#flare stack monitoring

[agilemicrosys]

https://agilemicrosys.com/continuous-temperature-monitoring-system/flare-monitoring/

Ensure compliance and operational safety with Agile Microsys' Flare Monitoring System. Our advanced solution provides continuous real-time monitoring of flare stack emissions, offering precise data on combustion efficiency and environmental impact. Designed to meet regulatory requirements, our system helps in optimizing flare operations, reducing emissions, and minimizing risks. Discover how our cutting-edge technology enables proactive management for enhanced safety and performance in industrial flare systems.

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Business Phone-9268265445.

[keehomania]

nct jaehyun with big tit reader pls…

JEONG JAEHYUN (정재현) — TWISTED (18+)

✧

the apartment was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic sweep of the mop across the floor. you moved with practiced precision, your hands gliding over every surface with meticulous care. a flick of your wrist here, a light dusting there—small adjustments that hardly seemed worth noting, but they were. every movement had a purpose, even if it was hidden beneath the veneer of tidying up.

the soft afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. you wiped down the windowsill, straightened the framed photo of you and jaehyun on the shelf with a smug glint in your eyes, and smoothed out the creases in the bedsheets. the apartment, as always, was immaculate, the kind of clean that only came from constant upkeep. but today, the cleaning wasn’t really about cleanliness. it was about preparation.

you paused by the desk, fingers brushing over the cool surface. between the neatly arranged pencil holders and stacks of paperwork, you slipped in a small camera, positioning it just right. a subtle angle, nothing too obvious, but enough to capture every corner of the room. a second camera followed, this one hidden in the far corner, tucked away in the shadows where it wouldn’t be noticed. satisfied, you moved on.

under the bed, you placed a voice recorder, pressing it firmly against the wood, ensuring it was out of sight. there was no room for mistakes, not today. finally, a tiny bug nestled into the corner of the room, blending seamlessly with the décor. you stepped back to admire your work, a slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips. everything was in place.

with a slow, deliberate movement, you tightened the belt around your dress, the soft leather pulling snug against your waist. the fabric draped perfectly, as it always did, every detail considered, every piece of you in control. you reached for the bottle of perfume on the vanity, its familiar scent filling the air as you dabbed it on your wrists. not your favorite scent—his. the one that made him lean in just a little closer, his breath catching for just a second longer.

you adjusted the microphone headset over your ears, the cool metal brushing against your skin. a sip of wine followed, the rich, dark liquid swirling in the glass before you took a slow, savoring taste. the tension in your muscles melted away, replaced by something else, something darker. not stress, not weariness, not betrayal. no, none of those things. what filled you now was a quiet thrill, a heat that coiled low in your stomach, simmering beneath the surface.

without a second glance, you made your way downstairs, the soft click of your heels echoing in the hallway. the receptionist barely looked up as you approached, her hand sliding instinctively to the desk drawer. you slipped her a bundle of cash—thick, well-prepared, without a word exchanged. she nodded, her hand moving to unlock the door behind her. you stepped inside the dimly lit security room, the soft hum of the monitors filling the space around you.

you settled into the chair, your fingers tracing the edge of the wine glass as you watched the screens flicker to life. one by one, the angles of the apartment room came into view, each camera displaying its silent feed. and there he was, as you knew he would be. jaehyun, standing in the corner, his body pressed against someone else. a woman, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms clinging to his back. their lips moved in a frantic, fevered kiss, bodies entwined as if the world outside ceased to exist.

your eyes lingered on the screen, a slow, satisfied smile creeping across your face as you sipped your wine. typical. the scent of your perfume must have hit him, because his movements stilled for just a moment, nostrils flaring as he pulled back from the kiss. but it didn’t matter. even now, with another woman in his arms, your presence haunted him. and that, more than anything, sent a wave of satisfaction through you.

he pressed her harder against the wall, his fingers tangling in her hair, lips grazing her neck. but you didn’t flinch. you didn’t feel the sting of jealousy, didn’t feel your heart shatter at the sight. instead, there was a sick, twisted pleasure in watching him repeat the same motions he did with you. It should have hurt—should have torn you apart—but it didn’t. if anything, it thrilled you.

there was something captivating in watching his desire, watching him pour himself into someone else, knowing full well that no matter how much he took from her, it would never compare to what you gave. he could try, he could chase that feeling, but it would never be the same. not without you. so you let him have his time. let him indulge. and as you sipped your wine, watching the scene unfold before you, you knew that he would always come back. because no one else would ever match what you had.

the security room was dim, the glow of the monitors casting an eerie light over jaehyun’s sharp features. he sat in the worn leather chair, eyes glued to the flickering screens before him. the scent hit him first, thick and sweet like spun sugar, relentless in its sweetness, clinging to every breath he took. your perfume. it was unmistakable, coating the air with a syrupy heaviness that curled around him like a possessive hand. he grunted softly, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair, knuckles whitening as he inhaled deeply, letting the scent overwhelm his senses.

he knew it too well. the fragrance that lingered on your skin after a night out, the same one that would pull him toward you, that made his breath hitch when he buried his face in your neck. but tonight, the thought gnawed at him. was it for him? the way it used to be? or for your lover, the one you disappeared with after slipping out of the apartment when you thought he wasn’t looking?

the lines blurred in his mind, the sharpness between you and him, between you and whoever else had stolen your time, stolen what should have been his. his jaw tightened as he leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowing. you had set this up. he knew it the moment he stepped into the room, knew it from the way the cameras were positioned. it was so you—calculated, precise, cruel in a way only he could appreciate. he wanted to hate it, to hate you, but instead, a twisted admiration crawled up his spine. this was your game, and he was only too willing to play.

his eyes roamed over the grainy image as you finally appeared on the screen, your figure unmistakable even through the static. you stepped into view, your dress clinging to your body like it was made for you, and jaehyun’s breath hitched again, the scent of your perfume still assaulting his senses. his hand, almost unconsciously, moved to his lap, the tension in his body easing slightly as he spread his legs wider, trying to alleviate the growing ache. but you weren’t alone.

his teeth grazed his bottom lip as he watched, every muscle in his body going rigid as a man stepped into the frame behind you. tall, unfamiliar, hands that gripped you too familiarly, lips that ghosted over the curve of your neck with an urgency that made jaehyun’s skin prickle. the man’s mouth moved against your skin, bruising and licking, leaving marks that jaehyun knew too well—the kind that staked a claim. his pulse quickened, his body reacting before his mind could catch up, a satisfied hiss slipping from his lips. he hated it, the way he was drawn to the sight of you with someone else. hated the way his body responded, the way his fingers twitched to touch the screen, to feel connected to something—anything—that involved you.

dd it feel the same? did the man know what you liked, the way jaehyun did? the way your breath caught when lips hovered over your collarbone, the way your back arched when fingers tangled in your hair. the possessiveness that burned in his chest was primal, instinctual. you were his, even if the world around him screamed otherwise. and then, just for a second—a fleeting moment that almost slipped past him—you paused. your head tilted, and your eyes, dark and knowing, flicked upward. they locked onto the camera. jaehyun’s breath hitched. you knew.

for a moment too long, your gaze didn’t waver. that smirk—the one he had memorized, the one that had undone him more times than he cared to count—curled at the edges of your lips. you weren’t just aware of him. you were showing him. every movement was deliberate, every arch of your neck as the man kissed your skin, every glance toward the lens, every shift in your posture. it was all for him. the realization hit him with the force of a train. this wasn’t about the man with you. he was just a prop, a tool in your hands to provoke the reaction you wanted.

jaehyun exhaled slowly, the tension in his body turning into something else—something deeper, darker. his lips parted, and he muttered under his breath, barely above a whisper, “that’s my girl.” the words felt raw, scraping against his throat, filled with a kind of pride that he hadn’t realized he still held. you knew him too well. better than anyone. you played him like an instrument, each note of your performance calculated to draw out exactly what you wanted from him. and he couldn’t help but admire it, as twisted as it was.

he leaned back in the chair, legs still spread wide, his hand dragging down his face as he let out a slow, steadying breath. his eyes never left the screen, watching as the man pulled you closer, his hands disappearing into your hair, mouth claiming yours in a kiss that should have made jaehyun see red. but he didn’t. he couldn’t. because in that moment, he knew it didn’t matter. none of them mattered.

the way the man touched you, the way he kissed you, it would never come close to the way jaehyun did. he knew you in ways that no one else ever could. you might share your body with someone else, but your mind, your games—they were all his. you left breadcrumbs, and he followed them willingly, drawn into the labyrinth you’d created. another smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched you, his girl, wrapped in another man’s arms, knowing full well you’d never belong to anyone else but him. he would let you play your game, let you dance with whoever you wanted, but in the end, it would always come back to the two of you.

he adjusted his seat, the sick heat of satisfaction settling deep within him. he couldn’t look away from the screen, even if he wanted to. and why would he? you were performing for him, after all. “knows me so well,” he murmured again, his voice a low, reverent sigh as he let his hand drop to his side. his eyes darkened, pupils dilating as he watched you, watched the man touch you, watched you steal glances at the camera. always for him.

the apartment was quiet again, but this time the silence was different—thicker, charged, as if the air itself was holding its breath. you felt it in the way your pulse raced beneath your skin, in the subtle tremor in your fingers as you stood in the middle of the room. he wasn’t far behind. you could hear him, the soft sound of his footsteps growing louder, closer, until the door clicked open behind you. you didn’t turn around. you didn’t need to. you could feel him watching you, his gaze heavy and possessive, the tension between you winding tighter with every passing second.

jaehyun didn’t say a word as he moved closer, the heat of his body pressing against your back. his hands slid around your waist, fingers grazing your hips before traveling upward, the soft fabric of your dress bunching under his touch. his lips found the side of your neck, the same spot where the man’s had been just hours earlier, but jaehyun’s kiss was rougher, more demanding. he bit down lightly, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips, and you could feel him smirk against your skin.

“you must’ve seen us, yeah?” your voice was breathless, words slipping out between shallow pants as his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him. he answered with a low, guttural groan, the sound vibrating against your neck as his mouth moved lower, assaulting your skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses. his breath was ragged, uneven, and you felt the hardness of him pressing against the back of your thighs through his boxers, straining against the fabric. the memory of what he had seen—of you with another man—was still fresh in his mind, fueling every touch, every kiss.

jaehyun’s hand slipped under your dress, fingers trailing down to your panties, and without hesitation, he pushed them aside, his fingers finding the wet heat between your legs. his thumb brushed over your clit, slow at first, teasing, before he began to rub in tight circles, his pace quickening as he leaned into your ear. “every bit of it,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “you gave it to him real good, baby.”

a smirk tugged at your lips as you twisted your fingers into his hair, yanking his head back just enough to force him to look at you. his lips were swollen, glistening with spit, and his eyes—those dark, dangerous eyes—were filled with lust and something darker, something unhinged. you’d always loved that look, the way it made your heart pound, the way it made your core ache for him.

without warning, you slapped him hard across the face, the sharp crack of skin against skin reverberating through the room. the force of it left his cheek red, and the sting of your palm lingered in the air. jaehyun’s lips parted in a shocked gasp, his pupils blown wide as the lust in his eyes deepened into something feral. his hand flexed at your waist, and for a moment, you thought he might lose control completely. instead, he groaned, a low, broken sound that made your stomach clench, and you could feel his cock twitch against you, his boxers impossibly tight. “almost like you expected less of me,” you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction as you traced the red mark on his cheek, watching the way his breath hitched at your touch. you could feel the power shift between you, feel the way his body reacted to your every word, your every movement.

he didn’t respond with words. instead, his hands moved to your shoulders, shoving you back onto the bed with enough force to make the mattress creak. you let out a sharp moan as your body hit the sheets, your back arching as jaehyun climbed on top of you, his weight pressing you down. he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as his lips trailed down the curve of your neck, past your collarbone, before they found their way to your breasts.

he groaned as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, sucking hard, his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud. his other hand cupped your breast, squeezing, kneading, as if he couldn’t get enough of them. “love these so much,” he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled by the fullness of your breast in his mouth. “the other girls, they don’t have ones like this.”

your breath hitched, the praise sending a wave of heat through your body, making your knees weak. but before you could process it, jaehyun released your wrists and leaned up, his hand moving with brutal swiftness as it collided with your cheek in a stinging slap that made your head snap to the side. the sharp pain bloomed across your skin, and instead of recoiling, you moaned, the sound desperate and raw, your body arching toward him in a way that begged for more. “i don’t get to play with them like this,” he smirked, his thumb brushing over your reddened cheek before trailing back down to your chest, his hands claiming your breasts again as if they belonged to him.

your thighs clenched around his waist, hips bucking up against him, desperate for friction, for relief from the ache that had been building inside you from the moment he touched you. his name slipped from your lips in a breathless whisper, a plea that made his smirk widen as he pressed his body down against yours, his erection rubbing against your bare thigh through his boxers. he leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that felt primal, unhinged. the kiss was messy, spit slicking your lips as his hands moved down your body, fingers curling around the waistband of your panties before he yanked them off in one rough motion. his fingers returned to your core, probing and rubbing, and every touch was calculated to make you squirm, to elicit the moans he’d missed on camera.

you broke the kiss to gasp for air, your head tipping back as he slid two fingers inside of you, curling them just right, hitting the spot that made you see stars. your legs trembled around him, every nerve in your body lit up with need as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, his thumb pressing against your clit in time with each thrust.

“god, jae,” you gasped, your fingers gripping his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. He loved when you pulled his hair, loved the sting of pain mixed with pleasure. “yeah,” he grunted, his voice low and ragged as he looked up at you, his fingers never slowing. “you like it when i watch, don’t you? see how desperate you are for them.”

you smirked, your body arching off the bed, chasing the pleasure. “i like it when you can’t stop yourself,” you breathed, your voice thick with desire. “when you’re so addicted to me, you can’t even think straight.” his eyes darkened, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver through you as he pulled his fingers from you, leaving you empty and aching. in one swift motion, he shoved his boxers down, his erection springing free, hard and desperate for you. he didn’t hesitate, grabbing your hips and yanking you down the bed before positioning himself between your legs.

he hovered above you for a moment, eyes locked onto yours, the air thick with tension, before he thrust into you, filling you in one hard stroke that knocked the breath from your lungs. you cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as your body adjusted to the sudden fullness, the burn of the stretch only intensifying the pleasure. he groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he set a brutal pace, his hips slamming into yours with a desperation that bordered on madness. the room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, of his ragged breaths and your breathless moans, of the bed creaking under the force of his thrusts.

he buried his face in your neck, biting down hard enough to bruise as he fucked you with reckless abandon, his body shaking with the force of it. you clung to him, your legs wrapped around his waist, your body moving in perfect sync with his, lost in the intensity of the moment, lost in the feeling of him inside of you. jaehyun’s hands moved down to your chest, gripping your breasts with a hunger that made your breath hitch. his fingers dug into the soft flesh, squeezing, kneading, his eyes glued to the way they moved with each hard thrust of his hips. he was obsessed, completely entranced, as if he couldn’t get enough of the way they filled his hands, the way your nipples stood hard and ready for him.

his mouth descended on one of them, his lips hot and wet as he sucked greedily, swirling his tongue around your sensitive nipple before biting down gently, just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body. you moaned, your back arching off the bed as his teeth grazed your skin, leaving a red mark in his wake. he groaned against your breast, his hand moving to cup the other one, his thumb flicking over your nipple, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to your core.

“fuck, i love these,” he repeated between kisses, his voice thick with lust, muffled by your skin as he continued to lavish attention on your chest. “they’re so fucking perfect, baby. none of the others—” he paused, his teeth grazing your nipple again, harder this time. “—none of the other girls have tits like this.” you smirked at his words, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you threaded your fingers through his hair, yanking him up to meet your gaze. his lips were wet, spit running down his chin, his eyes wild with need, the dark desire in them so potent it made your stomach flip.

“good,” you panted, your voice breathless but teasing, “because they don’t deserve them.” his cock twitched inside you at that, and you knew you had him. he liked when you reminded him, when you made him see that no matter who he was with, no matter what he did, you were the one he couldn’t let go of. you were the one who owned him.

you ran your hands down his chest, your nails scratching lightly against his skin, leaving faint red lines in their wake. he groaned at the sensation, his hips stuttering slightly as he thrust into you harder, deeper, chasing the release he knew he’d only find with you. “i saw you, you know,” you whispered, your voice thick with a twisted kind of admiration. “you fucked her so well, jae. i was impressed.”

his breath hitched at your praise, and you could feel the way his body responded to your words, the way his cock swelled inside you, twitching with need. his grip on your breasts tightened, his hips slamming into yours with renewed force as if he was trying to prove something, trying to show you that no matter who he fucked, it was you that he belonged to. “yeah?” he groaned, his voice low and rough as he leaned down, his mouth hovering over yours. “you liked watching me fuck her?”

you moaned in response, your legs tightening around his waist as you lifted your hips to meet his thrusts. “yeah,” you breathed, your lips brushing against his, teasing him. “but you know what i like even more?” he growled, his hand slipping from your chest to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck as he pressed his lips to your ear. “what?”

“i like knowing that no matter how good it was, no matter how hard you fucked her, you always come back to me,” you whispered, your voice dripping with confidence, with satisfaction. he groaned at your words, his hand tightening around your throat just enough to make your breath catch. “fuck, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “you’re the only one. no one else feels like this.”

he leaned down, his mouth crashing against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a wet, messy tangle of spit and need. you could taste him—taste the desperation, the hunger that only you could satisfy. his lips were swollen, raw, and you kissed him harder, your fingers digging into his hair, pulling him closer. he pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your lips as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and filled with a primal kind of lust. “you like it when i fuck them, huh?” he babbled through a haze of lust, his hips slamming into yours again, his pace relentless. “you like knowing that no matter how good they are, they’ll never be you.”

you moaned in response, your nails digging into his back as your body trembled beneath him. “yes,” you panted, your voice barely more than a whisper, “because they’ll never be enough for you.” jaehyun’s hand moved from your throat to your breast again, squeezing it roughly as he leaned down, his lips trailing down your neck to your chest. he sucked on your nipple, his tongue swirling around it before pulling it between his teeth and biting down, hard enough to make you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

“god, i love these tits,” he groaned, his voice muffled by your skin. “could fuck them all day.” your legs trembled, the intensity of his words and the roughness of his touch pushing you closer to the edge. you could feel the coil of pleasure tightening in your stomach, ready to snap at any moment. “then do it,” you teased, your voice breathless as you arched into him. “fuck me like you fuck them, jaehyun. show me.”

his eyes flashed with something dark and devious, and without warning, he pulled out of you, leaving you empty and aching. you barely had time to protest before he grabbed your hips, flipping you onto your stomach with a rough shove. you moaned as your body hit the mattress, your hands gripping the sheets as he positioned himself behind you. he didn’t waste time. his hands gripped your ass, spreading you open as he thrust into you from behind, the force of it making you cry out, your body jolting forward with each hard thrust. the angle was different, deeper, and you could feel every inch of him as he slammed into you, his cock hitting the spot that made you see stars.

his hand came down on your ass with a sharp slap, the sting of it sending a wave of pleasure through your body. “fuck,” you gasped, your voice muffled by the pillow as your hips bucked back against him. “harder.” he growled, his fingers digging into your hips as he fucked you harder, faster, the sound of his skin slapping against yours filling the room. “you really love this, don’t you?” he grunted, his voice low and rough. “love knowing i fuck them, but i come back to you.”

you moaned, your body trembling with pleasure as you nodded, your words coming out in broken gasps. “yes, yes, i love it.” his hand came down on your ass again, harder this time, and you cried out, the sting of it mixing with the overwhelming pleasure building inside you. “good,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust. “because this is the one thing i get to do that they can’t.”

with that, he thrust into you one last time, his body tensing as he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came, filling you with hot, sticky heat. you moaned at the feeling of him cumming inside you, the sensation sending you over the edge as your own orgasm ripped through you, your body convulsing with pleasure. jaehyun collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he pressed soft kisses to the back of your neck, his hands still gripping your hips tightly. “this,” he murmured against your skin, his voice soft but possessive, “this is mine.”

✧

a/n: i do NOT condone cheating yall

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic august 21 - hallway - 1124 words - office AU with intern!Regulus and juniorboss!James (nsfw! in part2)

this one’s for shan @grimjobs <3 heh

Regulus has a love-hate relationship with the supplies room. Or, more specifically, the hallway leading there.

It’s all the way at the fuck all end of the office, past the breakroom and near the lavatories. And Regulus, being the intern, gets sent there for every piss little thing a coworker might be in need of. Oh, Regulus I think I’m out of sticky notes, can you be a darling and get some from the supply room?, or, Regulus the copier is out of paper, or, Regulus is there a spare chair in the supply room? Mine’s so squeaky.

It is, also, precisely across from the Junior boss’s office, and Regulus gets incredibly flustered around James, even if the curtains are covering the huge glass panes, and so, more often than not, Regulus forgets something and has to trudge back all over again.

He knows it’s part of the job and hey, he even gets his steps in every day but what’s still entirely unfair is the way heat shoots up Regulus’ nape the second James looks up from behind his monitor and flashes him a pearly smile.

Regulus nods his head in acknowledgement, cheeks flaring and then ducks into the supply room for an array of markers, pens, blue paper for flyers, a whole fucking paper cutter machine and paper clips, but only the red ones! Sure, Bethany.

He is in the process of checking the idiotically small-printed labels for the box of yellow markers, apparently completely unaware of his surroundings, when suddenly there’s a puff of minty breath against Regulus’ cheek and a warm body skirting past his back, not quite touching but body heat radiating off him like a bloody furnace.

The Junior Boss has naturally warm hands, which Regulus is intimately familiar with since this one insisted on proving that fact when they were out with the colleagues for mulled wine last year before Christmas and Regulus had nearly frozen his fucking fingers off despite gloves. Needless to say, Regulus had gotten warm very quickly after James had stood close with his sweet smile and deep red beanie over tousled hair, cradling his hands in his palms like they were something precious.

“Sorry, love, don’t mind me,” and Regulus leaves an undignified high-pitched sound as he whirls around and comes face to face with messy raven hair and toffee brown eyes behind gold rimmed glasses. Is so hypnotized by the sight up close that his hold goes slack on the pens and paper he’s already found.

“Oh,” James says, hand shooting out to keep the rolling pens from hitting the ground. Grins while he puts one of his palms steadying under Regulus’ hand where he’s now gripping the stack of blue like a lifeline and places the pens back on top of it, “Careful there.”

Regulus’ voice is raspy when he manages a weak, “Thanks.”

James hums in understanding as he extracts himself and it’s low and deep and Regulus swears he can feel the wavelengths of it permeate through the air and penetrate all the layers of skin and muscle in his chest. Lap at the bones and wash right through between the ribs. Coil around his heart, dangerously and then devilishly slink down his spine and pool right in a pit below Regulus’ stomach that seems responsive solely to all things James related in a very biased way.

What comes next is a bit inconceivable and hazy in Regulus’ mind.

Because then James, terrifyingly, decides to step back close again and lean in.

Closer than before and Regulus is tensing, waiting for James to get the thing he’s reaching for from behind Regulus on the shelf but James doesn’t.

Doesn’t move in any regard safe for his eyelids drooping and gaze restlessly darting over Regulus face. Lick his lips and now they’re shiny and wet and Regulus has to look away. Eyes flitting back up to James like he’s being reeled in magnetically and finds their gazes locking.

And then there’s a careful touch at Regulus’ jaw and Regulus tilts his head up and into it and before the breathy noise can entirely leave his mouth James is already swallowing it up, pressing parted lips against Regulus’ with a heavy sigh.

It’s a careful press of lips and it stays like that, measured and controlled, even as James comes back in for another array of soft fluttering kisses. But it’s still wet and with the unhurried leisure their lips stick to each other, with the spit and the slow press and it’s so, so fucking far from decent and appropriate Regulus could cry.

So, really, Regulus is not to blame for the way it draws him tight, riles him up until comes the snap, and it’s in the form of a keen he didn’t even know he could make that sounds a horrifying lot like a mewl.

Which then has James promptly separating them with heavy panting, lips kiss bitten and eyes wild and Regulus would literally rather staple his eyes shut than keep looking at this without being able to do something about it.

James rightens his glasses where they’ve become askew and then his mouth tips into a happy, self-satisfied 100 watt grin, “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your desk,” taking the blue paper packet out of his hands. “Anything else you need from in here?”

And Regulus tries to remember while simultaneously suppressing the urge to throttle him and also trying to get his breathing back under control and blush to fade and hard cock to go down and why is he acting like nothing out of the ordinary just happened? Like this is your usual Monday morning occurrence and not groundbreaking and also a complete disaster waiting to happen?

Helplessly mumbles about the paper cutter machine and then James is balancing that on one defined forearm like it weighs nothing and escorting Regulus back to his desk, chattering his ear off in a chirpy tone that Regulus doesn’t register a thing off.

When James takes a pause to breathe Bethany coincidentally happens to walk past and after one look the old bat asks about her red paper clips, Regulus? which then for some reason prompts Mark to leer over the cubicle wall from across and frown at the lack of yellow marker.

Regulus barely refrains from face-palming, internally chanting and begging for the ground to open up and swallow him and then James next to him is chuckling and making a fucking cooing noise at him. He waves a dismissive hand, “Must’ve slipped your mind, huh?”

The glint in his eyes though is anything but innocent when he leans a little closer, murmuring, “Well, let’s head back and get the rest, shall we?”

———

part 2, they’re nasty fuckin there 🤭

[tyunniebear]

hiii💖🍼 I would like to make a request for cg Yeonjun & little reader please! I would really love the reader to be a very girly type that loves to get all dolled up that loves everything that has to do with princesses👑

ℬ𝒯𝒲 ℒℴ𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓊𝓊🫶🏻🧁

hello my little angel ! <3 i was so happy to write this request for you since i love you sooo much, i really hope you like it !

Colouring Book - cg!yeonjun x little!reader

summary - yeonjun’s little princess gets restless whilst watching a movie, so he carries them over to the playmat for craft time ! [fem presenting reader]

wc - 1.3k

genre - fluff

~

It’s a quiet evening and, as usual, you are in littlespace. For approximately fifty-three minutes you have been resting in your caregiver’s lap, and whilst you would love to wait out the last thirty minutes of your favourite movie, you were feeling restless. Usually when you were little you were quiet and cuddly, but you also loved playing. For the sake of your daddy - who is seemingly very relaxed and was enjoying holding you like a little doll - you’re willing to sit still for the rest of the movie. But, what you forget is, he can read you like a book.

“Baby,” he coos. He wraps his hands around your smaller ones, the sleeves of his black hoodie engulfing them until they entirely disappear into his hold. “is someone getting a little restless?”

You nod, a shy smile pulling at your lips. He giggles, eyes creasing up with fondness.

“That’s okay bun. Wanna do something else?”

You nod again. He flares his nostrils and taps his chin, pulling an overdramatic ‘thinking face’ ; one of Yeonjun’s habits, not only as a caregiver, is to constantly pull the funniest faces imaginable to make you laugh. And laugh you do, eyes sparkling, entertained as always by your silly daddy.

“How about crafts?”

You squeal in response, feverishly nodding your head.

“Let’s go, then princess!”

You blush at the nickname, suddenly remembering that you’re wearing your favourite tiara and your snow white princess dress. Yeonjun scoops you up in his arms and starts walking towards the other end of your spacious living room. Snuggling into his chest and wiggling your feet in the air, you feel so loved and as little as ever as he carries you over to your favourite place in the whole house - your playmat!

Soon after you and Yeonjun moved in together, you worked together to create the perfect playing space in the corner of your living room. The playmat is quite big and is made out of a squishy foam material, with multicoloured jigsaw pieces printed on it for the pattern and a fluffy heart shaped rug in the middle. There are several cushions in yours and Yeonjun’s favourite colours scattered around so that you can always sit comfortably whilst playing. You have a toybox, dress up box, sleeping bag for nap time and even a small, plastic coffee table that you use as your craft table! 

Yeonjun gently sets you down on a pink cushion in front of the craft table. He notices that your eyes are glued to your colouring books, so he picks up the one on top of the stack and holds it up.

“What’s this, hm?” When you start giggling in happiness, he can’t help but to start giggling too. “Wanna colour, yeah?”

“Colour! Wanna colour!” you beam, flapping your arms in excitement. Without hesitation, Yeonjun takes a seat next to you, dragging over your case of colouring pencils before getting comfy. He opens the book at a random page, not being shocked when you start to squeal with excitement at the sight of your favourite pony.

“Rarity! It’s Rarity!!” 

Whilst exclaiming, you point at the colourless image on the page, hopping up and down in your seat. 

“Wanna do your Rarity page?” he asks, and you nod, eyes wide with anticipation, so he sets the book down in front of you. As you colour, he watches you closely, feeling his heart swell. He’s happy to stay like this all day, monitoring how your little hands go to work at your colouring book, passing you a pencil or your juices you wish. Littlespace is not only healing for you, being your caregiver is just as healing for him too. It’s like you enter your own little world and pull him through with you, and he’s honoured to be the one you trust to do this with.

“Dada?” you say, eyes glued to your book.

“Yes, princess?”

“Are my stickers still on the kitchen table?”

Yeonjun thinks for a moment, then remembers how you were scrapbooking this morning.

“Yes, dear. Would you like daddy to go get them for you?”

You shake your head.

“I can go myse-” you start to get up but Yeonjun quickly halts you. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into your chest, laughing when you let out a little squeak.

“I don’t think so, bun.”

“Why? I wanna go…” you mumble, face pressed into Yeonjun’s chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re too little, my love… what if you get hurt?” 

His voice is hushed, soft but serious, and his fingers are stroking at the hair framing your face. Even though you don’t understand how you could possibly get hurt by walking into the next room and grabbing your stickers from the table, you don’t want to argue with your daddy. He knows best, after all, and the way he called you gave you butterflies. He knows just how to win you over.

“Okay…” you say. You press a kiss to his hand, almost as a form of apology. When you look up at him, he’s pulling a kissy face, so you follow his sign and give him a peck on his lips. Grinning, he ruffles your hair.

“That’s my good girl. Dada won’t be long okay?”

You nod and climb off his lap, before picking up your purple marker and finishing off filling in Rarity’s tail on your colouring page.

~

About twenty five minutes later, you've coloured in more than three pages and are wondering what you can do next.

Suddenly, as if on cue, you get an idea. You take two of your sticker packs into your hands - one with shiny hearts and smileys and letters, and ones with little pearls and gems. Without a second thought, you peel off a heart sticker and place it on Yeonjun’s cheek. He looks alarmed at first, but his face quickly softens as he realises what you’re doing.

“Oooh, is my baby dressing me up?” he says, voice laced with excitement. After nodding in response, you crawl over to your dress up box and fish out a tiara, one with pretty flowers twisting round the band and a big shimmering love heart crystal in the middle. Yeonjun gasps as you hold it out to him. 

“Wow, are you making daddy into a princess?!” He sounds even more excited than before, a big grin on his face. When you nod again, he cheers and takes the tiara from you. Once it’s on he poses, poking his cheeks and pouting, which of course makes you laugh and squeal with glee.

For the next hour or so the two of you play together, decorating the toy box, dress up box, craft table and even yourselves with stickers - your favourite creation being when you spelled out ‘princess + dada’ with stickers in the corner of your table and surrounded it with pretty pink hearts!

As the evening turns into night, your giggles slow into little yawns, and your playfulness turns into sleepiness.

“Getting tired, princess?” your caregiver asks you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Mmm,” you whine, and Yeonjun takes that as a yes.

“Let’s get you to bed then, little one.”

And with that, soon enough, both of you are tucked into bed. You’re all snuggled up with your plushies and your daddy, making your way into dreamland.

~

I hope you enjoyed !

[threshblood]

pinned.

sophie thatcher. demiwoman. she/they. queer.  — hey, isn’t that sadie wicker? i think that the twenty three year old from seattle, washington works as a barista at the chinchilla computer cafe & a secondary rhythm guitarist for vain rogues & the ghost orchestra while studying part-time at the university of alaska, but outside of that people describe them as a paradox borne of a cookie-cutter home, the wasted youth hitchhiking cross-country following rock band tours, naiveté dripping like neon, disregard for the easy and the obvious, getting high under the spotlights, a floor-drobe and posters for wallpaper, derealization in the face of a computer monitor. i hear they are auspicious & flaky, but they are also known to be experimental & motivated. consider giving them a visit at their home in the kingpin trailer park and get to know why they’re called the fresh blood. written by  cat, she/her, est.

profile. pinterest. ( under construction )

tw: implied violence, mention of slight eating disorder, mention of drugs and overdose

present.

maybe it's the café, learning sick new latte art — maybe it's the band that after all these years, sadie's still star-struck landing a stint with — maybe it's armful of textbooks stacked beside a dingy public keyboard. whatever the reason, it's been altogether too long since they've taken off on the kindness of interstate strangers with all their savings spent on metallica tickets. there's always the next tour.

sat side by side in the living room of their trailer home are two of their prized possesions: an oldie radio tuned to 107.5 black dragon pearl and a record player. at any given time, day or night, home or away, one will be on. there's something about the constant noise filtering through the small collection of rooms that makes living alone a little less lonely.

voluntarily on a specific call list for activists, and often on the front lines. perhaps surprisingly for the 5'3'' figure, sadie is quite the little athlete and avid to go charging into the most raucous of riots in order to protect their fellow protestors — catching flares or gas canisters, and dragging away comrades should they fall under police boot.

when sadie announced moving away for college ( and whether that was the true reason or not at the time ), her father was kind enough to pass over the keys belonging to a brown 1971 dodge coronet. it had been a project of his that he felt was time to have a new owner. it is sadie's baby, self-taught how to care for it and repair. call her an amateur mechanic, she'd love it.

a jack-of-all-trades amateur following the car, sadie also enjoys cooking. and it's a whole ordeal, the perfect depiction of how spaghetti can become a whole affair. the sauce splatters, the multiple utensils piling up in the dinky sink, making enough for a large family. at least the effort to combat cockroaches is there in cleaning up the mess, though by no means are they a tidy person.

big on cycling through hair colours. the style remains relatively the same, with the only difference in the length of the shagged bob framing their face. otherwise, given the season, the bleached blonde becomes auburn-red, and when she becomes convinced her roots actually look pretty, will delve into the natural chocolate of their hair.

past.

comes from a perfectly adjusted family. an unexpected gift seven years after her older brother, sam. their parents are an accountant father and a florist mother, who are... nice. that's just it. they're nice, her brother is sweet but distant, and sadie is bored. there's not even any friction in their daughter becoming an anarchist to liven up their suburban seattle home. when sadie was first arrested for participating in a protest against big oil, her dad patted her shoulder and her mother smiled pleasantly when they collected her.

grades were acceptable, their friend group outsiders but hardly trouble-makers, and music was becoming the most exciting thing in sadie's life. it was harder then to travel around, so garage concerts were her bread and butter. at one such event, in a dark and damp little basement, they were elbowed in the mouth by a drunken reveler that knocked out her right lateral incisor. sadie thought it would be cool to have the gap. her parents happily had a fake one implanted. still a cool story.

between the constant influx of music and all its genres that captivated her, attending as many shows as she could and planned to in the future; it was kismet that her brother gifted her one day after his first big paycheck as a paralegal with an ebony and ivory gibson guitar and a stack of manuals. practicing took up all her time and effort, which ironically was the reason she started smoking — as an appetite suppressant so that she could keep idolizing her band heroes and try to live up to their glamour.

the one great trauma of her life ( so far... ), came at a concert she tagged along to with a friend, the friend's older sibling, and some friends in san francisco. there, fighting her way to the venue bathrooms, sadie came across a person draped over a toilet while people laughed about the "wrecked" state. it only took a glance to realize this person was in dire straits. even as sadie begged for medical attention, it had only been her that resuscitated the partier from a nearly-lethal concoction of opiates and alcohol. they pulled through. and sadie added big pharma to her list of oppressors to scream in the face of.

subject to change.

[seabreeze2022]

Bahamas Cruise 2022, Part 3, March 24. Wardrick Wells.

The top of Boo Boo Hill. This is a famous place for cruisers to put a piece pf driftwood with their boats name on it. If you are not careful people will turn yours over and put their name on the back. Some are very creative and artsy. However, I find the whole thing to be a blight on the island and am embarrassed that eco friendly sailors would do this.

This is also just about the only place on the island where you can get decent cell phone service. We are just about 16 miles in either direction to the nearest cell phone tower. So people take their cell phones up here to check in on the world and contact family. Below is Nancy with her cell phone, on a popular bench for calling from. In the background is a plaque.

Cruisers are an inventive bunch. Since the cell reception is best up high. Sailors will put one cell phone in a dry bag, then haul it up the mast. Then hot spot off of it. It works!

Above view is looking NW at the mooring field. Photos do not do the view justice.

This view is looking NNE with a beautiful sloop under full sail coming off of “the Sound”.

Back at the dinghy. Park headquarters are in the background. Now we will head back to our boat at Emerald Rock mooring field.

A little down time before fixing dinner.

Here comes a glorious sunrise over Rendezvous beach, Wardrick Wells.

Early morning on the mooring ball, winds from the NW. Had we been on the anchor, I would be monitoring any dragging towards the beach. But here we have plenty of confidence in the mooring, after diving it the first day and inspecting it.

This was our first mooring in the Bahamas and had a bit of a time getting secured. The lines are so huge Nancy could not get pick it up with the boat hook and run the bow line through it before we fell off. We actually lost one boat hook over the side during one of our attempts. Which was easily retrieved once we were secure.

Later we knew more of what to expect, and worked out a better procedure. But it is always a fun event for the spectators in the anchorage to watch the next boats come in. Some capture the mooring ball on the first attempt. Some take 20 attempts, with tempers flaring. Up in this part of the Exumas chartered catamarans are frequent. Which frequently are inexperienced Captain and crew. Catamarans have some built in obstacles to picking up a mooring ball anyway from the high wide bow. For some reason, the Europeans try and grab the mooring ball going downwind. We watched one even attempt to grab the mooring at the stern and walk it to the bow.

Our freezer is a constant headache for Nancy. About every 3 days she has to pull all of the meat out. Defrost the freezer and then repack the meat. A few pieces will be frozen, those will go on top. The thawed pieces go on the bottom.

Nancy is a great cook. Here she is making bread. We will put it on top of the warm engine compartment to rise if we are motoring.

Todays hike starts at Beryl’s Beach, searching for the ruins of their house. And maybe to “Slave dip”.

This Beryl’s beach looking east. It is a small half moon beach. The folks with dogs bring them here by dinghy for their potty run. The trail head is marked and easily found by the stone wall that stands about 3 1/2 ft. tall and 1 1/2ft. wide.

This was our first exposure to this kind of wall in the Bahamas. As we found out later, they are common. Some built by slaves during the Loyalist era. Some built a couple of decades later. It is comprised by the many loose coral rocks covering the island. Neatly stacked, very stable and secure. Our question was, “Why?” It was a lot of work. Was it a property line? Was it merely to remove unstable rocks out of the way, making it less likely to break a leg while walking? What livestock did they have on the islands? Goats would not be contained by these walls. And they are the only livestock living wild on some of the islands today. These walls would be a highway for a goat. They love climbing on things like this. The land does not look like it would support cattle. Cows would probably break a leg in the many pot holes.

The walls are probably for livestock, they go from shoreline to shoreline. Seldom to an open beach where the livestock could use the beach to go around the end. I have yet to find a open spot where a gate would be. So I need to do some more research.

Just short of the “ruins” we ran across a couple of deep solution holes. I am sure at one time they held water for the locals. If a hurricane hit I would hide in one.

The “Ruins”. One of several very small house foundations grouped together. Built of rocks and mortar. Some broken sea shells around that were common food in the day of the Loyalist. The view was great. Instead of living on the cooler windy side of the islands most of the ruins we found had a view of “the Bank”. Where they could see boats sailing in.

This is a West Indian Top shell, Cittarium pica. There were many remnants of these around the ruins. Obviously a major food source for the Loyalists.

View from the ruins. We were surprised by the cactus in the Exumas.

Another view of the wall leading back to “Beryl’s Beach”. On the far end of the beach, I found what appeared to be a Conch pen. Even if wasn’t, I am sure they had those. Only makes sense to gather more than you can eat, then keep them in knee deep water for easy gathering later.

Time to take a break…….

[doeeyedseer]

Elriel Masterpost

ACOMAF:

Chapter 24 Page 257-58

A faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork, but he kept silent…

Elain said, "It’s all very disorienting."

"I can imagine," Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare. But Azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.

[Skip a part]

Elain said to Azriel, perhaps the only two civilized ones here, "Can you truly fly?"

He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, "Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We're born hearing the song of the wind."

"That's very beautiful," she said. "Is it not-frightening, though? To fly so high?"

"It is sometimes," Azriel said. Cassian tore his relentless attention from Nesta long enough to nod his agreement. "If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops way. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we're out of swaddling."

[Skip]

Rhys chuckled, Cassian's wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel's ease as proof that things weren't indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.

Chapter 50

"And I think Elain- Elain would like it, too. Though she'd probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet. "

I smiled at the thought- at how handsome they would be together. If the warrior every stopped quietly loving Mor.

Acowar

Chapter 24 Pg 253-54

Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too, wore his Illyrian armor, Elain's golden brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulders.

He set her down gently on the foyer carpet having carried her in through the front door.

Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.

Azriel smiled faintly. "Would you like me to show you the garden?"

She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of shoulders, the wings peeking over them.

But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded- just once.

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn't tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, "Beautiful."

Color bloomed high on Azriel's golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors in the garden, sunlight bathing them.

Chapter 24 Pg 254

“Cassian and Lucien appeared, neither looking at the other. But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with.

A low snarl slipped out of him—

“Relax,” Rhys said. “Azriel isn’t the ravishing type.”

Chapter 24 Pg: 256-59

"Azriel knows you're watching," Rhys drawled from where he stood before the mirror in our bedroom, adjusting the lapels of his black jacket.

My hair still damp from the bath I'd just taken, I slid my heavy earring through my lobes and peered out our bedroom window, monitoring the garden below.

Elain sat silently at on the the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports- likely information on the Autumn Court that he planned to present to Rhys once he'd sorted through it all. Already dressed for the Hewn City- the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within it.

"Why not make them mates?" I mused. "Why Lucien?"

"I'd keep that question from Lucien."

"I'm serious." I turned toward him and crossed my arms. "What decides it? Who decides it?"

Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. "Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron's swirling eddies..."

"Rhys."

"You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other. So it can't be a perfect system of matching. What if"-I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden- "That is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn't?"

"A mating bond can be rejected, " Rhys said mildly, "There is choice. And sometimes, yes- the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some.. preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it's perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls." A smile at me- at the rareness perhaps of what we had.

[skipping a part]

"Do you think she and Lucien match well?"

"You know them better than I do. But I will say that Lucien is loyal-fiercely so."

"So is Azriel."

Chapter 28 pg. 297

The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien." See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it's a mate."

Chapter 27 pg.286

“No. I … I was sleeping, but I heard …” She shook her head. Blinked at our formal attire, the dark crown atop my head—and Rhysand’s. “I didn’t hear you.”

Azriel stepped forward. “But you heard something else.” 

Elain seemed about to nod, but only backed away. "I think I was dreaming, "She murmured. "I think I'm always dreaming these days."

"Let me get you some hot milk, " I said, putting a hand on her elbow to guide her into the sitting room.

But Elain shook me off, heading back to the stairs. She said as she climbed the first steps, "I can hear her-crying."

I gripped the bottom post the bannister. "Who?"

"Everyone thinks she's dead." Elain kept walking. "But she's not. Only-different. Changed as I was"

"Who?" I pushed.

But Elain continued up the stairs, that shawl drooping down her back. Nesta stalked from Cassian's side to approach my own. We bother sucked in a breath, to say what, I didn't know but-

“What did you see,” Azriel said, and I tried not to flinch as I found him at my other side, not having seen him move. Again. 

Elain paused halfway up the stairs. Slowly, she turned to look back at him.  “I saw young hands wither with age. I saw a box of black stone. I saw a feather of fire land on snow and melt it.”

My stomach dropped to the floor. One glance at Nesta confirmed that she felt it too, saw it.

Mad. Elain might very well have gone mad—

“It was angry,” Elain said quietly. “It was so, so angry that something was taken. So it took something from them as punishment.”

We said nothing, I didn’t know what to say—what to even ask or demand. If the cauldron had done something to her as well…

I faced Azriel, exposing my palms to him. “What does that mean?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.

Chapter 30

The two Illyrians paused their inspection of me long enough to note my sisters finishing up my breakfast, Nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, Elain in dusty pink.

Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow- while Cassian stalked for the table for the dining table, reached right over Nesta's shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. "Morning, Nesta," he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. "Elain."

[Skip]

Cassian's dark brows narrowed. I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.”

“I can help her” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing from his fingers as he extended a hand.

Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went.

Chapter 32 pg. 334

"No." Elain studied me, then her. "Not that one. The other."

Nesta took a steadying breath, opening her mouth to either whisk Elain upstairs or move on.

But Azriel asked softly, taking a single step over the threshold and into the sitting room, "What other?"

Elain's brows twitched toward each other.  “The queen–with the feathers of flame.”

The shadowsinger angled his head.

Lucien murmured to me, eyes still fixed on Elain, "Should we- does she need...?"

"She doesn't need anything," Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now-unblinkingly.

"We're the ones who need..." Azriel trailed off. "A seer," he said, more to himself than us. "The Cauldron made you a seer."

Chapter 33

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not…Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.” He asked Elain, "There is another queen?"

Elain squinted, as if the question required some inner clarification, some...path into looking the right way at whatever had addled and plagued her. "Yes."

[skip part]

But Azriel nodded. "You knew," he said to Elain. "About the young queen turning into a crone."

Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding... it freed her from whatever murky realm she'd been in.

"The sixth queen is alive?" Azriel asked, calm and steady, the voice of the High Lord's spymaster, who had broken enemies and charmed allies.

"Elain cocked her head, as if listening to some inner voice. "Yes."

ACOWAR Chapter 50

Mor took Nesta and Cassian by the hand, readying to winnow them to the camp, while shadows gathered around Azriel, Elain at his side, wide-eyed at the spymaster’s display.

[skip]

Then Azriel, gently taking Elain’s hand is his own, as if afraid his scars would hurt her.

Chapter 63

But Azriel asked softly, "What about Elain?"

[skip part]

Azriel stalked to my side, right into the tent where Nesta had now come to her feet. He tucked his wings in tightly as he squeezed through the narrow space, ignoring Nesta's snarl of warning, and knelt at the cot.

He ran a scarred hand over the rumpled blankets. "They're still warm."

Chapter 64

"We'll get her back, Cassian rasped.

Nesta lowered her hands, lifting her head. Her eyes were red rimmed, lips thin. "No you will not." She pointed to the map on the table. "I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no change of any of you getting into its heart. Even you," she added when Cassian opened his mouth again. "Especially not when you're injured."

And what Hybern would do to Elain, might already be doing-

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some upspoken debate. "I'm getting her back."

Nesta slid her gaze the the shadowsinger. Azriel's hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, "Then you will die."

Azriel only repeated rage glazing that stare. "I'm getting her back."

With the shadows, he might stand a change of slipping in. But there were wards to consider, and ancient magic, and the king with those spells and the Cauldron...

For a moment, I saw that set of paints Elain had once bought me with the extra money she'd saved. The red, yellow, and blue I'd savored, used to paint that dresser in our cottage. I had not painted in years at that point, had not dared spend the money myself... But Elain had.

I stood. Met Azriel's wrathful stare.

"I'm going with you." I said.

Azriel only nodded.

[Skip part]

"I need one of your Siphons," I said to Azriel. The blue was slightly deeper but at night... they might not notice the difference.

He held out his palm, a round, flat blue stone appearing in it, and chucked it to me. I wrapped my fingers wound the warm stone, its power throbbing in my veins like an unearthly heartbeat.

[skip part]

Azriel was honing Truth-Teller with relentless focus.

Chapter 65

Azriel's shadow-hand grasped my own, tugging me closer. His rage rippled off his invisible form.

[skip part]

Elain was in her nightgown. Gagged, wrists wrapped in steel that glowed violet. Her eyes went wide as she saw us- Azriel and me-

I shifted my face back into my own, raising a hand to my lips as Azriel knelt before her. I kept up my litany of praying, beseeching the Cauldron to make my womb fruitful, on and on-

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. "You came for me." The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

[skip]

Azriel scooped up Elain, looping her bound arms around his neck. “Hold tight,” He ordered her, “and don’t make a sound.”

[skip]

"Grab onto him!" Elain ordered the wide-eyed human girl as Azriel thundered toward her. The girl looked like a doe about to be run down by a wolf.

The girl did not open her arms as they near.

Elain screamed at her, "If you want to live, do it now!"

The girl dropped her cloak, opened her arms wide.

Her black hair streamed behind Azriel, catching amongst his wings as he practically tackled her in the sky. But I saw, even as I ran, Elain's pale hand lurch- gripping the girl by her neck holding her as tightly as she could.

And just in time.

One of the hounds broke free from Tamlin in a mighty leap. I l ducked, bracing for impact.

But it was not aiming for me. Two bounding strides down the stone ledge and another leap-

Azriel's roar echoed off the rocks as the hound slammed into him, dragging those shredding talons down his spine, his wings-

The girl screamed, but Elain moved. As Azriel battled to keep them airborne, keep his grip on them, my sister sent a fierce kick into the beast's face. Its eye. Another. Another.

It bellowed, and Elain slammed her bare, muddy foot into its face again. The blow struck home.

With a yelp of pain, it released its claws- and plunged into the ravine.

So fast. It happened so fast. And blood- blood sprayed from his back, his wings-

[skip]

The king fired another arrow-two. one for me, one soaring for Elain's exposed back. Azriel slammed both away with a blue shield.

[skip]

The gray light of morning had broken over the world, mist clinging to our ankles as we headed into the camp, Azriel still cradling Elain to his chest. He dripped blood behind him the entire time- a trickle compared to the torrent that should be leaking out. Contained only the the patches of power he's slapped on it. Help- he needed a healer immediately.

[skip]

She (briar) only gazed at the tents, the soldiers who stumbled out. One saw Azriel and shouted for a healer to hurry for the spymaster's tent.

Rhys winnowed into our path before we'd made it past the first line of tents. His eyes went right to Azriel's wings, then the wound in my shoulder, the paleness of my face. To Elain, then Briar.

"I couldn't leave her," I said, surprised to find my own voice raw.

Running steps approached, and then Nesta rounded a tent, skidding to a halt in the mud.

She let out a sob at the sight of Elain, still in Azriel's arms.

{skip}

Rhys lunged for Azriel, taking Elain from him and gently setting my sister down. Azriel rasped, swaying on his feet, "We need Helion to get these chains off her."

Yet Elain didn't seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger's cheek. And then walked to me and Nesta, who pulled back long enough to survey Elain's clean face, her clear eyes.

"We need to get you to Thesan, Rhys said to Azriel. "Right now."

ACOWAR Chapter 69

Azriel, still limping, merely nudged aside Cassian and extended another option. “This is Truth-Teller.” He told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard. “It has never failed me once.” The shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”

Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade. “Never.” Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. “I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.”

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and Dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection…that knife.

ACOWAR Chapter 80

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. "I would like to build a garden," She declared. "after all of this.. I think the world needs more gardens."

ACOSAF

Chapter 7

“Send Lucien, then. As our human emissary.”

