Chapter Seven

Fionna

In the labyrinthine alleyways of the city, where shadows danced between crumbling brick walls and forgotten dreams, my heightened senses tingled with purpose. The acrid scent of gunpowder mingled with something uniquely engineered - the chemical signature of enhanced strength that always clung to supersoldiers. While Bucky and Sam methodically swept the perimeter, their boots crunching on scattered debris, I knew our target had been clever. They'd woven through these urban canyons like a ghost, but they couldn't hide their molecular trail from my enhanced olfactory abilities.

Bucky approached with that familiar metal gleam of his arm catching the dim light, his eyes holding decades of understanding about being something more than human. With gentle precision, he released my restraints, his voice carrying that particular softness he reserved for fellow survivors of transformation: "Did you find anything, girl?"

The scent crystallized in my mind - sharp, distinctive, leading northwest. Without hesitation, I launched forward, my muscles coiling and releasing with preternatural power. The wind rushed past my face as I darted between shadows and light, my focus laser-sharp on the invisible trail.

Behind me, John's voice cut through the urban canyon, dripping with that special brand of bureaucratic annoyance: "Can she slow down or what?"

Bucky's response floated up from below, carrying both amusement and steel-forged confidence: "She caught the scent of something. Be patient." His words held the weight of experience - he knew better than anyone that sometimes the most powerful weapons came in unexpected packages.

The familiar scent of Kari - gunpowder mixed with that distinct Flag Smasher bio-enhancement formula - hit my nostrils like a lightning bolt. My black scales rippled in the dim light as I ricocheted between the narrow walls, each leap precisely calculated. The puddles below gleamed with an oily rainbow sheen of industrial waste; one splash could dull my scales for weeks. Not today.

There - a flash of movement ahead. My quarry, a Flag Smasher grunt in their signature gear, didn't even have time to reach for his weapon. I launched myself, a dark blur of scales and purpose, my reinforced claws finding purchase in the kevlar of his shoulders. His scream echoed off the brick walls as I dragged him back toward my team, his boots leaving parallel trails in the grime.

With practiced efficiency, I dropped him at Bucky and Sam's feet like a cat presenting a prize catch. The Flag Smasher lay there gasping, his uniform torn where my claws had gripped him.

"Oh, she really caught something," Lemar said, impressed despite himself. I turned to Bucky, letting my eyes shift to their combat red as I rumbled my question with deadly precision: "Shall I kill him?"

The Winter Soldier's face was carved from stone as he grabbed our captive, metal arm whirring softly as he yanked the man upright. "Tell me where your leaders are," Bucky's voice carried that special kind of cold that came from decades of interrogations.

The Flag Smasher's face twisted with zealous defiance, spitting out: "I'll never tell a soul."

Bucky's steel-blue eyes had gone cold - that familiar, dangerous Arctic chill I'd seen too many times before. His metal fingers released their grip, letting the Flag Smasher stumble backwards. "Finish him off. We don't have anything valuable from him." His words fell like ice shards in the alley's silence.

My tongue flicked out, sampling the fear-soaked air, catching the acrid taste of our captive's terror. A low, anticipatory chitter rose from my throat as I shifted my weight, scales gleaming in the dim light. The Flag Smasher's eyes widened, his earlier bravado crumbling.

"What, Bucky? No!" Sam's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He moved with deliberate purpose, placing himself between us and the captive. His hand found Bucky's shoulder, steady and grounding. "We can't just kill him. Having her threaten him, keeping him as a hostage - that's a better play than outright killing him." Sam's eyes held a fierce conviction as he faced his friend. "Please, we're not killers, Bucky."

The space between them crackled with unspoken history - Sam's unwavering moral compass colliding with the darker instincts Bucky still battled. Even after all this time, the Winter Soldier's shadows sometimes rose to the surface.

