the blade in one hand before throwing his leg out in a vicious kick meant to break Frank's kneecap. The latter was barely able to pivot away from the former's blow, more aware of the dagger than anything else. Then the French mercenary tried to follow up his first strike with a second jab. 

Stepping in, Frank willingly took the kick knowing the suit would guard him against the impact. Even still, as Batroc's foot caught him in the hip, Frank could feel it to some degree. 

Boot is weighted, he realized. Packs a punch. I wouldn't be able to take many of those without the suit.

Having closed in with the enemy, Frank quickly used the moment of impact to counterattack. Gripping Batroc's wrist, he twisted sharply. At the same time, he slammed his right palm up into the elbow of that same arm with enough well-rehearsed force to pop the joint out of place without breaking a bone. The combo assault elicited a pained grunt from the mercenary as the stiletto dropped to the ground. 

Don't have to worry about that anymore, Frank told himself as he kicked the weapon away. Now I can focus.

Georges pushed through the pain, forcing both arms up into a defensive guard as he let loose a flurry of attacks. Several low shin kicks followed by a roundhouse hook that would have rocked Frank a year before. But with the suit dispersing the kinetic energy from the blows, and with the knife out of play, there was no longer any real threat.

The man was an incredible fighter, Frank could tell. His techniques, all derived from the French kickboxing of savate, was flawless. And Batroc delivered them in a way that was both ferocious and highly controlled. As the two traded strikes in their brief skirmish, the marine was amazed to witness his opponent's flexibility and agility. Despite mitigating all of the potential damage being dealt and not having to worry about serious harm, the sheer prowess the French fighter displayed was enough to prolong the bout for nearly a minute longer. 

It was only inevitable, though, that Batroc would be worn down. Unable to compete against the advantages of the suit and the near-endless stamina it afforded, the savate master began to tire. It opened him up for Frank to capitalize, driving his knee into Batroc's gut before maneuvering him into a standing submission hold. 

Less than two minutes since the confrontation had begun, Georges Batroc lay unconscious and cuffed. Which meant the others should still be close enough to pursue. 

Breaking radio silence, Frank keyed into the mic. "Leiberman, inform Lieutenant Reed we've got three rabbits. You said the sensors still worked outside the building's radius so if they leave she should pick them up."

Flexing his left arm and triggering the recall mechanism, the shield flipped up off the ground and settled back onto its brace. 

"I'm pursuing on foot."
Retired Member

"Hayao Miyazaki"

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