I studied the tenseness in Azriel’s shoulders, the shadows veiling half of him from the sunlight. “Lucien is away right now.”

Az’s brows rose. “Where?”

I winked at him. “You’re my spymaster. Shouldn’t you know?”

Az crossed his arms, face as elegant and cold as the legendary dagger at his side. “I don’t make a point of looking after his movements.”

“Why?”

Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited.

“It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

To know when and if Lucien sought her out. What they did together.

“You sure about that?” I asked quietly.

Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea.

[skip]

“Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we…” unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sister’s presents?”

“No.” I said, and meant it. Az seemed to lose a sigh of relief. Seemed to, since all but a breath of air passed from his lips. “I don’t think Nesta gives a shit, and I don’t think Elain expects to receive anything from us. I’d leave the sisters to exchange presents amongst themselves.”

Az nodded distantly.

Chapter 12

Elain’s voice was colder than usual. I glanced at Nuala and Cerridwen, the latter giving me a shake of her head as if to say, Not a good day for her.

“Don’t.” Elain said flatly, starting once more into a walk, veils of steam drifting past her shoulders from the roasted rosemary potatoes in her hands, as if they were Azriel’s shadows.”

Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in his hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants. I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.

But I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me. But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.” Elain’s hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them. With a blink, she lowered them, and noticed her apron. “I—I’ll be right back.” She murmured, and hurried down the hall before I could explain that no one cared if she showed up to dinner covered in flour and that she should just sit.

[skip]

“One moment, his hand was spearing toward the serving spoon. The next, it was stopped, Azriel’s scarred fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Wait.” Azriel said, nothing but command in his voice. Mor gaped wide enough that I was certain the half-chewed green beans in her mouth were going to tumble onto her plate.”

Azriel didn’t let go. “Wait until everyone is seated before eating.”

Elain swept in, apron gone and hair rebraided. “Please don’t wait on my account.” She said, taking the seat at the head of the table.

[skip]

“I’d feel bad for the mice.” Azriel muttered. Mor and Cassian howled, earning a blush from Azriel and a grateful smile from Elain—and no shortage of scowling from Amren. But something in me eased at that laughter, at the light that returned to Elain’s eyes.

Chapter 16

Azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered in the garden below.

[skip]

"If Lucien shows, " I corrected.

"My money's on yes," Cassian said. "Want to make a wager?"

"No," Azriel said, not turning from the window.

[Skip]

Azriel remained at the window.

Chapter 19

“I made to move toward Elain, but someone beat me to it. The shadowsinger was clad in a black jacket and pants similar to Rhysand’s—the fabric immaculately tailored and built to fit his wings. He still wore his Siphons atop either hand, and shadows trailed his footsteps, curling like swirled embers, but there was little sign of the warrior otherwise. Especially, as he gently said to my sister, “Happy Solstice.” Elain turned from the snow falling in the darkness beyond and smiled slightly.

Chapter 20

“Oh, that’s from me.”

Azriel’s face didn’t so much a shift at the words. Not even a smile as he opened the present and revealed—

“I had Madja make it for me.” Elain explained. Azriel’s brows narrowed at the mention at the family’s preferred healer. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.”

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.

Azriel mastered himself enough to say “thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.”

Chapter 22

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. Whether he cared about such things, I had no idea.

ACOSF

chapter 3

Cassian said tightly, "He says he’d rather stay up here than at the river house." That made two of them. ‘"Why?"

"I don’t know. He’s Az. He likes his space.”

(Note: It's because of Elain.)

Chapter 19

“At least you’re honest.” Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”

“Because of the shit with Elain?”

Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. “I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then.” "It’s about what I discovered. Rhys said he requires you both there.” “It’s bad, then.” Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?”

His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.”

Chapter 21

“Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain."

Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike. Elain’s eyes brightened with pain.

[skip]

Feyre smiled. “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.”

ACOSF Chapter 22

Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.

[skip]

“Do you want a child?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Distant words—ones that prevented Cassian from prying further. He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel…those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up. Cassian couldn’t think why.”

Chapter 23

Where have you been exercising these days?"

"Here," Azriel said. "At night." After he returned from spying on their enemies.

"Can't sleep?" Cassian took up a fighting stance.

A shadow curled around Azriel's neck, the only one brave enough to face the sunlight. "Something like that," he said, and settled into his own stance across from Cassian.

Cassian let it drop, knowing Az would have told him already if he'd wanted to share what had been hounding him enough to exercise at night, rather than in the morning with them.

"Well?" He asked Az. "Why don't you show me what all that nighttime brooding has resulted in?"

chapter 29

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, "There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to."

"But Nesta should?” Cassian growled.

Chapter 30 “No. But we need to summon Lucien,’ Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn’t like it one bit.”

Chapter 31

Nesta said, "The trove. And what happened the last time I scried."

Feyre said, "We won't allow any harm to come to Elain. Rhys warded her this morning, and we have eyes on her at all times."

"Eyes can be blinded," Nesta said.

Not the ones under my command,” Azriel said with soft menace. Nesta met his stare, knowing he was the only one aside from Feyre who could truly understand her hesitation. He’d gone with Feyre into the heart of Hybern’s camp to save Elain—he knew the risk. “We won’t make the same mistake twice.”

She believed him.

Chapter 44

"She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two," she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel. Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from.

Cassian tucked away his puzzlement. Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long.

Chapter 58 - Winter Solstice 

“You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends.

[skip]

Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.

"I was just checking on dessert," Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger’s stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

[Skip]

Azriel lingered near the door, quiet enough that when Feyre and Mor began talking about some of her paintings, Nesta went over to him.

"Why don’t you sit?’ [Nesta] leaned against the doorway beside the shadowsinger. 

"My shadows don’t like the flames so much." A pretty lie. She’d seen Azriel before the fire plenty. But she looked at who sat close to it and knew the answer.

"Why did you come if it torments you so much?"

"Because Rhys wants me here. It’d hurt him if I didn’t come.”

Shadows darkened his eyes, full of enough pain that she couldn’t stop herself from touching his shoulder. Letting him see that she understood why he stood in the doorway, why he wouldn’t go near the fire.

His secret to tell, never hers.

Bonus Chapter

The river house had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year. 

Amren, Mor, and Varian had finally gone to bed, but Azriel found himself lingering downstairs.  

He knew he should get some sleep. He'd need it come dawn, for the snowball battle up at the cabin. Cassian had mentioned no less than six times tonight that he had a secret plan regarding his so-called impending victory. Az had let his brother boast. Especially since Azriel had been planning his own victory for a year now.  

Cassian wouldn't know what was coming for him. And Az fully planned on capitalizing on the fact that Nesta likely wouldn't let Cassian sleep much tonight.  

Az snickered to himself, to the listening shadows around him. 

Sleep, they seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep.

I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days. 

Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. So he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours,  

Azriel surveyed the empty family room, presents and ribbons littering the furniture. Cassian and Nesta hadn't reappeared downstairs, though that came as no surprise. He was elated for his brother and yet… 

Azriel couldn't stop it. The envy in his chest. Of Cassian, and Rhys.

He knew he'd be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he'd remained down here by the dying light of the fire.  

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. 

Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. 

The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat.

“I..." He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. "I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier."  

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn't need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She'd waited until everyone was asleep before venturing back down, where she'd leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed.  

Elain closed the distance, and her breathing quickened as she again paused, now a scant foot away. She extended the wrapped gift, her hand shaking. "Here." 

Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there. 

Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. 

Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you..." 

He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. "No wonder you didn't want me to open it in front of everyone."  

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. "Nesta wouldn't appreciate the joke.”

He offered her a smile back. "I wasn't sure if I should give you your present."  

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option  of leaving if it became too much.  

Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.  

But tonight, here in the dark and quiet, with no one to see…He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her.  

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around. 

The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. 

“It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?"  

His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck. 

He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp. 

Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.  

It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. 

Wrong -- it was so wrong.  

He didn't care.  

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue --   

Azriel's cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent.  

He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night.  Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make. 

Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce of Azriel's restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there.  

"I should go," Elain said, but made no move to leave.  

"Yes," he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat. 

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again.  

Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their  scars. 

Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to skin, tainting her with his presence. 

But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.  

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. 

Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.  

Offer and permission.  

He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. 

Azriel.  

Rhys's voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain's sweet mouth. 

Azriel. 

Unrelenting command filled his name, and Azriel looked up. 

Rhysand stood atop the staircase. Glowering down at them.  

My office. Now.  

Rhys vanished, and Azriel was left standing before Elain, who still awaited his kiss. His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand from her hair  and stepped back. Forced himself to say, "This was a mistake.”

She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, "I’m sorry."

“You don't-- Don't apologize,” he managed to say. "Never apologize. It's I who should…” He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he'd brought to her expression. "Goodnight.” 

Azriel winnowed into shadows before she could say anything, appearing at the doors to Rhys's study a heartbeat later. His shadows whispered in his ear that Elain had gone upstairs.  

Rhys sat at his desk, furya moonless night across his face. He asked softly, "Are you out of your mind?" 

Azriel donned the frozen mask he’d perfected while in his father's dungeon. "I don't know what you're talking about.”

Rhys's power rippled through the room like a dark cloud. "I’m talking about you, about to kiss Elain, in the middle of a hall where anyone could see you," he snarled. "Including her mate."  

Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it.  "What if the Cauldron was wrong?" 

Rhysand blinked. "What of Mor, Az?"  

Azriel ignored the question. "The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak  the words aloud.  

Rhys's face drained of color. "You believe you deserve to be her mate?"  

Azriel scowled. "I think Lucien will never be good enough for her,  and she has no interest in him, anyway." 

"So you'll what?" Rhys's voice was pure ice. "Seduce her away from him?”  

Azriel said nothing. He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to.  

Rhys growled, "Allow me to make one thing very clear. You are to stay away from her."  

"You can't order me to do that."  

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

"That's an Autumn Court tradition." The battle to the death was so brutal that it was only enacted in rare cases. Despite being an outsider, Azriel had wanted to invoke it when he’d found Mor all those years ago. Had been ready to challenge both Beron and Eris to Blood Duels and kill them both. Only Mor’s right to claim their heads in vengeance had kept him from doing so.

“Lucien, as Beron's son, has the right to demand it of vou."  

"I'll defeat him with little effort." Pure arrogance laced every word, but it was true.  

“I know." Rhys's eyes flickered. "And your doing so will rip apart any fragile peace and alliances we have, not only with the Autumn Court but also with the Spring Court and Jurian and Vassa." Rhys bared his teeth. "So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck  someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her." 

Azriel snarled softly. 

"Snarl all you want." Rhys leaned back in his chair. "But if I see you panting after her again, I'll make you regret it."  

Rhys had rarely threatened punishment or pulled rank. It stunned Azriel enough that it knocked him from his rage. 

Rhys jerked his chin toward the door. "Get out"  

Azriel tucked in his wings and left without another word, stalking through the house and onto the front lawn to sit in the frigid starlight.  To let the frost in his veins match the air around him.  

Until he felt nothing. Was again nothing at all.  

Then he flew to the House of Wind, knowing that if he slept in the riverside manor, he'd do something he regretted. He'd been so vigilant about keeping away from Elain as much as possible, and had stayed up here to avoid her, and tonight...tonight had proved he 'd been right to do so.  

He aimed for the training pit, giving in to the need to work off the temptation, the rage and frustration and writhing need.

Chapter 59 - Post Solstice 

He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile.

[equinoxdrones]

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[insculpoworks]

Gamma Crusis: Prelude

The saintly star fell upon the cluster of orbitals. The looming sun of the red giant Gamma Crusis. Imposing its light on the minuscule speck where over a billion beings have chosen to reside in the face of that vast, dying star. It was a typical time cycle for the local inhabitant known as Noa, who levitated towards the panels monitoring the current flare activity. “No disturbances detected” it read. A typical cycle indeed.

Noa continued to advance in their activities, the tight and highly vertical corridors of the monitoring array built with the eventual construction of a solar mirror in mind. The project has had considerable delays due to infighting with the local asteroid harvesting communes who have Continued questions about the mirror and its intention. Much of which is due to the faction of harvesters who believe solar lifting tech is just around the corner and questioning the usefulness of a massive telescope situated at Gamma Crusis of all stars.

The shaft had finally been navigated to the proper location which Noa had sought as the final location of interest. A view at the mirror itself in construction. Noa peered out of the window, out there all one sees is a vast plain of glass with the pitch black sky only punctured by the lights of ships working on the mirror. It is a very serene sight on the whole, the gaze of Gamma Crusis is not present due to it being the “night” side of the mirror.

It was at that point Noa had been contacted by a local integrity monitor. Noa’s relief was near instantaneously punctured by one simple line-

“Noa. We have a complication.”

The frustration grew as the nature of the complication was further expressed in the form of a drone malfunction. A minor error from the stack of protocols followed by the construction drone led to it crashing into one of the support beams.

“I’ll take care of it directly.” Noa replied, knowing the task that now will absorb the whole cycle. Sending another drone is simply too ill advised. A generalized agent like themself exists to handle the convoluted tedium after all. Noa set out immediately, pulling themselves towards the airlock and donning the technician’s apparatus.

In the void, the scale of the mirror became ever clearer. The horizon was a glass horizon. The support structure the drone hit was over 7 kilometers from their location. Which was not a terribly long distance to travel using the apparatus. The journey was only half an hour.

After drifting for that half hour on the matched velocity Noa didn’t even need their sensors to see the impact. It was worse than merely a support structure beam getting mangled. The drone smashed into the damn mirror. Noa set to work immediately trying to salvage the situation.

The drone could not be salvaged.

The mirror for the whole sector was cracked, the chips and pieces kept Noa on edge as they were sharp enough to even puncture the apparatus should they be careless. Noa dodged around the large shards, never changing velocity too much and making touch down even as a sharp jagged tooth of a glass piece floated above them.

Noa got to work on the support beam itself, mending it with the graphene strand gel in short order and enameling it further with an adhesive. It was not optimal, but the alternative of disassembling hundreds of meters of mirror was simply not viable. Noa just wanted out of here. The glass shards drifting above making it clear the incident was going to need more than one mechanic with adhesives and gels. Using gels on the glass would further complicate their trajectories and be too much a liability. Noa only wanted to get back to the vertical corridors of the center monitoring tower and call in the heavy duty assistance.

But first, Noah had to take the broken beyond repair drone with them. Dislodging it was simple and the lack of gravity made it less difficult to carry in tow with the cables then it could have been.

Ascending the broken glass was all they had to do now.

The drift of the glass and timing it, navigated away from a large piece of glass that appeared to be headed towards them. The drift was anxiety inducing all the same as it glanced ever so close, this sharp broken crystal which was meant to power civilizations. Now a hazard for their own survival. Noa felt the smaller bits of glass regardless, tearing a bit on the suit. Mercifully, they managed to get out of the worst of it… the plains of solar panel blending into an indistinct bluish hue as they drift ever further upwards with the drone. The light of the recover craft illuminating behind them.

“Finally here?” Noa asked it, “I have the drone.”

Noa’s apparatus linked with the vehicle, the drone clutched in their hands. Noa would watch as they were rapidly flown back to the main control center, the simmering glimmer of the panels ever so distant now. The heat of the thrusters could be felt, but Noa didn’t hear them beyond the loose hum and vibration of the craft they are latched upon. It was strangely serene, as they watched the central tower of the power station come into view, a tower amid the ocean of solar panel below.

They finally got back to the station, drone in tow.

“Any new information?” Noa inquired.

“Nothing outside the repair crew being officially dispatched. Pending drone analysis.” the monitor replied.

The whole situation reeked of an absence. The repairs according the look up system were estimated to take 77 hours. Yet that estimate seemed painfully optimistic. The damage witnessed, the large shards floating over the sea of solar panels and the dust itself all pointed to an operation far more intensive than a mere glue operation.

Something simply didn’t make any sense.

Noa took the drone to the mechanical bay and got to work analyzing it. The drone was dead, as expected, but other strange anomalies were present. The navigation system seemed off-kilter. Which shouldn’t be possible, as these were drones specifically designed to keep the radiating heat of Gamma Crusis and its solar winds from perturbing the navigation system. Even the primitive probes the first space faring humans constructed didn’t run into that problem. Something else is tampering with it.

But what?

“The harvesters wouldn’t dare.” Noa stated out loud.

[burakflowmeter]

Understanding Thermal Mass Flow Meters

What is a Thermal Mass Flow Meter?

A thermal mass flow meter is essential for many industrial applications and is designed to measure the mass flow rate of gases and vapors. Unlike volumetric flow meters, thermal mass flow meters provide measurements that remain accurate despite variations in temperature, pressure, viscosity, and density. This reliability makes them invaluable for processes where precise mass measurements are critical, such as in chemical reactions.

Principles of Operation

Thermal mass flow meters operate on the principle of heat transfer. The meter typically consists of two sensors — one heated and one at ambient temperature. As gas flows past these sensors, it carries heat away from the heated sensor, causing a temperature difference between them. The magnitude of this temperature difference is proportional to the mass flow rate of the gas. Direct measurement of mass flow ensures readings are unaffected by changes in gas properties or operating conditions.

Advantages of Thermal Mass Flow Meters

Thermal mass flow meters offer numerous advantages over other flow measurement devices. They are particularly effective in measuring low gas flow rates or low gas velocities, down to 25 feet per minute, which other devices struggle to detect. These meters are versatile, and suitable for high-pressure and high-temperature environments. They are constructed from various materials, including glass, Monel®, and PRA, ensuring durability and reliability even under extreme conditions.

Applications in the Flow Meter Industry

Thermal mass flow meters find widespread use in industries such as chemical processing, pharmaceuticals, and environmental monitoring. In chemical plants, these meters are crucial for monitoring and controlling mass-related processes where the precise ratio of reactants determines the success of reactions. In environmental applications, they help measure and control emissions in ducts, flare stacks, and dryers, contributing to regulatory compliance and pollution control.

Design Variations

Several design variations of thermal mass flow meters cater to different needs. Flow-through designs are ideal for measuring small flows of pure substances, maintaining constant heat capacity if the gas is pure. Bypass and probe-type designs are suitable for detecting larger flows in industrial applications. These diverse designs allow thermal mass flow meters to be tailored to specific requirements, enhancing their utility across various sectors.

Conclusion

Thermal mass flow meters are indispensable tools for accurate gas flow measurement in numerous industries. Their ability to provide precise mass flow readings irrespective of changes in environmental conditions makes them superior to volumetric flow meters in many applications. With designs capable of handling high-pressure and high-temperature conditions, as well as detecting both small and large flows, thermal mass flow meters offer unmatched versatility and reliability. For industries that demand precise and dependable flow measurements, investing in high-quality thermal mass flow meters is a strategic choice that ensures operational efficiency and process optimization.

Discover precision and reliability with Burak Metering’s advanced thermal mass flow meters. Contact us today to optimize your industrial processes and ensure accurate flow measurements.

[agilemicrosys]

Flare Monitoring System | Agile Microsys Pvt Ltd

Ensure compliance and operational safety with Agile Microsys' Flare Monitoring System. Our advanced solution provides continuous real-time monitoring of flare stack emissions, offering precise data on combustion efficiency and environmental impact. Designed to meet regulatory requirements, our system helps in optimizing flare operations, reducing emissions, and minimizing risks. Discover how our cutting-edge technology enables proactive management for enhanced safety and performance in industrial flare systems.

[crystaltcs]

Flare Gas Recovery: Turning Waste into Wealth and Sustainability

 In a world increasingly focused on sustainable practices, Flare Gas Recovery stands as a shining example of how innovation can transform environmental liabilities into assets. Flare gas, a byproduct of various industrial processes, has long been considered an environmental concern due to its release of harmful greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. However, a paradigm shift has occurred as industries adopt  Flare Gas Recovery  systems, enabling the capture and repurposing of flare gas for economic and environmental benefits explores the fundamentals, benefits, and the growing significance of Flare Gas Recovery, shedding light on how it not only mitigates emissions but also contributes to substantial cost savings and energy independence.

The Flare Gas Challenge 

Flare gas, a byproduct of oil and gas production, chemical manufacturing, and other industrial processes, has historically been a challenging issue. When unable to be harnessed or redirected, it is burned off, releasing carbon dioxide and other pollutants into the atmosphere. This wasteful practice not only contributes to environmental degradation but also represents a lost economic opportunity. The urgent need for more sustainable solutions led to the development of Flare Gas Recovery technology.

How Flare Gas Recovery Works 

Flare Gas Recovery is a comprehensive system designed to capture, transport, and repurpose flare gas emissions effectively. The process begins at the flare stack, where gas is typically burned. Instead of releasing these emissions into the atmosphere, the technology intercepts and routes the gases into a recovery unit. This unit processes the gases, separating valuable hydrocarbons and other compounds. The reclaimed resources can be used as fuel, chemical feedstocks, or sold on the market, transforming waste into wealth.

Environmental Benefits 

At the forefront of Flare Gas Recovery's appeal are its substantial environmental benefits. By significantly reducing the release of greenhouse gases and air pollutants, this technology plays a crucial role in addressing climate change and air quality concerns. It aligns with global efforts to curb emissions, making it an essential component of any industry's sustainability strategy.

Economic Advantages 

Flare Gas Recovery is not only a boon for the environment but also for business bottom lines. By converting waste into valuable resources, it offers substantial cost savings. Recovered gases can be used to power on-site operations, reducing reliance on external energy sources. Moreover, the sale of recovered hydrocarbons generates an additional revenue stream. Flare Gas Recovery is thus a smart economic choice that enhances profitability.

Energy Independence 

Energy security is a top priority for many industries. Flare Gas Recovery contributes to energy independence by providing a reliable source of power. Captured gases can be used to fuel turbines, generators, or other energy-intensive processes. This reduces dependence on external energy suppliers and enhances operational resilience.

Compliance and Reputation 

Compliance with environmental regulations is a paramount concern for industries. Flare Gas Recovery not only helps meet these requirements but also enhances a company's reputation. Demonstrating a commitment to sustainable practices can improve brand image and stakeholder relations, attracting environmentally conscious investors and consumers.

Technological Advancements 

Advances in Flare Gas Recovery technology have made the process more efficient and cost-effective. New systems incorporate cutting-edge monitoring and control technology to ensure optimal gas capture and processing. These innovations have further solidified Flare Gas Recovery's place as a viable and attractive solution for industries.

Case Studies and Success Stories 

A key testament to the effectiveness of Flare Gas Recovery lies in the numerous success stories and case studies across different industries. For instance, in the oil and gas sector, companies have reported significant reductions in flare gas emissions and operational costs. Chemical manufacturers have embraced the technology to turn waste gases into valuable raw materials, reducing their carbon footprint. Such examples demonstrate the versatility and adaptability of Flare Gas Recovery.

The Future of Flare Gas Recovery 

Flare Gas Recovery is not just a temporary trend; it's a long-term solution with a promising future. As environmental regulations continue to tighten and the world shifts toward cleaner energy sources, its importance will only grow. The ongoing development of more efficient and sustainable Flare Gas Recovery systems will drive further adoption, benefiting both businesses and the planet.

Conclusion 

Flare Gas Recovery represents a vital bridge between environmental responsibility and economic prosperity. It transforms the once-wasted flare gas emissions into resources that drive sustainability and profitability. As industries continue to evolve in the direction of cleaner, more responsible practices, Flare Gas Recovery is set to play an ever more significant role in our sustainable future.

Visit: https://www.crystaltcs.com/ejectors-in-flare-gas-recovery-systems.php

Contact: +91 253 2941600

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[storiesof2018]

As the backlit ambiance of Hell's Kitchen contrastingly burnished over his leathered tactical Kevlar jacket, impassively with sniper-honed vigilance of his stealthier graces, Bucky crouched on his black camouflaged haunches, piercingly lasering the cool smokiness of his grayish-aquamarine irises at the proximal vicinity of the gated dockyard. After Sam Wilson became a valorous paragon of liberty, bearing the impassable mantle of Captain America, he evaded from the political dynamos-taskmasters of the World Council who deceptively streamlined defence machinations with chessboard plays of bureaucratic prominence -using Stark Industries AI countermeasures to deadlock national-globalized security.

With the Secret Avengers contingency activated by General 'Thunderbolt' Ross, he refused to become an expandable asset-pawn in the rigged decks that unscrupulous alliances gambled. He joined an underground extension of SHIELD which was helmed by Maria Hill-doing 'off-book' missions with his combative-lethal- prowess under the Sokovian Accord's radar.

Against the vaporous fumes of diesel wafting off the docked freighters, a vexatious rapt twitchily scrunched the razor-edged angularity of his tenser cheek as he readily braced his unmoveable poise against the cement ledge, gazing at the labyrinth of stacked freight containers that obstructed a shoddy warehouse-a blackout site-that stowed a high-gambit payload. He received the 'greenlight' directive from Maria Hill after the convenient-decrypted intel of shipment from the dystopian cesspit of syndicated criminality -Madripoor- was flagged in the Hudson."M'not seeing much out here..." he whispered out a throatier breath, raspily, against his peripheral vision he caught a maddening glimpse of surveillance cameras painstakingly rotating over the fenced area. "Somethin's gotta be up..." A murmurous grumble scathingly fringed in his Brooklyn drawl." The Power Broker doesn't make an easy play without noise..."

"Our intel is solid," Maria's matter-of-factly voice replied through his earpiece with soft ease. Stationed inside of a van several blocks away, she sat behind a wall of monitors in quiet solitude, pouring over the mountain of intel that came pouring in through numerous assets around the globe. "Whatever is turning up might be a needle-in-a-haystack, but its important enough that a certain underboss wanted it off the manifest." She gazed at Wilson Fisk's profile on one of the monitors, a morbid curiosity taking over as she pondered how a single man managed to take control of the Feds and powerhouse his way through the numerous syndicates that once controlled the city. Tapping her chin, she pondered what he might do to elude suspicion. "Keep your eyes open for anything that might look off instead of suspicious."

Bucky frowned from his overwatch point. "Like what, flying pigs?" Giving New York was a city that many said was ground zero for strange and unusual, that wasn't a lot to go on.

"I don't know. It could be nuns waddling in the dark, or even a kid playing hop-scotch. If it looks like it doesn't belong out there, then consider it suspicious," Maria shrugged as she flopped back in her seat, waiting with bated breath for the other shoe to drop in this scenario.

Bucky peered through his scope until he thought he caught sight of a shimmering reflection of light. Instincts flared as he focused in, watching as a balletic figure seemed to dance and weave her way across a nearby rooftop. "Contact…nine o'clock," he mumbled.

Harnessing a slinkier variance of her balletic poise, felinely, she eased mid-crouch onto her shapelier haunches a breadth at the skylight window-a hot-wired entry point that was deceptively activated with thermal sensors. "Well, this is a fun surprise..." she purred against a sultrier undertone, breathily, removing an EMP disk from the leathered slit of her tactical boot."Glad I bought a few toys..." Gliding the delicate-bone litheness of her gloved finger deftly over the rusted latch with thievish precision; orangish sconces of the dockyard alluringly haloed over the sleekier exquisiteness of jet-black neoprene as her dishevelled whitish-platinum tresses smokily cascaded off the svelter curvatures of her garbed back. Against the bordering fringe of her velvetlike domino mask, the vixenish naughtiness of her autumn-brandy irises fixedly gazed at the electrified pulse sonically tasering every rigged sensor. "That was easy..."

"Hill, you getting this? Looks like a cat dragged herself in," Bucky was dumbfounded as he watched the mystery woman with platinum silver locks, pounce and weave her way around like a slick feline. She was clad in a form-fitting black unitard that left little to the imagination as it clung to her shapely athletic form, outfitted with a support harness and what he could only surmise was a tactical utility belt wrapped around her hips. He instinctively looked for an insignia on her that would give him an idea of who she would be working for. There was nothing. He didn't recognize her, and neither did Hill who responded in his ear.

"I've got nothing on facial recognition. That mask I'm guessing isn't just a fashion statement. Could she be a black widow?" She wondered aloud, quashing down feelings of sentiment as she thought of a lost friend and colleague. Bucky said nothing as he pondered this. He was familiar with the moves and tactics a black widow assassin exhibited. This mystery woman looked just as agile and slick but seemed to operate with a level of enthusiasm one wouldn't expect from a Red Room operative. 'Who are you?' He wondered. Forgoing a hostile approach, he stepped away from his overwatch point.

"Maybe I should ask her," Bucky grunted as he set his rifle aside and made his way towards her point of entry.

"Now things are getting interesting..." An impish smirk quirked over her glossier-pillowy full-bow lips, deviously, she registered the heavier footing menace-bound advances of stealthier prowess that intimidatingly breached her detected proximity. On defensive accord, edgily, Felicia dragged a daintier palm over the cement ledge as needle-point claws readily snicked out."Come up here to show this girl a good time..." she razzed out, jauntily, shifting her dark-brandy irises at the masculine silhouette bulkily garbed in a navy-blue tactical jacket as the golden skeins that aesthetically fused over charcoal-ebon plating of his robotic arm hypnotically gleamed against the muskier shadows-Wakandian vibrainium was a high-score for black market auctions. "So you're the new player in Horn Boy's backyard, huh..."

Silence followed her quip and a chill of foreboding swept through the vicinity as she searched for her nightly observer. No sign of him causing her to frown with uncertainty. Theatrical, much? Her posture tense and her claws were readied for any hostility. If half the things she'd heard about him were true, then he was about as personable as a suped-up grumpy Jason Bourne. He'd let his fists do all the talking. A whoosh of wind at her back and a presence landed behind her. "Немного поздно рыскать по эту сторону доков (A little late to be prowling this side of the docks)." A deep baritone raspily fringed with a Russian timbre answered. "But if it's a good time you're lookin' for, you've come to the wrong place, darlin'."

Hearing the contralto velvetiness of his whiskey-roughened drawl addictively shunting through her veins on a heart-arresting tempo, unnervingly Felicia drove the vehement intensity over her lithe shoulder at the Siberian beast machine unmovingly crouched onto his clunkier tactical boots over the cement ledge with sniper-honed graces as his roguish chestnut tresses shaggily clung over his broader temples. Riskily, she gazed at the hard-boned ruggedness of his scruffier -hawkish features that cuttingly razored with the heaviness of his knife-edged jaw-a hunkier ferocity strikingly rode over the angular planes of his cheekbones as the dimpled notch of his bristly chin tensely rapted, scowlingly evident to the offish quirk of his shapely-bow lips. With rapid-fire sassiness, Felicia countered his grumpier impatience, brusquely. "Sorry to disappoint, but I like getting my kicks in dangerous places, soldier-boy..." she rebuffed in a foxier cadence, teasingly, watching the mechanized flex of his bionic palm clenching into a rigid fist, as cool smokiness of his grayish-aquamarine depths smolderingly gleamed with mesmeric intensity against the dock-light."Maybe I'm having too much fun up here..."

There was a flirtatious carefree air about her that Bucky found odd if not refreshing. Years of working in the field brought him into contact with different kinds of people; most of them were suspicious, some hapless while few were righteous. But one thing they had in common was they were all dangerous. This young woman was a rare ilk of dangerous and mysterious. He couldn't sense any hostility coming from her, but he wasn't too quick to drop his guard. "You seem to know me. How about we keep things on an even-playing field and you tell me who you are?" He inquired with a raised eyebrow. He knew Hill was listening in and though he was asking mostly for the benefit of intel, there was something else inside of him that was curious for…other reasons.

Against knifepoint tension underscoring her restraint, craftily, Felicia eased onto her tactical boots with fluid -seductive graces as she undeviatingly edged closer to him on feverous tenor; her dark-brandy irises flashed over bulkier resiliency of graven-corded of tauter muscles that athletically delineated underneath his Kevlar-clad jacket- surges of defensive ferocity intimidatingly rode over his gladiator-like solidity. Coquettishly, the pillowy lush of her full-bow lips saucily, played off a friskier smirk, as she distractingly grazed her boot against the deactivated latch of the skylight with thievish precision. "Now that would be spoiling all the fun..." she purred in a huskier undertone, jauntily, aware of the point-blank glare of his stormier grayish-aquamarine depths that impassively lasered onto the entry point. "Are you sure you can keep, Grumpy...?" she challenged, poutily. "I'm a girl who likes to move...fast."

The sultriness of her voice sent feverish chills down Bucky's spine as he fought to keep a stoic facade. Her dark orbs were full and alight with excitement as they gleamed at him enticingly. The heat of her proximity made goosebumps rise across his skin. She was too close for comfort. While he wouldn't call her approach towards him seductive, there was a disarming feeling that crept into him that made him feel conflicted on what was the best approach. The soldier inside of him was torn, but the man that had made a habit off charming pretty dames rose to the forefront with a witty comeback. "Have it your way, darlin'. Gotta warn ya though, the faster you run, the harder I'll chase ya."

He smirked dangerously for good measure. He could hear Hill's voice interjecting through the moment. "Keep her in your sights. We can't afford to blow the element of surprise by engaging her."

"Still playing with your training wheels, huh...?" With a kittenish smirk flirtily quirking over the voluminous glossiness of her cherry-red lips, deviously, Felicia slashed her metallic claws over the eroded latch with underhand swiftness as the skylight window popped open, readily, she braced her gloved palms against the cement, angling the sleekier litheness of her neoprene-clad arms into a diver's poise as she winked at him, coaxingly. "Let's see how fast you are, soldier-boy..."

With acrobatic-feline-honed graces, Felicia arced her curvier mid-drift like a balletic marionette into a straight-back handstand as her tousled whitish-platinum whorls sexily draped over the daintier contours of her jaw. Feigning his dumbstruck edginess, glaringly, Bucky roved the steeliness of his wide-blown aquamarine irises onto the ample -voluptuous suppleness of her bustier swells that snugly plunged against the half-zipped neoprene-damn, she was heart-stealin' gorgeous. With a breathless surge of her kickback momentum, Felicia exquisitely performed a handspring backflip, whooshingly, she pounced within the skylight, as her clawed fingers metallically scraped the ground on high-adrenalized impact. "Well, don't keep this girl waiting down here..."

Bucky waited a moment before diving in, the flush of heat in his body causing him to exhale loudly. Somehow he doubted he wouldn't have trouble keeping focus. "Well, this should be fun." He performed a missile-dive down through the sky-light window, his acrobatic skill enabling him to control the momentum of his body bringing him to a soft-padded landing down on his haunches. He tried not to stare at the voluminous shape of the mystery girl's backside as she too had landed in a cat-like crouch across from him. Yeah, no distractions at all. "You know there's trouble down there, darlin'," Bucky whispered to her as he made a stealthy approach along the wall, keeping to a dark veil of shadows. His eyes drank in her shape, this time for a different reason. She wasn't carrying any obvious weapons. No guns, no knives. "I hope you know how to handle yourself in a fight."

"You always talk to girls like this, or should I consider myself lucky?" Felicia countered with a terser undertone, banteringly, keeping herself poised lithely against the eroded crates as the whitish scones of the industrial fixtures above them shinily gleamed over the SIG-Sauer P226 SCT pistol holstered over his bulkier thigh, as the robotized vibrainium servos of his bionic arm that mechanically whirred in defensive sync. "Well, I will admit you do have a cool arm..." she purred, smokily, roving her flintier darkish irises onto the golden skeins that contrasted against the gunmetal plating -a Kintsugi design of mending shattered pieces. Smacking the voluminous glossiness of her full-bow lips into a devious pop with a kittenish smirk."Might be a good fence to play with..."

Bucky chuckled dryly. "This you flirting? Normally I don't mind it, but we should get dinner first before you start sweet-talkin' about my arm." He quipped.

"You're both real sweet talkers, aren't you? You're on mission. Focus up, Barnes. Maybe try keeping the chatter with her to a minimum?" Maria chimed in, cutting Bucky's train of thought. A spike of irritation moved through him as he ventured towards a service door and peaked through the glass.

"You could cut back on the commentary too, Hill. I just need intel from you," Bucky said with a note of exasperation. "Like telling me who the hell we're dealing with, and what I'm looking for-"

"Let's find out..." Against tempered brazenness, Felicia sashayed a hairbreadth closer to him, caressingly, the delicateness of her gloved palm fervidly bracketed over the muscled contours of his thicker nape on the evocative tenor as she registered the buzzing pulse of static vexatiously resonating out of his ear-com. A headier rush of cinnamony mintiness of his virile fragrancy had arrestingly intensified as she delivered feather-soft ministrations against his ear. "You're following my lead now, soldier-boy..." Her lithe fingers blindly pinched over the device as the comlink dropped onto the cement ground. "Oops..."

Bucky grimaced as he watched his radio-com hit the ground. Though he was inclined to scold the mystery woman's brazen action and retrieve the transmitter, he was slightly thankful for the silence in his ear. Instead, he fixed the silver-haired vixen with a deadpan look, half-serious, "Well I guess I'm all ears," he shrugged. He tried to ignore the rush of heat across his skin where her cool touch had brushed across his neck. He had barely registered the act of her removing his communication. She was very quick and smooth. Something about the impish quirk of her lips diffused any sense of frustration he might have still had.

It wasn't his style to follow the lead of an unknown, but he couldn't sense anything distrustful about her, even as she sauntered towards the door. "Lead the way then, darlin'."

Aware of his steeled resistance fracturing against her persuasive coaxing, alluringly, Felicia slinked within the mustier ambiance of shadows that contrasted against the metal crates, the swiftness of her graceful footing was mirrored with his terminator-like prowess as he swaggeringly revamped his beastlier-predatory momentum of tactical-honed advances, never easing the dead-shot readiness of his mechanized grip over the Makarov pistol glintingly strapped over the corded bulkiness of his thigh. Underneath his tactical-kevlar jacket, the V-cut ridges that bracketed his washboard abdomen tautly flexed with menace-honed ferocity as he drove his clunkier boot-steps at the automatic door.

Emitting out a growlier breath, huffily, Bucky glared at her deftly placing an EMP disk-a free pass card- onto the encrypted keypad. Flintily, she caught a glimpse of the rigged thermal sensors hot-wired onto the doorframe. "Okay...Just need to counterpoint the right frequency..." she pressed, breathily, gliding a metallic claw over the pulsating disk, as his shapely-wide lips broodingly tautened with grumpier edginess—definitely a stink-eye killjoy. "I guess you have trust issues, huh?"

"You could say I just prefer the direct approach," he huffed as he braced himself on the edge of his heels. He was on a time-clock and, he smirked, there was no harm in showing off a little. "Here, allow me!" With a charging thrust of his bionic fist, the padlock exploded in a shower of sparks beneath its might. The sensors on the door were coded into the lock and immediately deactivated. Bucky withdrew his fist as all lit up green like a christmas tree. Seeing the look on her face, he shrugged with a nonchalant twist of his lips and beckoned through the door. "Hope my speed isn't too fast for ya," he quipped with a subtle twitch of his lips before he moved through the door and into the warehouse.

"Thanks for opening the door for me..." Felicia purred in a sultrier undertone, brusquely, keeping a cautious distance from the stacked crates assembled over the loading platform as she hastily pounced onto the cement ramp with fervent urgency in her thievish-feline graces as her dark-brandy irises shiftily roved over the crate vividly branded with the crimson flag vividly adorned with the whitish crescent moon and lion-head of Madripoor." This better have the Baldy's prize..." she murmured, tartishly, flexing her daintier hand as her metallic-alloy claws reactively snicked out. "Unlike you, this girl has the delicate touch..."

"Yeah, I can tell," he frowned as he contemplated the part she probably didn't want him to hear. "Who's Baldy, by the way? Someone you're working for?" He didn't receive an answer, not that he was expecting one. He was half-pressed to push for answers but knew now wasn't the time for that. The warehouse was full of activity. By all accounts, the night-shift should've been down to a skeleton crew with only one security guard at the southeast exit. Which made the numerous armed thugs marching between the containers barking orders all the more suspect. Bucky and Felicia were crouched near the edge of a cat-walk, shimming their way towards the ladder that would lead them to the ground level. "Looks like a party waiting for us. How about we-"

"I thought you wanted to play..." Baiting out a dismissive breath, scoffingly, Felicia crouched on her shapelier haunches onto a crate, the onrushes of pent-up-calibrated adrenaline electrifyingly surging through her veins as she readily poised her knifepoint claws against the eroded steel. Bracingly, she became attuned to the frequency pulsating from a proximal sentry's radio transmitter, his encroaching boot-stomps were thuggishly heavier-uncoordinated as he mobilized near the loading ramp. "Time for some fun..." On the acrobatic succession of her enhanced swiftness, fluidly, she vaulted onto a hydraulic crane as the armoured 'payoff' lookout slimily paced closer to cat-walk. Keeping herself bolstered on her tactical boots, stealthily, Felicia waited for the sentry to wobbily maneuver underneath the crane, while her full-bow lips wickedly played off a naughtier smirk as she pounced onto the ground, jack-knifing her svelte form with her braced hands and explosively thrust her legs into his plumper chest. Gruntingly, he wavered as she half-flipped with balletic momentum and blindingly scissored her curvier thighs around his flabbier neck with bone-vising pressure. Without a pause of tampered hesitance, mercilessly she drove the sentry head-first to the ground.

"I guess that works too," he deadpanned, sliding down the ladder to the ground floor. He watched her move ahead, picking off the next sentry with an acrobatic feat of kicks and flips that was pretty damn effective. His only frustration stemmed from the realization that the mystery woman seemed to have thrown all thoughts of stealth to the wind as she engaged the next mercenary out in the open.

"Here we go again," Bucky rushed in, coming to realize that his mission of stealth was quickly turned into a race for retrieval. His feet carried him through a maze of containers while the noise of commotion grew louder. Sporadic gun-fire erupted as he charged an armed mercenary that had his sights locked onto him. Bucky used his vibranium arm to deflect the burst rounds while moving in. The mercenary panicked as Bucky quickly closed the distance and leap kicked him in the chest, sending him crashing against the wall of a container. Bucky picked up his weapon and fired the chamber into the thug's vest, winding him. A downward strike of his fist knocked him out cold.

"Fan out, idiots! We have two uninvited guests! Recover the package and deal with them!" A voice screamed out on the walkie of the downed thug. Bucky shifted as he saw a shadow move. Looking up, he could see Felicia at the top of a container, looking down on him in a feline-like crouch. He could see the challenge in her teasing eyes and felt his adrenaline surge.

"You're enjoying this way too much," his retorted just as he saw another thug come into view with his weapon drawn. Bucky shoved the muzzle aside just as the bullets spiraled out in ringing sparks. He headbutted the thug who stood a foot taller than him and drove his knee into his sternum. The weapon clattered to the ground but the thug was sharp enough to draw a combat knife. "You really don't wanna do that," Bucky admonished with a bored tone.

His warning was unheeded, the thug attempted to drive his blade into Bucky's chest. It was like trying to push through an unbreakable fence. Bucky's jaw clenched and a bead of sweat trickled down his brow. Glaring into the merc's eyes, he scowled, "I warned ya." Faster than the thug could process things, the knife was twisted and sent flying up. Bucky caught it with a stylish flourish of his wrist and cut through the air, the whooshing sound was accompanied by the sluicing of crimson death. The thug released a deathly gasp as he collapsed, his own knife lodged into his throat.

"Damn it," Bucky looked away, feeling no satisfaction as he continued on his way towards the center of the warehouse. He could hear footsteps racing above the containers. Looking up, he watched as the masked woman leaped over him like an olympic athlete onto the next container. It was a race, he remembered. His blood pumped with alarm and excitement as he decided to give chase.

Against the ebony velvetiness of her sleekier domino-mask, impishly, the fieriness of her brandy irises shifted onto him as her dishevelled whitish-silvery tresses vixenishly clung to the cool delicateness of her elfish features at the heart-pumping moment, Bucky unerringly propelled his unstoppable -fiercer momentum over the crates above with panther-honed agility. On breathless tenor, he leaped off a container impressively akin to the skateboarder on a halfpike spin and intimidatingly smacked his tactical boots forcily onto the ground behind her. "Not bad moves..." she whispered in a breathier rasp, friskily, ghosting her clawed fingers with underhand-deceptive- precision over the wooden crate. "Sorry to cut our dance short, but I have places to be..." Conveying a sirenlike beckon, teasingly, Felicia quirked her glossier pillowy crimson lips into a kittenish smirk, enticingly her smokier platinum whorls flipped over her delicate-boned shoulder.

"You always cut and run on a first date?" Bucky snarked as he watched her stride out towards the open. "Hey! HetThe activity in the warehouse was reaching a boiling point as the armed mercenaries took up a defensive formation while attempting to load the cargo container onto a big-rig. Bucky wasn't sure what the mystery dame was after or if it coincided with what Hill had sent him out here to investigate. But after she mentioned the term "baldy" he had an inkling of suspicion that she worked for a certain underboss. Whatever she was after, he knew he couldn't let her escape with it, even if he found her kind of cute...okay very cute. Bucky found her direct approach to be bold and daring, but as he watched a few of the armed thugs become distracted by her sashaying stride, he knew she knew what she was doing. Beauty was one of many tools a woman could exploit.

"That's far enough sweet-heart. Take one more step and I'll drop ya," one of the mercenaries threatened. "It would be such a waste," he shrugged while ogling her with thinly veiled lust. Bucky's cybernetic fist clenched as he jumped in began punching. The mercenaries opened were unable to open fire without risk to each other and the cargo. Numerous pallets of wrapped boxed were exposed in the opened container from Madripoor. The team member of the mercenary squad, a bald-headed man with a grisly tattoo on his face, pulled out a shotgun. "Damned superhero s***! Stop messing with my business!" He unloaded his rifle with reckless abandon, uncaring, friendly-fire the least of his concerns as he tried to make room for himself towards the driver-seat of the big-rig.

Bucky looked over at Felicia who was like a human-knife of precision as she laid into the mercenaries with feline agility. Bucky could see one of the mercenaries attempting to close the container, one of the exposed packages was marked labeled, "Fisk Industries".

"Oh no you don't," he made a dash towards the package at the same time as Felicia.

Against the surges of riotous octane that accerlatedly fuelled her lightning-quick paces, slashingly, Felicia dragged her alloyed claws over the rear massive wheel, as the brutish driver maliciously rammed his granite-like fist against her shoulder with deadlier force. On blinded reaction, viciously, she delivered a tiger-claw strike into his broader neck, grappling him off the flatbed trailer like discarded trash. With practiced deftness, she traced her gloved palm over the runic statue of an Indonesian-crafted Komodo Dragon as the waxen malachite vitreously gleamed against the sconces of the light fixtures-a high-priced interest that bigshot moguls of syndicated industry greedily duelled with bidding wars to slake their rivalrous avarice at gallery auctions. The winning hand of territorial-corruptive supremacy murderously dealt his titanic retribution in spades over Hell's Kitchen, using expandable-throw-away collaterals to stake down his imperious reign-she was a leashed kitten. "This better have it..."

The bodies continued to fall before the unlikely duo's onslaught. Bucky slammed a mercenary to the floor with a punishing chokeslam of his cybernetic limb. His gaze whipped upward as one of thugs cocked his pistol and aimed behind the mystery dame's head. "Look out!" He cried out, alarm setting in as he rushed in. The mercenary was tackled as if he were bull-dozed, his body crumbling forward, knocking into Felicia from behind. The Komodo statue fell from her grip in a dramatic descent towards the cold floor. Bucky lunged, eyes wide to catch the falling object before it could be damaged. He was too late-the withered old antique smashed on the ground into pieces. A large vial of green fluid shattered inside of the statue, the liquid splurting into Bucky's face, seeping into his pores and corneas as he groaned with indignation. "AARGH! What the hell?!"

Hearing the choke-off gravelliness of his throatier drawl moaningly railing out of him, trickily, Felicia swiped up the USB drive that was deceptively concealed within the jade statue, her delicate nose vehemently scrunched against the carious rancidity of greenish liquid that smearily trekked over the scruffier angularity of his knife-edged jaw as he stumblingly collided against the flatbed trailer. Within unhampered restraint invested with his vertiginous mobility, feverishly against teeth-gnashing strain, Bucky dragged his kevlar-clad forearm over his jutting poutier-bow lips, doing his utmost of wiping off the viscous fluid. "Hey, are you okay?" she urged, pressingly.

"I've had worse," Bucky staggered to his feet after wiping off his face. His vision swam as the pungent stench of chlorine and some other kind of mildew-like aroma bombarded his senses. It reminded him of a lab or some kind of swamp, leaving a bad feeling in his gut. He shrugged it off, focusing his gaze on Felicia. The mercenaries were downed, his gaze shot from the destroyed statue and the vial towards Felicia who made a subtle slip of something into her pocket. "Bad luck for both of us, I suppose," he asked with a coy and suspicious look. Slowly he moved towards her, sensing a veiled deception.

As the frostier steeliness of his grayish-aquamarine irises steelily razored onto the curvier litheness of her svelter waist, coquettishly, Felicia eased up her gloved hand over the alloy rigidity of his vibrainum shoulder, her clawed fingers traced featherlight ministrations lingeringly over the golden skeins that kinetically pulsed with amethyst Okavango sigils as the mechanized servos reactively whirred underneath her violating-distractive touch. Harbouring vestiges of his defensive resistance, fiercely, Bucky gripped onto the delicateness of her wrist-he didn't let go. The addictive-intensified contrast of his virile heat starvedly gloried in a tantalizing rush of undeniable-heart-razed need.

"Do you always get this close...?" she purred, huskily, as the graven-edged muscles of his garbed chest bulkily shifted against the voluptuous cushiness of her delectable breasts on evocative accord. Disarmingly, Bucky was captive into a passion-driven maelstrom as the coolness of his bionic palm tremorously bracketed chaste gentleness over the sleekier underside of her jaw coupled with reined strength. "Maybe you need to dance again..."

Despite himself, Bucky couldn't help but smile as the heat of her proximity came over him like a warm blanket. "This isn't the kind of dance I take a pretty dame out on. But I'm guessing you're no ordinary dame," he coaxed with a deep stare. Her smirk was a telling response full of innuendo. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in what felt like a life-time and at the same time, it was different. She was different.

She was dangerous. And he liked it. He eyed her wandering hand and how it trailed the sleek surface of his vibranium limb. Her stare was equally intense, the mascara and paint behind her domino mask only serving to accentuate her dark brown eyes that lured him in with a spell-binding thrall. He could play that game too. Leaning towards her until his face hovered over his, he tried to look imposing though in quite the reverse, his voice came out deep and husky. "You ready to tell me who you are? Or how about you just give me what you pulled from that statue?" He arched his eyebrow at her knowingly.

Hearing the murmurous raspiness of his whiskey-roughen drawl feverously ratcheting through her veins, on breathless tenor, possessively, Felicia gripped onto the muscled contours of his tenser nape with a breakneck rush, moaningly Bucky hitched out a throatier 'mpff...' against the arrestive force that viscerally floored him onto the edge of savorous havoc as the dampish heat of his shapely-wide lips steamily feathered over the luscious underswell of her plushier lip on a give-or-take accord. "I don't kiss and tell..." she teased, breathily, kneading her clawed fingers over the steel-banded muscles that hunkily shifted underneath his Kevlar-garbed chest as she gasped against the robotic flexion of his vibrainium palm that shiveringly bracketed over the svelter curviness of her back.

With passion-blank abandon, blindly, he angled the bristled heaviness of his clenching jaw, hungrily driven by an unsuppressible-wonderous cadence of his dredged-up need. The flavorous glossiness of her voluminous lips decadently coupled with the cool mintiness of his panty breaths, groaningly, his Romanianque nose avidly scrunched into the delicate suppleness of her cheek, answering her sirenic call, as he gutturally thrusted the velvety-softness of his poutier-bow lips on headier demand.