The alley fell silent except for the soft scrape of my tail against concrete as it swayed back and forth. My gaze locked with Bucky's, a connection deeper than words - in his eyes, I saw the same understanding that had drawn me to him from the beginning. We were both weapons who had found something more, something human in each other. The bond between us transcended handler and asset; it was forged in shared trauma and transformation.

His face transformed as he watched me, the hard edges of the Winter Soldier melting away. The metal hand that had dealt so much death now extended toward me with gentle purpose, plates shifting with a barely audible whir. I moved forward with deliberate grace, pressing my scaled head into his palm. The contrast was striking - warm scales against cool vibranium - as I let out a deep, resonant purr that seemed to vibrate through the alley.

"Fine," Bucky conceded, his voice softening. "We'll keep him alive." He gestured to John and Lemar, who moved to secure their prisoner. My contented purr suddenly shifted to alertness, quills rising and rattling like wind through dead leaves. Something was wrong - the air had changed, carrying new scents of gun oil and hostile intent.

My head snapped up, enhanced vision cutting through the shadows as my muscles coiled with tension. Sam crouched beside me, his voice tight with concern: "What's wrong now, girl?"

Rising to my full height on my hind legs, I towered over them like a living shield. "Intruders," I snarled, my enhanced senses already tracking the threat. The glint of metal, the whisper of a trigger pull - time seemed to slow as I spotted the bullet screaming toward Sam's unprotected back.

Pure instinct took over. I launched myself forward, wrapping my armored body around him. White-hot pain exploded through my shoulder as the bullet found its mark instead of Sam. A hiss of agony escaped through my clenched teeth as momentum carried us across the ground.

But pain was secondary. Rage took over as I whirled to face our attacker, my claws finding purchase in brick as I launched myself at the gunman. The fight was brief, brutal, and decisive. He never had a chance to fire a second shot.

"Did she...?" Sam's voice was thick with disbelief as he stared at my handiwork.

"Yeah, she did," Bucky confirmed grimly, his boots crunching on debris as he rushed to my side. I stood over the fallen shooter, blood dripping from my shoulder, chest heaving with exertion and adrenaline. My eyes met Bucky's, and I saw in them both pride and concern.

"Are you alright?" Bucky's voice was soft with concern as his metal fingers ghosted over my wounded shoulder, careful not to press too hard. The touch was gentle - so different from the deadly weapon that hand could become.

"I've had worse," I rumbled, trying to shake off the pain. The movement sent droplets of blood spattering across Bucky's face like crimson constellations. He flinched and wiped it away with the back of his hand, but his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

"We better get it patched up nonetheless," he said, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to Lemar, who was already reaching for his pack. "Do you have a medical kit with you?"

Lemar approached with practiced efficiency, his hands steady as he began cleaning and dressing the wound. The antiseptic stung, but I remained still, only the slight bristling of my quills betraying my discomfort.

"Okay, what just happened here?" John's voice cut through the moment, sharp with confusion. He gestured between Sam and me, brow furrowed. "Why did she leap in front of you?"

"Because she's not just some weapon or tracker," Sam answered, his voice warm with newfound appreciation as he knelt beside me. "She's family." His hand joined Bucky's on my scales, and I leaned into their touch, letting out a soft trill.

"Family?" John's eyebrows shot up. "She's an enhanced creature that-"

"That just took a bullet for me without hesitation," Sam cut him off firmly. "I've seen a lot of soldiers in my time, but that kind of loyalty?" He shook his head, smiling. "That comes from something deeper."

Bucky's metal hand stroked along my neck, finding that spot that always helped me relax. "When I found her in that HYDRA facility," he said quietly, "she was like me - someone they tried to turn into a weapon. But they couldn't break her spirit." His eyes met mine, full of understanding. "Sometimes the best family isn't the one you're born with, but the one you choose."

I huffed in agreement, then tensed as Lemar finished securing the bandage. "Sorry, girl," he murmured. "Almost done. Though I gotta say, the way your scales are already starting to heal around the wound - that's impressive."

"Speaking of impressive," John interjected, gesturing to our forgotten prisoner, "what do we do with him?"