The Winter Soldier fired.
The sound tore through the early morning air, sharp and echoing. The bullet struck the asphalt in a burst of concrete shards just inches from where Steve had stood. He dove sideways, instinct and muscle memory driving his body to move before his brain finished registering the threat.
The blast from the rifle seared past him, cutting a path through a parked sedan's fender. Debris exploded, raining glass and metal in all directions. Steve rolled and came up on one knee, already in motion.
His shield flew.
The vibranium disk spun like a buzzsaw, slicing through the smoke and striking the rifle mid-reload. The weapon flew from Bucky's hands, clattering onto the pavement. Steve caught the shield on its return with practiced precision.
"Bucky, stop!" Steve shouted, voice filled with urgency—not anger, but something deeper.
There was no response—only motion.
The Winter Soldier reached behind his back and drew a combat knife with chilling ease. His footfalls were silent despite the speed. He lunged.
Steve met him head-on.
Their bodies collided with thunderous force. It wasn't just fists and steel—it was history, guilt, and memories slamming together in a single violent moment.
Steel met vibranium. Sparks flew.
The knife scraped across Steve's shield as Bucky slashed with mechanical precision. Steve countered with swift jabs and elbow strikes, trying to disarm—not harm. His eyes never left Bucky's, searching for recognition.
But Bucky didn't hold back. His punches were brutal, mechanical, nearly inhuman. Each blow carried a weight meant to kill.
His movements were methodical—military—yet soulless.
"Don't do this," Steve said through clenched teeth as their arms locked. "You know me."
The assassin's blank gaze faltered—for a heartbeat.
Something flickered.
Then he headbutted Steve with a sickening crunch.
Steve stumbled backward, dazed. Blood trickled from his nose. He caught himself with his shield just in time to block another strike. Before he could recover, Bucky tackled him through the side of a parked van. The vehicle flipped on impact, the sound of twisting metal deafening.
They crashed to the pavement in a cloud of smoke and steam.
Steve groaned, crawling from the wreckage, shield still clutched in hand. He didn't stop. He couldn't.
Bucky stalked forward, face expressionless.
And then, tires screeched.
A black SUV skidded into the intersection. The passenger window rolled down.
"Cap, move!" Monroe shouted.
Steve didn't hesitate. He dashed for the vehicle and leapt in just as Bucky reached for a magnetic mine clipped to his belt.
He threw it.
It struck the back of the SUV with a sharp clink.
"Out—now!" Monroe barked.
They jumped. The explosion detonated midair, launching the SUV sideways in a flaming arc. The blast knocked out streetlights and shattered windows. Steve and Monroe hit the pavement hard, tumbling across the asphalt.
Smoke engulfed the area. Alarms rang in the distance. Sirens howled faintly in the background.
Steve coughed, his ears ringing. He blinked away the smoke and found Monroe a few feet away, pulling himself upright.
"You okay?" Steve asked, voice hoarse.
Monroe nodded, spitting blood onto the ground as he chambered his pistol. "I've had worse mornings."
From behind the smoke, the familiar metal arm of the Winter Soldier reached through.
Steve's jaw clenched. "He's still coming."
Monroe raised his weapon. "Then we hold the line."
End of Chapter 97
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