Caught on the riotous edge of the kiss, she was aware of his resistance fracturing as the arrowing hotness of his tongue meltingly glided with hers-nothing was held back. Mirroring the rapturous tempo that intensifying gloried into bone-liquifying voltage, dizzyingly, Felicia twinned the litheness of her arms over his broader neck, losing herself within the hottish dregs of passionate maina. Devouringly, the gaping stretch of his throbbing lips recaptured hers with the fiercer-bruising pressure of an open-mouthed kiss on amorous succession, Ragingly, the exhilarative—dangerous promise of untamed intimacy crescendoed- their fevered bodies sensuously moved in duelling -breathtaking sync. Raggedly, Bucky traced whisper-soft pressure over the glossier lushness of her underlip-the hot-blooded wetness of their melding lips increasingly became unstoppable-aphrodisiacal octane-fuelling their kiss deeper.

The touch of her kiss-swollen lips had deliciously awakened something inside of him that he thought was lost, this feeling of life and excitement that came by way of a heady interlock that left him breathless. His tactical mind had shut-down amidst the flood of desire that poured through him. Had he been alert, he would've noticed the slip of her hands reaching for a cylindrical object hidden on her belt. He was lost in the heat of her kiss, but just as Bucky heard the noise of a pin dropping, his eyes snapped open. Just as soon as it had happened, the kiss ended when she broke away, their lips smacking with a pop. The last thing he saw was her breathless features before her domino mask activator a protective lens over her eyes.

A depth-charge pulse explosively ricocheted against the floor with concussive static, as whitish phosphorus blindingly robbed his vision in those ear-numbing seconds the flash-bang grenade craftily dropped out of her lithe hand. Quirking the hot-flushed swollenness of her pillowy lips, devaintly, Felicia gazed at him gnashingly pinching his eyelids with feverish strain as he unrestrainedly collapsed onto his knees with vertiginous traction against the skull-hammering onslaught that incessantly amplified on deadening fruition. "Until next time, soldier boy..." The deviousness of her sultrier undertone painstakingly knifed against his throbbing ears as she vanishingly slinked behind the loading ramp, unaware of a tinier bluish-ebony skink lizard creeping speedily over a rusted drainage pipe.

Bucky counted down from ten, as he shuttered himself from the blinding flash that left a throbbing pain in his temple. Off-setting the discomfort came naturally with his training but left him no less vulnerable in his disoriented state. Once the brightness vanished in front of his eyelids, he steadily peeled them open, groaning as the world swam in front of him. Sure enough, the mystery girl had vanished into the night, leaving him hunched over in a dazed aftermath. "Women," he chuckled dryly. "I didn't even get her name," he lamented. Reformed Soviet assassin or not, he still had an Achilles Heel when it came to a pretty dame. He couldn't feel angry with her even if he wanted to. Nothing went as planned he surmised while looking over the broken pieces of the statue. Whatever was in there was important, perhaps not just to a certain criminal underboss in NYC.

A rough exhale came through as he surveyed the numerous dead or incapacitated mercenaries laying around. He had nothing to show for all of this. "Hill's not gonna like this," he groaned as he slipped the radio back into his ear and began to survey the rest of the shipment. "Hill, yeah I'm on site…Bad news, unfortunately. Package unsecure." He grimaced as a barrage of reprimands filled his ear that he had no other choice but to endure. Unknown to him, a pair of small reptilian eyes watched him closely near a man-hole, taking in the human's unique scent that called to its habitat. A forked tongue slithered as the tiny lizards slipped down into the sewer, receiving a mental call from a power conduit from afar.

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The cascading rushes of warmth steamily glided off the corded flesh of his back as exhaustive tension grippingly rode over the graven-edged curvatures of bulkier thews-a linebacker-honed solidity that athletically flexed against the pelting spray. Quashing down a pukish upheaval, he braced his cybernetic hand unmovingly against the ceramic tile, calmly breathing the citrus mintiness of his Old Spice body wash that zestily wafted from the half-crushed bottle. A heated shower was a luxury that he was denied when his sadistic handlers thawed him from the cryogenic pod, dragging him into the 'memory-suppressing chair- infusing his veins with thermic dosages of crystalloid to stabilize the hypothermic levels in his chilled blood. Warding off the cerebral PTSD - traumatic apparitions that paralytically roped him into erratic throes of heart-thumping distress, Bucky consciously pressed his brow against the tile, registering the dampness of his unkempt chestnut tresses slickly clinging over his shampoo-glazed temple. "C'mon Barnes...Keep it together..." he gritted out in a shakier pitch, murmurously, and reached for the chrome knob.

After getting grilled by Hill, Bucky had to sit through an hour of debriefing to go over what happened down at the docks. To say the recon and extraction could've gone better was a massive understatement. He'd lost the package and let his curiosity get the better of him when dealing with the alluring masked woman who left a big impression on him. It was the furthest thing from his mind now once he stormed out of the debrief like a man who had just come into contact with a plague. He felt cold, sweaty and feverish all at once. Sensations he would've once thought impossible given his superhuman constitution that enabled him to fight off something as simple as a common cold before he could even sense it.

The spraying beads of water cascading down his n*** body did little to numb the sick feeling of anticipation lurking beneath his skin as if something sinister was just waiting to make itself known. "Come on," he said through the thick of bath-water showering over him. He waited as he counted down from ten, relying on his enhanced physiology to combat this sickly feeling of invasion. He felt like he was waging a war and the struggle brought with it an hot flash of agony into his brow. His vision flashed and he groaned at the sensation. The pain manifested itself as a clawed set of hands reaching out to him from a murky river. That dreadfully familiar taste of chemicals and rain-water returned, reminding him of the strange fluid that had splashed onto his face at the docks. He turned off the shower and padded out, determined to wash the vile taste from his mouth.

With a tactless measure of unbidden resistance that warringly racked through his veins, blearily, he staggered on his slick feet against the granite basin, thrusting his bionic hand as he desperately gripped onto the faucet with vicing pressure. White-hot surges disturbingly intensified against his thermal receptors as the odorous -swampier muckiness had vomitously entrenched him with nauseatic bouts that he couldn't quash down. Against strenuous -pukey heaves, blindingly he reached for the half-emptied bottle of 'cool' mint' Listerine, twisting off the cap. Feigning a starchier grimace over his shapely-bow lips, feverishly Bucky angled his head with breakneck traction and chugged down the minty-antiseptic- freshness that burningly scoured down his throat. "Grah..."

He coughed and felt his throat close up against the scalding ingestion. Spittle coated with mouthwash dripped from his lips creating a string of saliva that fell to the floor. His fit of coughs were as alien to him as a fever but even more so alarming was the slick sensation of wetness collecting over his body as if he were in a sweat-box. He had just showered though? He fought a fresh wave of nausea climbing up his throat. The taste of Listerine at the back of his throat had smothered the taste of swamp water but was now climbing its way back up to his mouth with a vengeance. "Ungh!" He coughed up a blob of the fluid, the pores of his skin shifting as his soft tissue became colder. Fear entered his chest with the alarming speed of a bullet piercing his heart. "GAAAH!" And then he screamed with a crippling panic the moment he caught sight of an inhuman entity peering at him from the mirror. His vibranium fist landed a shattering punch that cracked the glass into a spider-web of warped imagery.

He could still see himself, but what he saw only caused the dread in his gut to continue mounting as he saw an amberish set of monstrous eyes peering back at him from his own face. "What the hell is happening to me?" He made to rush out of the bathroom, heedless of the fact he only wore his boxer briefs. He didn't make it a few steps until a sharp pain in his feet caused his balance to shift and buckle. He landed on the floor, collapsing like a building with his vibranium limb clanging onto the polished floorboards.

Emitting out snortier breaths, hissingly, Bucky registered the blood-numbing sludginess that infectiously deadened his mortified heartbeat on panic-razed succession as he tremorously eased up his vein-threaded hand that was alarmingly sheathed with blotchier leathery fleshiness- reptile-like scales. The owlish intensity of his wide-blown pupils blankly gazed at the dewy length of his deforming fingernails that slimily morphed into beastlier-reptilian claws. "No..." Gaspingly, he sobbed against choke-off heaves as his rakish chestnut tresses were sweatily askew over the scaly clamminess of his brow. "H-Help..."

He had to call someone. Hill, Fury, Banner, anyone. Fear of the unknown was as debilitating to him as a knife to the stomach. It cut-deep, leaving only a sense of impending doom. His conscious thoughts were devolving into maddening panic as they watched his vibranium-attached appendage suddenly disconnected from his left shoulder. The pain he felt in his body was like being drawn and quartered. A strangled cry tore from his mouth, the knife-digging throb of pain in his digits was coupled with a growing discomfort in his jaw. His teeth felt like they were being pulled, a sharp cut of his tongue scraping an incisor drew a m*** of pain. He tried to stand, but his limbs felt like glass that had been shattered, the only way to move was to crawl.

On floored mobility that vertiginously grappled him into nauseatic dregs, with strenuous traction, Bucky arced up the weightier tautness of his mid-drift into a one-arm planking stance, bolstering his scaly palm with conscious force while the mutative length of his blackish clawed-fingers scrapingly gouged into the floorboards in vicious sync as cottony-hazed grogginess swimmingly bleared his feverish vision. "W-What the hell..." A guttural scratchiness noncommittally resonated out of him with hissing cadence, the dampish sliminess of his tongue viperously jutted out with flickering motion distressingly akin to a birthday-horn- blower that morphically split into a reptilian 'forked' tongue.

"Argh..." Pinching his eyelids shut, growlingly Bucky outstretched the monstrous hand- deformity that freakishly melded into a stubbier leathery mass of grayish-ebon scales. Venting out throatier hisses, clumsily, Bucky dragged his clawed feet instinctively against the bracketed ridges of washboard abdomen, as his rigid knees heavily tucked into athletic curvatures of his V-cut obliques in leaden sync. Bracing his muscled forearm with push-up force, he taxingly lizard-crawled on the floor with clunkier momentum in the direction of stacked pillows of his makeshift bed. "G-Gotta call..."

The phone on the night-stand was ringing, the alarming sound that should've bolstered his determination served now to only agitate his deteriorating mood. "C-Can't sssstop!" A viperish hiss slithered into his tone, his sneering mouth now revealing rows of sharpened incisors gleaming with noxious saliva dripping onto the floor-boards. A whiplash of agony climbed into his brain as the sounds grew even more vexing to the point he was pouncing towards the night-stand, smashing the furniture into pieces. The phone's caller ID revealed the name "Maria Hill'' as it continued to ring. The floor-boards shook and an ominous shadow stretched across the walls of the apartment. The enormity of a lizard paw smashed the phone to pieces as a brittle growl followed. A pair of serpentine eyes gaze at the New York City skyline from the window before focusing on its own harrowing reflection.

The glass smashed into pieces, a roar of anger shook the fire-escape and all the civilians around the block who happened past as a monstrous silhouette ran off into the night.

An untrammelled upheaval of bone-deep grogginess clammily deadened him into slumberous throes, groaningly, Bucky eased the scruffier heaviness of his fevered cheek off a pillow, registering the bilious potency of his saliva that drenched a blanket sheathed over the nakedness of the graven-corded ridges of his straining abdomen that bloatedly jutted with chunkier bulginess as he indifferently grimaced against the greasier aftertaste of street-cart hot-dogs that he abandonly consumed within dregs of a voracious mania. "Urgh...What did I eat..." he moaned in slurrish pitch, throatily, rubbing his vibrainium palm consciously against his pounding temple, only to alarmingly feel the smooth pressure of a flesh-blooded hand in the wake. "Huh...?"

He did an alarmed double-take, believing for a moment that whatever had happened to him last night and triggered an intensely vivid dream that felt too real. "What?" His voice was soft and filled with confusion. His stricken gaze was locked onto the unmistakable shape of two human hands held out in front of him, their shape and textures differing somewhat as his left arm appeared to be coated with drying green gel that resembles slime. "Oh my God," he expressed, suddenly on his feet and rushing to the bathroom as if his limb had caught fire. The sound of running water only heightened his state of growing anxiety as he stuck his left limb beneath the shower-head. He anticipated at any moment, the vivid dream would end with him waking up in a groaning stupor of dismay, that the cold heavy sensation of his vibranium limb would tether him back to the waking world and all its grim expectancies.

But as the seconds passed and his dried limb was retracted from a bath-towel, he gazed at both it and his reflection with disbelief. "I-It's…It's back…" he uttered with a broken voice, fighting against a choking sob as emotion pooled in his eyes. He flexed the new digits of his very human, slightly green limb, marveling at the feeling of total sensitivity and control. "I-I'm back…" he found himself saying with a strained chuckle, sitting on the edge of the tub, cradling his new limb as if it were made of glass. Was this was rebirth felt like? An unexpected feeling of being made whole again? The how and why this teetered at the forefront of his thoughts with no clear answer there to greet him. Bucky traced the texture of his skin, marveling at how soft it felt and how firm the muscles were beneath.

He fought the nagging surge of doubt that threatened to creep into his thoughts and ruin this moment. He fought it like a starved man in a desperate need to protect something so nourishing and invigorating. A smile broke out across his face and his chuckles became more animated and lively. "YEEAAAH! I'M BACK! WOOOO!" Bucky slid out of the bathroom like a man who won the lottery, uncaring he was still in his boxers, his spirit filled with the unshakable urge to celebrate and live as he began to strut and buck his waist in a victory celebration pose.

Nothing else registered in his thoughts, not the oddity of the situation nor what might have happened to him last night as he flexed and pumped his rejuvenated limb in numerous poses. "BUCKY BARNES IS BACK, BABY!" He cried out, exiting his tap dancing pose before dropping to the ground in a push-up posture. With steeled focus he began to pump up and down in repetitive, the heightened surge of adrenaline in his muscles giving him life and causing his grin to become even bigger. He never thought he would feel so happy to feel the burn in his muscles, but his left limb craved the sensation like a plant needing water.

His moment of celebration came to a sudden jerk back to reality as he heard a knock at his door. He rose to his feet, suddenly aware of his surroundings and the state of his apartment. It…was trashed. Like someone had gotten into a fight and did a number on his floor and furniture. "Huh…" The knock at the door came again, more insistent this time. "Who is it?" He yelled out. Bucky stared at the door with mounting dread, trying to remember where his phone was. The last thing he needed was Hill making a house call.

"Don't be alarmed, Sergent James Barnes ..." A slithery-cavalier British timber steadily answered behind the door, intimidatingly, Bucky advanced his tight-fisted paces at the breadth of his apartment's steel-bolted door as his Romanianque nose twitchily scrunched against the invasive scent of Earl Gray tea lingeringly wafting off his unwelcomed visitor. "I'm here to talk about last night..." Brandishing a ceremonious demeanour over his gaunt-weathered features that contrasted with a sallow paleness, Doctor Curt Conners edgily grounded his assistive poise against the doorframe, the lankiness of his slimier form was garbed in a rain-sodden trenchcoat as he adjusted his black-wired glasses, creepily, roving his virescent-hazel irises over the desiccated remnants of ebon scales discarded on the hallway floorboards."The regeneration of your Southpaw without your bionic implant is an extraordinary gift for a lost soul who needs a change..."

Bucky's instincts screamed at him to reach for his concealed Glock taped beneath the night-stand next to the wall. Coming off of what was a chaotic night he was slowly piecing together, it was strange enough that he woke up with his left-arm regrown on his body, but to have someone he'd never heard of show up at his door claiming to have answers was suspect enough to make him wary. He quickly debated his options, seeing his vibranium limb on the floor next to the torn remnants of his once comfortable couch. He thought about calling Hill but couldn't remember what became of his phone last night.

"Mr. Barnes?" The man called to him again.

"Just a second," Bucky answered as he threw on a pair of jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt that clung to the sculpted planes of his athletic torso. He pulled the sleeve down on his left arm until the hem was clutched in the palm of his lightly green fist. He debated retrieving his weapon but as he peered through the peep-hole of his apartment door, the sight of the unassuming gentleman who looked like a science teacher made him pause and decide on a more civil approach. Opening his door a creak, he peered at the tall man who wore thick black-rimmed spectacles. He looked earnest yet hopeful, but something still felt distrustful about him. "How do you k

know all of that about me? Did Hill send you?" Bucky asked him warily.

"I have come here to discuss what occurred at the docks last night..." Conners returned, hastily, mirroring the hypotonic steeliness of Bucky's grayish-aquamarine irises that reptilianly gleamed against the door shadow; countering a defensive reaction of pent-up aggression, Bucky clenched bristled ruggedness of his knife-cut jaw as he involuntarily sniffed a thermic potency of blood-rushing through Connor's pulsating veins. With a ghost of smirk cannily quirking over his chiselled lips, he eased up his gloved hand for Bucky to grasp. "I'm Doctor Conners, a dedicated herpetologist who specializes in the adaptivity of medical evolution with genetic symmetry of reptiles..."

Bucky looked at his pro-offered hand, still wary and distrustful by his appearance. But as his gaze swept over the doctor's right side of his body, the sight of the empty-sleeved stump made him feel a degree of empathy and understanding. Extending his now fully gloved left-hand, Bucky shook Connor's own, his hardened complexion now curious. "James Barnes. Just call me James," he offered. He didn't know the man and he didn't trust him, but if he had answers about what happened to him last night, he would hear him out. "Look um, you kinda caught me at a bad time," Bucky expressed with a soured look at the state of his living room which looked anything but hospital for an uninvited guest."Maybe this can-"

"I can assure you, this unexpected visit has much importance..." Conners murmured under his breath, staidly, as he detected the predacious-Triassic rabidity of infectiously spawning within Bucky in mutative-ectothermic fruition. Raptly, his aquiline nose scrunched as he incredulously caught the vaporous reek of a muskier odour-a defensive mechanism of a territorial Komodo male. Unblinkingly, Bucky lasered the point-blank intensity of his silvery-aqueous irises, scowlingly evident to an offish quirk of his shapely-bow lips as he unmovingly braced the corded rigidity of his tensing shoulder against the doorframe. Fostering onto vestiges of his professional decorum, Conners treaded his revelation with hinged caution."Have you ever heard of caudal autonomy...?" With dumbfounded edginess, confusingly, Bucky furrowed his tauten brow as he blankly glanced at the fleshier stump of Conner's left tricep. "Most lizards when cornered by a predator, amputate their limbs to escape, and their cellular regeneration produces a new one, just like your beautiful arm, James..."

It was at this point Bucky had allowed the doctor to enter the apartment. He had already hidden his detached vibranium limb and tucked it under the couch. The sight of the disarray and hints of a violent struggle around the living room didn't seem to faze the professor who kept his gaze squared on Bucky. He wasn't sure 

he liked that, it brought about the feeling that he was some kind of fascinating experiment being held under a microscope. But as he listened to the doctor go into detail about lizards, it was intriguing but all at the same time confusing. The science-jargon however made his head spin, and he felt faint for a moment as he moved to steady himself as he sat on the couch.

"So what does all of that have to do with me at the docks last night? And how do you know about all of that?" He wondered aloud.

As the murmurous scratchiness of Bucky's whiskey-roughened drawl underlyingly fringed with jacked-up trepidation, placidly, Conners eased onto the wooden edge of a table a hairbreadth near the claw-gouged couch as he fixedly glanced at the fakey remnants of gossamer scales that featherily clung onto the cleft-dimple notched over the pudgier heaviness of Bucky's tenser chin. Despite the intentness of his deceptive approach, Conners unblinkingly gazed at the baby-soft fleshiness that bulkily melded with the hard-edged curvatures of Bucky's restored arm. "You need to process this slowly, James, but the substance you were exposed to has genetic reptilian properties that were engineered by Oscorp Laborbories for medical research..." he explained, solemnly, watching floored confusion owlishly gleam in Bucky's feverish grayish-aquamarine irises as tongue snakily flitted against his poutier underlip. "A mutative divergence with the experimental serum caused harmful effects that resulted in disturbing changes..."

"W-What?" Bucky was beginning to feel breathless. It was at this point, his inquisitiveness began to take a downward turn as the amount of confusing information he was receiving only heightened his state of agitation, which in turn brought about an ill feeling of invasion deep in his body. His memories of the night at the docks returned with the acrid taste of mildew and swam water in his mouth, his flesh became inflamed with heat and he was sweating profusely, cold and clammy, his skin was slick to the touch. Try as he would to maintain his composure, he felt a surge of apprehension engulf him as his vision of Connors began to swirl.

"Y-You're saying I-I was exposed to…some kind of l-lizard mutagen?!" He couldn't keep the fear out of his voice. He wanted to dismiss this notion with a humorous scoff but the facts were too coincidental and harrowing. His gaze on Connors hardened as he attempted some form of defiance against this revelation. His right arm clutched his newly grown left where he felt a sickening sensation prickling beneath his flesh. "It was yours? That cargo-that package-that damn serum that splashed all over me?" His voice was growing deeper, and much more disturbing, his iris' turned to reptilian slits, much to the fascination of the unfazed doctor.

"I need you to calm down, James..." Conners urged out, sedately, placing his tremorous hand with gentled precision cautiously over Bucky's denim-clad knee, detecting the rampageous-bestial viciousness that implosively surged through Bucky's fevered veins as his thermic levels had increasingly amplified on blood-rushing fruition. "Listen to me, the changes in your body will get stronger if you don't learn to control them..."

Against teeth-gnashing strain, aggressively, Bucky jutted out the razored heaviness of his bristled jaw on snappish accord-the wide-blown intensity of his voltaic grayish-aquamarine depths predatorily gleamed rabid fierceness-in those rampant seconds, he would be disturbingly morphing into an untamed Komodo hybrid. Brandishing a passive countenance over his wrinkled features against warred restraint, measuringly, Conners grazed his fingers against the vein-threaded contours of Bucky's rougher -scaly-knuckles with firmer pressure. " There will be consequences for your destructive impulses unless you allow me to help you with this rampant evolution ..." he whispered under raspier breath, convincingly. "The mutative changes last night were just the beginning of a new makeover..."

"Ngh! NO!" Bucky released an aggravated snarl as he sprang up from his seat and paced the room in small circles. His inner-turmoil and anxiety continued to build to the point it was becoming difficult to breathe, let alone fight off this invading force within him. Connors' gentle voice, full of understanding and compassion was a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless that helped him to settle his mood. He looked at the scientist over his shoulder who was looking back at him imploringly. "This morning I woke up with my arm regrown…What the hell is gonna happen to me? Y-You're saying I'm gonna turn into some kind of a lizard?" He swallowed a lump of emotion lodged in his throat. He knew what the answer was, his steel blue eyes glaring at his left-arm, the creeping skin of his left shoulder turning an ominous shade of green. "Tell me! Am I turning into a monster?" He shouted.

Hearing a full-throated snarl anguishedly railing out of Bucky, unflinchingly, Conners gazed at the slimier dewiness of his fingernails uglily lengthening into blackish dagger-like claws-the monstrous-reptiloid deformation of a Komodo Dragon was irrevocably raiding through against the mutative communion of deadlier ferocity with no avail. Harnessing a modicum vestige of composure, deftly, he adjusted his glasses as Bucky stumblingly buckled onto his knees against tremorous mobility that grippingly dragged him into a mid-crouch. Under the dampish fringe of his eyelashes, the feverish bleariness of his slitten aquamarine irises dizzyingly flitted onto the bulging leatheriness of his clawed-hand as the morphic scourge became damningly irrepressible to contain. "Trust me, James, you're only a monster if you believe yourself to be..." he warned, ruefully. "I can develop a sedative that will counteract the effects before you become unstable with these changes..."

"N-NO!" Bucky's voice had become hoarse and deep, his palm smacking into the floor violently, cracking the wood. He felt perilously close to a familiar edge where all sense of self-control was close to being whisked away from him. The presence of the doctor only provoked feelings of distrust and uncertainty the more he listened to him attempt to explain his predicament. "G-Get back!" He snapped with a hiss, once he sensed the doctor hovering over him. It was at that moment the loud ringing of his phone cut through the tension like the wailing of a siren. Bucky's mind and thoughts were focused with military discipline, the sound acting as a tether to help him find a sense of equilibrium amidst the jolting waves of discomfort brought about by his slow transformation.

Bucky steeled himself, breathing in and out, calling upon the meditative techniques he'd learned in Wakanda to help him regain control of his mind and body. The ringing ensued, and Bucky look at Connors with a side-glance. "You need to leave. Now."

Without a deterrence of hesitation, riskily, Conners removed a printed card from his trench-coats pocket that was branded with the insignia of Oscorp Laboratories as he gingerly placed it onto the couch's leathered armrest. "If you have questions, James, you can reach me at this number..." Onrushes of cold-blooded -unhampered viciousness dangerously tempoed against exhaustive stain as Bucky hissingly darted out the viperous length of his forked tongue, emitting growlier heaves on defensive tenor-the cool steeliness of his aqueous irises raptorially gleamed with a carnivorous-draconic intensity that piercingly razored onto the half-cracked mobile phone vibrating underneath an upturned chair. "Reptilain impulses will become unstoppable if you don't staunch the hunger without leaving this apartment..." he prompted in a sincere cadence, raspily, gazing at the ebon raptor-like claws that lashingly scythed against the cushions, while he detected the hushed chittering of a dwarfish skink lizard hastily resonating within the air vent. "I will be in touch..."

...Damn it," Bucky whispered. He listened to the receding footsteps that led to the noise of his living room door opening and closing. Connors was thankfully gone. His phone had also stopped ringing at this point and steadily the discomfort in his body began to subside. His deep hissing breaths still unsettled him along with the physical changes his body hadn't fully reverted from. His mind tried to shutter itself from the gruelling information he had been told but there was no denying its validity as he gazed at the hardened scaled exterior of his discoloured left-limb. His fingernails were sharp as knives but hadn't extended beyond the tip of his callouses.

The good mood he felt this morning after discovering the miraculous change to his body had evaporated into an empty listlessness. It seemed no matter what life threw at him, it promised only struggle and violence. Flopping down onto his couch he picked up his phone and gazed at the missed call and message left from Hill. He played the message, watching absently through the corner of his eye as he detected a very peculiar shape slinking along the arm-rest of his couch. He thought it might've been a cat at first, but the bluish-red scaled surface of the scaled creature made it unmistakable that a lizard had crawled its way into home.

"How does all the crazy keep following me," Bucky shrugged, gazing at the creature that flit its tongue at him. Some inner intuition said it was a friendly gesture that he instinctively mimicked. "I'm not looking for a roommate, little guy," turning off the message from Hill, Bucky didn't slink away as the tiny creature crawled onto his knee and made itself comfortable. "But I guess you can crash here for a while…" He was too tired to combat the absurd notion he was letting a random lizard into his apartment, let alone that he was becoming one himself. All he could wonder was how much time he had left before he succumbed to this curse and what it would make him do.

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Hearing the continuous frequency of NYDP dispatch perceptually resonating from his short-waved radio, Peter crouched on the athletic-honed litheness of his navy-blue Spandex-clad haunches with back-catcher poise as the October frigidness gustily whiplashed over his foppishly unkempt chestnut tresses. With measured steadiness, the chirpy web-slinger tactfully reloaded his webbing cartilages into his nao-web shooter gauntlet and readily flexed his middle fingers over his palm with featherlight pressure as a viscid steamer of adhesive webbing fired stickily against the brick wall. "Okay, that works..." he murmured under his breath, peppily, the unwavering vigilance of his brownish-hazel edgily shifted over the cement ledge."It's gonna be a quiet night..."

"Getting bored already, Spider..." Registering the devious aura that electrifyingly glissaded against his Spidey-senses, riskily, Peter glanced over his Spandex-clad shoulder at the curvaceously thievish vixen crouched onto the cement ledge with her balletic poise as smokier-whitish tresses alluringly cascaded over the svelter exquisiteness of her garbed back-akin to cool platinum-an untouchable siren. An devaint quirk impishly played off the pillowy glossiness of her full-bow lips as she distractingly grazed her metallic claws over his threadbare backpack. "Unless it's passed your bedtime since playtime still has limits.." she murmured, snarkily, watching Peter unabashedly slip on his Spidey mask to conceal the smoothness of boyish-chiselled features as klaxon sirens of NYPD cruisers ominously echoed below them-another gangbanger homicide to clean up. "Do you smell that bad stink in the air...I would stick to the heights if I were you, Parker..."

"You know, sometimes I wish it were that easy, Felish!" Spider-Man bemoaned as he hung his head and surveyed the crime-scene down below. "But with Halloween coming up, let's just say there's a lot of bad candy hitting the streets that I'd like to keep out of kid's hands." Just this week he had taken down two drug-dealers selling crack they had tried sell off in candy-wrappers to delinquent teens moving about late at night. Though Peter liked to think of himself as a friendly chill guy who coped with his nervousness by engaging criminals with annoying banter, the last chump he had taken down wore a store bought Spider-Man mask while selling off his junk to a couple of youngsters. That hit Peter harder than intended and he only slightly regretted the fact he had sent the dealer to the hospital with a broken arm.

"Well, I can see you're not your chipper self..." Felicia quipped against a huskier undertone, banteringly, aware of the hitching somberness that was viscerally underlying the web-slinging teenager's whole-hearted conviction-undeniable vulnerability that he couldn't evict. Bracing curvaceous planes of her svelte back coolly against the brick-stone, the collective fieriness of her autumn-brandy irises gleamingly fixed on Peter's slumped head-he was pegged into a criminalized warzone where shoot-up junkies execrably became delivery-boys for underground syndicated dynasts that greedily reaped on desperate New Yorkers in spaces. Quirking the burgandy lushness of her full-bow lips, disarmingly, Felicia edged closer, grounding a semblance of protective -dynamical closeness with him as her daintier hand brushingly caressed his tensing shoulder with pacifying ministrations."We both know that creeps never sleep in this neighbourhood, Spider..."

"Its a good thing Spiders don't need much sleep either," he chirped. Not that sleep came to him easily, especially around this time of year. So close to the anniversary of when his life had changed when he lost his Uncle Ben. His hero journey began after his greatest mistake, and the toll of that loss was something he still carried. Felicia's comforting presence was enough to bring his spirits up as he looked at her, noticing immediately how dishevelled she appeared to be. "Guess that goes for cats too. Busy night?" He inquired, sensing she had found trouble or trouble found its way to her. She had a knack for that sort of thing.

"Now you're just being nice, Parker," Felicia teased with a snarkier undertone, jauntily, arching her whitish-tinged eyebrow at his sheepish pitch heartily muffled underneath his Spidey mask; his amenable-naïve spiritedness unabashedly conveyed his virtuous -boy-scout quirks of being a web-slinging teenager. Staddling him with a point-blank glare of her dark brandy irises, edgily, the vixenish thief with swift-handed precision removed a USB drive from the pocketed compartment of her Kevlar belt holstered over her sleekier curves. "It seems there's a new player at Oscorp, who is in the decks of the Baldy's upper-hand..." she whispered, riskily, fisting her gloved hand over the encrypted device that she offhandedly swiped at the East docks-after breathtakingly sharing a heart-stealing thrill of sensuous-ardent decadence with the hunky-robotized bad-ass: the Winter Soldier. "We need to be smart about our next move...Lucky for us, Horn-Boy has stitched up his wounds from his latest dumpster fall..."

Before Peter could respond, the tension was disrupted by the melodic ringing of his phone. He angled himself to see Ned's face appear on the screen. "Pete! Pete! You there?" The Filipino teen yelled out. He looked stricken and pale as if he had just relived the experience of meeting Betty Brant's father. The only thing that disapproved that theory was loud commotion occurring in the background in what appeared to be a street somewhere in Queens. "Ned? What's going on?

"Dude! Have you seen this?!"

"Ned...Woah... Hold on..." With earshot curiosity, speedily, Peter clicked the video icon button on his smartphone, as he listened to his paunchier best friend hastily blabbing on about Instagram footage of a Jurassic Park -level' raptor that destructively ravaged a hot-dog vendor's cart. Dragging out a stammering breath, Peter yanked off his Spidey mask and unblinkingly fixed his brownish-hazel irises onto the mobile screen, watching a monstrous scaly tail alarmingly lash a Daily Bugle newspaper kiosk with tornadic force as newspapers littered the cross-walk. "Dude...That was awesome..." he blurted, excitedly, holding the mobile up as Felicia impassively gazed at the vendor cart being catapulted in mid-air at the second dagger-like claws slashingly dented the metal on rabid fruition. "So cool...!"

"I can see you're going to have fun with some Halloween kicks tonight, Spider..." Felicia deadpanned in tartier pitch, banteringly, shifting her collective dark-brandy irises flintily onto the mobile screen as Peter unthinkingly shuffled near the ledge with fervent pace, excitedly gazing at the recorded footage that Mid-Town High's inquisitive reporter-Betty Brant rapidly shared on her Instagram account. "Be careful making a new friend, Parker..." Impishly, she glided her gloved palm over the stretchy fabric of his Spidey mask, as her titanium claws swiftly dragged material over his boyishly chiselled features. "Not everyone dresses to play with our style..."

"Not to worry, Felish! What's a raptor gonna do to me that an intergalactic alien warlord couldn't?" Peter quipped, stammeringly, easing up his nano-wrist gauntlet as he speedily adjusted a web-fluid cartilage. Leaping on the cement ledge with his skater-boy poise, his whitish-teardrop lens reflexively caught the strobing flashes of NYDP cruisers reddishly signalling him to follow the purist. "This could be big...We're takin' Jurssiac-Park level." In slapdash earshot, he lithely backflipped with acrobatic graces of a swan-dive, firing web-streamers over flag poles as he effortlessly swung over the cacophonous-bustling pandemonium of New Yoker traffic, leaving the silver-haired feline to look after him with twisted lips. She wondered how soon till he realized that lizards liked to eat spiders for breakfast. Hopefully, he wouldn't find out the hard way.

----------------------------------

Swallowing down another mouthful of cheesier scrambled eggs, rackingly against the hungered onslaught that floored his resistance, Bucky slumped against the granite countertop, as his dagger-like claws scrapingly grazed the ceramic plate gripped against the obsidian-grayish scaled tautness of his enlarging palm. A spikier leathery texture sheathed reptilianly over his tenser fingers as he quakily clutched onto a half-bent fork. "C'mon..." The swampier grunginess of his 'bed-head' chestnut tresses unkemptily askew over the knife-cut ruggedness of his suaver-hawkish features as he unblinkingly glanced down at his skittish long-tailed roommate -the skink lizard who fussily clung onto his sleeved forearm. Chirpily, the little guy bobbed his tinier head, flitting his bluish fork-tongue slimily against the plate. "Uh...M' guessin' your hungry, pal..." Bucky murmured in a grouchier pitch, throatily, easing down his fork as the dwarfish skink nose-dived into a fluffier heap of eggs. "Glad to see you're enjoyin' my breakfast..."

A tired sigh escaped him as he looked over his hands, trying hard not to let sight of the scaled flesh and sharp claws get the better of him. Inside he was scared and he knew he should be in full-blown panic mode rather than distract himself with the notion of going about a normal day with a new lizard pet as his room-mate. His thoughts were heavy as they reflected over worst case scenarios should things escalate. Leaving town seemed like a good option, but he knew the moment he did he would be in violation of the terms of his international pardon once his therapist and handlers realized he was beyond supervision.

Connors' words replayed over and over in his mind like a looped message, giving him some measure of clarity amidst his struggle with the hope that his condition wasn't an unknown case. He had yet to phone back Hill after she left him a harsh message over the fallout of the failed extraction. He hadn't called anyone really despite his deepest inclination to go to the Avengers for help. Banner was no stranger to mutations and transformations, and he was trust-worthy were Connors was just an unknown. Bucky scowled as he clenched his clawed hand against the counter-top, glaring at the card the professor had left behind.

He should've pressed him harder for answers. What the hell was his mystery serum doing in a package inbound from Madripoor on Fisk' vessel? Was it some kind of experiment he wanted kept secret and he paid off the Kingpin to have it delivered? Answers eluded him, but one face appeared in his thoughts that might give him some idea. "What am I doing? What am I supposed to be doing?" He palmed his forehead, wincing at the sickening feel of his enlarging palm against his brow. "I need answers…"

He watched as the tiny lizard continue to lick his breakfast, his gaze shifting towards his living room window which had been smashed last night. He knew what made that hole even if he didn't remember it.

Against heart-vising panic that distressingly jackknifed in tenfold, gulpingly, Bucky drove the feverish bleariness of his aquamarine irises over the claw-slashing marks that alarmingly gouged over the broken hinges of his warped cupboard doors as he stuntedly bashed into the fridge on mortified traction."Der'mo..." The choke-off gravelliness of his Russian timbre, breathlessly, he collapsed onto the corded rigidity of his denim-clad haunches, registering the bulging protrusion of a fleshier-weightier mass expandingly contorting the spinal bones of his jutted vertebrae on morphic succession. "N-No..."

That dreadful feeling was quickly returning to him; a feeling of being a prisoner in his own body. It was paralyzing as a heavy dose of paralytic agent being injected into his bloodstream, severing all feeling in his nerves while retaining all sense of awareness. He collapsed onto his knees with a hissing growl, feeling the buildup of pressure in his lower back as if his muscles were being stretched from the inside out. "C-C'mon Bucky...G-Gotta control it," he mewled, his complexion sweaty with struggle. A strangled cry escaped him as the pain took its course. The transformation fed off of his emotions, the sense of fear and vulnerability triggering the change in an effort to grant him strength. He shunned the sickening sensation but control was out of his grasp. His scalie companion watched him from the counter-top, slithering his tongue. Bucky stared into the black of his beadier eyes, the inky void only revealing a shimmering reflection and the faint shift of a human body slowly changing. A tail began to rip out from his clothing, the shape and size of it as alarming to him as a scaled whip ready to lash out and attack everything in its path.

Against bone-splitting onslaughts, burstingly the heavier deformity of raptor-like tail freakishly outstretched against the floorboards on excruciating -unriddled accord, bolstering himself onto his scalier palms, gaspingly, Bucky heaved out choke-off snarls as the rived denim of his backside tearingly'shrrpp' against the burgeoning—agonized pressure of his mutative—scaled extension. The intensified pressure that surged within the contours of his bare-feet puffily enlarged into a scaly mass of globbier fleshiness that bulbously morphed into reptilian-monstrous feet. "Hrghh..." Blindly, he thrusted his clawed-hand onto the fringe door, explosively, yanking the steel handle off with destructive force, that whipsawed over the countertop. 'Argh..."

An uncontrollable hunger seized him as he felt the constricting pressure in his stomach. Without thought or reason he stuffed his hands into the fridge and dug around the menial amenities he kept for a healthy fit diet. "No meat," he grumbled, curling his nose at the raw steak in the freezer. The skin of his face crinkled as a thin streak of scales crept up his neck. His teeth were sharpening with the lathering moisture of his forked tongue. "Food, food, c'mon!" He hissed as he pulled out a bag of frozen veggies. He tore it open uncaringly and began to scarf them down as if they were a bag of chips. Hunger's grip tightened and his throat became bone dry. "W-Water, need water." The bag of veggies fell to the floor as he rushed to the dish-sink like a man possessed. He opened the tap-water and without pause, stuck his open mouth beneath the pouring stream, gurgling with immense satisfaction as the cool liquid filled his gullet.

His phone began ringing.

Nudging his tinier snout against the vibrating iPhone, defensively, the little skink arched up his sleekier tail, emitting low-toned chirps as Bucky grimacingly wiped the droplets of water off his puckered shapely-wide lips, thinly, roving the voltaic intensity of his obsidian-sapphire depths onto the device. Snarlingly, he reached for the phone, glancing at the caller id on the web-cracked screen: Christina Raynor.

Irritation crawled up his spine at the timing of this call, he didn't think twice as he answered with a hiss. "Yeeesssss? Thiissss issn't a good time, Doc!" He fidgeted about, the biting tone of Doctor Raynor on the other end barely registered. He had begun yanking back his plate as the little slink wrapped his tinier mouth around the edge and began to wrestle it back from him. Bucky narrowed his eyes and sure enough, the little lizard mimicked his expression in turn. "Ssslink, fellow aren't ya?" He stuck his fork-tongue out and let the skink have his breakfast.

Gripping onto the iPhone with his clawed-fingers, tensely, Bucky dragged his viperous incisors pinchingly over his jutting underlip as he braced to hear a pessimistic-stone-faced VA shrink who constantly roped him down into another 'waiting-for-the paint-to-dry' session. The governmental amnesty he graciously received from the World Council had shackled him onto Raynor's couch, while she jotted down his smart mouthin' answers in her leathered note-book. It wasn't an easy slide for him to adapt on the grounds of normalcy by crossing off the names on his blood-soaked ledger, despite that he was cripplingly barraged with traumatized apparitions of parasomnia-dysphoric chimeras that were mind-plaguing induced by PSTD callbacks of the wraithy-murderous Soviet assassin-the Winter Soldier who unforgivably terminated rogue marks-collaterals of HYDRA. "James, as the agreed conditions of your Sokovian Accords pardon, you need to answer my calls..." Doctor Raynor addressed, sternly. "I will make this phone session brief, do you have any nightmares last night?"

"No; dreamed of puppies and kittenssss lassst night. Beesssst night sssleep I've had. Good talk, doc, gotta run!" With grumbling snarkiness, he ended the call before she could ask another question or debunk his exaggerated claim. He'd probably catch a lot of flack for that but right now he didn't care. His nerves were shot to hell and he felt like at any minute he'd explode under the pressure of his insane predicament. He weighed his options and knew there were no good choices. "I need to get out," he said, feeling that a much-needed trip to a bar would do him some good tonight.

Gripping a measure of his warred sanity, Bucky eased down the plate on the counter for his scaly roommate to devouringly indulge the last remnants of his breakfast. Quirking his shapely-bow lips into a tauter smirk, he drawled with murmurous hissing, registering the plumpish heaviness of his dino-like reptilian tail weightily dragging on the floor as the skink curled his tinier form adorably onto the messier plate. "Okay have a nap...M' gonna ssshower and get rid of thisss..."

Within the backlit ambiance of the Blood Rose nightclub, ear-racking vibrations of synth-techno backbeats pulsatingly amplified in electronica pandemonium deafening over the granite bartop, as purplish neon electrifyingly contrasted with laser-red strobes against the raven-black cushioned lounge booths as intoxicated-flashy dressed partygoers drunkenly crammed the dance floor with careless abandon. High-pitched cheering noisily erupted in unison at the breadth of the DJ station, as throngs of vampish-posh-faced dames sexily garbed in satin witch's hats excitedly bounced on their high-pumps, spilling their alcoholic payoffs of overpriced Vodka on the floor.

Twitchily scrunching up his Romanianque nose, derisively, against the malty stench of whiskey, stiff-footed Bucky gripped onto a chilled bottle of Coors as he nonchalantly braced the muscled planes of his garbed back against a chrome stool, fittingly the stiffened coolness of his leathered bomber-jacket dashingly emphasized the heavier-graven bulkiness of his menace-honed solidity as the reddish glow forbiddenly haloed over his roguishly gelled chestnut tresses as the knife-edged contours of his broader jaw cuttingly melded with his suaver-hawkish features. The bristled scruffiness of his picky stubble was feverish over the boyish pudginess of his dimpled chin was now the razor-cut smoothness of a hunkier -rebellious Brooklyn prince. "Grgh...Shouldn't have worn this jacket..."

Everything he owned suddenly felt too tight on him. He hadn't taken enough trips to the gym the past few weeks to feel that he could justifiably shred his clothes with a single flex of his muscles. Whatever that stuff was he was exposed to apparently didn't just give him a new scalie left limb, but also increased muscle tone. He gazed at his gloved left limb, still not used to the absence of his vibranium limb that was stuffed under his couch at home like a spare set of sneakers. Frowning at the grim trail of thought he took another swing of his drink, disgruntled to already taste only a few drops left at the bottom.

"Hey, gonna need another bottle here," he called to the bartender. He had downed three bottles already and barely felt a buzz. He grumbled at the thought of being cut-off and opted to find another bar or something stronger to drink if it came to that. His mood showed no signs of improving as a very loud group of college kids crashed at the bar a few stools down. They were all dressed in ridiculous costumes while taking selfies. "Definitely gonna need to find another bar," his patience was thinning, especially with the Halloween antics on display. As a kid it was fun to go out and get free candy from neighbors. Now all the holiday did was make light of all the real horrors he knew were out there.

Himself included.

The bartender arrived with his drink and gave him a curious look. Bucky hoped he wasn't recognizable. "Is the place always this busy?" He asked, hoping to distract him with a curious question. He'd visited the Blood Rose only once several months ago when he had sought an outlet to settle his nerves after a lousy therapy session. The clientele were mostly a bunch of well-mannered elite businessmen and women who quietly enjoyed each other's company. He'd never frequented this place during the holidays and was surprised to see how much livelier and…what was the word the kids used these days…"edgy?"

"Halloween always brings an entertaining crowd to fill the boss's place..." The heftier barkeep answered with sourish gruffiness, offishly, wiping a cloth over the rim of a whiskey glass as he confusedly glared at Bucky's leather motorcycle gloved hand clutching onto 

onto the half-emptied Coors bottle. "At least there are no damn freaks in here like that horned vigilante who thinks he delivers justified fear in the Kitchen..." Feigning a shattered knee-cap, grimacingly, he shifted against the bar, gazing into the raptor-like intensity of Bucky's razored-slit pupils that hypnotically melded with silvery-aquamarine: obviously prankish contact-lens. "Woah, pal, now those are some cool reptile eyes...How much did those cost ya?" he remarked, throatily, yanking his black Harley-Davidson shirt's collar, arrogantly revealing an ivory-serrated crocodile tooth necklace. "I'm a fan of big lizards...It's always fun to yank out a tooth with every hunt."

Something inside of Bucky had snapped the moment his eyes caught sight of the crocodile teeth worn around the fat shlub who probably had stuffed trophies in his home. He never cared for animal hunters who hunted solely for sport, but never had he been overcome with a visceral sense of animosity towards a single person as he glared daggers at the bartender. "You think wearing that makes you some kind of tough guy?" He took a lazy sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact with the man whose smile slowly began to fade under Bucky's penetrating stare.

His left hand clenched around the bottle. His excessive strength caused spider-webs of cracks to appear before he lightened his grip, fighting the urge to unleash the pressure on his fingertips and swipe at the shlub's throat. Instead he bore a smile at him, the alarm in the man's eyes was somehow satisfying once he noticed his fanged teeth. "I'd be careful who you show that to. Sometimes karma finds its way back to you…" Taking one last drink from his bottle, Bucky knew it was time find another bar before he drew more attention to himself.

He felt mild disappointment to feel the small buzz he'd worked up begin to wear off as he tread across the floor. The upbeat music and numerous patrons flocking the dance floor was like a barricade of frustration that wouldn't open to allow him through. He thought of pushing his way through but knew the risk of harming anyone would mean a young punk would whip out his stupid camera phone to record the incident. Reptilian eyes scanned through and he felt a slither of familiarity hit him with the wafting scent of sweet cherry. It was addictive and it caused a surge of remembrance to hit him as he was pulled back to that night on the docks.

His heart-beat raced, heat flushed through his body as he snapped to search for the source. She was here. She had to be! His intention sped away from the thought of leaving in search of another bar to follow that scent. It led him towards the back among the tables and booths where patrons were sharing drinks and enjoying each other's company. A few faces looked at him curiously, some were apprehensive due to the imposing stature he presented. He ignored them once his eyes locked onto a tantalizing sight. A tousled mane of silvery white locks were like a shimmering waterfall cascading down a curvy athletic frame.

She wore a Versace black mini-dress that hugged her body like a silky glove, her pale alabaster skin glittered like diamonds causing him to unconsciously lick his lips. He couldn't see her face, but as his sharp hearing discerned that velvety tone of voice, the beating of his heart became thunderous. Clearing his throat, he called to her in a deep cool voice. "You said you liked to get your kicks in dangerous places…Looks like we have that in common, darlin'."

The whispery smokiness of his murmurous -contralto drawl stealingly electrified her veins in that heart-arresting second, Felicia became aware of the headier-virile fragrance heatedly infused with cinnamony raciness of sandalwood wafting off his leathered jacket like a decadent-savorous anesthetic. With sniper-honed graces, swaggeringly, Bucky propelled his advances closer with cool-faced suaveness of masculine calibre, backlit haziness of reddish LED ambiance entrancingly burnished the knife-edged angularity that cuttingly accentuated his smooth-hard-boned features as he naughtily kicked up his shapely-bow lips into a flirtier smirk.

Keeping herself guardedly poised against the cushioned booth, lithely, Felica traced a daintier finger against the crystalized rim of a martini glass as she vexatiously feigned disgust over the cool pearlescence of the elfish delicately of her sirenic features, unnervingly reacted to her discourteous Armani-suited companion's possessive-grubby-ministrations rousingly over the Italiansuqe silk-lycra exquisiteness of black Versace, tactlessly easing down to caress the immaculate sleekness of her curvier thigh on the blatant accord. "Coming over to play a little more, Soldier Boy..." she coaxed, friskily, clutching the slime-face's groping hand with bone-splintering pressure, that satisfyingly forced the brokerage investor to pathetically resonate a throatier yelp. He was a pegged mark-a two-faced backstabber for the confidential syndicates who riskily gambled with tenant contracts in the slum-hole distinct of Hell's Kitchen. She was instructed to give him a clear 'pay-off' warning. "Careful, it might get interesting over here..."

"Hey, buddy, can't you see we're a little busy here? Why don't you get lost?" A sleazy arrogant voice barked out. Bucky had been so fixated on the mystery beauty's presence, intoxicated by the allure of her familiar scent, that he had somehow missed the fact that she wasn't alone. The sight of a lanky overdressed businessman made him to frown with displeasure. A boyfriend? Husband? He was sitting too close to her, making a very apparent attempt to move towards first base. But she didn't appear very receptive of his advances, if anything she looked disgusted by it. Hot anger coursed through him as he pinned the creep with his viperish gaze causing him to visiblely shift uncomfortably.

"And who are you?" Bucky said with a deep voice.

"Someone who gets damn good action every week, pal..." The snobbish crassness of the ganglier-peevish investor's abrasive timbre defensively struck a cord of innate aggression. With tempered restraint, Bucky unwaveringly lasered the predacious intensity of his grayish-aquamarine depths that cold-bloodedly gleamed at the repugnant sleaze-ball in that fissionable second as he watched the Rolex adorned hand licentiously threading over Felicia's dishevelled whitish-platinum whorls on possessive-violating tenor, vulgarly quirking his chiselled lips into a shark-like grin. Leaning back against the boot, smugly he was aware of the duelling levels of virile -jacked-up testosterone clashingly ratcheting between them, while Felicia kneaded her lithe palm thievishly over his iron-presses trousers with underhanded precision, swiping his Gucci wallet. "She's all mine, pretty boy..."

It took immeasurable strength for Bucky not to pick up the s*** by his throat and throw him across the room. He was no stranger to clashing with other guys over the hand of a pretty dame but something inside of him conjured feelings of having something-someone-important stolen right out from him. It made him angry, but some measure of his self-control won out as he smirked at the man dangerously. "Don't bet on it, punk. I think you've worn out your welcome. Besides, I think the lady would prefer a dance with a real man. Someone who's…more her speed." Extending his hand to the silver-haired beauty, he asked with a coy look, "what do you say, darlin?"

