I. Lurker - Pre-Mission, for your introduction needs
In the latest round of new faces, there's a silent, dour sort of person. He doesn't say much. He makes regular prowls, almost patrols, around the outside of the camp and methodically up and down its streets, and there's a tight, pinched look to him, like maybe moving hurts. He might occasionally loiter in alleys staring out at people as if trying to figure them out.
He pokes at the clothes shops, because he's mostly wearing things scrounged from the trash-- washed, sure, but still pretty ratty-- but he looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with them. The multiple layers of sleeve he keeps pulled down over the knuckles of his metal arm, trying to keep it as inconspicuous as possible.
B-I. Preparing
It's only been a handful of days since the fluffy-haired girl broke him out of the Sylphid cell, and he's been given no orders. No maintenance. No direction. Nothing at all.
But then there's the briefing. He's not suited for infiltration. He can sneak, he knows how not to be seen, but usually in cities or suburban areas, not jungles-- and not against magic. He doesn't have enough intel to really be of much use for that. (Yet.)
But there's an attack. That he can do. Despite a few half-hearted protests about recovery and acclimation, he still shows up at the rendezvous point and waits for the recon teams to return, loading up with whatever weapons they'll let him take, absorbing as much of the plans and layout as he can from the scouts and freed prisoners. He doesn't say much, but he's clearly alert and focused on the mission ahead.
B-II. Assassin
At first, he keeps to the trees, letting others rush out into the fight. He doesn't have his strength and speed, now, not like he's used to. But his aim hasn't suffered any from whatever the Sylphid did to him, through that chip thing. So he paces back and forth from behind the main line, sniping enemy combatants with relative ease: head and eye and throat shots whenever one or another is unprotected, wing shots and kneecaps and gut shots when he can't get at those.
He's protective. He's covering his team. Anyone on his side of the camp who finds him or herself in hot water will swiftly find bullets raining out of the trees or from behind a burning tent to take out the worst threat.
Then he dives in with his metal arm swinging, deflecting bullets and punching people out of the way, when somebody really needs a rescue.
B-III. Grudgematch vs Hydra
The asset has to be told what that multi-headed monster is called, because while his previous handlers had been clear about the whole heads-growing-back thing, he'd never considered it as being an actual monster. It was a metaphor. A fancy name for a secretive political group.
As soon as he hears the name of that beast, though, he has a moment of wavering before his mission goes crystal clear. A hydra. A hydra. Belonging to a person who controls shadows. He, a thing made to live in the shadows, is going to fucking murder the shit out of it. He can't cut off its heads? Fine. He'll shoot them through the eyes before lobbing grenades at them.
That's basically what he does. He circles widely, shooting at the beast and hurling the occasional well-timed explosive at it, taking advantage of debris, tents, and as many other soldiers and attackers as possible to keep it and the mage distracted.
Bucky Barnes AKA the Asset | MCU | Heba (but brand new)
In the latest round of new faces, there's a silent, dour sort of person. He doesn't say much. He makes regular prowls, almost patrols, around the outside of the camp and methodically up and down its streets, and there's a tight, pinched look to him, like maybe moving hurts. He might occasionally loiter in alleys staring out at people as if trying to figure them out.
He pokes at the clothes shops, because he's mostly wearing things scrounged from the trash-- washed, sure, but still pretty ratty-- but he looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with them. The multiple layers of sleeve he keeps pulled down over the knuckles of his metal arm, trying to keep it as inconspicuous as possible.
B-I. Preparing
It's only been a handful of days since the fluffy-haired girl broke him out of the Sylphid cell, and he's been given no orders. No maintenance. No direction. Nothing at all.
But then there's the briefing. He's not suited for infiltration. He can sneak, he knows how not to be seen, but usually in cities or suburban areas, not jungles-- and not against magic. He doesn't have enough intel to really be of much use for that. (Yet.)
But there's an attack. That he can do. Despite a few half-hearted protests about recovery and acclimation, he still shows up at the rendezvous point and waits for the recon teams to return, loading up with whatever weapons they'll let him take, absorbing as much of the plans and layout as he can from the scouts and freed prisoners. He doesn't say much, but he's clearly alert and focused on the mission ahead.
B-II. Assassin
At first, he keeps to the trees, letting others rush out into the fight. He doesn't have his strength and speed, now, not like he's used to. But his aim hasn't suffered any from whatever the Sylphid did to him, through that chip thing. So he paces back and forth from behind the main line, sniping enemy combatants with relative ease: head and eye and throat shots whenever one or another is unprotected, wing shots and kneecaps and gut shots when he can't get at those.
He's protective. He's covering his team. Anyone on his side of the camp who finds him or herself in hot water will swiftly find bullets raining out of the trees or from behind a burning tent to take out the worst threat.
Then he dives in with his metal arm swinging, deflecting bullets and punching people out of the way, when somebody really needs a rescue.
B-III. Grudgematch vs Hydra
The asset has to be told what that multi-headed monster is called, because while his previous handlers had been clear about the whole heads-growing-back thing, he'd never considered it as being an actual monster. It was a metaphor. A fancy name for a secretive political group.
As soon as he hears the name of that beast, though, he has a moment of wavering before his mission goes crystal clear. A hydra. A hydra. Belonging to a person who controls shadows. He, a thing made to live in the shadows, is going to fucking murder the shit out of it. He can't cut off its heads? Fine. He'll shoot them through the eyes before lobbing grenades at them.
That's basically what he does. He circles widely, shooting at the beast and hurling the occasional well-timed explosive at it, taking advantage of debris, tents, and as many other soldiers and attackers as possible to keep it and the mage distracted.