Rio De Janiero, Brazil - Wednesday Evening
The plastic explosives were put along the door frame, charges added in with in a minute. They were professionals, after all.
Blonsky counted down with his fingers to give the order to blow the door. Three... two... one...
Boom.
Rushing in, they wasted no time tranqing the still figure on the bed, ignoring the noise of the dog barking. Mission accomplished, right? Yanking the covers down revealed a pile of pillows and a brown wig. "Target is on the move," He said, knowing the comm would pick up his voice.
He looked over to a rope tied to the kitchen sink, peering down over the side of the building where it ended at street level. Shit.
"Shhhh," the hooded figure hissed, exactly one apartment below, his finger pressed to the girl's lips. "Shhh. Shhh."
He couldn't afford to run this one on adrenaline.
He let her check the door, too, and heard the footsteps rushing down the hall. Okay. Absolutely no time to waste, but he had to be absolutely certain--
--one glance down the hall confirmed it. "Thank you," he whispered, pressing a single kiss to her cheek, and sped out the door.
She was left staring after him. He, however, was already pulling his hoodie further over his head, his feet rushing down the stairs.
Out of here, and now.
And right to where a small group of very well armed men where looking around the square for their target. It was Blonsky who caught sight of the orange hooded figure first, of course. Had to be sure.
Even if he was already taking steps to get over there.
No. No no no, no.
He took a deep breath to force the panic straight back down (could not, not now, not ever, please), but there was no time for fancy breathing techniques. He was on his feet and he had to run.
And run he did, fleet feet carrying him across the wet basketball court, and thank God for decent running shoes. A ball smashed into his arms. He shoved it back where it had come from.
Quickly, quickly, he shoved his way through the exit on the other side.
Like a pack of hounds after a wounded fox, the group of soldiers ran after him. They, of course, had an easier time of it as people were much more likely to make way for men with guns than a scrawny and frightened man.
Narrow alleys and quick turns didn't help get a clear shot off at him. He either picked this place well or got very lucky...
He knew every exit. Every nook and cranny of this place. There was always the chance this was going to happen, and yet still...
It wasn't instinct. He had to know. Had to be sure. He wasn't going to look at the watch.
Instead, he made a turn. Should be laundry day-- the sheet smacked him straight in the head, tossing the hood backwards. His cap hit the floor with a smack, and instinctively, he looked back to see what had happened.
But he didn't stop running.
Ready to jump in three... two...
This was not the scientist they had been briefed on. This was someone prepared and it was not making for a happy soldier. It almost made him pause to think about it...
Blonsky took the shot, waiting, just waiting for him to be in the open for a moment.
Five more rooftops. Four more rooftops. Three more rooftops. He was not going to look over his shoulder. He was not going to stop. Two more rooftops. One.
More streets that he knew like the back of his hand, and maybe he'd be able to shake them. His lungs were pounding in his chest. He had to stay calm.
The watch was beeping. No. No, no, no. And his shoulder slammed straight into the case of old Coke cans. Beep, beep, beep, beep, stupid damn sound...
He sank down to his knees. Concentrate. Don't think about the people chasing you. Don't think about the guy with the gun.
They weren't about to let him rest. To calm down. This was a mission and he was the target.
Blonsky was on the street, looking for a glimpse of orange. There. Behind the red of the Coke cans. He aimed again, shooting even though it was too narrow to get him. Flush the man out.
They really didn't want to make him angry. Beep.
Beep. Beep--
It stopped.
No time to waste. He took one more calming breath and tore the hell out of there, shooting straight through the crowd so the guy with the gun couldn't take a good shot at him, veering left off into another hallway and out, out.
A black van pulled up to cut him off, General Ross stepping out to confirm it was him. Even though he didn't need to. He wanted to. This man almost ruined his career.
He halted. No exit thataway.
Just...
...
A flash of the hunter. A bygone era, if he had the time to be nostalgic or poetic, and he didn't--
The moment passed in the blink of an eye, and he tore off to the right, trusting his legs to carry him before the van caught up with him.
"Move," General Ross snapped, getting back into the van. "Cut him off!"
Down the stairs here. A little slippery from the rain, but that was fine, he had the shoes. Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing.
He raced past the stalls, well aware of all the other guys with guns that seemed to be pretty much everywhere. If he could just...
...not run smack-dab into that guy from the factory. Dammit.
This was a time were reflexes paid off, and training: he flipped the one in the front over, grabbed the other guy's leg and threw him off balance, and then just kept on running, straight up, towards the factory.
Now there were two groups after him. Both, sadly, completely clueless as to what could happen when he was pushed into a corner.
Blonsky took to the roof, looking for... there. Slipping into the factory with a group of idiots trailing behind him. "Target acquired."
He slipped into the factory as fast as he could. Beep. Then ran through the hallway. Beep. And into the locker room. Beep, beep.
He crashed back against one of the lockers, breathing shallowly, the watch beating his head in with the constant beeping. He checked it. 180. Breathe. Now. Breathe. God.
178 days without incident.
He stared up at the ceiling. Breathe.
The beeping fell away again, much like the rapid drum-beat of his heart, and the next minute he was on his feet, tearing off into the bowels of that factory.
Blonksy's team entered silently, spreading out to find him as quickly as possible without alerting anyone to their presence.
The other group... Jeered and called back and forth like a pack of jackals. "Gringo..."
They were moving in close to him, cutting off any escape routes. One reached to rip the backpack off him.
No.
"Not my computer!" he yelled, ineffectively. "Gimme that!" Lunging for it brought him nothing but strong hands, smashing him back against the fencing behind him.
No. No.
It was hard to remember to breathe if you were getting the snot beaten out of you.
Gleefully beating the snot out of him, them men pinned him to one of the machines, making sure to show him just how they took to a gringo working with them.
Blonsky, however, was less than pleased by this. They were blocking his shots. He took one out with a tranq to the back, none of the others noticed.
Beep, beep...
"Stop... please..." he managed, in Portuguese he knew was still lacking but maybe if they'd listen-- "Me... angry... very bad..."
Beep, beep, beep, beep.
"You bad?" the leader said, grinning at him, speaking English about as crappy as his Portuguese, "I veeeery angry."
No-- he stole an utterly panicked look at his watch. 191. Crap. No, no, no, "You don't understand!" he snapped, desperately, "Something really bad is about to happen!"
Beep beep beep beep beep beepbeep.
Another punch and he was dropped to the ground. They were all very proud of themselves, after all.
"//Yeah, very bad,//" The leader taunted, laughing with his friends.
The military team hesitated just within seeing distance. Witnesses would be bad for this.
Beepbeeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep--
The noise tailed off into one prolonged squeal of a sound. His head hit the floor. The muscles in his limbs pulled in unnatural ways, stretching outwards. The monitor watch skittered across the dirty floor.
His eyes flashed a perfect, unnatural, brilliant green.
And Bruce Banner became something else entirely.
[ Days without incident: Zero ]
[[Pre-played with the wonderful spring_lost]]