The whispery velvetiness of his Brooklyn drawl murmurously enticed Felicia as she deviously fixed her doe-like brandy irises onto the vein-threaded knuckles delineated underneath his motorcycle-gloved hand that intimidatingly flexed with his revving ferocity. His stoked-up protectiveness was teeming within his veins, Quirkng the pillowy fullness of her glossier crimson lips, fervently, she grazed her daintier palm against the stiffened coolness of his leathered sleeve-aware of tauter flesh that shiveringly pulsed against her splaying fingers. "Well, let's see if you can keep up..." she purred a breathier undertone, challengingly. "Cause this girl likes to dance fast...'

A jolt of excitement increasingly moved through Bucky that quelled the envious slither from within. Smirking broadly, he gave no further consideration to the gawking s*** who watched as he effortlessly led the silver-haired vixen out of the booth and towards the dance floor. Feelings he hadn't truly relived had begun to return to him; the freedom, the excitement, the weightless feeling of becoming synchronized with the melodies washing over him. The music that was playing was so far from his old-fashioned sense of taste, it may as well have been an alien ambience. The numerous couples on the dance floor didn't react to their presence as they swayed to the smooth rhythm. Some were in costume, others were lavishly dressed in designer clothes.

Bucky stood out like a shining knife in his polished leather bomber jacket, and the silver-haired vixen's dress glimmered like silk. Their gazes met as a smooth slow tempo began to play. Bucky hadn't let go of her hand as they held each others gazes.

She was fixated on his eyes, their creepy reptilian slits surprising her but not enough to dissuade her as he reached to take hold of her other hand, guiding her in close. The heat of her proximity made him feel warm and invigorated as they began to gently sway. Bucky arched an eyebrow as he noticed the barely concealed leather purse she tucked. "Fancy meeting you here," Bucky began, gliding the roughness of his hand slowly along her smooth back. "You left me hanging the other night without giving me a name or number. A guy could get a little crushed," he said though there was no hint of reproach. No, if anything his tone was coy and curious of what she'd say.

"Now, that won't be fun, since I like to keep the game mystery in my favour..." The purring huskiness of her melodic undertone fervidly ghosted over his broader neck, as the evocative onrush of amorous heat intoxicatingly surged through her on disarming tenor. Answering the headier cadence of a sensuous firestorm, she blindly aligned the voluptuous curvaceousness of her svelte form with the gladiator-like solidity of his leathered chest; the graven-corded bulkiness of his garbed chest heavily shifted with a possessive flexion as his roughened palm tremorously splayed over the supple planes of her curvier back with the reverent-suffusive ministrations of kiss-soft delicately that arrestingly grounded her. The dampish heat of his poutier shapely-wide lips achingly glided over her temple with featherlight pressure. They were damn-close to breaching an intimate threshold of undeniable passion as she registered the hungered fusion that sensuously mirrored their bodies with untamed abandon. "You always get this close for a dance..."

"Maybe I just feel like picking from the one we left off," he said. There was an intensity to his gaze that wasn't there when they had first met. His cool discipline that was used to see him through a dangerous incursion mission gone in place of a heavy focus. It was hunger-desire. That gaze shifted from her lips to her eyes and back again. Before she could say anything he pulled her in close and claimed her lips with a starving groan. Heat engulfed him from head to toe, the scent of her fragrance drove him wild and the taste of her lips was that sweet cherry. His lips had parted wide, his ministration was in a sense, sloppy as if he were an animal seeking to devour. His enthusiasm more than made up for it as the shifting of his lips folded over her wet painted blades and found a moist interlock. The kiss was sudden and last long enough for him to feel her breath shift past his lips. He took in the cool waft on mint and cherry, drinking in her exhalation that that caused the beast within to slither with contentment.

Against the rivalrous surge of his passion-driven hunger that breathlessly tempoed into a hottish mania, groaningly, Felicia angled her delicate jaw on head-whirling succession, blindly, gripping her lithe fingers over his roguish chestnut tresses as the velvety pressure of his shapely-bow lips feverously branded her with surging wet-heat. Demandingly, Bucky thrust his heavier jaw with ardent ferocity-reaching deeper as his open-mouthed kiss gapingly captured the luscious-ambrosian sweetness of her kiss-swollen lips. Clutching onto his leathered collar, hotly, Felicia clung to the unbroken kiss as the gliding pressure of his Romaniansque nose blindly scrunched over the flushed suppleness of her cheek- ecstasy gloried.

Against her flitting lashes, blearily, Felicia gazed into the mesmeric rawness of his aquamarine smolderingly gleamed with dangerous-predatory intensity as the sweatier roughness of his fingers tantalizingly glided over her exquisite neck. The reddish strobes electrifyingly chased their outpaced-duelling heartbeats as their savorous kiss intensified into a headier maelstrom of rapturous havoc. The ear-pounding vibrations of the sync raves hypnotically commanded their bodies deeper into a sensuous-breathtaking rhythm. Growlingly, Bucky thrust his jaw on heavier strain as his pointier incisors bruisingly tugged on her plushier underlip with the ferocity of his virile possessiveness aphrodiscally rode through her-deeper into bone-liquifying throes of undeniable passion.

"T-Told ya," he said between their mutual exchange for breath before they resumed their passionate exchange. "I-I'd chase ya…" Her lips had stretched to overlap his own in what felt like a battle for dominance. It was a dance truly, not just for their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music surrounding them, but also their brazen spirits. Bucky's mind had drifted further from coherent thought as a spell of primal lust engulfed him. It was a total caveman feeling he couldn't shake. Except it wasn't a cave-man within him eager to claim the woman as a mate, but a slinky serpent moving to the forefront of his conscience. Her lips were too sweet and addictive; he couldn't muster the self-control to part from them even as he could feel the vibration of her words on the edge of his lips.

His mind painted a vivid picture of her human form changing before his eyes. A sight that should've alarmed him with fright. But the sight of lizard-like scales spreading across her pale flesh was awe-inspiring to him as a moon rising in the skies. Her vixenish beauty became that of a komodo lizard, her reptilian form causing something within him to spark with feral contentment. Her lithe form was curvy but he longed to have it swell with the swelled roundity of a pregnant bump. "Neeed you," he hissed at between her lips, his forked tongue possessively tangling with her own. The mortified sensation caught her notice causing her eyes to widen with floored alarm.

"W-What..." A choke-off gasp of breathless panic threadily ratcheted up her throat with amplified revulsion as she disturbingly registered the protrusive sliminess of a reptilian deformity-a fork-tongue against the delectable swellness of her underlip, reeling back on vertiginous traction, Felicia braced her palm reactively against the bulkier rigidity of his chest. "S-Stay back..." Roving the point-blank intensity of her owlish brandy irises, she inadvertently gazed at patchier skeins veining over the hard-edge contours of his temple-a mutative infection. "W-What's happening to you..." she questioned, pressingly, watching his gloved finger morphically lengthen into freakish-raptor-like claws as the leather tearingly shredded against his enlarging-scaly hand. "Okay, this Halloween trick is over...Now."

He had recoiled from her sudden defensiveness with a sharp hiss on his breath. The reptilian slits of his iris dilated into a human oval-shape. The lizard inside of him was filled with unspent energy that needed to be expended in their rigorous exchange that dominated his senses. Bucky latched onto what self-control he could muster, causing him to freeze-up and stare down at the silver-haired woman with a heaving posture. She looked at him closely, her brown eyes wary with apprehension as she no doubt witnessed the ugliness that had seeped inside of him ever since that night at the docks. Bucky looked at his hands, seeing the gargantuan shape they were slowly taking and the claws that were growing.

"I-I didn't…" He didn't realize what had happened. But he knew enough to realize that a commotion was growing as a few dancers on the floor noticed the tension between them and stopped to stare at them. Bucky looked at the woman, her name still eluding him, but she had somehow become a beacon for this beast within him to grow a primal desire towards. 'Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate!' The word kept repeating in his thoughts, each time it did the voice got deeper and more agitated. Bucky trembled and backed away from her, remorse clear on his face. "I-I'm sorry. I'm just-" He had to go. It went without saying. He ducked his head and quickly pushed his way through the people as she watched him, rooted to her spot and wondering just what the hell had happened.

---------------------------

Out of the Blood Rose nightclub, a dark silhouette crept through the alleyways at a slow pace that slowly but surely grew more frantic. The vibrating beat of music still reverberated from outside, but it was deafened by the pounding of his pulse in his ears. Bucky kept moving, sticking to the shadows, desperation in his bones as he searched for a concealed spot in a city of over eight million people. Even in the alleyways there were idling juveniles and homeless strays nestled between the dumpsters, covered in shadows. Bucky could feel the beast beneath his skin eager to escape. His muscles felt like they were ballooning with air as they grew larger beneath his clothes. A strangled groan moved past him as he fell back against the wall of a graffitied building. His features were slick with sweat beneath an orange stationary light.

He stared at the ambient intensity, lost in its shade, escaping into an ether of calm he had somehow been granted as white noise rang in his ears. "G-Gotta keep moving…G-Gotta…" He couldn't keep it at bay. He had to get far away from people before he hurt someone. His frantic mind spotted a man-hole cover in the middle of the alley. It might as well have been a "welcome home" mat to the animal that was inside of him, a promise of safety and security. He recoiled, wondering if he could make it to his apartment in time but knew there were several crowded blocks full of agitating civilians he had to get through. The change began to pick up, his face aching as if he had been hit with a baseball bat.

In actuality, his jaw and nose structure began shifting into a very lizard-like snout causing him to growl uncontrollably while scales spread across his skin.

"Argh..."A snarlier hiss gurglingly railed out of his bulgier throat, against the bone-vising onslaught that deadened his mobility, Bucky collapsed onto his denim-clad knees dizzyingly against feverish haziness that swelteringly robbed his bleared vision. Bracing on his leather-sheathed palms, raggedly, Bucky gasped out choke-off heaves against the bone-crippling strain of his jutting vertebrate that spasmodically crescendoed with mutative fruition over the athletic curvature of his backside. "Grugh..." Moaningly, Bucky tucked his deforming head shudderingly against his muscled forearm, as the leathery puffiness of scaled flesh swollenly melded over the knife-edged contours of his jaw morphically outstretched into an elongating raptor-like snout. The bracketed washboard ridges of his tauter v-cut obliques blobbily sloughed into girthier roundness against his sweat-drenched shirt. Gaspingly, he dragged his scaly ebon-clawed fingers over the cement, pinching his eyelids shut against the dam-bursting pressure of the globbing heftiness of his uglier -crocodilian tail as the enlarging length viciously whiplashed over an eroded dumpster. "N-No..."

A raptorous roar filled the night skies as the vestiges of his humanity began to fade into a reptilian mind-set. The noisy commotion caught the attention of numerous people at the edge of the alley; some of whom were incredulous with excitement while others were wary with fear. A few were quick to brandish their cellphones, mindlessly searching for anything worth recording and posting to social media. The silhouette of a dark towering monstrosity was briefly seen before a man-hole cover was removed and it was quick to vanish. The sewers tunnels beneath the city were derelict and dimly lit. The lizard charged down the maze, following the scent of fresh breeze and the audible calm of the city above.

Inside of himself, Bucky wrestled for self-control, fighting against the ravenous surge of hunger and adrenaline coursing through him. Sewer rats ran away in fear of him, their screeching an annoying symphony that caused him to roar with agitation. He fell near a maintenance stairwell, chittering with discomfort as his conscious thoughts plagued him. "C-Can't do this… I CAN"T DO THIS!" He felt angry, he felt lost. He felt every bitter emotion that had came with the feeling of being a monster that existed solely to cause death and destruction. His lizard palm smashed against the wall, his claws scratching the concrete leaving a print of frustration. He needed help. And there was only one person he could think of that knew how to help him.

--------------

Harnessing deft precision invested with the fractional steadiness of his gloved hand, Doctor Conners unwaveringly aligned the glass slide underneath the optical microscope lens as the monotonous chittering resonance of his captive-reptilian specimens maddeningly intensified within the glass vivariums on the reinforced shelves adorned with sensor heat-lamps that eerily burnished a yellowish glow of the halogen bulb over his spikier grayish-scaled Bearded Dragon who listlessly basked on a ruler-sized log while virescent-turquoise geckos speedily clung onto the glass-cube, jutting out their puckered snouts hungrily against a gossamer spider web.

Quirking his chiselled lips into a malicious smirk, Conner's attentively glanced into the lens, as he murmured under his dragging breath. "The metabolic enzymes have considerably increased with synthesized molecular components that I have extracted from the Agamidae species...It remains unstable with the homeostasis levels of a mammal host." Leaning back against the leather-cushioned bracer of his chair, tiredly, he adjusted his black-wired glasses, thrumming his fingers passively against the stacked notebooks as he registered a visceral disturbance among his reptilian menagerie-a connective frequency that intrinsically strummed through his veins.

Underneath the length of his white lab- coat, a phantom throbbingly manifested over the capped stump of his amputated rotor-cuff as his smartphone disturbingly vibrated in his pocket. With a resolved measure of warred caution, the feverish glassiness of his bluish-slate irises exhaustedly stared at the unknown digits on the screen. "I was expecting your call, James ..." he murmured in raspier cadence, perceptually, hearing a guttural throttling of a raptor-like bark 'arp...arp...' snarlingly resonating out of his phone's speaker."Listen to me, Barnes, you need to hear your voice again before your reptilian side takes full hold...Just tell me your location."

"C-Connerssss!" A deep craggy voice was alarming as it came through the speaker, the hiss at the end of Bucky's tone sending a shiver up his own spine. Hunched over a maintenance stairway, the half-lizard and half-man breathed heavily, combating his emotions in an attempt to quell the rampant change from within. That he had managed to retrieve his phone from his torn clothes without crushing the device was a feat in itself, as was dialing the number the scientist had given him this morning. Speaking into the phone via speaker, he could hear the cool altruistic voice of the doctor that for some reason pacified his aggressive temperament.

"I d-don't know where I am," he grunted, realizing he had traversed at least a few blocks of city tunnels from where he'd been. The vibrations he felt in the ground told him he wasn't far from a transit tunnel that could lead him up to the surface. He had to get top-side fast while he still had the advantage of night-fall. Slumping against a guard-rail, he dragged his feet up, fighting a spell of dizziness as his scratchy forked tongue craved something he wasn't eager to sate. Gazing at the wall, he glowered at what appeared to be an itsy bitsy spider on a webbing.

"T-Tell me where to go, Connersss. I-Itsss gettin' harder to control…"

Fostering onto a modicum of his visceral empathy that grippingly racked through him, Conners became attuned with the unwarranted vulnerability-distress of being enmeshed within the underground labyrinth of the malodorous sewer tunnels-a dampish refuge that he utilized to stealthily evade maddening thongs of hard-pressed New Yorkers. With his genetic calibre of herpetology, Conners desired to breach the precipice of mutative transcendence-purging the infectious frailty of humanity with regenerative evolution that would revolutionize medical procedures against flawed cybernetic appendages. The mutagenic dosage that he engineered with genome coding of a Triassic reptile was aggressively infused with a rabid deviance of predatory bloodthirst of a Varanus komodoensis (Komodo Dragon)-precarious hunter that instability craved to devour mammals-he needed to stabilize Bucky with a paralytic sedative before the Dragon was unleashed.

Adjusting his black-wired eyeglasses against the bridge of his prominent nose, composedly he roved a sidelong glance over a rectangular dog-sized vivarium-a glass enclosure to securely harbour the newest captive to his reptile assemblage-a Komodo Dragon. "By my calculation, you're close to a terminal network of the Worth Street line that leads to a maintenance stairwell underneath Oscorp Labs parking garage..." Quickly he texted out the GPS location on his mobile for Bucky to follow. "I will find you there, James..."

"C-Connorsssss!" The call ended before Bucky could respond. In reaction to the uncontrollable hunger in his belly, his base instinct seized control of his functions. His forked elongated tongue shot out of his mouth and blindly caught the juicy spider in its web and brought it into his mouth, swallowing it in one go. His iris' narrowed to reptilian slits, the rumbling of hunger in his belly began to quell. The horror he felt from within hadn't fully expressed itself as he released a disgusted growl. "Argh! That-urgh! N-Not doin' that again." Left with no other choice he deftly retrieved his phone and began to follow the coordinates sent to him. Whatever this thing was inside of him, he needed to get rid of it. Now. Sloshing through a mile of sewers and rat-infested tunnels led him closer to his destination.

There was an increase of activity as he saw a few orange-vested workers moving about with their equipment. Bucky kept to the shadows, fighting the sudden inclination to strike them down like an alpha predator sighting its prey. The closer he got to Oscrop, he anticipated a security presence would spot him coming. He hoped the doctor had this all thought out.

Clutching onto a tube-like injector that was readied with a hypodermic syringe, alertly, Conners braced against a cement pillar with trepidatious anticipation edgily rapting over his gaunt-weathered features as he listened to encroaching foot-thumps noisily caroming from the direction of the maintenance stairwell. "Hurry Barnes..." he murmured out, pressingly, scrunching his nose against the odorous rancidity of scummy-execrable dampiness that mustily wafted off his stealthier reptilian trespasser. Hacking into the surveillance feeds, Conners spoofed the proximal cameras in the parking garage with recorded footage, giving Bucky a clear point of entry. "It's alright, James, no one else is here..."

The hulking saurian of a man he saw emerge from the stairwell was bedraggled and unkept; a horrid incomplete transformation from man to lizard. It was an evolutionary deadend that was in theory an appalling spectacle but also a fascinating case of sheer willpower. The moment Bucky stomped into view he felt vulnerable in the pristine cemented corridors just beneath the Oscrop research facility recently built in Manhattan. His sharp gaze pivoted from Connors to every inch of the area surrounding them in search of a hidden trap or threat. His gaze failed to notice the concealed object that Connors held inside of his sleeve.

Breathing in deep hissing breaths, sounding very much like a patient in need of an oxygen mask, Bucky looked into Connors' eyes intensely. "Not sure I believe you…"

The gravelly chuffiness of Bucky's murmurous drawl snarlingly resonated against his ears, pensively, Conners gazed at the hulkish-crocodilian massiveness of his grayish-ebon scaled tail heavily arching over a parked vehicle's hood as Bucky exhaustedly dragged the 4-inch hooked claws of his deformed feet menacingly over the cement with predatory-honed advances. Sniffing the blackout environment, sniffily Bucky jutted out the stubbier length of his reptilian snout on aggressive tenor while the fluorescent lights above eerily burnished over the leathery roughness of his tenser scaled flesh.

Bolstering his clawed-fingers over the dented fibreglass driver's side window, restrainedly, Bucky lasered the iciness of his silvery-aqueous orbs at the attentive geneticist as remnants of his chestnut tresses disturbingly clung over the spinous contours of his monstrous raptor-like head as his shapely-puckered lips stretched against the protruding length of his slimmer fork-tongue-his mutative evolution was gloriously accelerating. "The ectothermic changes in your body have become rapid..." Conners breathed, steadily, watching the heftier-longish tail defensively scorpion-curl with an unhinged reaction. "Your metabolism levels have critically decreased which has affected your immunity to combat against the mutagen..."

"No. S-Stop it," a mournful hiss escaped his mouth. Every word that came out of Connors' mouth served to only increase Bucky's anxiety. It felt too clinical and too hopeless for his liking. There was a reason he despised visits to the hospital as they only tended to produce grim results. And it seemed now was no exception. All the symptoms he had been suppressing, all the changes he'd been combating, seemed to only compound his condition causing him to deteriorate from within. He could feel it; a sense of weakness and lack of something vital to himself that should've been nourishing. His mood seemed apparent as Connors watched him pace about the area like a trapped animal. Bucky stood next to a parked Chevelorat that had a new manufacturing scent still clinging to its polished surface.

The massive shape he saw in the glass reflection may as well have been a horror-show projection switched on to torment him with the truth of his harrowing new reality. He peered at the saurian-shaped deformity, seeing traces of his human features beneath the outbreak of greenish-gray scales that had taken over his hardened skin. He moved his hands, watching as the reflection mimicked his movements, the sight serving only to drive him further towards a ledge of despair as he recoiled in horror. Unable to control the emotional toll, he fell to his knees and released a rapturous cry and transitioned into a pale screech.

He felt hopeless. He wanted to unravel but couldn't muster the inner-strength and anger to do anything other than look at Connors with moistened eyes. "Doc, you gotta help me…Please I gotta be human...I can't live like this…"

Floored with a vertiginous strain that arrestingly roped him onto his bulkier scaled haunches, scrapingly, Bucky grazed his dagger-edged claws over the pavement, a snarlier hiss resonatedly chuffed out the leathery sagginess of his bulbous throat as gushing onrushes of acidic-venomous bile pukishly sloshed within the girthier-abdominous rotundity of his blimpish mid-drift that inflatingly outstretched against the black material of his ripped shirt. Grimacingly, he braced his scaly forearms into a planking stance of a lizard-crawl with no avail.

Thrusting up his reptilian snout as his fork-tongue snappishly whipped against his pointier fangs—he couldn't ward off the rabid-deadlier impulses. Brandishing a passive demeanour of clinical resolve, measuringly Conners eased down at his tremorous side, gliding his palm over the callous spikiness of his tensing back. "I can help you, James..." he assured with a permissive undertone, trustingly. "In my office, I have generated a counter formula that can stabilize the irregularities of your aerobic metabolism...The dosage with help reverse the mutative effects before mutegen takes full control..."

It felt like a life-line had been thrown to him and he was perilously close to drowning. Bucky still felt something was off about Connors and the circumstances of which he had turned into this monster. But he couldn't ignore that line and therefore latched onto it with desperation. Reaching out his clawed hand he clutched Connors' arm as he was helped to his feet.

"S-Ssshow me!" He looked into the scientist's eyes and saw an honest conviction there that made him want to trust him. But he kept his guard up, even as he followed Connors into an elevator that would take them to his office. He ignored his hideous reflection, the blurry image reflecting off the steel walls of the elevator. Connors gazed at him closely, assessing the extent of the change beneath the bright lights inside of the shaft. Bucky focused his mind on something that would give him calm and clarity. He licked his lips, tasting the lingering flavour of cherry that brought on the sweet memory of an elusive feline with silvery white tresses.

A sparkling white smile and red painted lips that caused his heart-beat to quicken. He released a chittering noise of contentment, something that piqued the scientist's curiosity as the elevator doors opened.

The sterile ambiance of the research sector was eerily vacant and immaculate-biohazard decals vividly adorned the barrier airlock doors as Bucky lumberingly strutted his raptor-honed paces in the direction of the biotech stations, his longish -crocodilian tail dragged thumpingly over the polished floor. A spurious guise of a dormant predator maliciously edged over Conners's ashen- haggard features as quickly swiped an encrypted Oscorp keycard over a wall console that automatically flickered with a green-light clearance. "You will be safe in here, James..." Conners whispered, staidly, and grazed his palm over the door knob with conscious ease, reeling back for the crestfallen Sniper-lizard to warily enter. "The company that I keep always enjoys a new visitor..."

Stepping into Connors' office, Bucky wasn't sure what to expect other than research equipment setup across each wall. The sterile environment set-off ill feelings from within that stemmed from over decades of being reconditioned into a lethal assassin. The chittering of dozens of reptilian creatures were like a symphony of voices that startled him the moment he stepped in. His eyes had widened, his vision taking in all manner of caged lizards from iguanas to frogs, snakes, crocodiles and bearded dragons. Their various shades of green, blue and yellow were a colorfully rich contrast to the sterile white and grays of the lab equipment and the interior design of the office/laboratory. Bucky said nothing, his stricken gaze roving over the lizards with a growing state of displeasure as if he were seeing caged children.

"Sssso many of em…" He shuddered, trying to ignore this inexplicable feeling of connection between himself and the numerous cold-blood tetrapods that before now he would have shirked away from with unease. He remembered Connors mentioning he was studying them, using their DNA as a basis for human cellular regeneration. It explained why his left arm had regrown…with a scalie side-effect. Bucky paced, his vast size calling the lizards to press against the glass of their containment, some chirping, croaking and others slithering at him as if attempting to communicate. Bucky grunted with sharp teeth, trying to shut out the noise. "I-I can almosssst hear em…"

"Remarkable aren't they..." Conners interposed with a raspier undertone, elatedly, splaying his palm with deft pressure over a glass cube that housed a grumpier Bearded Dragon who listlessly flitted out his fork-tongue against a plastic bowl. "I've been fascinated with their unique vocalizations, every species of reptile communicates with tactile vibrations when detecting predators and being affectionate with their mates..." Knowingly, he glanced over his white-clad shoulder the scaly length of Bucky's clawed-fingers scrapingly dragged against the granite desk on instinctive accord, menacingly evident to his arcing tail-a kinetic pulse of reciprocal acceptance stirringly teemed in visceral unison of his aroused specimens. "Your auditory sensory is evolving to a frequency of their vibrational signals...They don't feel threatened by you, James..."

Somehow, Bucky knew Connors was right about that. As much as it unsettled him to admit it to himself, he could almost feel the energy of every one of the creatures in the room. Some were wary, others curious and one…one actually seemed to carry an intense fixation towards him. His squinted gaze centered on what appeared to be a mature Komodo dragon nestled in a large pen with water and plant-life inside. A female; big enough to be compared to a seal pup. She didn't appear to be feral in her enclosure however Bucky's presence seemed to trigger a reaction from her that could be construed as longing. Bucky tried and failed to repress this familiar primal feeling from within. A feeling he felt inside of the Black Rose club only a few hours ago when he took to the dance floor with the mystery woman who he'd become irrationally fixated on.

Despite the initial reason for which he chose to come into Connors' lab, Bucky couldn't help but voice. "This one feels lonely…I think I get it." He wouldn't say he felt that way as a man. Sure he missed his friends and Steve, but he'd never truly felt this abyss of longing in his chest that came by way of a missing form of attachment. He shot Connors a penetrating look. "Why am I feeling that too?" He couldn't keep the edge out of his voice, his own displeasure over his own fate rising to the forefront the more he experienced all these physical changes and now it seemed, all the emotional triggers that came with them. Edging closer to Connors, he towered over him, struggling to express the struggle from within. "There wasss this woman…Ssshe…I…I couldn't resssissst the urge to…I-I can't explain it. Damn it!" He hissed, and slammed his palm against a table, causing a number of the lizards to react beat against their enclosures themselves.

Emitting a full-throated snarl, lashingly, Bucky scythed his daggered claws with knifepoint precision against the granite as the jackhammering upsurges of his rampageous-deadlier ferocity explosively became a full-fledged revelation to Conners that he was channelling unhampered-beastlier rabidness that desperately needed to become staunched before the carnivorous- voracious appetite of a bloodthirsty Komodo possessively drove him to unrelentingly pursue warm-blooded prey. "Argh...Sssory...I gotta get off the ropesss...Doc!"

Easing down onto a leathered stool with his medical decorum, attentively, Conners became detected of the bone-deep rampancy of intensified longing that implosively skyrocketed as the headier-saccharine fragrance of ambrosial cherry evocatively ghosted a suffusive tracery over ironclad roughness of his grayish-obsidian scales- an evocative decadence that Bucky craved. Groaningly, Bucky jutted out his fork-tongue against his toothier fangs with kiss-starved abandon-a lovestruck 'smack-dab' fervency that exhilaratingly notched his warring arousal. "What you're feeling is a bodily desire of receptivity that male reptiles experience when the irrepressible urge to claim a female as his mate takes hold..." Conners explained, gingerly. "That instinctive desire will become potent every time you get close to her..."

Bucky didn't want to think too hard on the implications of that statement and what it could mean for his state of mind if he were to unravel without a partner. He was attracted to the woman enough as it was the night he met her on the docks, and now his new state of being began to feed off of those feelings and enhance them to a primal state. A feeling of sorrow crept up on him that was different from what he felt before. It was resignation to the idea that he wouldn't be able to suppress the transformation forever. He would become an unrecognizable lizard-a komodo dragon no different from the one in the pen here in Connors' lab. In this city, it may as well be a death sentence if he was discovered by the wrong people. He needed help-he needed a way to fight this. Looking at Connors with wistful eyes, he pleaded. "You ssssaid you could help me? I…I can't ssstay thisss way. Pleassse…"

Hearing pent-up anguish hitching stammeringly against the murmurous raspiness of his warbled timbre, Conners fostered the callback validity of his promise, gripping onto a chrome handle of his desk's top drawer with practiced traction as the metallic gleam of an injector cylinder -the countered mutagen that inexorably amputated out the reptilian deviance-a Triassic genome that was replicated with the communion of Varanidae (Komodo) DNA that was sired from his calibre of genetic -monstrous evolution.

Being pegged down with consequences of his unquenchable resolve of perfecting the frailty in humanity, Conners didn't want to become a footnote-he wanted to break through the medical threshold of revitalizing damaged limbs that were moulted by carcinogenic-metastatic deviances or IED explosives. He wouldn't abandon a chance to purge out the infectious calamity of deterioration. By harvesting the enhanced components of alpha serum that resiliently surged within Bucky's veins, he would generate a new era of preventing extinction. "This serum will reverse the changes for a limited period until I can produce a new batch..." he advised, pressingly, as vestiges of heart-driven clemency rode through him while gliding his thumb over the regulator as a syringe-like needle piercingly snicked out, as he edged closer to the hunching Sniper-Lizard who lurchingly hissed against the intrusive-antiseptic substance. "Hold still...This will only hurt momentarily..."

He didn't object as he allowed Connors to inject him with the serum. The cold feeling in his veins was like ice that steadily became warmer. A tiny voice at the back of his mind warned him to be distrustful. It could've been poison or a heavy sedative he was about to get shot up with, but as far as Bucky knew, he had no other choice. If he went to Hill or even the Avengers, word would get out and he'd be thrown back into a lab never to see the light of day. It made him both thankful…and suspicious of his unexpected savior who was looking at him with a gleam in his eyes that was a little creepy.

"Why are you helping me, Connors? …Whats in it for you?" He had to ask, feeling drowsy. He was pacified only by the astonishing sight of seeing the scales on his arm begin to recede back into soft human flesh. But he was drifting further and further into unconsciousness as he was helped down into a chair.

As Conners braced his shakier hand forcibly over the corded resiliency of Bucky's shoulder, he trepidatiously gazed at the blotchy patchiness of gossamer scales disturbingly melding into the smoothness of tauten flesh as the leathery scaliness of his reptilian deformity meltingly vanished into graven-edged angularity of his suave-broader features-the roguish softness of his unkempt chestnut tresses wispily sprouted out of his enlarged skull on morphic fruition.

In those heart-thudding seconds, the puckered grimace of Bucky's raptor-like snout fleshily materialized into his poutier shapely-wide lips as the slimmer length of his fork-tongue plumpishly swelled against his toothier incisors. Gnashingly, Bucky panted out chestier erratic heaves as he was catatonically dragged into anesthetized-blackout- throes as Conners watched the ugliness of his suarion-bestial visage dissolving against the razored curvatures that hawkishly emphasized his Irish-Romanian handsomeness-he was on a morphic hairbreadth of reversal. "Just rest, James, you'll find out the truth..." he whispered against a throatier hiss, snidely, tossing his emptied injector-canister into a trash bin. "Soon enough..."

He had no time to question the doctor before he finally succumbed to a long needed slumber.

-----------------------------------------

Becoming aware of the morphic scourge of the Komodo Dragon mutagen inexorably shunting through his vital extremities; the breeziness of a vented air chillingly rushed against the leathered heaviness of his torn bomber jacket that sweatily clung over graven-cut ridges of his bracketed obliques -the muscle-band ridges of his washboard abdomen athletically flexed the strenuous onslaught that vomitously deadened him. Groaningly, Bucky flitted his dark lashes against the fevered bleariness as the glint of his diluted pupils strikingly widened into blackish opals within his sweltry depths of grayish-aquamarine. The odorous potency of the anesthetic sedative had groggily entrenched him as he listened to the incessant chirping of his tinier crimson-turquoise scaled roommate -Slink- vexatiously ratcheting against his ear. "Kinda early for this, pal..." he drawled against gravelly croakiness, moaningly, as rakish chestnut tresses grungily feathered his bruised temple. "M' gettin' up.."

It took only a moment for his memory of the night before to settle in and his eyes snapped wide awake. He shot to a sitting position, groaning at the sudden storm of vertigo that pulsatingly speared through his temple. "Ngh! Ah, man…" The world spun behind his closed eyelids. He counted down from ten, steadily opening his lids to see his vision stuttering like a tracking of a film projector. He remembered drinking, not nearly enough to get him tipsed with a hangover. The night had taken an enchanting turn when he met a familiar face, one that made him feel as if life had become much more fun to live. That was until the harrowing shift of his transformation took over and turned him into a scalie freak.

Looking around, he realized he was in his bedroom back in his apartment. Had Connors really brought him back and tucked him in? Or did he just drop him off while he blacked out the walk of shame back into his apartment? Bucky didn't know and realized it was probably better that he didn't. He only knew that he thankfully was lizard-scale free as he caressed the surface of his soft human skin. A chirping at his left made him instinctively pet the small reptilian creature's bobbing head. "Yeah, Slink, I know. No more "Boys Night Outs" anytime soon." He ran a hand back through his growing long hair, realizing he'd be needing a trim soon. His groaning belly however took precedent, the throb of hunger reminding him he hadn't had much to eat last night…except that unconventional snack down in the tunnels.

He rushed to the bathroom and began rinsing his mouth, pointedly ignoring his reflection as if it were a bad omen. He cast a fleeting glance as he washed his face. He looked tired, worn and underfed. His slightly scaled left arm was a harrowing reminder that his fate was all but sealed despite the inhibitor shot that Connors had given him. He looked at his phone, frowning at the cracked screen left behind by his gargantuan digits the night before. A half dozen missed calls from Hill, concerned texts from Wilson and even a few from Yelena asking on behalf of a mutual friend. Bucky shrugged, not in the mood to return messages as he padded out into his kitchen, his little friend crawling up to perch on his shoulder.

"Kinda like up there, huh...?" Bucky quipped against the gravelly huskiness of his croakier drawl, registering the featherlight pressure of his tinier-pocket-sized roommate who sneakily curled over the smoother contours of his rigid shoulder as barrages of stoked-up hunger tumultuously revamped in tenfold. Vertiginously, clutched onto the fridge's warped handle as the scent of hard-shell-irresistible protein appetizingly wafted from an egg carton. Indignantly, his shapely-bow lips pursed into a starchier 'duck-pout' as the feverish rawness of his grayish-aquamarine irises unwaveringly roved over the carton while Slink fussily chirped against the swing-dancin' jingles of the classic Halloween anthem -Monster Mash-ambiently vibrated within his spartan apartment. "Oh c'mon...Really..." he moaned, grouchily, trying his damnest to shake off the groovin' beat that hypnotically forced him to trancedly sway against the chain-shaking tempo. "Urgh...This damn song."

It was an infectious ambience that he couldn't suppress as he let himself fall into an upbeat rhythm around the kitchen. Slink on his shoulder bopped his head, flicking his tongue as Bucky set about preparing breakfast for the two of them. If not for the scalie sight of his left-arm, today would've felt like an ordinary day far removed from all the turmoil he had been experiencing since that night at the docks. Bucky allowed himself to forget for a moment so much was wrong as he fell into a routine. But his sharp instincts coupled with his enhanced senses given to him by the reptilian beast within alerted him to a suspicious noise coming from the bedroom. Alarm set in and he was quickly moving into action, drawing a concealed knife from beneath the night-stand.

Slink on the counter watched as he crept along the side of the wall, keeping his steps soft while his pulse pounded with anticipation. Peaking around the corner, he glimpsed a mirror in the room and saw someone's reflection. An intruder! Hydra? AIM? Ex-KGB? Foot-steps crept towards his direction and he sprung into action. Only too late did his sense of smell pick up the invigorating scent of sweet cherries that triggered a myriad of enticing memories. But he was already moving, his knife-thrust caught by a forearm that blocked his own. He pushed his weight forward only to feel a slender shape slip beneath his arm and twirl on high-heeled boots to deliver a butterfly kick. He ducked beneath the kick, adrenaline seeping through his bones as the knife was kicked out of his hands. He caught a fist aimed at his torso and twirled his opponent towards him.

It was like fighting water that just seemed too fluid to grasp, but he was a wall too hard to topple. A weight flipped over his back and tried to get a handle on his neck, he flung the weight over him and caught an elbow aimed for his head with a blocking forearm. Blue eyes met coffee brown and the world fell still as he drank in the alluring sight of silvery- white tresses dishevelled over a familiar face regarding him with an amused smirk. Bucky cocked his head at her, a grin of his own on his face.

"You know…we really gotta stop meeting like this," he said.

The contralto scratchiness of his murmurous drawl exhilaratingly struck a cord as their bodies defensively mirrored the crescendoing maelstrom of their rivalrous fusion -supremacy. Harnessing a variance in her kittenish deviousness, she distractively, glided her lithe fingers with feather-soft ministrations over the vein-threaded curvatures of his corded-banded forearm that reactively flexed with teeming -virile ferocity underneath her evocative touch-an unstoppable voltage avidly edged her deeper into sensuous havoc. A naughtier smirk toothily quirked up his shapely-bow lips as the mesmeric steeliness of his silvery-bluish depths hungrily razored over the cool leather of her 'bad ass' jacket that foxily accentuated the curvaceous-exquisite svelteness of her mid-drift.

The cinnamony sandalwood of his muskier fragrance headily wafted the bulkier nakedness of his tauten chest "Guess you want to finish our dance..." she purred with a friskier undertone, saucily, as his scale-roughened palm fervidly bracketed her svelter curves, every gripping caress of his tensing fingers demandingly, kneaded the sanity material of her black Versace leggings with uncaged-denotive urgency. The vixenish fieriness of her autumn-brandy irises sirencally gleamed underneath the electrifying cascades of her tousled whitish-platinum whorls that swelteringly clung against the raspier scruffiness of his knife-edge jaw. A rush of cool mintiness-Listerine addictively surged against his ragged breaths, she traced her finger delicately over his poutier underlip with coquettish pressure. "Let's see if you have any more interesting moves to play with..."

"I could think of a few things." Bucky felt driven by a base instinct that was fog inducing, making it impossible to shake the drive, the need, to resume the dance they had shared last night. There were questions he would've asked himself about her presence here. But he discarded them as the fog became overwhelming and he whisked her to him. True to her vixenish nature she slipped through his gaze and weaved around him with a chuckle. "C'mere," he growled with a deep growling tone, his eyes dark with seduction. "Told ya, I'd chase ya," he was in hot pursuit as they entered his kitchen. Their faux fight had tantalizingly become one of a sensual chase. Bucky had her cornered near the kitchen island where his lips hungrily sought hers. A breathless rush of mintier heat groaningly caught her on the edge of his kiss -the decadent fervour that increasingly melded with the pillowy lushness of her burgundy lips. The sweet addicting taste of glossier cherry he vibrantly received last night impulsively burst forward as he throatily groaned over her mouth with kiss-starved urgency. Rational thought fled as instinct took over, his lizard instincts perceiving her as a member of his own-or rather-one he sought to claim as his own mate.

A headier succession of bone-liquifying octane rapturously intensified with escalating hunger, moaningly, Felicia twined the litheness of her leather-garbed arms over his broader nape— hottish pants steamily ghosted over the delicate suppleness of her fevered cheek as the scrunching pressure of his drifting nose ardently glided over her sleekier temple on possessive tenor. "N-Not bad moves..." she hitched out, breathlessly. The dampish cushiness of his velvety-soft lips gapingly thrusted with the bristled heaviness of his jutting chin-the undeniable fierceness that starvingly outpaced her flooring resistance. Gutturally, his opened-mouth kiss crushingly deeper as her plushier lips voluminously stretched under his fierce command as the wet heat of his surging tongue breathtakingly chased hers -she couldn't pull away.

Emitting a growlier demand, bitingly his incisors dragged on the recaptured swollenness of her underlip with heart-racking urgency-he was branding her. Arrestingly, he gripped her shapelier thigh, straddling her against the fridge with passion-damp abandon, the rampant kneading of his fingers that blindly yanked through her silvery-whitish tresses, capturing her into a firestorm that bonelessly gloried-an incendiary communion.

"N-N-Never got your name," he growled as his velvety-pouty lips savorily began a heady assault on her neck, his tongue painting a wet path as if it were a brush over a fresh canvas. She was addictive, she was enthralling in a manner that made life too exciting to grasp onto. He held her up against the fridge, his pelvis grinding between her thighs while his pulse beat like a war-drum in his ears. He felt damn feverish, the heat inside of him was burning to the point he was alarmingly sweltered with cool beads of passion-drenched sweat. The very sound of her throaty noises against his ear caused the hungered rampancy of his unslaked-voracious desire to only increase a sensuous tempest- the beast inside of him was perilously close to seizing control.

Against the mind-spinning dizziness that intoxicatingly careened her into aphrodisiac throes, breathily, Felicia arched her back against the chilled steel of the fridge as the saltier wetness that headily coupled with the languorous pressure of his kiss-swollen lips throbbingly blazoned over the delicate curvatures of her lithe neck- predatory-razed instincts warringly revved through his fevered veins with bone-racking desire. Every vestige of her tempoed resistance was becoming achingly fractured against the heavier bracketed-washboard ridges of his V-braced abdomen, bodily anchored her as the revelation of their blood-thumping passion overwhelmingly stampeded with every duelling heartbeat. "I-I'll only tell if you go first..." she purred, enticingly, while a tinier- featherlight caress sneakily inched over her sleeved arm-darting his forked-tongue, Slink clung onto her jacket as his ebony orbs beadily gazed down at the bustier plunge of the female intruder's voluptuous décolletage-he was readied to nose-dive.

Bucky reacted sharply as he broke from their passionate engagement just in time to catch Slink as he made a leap for the woman's ample cleavage. "Whoa there, pal! Not very smooth," he chided his little scaly friend as he held him by his tail. The tiny lizard squirmed and tried to slip free from the digits that held him. She gazed at the sight with bewilderment only now realizing what had been crawling on top of her. Bucky chuckled as he guided the lizard back to the kitchen island with a smirk. "Leave the pretty dames to me, will ya?" Slink flicked his tongue at Bucky and postured himself as if indignant of being side-lined in this exchange. Bucky patted his head and took a moment to let the fog of induced lust simmer as he looked back at his guest who was straightening out her shirt. Bucky's mouth felt dry once he realized just how well-endowed her bust was. 'Get it together, Barnes. Eyes up,' he chided himself.

The lizard inside of him dangerously coupled with his own human attraction towards was a recipe for uncontrolled desire. But he quelled them as he put his hands on his hips and looked at her invitingly. "Slink still has manners to learn. But…how about we try this again, darlin', since you took the time to track me down. My name's Bucky…" He held his hand out to her, not for a handshake but to coax her to take a seat next to him.

"Bucky..." She murmured in a huskier undertone, purringly, the incredulous gleam of her autumn-brandy flitted point-blank intensity over his shapely-wide lips that crookedly half-quirked, revealing his frontal overbite-bucked teeth that shakily grazed over his poutier underlip. It was definitely a boyish-rascally nickname for a hellbent Brooklyn 'pretty boy' who stowed a tenacious-rebellious spirit. A callback-homebound identity that was anguishedly lobotomized against the cerebral-amnesic trauma of unforgivingly being a robotized 'beast-machine. "Wait... So I'm guessing you're called Bucky because of your front teeth..." Felicia quipped under her sassier breath, jauntily, watching him unabashedly glide his thumb over his jutting toothier incisors as he edgily feigned a starchier grimace. "Maybe that's a name a girl can get used to..."Easing up her daintier hand tactilely, Felicia graced kitten-soft pressure over the vein-threaded contours of his tenser knuckles, shiveringly, only to register a thermic pulse strumming underneath her drifting fingers instead of the mechanized coolness of Wakandian vibrainium as he guided her with fluid precision onto the leathered cushions of his claw-ravaged sofa.

"I'd tell you not to wear it out but I think I like how it sounds on your lips," he flirted with a smirk added for good measure. He cocked his head at her considering the events of the night before and how he had seen her lift the wallet from some sleezy j*** at the nightclub. That coupled with the vivid memory of their first encounter led him immediately to deduce she was a girl who lived dangerously on the wrong side of the law and therefore likely had trust issues. He could relate, in a sense. They all had secrets, some of them happened to enjoy the thrill of being discovered rather than protectively shutting them away. Bucky still felt mildly enthralled by her presence, his broad stature still pulsing with energy that needed to be spent. He brazenly walked towards her, eyes lidded dreamily with intent. "Something tells me your name tastes better." He focused on her pink lips, the lingering sweet taste of them still on his tongue.

His rumbling stomach was a crude but welcome distraction as he beckoned her to the kitchen island. "Care to join me? I was just about to cook somethin'."

"Still trying to impress me, Soldier boy..." Felicia played off, brusquely, advancing with sahashying graces a breadth closer to the granite island slinkily with collective poise as her whitish-silvery tousledly draped the sleekier contours of her leather-garbed back, alluringly contrasting with the milkier alabaster suppleness that melded with the sirenlike delicacy of her elvish features. Keeping herself collectively poised against a chrome stool, fixedly, she drove her tigerish-brandy over the bulkier smoothness that was heavily branded with his tauter pectorals-a rock-hard solidity athletically infused with gladiator resilence as he braced intimidatingly against the counter. Smacking her pillowy-bow lips with a deviant quirk, kittenishly, Felicia glided her palm over a clumpy bag of oatmeal with friskier precision. "So I'm guessing you're a guy who enjoys simple tastes..." she purred out, coolly, glancing at the dumbstruck edginess that raptly pinched over his brow., while sneakier crimson-bluish scaled reptile hungrily crawled over the bag of oatmeal, snakily jutting his tinier fork-tongue with impatient traction. "Your little friend doesn't like waiting..."

"He doesn't have to like it as long as he gets fed," Bucky snarked with a playful stink-eye directed at his lizard friend who in turn narrowed his own eyelids into slits. Taking that as an affirmation, Bucky turned to his guest with a charming look. "See, he agrees. So what'll ya have?" He asked as he moved to the stove, firing up the igniter before shuffling some pans. "Can't say I got a menu laying around, but I'll have ya know I make a mean omelet with bacon." He'd even toast it into a sandwich for her if she'd asked him. Okay, maybe he was trying to impress her a little. She looked like a dame who was used to the finer things in life and he was sure that a simple bowl of oatmeal and sausage wouldn't cut it.

"Now, you really don't have to go through all this trouble for me..." she murmured, demurely, as the maddening vibrations of her smartphone unnervingly thrummed within her jacket's pocket. With an underhand swipe, lithely, she clutched onto the device, as her flintier tigerish-brandy irises glared at the caller-id visual on the screen-Westley-the weaselly-kiss-ass prick who slimily tabbed her under his radar. Gritting her teeth, scoffingly, Felica eased the mobile device against her tenser cheek and hissed, techily. "I'll be there soon...Don't send a ride..."

"Looks like we have bad timing," Bucky mused as he moved away from the stove. Slink grouchily snatched a piece of chopped fruit, realizing perhaps his actual breakfast will be taking a little longer. Bucky rested his palms on the kitchen island as he noticed her flicking her gaze between her phone and his left arm. It didn't take him long to realize what she might have realized about him and instinctively he pulled his left hand off the counter. "Guess you'll take a raincheck?" He had noticed the name on her phone as it rang, the name not ringing any bells but perhaps one he could shoot to Hill in their next chat.

A vestige of disappointment was underlyingly fissionable, coyly, Felicia pressed the 'turn-off' button smartphone, evading the irritating ringtone of the snobbish leech who demandingly beckoned her to a blackout location-the binary UBS drive that she deceptively swiped at the East dockyard was encrypted with profitable data-mining intell from backstairs Indonesian Triad who riskily united with an insidious consortium of Hells Kitchen. Being a leashed-expendable pawn for thievish heists condemningly pegged her into the deadlock crosshairs-hellfire with blood-stamp vendettas: she was in the warzone.

"Sorry to disappoint, but unfortunately I have places to go..."Felicia whispered, poutily, edging closer to him with flirtier graces, as she reached for the broader scruffiness of his knife-edged jaw, arresting him into a seductive thrall, while her dark irises craftily flashed on the metallic gleam of his cybernetic vibrainium arm underneath the couch- kinetic energy that sonically pulsed over the charcoal-ebon servos could be auctioned to fuel EMP weaponry. Thievishly, her index fingers caressed a distractive tracy of kiss-soft pressure over the dimpled-cleft hunkily etched in his pudgier chin, as his sweltry aquamarine depths feverishly chased her daintier hand bracketing the razored heaviness of his bristly jaw. "There's a doughnut shop around your place, a friend works there..." With a heated, exhilarative rush, clingily she angled the voluminous lushness of her full-bow lips over his tremorous lips and blindly tugged onto his jutting underlip, as she warned, hushedly. "Careful, Bucky, it's bad luck to chase a black cat..."

She winked at him as she strode out of his apartment with all the grace of a supermodel and the mystique of a cat. Bucky felt the adrenaline inside of him begin to simmer shortly after she had left. He warred with the notion of giving chase. His instincts felt uncontrolled and urgent as if he feared he wouldn't see her again. Exhaling roughly, he looked at Slink who gazed at him expectantly, blinking repeatedly. "Yeah…She's definitely trouble." After he finished preparing a quick breakfast for himself and his reptilian pet, he made to leave his apartment. His steelish gaze was glared through the corner of his eye at an afternoon news segment highlighting the upcoming Halloween gala where numerous Avengers and esteemed business moguls were due to appear. "Guess it's that time of year."

---------------------------------

Against the frigid gustiness that chillingly sailed over the brick-stone environs, swaggeringly, Bucky drove his edgier paces, harnessing sniper-honed vigilance as he tucked his motorcycle-leather gloves into the pockets of his bomber jacket that hunkily delineated over the heavier bulkiness of his tauter rigidity, contrasting his black denim skinny-jeans as he evaded the crammed thongs of Halloween-enthused tourists maddeningly stationed near quaint coffee bistros that were spookily adored with flimsy cutouts of bats, pumpkins, and cotton-mesh spider webbing over the iron railings.

The cinnamony scent of spicer apple cinder deliciously wafted from ceramic mugs that were served on patio tables, as skate-punk teenagers oddly embroidered in vampiresque long-coats sipped on their frothy cappuccinos. Raptly, his nose scrunched against the barrage of effusive-hijacking scents -black lacquered nail polish, the earthy vapours of leaves heaped underneath tables. "Really, this again...Dammnit" he grumbled in staunchier pitch, huffily, lasering his grayish-aquamarine irises reptilanily into the direction of an odorous whiff that radiated off a plump-girthed rodent who speedily burrowed within the filthier alleyway. "Grah, not happening, Barnes..."

He fought the creeping temptations in his stomach that would have before filled him with disgust. The buzzing of an insect rang loudly as a fly was circling over him; buzzing so loud it may as well have been a dinner bell ringing in his ears. He glared at the tiny thing balefully, his tongue itching like an arm needing to be flexed to relieve the tension set inside. He blinked and shuddered. "Keep it together. Gotta keep it together," he stepped away from his bike and onto the sidewalk. He frowned at the numerous Halloween decorations and pre-teens all skipping down the street in cheap costumes. As far as he was concerned, every day was Halloween in this city filled with costumed vigilantes and crooks. If anything there should be a holiday to celebrate a day of normalcy instead.

Bucky shrugged as made his way towards the small modest coffee shop, stepping over numerous autumn leaves flowing in the breeze. The front windows were adorned with pumpkins and plastic witches, the interior revealed only more Halloween decor on display with ornaments ranging from vampires to skeletons hanging along the wall. The scent of freshly baked doughnuts and hot coffee reached his nostrils, bringing a mouth-watering smile to his lips. He made his way the entrance door, searching for the sole interest of his visit.

"I'm guessing you're the errand boy again..." Braced against the register counter, garbed in an iron-pressed turquois uniform with a pinkish collar that contrasted the delicate suppleness of her impish mulatto features, deftly, MJ placed gooey cinnamon buns into a paper bag as her dark-umber irises curiously flashed onto the medical white-cane readily gripped in the firmer hand of a vigilant 'justice-fighter' attorney of the Tri-State boroughs-Matthew Murdock. A tailored Armani suit-jacket dashingly vested the athletic solidity of his unwavering form, evident to his leathered briefcase as he consciously adjusted his red-lens oval sunglasses. His foppish burgundy-chestnut tresses were stylishly gelled with a 'Princeton boy' look as he smirkily quirked sharply-chiselled lips with a cool-faced demeanour. "Are you expecting a good trial..." she quested, hushedly, as Matthew gentlemanly slid a crisp 10-dollar bill near her daintier hand. "I always hear some can be disappointing without photo evidence..."

"I've dealt with worse cases, honestly. This one thankfully should be a cake-walk. Speaking of," Matthew dropped a $10 bill into the tip-jar as he lifted up the gooey treat, "thanks for serving it fresh." He smiled good naturedly in the direction he surmised the teen to be standing before he turned to take his leave. As he did, his senses picked up the foot-falls of a man entering the establishment. His foot-falls were heavy but smooth, indicating a natural gentlemanly swagger to his movements. The waft of sandalwood cologne entered the breeze from outside before it was shut by the door closing. The foot-falls proceeded inwards before they came to a pause beside him.

Bucky's field of vision in the coffee-shop had laser focused in on what should have been an unassuming blind-man about to leave. Nothing about him seemed remarkable at first glance aside from his red-lens glasses that cut and imposing view of his own reflection as he angled his face towards him. Bucky frowned, wondering what felt off about him. He hadn't met him before, but there was something peculiar…Then he whiffed and there was a very faint scent of cherry surrounding him. A peculiar face flashed in his thoughts and the beast inside of him growled with recognition. He could smell her on him. The scent was a few hours old which indicated a recent meeting. An irrational sense of jealousy and conflict took over him as he assessed the man, realizing that upon closer inspection, he wasn't at all what he appeared.

He cut a powerful athletic frame given how tight the suit appeared around his stature. His posture was tense, his hand wrapped tight around the hilt of his white cane, almost as if he was prepared for action should it come. He was a fighter. Did that mean the blindness was a false-hood meant to deceive? He wasn't certain, but the longer he stood beside the man and a tense silence filled the shop, it was inevitable that something needed to be said or done. "You seem familiar. Don't suppose we've met before…or maybe we both have a mutual acquaintance?" Bucky tried.

Harnessing his impassive vigil, reactively, Matthew tilted his head against the gravelly raspiness of a sourish Brooklyn drawl, Matthew wavered his footing with calculated caution, detecting a portentous-infective aura of a leashed ferocity that clashingly resonated within Bucky. With attuned steadiness, he flitted his eyelashes and gripped onto his walking stick as ultrasonic palpitations of wavelengths seismically amplified with disruptive traffic-a predatory frequency was strumming with uncurbed-bestial rabidity that was cold-bloodedly akin to being in a stalemate with a raptor. With visceral alertness, Matthew sidestepped away from the counter, brandishing a friendlier smirk over his shapely- chiselled lips as he tactfully splayed his palm over his strapped briefcase. "Depends on who this mutual acquaintance is, meeting strangers is a part of my day job..." he deadpanned out in a whispery undertone, placidly, "I'm a guy who doesn't really have many friends...Guess people don't really like hanging with New York attorneys."

"It can be a rough, weird city. There's always more to it than meets the eye," Bucky said with a less venomous bite in his tongue. He couldn't sense hostility or even a sense of ill-will coming from the man which was enough to quell the negative spell that had taken hold of him. He considered the man briefly, still sensing he knew him from somewhere. He recalled seeing a news broadcast highlighting important court cases over the past few years. A firm called Nelson & Murdoch spearheading the prosecution of a certain underworld crime boss in the city. "You're Murdoch aren't you? The white knight who put the Kingpin behind bars."

"That's putting it lightly..." Matthew quipped against terse snarkiness, smirkily, knowing that being a midnight defender-a sentinel of vengeance damningly roped him into the infinite symmetry of mortal justice and parasitic criminality that infectiously reaped carnage-bloodshed onto innocent denizens of Hell Kitchen-Wilson Fisk reigned over the slum-horde arcades like an imperious paragon with payoff bribes of media venues and handshaking corruptive senators who gained high election scores. He swiped anyone off the decks who resisted his iron-fisted tyranny. Being a horn-cowled vigilante gave Matthew a chance to cross the line that federal officers couldn't with their badges-he delivered his street-fighting vengeance, only to become an expandable fugitive for glamorized headlines. Adjusting his eyeglasses, Matthew half-quirked his tauter lips. "Let's just say, I'm always on ropes in the courtroom, and I'm a good lawyer who knows how to fight back..."

A thoughtful look crossed Bucky's features, though the blind-lawyer didn't notice it, he sensed a shift in the man's posture that was a little less imposing than before. "Yeah, you look pretty stubborn. And now you're taking the fight to OSCORP, I've noticed," he watched as the lawyer shifted to stand facing him fully, his own expression mirroring his own. "Does the name "Connors" ring any bells?" It might have been a shot in the dark, but Bucky only knew what little about the man he had looked up on Google. All the official headlines only told you about the man's public image, never what the public couldn't see. He had to know who he was dealing with.

Hearing the gravelly somberness dejectedly hitching against Bucky's murmurous drawl, involuntarily, Matthew quirked up his eyebrow as he warily lowered his briefcase on the counter ledge. Reining back a callback of his investigative vigilance, he gnawed on his plushier underlip, stuntedly aware of Bucky's heart-vicing apprehensiveness in defensive fruition as he consciously, rapted his tenser palm over the display glass. "Doctor Curtis Conners is an offbeat geneticist who has been employed at OSCORP labs for regeneration projects that help individuals with medical amputations ..." he whispered, staidly, feigning his reined composure as he added. "Conners has a good resolve of fixing people, but a Daily Bugle source of mine has genuine verification of what happens when things get extreme with his unorthodox research..."

Unease came over Bucky who despite the notion of speaking to a blind-man felt the need to keep his expression guarded, but he could do little to quell the racing of his heart. "How extreme?" He asked. Though he found it difficult to see the placid doctor as someone dangerous he did feel there was something off about him and the nature of the serum he had been expecting from Madripoor on a freighter owned by Wilson Fisk. Whatever Connors was up to, it was clear he didn't want Oscorp to know about it so he used other resources?

Foggy...Foggy...Foggy!

The high-volume chiming of his mobile phone annoyingly reminded Matthew of the courthouse hearing that concerned the conditional release of a first-rake -homicidal arms dealer-thug who served a lockup tenure after being guilty charged with the infractions of pay-off heists on Staten Island Ferry-MacDonald Gargan-who failed his psychological examination that marked him as a broad-line sociopathic. Now, he was on the fringe of being released for early community reformation because a snakebit politician waivered all charges on his five-year sentence, after revealing weaponized tech of Stark Industries caused his scarring disfigurement. Removing his Smartphone from his suit's pocket, Matthew glided his thumb over the power-off button.

"You have to excuse me, but I needed at the courthouse..." he explained, pressingly, half-smirking as Bucky tactfully sidestepped away from the doorway. "Here's my office card if you need to contact me about Conners..." Grabbing his briefcase with a hastier yank, he left the white business card labelled 'Nelson and Murdock' for Bucky to swipe on the glass counter. Against the heavier strain of his knife-edged jaw, staunchily, Bucky twitched his shapely-bow lips as he fixedly glanced at the printed card. "Or a blind lawyer."

Bucky watched as Murdock left, wondering what he meant about Connors. He hesitantly picked up the card off of the counter and toyed with it in his fingers. He didn't know what he was thinking or if he could trust the lawyer with everything he knew. But it was good to have options. "Sounds like a plan." He tucked the card into his jacket pocket and released a heavy sigh. The thick aromatic scent of freshly baked bread and sugar was a nice reminder of his reason for coming. His gaze swept over the numerous baked treats beneath the glass counter, their numerous colors and shapes causing him to drool with appreciation.

He wasn't sure what he wanted. In truth, his sole focus for coming here was for a nice cup of coffee and some interesting company. As he scanned the treats, he wasn't aware that a curious set of eyes watched him near the back of the shop, sitting at the booth.

With collective poise, alluringly, Felicia braced against the vinyl cushioned booth as the orangish sconces from stringed plastic Halloween pumpkins above that shinily contrasted against the milky-white suppleness of her elfish features; the smokier glossiness of her whitish-platinum whorls tousedly draped over the leathered Itailanesque exquisiteness of her sleekier Verace long-coat as she impishly glided her dainter finger over the ceramic rim of her coffee mug. The aromatic scent of Chi-ginger tea steamily enwreathed her as MJ distractingly down a plate of gooey apple-spiced doughnuts, the maple glaze was forbiddenly decadent. "Careful, Waston, I might enjoy giving my new handsome friend a trick instead of a treat..." she quipped, impishly, glancing at the black-denim of Bucky's skinny jeans that hunkily delineated the athletic litheness of his bulkier legs while he stood near the counter, edgily gripping onto his wallet. "Hmmm...Or maybe both..."

Bucky rapped along the counter lightly, his motion drawing the attention of the young teen. MJ cleaned off her hands and made her way to him asking what she could get him. "Hey there. I'll take two of these," he pointed to a blueberry muffin beneath the glass. "And a large black, 2 cream and sugar…" That was when he noticed a familiar-ambrosial scent of nectarous cherry that he caught on Murdoch only this time it was closer and much stronger. He sniffed and looked around while MJ watched with a bemused look. "Where is she…"

Placing the fluffier blueberry muffin on a plate, coolly, MJ arched up her sneakers as she braced against the glass counter, her darkish-umber irises deviously flashed in the direction of the booth, watching Felicia gesturing her a coquettish wave. Against the heart-notching impulses riotously torpedoing within him on lovestruck fruition, moaningly, Bucky flitted his eyelashes against the luscious -feminine scent that entrancedly gripped him into seductive dregs. She was there-his frisky -kittenish vixen. Emitting growlier chuffs, toothily, Bucky quirked his shapely-bow lips into a cockier smirk, lasering his grayish-aquamarine depths feverously over the leathered spike-heeled Versace boots that foxily emphasized the curvier sleekness of her denim-clad legs that were distractingly angled over the wooden table. "Okay, that will be five dollars and thirty-one cents..." MJ whispered in a deadpanning undertone, sliding the plate cautiously into his motorcycle-gloved hand as he didn't budge. "Hey, if you want valuable insight, a banana chocolate chip muffin is her favourite, but you didn't hear it from me..."

Smiling at the youth appreciably, Bucky dropped a $10 tip into her cup. "Thanks," he accepted the chocolate chip muffin along with his own order. He was beginning to like this place. The nourishing scent of fresh coffee soothed his nerves and sharpened his focus as he turned and fixed the silver-haired vixen with an expectant smile. There was something unreal about seeing her in such a casual setting, her designer high-heeled boots crossed beneath the table, her jeans hugging her strong legs tightly while she leaned against the table, stirring her tea and looking up at him with raised eyebrows. "You really love to play that mystery card, don't ya?" He chuckled. "Well, do I have good timing?" He asked, wondering if he'd kept her waiting.

"Depends if this girl is keeping score..." Felicia countered with a sultrier undertone, banteringly, her doe-like brandy irises glinted fierily alight with thievish intensity as the voluminous glossiness of her pillowy burgundy lips curvily quirked into a naughtier smirk, emitting a throatier groan, Bucky fiercely jutted out his poutier underlip, cockily expressing his passion-driven virility. Underneath his roguish chestnut tresses, his silvery-aquamarine depths mesmerically gleamed like voltaic sapphire with the intensified rawness of untamed hunger as he approvingly roved a fleeting glance onto her voluptuous decolletage that bustily plunged against the half-zipped leather of her coat. A headier rush of his cinnamony sandalwood cologne racily arrested her as he coaxingly lowered the plate down with suave-faced tack. The coolness of his leathered sleeve brushingly grazed against her delicate-bone wrist evocatively disarming their stoked-up tension-he was definitely playing down the smooth card."Well, seeing that you were nice to my friend, I won't count the minutes, Soldier boy..."

"Lucky me then," Bucky chuckled as he settled into the seat across from her, laying the plate down in between them. The cushioned seat was soft and comfortable, the leather snug against the hard planes of his body. He should have felt relaxed but beneath the mystery woman's hypnotic gaze, he felt small as a pup. The aroma of their fresh coffee only immersed him further in the richness of her deep brown eyes. The light of the coffee-shop captured her iris', a beacon of light that shone like pearls. In a matter of moments, he felt his cool charming demeanor threatening to crumble. He held firm and drummed his digits on the table, matching her gaze with equal intensity. A suave smirk formed at his lips.

"Funny we both keep bumping into each other. This is a big city, but knowing the right people can help make life easier. But something tells me you're not a big 'people person', but the ones you do meet must lead interesting lives just the same as you do." He guessed as he took a drink of his coffee, his steel blue eyes watching her from over the rim. "Am I warm or cold?" He asked, wondering if she knew the game.

"Maybe I like having you play this little guessing game..." Felicia whispered in a jauntier pitch, huskily, gazing at the kinked crows-feet edging near his temple as he unabashedly emitted a throatier chuckle while she teasingly glided her daintier finger over the chocolaty gooeyness of the banana muffin with seductive precision. Having practical safeguards of warranted trust was a clockwork mechanism of a high-rigged survival-her mother Anastasia Hardy was a trade-off emissary of Wilson Fisk's charitable-lucrative enterprise of bulldozing the slum-holes of Hells Kitchen, a leashed collateral who owned her grievous betrayal in spades. "When you know certain people, they let you break the rules..." Smacking the glossier lushness of her full-bow lips with a kittenish pop, distractively, she grazed the knifepoint stiletto of her boot against the corded muscle of his denim-clad leg; enticing him with a heart-stealer challenge of her devious brazenness on fervent accord. "And I never get caught..."

Bucky tucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he smirked with wolfish energy, the flare of excitement she exuded was infectious. It made him feel that if she dared him to, he'd chase her outside right now-across rooftops or on his bike through traffic. She dangled a carrot of opportunity in front of him but he knew a dangerous string was attached to it that would lead to an ultimate thrill. Tapping his boot beneath the table, he brushed his hand across hers as he reached for his muffin, the heat of her skin sending fire through his blood. "Something tells me getting caught can be just as fun for you as leading the chase. As fun as it's been, darlin', you should know that I'm a bit of an old-fashioned romantic at heart. Few gorgeous dames come on by, but none quite like you. Are you gonna tell me your name, or should I start the guessing game?"

Hearing the deep-timbered cockiness raspily fringing against his whispery Brooklyn drawl, smirkily, Felicia traced her lithe finger over his dimpled chin with kiss-soft pressure, the closeness of him was decadently irresistible, as she registered the scruffier prickliness of his broader jaw fervently grazing over her palm- amorous surges of voltage rampantly pulsed through her on exhilarative tenor."I only give my name if I want to..." she purred, coyly, as his poutier lips featherily brushed dampish heat over her daintier knuckles with invested-controlled reverence. "Since you trusted me with yours...I guess the mask needs to come off..."

Disarmingly, she arched over the cluttered table, viscerally aware of his long-denied anticipation that starvingly tempoed—she couldn't leave him empty-handed. Ardently, she caressed the roughness of his vein-threaded knuckles with evocative ministrations, arresting a heart-razed pulse that fervidly answered the siren's call. Against their riotous heartbeats of tantalizing urgency, his grayish-aquamarine burningly gleamed like voltaic sapphire under his darkish lashes as she headily dragged the pillowy lushness of her lips steamingly over the knife-edged heaviness of his stubbled jaw and whispered, breathily. "Call me, Felicia..."

"Felissssha," he tasted her name on his lips. "I like it…" the slithering hiss of his deep baritone sent a chill through her as he responded to her intimate contact with a featherlight caress of his stubbled chin against hers. The waft of her breath ghosted over his lips. Heat washed over him and he was only too eager to bathe in its radiance. Only a few inches separated them and it was a distance he wanted to cross. A cool dainty finger pressed against his mouth, her cherry fragrance seeping into him causing him to groan at her light deflection. With her other hand, she pointedly popped one of the blueberries to his muffin into her mouth, smirking at his deflated look. "Teassssse," he chuckled with a twinkle in his blue eyes as he relaxed his posture.

"Well, Felicia, you seem like a girl who has a unique idea of fun," it was a subtle mention to their first meeting at the docks, and what he surmised to be her working a job as some kind of thief or mercenary. Hill's voice seemed to breach his thoughts, telling him to interrogate her for answers but he snuffed it out like an annoying alarm just the same way he had muted her calls this morning. He was genuinely curious about Felicia's line of work but he was clever enough to realize it was something she probably didn't like to discuss. At least not out in public. "Now tell me, when we saw each other at the club the other night…Was that a gig or something else?" The memory of her kiss on his lips was a searing reminder of how their evening had ended, and though it was a memorable experience he couldn't say the result ended entirely pleasant after what happened. He hoped she bore no ill feelings or questions about it.

"So now we're prying are we..." Felicia countered back, tartily, leaning against the cushioned seating with guarded poise, her dark-brandy irises flintily gazed at the crumbly half-eaten muffin as she involuntarily glided the plate to the edge of the table with an underhand swipe, brassily, knocking the ceramic plate off to purposely distract him. Shards of ceramic exploded over the floor in the shattering wake of her effective disturbance. "Oops, I'm just a little clumsy today..." The fine-bone delicacy of her elfish features naughtily played off sassier friskiness as she offhandedly gave MJ a 'watch this' sidelong glance. Within those reactive seconds, Bucky had crouched down on his motorcycle boots, tactfully, scooping up the jagged pieces into his gloved palm as he dragged out a grumpier sigh-obviously a Brooklyn prince-charming incarnate. "Don't worry, I'll order you another treat because you have such good manners..."

"C'mon now, I thought cats enjoyed a little curiosity," Bucky replied evenly. His stare intense and searching as he shot MJ an apologetic look. Maybe he should ease up on the questions. He couldn't understand what it was about her that made him crave things he never quite experienced with other women; longing, understanding and not to mention an irrepressible urge to dance in many different ways. She was an enigma, a dangerous one at that, but also came across as a carefree spirit enjoying the thrills of life as they came. It was intoxicating, it entranced him to step further out of his comfort zone to a place he hadn't been too in a long time. Feeling adventurous, he leaned towards her and whispered. "Look, I get it. Sharing might not be in the cards this soon. But the way we ended things the other night...now that's just no way to end a dance, darlin'. Tell me you didn't feel that spark-that connection." He felt many things in life, horrible things mostly, but the few good instances where life threw him something joyous, not many compared to the rush of life he experienced when he took her to the dance floor, and when they fought beside one another down at the docks.

The velvety suaveness of his whiskey-roughened drawl hypnotically electrified her pulse like a strumming power-cord on glorified abandon. Every passion-driven kiss smokingly duelled with their savorous-hungrier fusion that breathtakingly gripped them into headier throes of undeniable intimacy. Clutching onto his leathered sleeve, avidly, she warded-off dismissive resistance, sliding off the booth as her curvaceous form lissomly aligned with the bulkier rigidity of his chest-they achingly mirrored kiss-starved urgency. "Well, if you want to dance again..." she cajoled, purringly, glimpsing at his shinier black-matte iPhone discarded on the cushion. "You'll have to call my number..."

"Yeah uh...so I guess this is goodbye then, huh," he fumbled slightly with his words. "Well, thanks for comin'. I-" Getting the sense the end of their brief dine was closing in, Bucky felt remorse in his gut. Together they had rose up out of the booth, his hand catching her wrist after she set his phone down on the table. He said nothing, the deep blue of his eyes conveying more than any words could. He wanted her-he needed to see her again. The gala tomorrow suddenly felt like a long time away. He wasn't a clingy man by any means, but he understood that some women tended to appreciate the notion of being desired while others enjoyed their space. Felicia seemed to be a woman who stood in between. "Is that it?" He sounded half-disappointed.

Gazing at his kissable shapely-bow lips poutily quirking into a tremorous grimace, evident to his dismal sullenness was grudgingly heart-crushing to shrug off. "You have my number…What else do you want from me?" she questioned with a terser undertone, bluntly, feeling back into a corner. The sledgehammering brutality of the Kingpin's reign over the scummy environs of Hell's Kitchen was a reality she couldn't escape-he possessively staked down his deadlock ownership against her mother-leverage to compel Felicia into using her thievish-seductive calibre stealthily obtain profitable assets. She invented a masquerading identity of the Black Cat after she was protestingly infused the Doctor Erskine's serum- an upgraded formula of mutative deviance that enhanced-weaponized her with acrobatic-combative proficiency that gave her feline-like abilities for infiltration. She couldn't risk pulling Bucky into the high-rigged crossfire of betrayal-he deserved a good-uncomplicated- girl. "I'm not worth the chase, Bucky…"

He thought he saw something in her eyes, a vulnerability that was rare but also revealed to him the conflicted woman beneath the mask who didn't let people get close. His gaze softened as did the hold on her wrist. He knew she could break away easily if she wanted, but perhaps like a true cat she was curious to hear what he'd say-or do. He blinked and replied with a passionate breath. "You definitely are to me, darlin'. And you should know that I never give up that easily."

Before she could retreat, a hungrier surge of passion-blank ferocity possessively drove Bucky, jutting out his dimpled-chin on fiercer accord, breathlessly, he pulled her into the steel-corded tautness of his embracing arms without a grip of restraint. The dangerous heat of his revamping arousal became shockingly incendiary through his veins. Clinging onto his reservations, Bucky quashed down the white-hot impulses that raided against his sanity-the receptive urges of his beasty Komondo hunger wantonly drove him onto a stoking fringe of eruptive desire-he couldn't hold back. "C'mere..." The hitching rawness of his urgent demand moaningly had ratcheted with his throatier possessiveness-a whisper of dampish heat shakily ghosted over the luscious fullness of her voluminous lips. Dragging out a guttural snarl, feverously he thrusted his velvety-soft lips against hers, breathtakingly kickstarting a definite promise of their rapturous escasty.

Cradling the sleekier fineness of her jaw with reined steadiness of his gloved palms, as unkempt tresses chestnut and platinum sultrily feathered over their scrunching brows-he deepened the kiss as his arrowing hotly branded the flushed suppleness of her cheek with every caressing surge of his tongue. "Mphmm..." Groaningly, he stretched the plushier lushness of her captured lips with open-mouthed pressure, gutturally, edging her deeper into a sensuous—bone-racking mania that shudderingly fueled his visceral need. The flexing strength of his tenser hands rampantly bracketed the svelte curvatures of her graceful neck, bestial hunger inexorably rode through every muscled thew of his bulkier form as the decadent wetness of his bruising lips devouringly stretched the fevered plushness of her kiss-swollen lips with gaping pressure-the flavorous-headier sweetness of her cherry-glossed lips with the icier mintiness of his panty breaths was savorily indescribable. "D-Damn..."

Answering his intoxicated command on breathless succession, abandonly, Felicia twined her lithe arms over his broader nape, hottish pants raggedly tempoed into a sensuous rhythm as she blindly kneaded onto his roughish tresses. The vibrant exquisiteness of her voluptuous curves shiveringly fused against the heavier-corded solidity of his denim-clad mid-drift. Bracing her shapelier thighs against the table, bustily, Felicia cushioned her ample voluminous swells over the coolness of his leather jacket -a heart-thudding pulse razed through her veins coupled with a bone-melting firestorm as their recaptured lips breathlessly melded with intensifying supremacy. Forcily, his sleeved arms circled the sleekier planes of her back, while the drinking inhalation of each other's breaths was moaningly audible even to MJ who watched them with a bewildered look from behind the counter. Against the heart-thrilling revelation of untamed intimacy that achingly crescendoed through her-she wasn't letting him go. This passionate—addictive communion wasn't a cheap-out dance to walk away from—it was damn real. "I-I think you'll have more than my number..."

Passion fueling in his aqueous orbs he pulled her in for a hard punctuating lip-lock that held for a good 5 or 10 seconds as if they were imprinting the moment and sensation that would linger for the rest of the day-maybe longer. 'You're mine,' the thought burned in Bucky's thoughts, his grip around her tightening ever so slightly before they parted for breath. Felicia looked slightly winded, but the flush on her cheeks and the impressed look in her eyes made Bucky grin.

In a way, he felt like a man who had just been granted a life long wish. The tingling electricity left on his lips had spread throughout his entire body, the heat of her in his arms was life-giving, he was reluctant to break away from it. But looking into her eyes, seeing that twinkle of life and enthusiasm reflecting back at him, it was a nod of reassurance if anything that she was definitely interested in seeing him again. "Yeah. Yeah, I definitely do." He replied finally, scrunching his nose playfully as he gently set her down. Their gazes didn't break, but their cheeks were flushed with heat especially once they realized that they attracted a small audience in MJ and a few other people dining in the small shop. "I'll be seeing ya," he said.

Felicia didn't say anything else as she picked up her jacket off the booth and gave him a lingering stare as she made her way towards the exit. He thought he saw her smirk and wink at him as her slightly disheveled whitish locks covered her temple. Giddy and raw with satisfaction he flicked his tongue and playfully held out his hand in a snaring gesture, mimicking a roar as he did. She exited out the shop, leaving him high on cloud nine.

That was until reality hit him like a ton of bricks when MJ crossed her arms and him and deadpanned, "guess that means you're paying for the broken plate?" Bucky's expression fell.

"Ah damn it."

--------------

The UV warmness that radiated from the bulb toastily contrasted over the bracketed-nakeness resiliency of his graven-edged chest deadening him into the slumberous dregs of basking; after slobbily consuming greasier quarter-pound hamburgers to sake down his predacious-untrammelled hunger that implosively effused in tenfold, Bucky was sluggishly gripped into exhaustive drowsiness-his metabolism levels needed to recharge. The lightweight material of his black Hugo Boss shorts fringed over the corded litheness of his muscled thighs as he groggily rested on the hardwood, wearing designer-aviator sunglasses with protective lenses over his eyelids as he tactfully propped his head with a cushion. Groggily, he splayed his roughen palm against the chunkier swollenness of his paunchy abdomen-he was belchingly stuffed. "G-Gotta sssleep..." he moaned, hissingly, aware of his tinier-scaly-roommate flicking his fork-tongue as Slink crawled into the paper bag, sneakily munching on a ketchup-glazed fry.

He couldn't remember the last time he had stress-eaten himself into a greasy slop of fast-food and cheap beer. He had a coping mechanism for dealing with states of jacked-up anxiety and depression. A hard workout or even soothing music were often used to help him gain a measure of balance in his mind and body. While he was stressed over the precarious situation he found himself in with no way reversing the effect of the lizard scales creeping on his neck, it wasn't enough to make him this reckless in his appetite. He was hungry and he was mad. He knew time was running out but he had to hope that whatever miracle antidote Connors' planned on making would be enough to help him control the beast if not get rid of it.

"Need ssstronger booze," he grumbled, trying to shut his eyes and lose himself into slumber. A loud thumping knock caused his eyelids to snap wide awake. His heart nearly leapt up into his throat by the loud sudden noise that was about as alarming as a gunshot going off. He was on his feet in an instant facing his living room door. "C'mon…" he grumbled as he padded towards the door. He wasn't expecting any visitors. He nearly paused as a pleasant thought struck him. Maybe Felicia couldn't resist his Brooklyn boy allure afterall. A smug smirk pulled at his lips as his padding turned to a strut as he made his way to the door, pulling on his hooded sweater.

"Finally came back to see me, huh?" He said through the door while reaching for the knob, his confidence building. "The dames can't resist…" He whispered to himself as he chuckled. He opened the door and his smile immediately dropped, steel-blue eyes staring into the empty space of a not-so-unfamiliar person.

Garbed in a vintage G-1 fighter jacket adorned with the United States Air Force pararescue badge of his military-battled-tested service. Bracing his tauter shoulder against the doorframe, coolly, Sam quirked his goatee-fringed lips into a jauntier smirk. "Hey, man..." he addressed, cheekily, watching Bucky grumpily conveying a-tight-fisted reaction, as he mirrored the lasered intensity of stormier aquamarine-the cyborg glare. "It's been a while since you returned my call...Wanted to see if you did some work after our backyard chat..." With a tempered measure of his Louisanna-boy friendliness, Sam roved his dark irises unwaveringly onto the lightweight 'beach' shorts that fringed over Bucky's muscled calves. "Oh...Are we thinking about doing retirement in Florida..."

Bucky blinked once he had come through his moment of conflicting emotions that ranged from confusion to disbelief and then annoyance all in the span of seconds. Finally, one feeling took hold of him entirely and that was suspicion. His mask of nonchalance had shifted into narrowed slits as she stood in the doorway looking at his former partner. "Been kind of on the backburner after my last op," Bucky replied evenly, holding Sam's stare. "Let's just say it didn't go smoothly so now I'm just blowing off some steam before finding my way back into the saddle…"

"So the mission went that bad, huh?" Sam quipped in a smooth-timbered pitch, heartily, knowing that he was trudging on a combustive minefield of pent-up aggression. Brandishing a modicum of his unshakable reserve, he incredulously gazed at the scruffier contours of Bucky's heavier jaw twitchily rapt with standoffish-moodier edginess. He couldn't dodge being on the receiving end of backtalk snarkiness that was rapid-fire against him. Butting heads of habilitated robo-assassin wasn't an easy feat. "Look, I'm guessing you Terminator gears need a cool down before you start bustin' walls again..." he snorted out, teasingly, evading Bucky's derisive grimace. "I have an extra tab at this reputable bar a friend owns...Might be a good time to catch a Giants game before the place gets packed in..."

Sam's offer seemed genuine and carefree, but Bucky couldn't shake the feeling of disquiet in his body that all wasn't as it appeared. Sam and he hadn't spoken in months, and the last time they actually did something socially was at a New Avengers banquet he invited him to a year ago. But he chose to show up out of the blue now of all days? "Tempting, but I think I'd rather stick to home-base. Kinda have a movie I planned to watch." Bucky said that mostly to get him to back off. Truth was there was nothing on tv worth watching these days. Sam maintained his stiff smile as he nodded amicably.

"Mind if I watch it with ya? We'll order pizza-"

The suspicion in Bucky's bones continued to build as his posture tensed with his patience thinning until it snapped. "How about we cut the crap, Sssam? Hill sssent you to check on me didn't ssshe?" Bucky snarled. He figured after dodging the harpy's calls for the umpteenth time at this point she'd have someone tailing him to make sure he hadn't flown off the reservoir or had been replaced by some kind of shape-shifting alien.

With deviant-anarchic taskmasters deceptively operating syndicated installations -criminal networks that escalated with governmental power-moves of corruptible pawns in the World Council's rigged chessboard of bureaucracy. Despite Sam's peacemaking tangibles, the valorous-nationalistic mantle of Captain America was a contingency of expandability. Carrying the weight of the vibrainium shield on his back, Sam harboured into the full-measured virtues of indomitable-moralistic liberty; becoming aware of the clandestine maneuvers of globalized extremists who profited off terror-storms with desk-jockey alliances in the hub of national intelligence. With the assemblage of the weaponized Flag-Smashers, the loose-canon severity of revolutionary havoc was at its tipping-point with a new breed of criminality gaining a foothold: the Serpent Society. When he received the urgent call from Hill about Bucky going off-radar, he couldn't shrug off her troubled request to pay him a visit. "I'm not here to babysit your snarky ass, Bucky..." he reprimanded, tensely. "I'm needed back in Washington, and if you want to shut the door in my face, go ahead...Cause Hill will bring her task force to knock it down..."

Irrational feelings of resentment and anger took over Bucky. Feelings that barely felt like his own, but they were fed on by the cold-blooded reptile from within who began to see everyone and everything surrounding him as a threat. Sam had proven to be a reliable partner and somewhat of a friend in the past. The only man that he accepted could carry Steve's shield with honour and discipline. But Bucky had no illusions about what Sam would do if he knew the truth about what was happening to him. A quick call to Hill and he'd be dragged off to a lab and shoved inside of a fish-tank. He was a soldier and good soldiers followed orders. Giving Sam his best cursory smile, Bucky proceeded to slowly close the door as he suggested instead of slamming it. "Let her try it. I'd say she's suffered enough tactical embarrassments lately she can't afford another. Good seein' ya, Sam. Maybe next time I'm in DC I'll look you up." With that, he closed the door and locked it. A whirlwind of emotions moved through him.

The rational part of his mind felt shame and remorse for shutting out someone he thought of as a friend, but the cold and calculated part that was attuned to his own sense of survival told him it was for the best.

Removing a black Pym-sized 1967 Camero from his leathered pocket, attentively, Sam crouched on his denim-clad haunches, easing down his steadier hand a breadth at the space of the door-an entrance for a Hot Wheels to speedily glide through undetected. "Alright, Tick-tack..." he whispered, doing his utmost to hold a poker-faced reaction, he gazed unblinkingly at the ant-sized driver readily gripping the steering wheel. The headstrong-pain-in-the-ass stubbornness of Bucky's free-swinging tenacity inspiringly fueled him during the Flag-Smasher takedown—they were a bantering-competitive duo. He wouldn't abandon Bucky. "Maintain a safe distance and report back if Bucky leaves the apartment..." Watching the driver-side window automatically descend, Lang gestured an enthusiastic thumbs-up as he guided the Camero underneath the door. "Keep out of sight..."

"All right, I'm going in!" Scott hyped himself up with deep heavy breaths. The tiny vehicle drove through beneath the door and into the apartment undetected. The living room was brightly lit as sunlight pooled through the drawn curtains-it might as well have been as wide as a stadium to the pint-sized driver. It took a moment for Lang to realize just how vast and empty the space in the apartment was. There was little to no furniture, the tv itself had a pretty cheap stand that made it look like it could snap at any moment. "Barnes really must not get many guests."

He grimaced at the sight of numerous empty beer bottles lying around the shredded couch. That was when he felt the floor beneath him begin to wobble. "Things are getting bumpy!" He looked alarmed outside the cat, wondering if he fell into some kind of gap in the floorboards but was turned from that thought as he noticed several broken splinters of wood sticking out from the wood. "Uhhhh…Okay, that's peculiar." He didn't know what he was looking for when he stepped out of the car. A scratch in the floor made by furniture? But the guy had no furniture to begin with! Lang looked around, feeling immeasurable dread as if he were at the epicentre of some horrific discovery.

Underneath the droid-like -cybernetic helmet, his dark eyes widened. "That's a BIIIIGG hand-print." Did Barnes keep a pet cat with enormous claws?

With cautious paces over the claw-gouged floorboards, alertly, Scott glanced at leathery ebon-grayish remnants of desiccated scales nightmarishly clinging onto the cushion fibres that blockaded his stealthier advances, while he vaulted over a half-chewed fry and globs of ketchup. "Ah heck...That better wash out..." Adjusting the Pym-Particles regulator disk on his belt, he maneuvered a breadth at the couch's wooden leg, evading fuzzier clumps of dust that grimily amassed near the couch.

"Okay, Barnes needs to use a Swifter..." he quipped, sardonically, ducking underneath the metal springs as the stabilizer nanites in his Ant-suit kinetically pulsed bluish energy as he clumsily thunked against the vibrainium-alloy servos of a bionic arm that robotically flexed in mechanized sync."Woah, Bucky just leaves this under here..." He crouched down, splaying his tinier gloved palm against the golden skeins that sonically radiated with purplish Wakandian sigils. "Oh man, if Hank could see this..." Crouching onto his armoured haunches, Scott removed an EMP disk from his belt, oblivious that silvery-blackish orbs beadily glared at his intrusive form as he listened to a chirpier noise hissingly emitting behind the discarded arm. In those heart-jarring seconds, a skinnier tail of neon-turquoise defensively whiplashed over the vibrainium plating as Scott owlishly gazed at the reptilian 'guard-dog' hungrily darting his forked-tongue against his shoulder. "Hi buddy..." he whispered out, stammeringly, reeling back as Slink jutted his tinier snout with ant-devouring readiness. "Y-You wouldn't like to eat me, the places I've been, it would give you bad indigestion..."

The tiny lizard may as well have been Godzilla to the ant-sized Avenger who knew a hungry animal when he saw one. Why the heck couldn't Barnes have been a dog or a cat-person? Who keeps a pet lizard around?! Scott, in his panic, did the only thing that felt prudent which was to make a mad-dash back to his escape vehicle at the same time Slink lunged for his retreating meal. A close-call came as he felt a gust of wind against his side and he side-stepped just in time to avoid being wrapped in an elongated tongue. "WHOOOOOAAA! No! Bad lizard!" He jumped into the Hot Wheels and slammed onto the accelerator, eyes wide with fright as the lizard came closer. He could hear Sam in his ears com-link asking what was wrong. "Ugh, Sam, I mean Cap, we got a serious live-action case of Jurassic Park going on here. I'm calling abort!"

The Hot Wheels car screeched as he went back in reverse, watching with a racing heart as the lizard seemed fully intent on chasing him down.

With excitable bobbing of his tinier head, feistily, Slink toddled on his claw-feet, thrusting his stubbier- leathery snout as he caught the potency of Scott's mintier aftershave enwreathing over the micro-sized Camero. Harnessing the predatory-ambushing quickness of his viper-strike momentum, speedily, he pounced onto the vehicle's hood, flickering his fork-tongue against the windshield as Scott frantically gearshifted with breakneck traction. Hissing, the cantankerous reptile lashed his fore-claw viciously over the driver's door, cracking the bullet-proof integrity of the glass window. "Ssslink..." The raspier gravelliness of Bucky's slurring drawl exhaustedly beckoned as Slink froze on a deadened reaction, the second he listened to boot-stomping vibrations of Bucky's strutting advances intimidatingly tremored underneath his dwarfish form. "C'mon pal, where are you hidin'...?"

Against the feverish drowsiness that stiltedly floored his wavering mobility, tiredly, Bucky wavered his strenuous paces a breadth at his couch as his Romaniansque nose scrunched raptly against the saltier potency of vomitous sweat that clammily reeked out of his pores-a masculine balminess of territorial pheromones. Unabashedly, Bucky eased up his arm, pressing his nose into the muscled tautness of his bicep, catching an odorous-muckier whiff of his repugnant scent. "Argh...That can't be me..." he grumbled, broodily, knifing razor-slit iciness of his grayish-aquamarines downcastly at the blotchier scaly roughness of his enlarging hand as he grimacingly pursed his shapely-bow lips against the pinching throb of his jutting incisors. "I gotta fight this..." The feather-soft pressure of Slink's tinier form laggingly crawled over his muscled calf as he scooped up his sneakier roommate with his palm. "M' gonna have one helluva of makeover..."

The tiny reptile had taken his sights away from his potential snack, allowing Scott to gun the accelerator and take off in the direction he had come. Bucky frowned as he heard a soft revving close-by. "C'mon, Ssslink. We got a hot dame to impress." He said, lifting his little pet off the floor and onto the counter. He grimaced as he leant into his own arm. The reek of his own scent was suffocating, he imagined Felicia wouldn't stand within ten feet of him if she caught a whiff. "Gotta get this stuff off," he realized that the sweat on his skin appeared thicker than normal and was the source of the odor. It was an odd development that should have filled him with dread but he shrugged it off as another symptom of his scalie make-over. He knew he was losing time. In less than 36 hours he would again succumb to the transformation and he needed to have a plan before then.

He picked up his phone and turned it on. He ignored the bombardment of missed calls and text notifications from Hill and instead sent a text message to Connors. "Any updates? I need a solution. I'm losing time…" He didn't expect an immediate response. He knew the doctor was his only shot. But as he looked over his left-limb, noticing how his flesh was turning a darker green with each hour, he reflected on what that lawyer, Murdoch, had mentioned. Taking his card out of his pocket, he contemplated phoning him.

Evicting the unwarranted rabidness that implosively notched within him, snarlingly, against teeth-gnashing strain, Bucky flicked the business card onto the floor as the mutative dewiness of his obsidian fingernails piercingly lengthened into hooked reptilian claws. A trepidatious onrush of heart-vising alarm mortifyingly intensified as he gurgled up the acidity of poisonous saliva that infused his puffier gums. "Oh no..." With a choke-off gasp, shakily, Bucky glided his scaled finger over the jagged sharpness of his lower incisor fang-a droplet of bilious venom alarmingly oozed from the serrated fang.

"Damnit..." Floored panic nakedly gleamed in his wide-blown aqueous irises, Bucky gripped onto a chrome faucet, blindly jerking with a breakneck flex as a cool gush streamed through. "Thisss...Isss Bad..." Forcefully, he braced himself against the granite counter with a hunching poise, slurping down handfuls of water to desperately flush out the septic reserves of Komodo venom. "G-Gotta...Hrgh..." Against the fevered bleariness that swimmingly robbed his vision, he thrusted his clawed-hand over his iPhone, which vibrated an incoming text message as the screen automatically flickered on. "N-Not thisss again..."

Vexatiously, the razor-slit intensity of his aqueous glare stormily flashed onto the green-boxed text, as he slid a scaled finger tremulously over the screen, widening the selfie image of the breathtakingly gorgeous dame-Felicia-the kittenish vixen was seductively leaning her curvaceous back against the glass-barrier terrace of her midtown penthouse- the whitish-silvery cascades of her dishevelled whorls foxily draped over her ivory-freckled shoulders as she voluminously quirking her pillowy burgundy lips into a sexier pout with her lithe hand blowing a flirty kiss. Underneath the photo, a cutely bordered with red-heart emojis. 'Don't forget you owe me a dance...'

"Felisssssha…" A jolt of hot arousal flowed through his veins to the point he released a growling hiss with fanged teeth bared. All rational thought from the man within dimmed like a fading candle-light allowing only dark thoughts to cloud his brain derived from the animal within who solely desired to claim the silver-haired vixen as a mate. One to love, to breed and to share a life far away from the dregs of this decrepit city. A perfect image flashed through his mind's eye of them both as Komodo Dragons, living in solitude and comfort in the wilderness next to the sea. The thought sparked comfort and longing inside of him, so much so that he dismissed any notions of her being unwilling to join him in such a pursuit. The man inside of him felt distressed, but the lizard felt only mild conviction. Connors would help him. Connors would understand.

Licking his teeth with his forked tongue, his reptilian slits gazed at the selfie pic, a clawed digit caressing the screen. "Ssshe will be mine…" If he had to have her turned into a Komodo dragon too, that is what he would do.

With steadier flexion of his latex-gloved hand, unerringly, Conners injected a medical syringe within the saggier leatheriness of the girthier obsidian-scaled Komodo moodily nesting on a heap of dampish mulch within her cube-like vivarium, her biotic maturation was reaching the paramount threshold of reptilian evolution as thermic levels of her metabolism boosted with gestation readiness-she needed a mate. With genetic proficiency, Conners replicated the mutagen that infused with scarred tissue of her underbelly- she was a tragic product of barbaric cruelly, shackled within an underground fighting ring in High Town-Madripoor-where her merciless handlers electro-shocked her with taser batons to unleash her bloodthirsty viciousness. "I know, my dearest," he whispered in a pacifying cadence, fractionally splaying his gloved palm over her marred scaly flesh as she raggedly emitted guttural chuffs. "Humanity discards you extraordinary creatures to become captives to slake their pitiful amusement..." Shiftily, Conners roved his heavy-lidded gaze onto the emptied syringe. "Once the final component of my Halloween makeover comes at hand, they will understand the true essence of survival..."

Unbeknownst to the focused scientist, a dark shape entered the office through a ventilation shaft up in the ceiling. Silent as a shadow, swift as the wind, it went unnoticed. Sharpened steel orbs penetrated the doctor's back, boring into him as if gazing into the depths of his soul. The bluish iris narrowed into slits, powerful hands tightened into fists as a killer instinct warred within. The struggle persisted for seconds. In those seconds, Connors realized the Komodo reacted as if sensing something-or someone. His eyes flicked to the corner but he didn't turn. The shape relaxed his composure as he remained still as a statue, awaiting something-a command or an acknowledgment of some kind.

Detecting the precarious aura that was menacingly akin to a point-blank intrusion, reactively, Conners brushed the receding fringe of his scraggy-blondish tresses off his tensing brow as he involuntarily bolstered his lankier haunches against the glass vivarium, delivering languid ministrations of the Komodo's leathery back. Defensively, she jutted up her raptor-like snout on aggressive tenor. Quirking his weathered lips into a half-smirk, Conners glanced over his shoulder at the grated air-vent above him. "James...This visit is unexpected..." he murmured, raspily, easing onto his polished Oxfords with gentleman-honed swiftness as he deceptively clutched onto the vial. "I will not disregard your urgency..." Gingerly, he dragged out a chrome stool-gesturing for his stealthier visitor to enter his office. "You have questions about the evolution of your reptilian appetites, am I right?"

Bucky stepped forward into the pale light of the office, the rim emission creating haunting reptilian shadows around the curvature of his human features. "I don't have much time. I can feel it… More than that I feel thisssd hole. Thissss…longing. I'm not gonna ssspend every waking minute of thisss exissstence sssuferring in lonelinesss." There was a menacing drawl to his tone that piqued the scientist's interest. His speech and mannerisms were an indicator of a human conscience but it was being ruled almost entirely by its new reptilian attributes. Bucky gave off a pungent odor that wad familiar, his restless pacing a sure indicator that life without a mate would only lead him into mad state. Looking Connors in the eyes, his steely-bluish iris were slit with possessive intent. "I need her… Feliccciaaa."

Hearing the slurring pitch hissingly fringe against the reptilian-sniper's murmurous drawl, Conners raptly wrinkled his aquiline nose against the vomitous balminess-the arousal odour of a Komondo potency reekingly wafted off the material of his threadbare hoodie bordered the hard-edged angularity of his leathery-suarion- features-the mutative deformity of his reptilian visage infectiously accelerating on possessive fruition. Underneath grungier chestnut tresses sweatily clung askew over the hard-edge angularity of his temple, predatorily, Bucky lasered his whitish-sapphire irises that swelteringly gleamed alight naked lividiness onto the female Komodo with hungrier intensity—need.

"It seems your receptive impulses with this woman...Felicia... are getting stronger, James..." he addressed, solemnly, as Bucky crouched onto his denim-clad haunches, affectionately, nuzzling his scruffier cheek against the vivarium's glass-every fraction of his instinctive drive enticingly coupled with hungrier urgency. Groaningly, Bucky emitted out chuffier pants, mirroring the Komodo's snout-bonks on fervent abandon. "I advised you that getting close to her would only feed your rampant urges..." Conners adjusted his wire-framed glasses, aware of the validation of Bucky's uncontrolled-tanalized longing to choose his nesting mate. "You want me to give your Felicia a makeover that will evolve her into a beautiful Komodo, so you won't be alone?"

The receptiveness of the caged komodo female was stirring towards Bucky's sense of direction. His ardent need to find a willful companion was compounded by the darker impulse to transform the woman he truly wanted into his own circumstance. The rational part of his mind was screaming at him not to heed the doctor's question, to run as far away as he could and leave Felicia be. But the thought left him empty and resigned to the notion he'd suffer a cold lonely existence until his inevitable death. A mournful look crossed him, his features deteriorating as he shed a single tear that trailed down his cheek and into his stubble. He wondered if the female in the cage felt like he did. A sense of connection and attachment within him. Part of him wondered why Connors hadn't just returned the poor thing into the wild or given her a mate. She didn't deserve to be caged. Neither did he. Neither did Felicia. With a heavy heart, he fixed the doctor with a penetrating stare. "Can you do it?"

With the contemplative resolve that precariously warred against Conners' malicious drive to perpetually inject himself with the syringe vial that contained the enhanced mutagen of Triassic-DNA- the herpetologist architects of the reptilian evolution used bioengineering equations-paradoxes for medical research, instead of purging the cancerous frailty that damningly infected humanity with genetic consequences. Until recently, a rogue AIM bio-engineer who was housed by the Power Broker in Madripoor located an off-grid preserve in Antarctica a sanctuary for prehistoric behemoths-dinosaurs that were genetically incubated to unfailingly thrive on the exotic island-the Savage Land.

The emergence of his reptilian metamorphosis was hampered by an impudent web-swinging teenager who had been miraculously enhanced with a genetically-infused Oscorp arachnid that granted him heightened-acrobatic abilities: Spiderman.

Fostering a visceral perception of Bucky's heart-crippling desperation that anguishedly railed within him, involuntarily, harnessing a measure of unavailing sincerity, Conners gripped his latex-sheathed palm over Bucky's racking shoulder on tentative accord, keeping him grounded on his shakier haunches. "I will proceed with your request, James..." he whispered, causticly, pacing towards his desk, as he reached for the metallic handle of a min-fridge. "Once the synthesized mutagen enters her body, the changes will become irreversible..." Deftly, he clutched onto the handle of an air-locked container, removing a greenish vial as the raptorial intensity of Bucky's silvery-aqumarine depths unwaveringly scythed onto the chilled serum. "A word of caution, she will become aggressive with hormonal changes like all Komodo females when they begin nesting stage..."

The vial in Connors' hands took him back to that fateful night at the docks nights ago and how it had changed him. But instead of feeling disgust, Bucky felt hopeful. Every breath he took made the notion of being alone or being together with Felicia in a similar form felt almost unbearable without action taken. He gazed back at the female Komodo, his eyes boring into her solemn depths that longed for companionship. Something in his chest twisted and his cold blood felt hotter. He ran his hands along the glass with tender care, conveying a deep sense of remorse but also reassurance to the lonely lizard. "I'm sorry." She wasn't the mate he longed for, she deserved one that wasn't consumed by the thought of another.

Turning on his feet he approached Connors, his posture hung like a stalking predator as he looked at the vial then back at the expectant scientist. "This wasn't the life I wanted. But its all I've got left," he said almost as if trying to convince himself the action he was about to take was the only possible one left for him, because in the end, that's what he was doing this for. Himself. He swiped the vial from Connors' hands, snarling as he leaned towards him and expressed. "But we're not gonna be your experimentssss. Got it?"

The snarlier pitch of Bucky's hissing undertone menacingly resonated through Conners as he snappishly jutted out his bottom incisor fangs with teeth-gnashing strain, the whitish-sapphire of his frostier aqueous depths unblinkingly glared at the passive Oscorp doctor as his full-blown pupils raptorially thinned into razor-slits-the full-fledged rabidness of a defensive Komodo male. Staving down his pent-up-deadlier ferocity, restrainedly, Bucky wavered back from the desk, unmovingly grounding himself near the girthier Komodo's enclosure with full-measured protectiveness.

Maliciously, Conners glared at the vial tensely gripped in his tight-fisting hand; with temperate composure, he removed a folder from his cluttered desk, revealing a photographic location of a tropical paradise off the coast of Indonesia that was the breeding hub of Komodo Dragons. "I will make the proper arrangements of travel for you and your beautiful mate..." he returned, promisingly, his wrinkled lips playing off a fiendish sneer. "The island has safeguards that ensure new generations of Komodos will be unharmed by cruel hands..." Gnawing on his underlip, crestfallenly, Bucky flipped the pages with a quieted nod-underlyingly conveying his votive decision-the heart-driven surrender to a new reality-existence. "I can assure you, James Barnes, you will find peace there."

"There'ssss no peaccceeee. Only the quiet before the next sssstorm," he slithered.

Peace was something he never quite felt throughout his life. Even when the world wasn't at war, Bucky never knew anything beyond strife and hardship borne out of the aftermath of living as a brainwashed assassin. It was something he yearned for but didn't believe was real. What Connors was offering him felt too good to be true. The bad vibe he felt from him hadn't wavered, and not for the first time, Bucky blamed the doctor for his condition given it was his serum he was exposed to. But if a safe sanctuary was Connors' way of making things right, he would see it through. He had to.

-----------

The orangish sconces of Victoriansque candelabras spookily contrasted against the spider-webbed tablecloths festively draped over the banquet tables; crystalline sculptures of vitreous pumpkins and iron-footed cauldrons heaped with Reese Pieces, Oh Henry, Kit Kit chocolate bars adorned the veristical grandeur of the ballroom as Mahatten's philanthropic-high-rolling elite-the bigshot-imperious aristocracy. The stuffiness of costumed notoriety was glitzily attired in the Venetian carnival; brocade visages of harlequin and metallic casanova masks of diamond rhinestone, peacock feathers and white-gold ceramic half-butterfly dominos- a Halloween masquerade of the ostentatious extravagance of fantastical-macabre chimeras that paraded the streets of Venice.

Evading a purplish tricorno-hat senator gothically costumed like a opera-like phantom with a white-volvo mask covering his aging features, vexatiously Felica braced against the marble pillar, registering her delicate-bone jaw feverishly tensing against the velvet diamond-studded Columbina domino-the guise of a black cat that vixenishly bordered over the sleekier curvatures of her pearlescent features. A black satin cloak aesthetically emphasized the touseled length of her silvery-platinum whorls curtaining over a golden-chiffon brocade corset that bustily laced against the sweetheart décolletage of her voluptuous breasts. Fastened around her svelter neck was a leather choker as the Itailanesque exquisiteness of her damask-bodice gown alluringly cascaded over her block-heeled Versace boots -she was a vampish mystique. "Let's see if he shows up before midnight..." Devaintly, her pillowy crimson-glossed lips quirked into a foxier smirk, glancing in the direction of the carpeted steps where the gingery-haired contributor of the charity gala was impassively stationed-Norman Osborn-wearing an emerald-stone Bauta mask that sneeringly resembled a demonic jester. "Well, that's interesting..."

Norman Osborn had taken to the stage, giving a rehearsed if not disingenuous speech on behalf of Oscorp thanking the numerous elites and business conglomerates in attendance for funding the numerous projects he proposed in the hopes of making New York safer. It was all an elaborate show-boat in his frugal attempt to boast his company's image as the city's future that would eliminate the need for costumed heroes to protect them. It garnered a scattered amount of applause, much to the discontent of a few onlookers in attendance to which the Oscorp CEO was referring to. Sam Wilson, clad in his Captain America ensemble stood near the stage, a soured look on his face indicating he'd rather be anywhere but here. Next to him was Happy Hogan wearing his own Venetian suit with his domino mask removed.

Among the crowd of photographers, a young teen snapped a few shots, his demeanour downtrodden as he listened to Osborn downplay the necessity for heroes like Spider-Man and Daredevil protecting the streets.

"PARKER...!"

The bull-horn cadence of the indecorous Daily Bugle editor thunderingly caromed over the vast ballroom as Jameson crabbily snapped his fingers in the direction of sheepish Midtown High photographer -a punk-nosed freelance rookie who had a modest-virtuous knack of dodging 'headliner' photos. Instead, he captured disposable negatives of the wall-crawling menace-Spiderman. Huffishly, Jameson flashed the foppish-haired Queen's teenager a dead-straight glare as his ebony toothbrush mustache twitchily rapted with vexation, while Peter dutifully steadied his Nikon camera with snap-shot readiness. "Get a good front-page shot of Mr. Osborn...I'm not paying for standing around!"

Measuring his focal-point distance, cautiously Peter adjusted the focus lenses as his darkish-hazel irises unwaveringly roved on the emerald-masked jester-the stringent CEO of Oscorp-the demonic curvatures of pointed-nose Bauta mask was etched to resemble the maniacal visage of a Shakespearian goblin. "Something's off..." Peter murmured, shakily, attuned with glissading -tremorous vibrations of his -Spidey-Sense-thrumming reactively against his adrenalizedpulse. Curbing a trepidatious urge to activate his nano-web shooters underneath his tuxedo's sleeve, downcastedly he pressed the button and took a photo. "Gotta warn Felicia..."

By the time Wilson Fisk had taken the stage to suck even more life out of the once lively festivities, Peter had begun to wish he had just taken a job as a pizza delivery boy. At least he'd be getting tips in cash instead of from the mouths of shady business moguls. Photography was his passion but he could only stomach listening to so much babble before he felt his spidey-sense tingled him into a migraine. He shrugged as he continued moving about the party, snapping shots of some super-models dressed as sexy witches intermingling with each other while sipping champagne. He noticed a small commotion building towards the entrance where a few valets were making room. He heard the revving of a Ducati v2 Panigale motorcycle engine, a loud beast of a machine that commanded attention. A few of the guests covered their ears, muttering their displeasure while others murmured with interest as they caught a glimpse of its driver.

Peter stood ready, wondering if it was an actor, supermodel or another business tycoon looking to steal the spotlight. "Whoa, excuse me!" He yelped as he was nearly trampled by other photographers. Flashes went off as cameras snapped away. A manly dark shape pushed his way through, giving a stiff smile while shielding his eyes with one hand. Some journalists seemed to recognize the long-haired man dressed in form-fitting leather. "James Barnes! How does it feel to be attending the Halloween gala?!" One pushy journalist fired off. "Amazing costume!" "Are you attending alone?!" "Any special someone?!"

"I'm just here to have a good time," Bucky replied evenly as he finally pushed past the media blockade covering the gala and found himself the center of attention for dozens of sets of eyes. He stood composed with a confident look as he strode forward like a fantasy hero of pure masculinity come to life. Numerous women gawked, you could almost see the heart-shapes in their eyes while a few men grunted with obvious displeasure at Bucky's reception. Peter had a difficult time telling if the famous, or rather infamous, super-soldier was dressed as Aragorn from Lord of the Rings or a musketeer straight out of Zorro. But as he took a snap of his picture, capturing the man's dark hair blowing in a soft breeze, he chuckled inwardly.

"Betty will love this shot," he could almost hear Ms. Brandt's girlish squeal.

"Hey...Um...Mister Barnes..." Peter stammered out, chirpily, gazing at the swash-buckling defender who intimidatingly braced his wolf signet pauldron-clad shoulder against the glass door, evading the strobing flashes of newshounds that blindingly seared his vision. The leather-steampunk exquisiteness of his loop-button jacket fittingly delineated the bulkier tautness of his gladiator-honed rigidity as the collared tunic shadowily grazed over the scruffiness of his razor-edged jaw, hunkily emphasizing the dimpled-cleft of his broader chin. Hemmed sleeves aesthetically contrasted with his black riding gloves, while the corded litheness of his muscled calves was athletically sheathed with buccaneer-vigilante boots. A Zorro-like domino mask roguishly fused over the angular-hawkish planes of his knife-cut cheekbones; wolfish chestnut tresses shaggily feathered against his temples as the icier steeliness of his aquamarine depths electrifyingly gleamed with tenacious fierceness: he was definitely a bad-ass Mustereer. "Woah...Very cool Assissan's Creed costume, sir..."

Bucky smiled with soft bemusement at the kid's comment which was probably a reference of some kind. "Assassin's Creed? Is that something popular with the kids these days?" An awkward pause came and Bucky chuckled as he slapped the kid on the shoulder before making his way forward. "If its cool for you youngsters, lets hope the dames will appreciate it too." He paused for a moment in surprise at how firm the photographer's shoulder was. One look at him Bucky would've presumed he was a book-warm more than a gym-rat. He squashed this irrational sense of animosity that built within him, almost as if the beast inside could sense an unseen prey in its midst. He looked around, seeing nothing but the unassuming youngster who looked at him closely. Peter's spider-sense was practically doing jumping jacks in his head, screaming at him to "watch out" beneath the piercing stare of Bucky Barnes who seemed confused.

"Have we met before, kid?" His face looked kinda familiar…so did his voice.

Brandishing a dorkier smirk that boyishly quirked over his plush-chiselled lips, shakily, Peter lowered down his camera, doing his utmost to hinge down the heart-thudding giddiness that warringly notched through his veins as he counted down his speedier breaths. "Well, you see, when I came back from being dusted...I kinda got to fight with the really cool Avengers and you're friend...Cap." he answered, uneasily, watching Bucky confusedly arching his eyebrow against the velvet-domaino-callback memories of acrobatically swinging over leviathan warships as cosmic armies of robotic-like-symbiote orcs destructively raided over the bomb-razed grounds of the Avengers base-he was tossing the Hulk-size gauntlet to Captian Marvel when a shockwave blast of proton energy struck him like a grenade blowback-Bucky had reactively dove over him, shielding him from the explosion. "I remember...You sort of took a blast shot when one of those hideous Thanos aliens went all Empire Strikes Back on us..."

"The Spider-Guy," The realization hit him like a brick to the face in the shape of a spider's fist as he recalled their first encounter. The kid from Queens; young enough to be a high-schooler but still someone even Steve respected after their tussle at the airport years ago, and not to mention their battle for the fate of the universe against Thanos. "Small world, huh?" Bucky chuckled as he extended his hand and shook Peter's. It explained why the lizard inside of him felt so threatened; so…aggressive. The kid was a powerhouse who took after an insect lizard's sampled for breakfast. A rumbling in his body made him feel dread crawl up his skin. He felt no ill-will towards the teen, but Bucky knew he had to get as far away from him as possible. Suddenly appearing evasive, he clapped Peter on the arm once more and began to edge further away. "Look uh, I'm looking for somebody. I'll be seein' ya around."

Leaving a confused Parker behind, Bucky breathed deeply, a familiar ache in his jaws was an indicator that his teeth were sharpening into daggers with the prospect of feasting on prey. He pushed his way past a few business stiffs in his way, nearly toppling them off their feet, as he made his way towards the serving tables. His eyes searched, scanning the crowd for a hint of silver-white tresses among the throngs of beautiful women. "Where are ya, kitty-cat?" He rumbled with a deeper tone, sniffing and searching.

He wrinkled his nose at the collection of hundreds of different odors that assaulted his senses ranging from the sweetest of bake treats to the most nauseating of body odors belonging to a few guests. His sense of hearing did no favors either as he detected boring chatter ranging from Wall-street to celebrity gossip that made his head spin. The soft symphony playing classic Halloween songs did little to sooth his temperament as he bumped into a couple dressed as Gomez and Morticia Addams. "Where's Lurch?" Bucky deadpanned as he brushed past them, smiling stiffly as a Barbie and Ken came roller-skating past him, nearly knocking him into a passing waiter. "I really hate this holiday," he grumbled, snatching a drink and downing the champagne with one long gulp.

That was when his ears pricked at the sound of a familiar name being uttered.

Approaching with empress haughtiness in her sauntering paces, brusquely, Anastasia Hardy edged her proximity closer to her gorgeous- brazen daughter, her coppery-blondish whorls are half-draped over the scarlet-demask velvet of her Ventien riament as she clutched onto the wooden pole of her intricate-golden a Barocco domino that was alluringly sculpted like a baroque diadem with silvered beads-a queen's mask. Collectively, her teal-virescent depths infuriatingly roved over the costumed elite, as the hawkish contours of her jaw tensely clenched with avid dissatisfaction when she glimpsed at Felicia making a stealthier attempt to evade her stone-faced presence. Quickly, she grabbed Felicia's wrist in a deadlock grip, yanking her away from the banquet table as she listened to her protesting feistiness. "This is unacceptable behaviour, Felicia..." she rasped, waspishly, pursing her rubied lips into a terse scowl. " I have very powerful friends of influence here and you're shrugging them off ...Making me look bad in front of Wilson Fisk."

"Maybe Felicia is just waiting for the right company to come along…" A suave charming voice breached the tension in the air between mother and daughter. Their focus was stolen as they watched the tall, dark and handsome visage of a Musketeer stride towards them with a dangerous strut in his powerful build. Bucky Barnes' complexion was smooth, a smile gracing his bearded shapely-bow lips as he faced Felicia with deep silvery-blue eyes, bright with relief but soon turned dark with desirous admiration as he beheld her enchanting outfit. "My Lady," he put on a mock-show of chivalry as he reached for her hand. "Forgive my tardiness…traffic was rather hell at this time of night. But you do look breathtaking…"

Hearing the murmurous velvetiness of his contralto-timbered drawl hypnotically delivering whisper-soft reverence, arrestingly, Felicia registered the gentlemen-like contrast of his featherlight ministrations of invested tentativeness amorously gliding over the daintier curvatures of her gloved hand-a possessive tracery of headier violation that shiveringly captured her into evocative-feverous dregs. The sconces of candlelight burnished over the razored angularity of his cheekbones that shadowily contrasted with his vigilante domino as the whitish-sapphire of his mesmeric aquamarine irises burningly gleamed with the diamondlike intensity of his as his leather-sheathed palm cherishingly bracketed the undercurve of her delicate jaw on chaste -intensifying precision that grounded her with every steadier caress. The disparaging-huffish breath of her stringent mother vehemently jarred her back to reality. "Well, I do like your Halloween style..." Felicia quipped, jauntily, gazing at the poutier smoothness of his shapely-bow lips rascally kicking up into a toothier smirk, her lithe fingers brushingly glided over the bordering edge of his domino as his chestnut tresses dishelevelly clung over the sleekier fineness of her wrist. "Not sure about the mask though..."

"And here I thought you enjoyed a little mystique," he lightly teased after planting a kiss on the back of her knuckles. He could be chivalrous, maybe even charming when the situation called for it, but there was something arduous about Felicia and how snug her corset hugged her curves that made his chaste kiss the furthest thing he wanted to do to her. Were it not for the mystery woman standing next to her, he might've acted on the brazen impulse to pull her into his arms and claim her lips with a starving kiss. Both the man and the lizard inside of him wanted it. "But if its all the same to you," he said, removing the mask so that he could look at Felicia and the older woman next to her with cool blue eyes. There was a resemblance there, a familial one perhaps. Were it not for the heavy make-up, the scent of perfume and hair-dye he could detect from the middle-aged woman, the similarities perhaps would've been more identifiable. "Hope I wasn't interrupting-"

"I see my Felicia has invited you without my knowledge..." The succinctness of Anastasia's huskier pitch was bluntly evident to the vexatious strain rapting over the pristine ivory of her stone-edged features as she detected an intimate-'rule-breaking' dynamic that electrifyingly radiated between her reckless-hearted daughter and Bucky on feverous tenor. Despite her stricter reservations about motherly protectiveness, Anastasia grounded a modicum of caution when she was in the jackbooted proximity of Wilson Fisk. "Well, I can't turn away just a handsome stranger..." A flirtatious smirk cannily quirked over her rubied-thinned lips as she incredulously gazed at the razored suaveness of Bucky's hard-edged features, reaching her lithe hand to amusingly boop the prominent dimple of his scruffier chin, oblivious that his dilated pupils reptilianly thinned into diamond-edged slits under the fringe of his lashes. "So does this pretty man have a name, or do I need to guess...?" she cajoled, teasingly, edging her satin-clad finger over the velvet-soft fullness of his poutier underlip. "I can see why my daughter gave you this invite..."

Bucky considered himself an excellent judge of character and something about Felicia's mother screamed "vulture" to him. She appeared to be a member of the elite who was used to the finer things in life and getting what she wanted. Felicia herself appeared mildly put-off by her mother's behavior. With a swift ease, Bucky reached up to catch the woman's wrist before she became too comfortable touching his face. A tense moment followed before he smoothly rotated his grip and brought her hand into a gentle handshake, a fake smile plastered across his lips. "Ma'am. My name's James Bucky Barnes, formerly known as the assassin The Winter Soldier; recently pardoned and seeking to make amends for my past misdeeds spanning over decades. And yes, I've killed people, but I don't do that anymore." His smile remained in place even as he watched Anastasia Hardy's complexion turn pale with each word he said.

Looking at Felicia with the same dopy smirk, "does that about cover it?"

The snarkier cockiness of his whispery drawl was right-on-point as Bucky smirkily quirked his shapely-bow lips into a toothier 'shit-eating' grin, accentuating the crows-feet that waggishly feathered over his broader temples. Underneath her sleekier ebony-diamond Columbina mask, steelily Felicia drove the naughtier intensity of her autumn-brandy irises onto her gobsmacked mother who flinchingly reeled back with trepidatious defensiveness. "Yeah...Pretty much..." Felicia murmured with a sassier undertone, brusquely, glancing at the smug-faced Oscorp benefactor malignly encroaching near a banquet table garnished with platters of sugary pastries, chocolate truffles, and pumpkin-spice cake as his wrinkled hand deceptively reached for a cream-filled Jack-o-Lantern. The weathered gauntness of his chiselled features eerily belied pythonic-homicidal malignance as if he was a portentous composer of berserk- sadistic mayhem. "Why don't you go back and get all chummy with Osborn, mother..." she pressed, brassily, watching her mother edgily dragging her fingernails against the pole of her golden domino-feigning her teemed revulsions as Felicia clutched onto his gloved hand, registering his knuckles tensely flexing with tight-fisted restraint. "Don't worry, I'll keep him close..."

As Felicia whisked him away from her disconcerted mother, Bucky kept up a cool demeanor even as his insides were twisting with anticipation as he unconsciously traced the shape of the glass vial inside of his pants. He felt conflict begin to seep into his being and he did his utmost to ignore its grasp. He had to do this…"You know, for a moment I wasn't sure you'd come," Felica had purred ever softly, distracting him from his thoughts as she seemed to guide him like a light feather towards the dance floor. She was the wind and he felt nearly helpless beneath her pull. "You spend enough time around costumed do-gooders all year-long, another night might've been a little too on the nose," she explained to which he released a dry chuckle.

"Let's just say, I had some good incentive," he teased, becoming somewhat flushed at the memory of her provocative selfie. She could have asked him to meet him at the top of the Empire State Building and he would've parachuted in by chopper if he'd had to. As the couple fell into each others arms, Bucky's wandering gaze found a peculiar set of eyes gazing in his direction with intense scrutiny. His good demeanor fell as Sam Wilson, standing near the stage with a group of acquaintances seemed solely focused on him rather than engaging the others in conversation. To confirm his suspicion, Sam pointedly aimed two fingers at his eyes then pointed them towards Bucky. 'I'm watching you.'

Bucky resisted the urge to flip him off but settled for sending him a pointed glare of his own. He felt Felicia's cool hand caress his cheek, redirecting his attention towards her. "Good to see I have your attention," she snarked as Bucky turned a little sheepish.

"Its a Treadstone thing, you never know who's watching," he snarked back as the ambient music playing turned a little more energetic. Bucky could honestly say he was having somewhat of a good time. Felicia's silvery whorl locks framed her angelic features making her look like an elfish beauty out of some fantasy movie come to life. He whipped her back into his arms and allowed the heat of his breath to ghost across her neck. She shivered pleasantly in his arms, and looked at him side-long.

"Maybe you should try the champagne then to help you relax. I hear its addicting," she coaxed.

"Yeah?" He touched his lips to her ear and whispered huskily. "I doubt it's as addicting as you."

A hottish-mintier tracery of his breathier drawl feverishly caressed the fine-bone delicateness of her cheek; blindly, Felicia twinned her sleeved arms over his muscled nape as the sensuous contrast of undeniable-wonderous passion implosvely beckoned on ardent tenor. Flitting her lashes against the velvet material of her domino, unblinkingly she gazed into the bluish silveriness of his aqueous depths that smoulderingly gleamed like icier sapphire against the wolfish length of his unkempt chestnut tresses."Haven't we danced like this before...?" she murmured, raspily, gliding the sweeter lusciousness of her voluminous lips plushily over his leather-sheathed knuckles. "I-I think a girl could get used to this..." Fervidly, his shapely-wide lips headily graced the curvier suppleness of her jaw as he delivered possessive-driven ministrations over the intricate exquisiteness of her Columbia-feline mask, anchoring her with rhythmic command.

Their dance continued as the party-ambience continued to grow more energetic as more people began to unwind and dive into their cups. As Anastasia Hardy continued in her attempts to coax Norman Osborn and Wilson Fisk into an animated discussion, a single set of eyes watched Bucky and Felicia from afar with keen interest. Cool and calculated the observer moved about the party with an undrunk wine glass in hand while discreetly setting remote objects beneath the banquet tables. Sam Wilson watched Bucky like a hawk and with the immobility of a sentinel wondering what was so off about him. Scott had mentioned something curious to him during his short-recon. Bucky had stashed his vibranium limb beneath his couch like a spare set of shoes to be worn another day. While Bucky's left arm was concealed beneath his costume, Wilson noted how it wasn't as tightly wound beneath the fabric as it should be. 'What's he up to?' He wondered, so distracted by his observation he failed to notice someone moving behind him and planting something beneath a dessert table.

Bucky guided Felicia back into his arms as the music built to a crescendo. The climax landed with the silver-maned beauty landing snug against his chest, breathless and dishevelled, a strand of white hanging in front of her brow. Bucky's heart thumped wildly, she was so gorgeous and irresistible. "Well that was fun," he chuckled, his throat feeling dry all of a sudden. The impulse was there to kiss her and drink in her passion to fuel his own. As they drew closer, he felt a stabbing claw of dread sink into his stomach that shot through his nerves like wildfire. 'Oh no…Not now."

"Ready for a cool down...?" she purred in a huskier undertone, coaxingly, pressing her fevered brow sultrily against the patchier scaliness of his temple. With unadulterated reaction, involtionariy, Felicia scrunched her delicate nose against the vaporous amora of sweatier brininess that muskily wafted off his black tunic-the racier fragrancy of his arousal. With painstaking traction, stuntedly Felicia wavered back on her stiletto-heels, nakedly gazing at the bracketed ridges of his tauter-edged washboard abdomen chunkily overlapping with rubberized bulginess sloughing the athletic-enhanced resiliency into a globbier mass, varicose-gnarled- veins uglily threaded over his broader neck. Fostering a callback of her Midtown First Aid course, she was aware of the symptoms of an allergic reaction-the rampant bloatedness that dangerously manifested from the exposure to nuts. " "W-Wait are you having a reaction..." she asked, breathlessly, glancing at the varieties of pastries on a spider-webbed table. "D-Did you eat something off a platter...?"

"Uh-I think it was the peanuts in the brownie I ate. I'm sort of allergic to em," he lied through his teeth, "It's a long story," he tried deflecting her worry when she seemed puzzled by this revelation, "c'mon, let's get that drink. A little cranberry juice should do the trick" He led them towards the refreshments, shoulder-bumping into some punk dressed up as Iron Man nearly causing the guy to fall on his a**. The sight of the looming punch bowl was like a target marked in his thoughts. The idea came to him as if it were implanted by the monster itself within feeding off his own brand of cunning. The vial of serum in his pocket itched to be taken and used to fulfill its goal. His torn complexion led to a cold sweat, small areas of his skin beginning to break out with a hint of scales. A cellphone ringtone went off.

"This will take a sec," a distracted Felicia said while answering a text message. Bucky discreetly pulled the vial from his coat and poured its contents into one of the cups of cranberry juice. He forced himself not to think of what he was doing. The apprehension of transformation made him feel as if the floor was falling beneath his feet and all he could do was keep running forward with his plan.

There wasn't any time left for him to gamble with. Midnight was approaching as fast as a speeding bullet determined to end his humanity with one stroke. He felt himself shaking, unable to stop the chattering of his teeth as they grinded into expansion. His muscles felt like they were filled with hot air ballooning him into an engorged state. He stared at the two drinks his hands, watched and worrying as his fingernails throbbed with pressure until they visibly began to extend into claws that tore through his gloves. "Ngh! D-Damn it…" The moment of inaction allowed for his thoughts to catch up to him, everything else becoming white noise as he gazed into space.

What he was about to do was a last ditch effort to ensure some form of peace for himself in what seemed to be an inescapable fate. A selfish forceful act to change someone else's fate so that he wouldn't become alone. "What the hell am I doing?" He asked himself with an exhausted whisper, a tear of remorse building in his eyes. He'd spent so many years trying to rebuild a new life for himself, it wasn't until he met Felicia that life actually felt like it was fun and worth living with a new perspective. The dread of losing that after losing so much already in his life cornered him into a desperate attempt at finding someone to share his fate with. He didn't want to be alone. But he couldn't do this to Felicia. It wasn't his right, and she deserved so much more.

"Hey, you all right?" She voiced.

As he felt her hand touch his shoulder, asking him if everything was all right, Bucky gave no thought as he handed her the unspoiled cup and promptly drank the other, draining its contents with one long forceful gulp.

His pulse was pounding so loud in his ears it sounded like the roar of an awakening beast from within as that woefully familiar taste of chlorine and swamp-water saturated his senses. He immediately started coughing after draining that cup, his knees giving out causing him to fall against the table.

"Bucky? Are you all right?" Felicia exclaimed with dread and worry taking over. She dropped her own cup as she was quick to try and help him.

"I-I couldn't do it," Bucky uttered through a breaking voice, tears of sorrow in his eyes as he clutched what appeared to be a glass vial in his hands. Felicia recognized it immediately, resembling the same one they had both tried to get their hands on at the docks. Oscorp was printed on the glass with a label that read "Komodo Mutagen Sample B". Questions aroused in her mind but she surmised almost instantly that Bucky had fallen into some very hot water and rather than pull her down into it with him, he decided to take the plunge into it solo. "M'sssssorry," he said with genuine remorse. There was too much he wanted to say to her. He'd only known her for a few days yet they seemed to have formed this instant connection that was impossible to deny. His voice was fading into a scratchy oblivion and there was only one thing he could think to say that would speak volumes. "F-Felica...I-I l-love y-"

Gravity pulled him down like a bag of bricks, disrupting his affectionate declaration as the transformation took its full turn.

Hearing the croakier gravelliness of his murmurous timbre, bracingly, in that heart-slamming moment, Felicia gripped onto the heftier solidity of Bucky's hunching form as his denim-clad knees tremorously buckled against the spasmodic onrushes that soul-wrenchingly grappled him with deadening fruition to no avail. Keeping him bodily grounded against the bustier cushiness of her voluptuous decolletage as he gaspingly collapsed onto his back against the laden weightiness of his chunkier legs. Soul-wrenchingly, Felicia listened to his throttling-snarlier breaths gutturally emitting against his spikier incisors on teeth-gnashing strain as he was morphically shrinking into the dregs of his Musketeer costume. As her jacked-off panic tempoed in frantic succession, desperately, Felicia cradled her daintier palm over the hard-bone-leathery contours of his scruffier jaw that freakishly lengthened with droopier pudginess of a reptilian snout. "B-Bucky..."

Against the feverous glassiness of his bleared vision, raggedly, Bucky dragged the rubberized-jowelly swollenness of his puckered lips dampishly against the pearlescent delicateness of her throat as her silvery-whitish tresses sultrily draped over the lumpish scaliness of his garbed shoulder. Fostering onto a hairbreadth of restraint, his stubbier-clawed fingers desperately gripped onto the cool velvet sheathing over her wrist, staving off his beastlier arousal as the bulgier rotundity of his plumpish mid-drift droopily glozed underneath his collared- tunic-he was plumpishly ballooning up into a tubbier Komodo Dragon-kickstarting a hammer-blow revelation that he would be fatteningly caged into an Oscorp lab with the moodier female."Get the vial to Connersss..." he rasped, gurglingly. "He will stop the changesss..."

Blindingly, underneath her diamond-feline domino, mistily, Felicia roved her mistier brandy irises at the Oscorp vial as she reached for the pocket-sized tube, gazing at the greenish-viscid ooze of a mutagen that sludgily clung to the glass-an infectious serum that was deceptively stowed into the Indonesian malachite Komodo statue at the dockyard-Bucky was a damn collateral-expandable test subject for a mutative -gamechanger. "W-We'll ..." Shakily, her lithe fingers traced the dimpled notch of his tensing chin with kiss-soft pressure, fervidly, mirroring the cool sapphire of his feverish aqueous depths that reptilianly melded with the blackish intensity of his wide-blown pupils-a heart-knifing reality that he was rapidly morphing into a scaly- monstrous lizard. "Hey, look at me, soldier boy..." she coaxed in a threadier pitch, bodily, clutching onto the velvet-like collar of his tunic-she wasn't abandoning him. "I-I'm staying for another dance..."

"M' not gonna be dancin'...Licia..." Gurglingly, Bucky moaned as his incisors spittlingly dragged out his bloodied underlip, fevered wetness stingily bleared his vision, while he stumblingly attempted to belly-crawl on the plumpish rotundness of his girthier stomach, pushing himself underneath a table with slithery traction. An onrush of venomous bile nauseatingly sloshed up the jowelly sagginess of his throat, as he emitted choke-off heaves against the heavier pressure of his fork-tongue slimily jutting over the ripped material of his tunic. "Ssstay back..." Against the vein-sludging onslaught of the mutagen that vertiginously floored his anguished mobility, gnashingly, Bucky thrust up the reptiloid leatheriness of his scaly-puffier hand as the hooked dewiness of ebon claws viciously slashed over the webbing cloth, knocking the crystalline punch bowl crashingly onto the floor in a destructive wake of his blinded momentum. "Arghh..."

Vitreous shards piercingly rained onto him as Bucky jackknifed onto his stubbier arms against the bone-crippling pressure of his vertebrae bones lengthening with leathery fleshiness of virescent-obsidian scales that burstingly 'jutted against the black denim of his pants that inflatingly outstretched into a monstrous -crocodilian tail. A pandemonium of terror-filled screams clamorously amplified in panicked mania as throngs of costumed guests berserkly deafened against his ears. "No...!" Throat-shredding anguish excruciatingly railed out of him as he blearily ducked underneath the cranberry-drenched cloth, the bulgy heftiness of his lengthening reptilian tail had uncontrollably whiplashed against the chair that explosively catapulted against a marble pillar. "Sssorry..."

Desperation had taken hold even while he didn't know where he was going. There was no escape from what was happening to him. He consigned his fate the moment he drank that cup knowing there would be no turning back. He could hear her following after him, the thought actually made him choke up with emotion in his chest. He didn't want her to see him like this, so helpless as he turned into an animal before her eyes. But there was no stopping it now. The beast deep within that always lurked under his skin had finally risen to seize control of his mind and body. "N-No, F-F…Licia…" he croaked as he felt his vixenish kitten coming around the table to find him.

"Bucky..." A choke-off mewl breathlessly rasped from the quivery lushness of her burgundy lips as she gripped onto the spider-webbed tablecloth, keeping herself on her shapelier haunches as warring alarm poundingly tempoed against her jacked-off heartbeat. Suppressingly, Felicia evicted out the vestiges of resistance as her dark-brandy irises bearily gazed at the leathery-reptilian tail arching on a defensive tenor against the repulsive gasps of her terrified mother who mortifyingly poised a 'classic drama queen fainting' against the stair-way. Bracing her velvet-sleeved forearms , she eased onto her lissome mid-drift as she desperately reached for him. Tatteredly, his black tunic clung onto the droopier roundness of his barrel-sized girth that chunkily protruded against the scaly bulginess of his abdominous - mass. Quakingly, her fingers kneaded through the shaggier grunginess of his chestnut tresses sweatily curtianing against the elongated length of his raptor-like snout. "S-Stay with me..." she urged out, raspily, shifting her dark irises onto Peter who agilily crouched on the athletic-lankier haunches with skate-boy poise-giving her a readied nod. "We're going to get you out of here..."

It was like watching a horror show unfold before her eyes. Felicia had seen many weird things in this city, some that defied understanding, but nothing had prepared her for the harrowing sight of watching Bucky Barnes wither and transform before her eyes. Nothing else registered, not the screams of pandemonium occurring around her as security and a desperate Sam Wilson made their way towards them, not even the thought that her mother had passed out from all the drama that had become too much for her delicate sensibilities. Bucky's body had morphed and diminished in bodily proportions as his costume tore away amidst his struggle. All that was left was the cold scalie shape of a very large reptile lying prone on his stomach.

"Something ain't right..." Gearing up his battle-readied vigilance, coolly, Sam adjusted his red-len goggles as holographic nano -waves of thermic energy kinetically flashed against his retinas as he consciously pressed the controls of his white-vibrainum gauntlet, hailing the activated reconnaissance drone-Red Wing-to whooshingly hover over franic throngs of costumed-elite guests. Fastening the leather buckled-straps of the vibrainium shield over his muscled forearm, Sam brandished combative reserve as he warily gazed at the wooden remnants of a Hulk-smashed chair scattered on the floor; detecting that the cybernetic-'real pain in the ass'-Terminator was in destructo-mode-he wouldn't allow Bucky to become a smokescreen distraction of Zemo's insidious mind-games. Vaulting off the podium with hawk-like graces, Sam measuringly advanced closer to a barricade of upturn tables, his dark irises unwaveringly fixed onto the massiveness of crocodilian tail heavily swaying over crystalline shards. Quirking up his eyebrow against dumbstruck confusion, he wavered on his footing, wondering if a girthy Lousianna croc sneakily hitch-hiked from his home-state. "Probably came for some of Sarah's gumbo..."

It wasn't a crocodile, though it could easily be mistaken for one from a distance. It was a komodo dragon. One look at the chirping lizard, Felicia was frozen as their eyes met. She half-anticipated him acting confused and aggressive towards her, but he was docile and dazed; emitting low throaty rumbles. She could see no humanity in those depths, and the very horrifying thought of Bucky being gone hit her like a knife to the guy. "N-No…" She breathed, wanting to scream-in despair or outrage, she wasn't sure. She didn't run, nor did she shirk away from him as the komodo as he crawled towards her, reaching out with his snout. She couldn't leave him.

A new wave of alarm hit the gala when the ground itself appeared to shake as if an mini-earthquake just struck. The alarmed guests were now in full-blown panic when an explosive burst of a green cloud was dispersed throughout the area. Not just one explosion, but multiple were triggered from canisters planted in key points throughout the gathering to form a cloud of noxious inhalation. In the crowd of panicking guests, Peter Parker's senses were bombarding him like multiple sirens. The closest one alerting him to a nearby banquet table. Acting on sheer instinct he let loose one of his web-shooters, uncaring who might see, and caught a blinking red object beneath the table-cloth. He threw the metal canister with pin-point accuracy into a portable bathroom and watched as it detonated. The cloud was subdued within but only for so long before it would seep through the cracks.

"What's going on?!" "Call the cops!" "Is it terrorists?!" "Oh my God!" "Somebody help!" The screams of the panicking guests were raptured by their coughing fits as they attempted to flee. "BUCKY!" Sam Wilson cried out as he, like so many others, was consumed by a cloud of green fumes he was unable to shield himself from. Felicia held a napkin against her nose and mouth as people began running in all directions. Norman Osborn coughed on stage, confused as everyone else, while Wilson Fisk was being rushed away by his retinue holding a cloth to his face. Heavy titanic footfalls shook the ground, a dark menacing chuckle followed. Norman turned around, what he saw emerging from the fog sent a spike of fear into his heart.

"Norman. You believed yourself to be a god? Gods do not evolve. They fade, just as you will!" A towering behemoth of a beast, half-man, half lizard, stood over him, intelligence and malice gleaming from his eyes. "Consider this my resignation." A massive fist struck Norman Osborne, sending the CEO philanthropist and scientist hurtling into the throng of guests who had become fully saturated in the cloud's mist and were collapsing to the ground in coughing fits.

A cyclonic mania of heart-stopping terror gloriously amplified within the mutative smogginess that infectiously enwreathed over the ballroom-the industrial-parasitic titans of Mahatten that gorged on their avarice were now morphically being divested into verminous creatures-scaly drudges that he would lockdown into his swampier menagerie on the desolated grounds of abandoned Brooklyn parkland. Screechingly, a poshed-faced socialite bedizen in a glitzy-rhinestone peacock gown staggeringly wriggled on her sleeved forearms, dragging herself closer to the stairway as the pearlescent sleekness of her ballerina-toned legs blobbishly fused with the lengthy swollenness of a gorgon tail adorned ebon- rorschach scales.

"I hope you all enjoy my Halloween makeover..." Conner's hissed, manically, crouching onto his leathery-scaled haunches a breadth at the table, growlingly, he thrusted out his crocodilian snout, jutting out his serrated fangs that viscidly gleamed with droolier salvia as the heftier length of his fork-tongue slitherily glided over his viridescent-malachite scales of his gnarled lips. Viciously, the slimier dewiness of his dagger-edged claws lashingly scraped over the marble flooring as his silvery-yellowish orbs lividly glared at the pathetically rotund grayish-ebon scaled Komodo who exhaustedly plodded the saggier droopiness of his underbelly on wobblier traction."You disappointed me, James..." he snarled, gutturally. "Her beautiful makeover would have brought out the savagery in her...Now you will never see her again..."

The Komodo couldn't speak, but his mind was dimly aware of what was happening, as the images processed through his mind like images inside of one's dream. The voice of the massive Lizard stalking towards him ignited a storm of memories within, bolts of lightning that crackled and revealed the truth to him. "Connors," the Komodo spoke, though the noise that escaped was a snarling whine. Felicia had found herself being forced backwards through the stampede of guests trying to escape. The noxious cloud of lizard toxin had yet to creep its way towards her, but she could see it looking behind the monstrosity that was bearing down upon Bucky like a giant looking to crush an insect. She knew she should be running for cover, or even looking to find her mom somewhere in the chaos, but instead she pushed forward attempting to reach Bucky.

The Komodo stood his ground, looking up at the lizard with his fangs bared as if challenging him. Connors' gaze landed on the silver-haired woman and then he rumbled with dark laughter. "Where you failed, perhaps I shall succeed. She will prove to be a fine specimen for study-" His claws extended from his digits as he made towards them. That was when a white splotch of stickiness struck his face, confounding the Lizard as he became blinded in a suffocating web.

"Bad lizard, nobody likes a party-crasher!" The snarky upbeat voice of a familiar web-slinger permeated the chaos as a red and blue shape swung into action, hitting Connors with a diving kick. The Lizard was knocked off of his trajectory towards Felicia, his massive form knocking over guests and tables as he roared with ire. "Felicia! Are you okay?" Spider-Man landed beside her, the hero's expression easily readable to her as one of a concerned little brother beneath the mask.

"Spider..." A white-hot surge of untrammelled panic acceleratedly intensified, Felicia gazed at the behemothic raptor-hybrid thrashingly roaring against the web-shooting assault that gummily clung over the virescent scaliness of his puckered snout; Peter remained crouched on his spandex-clad haunches as he flexed his gloved fingers over his steadier palm 'skrrup' a gooier thread of webbing fired out of wrist nano-gauntlet, stickily lassoing around Conners heftier tail-holding the monstrous appendage down with his enhanced resilience.

"Keep Lizard-Boy busy..." she urged with muffled raspiness, breathily, keeping a napkin pressed tightly over her delicate nose, athletically, Felicia harnessed her feline- graces, backflipped onto a cluttered table as she evaded a slimy, bulgy-eyed frog that belchingly ribbetted underneath a golden-embroidered feathery Harlequin mask, catching heart-knifing glimpses of reptilian-hideous- deformities that slitheringly wriggled over torn heaps of Ventien costumes. "Sorry little froggy, but this girl needs to find a moody lizard..."

Vaulting into contaminated air with explosive 'slam-dunk' momentum against a pillar, rampantly, Peter fired another webbing stream that clingily latched onto Conner's arcing tail as he was breathlessly yanked back onto the floor against the upsurge of the Lizard's rampageous- homicidal ferocity. "Woah...Doc Conners..." he blurted, stammeringly as he whooshingly backflipped onto a table, planting his booted feet like velcro, only to become on the receiving end of claw-slashing assault. Quickly, he seized a grotty candelabra at the second, Conners aggressively jutted out his slimmer incisor fangs bitingly tear into his lankier throat. "I-I don't wanna hurt you,.." Squinting his whitish tear-drop lens, reactively Peter slammed the candelabra against Conner's longish fork-tongue, forcing the monstrous Lizard to gaggingly stagger back. "Sorry Doc..." he chirped, snappily. "...but I don't wanna be a friendly Teenage Mutant Avenger Turtle..."

Against the exhaustive tumults of his unspent-laggard momentum that bone-racking imploded through his chunkier form, swaggeringly, Bucky wobbled on his claw-feet; the mordant fogginess of the plumes of airborne mutagen had suffocatingly coasted over the podium; throat-razed screams that anguishedly erupted from mortified guests ear-splittingly whipsawed over him as he edged near the blocked-stairs.

Every heavier pace was draggingly akin to him treading into a puddle of molasses while he lumberingly plodded up the platform, conscious of the ganglier ashen-scaled geckos speedily zipped underneath the microphone box with petrified haste, dodging the menace-honed vibrations of his thumping advances"G-Gotta keep movin' Barnesss..." Restrainedly, Bucky hefted up the fleshier leatheriness of his raptor-sized tail, maintaining tactful balance as he predatorily strutted a breadth from the reptilian captives who tinily scurried behind a bulbous skull-carved pumpkin from his chunkier draconic form. Suppressing a bone-been onslaught of unwarranted heartache, downcastly, he gazed at the emptied metallic canister- the Oscorp doctor had noxiously played down the vengeance card the Halloween gala, mutating innocent New Yorkers into his scaly test-subjects of genetic evolution. "Thisss...My fault...I trusssted Connersss..."

Gapingly, Bucky stretched his jowelly snout, darting out the moistness of his fork-tongue on instinctive accord while he punchily crawled over ribbon-sash dominos, haltingly sniffing a masculine fragrance of tangier 'Old Spice' aftershave that alarmingly wafted off discarded Kevlar that was emblazoned with a patriotic white star. "Oh no...Damnit..." he rasped, chuffily, nudging the stubbier pudginess of his snout over blue-sheened vibrainium gauntlets, as he registered clumsier movement. Quakily, Bucky dragged his fore-claws against the material, his beadier silvery-aqueous orbs piercingly lasered over the smoothness of a glossier turtle shell as a wrinkly brownish reptilian head stirringly poked out-a dynamical heartbeat of safeguarded-amiable trust viscerally pulsed against him."S-Sssam..." he whispered, hissingly, glancing up at Redwing annoyingly soaring above him. "Ugh...Ssstill got that drone..."

If things weren't so perilous and desperate, Bucky would have let loose a snarky jab to the Star Spangled hero turned turtle for being an annoying pain for him in the past few days. But the last thing he wanted was for Sam to get caught in this mess. His inner turmoil pulled at him with desperation to ensure that Felicia got to safety before Connors' toxic cloud could turn her into a scalie just like the rest of them. But he couldn't leave Sam alone like this. "N'gonna get you outta here. Jussst don't ssstrugle," Bucky grumbled as he positioned himself to pick up the slow-lumbering turtle between his massive jaws. He was as gently as he could be with his new body. The notion of accidentally chomping on the turtle by applying too much pressure was heavy in his thoughts. But once the turtle stopped squirming did begin making his move, ferrying Sam across the sea of panic.

There were more reptiles roaming amidst the empty clothes. A harrowing sight to add to the collection of unspeakable horrors he'd seen in his life-time. A flaming jack o-lantern stood among chaos with green flames as Connors' toxin saturated the environment.

"WHERE ARE YOU, JAMESSSS BARNESSSSS?!" A vicious roar cut over the noise and Bucky felt his already cold blood run colder. Connors was looking for him throughout the chaos. Bucky could feel red-wing following as he led Sam to a safe distance near an enclosed area safe from danger. The ground thumped with the vibrations of an apex predator stomping around in search of him. Bucky dropped Sam from his jaws, watching the turtle wobble and release a groaning croak. He could swear he saw a frown of discontent in his eyes. "You're welcome," Bucky snarked. He'd never let Wilson forget this one if they somehow wound up as tank-buddies somewhere.

"Now I gotta find Felicca-yaaaaa!" Bucky released a roaring cry as he felt the ground beneath him vanish as he found himself being uplifted off the ground with incredible force. A painful pressure traveled up his back emanating from his tail.

"FOUND YOU!" The Lizard snarled as he held the Komodo hoisted off the floor by his own tail.

"Hrghh..." The salivating wetness of his fore-tongue droolingly hung out as Bucky desperately thrashed against the bone-vicing pressure of Conner's immense tail squeezingly locking him into a choke-hold. Snappishly, he jutted out his puffier snout with throat-grated heaves, doing his utmost to viciously deliver a scale-gouging bite into Conner's hunching shoulder. The gummier -acidic sliminess of his jowelly mouth stretched agape-he wasn't going on the ropes without a fight. The blood-pounding-deadlier rabidity aggressively fueled his cerebral receptors like a white-hot dosage of voltage as he tearingly dragged his incisor fangs with knifepoint precision over the virscent leatheriness of Conner's forearm on defensive succession."I-I trusssted you..."

"Did you really?" The Lizard released what sounded like a mad chuckle, his serpentine eyes boring into the dangling specimen that he had strung along to the point of desperation. Now he had him right where he wanted him. "You ssshould have trusssted your inssstinctss inssstead!" Balling his fist the Lizard swung with his free hand and struck the Komodo across the head, dazing him long enough to pull a syringe from the tattered remains of his lab coat and plunge the sterile instrument into Bucky's neck. "Now sssleeeep. There issss ssstil much work to be done. Ssssooon, all of New York will ssshare my gift, and you will be the catalcyssst towards their evolutionary asssscension."

Bucky's world faded to black as the sedative kicked in immediately. He thought he could hear Felicia calling out to him before slumber's grip tightened. Having what he'd come for, The Lizard took a moment to appreciate the carnage he had sowed and the vast spread of his mutagen having claimed the humanity of a majority of the city's wealthy elites, Norman Osborne being chief among them; the former CEO now know what it felt like to be as small as a bullfrog among larger predators. His satisfied mood evaporated into one of mild annoyance as he watched Spider-Man create a path of escape for several of the guests where one of his canisters had been neutralized before his lizard toxin could disperse.

The woman, Felicia Hardy, was glaring daggers at him in an attempt to rescue her transformed boyfriend. The Lizard held the unconscious Komodo up by his tail and baited her as he walked backwards in retreat. "A pity you will not be joining him, Miss Hardy. But don't worry, your time will come. All of New York won't escape the change that is coming." With a swift lunge, the Lizard escaped into the night with Bucky in his clutches.

Staunching down her adrenalized fervency, glaringly, Felicia at shinier grayish-ebon scales that were discarded on the granite floor, against vertiginous onrushes, she crouched onto her shapelier haunches, involuntarily, stretching out her gloved hand to reach for the scalie remnants of her sniper-komodo. The vaporous Oscorp mutagen was spawned from the infective substance that Bucky was accidentally exposed to at the East-End docks, she needed to acquire a formula that would reverse the reptilian makeover before everything came in spades. In an earshot, fixedly, she roved her darkish irises onto the web-slinger over the barricades tables as he gingerly scooped up a heftier Beard-Dragon with full-measured tenderness evidently invested with his pacifying caresses over the distressed lime-green reptile- definitely a charity boy. Curvily smirking underneath the napkin, she knew that Peter was a Stark-Industries level genius who culminated in high grades in chemistry -he could produce a serum-a counter antidote inside the Midtown High school lab that would restore the effects of the mutative gas. "Well, Felicia, I guess you're going back to school..." she quipped under her threadier breath, snarkily, gesturing for Peter to follow her out the exit door. "Come on, Spider, we have chem set to play with..."

"Really? Are we just going to leave like this?" A flabbergasted Spider-Man could only look between his bestie taking her leave and the calamitous ruin that was once a Halloween charity gala but now a nest of squabbling reptilian animals. A frog ribbetted and landed on his shoulder and smacked his cheek with his tongue. "Ow! You know what? Chemistry sounds fun! Could totally use some extra credit!" Spider-Man set the frog down and went to follow after his thievish friend. The wailing of police sirens was a crescendo as NYCD and NHS arrived to cordon off the premises. The wall-crawling hero could only dread the chaos that would ensue unless they found Connors and rescued Bucky Barnes.

-----

The swampier mustiness reekingly entrenched him as the paralytic sludginess of a tranq infusion numbingly anesthetized him into a listless-groggier stupor, draggingly, Bucky shifted on the paunchier droopiness of his barrel-sized grith against upheavals of exhaustive strain; the smudgier dampness of his glass vivarium chillingly knifed through his leathery-scaly fleshiness deadening him like bone-shunting dosages of liquid nitrogen when he was viciously strapped into a cryogenic stasis pod by his Siberian-Red Room handlers within the icier bowels of an off-grid missile silo. Chuffily, Bucky emitted out throatier breaths, as his larger nostrils reactively tensed against the hypothermic onrushes that chillingly suffused his thermic receptors-he was losing heat. Groaningly, Bucky reared up the stubbed pudginess of his reptilian snout off the mulcher heap of eucalyptus leaves, warding off the residual drowsiness as he snarlingly flitted the slimier heftiness of his fork-tongue whippingly against the electric heat bulb that automatically radiated UV heat. "Grah...Thisss...Again..."

He knew where he was even if he had a hard time remembering how he ended up here. The sterile cold feeling of a laboratory wasn't uncommon, but the aura of primal savagery that was exuded raised many red flags as a mountainous shadow moved across the room. The reptilian tail attached to the shadow swayed along the wall, a harrowing indicator of the monster that controlled this prison. "Awake already, Jamessss? Gooood," the ground shook with the foot-falls as the Lizard, a humanoid raptor that appeared as massive as the Hulk's son Skaar, came into view. He was caked in shadow, the dim lighting flickering on and off only making his menacing form something even more dreadful than it was. They weren't in his Oscorp Laboratory anymore. This subterranean lab seemed was his true home beneath the city where his true life's work was taking shape. "I'd fear you weren't long for thisss world. After all, with the amount of my mutagen you'd consumed, itsss a wonder there issss anything left of you in there at all."

Hearing the slithery -cavalier resonance malignantly edging against Conners' taunting hiss, glaringly, Bucky drove his beadier grayish-sapphire depts at the mutated reptilian-hybrid who draggingly scraped his serrated claws against the glass as the manic fierceness in his yellowish orbs shinily gleamed against the mistier shadows. Jutting out his gummier fangs, hissingly, the sniper-Komodo bonked his pudgier snout against the glass, channelling his predatory defensiveness as he blearily sidelong a fleeting glance at the plastic tubing of a medical intravenous drip assemblage -a siphoning connector that was throbbing latched onto his stubbier fore-leg. "Y-You're gonna tap me out, huh..." he gnarled, seethingly, darting out his longish fork-tongue with spring-loaded quickness. "Sshould've known the bad ssstink in the air wasss you, Connersss..."

"Asssss difficult assss it may be for you to believe, thisss wasss never persssonal, Jamesss," The Lizard said with a genuine cadence to his tone. Even beneath his scalie demeanor, he appeared comforting despite the cruel satisfaction he garnered from draining the Komodo Dragon of his unique blood. "For yearsss I hate ssstruggled to rid humanity of itsss innate weaknesss, to ssstrengthen our DNA and rid oursselvesss from sssuch incumprencesss as a fever or a sssevered limb. But sssuch a thing hasss proven to be imposssible!" The Lizard snarled as he stomped about in an aggravated swagger towards his console. "Perfecting the human genome is about asss uselessss as building a houssse upon a muddy sssslope, it issss desstined for disssassster. Only by crosssing itss geneticsss with a sssuperior form of life can the human race thrive! It can be made ssstronger!" The silence in the lab allowed Connors thoughts to fester, his conviction to drive all thought and reason to the point he felt freedom. To Bucky, he appeared mad with desire-his rhetoric about genetic supremacy no different than the tyrants he'd gone to war to fight again. As if sensing Bucky's thoughts, the Lizard snapped his head back at him, slithering his tongue. "You think I am mad, don't you?"

"Yeah, I've kinda heard thisss talk before..." The gravelly snarkiness in his croakier drawl was tamped with smart-mouthin' derision, callback apparitions of the porcine HYDRA scientist-Armin Zola traumatically raided him. After his 107th unit was tortuously captured in the HYDRA fortress to construct bulldozing Uber tanks, Zola virulently strapped him down onto a medical gurney, injecting him with genetic components of the beta serum while he was catatonically anesthetized until his best friend-Stevie Rogers-yanked off the buckled restraints and steered him out Zola's horror-shop. Conners had breached the open-door threshold of his mutative superiority, parasitically devolving New Yorkers into verminous scaly creatures that would populate the mucky sewerage tunnels."Being caged by a crazed doctor isssn't a picnic..." he quipped, snappishly, arcing up the heftier massiveness of his croc-like tail against the heat lamp. "Y-You're all the same...Takin' away people's livesss because you want to rule the world..."

A deep growl emanated from the scalie scientist, his expression contorting into one of anger. "I do not ssseeek to rule the world. I sseeeek to sssave it from itssself! From the disssease that isss humanity!" Smashing his first against the wall next to the cage, The Lizard snarled against the glass behind where Bucky was kept, his human restraint thinning with each second as he vented his grievances to the unswayed komodo dragon. "Every day humansss come one ssstep clossser to sseeelf-dessstruction. I will sssave thisss species-thiss planet! My causse is not only jussst, Jamesss, it is fate!" The Komodo appeared to roll his eyes behind the glass, causing the Lizard to bare his teeth. "Not convinced? Imagine all the possible interlopersss in thisss city of millionsss. Of all of them who appeared at the dockssss to intercept my mutagen, it wassss the one man whossse blood I could usse to perfect my work! You, Jamessss Buchanan Barnesssss!" He chuckled deep and menacing as he watched Bucky struggle with himself, his strength diminishing with the constant blood draining. "You will help me ssssave humanity-we will all evolve to our greatessst stage of existence."

Against the blood-rushing sludginess that exponentially weakened him on deadening fruition, groaningly, Bucky staggered on his clawed-feet over the dampish mulch as the bone-shunting pressure of the IV shunt increasingly sapped him with untrammelled exhaustion. Alarmingly, he registered the feverous strain of warred mobility-the cold-blooded reserves of his tenacious resilience were critically depleting, Pinching his scaly eyelids, gnashingly the Sniper-komodo bolstered the plumpish rotundity of his droopier underbelly against the glass. "Y-You're gonna kill a lot of good people..." he panted out, gutturally, easing down the leathery pudginess of his snout to bitingly yank out the IV tubing on his stubbed foreleg. He wouldn't allow Conners's to deliver his mutative-genocidal reckoning over the Tri-State boroughs-reptiles wouldn't endure the frigid temperatures-they would freeze. Hinging a resurgence of his pent-up aggression, strenuously,, Bucky retched out throatier hisses against the snappish-breakneck traction of his incisor fangs. "Rargh...They're not gonna sssurive the cold..." he choked out, scathingly, detecting a heartbeat of empathy within the monstrous Lizard as his wide-blown aqueous orbs crestfallenly fixed on the crimson gushes anguishedly notching inside the plastic tubing. "M' not gonna quit fightin'...No matter how many timesss back me in a corner..."

"Your fire ssstill burnsss, I see. I would expect nothing lessss. Don't fret, Jamesss. Your blood will give our new brethren the ssstrength to endure such harsh climate changesss. If you co-operate, perhaps there will be a future for you in the new age that isss upon ussss. For you and Feliccia." Lizard stomped away from the tank as he centered his focus on the filled IV-bag that contained Bucky Barnes' blood. Taking the bag, he rumbled with eagerness as he set about synthesizing a new mutagen with the strength of the super-soldier serum. The beta sample he created from Bucky's first donation a few nights ago had done wonders for his own body as he felt five times as strong and faster than his original serum. His attention diverted from the surveillance cameras where the feed of the north-east tunnel revealed a masked woman sauntering down an abandoned track while another shape crawled like a spider above her.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Spider-Man whispered down to his partner and friend who boldly strode through the tunnel. "I mean, what Connors already has an army down here? Safety in numbers isn't a bad idea." He did have a certain Daredevil and Sorcerer Supreme in his contact lists after all.

Half-quirking her plushier burgundy lips, slinkily, Felicia crouched onto her neoprene-clad haunches against a grimier brick stone column as the stagnant mustiness of the labyrinthine tunnels wafted from contortions of drainage pipes, flashing her dark irises onto her web-slinging partner she was aware of his trepidatious hesitancy of sneakily breaching the subterranean domain-territory of a mutative Lizard hybrid. Gazing at Peter speedily crawling up-side down over a tunnel archway with spidey-honed graces, she removed an EMP-charge disk from her thievish utility belt, Felicia deftly placed the tasering device onto a crumbling brick."Always bring toys to the party, Spider..." she quipped in a jauntier undertone, purringly, listening to the gurgling chirps of tinier ebon-scaled gecko eerily creeping out a bent-out pipe-obviously, Conners had high-rigged security measures with his scalie detectors. "Besides, Horn-Boy is busy getting his kicks on street level..." Flexing her gloved palm, lithely, her diamond-edged titanium claws gleamingly snicked out as the geckos skittishly wriggled closer to her stealthier proximity. "Do you feel all tingly yet..."

Peter felt all kinds of mild discomfort over their current course of action. His "spidey-sense" had taken the better part of the last two years for him to master when he was out in the field. He knew the difference between a lurking hum beneath the skin that indicated danger was close, and the sharp tingle that screamed imminent danger. Right now that hum beneath his skin was beginning to buzz, the hairs on his neck slowly rising. "We're on the right trail, something is close," he said. The tunnel was dark as they were close to reaching a closed off intersection that looked like it hadn't seen service in years. The stagnant stench of mildew and swamp water was acrid, and a clear indicator they were close as they glimpse the presence of a lurking gecko peering at them from a crevice in the sewer tunnel. Its black beady eyes blinked repeatedly before it slithered away.

Felicia looked up at him and Spider-Man nodded his head towards what appeared to be a grated passage with reinforced wiring. "Let's hope I don't ring the dinner bell," he fired a web-line and latched onto the grate, using his enhanced strength to pull it off its hinges. The noise made him cringe with grim expectancy but Felica was unphased by the ruckus that would have in all-likelihood blew their element of surprise. She was determined in her stride as she crept onward. Not for the first time, Peter wondered what was between Bucky Barnes and Felicia that she'd come this far to save him. Felicia didn't just stick her neck out for anyone.

Together the duo continued down the closed off tunnel. They spied more and more geckos creeping around them. The more they saw, the further the pit of dread they felt grew deeper with the knowledge they were entering a den of primal savagery. The sewer water beneath them was ankle-deep and Felicia appeared nonplussed as she caught sight of a stationary light ahead that illuminated a set of crates with the Oscorp label printed on them. "We're here," one of them said, or perhaps it was both as they entered a walkway that led to a clean off section ahead where laboratory equipment and computers were setup. "Felicia, wait!" Spider-Man yelled as she caught sight of a tank ahead housing a very large-very weakened komodo lizard.

The exhaustive fogginess listlessly roped him into dormant compliance, dizzily, Bucky slumped his weightier-reptilian form against the glass as the IV tubing pulsatingly drained another bag-full; bone-racking surges of his thermic heat was receding against the murkier frigidness that chillingly entrenched over the makeshift lab. Emitting out chuffier pants, blankly, he gazed at the ashen paleness of her leathery scales-every pint of his siphoned blood was making him become disturbingly anemic. Every warred vestige of his endurance -resilience was collapsible against the insurmountable agony that raided through his veins. "Connersss..." he murmured, slurrily, roving his beadier aqueous depths involuntarily onto the hulkish reptiloid maliciously hunched over a table with a glass vial clutched in the scaled deformity of his massive-clawed hand, the torn material of his lab-coat was a decorum -semblance of Conners' reachable humanity. "Y-You gotta ssstop this, Doc...I know you're a good man and wanna fix thisss world..." The guttural scratchiness of his Brooklyn drawl was underlyingly edged with a wheezier his as his fork-tongue limply hung over his jowelly throat."C-Change em' back..."

His vision was swimming, his coherence diminishing to the point he didn't realize that his pleas had gone unheard as Connors appeared to have vanished. But someone else appeared to have heard them instead. He saw a glimmering shade of silver-light in front of him, it was ethereal and soothing as was the shape of the elfish beauty peering at him through the glass with concerned eyes. "F-Feeeliccia…B-Beautiful…" he murmured weakly, believing he was either dreaming or hallucinating in what could be his final moments as his blood was being drained.

As heart-crippling urgency jackhammered through her fevered veins, breathlessly, under the dampish fringe of her curlier eyelashes, stingily, Felicia gazed at the rotund Komodo sluggishly bolstered against the glass, the hazier blurriness of his bluish-aqueous orbs swelteringly gleamed alight with soul-driven hope- an inseparable tenor of her closeness arrestingly pacified his distressed heartbeat, raggedly, he emitted clucking pants, groggily, he eased up clawed-foot, tremorously reaching for her against the glass. Despite that, he was being dangerously restrained into a blackout stupor, Bucky clashingly duelled against his weakening mobility. Alarmingly, her doe-like brandy ireses shifted onto a plastic IV tube anguishedly corkscrewed into Bucky's leathery foreleg, clotted gushes of blood sludgily oozed into a half-pint bag-she couldn't blindingly slash her claws over the connector tubing-he would paralyzingly flatline into hypovolemic shock.

Rampantly, Felicia evicted an upheaval of tempoing heartache and cautiously edged her lithe palm over the glass with riskier precision, aware of a trip-wired sensor that was electrifying activated on a deadbolt latch. Gnawing on her plushier underlip, undeviatingly, she pressed her titanium claws over the glass window, while slipping an EMP disk onto the rigged latch, and delicately, twisted her wrist counter-clockwise akin to a laser-cut incision. "Still with me, soldier-boy..." she whispered, hushedly, as Bucky nudged the jowelly sagginess of his reptilian snout forcily against the breached glass on sternous accord. "Let's get you out of here..." Shiveringly, Felicia glanced over the delicateness of her neoprene-clad shoulder, fixing her peripheral vision onto the scaly massiveness of a python-like tail readily wrapped on an eroded drainage wipe above her. Gloppier slime viscidly dropped into her dishevelled silvery-plantium whorls as she reactively wrinkled her kittenish nose against the odorous potency of tarry lizard-salvia. "Urgh...That's not going to wash out..."

The Komodo seemed to get a jolt of new life at the sight of Felicia and the anticipation of an escape from this hell. But as Felicia worked on cutting through the glass, both the Komodo and a lurking spider felt all-encompassing dread as a low growl cut through the tension. They knew this wouldn't be so easy. Bucky's beady eyes widened to the size of dinner-plates as he caught a glimpse of the massive shape perched on the drainage pipe above them. Covered in shadows, the Lizard snarled at Felicia's back as he bared his claws. "Felicia, he's right above you!" Bucky bumped his snout against the glass in a panic. Felicia caught sight of the monstrous reflection just in time to see it coming down on her in a lethal attack. She evaded at the last second, her balletic form dodging the swipe of knife-edged claws that smashed into Bucky's tank.

"INTRUDER!" The Lizard bellowed with seething rage as he stalked Felicia's backwards. "All thisss for a man who wasss ssselfishly keen on condemning you to hisss fate?! I sssupossse love isss blind asss they sssay!"

"He's not yours. I won't let you do this to him." Felicia shot back defiantly, focus eyes trained on the Lizard as she waited for his next move.

"Connorsss!" Bucky released a desperate roar as he tried to push through the broken glass. "L-Leave her alone!" The tank was ruptured and a weak komodo ignored the digging pain of the glass scraping against his scaled sides. Felicia ducked backwards in times of avoid another swipe of the Lizard's claws, demonstrating a quickness of reflexes and feline-like agility that was almost inhuman.

The Lizard was beside himself as he failed to land a hit against the masked silver-haired woman who slid beneath a workstation table he barreled through with mindless aggression. His vital research was scattering, enraging him further. "I will make him watch as I slit your throat!" His frustration boiled over as he wondered why his countermeasures weren't activating. In the case of an intruder he had planted his canisters that if tripped would saturate them with his mutagen. That was when he saw one of the canisters and its sensor encased in webbing. He released a hateful rumble. "Spider-Man!"

No sooner had he said the name, a shape rocketed through his workstation like a ballistic missile and kicked him away from Felicia. "Whoa! Mind if I cut in?!"

Harnessing the acrobatic momentum of his spidey-honed graces, explosively, Peter backflipped off a desk in heart-racking succession as Conners ragingly slashed his ebon claws over a microscope; against the glissading-mirco vibrations that seismically depth-charged through his veins, steadying his fissionable heartbeat, Peter detected the unhampered bloodlust-tordanic viciousness that maniacally propelled the Oscorp scientist into a deadlier stupor. "D-Doctor Conners...I know this isn't you..." Without stunted hesitance, rampantly, Peter aligned his nano-webshooter gauntlet and fired a web line that stickily clung onto the spikier-crocodilian length of Conners's dino-tail as he restrainedly gripped the tinsel-like webbing as the rampageous second, Conners' screechingly arced his serrated claws over a drainage pipe that was above the shattered Komodo tank-he was gunning to ambush Felicia. Dredging up his enhanced ferocity, gnashingly, Peter yanked onto the webbing strand with his untamped strength, forcing the behemothic Lizard to stumblingly head-ram into a brick column in the destructive wake of a gushing cascade that burstingly erupted from a busted pipe. "F-Felisha...Get Mister Barnes out of here..."

----

"Raghh...PETER...!" A full-throated snarl quakingly ratcheted out of Conners against the floodtide of sewage water as he blindingly gripped onto a maintenance latter and hoisted up the abdominous massiveness of his reptilan-saurian form, shifting the rapacious intensity of his silvery-yellowish orbs predatorily onto the spandex-clad web-slinger-the impudent boy who always thwarted his evolutionary reckoning. "YOU WON'T SSTOP MY HALLOWEEN MAKEOVER OVER THISS DISSSEASED CITY...!" Dragging his 4-inched claws, viciously he shredded the drenched material of his lab-coat, impressively, revealing the hulkish-enhanced bulkiness of his scaled rigidity. "YOU'RE NOT GOING TO FIX ME THISS TIME, PETER..."

Evading the jagged shards of glass, balletically, Felicia pounced into the enclosure with a variance of quick-footed swiftness, bracing onto her gloved palms as she tentatively crouched near the fattish sniper-Komodo's paunchier side. Fervidly, she kneaded her lithe fingers over the saggier leatheriness of his scaly back with feather-soft ministrations on pacifying accord, her dark-brandy irises tearily mirrored the razor-slit intensity of his sweltry aqueous orbs that blearily gleamed with bone-deep exhaustion as he vertiginously slumped the leathery bulkiness of his reptilian form against her curvier thigh—the IV shunt's pressure throbbingly intensified. Caressingly, Felicia splayed her daintier palm over jowelly sagginess of his puckered snout, against rapid-fire desperation as his longish fork-tongue slimily flitted against her sleeved wrist. "Okay...I'm going to get this damn thing out..." she murmured, threadily, assuaging steadier gentleness as she yanked on the IV shunt. "This might hurt..."

The Komodo released a loud cry as pain tore through his body. It felt like a knife had been pulled from his stomach. His first impulse was to thrash his tail and drag his claws down on the ground in a fit of anguish, but Felicia's soothing presence kept him focused as he blinked back tears. "B-B-Betterrr," he groaned. The corners of his vision blackened and things became blurry. But even that didn't stop him from seeing the hulking monstrosity lurking towards them.

The Lizard smacked Spider-Man across the back with his tail, sending the wall-crawler crashing through a console. Sparks threatened to ignite everything. Seeing Felicia tending to his research specimen, Connors balked with irrepressible anger. "How interesting." Stomping towards them, he plucked a vial of his serum off a table and hovered over Felicia. "Your resssilience and devotion isss admirable. You would make a fine specimen for study!" He lunged to grab her. She ducked beneath the Lizard's swipe, his claws tore through the casing of a pipe, spewing hot steam into his face. A shriek tore through him coupled by a roar of pain as the hot temperature doubled with sparks of electricity being pumped into his abdomen by the silver-haired heroine.

"ENOUGH OF THISSSS!" The Lizard reached out blindly, feeling the soft tension of the human woman's neck and upper torso become ensnared within his massive clawed digits. Perilously, Felicia was lifted off her feet, impossibly high of the ground before the mutated scientist's reptilian eyes that bored at her with conviction. She coughed and struggled but showed no fear as he yanked her close enough to see the vial he held in his hand. "MISSSS HARDY! YOU WILL EITHER EVOLVE…OR DIE!"

Against the bone-vising pressure of the Lizard's chokehold, gaspingly, Felicia pounded her fisting gloved hands into the leathery fleshiness of his malachite scales with defensive ferocity as her whitish-platinum whorls dishelevedly curtained over her tenser jaw. Thrusting his reptilian snout over her delicate-bone shoulder, growlingly, Conners stretched his blooded croc-like fangs that were smearily bloodied with the carious reek of his sewer-ravaging bloodthirst. I-I will never join your slimy friends in this stink hole..." she rasped, grittily, as her dark ireses gazed on the medical vial tauntingly clutched in his clawed-fingers as he snakily edged the mutagen closer to her pillowy lips. "I-I won't..."

Just as the tip of the vial neared her lips, another roar cut through the tension, it was aggressive and stalwart. It took only a second for The Lizard to realize it wasn't his own before mind-numbing pain pierced his leg as over a dozen sharp teeth wrapped around it. The Komodo Dragon bit down on the muscular tendon with the ferocity of a hungry animal eager to rip through his prey's body. Green blood pooled from the wound but Bucky didn't release his grip on the Lizard's shin even as the towering reptilian attempted to throw him off. His efforts were thwarted when a newfound wave of agony erupted into his neck as Felicia used the reprieve to jam her gauntlets fist into his neck. "Better luck next time, scalie. This kitty still has all nine lives, and none are gonna be wasted on you!" She grunted, from the corner of her eye watching as Spider regained his feet and immediately pounced towards them.

"Whoa, heads up! Comin' through!" Spider-Man's boots collided into the Lizard's back with bone-crushing force and immediately he began to weave an unstoppable web of restraint. Web-lines were fired at the floor and ceiling, suspending him. Lizard snarled as he released Felicia, but was unable to throw off the Komodo nor stop the wall-crawling hero who crawled up and around his body like a true insect unable to be caught. Bucky released The Lizard's tendon and recoiled, watching with Felicia as Lizard was cacoooned in webbing. Spider-Man was a red and blue blur that didn't miss an inch of their enemy's body to ensnare in his webbing. "Time to take your medicine, Doc!" Once he was finished, Spider-Man held a syringe above his head and brought in down, piercing the Lizard's neck with one assertive thrust, plunging the cure into his body.

The blood-rushing surge of the anti-serum was paralytically insuppressible as the carnivorous strain of his unbridled ferocity-rabidness ebbed against the switchback vestiges of his pitiful humanity. "NOO! A throat-screeching roar deafeningly belted out of Conners in frantic tenor, stumblingly, he torqued back against the upturned desk as the scaled deformity of his larger hand painfully shrunk with his realigning bones. Patchier virescent scales disturbingly sloughed off, while the diamond-slit crescents of his wide-blown orbs morphed into roundish pupils. "I-I don't want to become him again..." Pleadingly, Conners hunched onto his lankier knees as his straggly blondish tresses curlily sprouted out of his broader temple. Solemly, Peter ejected another glob of his web-fluid to respectively seal the cacoon-giving the Oscorp professor-his mentor privacy against the rapid makeover.

"Mr. Barnes! Is he all right?" Giving no thought towards his own personal identity, Spider-Man unmasked himself to reveal the concerned face of a young Peter Parker. The Komodo Dragon looked up at him with drifting eyes, phasing in and out of focus. He knew the voice even if he couldn't see his face too clearly.

"G-Good job…kid," Bucky rumbled with a weakened drawl. Seeing Felicia at Connors' mercy had awakened an old familiar feeling inside of him. He hated it almost as much as he welcomed it. But now the adrenaline in his body that had done wonders to get him through his dilapidated state long enough to distract the Lizard had begun to wear off. The blood-loss in his body was massive. He felt a patch of something sticky being taped to his puncture wounds. Spider-Man's webbing was a bandaid but an appreciative one he couldn't quite voice.

Through it all, Felicia held him in her lap, looking at Peter frantically. "Tell me you still got it?"

Bucky didn't know what they were talking about, their voices were growing distant and muted. He thought he saw Parker handing something to her. Felicia held it gently against his side then looked at him. Her beautiful face was like a candle burning against the darkness. He ached to reach up and touch her, to hold her and express the deepest sentiments of his heart that burst with the knowledge that she didn't give up on him.

He loved her. He knew it deep down. As he gazed into her eyes, she whispered something to him; soft and soothing. He couldn't hear it. But he felt something cool enter his body before darkness pulled him into slumber.

The snowier frigidness of November gustily heralded over the skyline environs of Manhattan; the mutative scourge of Conners had been eldritchly purged with the aid of the deadpanning Sorcerer Supreme who conjured up a switchback incantation with runes of Kof-Kol to erase memories of the charity gala elite that were infectiously exposed with the airborne mutagen. Garbed in a leather bomber jacket, crestfallenly, Bucky measured his footing at the breadth of a thermally heated glass-wall enclosure that was an extension of the Central Park Zoo-housing the bustier female Komodo Dragon.

Keeping himself distant from a crowd of Instagraming tourists, edgily, he adjusted his black Under-Armor baseball over his roughish chestnut tresses shaggily askew of the razor-edged angularity of his bristled jaw, as his grayish-aquamarine irises mistily glanced at the massively protective grayish-scaled dreadnought-a male-nestling against the swollenness of her girth with his pudgier snout affectionately brushing over her raptor-like head. A visceral rush of stowed happiness warringly gripped him tenfold-the Madripoor Komodo was given charitable perks of recovery with the Pepper Potts Foundation generously delivered a grant for a zoo transfer from Indonesia, bringing a 400-pound mate to kickstart a breeding program. "How about that..." he murmured, throatily, quirking his shapely-bow lips into a toothier smirk, as he watched the Komodo mates basking into the cozier warmth of their habitat- an undeniable reality of serenity that he longingly craved as he pressed the mechanized vibrainium of his bionic arm robotically over the glass with tentative-featherlight pressure.

"Making new friends, are we..." Felica quipped against the sultriness of her breathier undertone, jauntily, watching him broodingly quirk his shapely-bow lips into a half-smirk as she distractingly sashayed on her glossier Versace boots, deftly tucking her Parda handbag against the cool sleekness of her motorcycle jacket. The dishevelled cascades of whitish-platinum whorls tousedly draped over her curvier back. Impassively, with unmoveable poise, Bucky grounded himself near the exhibit window, the cool steeliness of his aquamarine irises unwaveringly roved over the nestling Komodo mates-he definitely fostered a tangible connection with the basking girthy reptiles. "Hmmm...Just think that grumpy lizard in there could have been you..." Naughtily, Felicia played off a foxier smirk over the voluminous glossiness of her pillowy lips, with kittenish friskiness, she eased up her gloved hand and teasingly gripped the brim of his cap, pulling it down over the knife-edged ruggedness of his scruffier jaw, while he unabashedly snorted out a throatier chuckle. "Well, I guess this black cat is lucky..."

A soft smile graced Bucky's stubbled lips. "Not as lucky as this Old Soldier boy who was this close to being put out to pasture. Good thing I found a feisty kitty who wouldn't let me quit," he expressed with a warm look towards the white-haired vixen who had somehow pulled him back from the pit of despair he had only a few days been prepared to be thrown into. In truth he was relieved that despite Connors' cruel deception and foiled plot, the doctor would find some form of treatment at the Raft where he had been taken by Hill. Oscorp had been all too eager to scrub away any association they might've had with Connors, but a certain teenage photographer and a blind lawyer were already on the case of exposing the corporations' misdeeds. Bucky had quietly been kept out of the official reports over what was recovered in Connors' lab. The Komodo Female he had once felt remorse over was thankfully given a safe place to thrive and find happiness with a new mate.

"And here I thought happy endings had gone out of style," he quipped as he turned away from the sight of the mated lizards and began walking with Felicia.

Hearing the cockier suaveness of his Brooklyn drawl, impishly, Felicia quirked up her silvery eyebrows, as her doe-like brandy irises unblinkingly gazed at him swaggeringly advanced with sniper-honed prowess as the corded-litheness of his denim-clad legs intimidatingly flexed with tameless -hungered ferocity. Only days before, the hunky beast machine was precariously roped into mutative throes of being a 300-pound 'bad ass' Komodo by an underhanded gambit of reptilian vengeance- mayhem that would have tragically infected the entire city if her little Spider didn't create a counter formula that reversed the scaly Halloween makeover.

Staving off the incendiary-detonative fervently that headily notched through her veins, whirlingly, Felicia spun onto her heeled boots with friskier graces, only to addictively feel the voluminous suppleness of her leather-garbed breasts snugly cushioning against the bulkier solidity of heavier banded muscle as he embracingly captured her against the cool vibrainium of the sleeved bionic arm-the mintiness of his breaths hotly ghosted over the glossier fullness of her crimson lips as their close bodies electrifyingly gloried with a passion-driven promise of sensuous decadence. "You ready for another dance, Bucky Barnes...?" she purred against the bristled heaviness of his knife-edge jaw, challengingly. "Unless you want something more sweet first..."

"Oh you read my mind, Felicia," he hummed. A jolt of hot temptation moved through him and he could think of nothing more savory and sweet than kissing her pillowy lips. Leaning forward, his eyes began to flutter closed in tune with hers only to halt when he caught sight of something in his peripheral vision. A very sneaky shape crept inside of her purse until a tiny bluish-red scaled head poked out of it. Black beady eyes peered up at him and a forked tongue slithered out. A bark of laughter escaped Bucky, the crows-feet at the corners of his eyes revealing the depth of his mirth as he pats Slink's head. "Well, I can't go for a ride without my wingman. You got a heckuva sense of timing though, Slink."

Felicia shook her head with soft amusement at the display as Bucky led them to his motorcycle. "So, where are we headed, darlin'?" He asked as he straddled the seat, laying his hands on the handles. His gaze lingered on his chrome vibranium digits. He never thought he'd feel so relieved to see them; they offered to him a sense of completion that he never knew was there before.

A devaint glint in her autumn-brandy irises craftily flashed over the matte-black Honda XL500 Street Hawk motorcycle -a hellcat that unleashed high-octane fury against the bustling New Yorker traffic was parked at the curbside with a smoke-faced helmet readily placed on the leather saddle-a white insignia of a cat was airbrushed over the sleek black. Quickly, she grabbed the helmet, keeping the strap of her purse securely tucked over her blossomy swells as she daringly winked at him with kittenish naughtiness. "Let's give them a good chase, Barnes..."

He felt Felicia settle in behind him, her soft arms embracing him from behind. "Way ahead of you." As he gunned the ignition, Bucky blinked as he felt a wet drop on his cheek. He held out his hand, gazing upward to see snowflakes falling in the breeze. He smiled with warm anticipation of his favourite holidays that were now approaching. For the first time in years, he knew he wouldn't be spending them alone. Together the couple drove off into the New York City traffic as the snowfall continued to come down on them, engulfing them with a sense of home and comfort as their future loomed ahead.

The End

October 2023

[winterwolvesandstarbucks]

As the backlit ambiance of Hell's Kitchen contrastingly burnished over his leathered tactical Kevlar jacket, impassively with sniper-honed vigilance of his stealthier graces, Bucky crouched on his black camouflaged haunches, piercingly lasering the cool smokiness of his grayish-aquamarine irises at the proximal vicinity of the gated dockyard. After Sam Wilson became a valorous paragon of liberty, bearing the impassable mantle of Captain America, he evaded from the political dynamos-taskmasters of the World Council who deceptively streamlined defence machinations with chessboard plays of bureaucratic prominence -using Stark Industries AI countermeasures to deadlock national-globalized security.

With the Secret Avengers contingency activated by General 'Thunderbolt' Ross, he refused to become an expandable asset-pawn in the rigged decks that unscrupulous alliances gambled. He joined an underground extension of SHIELD which was helmed by Maria Hill-doing 'off-book' missions with his combative-lethal- prowess under the Sokovian Accord's radar.

Against the vaporous fumes of diesel wafting off the docked freighters, a vexatious rapt twitchily scrunched the razor-edged angularity of his tenser cheek as he readily braced his unmoveable poise against the cement ledge, gazing at the labyrinth of stacked freight containers that obstructed a shoddy warehouse-a blackout site-that stowed a high-gambit payload. He received the 'greenlight' directive from Maria Hill after the convenient-decrypted intel of shipment from the dystopian cesspit of syndicated criminality -Madripoor- was flagged in the Hudson."M'not seeing much out here..." he whispered out a throatier breath, raspily, against his peripheral vision he caught a maddening glimpse of surveillance cameras painstakingly rotating over the fenced area. "Somethin's gotta be up..." A murmurous grumble scathingly fringed in his Brooklyn drawl." The Power Broker doesn't make an easy play without noise..."

"Our intel is solid," Maria's matter-of-factly voice replied through his earpiece with soft ease. Stationed inside of a van several blocks away, she sat behind a wall of monitors in quiet solitude, pouring over the mountain of intel that came pouring in through numerous assets around the globe. "Whatever is turning up might be a needle-in-a-haystack, but its important enough that a certain underboss wanted it off the manifest." She gazed at Wilson Fisk's profile on one of the monitors, a morbid curiosity taking over as she pondered how a single man managed to take control of the Feds and powerhouse his way through the numerous syndicates that once controlled the city. Tapping her chin, she pondered what he might do to elude suspicion. "Keep your eyes open for anything that might look off instead of suspicious."

Bucky frowned from his overwatch point. "Like what, flying pigs?" Giving New York was a city that many said was ground zero for strange and unusual, that wasn't a lot to go on.

"I don't know. It could be nuns waddling in the dark, or even a kid playing hop-scotch. If it looks like it doesn't belong out there, then consider it suspicious," Maria shrugged as she flopped back in her seat, waiting with bated breath for the other shoe to drop in this scenario.

Bucky peered through his scope until he thought he caught sight of a shimmering reflection of light. Instincts flared as he focused in, watching as a balletic figure seemed to dance and weave her way across a nearby rooftop. "Contact…nine o'clock," he mumbled.

Harnessing a slinkier variance of her balletic poise, felinely, she eased mid-crouch onto her shapelier haunches a breadth at the skylight window-a hot-wired entry point that was deceptively activated with thermal sensors. "Well, this is a fun surprise..." she purred against a sultrier undertone, breathily, removing an EMP disk from the leathered slit of her tactical boot."Glad I bought a few toys..." Gliding the delicate-bone litheness of her gloved finger deftly over the rusted latch with thievish precision; orangish sconces of the dockyard alluringly haloed over the sleekier exquisiteness of jet-black neoprene as her dishevelled whitish-platinum tresses smokily cascaded off the svelter curvatures of her garbed back. Against the bordering fringe of her velvetlike domino mask, the vixenish naughtiness of her autumn-brandy irises fixedly gazed at the electrified pulse sonically tasering every rigged sensor. "That was easy..."

"Hill, you getting this? Looks like a cat dragged herself in," Bucky was dumbfounded as he watched the mystery woman with platinum silver locks, pounce and weave her way around like a slick feline. She was clad in a form-fitting black unitard that left little to the imagination as it clung to her shapely athletic form, outfitted with a support harness and what he could only surmise was a tactical utility belt wrapped around her hips. He instinctively looked for an insignia on her that would give him an idea of who she would be working for. There was nothing. He didn't recognize her, and neither did Hill who responded in his ear.

"I've got nothing on facial recognition. That mask I'm guessing isn't just a fashion statement. Could she be a black widow?" She wondered aloud, quashing down feelings of sentiment as she thought of a lost friend and colleague. Bucky said nothing as he pondered this. He was familiar with the moves and tactics a black widow assassin exhibited. This mystery woman looked just as agile and slick but seemed to operate with a level of enthusiasm one wouldn't expect from a Red Room operative. 'Who are you?' He wondered. Forgoing a hostile approach, he stepped away from his overwatch point.

"Maybe I should ask her," Bucky grunted as he set his rifle aside and made his way towards her point of entry.

"Now things are getting interesting..." An impish smirk quirked over her glossier-pillowy full-bow lips, deviously, she registered the heavier footing menace-bound advances of stealthier prowess that intimidatingly breached her detected proximity. On defensive accord, edgily, Felicia dragged a daintier palm over the cement ledge as needle-point claws readily snicked out."Come up here to show this girl a good time..." she razzed out, jauntily, shifting her dark-brandy irises at the masculine silhouette bulkily garbed in a navy-blue tactical jacket as the golden skeins that aesthetically fused over charcoal-ebon plating of his robotic arm hypnotically gleamed against the muskier shadows-Wakandian vibrainium was a high-score for black market auctions. "So you're the new player in Horn Boy's backyard, huh..."

Silence followed her quip and a chill of foreboding swept through the vicinity as she searched for her nightly observer. No sign of him causing her to frown with uncertainty. Theatrical, much? Her posture tense and her claws were readied for any hostility. If half the things she'd heard about him were true, then he was about as personable as a suped-up grumpy Jason Bourne. He'd let his fists do all the talking. A whoosh of wind at her back and a presence landed behind her. "Немного поздно рыскать по эту сторону доков (A little late to be prowling this side of the docks)." A deep baritone raspily fringed with a Russian timbre answered. "But if it's a good time you're lookin' for, you've come to the wrong place, darlin'."

Hearing the contralto velvetiness of his whiskey-roughened drawl addictively shunting through her veins on a heart-arresting tempo, unnervingly Felicia drove the vehement intensity over her lithe shoulder at the Siberian beast machine unmovingly crouched onto his clunkier tactical boots over the cement ledge with sniper-honed graces as his roguish chestnut tresses shaggily clung over his broader temples. Riskily, she gazed at the hard-boned ruggedness of his scruffier -hawkish features that cuttingly razored with the heaviness of his knife-edged jaw-a hunkier ferocity strikingly rode over the angular planes of his cheekbones as the dimpled notch of his bristly chin tensely rapted, scowlingly evident to the offish quirk of his shapely-bow lips. With rapid-fire sassiness, Felicia countered his grumpier impatience, brusquely. "Sorry to disappoint, but I like getting my kicks in dangerous places, soldier-boy..." she rebuffed in a foxier cadence, teasingly, watching the mechanized flex of his bionic palm clenching into a rigid fist, as cool smokiness of his grayish-aquamarine depths smolderingly gleamed with mesmeric intensity against the dock-light."Maybe I'm having too much fun up here..."

There was a flirtatious carefree air about her that Bucky found odd if not refreshing. Years of working in the field brought him into contact with different kinds of people; most of them were suspicious, some hapless while few were righteous. But one thing they had in common was they were all dangerous. This young woman was a rare ilk of dangerous and mysterious. He couldn't sense any hostility coming from her, but he wasn't too quick to drop his guard. "You seem to know me. How about we keep things on an even-playing field and you tell me who you are?" He inquired with a raised eyebrow. He knew Hill was listening in and though he was asking mostly for the benefit of intel, there was something else inside of him that was curious for…other reasons.

Against knifepoint tension underscoring her restraint, craftily, Felicia eased onto her tactical boots with fluid -seductive graces as she undeviatingly edged closer to him on feverous tenor; her dark-brandy irises flashed over bulkier resiliency of graven-corded of tauter muscles that athletically delineated underneath his Kevlar-clad jacket- surges of defensive ferocity intimidatingly rode over his gladiator-like solidity. Coquettishly, the pillowy lush of her full-bow lips saucily, played off a friskier smirk, as she distractingly grazed her boot against the deactivated latch of the skylight with thievish precision. "Now that would be spoiling all the fun..." she purred in a huskier undertone, jauntily, aware of the point-blank glare of his stormier grayish-aquamarine depths that impassively lasered onto the entry point. "Are you sure you can keep, Grumpy...?" she challenged, poutily. "I'm a girl who likes to move...fast."

The sultriness of her voice sent feverish chills down Bucky's spine as he fought to keep a stoic facade. Her dark orbs were full and alight with excitement as they gleamed at him enticingly. The heat of her proximity made goosebumps rise across his skin. She was too close for comfort. While he wouldn't call her approach towards him seductive, there was a disarming feeling that crept into him that made him feel conflicted on what was the best approach. The soldier inside of him was torn, but the man that had made a habit off charming pretty dames rose to the forefront with a witty comeback. "Have it your way, darlin'. Gotta warn ya though, the faster you run, the harder I'll chase ya."

He smirked dangerously for good measure. He could hear Hill's voice interjecting through the moment. "Keep her in your sights. We can't afford to blow the element of surprise by engaging her."

"Still playing with your training wheels, huh...?" With a kittenish smirk flirtily quirking over the voluminous glossiness of her cherry-red lips, deviously, Felicia slashed her metallic claws over the eroded latch with underhand swiftness as the skylight window popped open, readily, she braced her gloved palms against the cement, angling the sleekier litheness of her neoprene-clad arms into a diver's poise as she winked at him, coaxingly. "Let's see how fast you are, soldier-boy..."

With acrobatic-feline-honed graces, Felicia arced her curvier mid-drift like a balletic marionette into a straight-back handstand as her tousled whitish-platinum whorls sexily draped over the daintier contours of her jaw. Feigning his dumbstruck edginess, glaringly, Bucky roved the steeliness of his wide-blown aquamarine irises onto the ample -voluptuous suppleness of her bustier swells that snugly plunged against the half-zipped neoprene-damn, she was heart-stealin' gorgeous. With a breathless surge of her kickback momentum, Felicia exquisitely performed a handspring backflip, whooshingly, she pounced within the skylight, as her clawed fingers metallically scraped the ground on high-adrenalized impact. "Well, don't keep this girl waiting down here..."

Bucky waited a moment before diving in, the flush of heat in his body causing him to exhale loudly. Somehow he doubted he wouldn't have trouble keeping focus. "Well, this should be fun." He performed a missile-dive down through the sky-light window, his acrobatic skill enabling him to control the momentum of his body bringing him to a soft-padded landing down on his haunches. He tried not to stare at the voluminous shape of the mystery girl's backside as she too had landed in a cat-like crouch across from him. Yeah, no distractions at all. "You know there's trouble down there, darlin'," Bucky whispered to her as he made a stealthy approach along the wall, keeping to a dark veil of shadows. His eyes drank in her shape, this time for a different reason. She wasn't carrying any obvious weapons. No guns, no knives. "I hope you know how to handle yourself in a fight."

"You always talk to girls like this, or should I consider myself lucky?" Felicia countered with a terser undertone, banteringly, keeping herself poised lithely against the eroded crates as the whitish scones of the industrial fixtures above them shinily gleamed over the SIG-Sauer P226 SCT pistol holstered over his bulkier thigh, as the robotized vibrainium servos of his bionic arm that mechanically whirred in defensive sync. "Well, I will admit you do have a cool arm..." she purred, smokily, roving her flintier darkish irises onto the golden skeins that contrasted against the gunmetal plating -a Kintsugi design of mending shattered pieces. Smacking the voluminous glossiness of her full-bow lips into a devious pop with a kittenish smirk."Might be a good fence to play with..."

Bucky chuckled dryly. "This you flirting? Normally I don't mind it, but we should get dinner first before you start sweet-talkin' about my arm." He quipped.

"You're both real sweet talkers, aren't you? You're on mission. Focus up, Barnes. Maybe try keeping the chatter with her to a minimum?" Maria chimed in, cutting Bucky's train of thought. A spike of irritation moved through him as he ventured towards a service door and peaked through the glass.

"You could cut back on the commentary too, Hill. I just need intel from you," Bucky said with a note of exasperation. "Like telling me who the hell we're dealing with, and what I'm looking for-"

"Let's find out..." Against tempered brazenness, Felicia sashayed a hairbreadth closer to him, caressingly, the delicateness of her gloved palm fervidly bracketed over the muscled contours of his thicker nape on the evocative tenor as she registered the buzzing pulse of static vexatiously resonating out of his ear-com. A headier rush of cinnamony mintiness of his virile fragrancy had arrestingly intensified as she delivered feather-soft ministrations against his ear. "You're following my lead now, soldier-boy..." Her lithe fingers blindly pinched over the device as the comlink dropped onto the cement ground. "Oops..."

Bucky grimaced as he watched his radio-com hit the ground. Though he was inclined to scold the mystery woman's brazen action and retrieve the transmitter, he was slightly thankful for the silence in his ear. Instead, he fixed the silver-haired vixen with a deadpan look, half-serious, "Well I guess I'm all ears," he shrugged. He tried to ignore the rush of heat across his skin where her cool touch had brushed across his neck. He had barely registered the act of her removing his communication. She was very quick and smooth. Something about the impish quirk of her lips diffused any sense of frustration he might have still had.

It wasn't his style to follow the lead of an unknown, but he couldn't sense anything distrustful about her, even as she sauntered towards the door. "Lead the way then, darlin'."

Aware of his steeled resistance fracturing against her persuasive coaxing, alluringly, Felicia slinked within the mustier ambiance of shadows that contrasted against the metal crates, the swiftness of her graceful footing was mirrored with his terminator-like prowess as he swaggeringly revamped his beastlier-predatory momentum of tactical-honed advances, never easing the dead-shot readiness of his mechanized grip over the Makarov pistol glintingly strapped over the corded bulkiness of his thigh. Underneath his tactical-kevlar jacket, the V-cut ridges that bracketed his washboard abdomen tautly flexed with menace-honed ferocity as he drove his clunkier boot-steps at the automatic door.

Emitting out a growlier breath, huffily, Bucky glared at her deftly placing an EMP disk-a free pass card- onto the encrypted keypad. Flintily, she caught a glimpse of the rigged thermal sensors hot-wired onto the doorframe. "Okay...Just need to counterpoint the right frequency..." she pressed, breathily, gliding a metallic claw over the pulsating disk, as his shapely-wide lips broodingly tautened with grumpier edginess—definitely a stink-eye killjoy. "I guess you have trust issues, huh?"

"You could say I just prefer the direct approach," he huffed as he braced himself on the edge of his heels. He was on a time-clock and, he smirked, there was no harm in showing off a little. "Here, allow me!" With a charging thrust of his bionic fist, the padlock exploded in a shower of sparks beneath its might. The sensors on the door were coded into the lock and immediately deactivated. Bucky withdrew his fist as all lit up green like a christmas tree. Seeing the look on her face, he shrugged with a nonchalant twist of his lips and beckoned through the door. "Hope my speed isn't too fast for ya," he quipped with a subtle twitch of his lips before he moved through the door and into the warehouse.

"Thanks for opening the door for me..." Felicia purred in a sultrier undertone, brusquely, keeping a cautious distance from the stacked crates assembled over the loading platform as she hastily pounced onto the cement ramp with fervent urgency in her thievish-feline graces as her dark-brandy irises shiftily roved over the crate vividly branded with the crimson flag vividly adorned with the whitish crescent moon and lion-head of Madripoor." This better have the Baldy's prize..." she murmured, tartishly, flexing her daintier hand as her metallic-alloy claws reactively snicked out. "Unlike you, this girl has the delicate touch..."

"Yeah, I can tell," he frowned as he contemplated the part she probably didn't want him to hear. "Who's Baldy, by the way? Someone you're working for?" He didn't receive an answer, not that he was expecting one. He was half-pressed to push for answers but knew now wasn't the time for that. The warehouse was full of activity. By all accounts, the night-shift should've been down to a skeleton crew with only one security guard at the southeast exit. Which made the numerous armed thugs marching between the containers barking orders all the more suspect. Bucky and Felicia were crouched near the edge of a cat-walk, shimming their way towards the ladder that would lead them to the ground level. "Looks like a party waiting for us. How about we-"

"I thought you wanted to play..." Baiting out a dismissive breath, scoffingly, Felicia crouched on her shapelier haunches onto a crate, the onrushes of pent-up-calibrated adrenaline electrifyingly surging through her veins as she readily poised her knifepoint claws against the eroded steel. Bracingly, she became attuned to the frequency pulsating from a proximal sentry's radio transmitter, his encroaching boot-stomps were thuggishly heavier-uncoordinated as he mobilized near the loading ramp. "Time for some fun..." On the acrobatic succession of her enhanced swiftness, fluidly, she vaulted onto a hydraulic crane as the armoured 'payoff' lookout slimily paced closer to cat-walk. Keeping herself bolstered on her tactical boots, stealthily, Felicia waited for the sentry to wobbily maneuver underneath the crane, while her full-bow lips wickedly played off a naughtier smirk as she pounced onto the ground, jack-knifing her svelte form with her braced hands and explosively thrust her legs into his plumper chest. Gruntingly, he wavered as she half-flipped with balletic momentum and blindingly scissored her curvier thighs around his flabbier neck with bone-vising pressure. Without a pause of tampered hesitance, mercilessly she drove the sentry head-first to the ground.

"I guess that works too," he deadpanned, sliding down the ladder to the ground floor. He watched her move ahead, picking off the next sentry with an acrobatic feat of kicks and flips that was pretty damn effective. His only frustration stemmed from the realization that the mystery woman seemed to have thrown all thoughts of stealth to the wind as she engaged the next mercenary out in the open.

"Here we go again," Bucky rushed in, coming to realize that his mission of stealth was quickly turned into a race for retrieval. His feet carried him through a maze of containers while the noise of commotion grew louder. Sporadic gun-fire erupted as he charged an armed mercenary that had his sights locked onto him. Bucky used his vibranium arm to deflect the burst rounds while moving in. The mercenary panicked as Bucky quickly closed the distance and leap kicked him in the chest, sending him crashing against the wall of a container. Bucky picked up his weapon and fired the chamber into the thug's vest, winding him. A downward strike of his fist knocked him out cold.

"Fan out, idiots! We have two uninvited guests! Recover the package and deal with them!" A voice screamed out on the walkie of the downed thug. Bucky shifted as he saw a shadow move. Looking up, he could see Felicia at the top of a container, looking down on him in a feline-like crouch. He could see the challenge in her teasing eyes and felt his adrenaline surge.

"You're enjoying this way too much," his retorted just as he saw another thug come into view with his weapon drawn. Bucky shoved the muzzle aside just as the bullets spiraled out in ringing sparks. He headbutted the thug who stood a foot taller than him and drove his knee into his sternum. The weapon clattered to the ground but the thug was sharp enough to draw a combat knife. "You really don't wanna do that," Bucky admonished with a bored tone.

His warning was unheeded, the thug attempted to drive his blade into Bucky's chest. It was like trying to push through an unbreakable fence. Bucky's jaw clenched and a bead of sweat trickled down his brow. Glaring into the merc's eyes, he scowled, "I warned ya." Faster than the thug could process things, the knife was twisted and sent flying up. Bucky caught it with a stylish flourish of his wrist and cut through the air, the whooshing sound was accompanied by the sluicing of crimson death. The thug released a deathly gasp as he collapsed, his own knife lodged into his throat.

"Damn it," Bucky looked away, feeling no satisfaction as he continued on his way towards the center of the warehouse. He could hear footsteps racing above the containers. Looking up, he watched as the masked woman leaped over him like an olympic athlete onto the next container. It was a race, he remembered. His blood pumped with alarm and excitement as he decided to give chase.

Against the ebony velvetiness of her sleekier domino-mask, impishly, the fieriness of her brandy irises shifted onto him as her dishevelled whitish-silvery tresses vixenishly clung to the cool delicateness of her elfish features at the heart-pumping moment, Bucky unerringly propelled his unstoppable -fiercer momentum over the crates above with panther-honed agility. On breathless tenor, he leaped off a container impressively akin to the skateboarder on a halfpike spin and intimidatingly smacked his tactical boots forcily onto the ground behind her. "Not bad moves..." she whispered in a breathier rasp, friskily, ghosting her clawed fingers with underhand-deceptive- precision over the wooden crate. "Sorry to cut our dance short, but I have places to be..." Conveying a sirenlike beckon, teasingly, Felicia quirked her glossier pillowy crimson lips into a kittenish smirk, enticingly her smokier platinum whorls flipped over her delicate-boned shoulder.

"You always cut and run on a first date?" Bucky snarked as he watched her stride out towards the open. "Hey! HetThe activity in the warehouse was reaching a boiling point as the armed mercenaries took up a defensive formation while attempting to load the cargo container onto a big-rig. Bucky wasn't sure what the mystery dame was after or if it coincided with what Hill had sent him out here to investigate. But after she mentioned the term "baldy" he had an inkling of suspicion that she worked for a certain underboss. Whatever she was after, he knew he couldn't let her escape with it, even if he found her kind of cute...okay very cute. Bucky found her direct approach to be bold and daring, but as he watched a few of the armed thugs become distracted by her sashaying stride, he knew she knew what she was doing. Beauty was one of many tools a woman could exploit.

"That's far enough sweet-heart. Take one more step and I'll drop ya," one of the mercenaries threatened. "It would be such a waste," he shrugged while ogling her with thinly veiled lust. Bucky's cybernetic fist clenched as he jumped in began punching. The mercenaries opened were unable to open fire without risk to each other and the cargo. Numerous pallets of wrapped boxed were exposed in the opened container from Madripoor. The team member of the mercenary squad, a bald-headed man with a grisly tattoo on his face, pulled out a shotgun. "Damned superhero s***! Stop messing with my business!" He unloaded his rifle with reckless abandon, uncaring, friendly-fire the least of his concerns as he tried to make room for himself towards the driver-seat of the big-rig.

Bucky looked over at Felicia who was like a human-knife of precision as she laid into the mercenaries with feline agility. Bucky could see one of the mercenaries attempting to close the container, one of the exposed packages was marked labeled, "Fisk Industries".

"Oh no you don't," he made a dash towards the package at the same time as Felicia.

Against the surges of riotous octane that accerlatedly fuelled her lightning-quick paces, slashingly, Felicia dragged her alloyed claws over the rear massive wheel, as the brutish driver maliciously rammed his granite-like fist against her shoulder with deadlier force. On blinded reaction, viciously, she delivered a tiger-claw strike into his broader neck, grappling him off the flatbed trailer like discarded trash. With practiced deftness, she traced her gloved palm over the runic statue of an Indonesian-crafted Komodo Dragon as the waxen malachite vitreously gleamed against the sconces of the light fixtures-a high-priced interest that bigshot moguls of syndicated industry greedily duelled with bidding wars to slake their rivalrous avarice at gallery auctions. The winning hand of territorial-corruptive supremacy murderously dealt his titanic retribution in spades over Hell's Kitchen, using expandable-throw-away collaterals to stake down his imperious reign-she was a leashed kitten. "This better have it..."

The bodies continued to fall before the unlikely duo's onslaught. Bucky slammed a mercenary to the floor with a punishing chokeslam of his cybernetic limb. His gaze whipped upward as one of thugs cocked his pistol and aimed behind the mystery dame's head. "Look out!" He cried out, alarm setting in as he rushed in. The mercenary was tackled as if he were bull-dozed, his body crumbling forward, knocking into Felicia from behind. The Komodo statue fell from her grip in a dramatic descent towards the cold floor. Bucky lunged, eyes wide to catch the falling object before it could be damaged. He was too late-the withered old antique smashed on the ground into pieces. A large vial of green fluid shattered inside of the statue, the liquid splurting into Bucky's face, seeping into his pores and corneas as he groaned with indignation. "AARGH! What the hell?!"

Hearing the choke-off gravelliness of his throatier drawl moaningly railing out of him, trickily, Felicia swiped up the USB drive that was deceptively concealed within the jade statue, her delicate nose vehemently scrunched against the carious rancidity of greenish liquid that smearily trekked over the scruffier angularity of his knife-edged jaw as he stumblingly collided against the flatbed trailer. Within unhampered restraint invested with his vertiginous mobility, feverishly against teeth-gnashing strain, Bucky dragged his kevlar-clad forearm over his jutting poutier-bow lips, doing his utmost of wiping off the viscous fluid. "Hey, are you okay?" she urged, pressingly.

"I've had worse," Bucky staggered to his feet after wiping off his face. His vision swam as the pungent stench of chlorine and some other kind of mildew-like aroma bombarded his senses. It reminded him of a lab or some kind of swamp, leaving a bad feeling in his gut. He shrugged it off, focusing his gaze on Felicia. The mercenaries were downed, his gaze shot from the destroyed statue and the vial towards Felicia who made a subtle slip of something into her pocket. "Bad luck for both of us, I suppose," he asked with a coy and suspicious look. Slowly he moved towards her, sensing a veiled deception.

As the frostier steeliness of his grayish-aquamarine irises steelily razored onto the curvier litheness of her svelter waist, coquettishly, Felicia eased up her gloved hand over the alloy rigidity of his vibrainum shoulder, her clawed fingers traced featherlight ministrations lingeringly over the golden skeins that kinetically pulsed with amethyst Okavango sigils as the mechanized servos reactively whirred underneath her violating-distractive touch. Harbouring vestiges of his defensive resistance, fiercely, Bucky gripped onto the delicateness of her wrist-he didn't let go. The addictive-intensified contrast of his virile heat starvedly gloried in a tantalizing rush of undeniable-heart-razed need. "Do you always get this close...?" she purred, huskily, as the graven-edged muscles of his garbed chest bulkily shifted against the voluptuous cushiness of her delectable breasts on evocative accord. Disarmingly, Bucky was captive into a passion-driven maelstrom as the coolness of his bionic palm tremorously bracketed chaste gentleness over the sleekier underside of her jaw coupled with reined strength. "Maybe you need to dance again..."

Despite himself, Bucky couldn't help but smile as the heat of her proximity came over him like a warm blanket. "This isn't the kind of dance I take a pretty dame out on. But I'm guessing you're no ordinary dame," he coaxed with a deep stare. Her smirk was a telling response full of innuendo. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in what felt like a life-time and at the same time, it was different. She was different.

She was dangerous. And he liked it. He eyed her wandering hand and how it trailed the sleek surface of his vibranium limb. Her stare was equally intense, the mascara and paint behind her domino mask only serving to accentuate her dark brown eyes that lured him in with a spell-binding thrall. He could play that game too. Leaning towards her until his face hovered over his, he tried to look imposing though in quite the reverse, his voice came out deep and husky. "You ready to tell me who you are? Or how about you just give me what you pulled from that statue?" He arched his eyebrow at her knowingly.

Hearing the murmurous raspiness of his whiskey-roughen drawl feverously ratcheting through her veins, on breathless tenor, possessively, Felicia gripped onto the muscled contours of his tenser nape with a breakneck rush, moaningly Bucky hitched out a throatier 'mpff...' against the arrestive force that viscerally floored him onto the edge of savorous havoc as the dampish heat of his shapely-wide lips steamily feathered over the luscious underswell of her plushier lip on a give-or-take accord. "I don't kiss and tell..." she teased, breathily, kneading her clawed fingers over the steel-banded muscles that hunkily shifted underneath his Kevlar-garbed chest as she gasped against the robotic flexion of his vibrainium palm that shiveringly bracketed over the svelter curviness of her back.

With passion-blank abandon, blindly, he angled the bristled heaviness of his clenching jaw, hungrily driven by an unsuppressible-wonderous cadence of his dredged-up need. The flavorous glossiness of her voluminous lips decadently coupled with the cool mintiness of his panty breaths, groaningly, his Romanianque nose avidly scrunched into the delicate suppleness of her cheek, answering her sirenic call, as he gutturally thrusted the velvety-softness of his poutier-bow lips on headier demand.

Caught on the riotous edge of the kiss, she was aware of his resistance fracturing as the arrowing hotness of his tongue meltingly glided with hers-nothing was held back. Mirroring the rapturous tempo that intensifying gloried into bone-liquifying voltage, dizzyingly, Felicia twinned the litheness of her arms over his broader neck, losing herself within the hottish dregs of passionate maina. Devouringly, the gaping stretch of his throbbing lips recaptured hers with the fiercer-bruising pressure of an open-mouthed kiss on amorous succession, Ragingly, the exhilarative—dangerous promise of untamed intimacy crescendoed- their fevered bodies sensuously moved in duelling -breathtaking sync. Raggedly, Bucky traced whisper-soft pressure over the glossier lushness of her underlip-the hot-blooded wetness of their melding lips increasingly became unstoppable-aphrodisiacal octane-fuelling their kiss deeper.

The touch of her kiss-swollen lips had deliciously awakened something inside of him that he thought was lost, this feeling of life and excitement that came by way of a heady interlock that left him breathless. His tactical mind had shut-down amidst the flood of desire that poured through him. Had he been alert, he would've noticed the slip of her hands reaching for a cylindrical object hidden on her belt. He was lost in the heat of her kiss, but just as Bucky heard the noise of a pin dropping, his eyes snapped open. Just as soon as it had happened, the kiss ended when she broke away, their lips smacking with a pop. The last thing he saw was her breathless features before her domino mask activator a protective lens over her eyes.

A depth-charge pulse explosively ricocheted against the floor with concussive static, as whitish phosphorus blindingly robbed his vision in those ear-numbing seconds the flash-bang grenade craftily dropped out of her lithe hand. Quirking the hot-flushed swollenness of her pillowy lips, devaintly, Felicia gazed at him gnashingly pinching his eyelids with feverish strain as he unrestrainedly collapsed onto his knees with vertiginous traction against the skull-hammering onslaught that incessantly amplified on deadening fruition. "Until next time, soldier boy..." The deviousness of her sultrier undertone painstakingly knifed against his throbbing ears as she vanishingly slinked behind the loading ramp, unaware of a tinier bluish-ebony skink lizard creeping speedily over a rusted drainage pipe.

Bucky counted down from ten, as he shuttered himself from the blinding flash that left a throbbing pain in his temple. Off-setting the discomfort came naturally with his training but left him no less vulnerable in his disoriented state. Once the brightness vanished in front of his eyelids, he steadily peeled them open, groaning as the world swam in front of him. Sure enough, the mystery girl had vanished into the night, leaving him hunched over in a dazed aftermath. "Women," he chuckled dryly. "I didn't even get her name," he lamented. Reformed Soviet assassin or not, he still had an Achilles Heel when it came to a pretty dame. He couldn't feel angry with her even if he wanted to. Nothing went as planned he surmised while looking over the broken pieces of the statue. Whatever was in there was important, perhaps not just to a certain criminal underboss in NYC.

A rough exhale came through as he surveyed the numerous dead or incapacitated mercenaries laying around. He had nothing to show for all of this. "Hill's not gonna like this," he groaned as he slipped the radio back into his ear and began to survey the rest of the shipment. "Hill, yeah I'm on site…Bad news, unfortunately. Package unsecure." He grimaced as a barrage of reprimands filled his ear that he had no other choice but to endure. Unknown to him, a pair of small reptilian eyes watched him closely near a man-hole, taking in the human's unique scent that called to its habitat. A forked tongue slithered as the tiny lizards slipped down into the sewer, receiving a mental call from a power conduit from afar.

The cascading rushes of warmth steamily glided off the corded flesh of his back as exhaustive tension grippingly rode over the graven-edged curvatures of bulkier thews-a linebacker-honed solidity that athletically flexed against the pelting spray. Quashing down a pukish upheaval, he braced his cybernetic hand unmovingly against the ceramic tile, calmly breathing the citrus mintiness of his Old Spice body wash that zestily wafted from the half-crushed bottle. A heated shower was a luxury that he was denied when his sadistic handlers thawed him from the cryogenic pod, dragging him into the 'memory-suppressing chair- infusing his veins with thermic dosages of crystalloid to stabilize the hypothermic levels in his chilled blood. Warding off the cerebral PTSD - traumatic apparitions that paralytically roped him into erratic throes of heart-thumping distress, Bucky consciously pressed his brow against the tile, registering the dampness of his unkempt chestnut tresses slickly clinging over his shampoo-glazed temple. "C'mon Barnes...Keep it together..." he gritted out in a shakier pitch, murmurously, and reached for the chrome knob.

After getting grilled by Hill, Bucky had to sit through an hour of debriefing to go over what happened down at the docks. To say the recon and extraction could've gone better was a massive understatement. He'd lost the package and let his curiosity get the better of him when dealing with the alluring masked woman who left a big impression on him. It was the furthest thing from his mind now once he stormed out of the debrief like a man who had just come into contact with a plague. He felt cold, sweaty and feverish all at once. Sensations he would've once thought impossible given his superhuman constitution that enabled him to fight off something as simple as a common cold before he could even sense it.

The spraying beads of water cascading down his n*** body did little to numb the sick feeling of anticipation lurking beneath his skin as if something sinister was just waiting to make itself known. "Come on," he said through the thick of bath-water showering over him. He waited as he counted down from ten, relying on his enhanced physiology to combat this sickly feeling of invasion. He felt like he was waging a war and the struggle brought with it an hot flash of agony into his brow. His vision flashed and he groaned at the sensation. The pain manifested itself as a clawed set of hands reaching out to him from a murky river. That dreadfully familiar taste of chemicals and rain-water returned, reminding him of the strange fluid that had splashed onto his face at the docks. He turned off the shower and padded out, determined to wash the vile taste from his mouth.

With a tactless measure of unbidden resistance that warringly racked through his veins, blearily, he staggered on his slick feet against the granite basin, thrusting his bionic hand as he desperately gripped onto the faucet with vicing pressure. White-hot surges disturbingly intensified against his thermal receptors as the odorous -swampier muckiness had vomitously entrenched him with nauseatic bouts that he couldn't quash down. Against strenuous -pukey heaves, blindingly he reached for the half-emptied bottle of 'cool' mint' Listerine, twisting off the cap. Feigning a starchier grimace over his shapely-bow lips, feverishly Bucky angled his head with breakneck traction and chugged down the minty-antiseptic- freshness that burningly scoured down his throat. "Grah..."

He coughed and felt his throat close up against the scalding ingestion. Spittle coated with mouthwash dripped from his lips creating a string of saliva that fell to the floor. His fit of coughs were as alien to him as a fever but even more so alarming was the slick sensation of wetness collecting over his body as if he were in a sweat-box. He had just showered though? He fought a fresh wave of nausea climbing up his throat. The taste of Listerine at the back of his throat had smothered the taste of swamp water but was now climbing its way back up to his mouth with a vengeance. "Ungh!" He coughed up a blob of the fluid, the pores of his skin shifting as his soft tissue became colder. Fear entered his chest with the alarming speed of a bullet piercing his heart. "GAAAH!" And then he screamed with a crippling panic the moment he caught sight of an inhuman entity peering at him from the mirror. His vibranium fist landed a shattering punch that cracked the glass into a spider-web of warped imagery.

He could still see himself, but what he saw only caused the dread in his gut to continue mounting as he saw an amberish set of monstrous eyes peering back at him from his own face. "What the hell is happening to me?" He made to rush out of the bathroom, heedless of the fact he only wore his boxer briefs. He didn't make it a few steps until a sharp pain in his feet caused his balance to shift and buckle. He landed on the floor, collapsing like a building with his vibranium limb clanging onto the polished floorboards.

Emitting out snortier breaths, hissingly, Bucky registered the blood-numbing sludginess that infectiously deadened his mortified heartbeat on panic-razed succession as he tremorously eased up his vein-threaded hand that was alarmingly sheathed with blotchier leathery fleshiness- reptile-like scales. The owlish intensity of his wide-blown pupils blankly gazed at the dewy length of his deforming fingernails that slimily morphed into beastlier-reptilian claws. "No..." Gaspingly, he sobbed against choke-off heaves as his rakish chestnut tresses were sweatily askew over the scaly clamminess of his brow. "H-Help..."

He had to call someone. Hill, Fury, Banner, anyone. Fear of the unknown was as debilitating to him as a knife to the stomach. It cut-deep, leaving only a sense of impending doom. His conscious thoughts were devolving into maddening panic as they watched his vibranium-attached appendage suddenly disconnected from his left shoulder. The pain he felt in his body was like being drawn and quartered. A strangled cry tore from his mouth, the knife-digging throb of pain in his digits was coupled with a growing discomfort in his jaw. His teeth felt like they were being pulled, a sharp cut of his tongue scraping an incisor drew a m*** of pain. He tried to stand, but his limbs felt like glass that had been shattered, the only way to move was to crawl.

On floored mobility that vertiginously grappled him into nauseatic dregs, with strenuous traction, Bucky arced up the weightier tautness of his mid-drift into a one-arm planking stance, bolstering his scaly palm with conscious force while the mutative length of his blackish clawed-fingers scrapingly gouged into the floorboards in vicious sync as cottony-hazed grogginess swimmingly bleared his feverish vision. "W-What the hell..." A guttural scratchiness noncommittally resonated out of him with hissing cadence, the dampish sliminess of his tongue viperously jutted out with flickering motion distressingly akin to a birthday-horn- blower that morphically split into a reptilian 'forked' tongue.

"Argh..." Pinching his eyelids shut, growlingly Bucky outstretched the monstrous hand- deformity that freakishly melded into a stubbier leathery mass of grayish-ebon scales. Venting out throatier hisses, clumsily, Bucky dragged his clawed feet instinctively against the bracketed ridges of washboard abdomen, as his rigid knees heavily tucked into athletic curvatures of his V-cut obliques in leaden sync. Bracing his muscled forearm with push-up force, he taxingly lizard-crawled on the floor with clunkier momentum in the direction of stacked pillows of his makeshift bed. "G-Gotta call..."

The phone on the night-stand was ringing, the alarming sound that should've bolstered his determination served now to only agitate his deteriorating mood. "C-Can't sssstop!" A viperish hiss slithered into his tone, his sneering mouth now revealing rows of sharpened incisors gleaming with noxious saliva dripping onto the floor-boards. A whiplash of agony climbed into his brain as the sounds grew even more vexing to the point he was pouncing towards the night-stand, smashing the furniture into pieces. The phone's caller ID revealed the name "Maria Hill'' as it continued to ring. The floor-boards shook and an ominous shadow stretched across the walls of the apartment. The enormity of a lizard paw smashed the phone to pieces as a brittle growl followed. A pair of serpentine eyes gaze at the New York City skyline from the window before focusing on its own harrowing reflection.

The glass smashed into pieces, a roar of anger shook the fire-escape and all the civilians around the block who happened past as a monstrous silhouette ran off into the night.

An untrammelled upheaval of bone-deep grogginess clammily deadened him into slumberous throes, groaningly, Bucky eased the scruffier heaviness of his fevered cheek off a pillow, registering the bilious potency of his saliva that drenched a blanket sheathed over the nakedness of the graven-corded ridges of his straining abdomen that bloatedly jutted with chunkier bulginess as he indifferently grimaced against the greasier aftertaste of street-cart hot-dogs that he abandonly consumed within dregs of a voracious mania. "Urgh...What did I eat..." he moaned in slurrish pitch, throatily, rubbing his vibrainium palm consciously against his pounding temple, only to alarmingly feel the smooth pressure of a flesh-blooded hand in the wake. "Huh...?"

He did an alarmed double-take, believing for a moment that whatever had happened to him last night and triggered an intensely vivid dream that felt too real. "What?" His voice was soft and filled with confusion. His stricken gaze was locked onto the unmistakable shape of two human hands held out in front of him, their shape and textures differing somewhat as his left arm appeared to be coated with drying green gel that resembles slime. "Oh my God," he expressed, suddenly on his feet and rushing to the bathroom as if his limb had caught fire. The sound of running water only heightened his state of growing anxiety as he stuck his left limb beneath the shower-head. He anticipated at any moment, the vivid dream would end with him waking up in a groaning stupor of dismay, that the cold heavy sensation of his vibranium limb would tether him back to the waking world and all its grim expectancies.

But as the seconds passed and his dried limb was retracted from a bath-towel, he gazed at both it and his reflection with disbelief. "I-It's…It's back…" he uttered with a broken voice, fighting against a choking sob as emotion pooled in his eyes. He flexed the new digits of his very human, slightly green limb, marveling at the feeling of total sensitivity and control. "I-I'm back…" he found himself saying with a strained chuckle, sitting on the edge of the tub, cradling his new limb as if it were made of glass. Was this was rebirth felt like? An unexpected feeling of being made whole again? The how and why this teetered at the forefront of his thoughts with no clear answer there to greet him. Bucky traced the texture of his skin, marveling at how soft it felt and how firm the muscles were beneath.

He fought the nagging surge of doubt that threatened to creep into his thoughts and ruin this moment. He fought it like a starved man in a desperate need to protect something so nourishing and invigorating. A smile broke out across his face and his chuckles became more animated and lively. "YEEAAAH! I'M BACK! WOOOO!" Bucky slid out of the bathroom like a man who won the lottery, uncaring he was still in his boxers, his spirit filled with the unshakable urge to celebrate and live as he began to strut and buck his waist in a victory celebration pose.

Nothing else registered in his thoughts, not the oddity of the situation nor what might have happened to him last night as he flexed and pumped his rejuvenated limb in numerous poses. "BUCKY BARNES IS BACK, BABY!" He cried out, exiting his tap dancing pose before dropping to the ground in a push-up posture. With steeled focus he began to pump up and down in repetitive, the heightened surge of adrenaline in his muscles giving him life and causing his grin to become even bigger. He never thought he would feel so happy to feel the burn in his muscles, but his left limb craved the sensation like a plant needing water.

His moment of celebration came to a sudden jerk back to reality as he heard a knock at his door. He rose to his feet, suddenly aware of his surroundings and the state of his apartment. It…was trashed. Like someone had gotten into a fight and did a number on his floor and furniture. "Huh…" The knock at the door came again, more insistent this time. "Who is it?" He yelled out. Bucky stared at the door with mounting dread, trying to remember where his phone was. The last thing he needed was Hill making a house call.

"Don't be alarmed, Sergent James Barnes ..." A slithery-cavalier British timber steadily answered behind the door, intimidatingly, Bucky advanced his tight-fisted paces at the breadth of his apartment's steel-bolted door as his Romanianque nose twitchily scrunched against the invasive scent of Earl Gray tea lingeringly wafting off his unwelcomed visitor. "I'm here to talk about last night..." Brandishing a ceremonious demeanour over his gaunt-weathered features that contrasted with a sallow paleness, Doctor Curt Conners edgily grounded his assistive poise against the doorframe, the lankiness of his slimier form was garbed in a rain-sodden trenchcoat as he adjusted his black-wired glasses, creepily, roving his virescent-hazel irises over the desiccated remnants of ebon scales discarded on the hallway floorboards."The regeneration of your Southpaw without your bionic implant is an extraordinary gift for a lost soul who needs a change..."

Bucky's instincts screamed at him to reach for his concealed Glock taped beneath the night-stand next to the wall. Coming off of what was a chaotic night he was slowly piecing together, it was strange enough that he woke up with his left-arm regrown on his body, but to have someone he'd never heard of show up at his door claiming to have answers was suspect enough to make him wary. He quickly debated his options, seeing his vibranium limb on the floor next to the torn remnants of his once comfortable couch. He thought about calling Hill but couldn't remember what became of his phone last night.

"Mr. Barnes?" The man called to him again.

"Just a second," Bucky answered as he threw on a pair of jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt that clung to the sculpted planes of his athletic torso. He pulled the sleeve down on his left arm until the hem was clutched in the palm of his lightly green fist. He debated retrieving his weapon but as he peered through the peep-hole of his apartment door, the sight of the unassuming gentleman who looked like a science teacher made him pause and decide on a more civil approach. Opening his door a creak, he peered at the tall man who wore thick black-rimmed spectacles. He looked earnest yet hopeful, but something still felt distrustful about him. "How do you know all of that about me? Did Hill send you?" Bucky asked him warily.

"I have come here to discuss what occurred at the docks last night..." Conners returned, hastily, mirroring the hypotonic steeliness of Bucky's grayish-aquamarine irises that reptilianly gleamed against the door shadow; countering a defensive reaction of pent-up aggression, Bucky clenched bristled ruggedness of his knife-cut jaw as he involuntarily sniffed a thermic potency of blood-rushing through Connor's pulsating veins. With a ghost of smirk cannily quirking over his chiselled lips, he eased up his gloved hand for Bucky to grasp. "I'm Doctor Conners, a dedicated herpetologist who specializes in the adaptivity of medical evolution with genetic symmetry of reptiles..."

Bucky looked at his pro-offered hand, still wary and distrustful by his appearance. But as his gaze swept over the doctor's right side of his body, the sight of the empty-sleeved stump made him feel a degree of empathy and understanding. Extending his now fully gloved left-hand, Bucky shook Connor's own, his hardened complexion now curious. "James Barnes. Just call me James," he offered. He didn't know the man and he didn't trust him, but if he had answers about what happened to him last night, he would hear him out. "Look um, you kinda caught me at a bad time," Bucky expressed with a soured look at the state of his living room which looked anything but hospital for an uninvited guest."Maybe this can-"

"I can assure you, this unexpected visit has much importance..." Conners murmured under his breath, staidly, as he detected the predacious-Triassic rabidity of infectiously spawning within Bucky in mutative-ectothermic fruition. Raptly, his aquiline nose scrunched as he incredulously caught the vaporous reek of a muskier odour-a defensive mechanism of a territorial Komodo male. Unblinkingly, Bucky lasered the point-blank intensity of his silvery-aqueous irises, scowlingly evident to an offish quirk of his shapely-bow lips as he unmovingly braced the corded rigidity of his tensing shoulder against the doorframe. Fostering onto vestiges of his professional decorum, Conners treaded his revelation with hinged caution."Have you ever heard of caudal autonomy...?" With dumbfounded edginess, confusingly, Bucky furrowed his tauten brow as he blankly glanced at the fleshier stump of Conner's left tricep. "Most lizards when cornered by a predator, amputate their limbs to escape, and their cellular regeneration produces a new one, just like your beautiful arm, James..."

It was at this point Bucky had allowed the doctor to enter the apartment. He had already hidden his detached vibranium limb and tucked it under the couch. The sight of the disarray and hints of a violent struggle around the living room didn't seem to faze the professor who kept his gaze squared on Bucky. He wasn't sure he liked that, it brought about the feeling that he was some kind of fascinating experiment being held under a microscope. But as he listened to the doctor go into detail about lizards, it was intriguing but all at the same time confusing. The science-jargon however made his head spin, and he felt faint for a moment as he moved to steady himself as he sat on the couch.

"So what does all of that have to do with me at the docks last night? And how do you know about all of that?" He wondered aloud.

As the murmurous scratchiness of Bucky's whiskey-roughened drawl underlyingly fringed with jacked-up trepidation, placidly, Conners eased onto the wooden edge of a table a hairbreadth near the claw-gouged couch as he fixedly glanced at the fakey remnants of gossamer scales that featherily clung onto the cleft-dimple notched over the pudgier heaviness of Bucky's tenser chin. Despite the intentness of his deceptive approach, Conners unblinkingly gazed at the baby-soft fleshiness that bulkily melded with the hard-edged curvatures of Bucky's restored arm. "You need to process this slowly, James, but the substance you were exposed to has genetic reptilian properties that were engineered by Oscorp Laborbories for medical research..." he explained, solemnly, watching floored confusion owlishly gleam in Bucky's feverish grayish-aquamarine irises as tongue snakily flitted against his poutier underlip. "A mutative divergence with the experimental serum caused harmful effects that resulted in disturbing changes..."

"W-What?" Bucky was beginning to feel breathless. It was at this point, his inquisitiveness began to take a downward turn as the amount of confusing information he was receiving only heightened his state of agitation, which in turn brought about an ill feeling of invasion deep in his body. His memories of the night at the docks returned with the acrid taste of mildew and swam water in his mouth, his flesh became inflamed with heat and he was sweating profusely, cold and clammy, his skin was slick to the touch. Try as he would to maintain his composure, he felt a surge of apprehension engulf him as his vision of Connors began to swirl.

"Y-You're saying I-I was exposed to…some kind of l-lizard mutagen?!" He couldn't keep the fear out of his voice. He wanted to dismiss this notion with a humorous scoff but the facts were too coincidental and harrowing. His gaze on Connors hardened as he attempted some form of defiance against this revelation. His right arm clutched his newly grown left where he felt a sickening sensation prickling beneath his flesh. "It was yours? That cargo-that package-that damn serum that splashed all over me?" His voice was growing deeper, and much more disturbing, his iris' turned to reptilian slits, much to the fascination of the unfazed doctor.

"I need you to calm down, James..." Conners urged out, sedately, placing his tremorous hand with gentled precision cautiously over Bucky's denim-clad knee, detecting the rampageous-bestial viciousness that implosively surged through Bucky's fevered veins as his thermic levels had increasingly amplified on blood-rushing fruition. "Listen to me, the changes in your body will get stronger if you don't learn to control them..."

Against teeth-gnashing strain, aggressively, Bucky jutted out the razored heaviness of his bristled jaw on snappish accord-the wide-blown intensity of his voltaic grayish-aquamarine depths predatorily gleamed rabid fierceness-in those rampant seconds, he would be disturbingly morphing into an untamed Komodo hybrid. Brandishing a passive countenance over his wrinkled features against warred restraint, measuringly, Conners grazed his fingers against the vein-threaded contours of Bucky's rougher -scaly-knuckles with firmer pressure. " There will be consequences for your destructive impulses unless you allow me to help you with this rampant evolution ..." he whispered under raspier breath, convincingly. "The mutative changes last night were just the beginning of a new makeover..."

"Ngh! NO!" Bucky released an aggravated snarl as he sprang up from his seat and paced the room in small circles. His inner-turmoil and anxiety continued to build to the point it was becoming difficult to breathe, let alone fight off this invading force within him. Connors' gentle voice, full of understanding and compassion was a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless that helped him to settle his mood. He looked at the scientist over his shoulder who was looking back at him imploringly. "This morning I woke up with my arm regrown…What the hell is gonna happen to me? Y-You're saying I'm gonna turn into some kind of a lizard?" He swallowed a lump of emotion lodged in his throat. He knew what the answer was, his steel blue eyes glaring at his left-arm, the creeping skin of his left shoulder turning an ominous shade of green. "Tell me! Am I turning into a monster?" He shouted.

Hearing a full-throated snarl anguishedly railing out of Bucky, unflinchingly, Conners gazed at the slimier dewiness of his fingernails uglily lengthening into blackish dagger-like claws-the monstrous-reptiloid deformation of a Komodo Dragon was irrevocably raiding through against the mutative communion of deadlier ferocity with no avail. Harnessing a modicum vestige of composure, deftly, he adjusted his glasses as Bucky stumblingly buckled onto his knees against tremorous mobility that grippingly dragged him into a mid-crouch. Under the dampish fringe of his eyelashes, the feverish bleariness of his slitten aquamarine irises dizzyingly flitted onto the bulging leatheriness of his clawed-hand as the morphic scourge became damningly irrepressible to contain. "Trust me, James, you're only a monster if you believe yourself to be..." he warned, ruefully. "I can develop a sedative that will counteract the effects before you become unstable with these changes..."

"N-NO!" Bucky's voice had become hoarse and deep, his palm smacking into the floor violently, cracking the wood. He felt perilously close to a familiar edge where all sense of self-control was close to being whisked away from him. The presence of the doctor only provoked feelings of distrust and uncertainty the more he listened to him attempt to explain his predicament. "G-Get back!" He snapped with a hiss, once he sensed the doctor hovering over him. It was at that moment the loud ringing of his phone cut through the tension like the wailing of a siren. Bucky's mind and thoughts were focused with military discipline, the sound acting as a tether to help him find a sense of equilibrium amidst the jolting waves of discomfort brought about by his slow transformation.

Bucky steeled himself, breathing in and out, calling upon the meditative techniques he'd learned in Wakanda to help him regain control of his mind and body. The ringing ensued, and Bucky look at Connors with a side-glance. "You need to leave. Now."

Without a deterrence of hesitation, riskily, Conners removed a printed card from his trench-coats pocket that was branded with the insignia of Oscorp Laboratories as he gingerly placed it onto the couch's leathered armrest. "If you have questions, James, you can reach me at this number..." Onrushes of cold-blooded -unhampered viciousness dangerously tempoed against exhaustive stain as Bucky hissingly darted out the viperous length of his forked tongue, emitting growlier heaves on defensive tenor-the cool steeliness of his aqueous irises raptorially gleamed with a carnivorous-draconic intensity that piercingly razored onto the half-cracked mobile phone vibrating underneath an upturned chair. "Reptilain impulses will become unstoppable if you don't staunch the hunger without leaving this apartment..." he prompted in a sincere cadence, raspily, gazing at the ebon raptor-like claws that lashingly scythed against the cushions, while he detected the hushed chittering of a dwarfish skink lizard hastily resonating within the air vent. "I will be in touch..."

...Damn it," Bucky whispered. He listened to the receding footsteps that led to the noise of his living room door opening and closing. Connors was thankfully gone. His phone had also stopped ringing at this point and steadily the discomfort in his body began to subside. His deep hissing breaths still unsettled him along with the physical changes his body hadn't fully reverted from. His mind tried to shutter itself from the gruelling information he had been told but there was no denying its validity as he gazed at the hardened scaled exterior of his discoloured left-limb. His fingernails were sharp as knives but hadn't extended beyond the tip of his callouses.

The good mood he felt this morning after discovering the miraculous change to his body had evaporated into an empty listlessness. It seemed no matter what life threw at him, it promised only struggle and violence. Flopping down onto his couch he picked up his phone and gazed at the missed call and message left from Hill. He played the message, watching absently through the corner of his eye as he detected a very peculiar shape slinking along the arm-rest of his couch. He thought it might've been a cat at first, but the bluish-red scaled surface of the scaled creature made it unmistakable that a lizard had crawled its way into home.

"How does all the crazy keep following me," Bucky shrugged, gazing at the creature that flit its tongue at him. Some inner intuition said it was a friendly gesture that he instinctively mimicked. "I'm not looking for a roommate, little guy," turning off the message from Hill, Bucky didn't slink away as the tiny creature crawled onto his knee and made itself comfortable. "But I guess you can crash here for a while…" He was too tired to combat the absurd notion he was letting a random lizard into his apartment, let alone that he was becoming one himself. All he could wonder was how much time he had left before he succumbed to this curse and what it would make him do.

Hearing the continuous frequency of NYDP dispatch perceptually resonating from his short-waved radio, Peter crouched on the athletic-honed litheness of his navy-blue Spandex-clad haunches with back-catcher poise as the October frigidness gustily whiplashed over his foppishly unkempt chestnut tresses. With measured steadiness, the chirpy web-slinger tactfully reloaded his webbing cartilages into his nao-web shooter gauntlet and readily flexed his middle fingers over his palm with featherlight pressure as a viscid steamer of adhesive webbing fired stickily against the brick wall. "Okay, that works..." he murmured under his breath, peppily, the unwavering vigilance of his brownish-hazel edgily shifted over the cement ledge."It's gonna be a quiet night..."

"Getting bored already, Spider..." Registering the devious aura that electrifyingly glissaded against his Spidey-senses, riskily, Peter glanced over his Spandex-clad shoulder at the curvaceously thievish vixen crouched onto the cement ledge with her balletic poise as smokier-whitish tresses alluringly cascaded over the svelter exquisiteness of her garbed back-akin to cool platinum-an untouchable siren. An devaint quirk impishly played off the pillowy glossiness of her full-bow lips as she distractingly grazed her metallic claws over his threadbare backpack. "Unless it's passed your bedtime since playtime still has limits.." she murmured, snarkily, watching Peter unabashedly slip on his Spidey mask to conceal the smoothness of boyish-chiselled features as klaxon sirens of NYPD cruisers ominously echoed below them-another gangbanger homicide to clean up. "Do you smell that bad stink in the air...I would stick to the heights if I were you, Parker..."

"You know, sometimes I wish it were that easy, Felish!" Spider-Man bemoaned as he hung his head and surveyed the crime-scene down below. "But with Halloween coming up, let's just say there's a lot of bad candy hitting the streets that I'd like to keep out of kid's hands." Just this week he had taken down two drug-dealers selling crack they had tried sell off in candy-wrappers to delinquent teens moving about late at night. Though Peter liked to think of himself as a friendly chill guy who coped with his nervousness by engaging criminals with annoying banter, the last chump he had taken down wore a store bought Spider-Man mask while selling off his junk to a couple of youngsters. That hit Peter harder than intended and he only slightly regretted the fact he had sent the dealer to the hospital with a broken arm.

"Well, I can see you're not your chipper self..." Felicia quipped against a huskier undertone, banteringly, aware of the hitching somberness that was viscerally underlying the web-slinging teenager's whole-hearted conviction-undeniable vulnerability that he couldn't evict. Bracing curvaceous planes of her svelte back coolly against the brick-stone, the collective fieriness of her autumn-brandy irises gleamingly fixed on Peter's slumped head-he was pegged into a criminalized warzone where shoot-up junkies execrably became delivery-boys for underground syndicated dynasts that greedily reaped on desperate New Yorkers in spaces. Quirking the burgandy lushness of her full-bow lips, disarmingly, Felicia edged closer, grounding a semblance of protective -dynamical closeness with him as her daintier hand brushingly caressed his tensing shoulder with pacifying ministrations."We both know that creeps never sleep in this neighbourhood, Spider..."

"Its a good thing Spiders don't need much sleep either," he chirped. Not that sleep came to him easily, especially around this time of year. So close to the anniversary of when his life had changed when he lost his Uncle Ben. His hero journey began after his greatest mistake, and the toll of that loss was something he still carried. Felicia's comforting presence was enough to bring his spirits up as he looked at her, noticing immediately how dishevelled she appeared to be. "Guess that goes for cats too. Busy night?" He inquired, sensing she had found trouble or trouble found its way to her. She had a knack for that sort of thing.

"Now you're just being nice, Parker," Felicia teased with a snarkier undertone, jauntily, arching her whitish-tinged eyebrow at his sheepish pitch heartily muffled underneath his Spidey mask; his amenable-naïve spiritedness unabashedly conveyed his virtuous -boy-scout quirks of being a web-slinging teenager. Staddling him with a point-blank glare of her dark brandy irises, edgily, the vixenish thief with swift-handed precision removed a USB drive from the pocketed compartment of her Kevlar belt holstered over her sleekier curves. "It seems there's a new player at Oscorp, who is in the decks of the Baldy's upper-hand..." she whispered, riskily, fisting her gloved hand over the encrypted device that she offhandedly swiped at the East docks-after breathtakingly sharing a heart-stealing thrill of sensuous-ardent decadence with the hunky-robotized bad-ass: the Winter Soldier. "We need to be smart about our next move...Lucky for us, Horn-Boy has stitched up his wounds from his latest dumpster fall..."

Before Peter could respond, the tension was disrupted by the melodic ringing of his phone. He angled himself to see Ned's face appear on the screen. "Pete! Pete! You there?" The Filipino teen yelled out. He looked stricken and pale as if he had just relived the experience of meeting Betty Brant's father. The only thing that disapproved that theory was loud commotion occurring in the background in what appeared to be a street somewhere in Queens. "Ned? What's going on?

"Dude! Have you seen this?!"

"Ned...Woah... Hold on..." With earshot curiosity, speedily, Peter clicked the video icon button on his smartphone, as he listened to his paunchier best friend hastily blabbing on about Instagram footage of a Jurassic Park -level' raptor that destructively ravaged a hot-dog vendor's cart. Dragging out a stammering breath, Peter yanked off his Spidey mask and unblinkingly fixed his brownish-hazel irises onto the mobile screen, watching a monstrous scaly tail alarmingly lash a Daily Bugle newspaper kiosk with tornadic force as newspapers littered the cross-walk. "Dude...That was awesome..." he blurted, excitedly, holding the mobile up as Felicia impassively gazed at the vendor cart being catapulted in mid-air at the second dagger-like claws slashingly dented the metal on rabid fruition. "So cool...!"

Swallowing down another mouthful of cheesier scrambled eggs, rackingly against the hungered onslaught that floored his resistance, Bucky slumped against the granite countertop, as his dagger-like claws scrapingly grazed the ceramic plate gripped against the obsidian-grayish scaled tautness of his enlarging palm. A spikier leathery texture sheathed reptilianly over his tenser fingers as he quakily clutched onto a half-bent fork. "C'mon..." The swampier grunginess of his 'bed-head' chestnut tresses unkemptily askew over the knife-cut ruggedness of his suaver-hawkish features as he unblinkingly glanced down at his skittish long-tailed roommate -the skink lizard who fussily clung onto his sleeved forearm. Chirpily, the little guy bobbed his tinier head, flitting his bluish fork-tongue slimily against the plate. "Uh...M' guessin' your hungry, pal..." Bucky murmured in a grouchier pitch, throatily, easing down his fork as the dwarfish skink nose-dived into a fluffier heap of eggs. "Glad to see you're enjoyin' my breakfast..."

A tired sigh escaped him as he looked over his hands, trying hard not to let sight of the scaled flesh and sharp claws get the better of him. Inside he was scared and he knew he should be in full-blown panic mode rather than distract himself with the notion of going about a normal day with a new lizard pet as his room-mate. His thoughts were heavy as they reflected over worst case scenarios should things escalate. Leaving town seemed like a good option, but he knew the moment he did he would be in violation of the terms of his international pardon once his therapist and handlers realized he was beyond supervision.

Connors' words replayed over and over in his mind like a looped message, giving him some measure of clarity amidst his struggle with the hope that his condition wasn't an unknown case. He had yet to phone back Hill after she left him a harsh message over the fallout of the failed extraction. He hadn't called anyone really despite his deepest inclination to go to the Avengers for help. Banner was no stranger to mutations and transformations, and he was trust-worthy were Connors was just an unknown. Bucky scowled as he clenched his clawed hand against the counter-top, glaring at the card the professor had left behind.

He should've pressed him harder for answers. What the hell was his mystery serum doing in a package inbound from Madripoor on Fisk' vessel? Was it some kind of experiment he wanted kept secret and he paid off the Kingpin to have it delivered? Answers eluded him, but one face appeared in his thoughts that might give him some idea. "What am I doing? What am I supposed to be doing?" He palmed his forehead, wincing at the sickening feel of his enlarging palm against his brow. "I need answers…"

He watched as the tiny lizard continue to lick his breakfast, his gaze shifting towards his living room window which had been smashed last night. He knew what made that hole even if he didn't remember it.

Against heart-vising panic that distressingly jackknifed in tenfold, gulpingly, Bucky drove the feverish bleariness of his aquamarine irises over the claw-slashing marks that alarmingly gouged over the broken hinges of his warped cupboard doors as he stuntedly bashed into the fridge on mortified traction."Der'mo..." The choke-off gravelliness of his Russian timbre, breathlessly, he collapsed onto the corded rigidity of his denim-clad haunches, registering the bulging protrusion of a fleshier-weightier mass expandingly contorting the spinal bones of his jutted vertebrae on morphic succession. "N-No..."

That dreadful feeling was quickly returning to him; a feeling of being a prisoner in his own body. It was paralyzing as a heavy dose of paralytic agent being injected into his bloodstream, severing all feeling in his nerves while retaining all sense of awareness. He collapsed onto his knees with a hissing growl, feeling the buildup of pressure in his lower back as if his muscles were being stretched from the inside out. "C-C'mon Bucky...G-Gotta control it," he mewled, his complexion sweaty with struggle. A strangled cry escaped him as the pain took its course. The transformation fed off of his emotions, the sense of fear and vulnerability triggering the change in an effort to grant him strength. He shunned the sickening sensation but control was out of his grasp. His scalie companion watched him from the counter-top, slithering his tongue. Bucky stared into the black of his beadier eyes, the inky void only revealing a shimmering reflection and the faint shift of a human body slowly changing. A tail began to rip out from his clothing, the shape and size of it as alarming to him as a scaled whip ready to lash out and attack everything in its path.

Against bone-splitting onslaughts, burstingly the heavier deformity of raptor-like tail freakishly outstretched against the floorboards on excruciating -unriddled accord, bolstering himself onto his scalier palms, gaspingly, Bucky heaved out choke-off snarls as the rived denim of his backside tearingly'shrrpp' against the burgeoning—agonized pressure of his mutative—scaled extension. The intensified pressure that surged within the contours of his bare-feet puffily enlarged into a scaly mass of globbier fleshiness that bulbously morphed into reptilian-monstrous feet. "Hrghh..." Blindly, he thrusted his clawed-hand onto the fringe door, explosively, yanking the steel handle off with destructive force, that whipsawed over the countertop. 'Argh..."

An uncontrollable hunger seized him as he felt the constricting pressure in his stomach. Without thought or reason he stuffed his hands into the fridge and dug around the menial amenities he kept for a healthy fit diet. "No meat," he grumbled, curling his nose at the raw steak in the freezer. The skin of his face crinkled as a thin streak of scales crept up his neck. His teeth were sharpening with the lathering moisture of his forked tongue. "Food, food, c'mon!" He hissed as he pulled out a bag of frozen veggies. He tore it open uncaringly and began to scarf them down as if they were a bag of chips. Hunger's grip tightened and his throat became bone dry. "W-Water, need water." The bag of veggies fell to the floor as he rushed to the dish-sink like a man possessed. He opened the tap-water and without pause, stuck his open mouth beneath the pouring stream, gurgling with immense satisfaction as the cool liquid filled his gullet.

His phone began ringing.

Nudging his tinier snout against the vibrating iPhone, defensively, the little skink arched up his sleekier tail, emitting low-toned chirps as Bucky grimacingly wiped the droplets of water off his puckered shapely-wide lips, thinly, roving the voltaic intensity of his obsidian-sapphire depths onto the device. Snarlingly, he reached for the phone, glancing at the caller id on the web-cracked screen: Christina Raynor.

Irritation crawled up his spine at the timing of this call, he didn't think twice as he answered with a hiss. "Yeeesssss? Thiissss issn't a good time, Doc!" He fidgeted about, the biting tone of Doctor Raynor on the other end barely registered. He had begun yanking back his plate as the little slink wrapped his tinier mouth around the edge and began to wrestle it back from him. Bucky narrowed his eyes and sure enough, the little lizard mimicked his expression in turn. "Ssslink, fellow aren't ya?" He stuck his fork-tongue out and let the skink have his breakfast.

Gripping onto the iPhone with his clawed-fingers, tensely, Bucky dragged his viperous incisors pinchingly over his jutting underlip as he braced to hear a pessimistic-stone-faced VA shrink who constantly roped him down into another 'waiting-for-the paint-to-dry' session. The governmental amnesty he graciously received from the World Council had shackled him onto Raynor's couch, while she jotted down his smart mouthin' answers in her leathered note-book. It wasn't an easy slide for him to adapt on the grounds of normalcy by crossing off the names on his blood-soaked ledger, despite that he was cripplingly barraged with traumatized apparitions of parasomnia-dysphoric chimeras that were mind-plaguing induced by PSTD callbacks of the wraithy-murderous Soviet assassin-the Winter Soldier who unforgivably terminated rogue marks-collaterals of HYDRA. "James, as the agreed conditions of your Sokovian Accords pardon, you need to answer my calls..." Doctor Raynor addressed, sternly. "I will make this phone session brief, do you have any nightmares last night?"

"No; dreamed of puppies and kittenssss lassst night. Beesssst night sssleep I've had. Good talk, doc, gotta run!" With grumbling snarkiness, he ended the call before she could ask another question or debunk his exaggerated claim. He'd probably catch a lot of flack for that but right now he didn't care. His nerves were shot to hell and he felt like at any minute he'd explode under the pressure of his insane predicament. He weighed his options and knew there were no good choices. "I need to get out," he said, feeling that a much-needed trip to a bar would do him some good tonight.

Gripping a measure of his warred sanity, Bucky eased down the plate on the counter for his scaly roommate to devouringly indulge the last remnants of his breakfast. Quirking his shapely-bow lips into a tauter smirk, he drawled with murmurous hissing, registering the plumpish heaviness of his dino-like reptilian tail weightily dragging on the floor as the skink curled his tinier form adorably onto the plate. "Okay have a nap...M' gonna ssshower and get rid of thisss..."

Within the backlit ambiance of the Blood Rose nightclub, ear-racking vibrations of synth-techno backbeats pulsatingly amplified in electronica pandemonium deafening over the granite bartop, as purplish neon electrifyingly contrasted with laser-red strobes against the raven-black cushioned lounge booths as intoxicated-flashy dressed partygoers drunkenly crammed the dance floor with careless abandon. High-pitched cheering noisily erupted in unison at the breadth of the DJ station, as throngs of vampish-posh-faced dames sexily garbed in satin witch's hats excitedly bounced on their high-pumps, spilling their alcoholic payoffs of overpriced Vodka on the floor.

Twitchily scrunching up his Romanianque nose, derisively, against the malty stench of whiskey, stiff-footed Bucky gripped onto a chilled bottle of Coors as he nonchalantly braced the muscled planes of his garbed back against a chrome stool, fittingly the stiffened coolness of his leathered bomber-jacket dashingly emphasized the heavier-graven bulkiness of his menace-honed solidity as the reddish glow forbiddenly haloed over his roguishly gelled chestnut tresses as the knife-edged contours of his broader jaw cuttingly melded with his suaver-hawkish features. The bristled scruffiness of his picky stubble was feverish over the boyish pudginess of his dimpled chin was now the razor-cut smoothness of a hunkier -rebellious Brooklyn prince. "Grgh...Shouldn't have worn this jacket..."

Everything he owned suddenly felt too tight on him. He hadn't taken enough trips to the gym the past few weeks to feel that he could justifiably shred his clothes with a single flex of his muscles. Whatever that stuff was he was exposed to apparently didn't just give him a new scalie left limb, but also increased muscle tone. He gazed at his gloved left limb, still not used to the absence of his vibranium limb that was stuffed under his couch at home like a spare set of sneakers. Frowning at the grim trail of thought he took another swing of his drink, disgruntled to already taste only a few drops left at the bottom.

"Hey, gonna need another bottle here," he called to the bartender. He had downed three bottles already and barely felt a buzz. He grumbled at the thought of being cut-off and opted to find another bar or something stronger to drink if it came to that. His mood showed no signs of improving as a very loud group of college kids crashed at the bar a few stools down. They were all dressed in ridiculous costumes while taking selfies. "Definitely gonna need to find another bar," his patience was thinning, especially with the Halloween antics on display. As a kid it was fun to go out and get free candy from neighbors. Now all the holiday did was make light of all the real horrors he knew were out there.

Himself included.

The bartender arrived with his drink and gave him a curious look. Bucky hoped he wasn't recognizable. "Is the place always this busy?" He asked, hoping to distract him with a curious question. He'd visited the Blood Rose only once several months ago when he had sought an outlet to settle his nerves after a lousy therapy session. The clientele were mostly a bunch of well-mannered elite businessmen and women who quietly enjoyed each other's company. He'd never frequented this place during the holidays and was surprised to see how much livelier and…what was the word the kids used these days…"edgy?"

"Halloween always brings an entertaining crowd to fill the boss's place..." The heftier barkeep answered with sourish gruffiness, offishly, wiping a cloth over the rim of a whiskey glass as he confusedly glared at Bucky's leather motorcycle gloved hand clutching onto the half-emptied Coors bottle. "At least there are no damn freaks in here like that horned vigilante who thinks he delivers justified fear in the Kitchen..." Feigning a shattered knee-cap, grimacingly, he shifted against the bar, gazing into the raptor-like intensity of Bucky's razored-slit pupils that hypnotically melded with silvery-aquamarine: obviously prankish contact-lens. "Woah, pal, now those are some cool reptile eyes...How much did those cost ya?" he remarked, throatily, yanking his black Harley-Davidson shirt's collar, arrogantly revealing an ivory-serrated crocodile tooth necklace. "I'm a fan of big lizards...It's always fun to yank out a tooth with every hunt."

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from Oilfield Equipment Manager https://rignetwork.wordpress.com/2023/03/13/6-inch-x-60-feet-used-portable-flare-system-in-good-condition/

[muutosarchive]

for a moment, all she hears is static white-noise, &. that damned heart monitor somewhere in the void. her teeth clench like said springlocks, enamel coated vices pressing against one another like her life depended on it.

a long stare with studying orbs direct at mike across the short space between them, with flaring nostrils &. furrowed brows to try &. keep herself from any emotion. emotion vanessa almost expects on a subconscious level. it is her dad, after all. [...] however the stark lack of wetness appearing in her eyes is surprising in a way, &. yet not in another. it's funny how it works out. how all the good memories can be overshadowed by the bad. though she's sure all of those great times between she &. dad &. [...] freddy's, would resurface. &. with them, the emotion. but right now she doesn't want to let it bother her.

her chest hurts despite the wound being located in her gut. but she nods despite it all. of course she wished they could have kept in the imaginary line of small-talk where everything was alright. however, she would have figured it out on her own if he didn't tell her. how could she just let it go? "right." she looks down at her own lap for a moment. steeling herself once more , and inhaling deeply before looking up. "so he's -- probably stuck there, somewhere." she nods, with a nervous smile attached. pursing her lips. she doesn't know why she doesn't say 'dead'. he must be, right? anyone in their right mind would know that, especially knowing what she does about springlocks. but. [...] for some reason, it doesn't feel right. she blinks quickly. "at least he can't hurt anymore kids." she speaks. wiping her eye with the side of her finger, as she finally realizes too late that a tear had fell. laughing, vanessa rolls those same eyes. arms loosely stacked. "--sorry." [...] "he always loved that stupid suit."

       MIKE HAD BEEN DREADING THIS LINE OF QUESTIONING, ever since he had heard vanessa had woken. a selfish flicker of a thought of wishing she hadn't asked. wishing that they could've continued their awkward small talk about anything but her father. he had been avoiding remembering it, thinking about it himself, at risk of it returning to him in his nightmares. but he couldn't hold it from her. he spent his whole life trying to figure out what happened to garrett, he wouldn't withold that from her. unwilling to put that uncertainty and confusion and anger onto someone else as it had plagued him.

       a thick swallow as his eyes met hers for half a second before returning to his hands that were clasped between his legs on the chair he sat on. "i don't know exactly . . . " he had ran as soon as he had the chance, to get abby to safety. "the springlocks i think, they broke in on him. i didn't see a lot . . . the kids were surrounding him but there was a lot of blood and they dragged him off somewhere . . . "