2014-06-23 Baron Zemo wreaks Harlem
This scene is rated R
Warning: Heavy Violence and Language
2014-06-24 format
Players: Tessa, Steve, Zemo, Wolverine
GMed by Who GMed?
Title: Baron Zemo wreaks Harlem

Rating: R Warning: Heavy Violence and Language Characters: Tessa, Steve, Zemo, Logan

East Harlem, also known as Spanish Harlem and El Barrio, is a section of Harlem located in the northeastern-most area of the New York City borough of Manhattan. East Harlem is one of the largest predominantly Latino communities in New York City, mostly made up of Puerto Ricans, as well as a rising number of Dominican and Mexican immigrants. It includes the area formerly known as Italian Harlem, in which the remnants of a once predominantly Italian community remains.

East Harlem has the highest violent crime rate in Manhattan.The area is patrolled by both the 23rd Precinct and the 25th Precinct of New York City. The neighborhood suffers from many social issues, such as the highest jobless rate in New York City, teenage pregnancy, AIDS, drug abuse, homelessness, and an Asthma rate 5 times the national average. It has the second highest concentration of public housing in the United States, closely following Brownsville, Brooklyn. The neighborhood, all of which lies within Manhattan Community District 11, is bounded by East 142nd Street along the Harlem River to the north, the East River to the east, East 96th Street to the south, and Fifth Avenue to the west.


Steve Walks along the street gathering his thoughts. He takes in the scenery, contemplating the direction that the country has been headed recently. It's cause for grave concern. He notices Tessa not far along, vaguely recognizing her as a member of SHIELD but not really being able to place who she is. He decides to approach.

Standby. Was there ever a more ambiguous order than standby? But that was the order, and with the city is such a state Tessa maintains a outwardly appearing single minded alertness that is either indicative of her naivety as a new agent, or her dedication to the cause. Dressed in a standard field operator's outfit, she maintains her position and scans the passersby, waiting for her ear piece to chirp with further instructions. The approach of someone might send another person into a defensive position, but with Sage's gifts, she immediately recognizes Steve from his personnel file. Many of which she has memorized. "Captain Rodgers." She intones, offering a polite solute but not holding it. This was not the military, it's just a sign of respect.

He smiles at her, saluting briefly in kind. "At ease soldier." He jokes. "I find myself at a disadvantage in that you seem to know me better than I do you." He extends a friendly hand for her to shake "Please, call me Steve. And you are?"

"Agent Lessair. Pleasure to meet you Steve. I really only know you from your SHIELD dossier, but I have a knack for faces." She extends her own hand and grasps his firmly, though she doesn't offer a smile for the joke. Of course given her even tone of voice it may be that she's just a serious sort of person, not given to bouts of humor. Or it might be something else.

He returns himself to a more formal stance, not wanting to be insulting or overstep his bounds. "A pleasure to meet you agent. What brings you to this neighborhood on such a day?" he questions genuinely. He can't help but admit to himself that she's more attractive than the average woman on the street but her formal mannerisms remind him that it's of no consequence.

"I assume more than a casual stroll?" He's back to his military mannerisms, finding himself again on common ground with her.

Noting the change in the demeanor, Tessa adjusts her knowledge of the man based on several complicated probability calculations before he's even done speaking.

"Orders. It may be a drill, or perhaps not." There was a 76.92 chance that it was, but she'd long since learned that people found her quoting probability factors off-putting. "No need to stand on circumstance for me Steve, though I appreciate the gesture. My mutation makes it difficult to display genuine emotion so I am most comfortable defaulting into a neutral demeanor. And thank you for the compliment." Had she really seen his appreciation, or was she speaking of some other compliment? With Sage, it was always hard to tell.

Noting the change in the demeanor, Tessa adjusts her knowledge of the man based on several complicated probability calculations before he's even done speaking. "Orders. It may be a drill, or perhaps not." There was a 76.92 percent chance that it was, but she'd long since learned that people found her quoting probability factors off-putting. "No need to stand on circumstance for me Steve, though I appreciate the gesture. My mutation makes it difficult to display genuine emotion so I am most comfortable defaulting into a neutral demeanor. And thank you for the compliment." Had she really seen his appreciation, or was she speaking of some other compliment? With Sage, it was always hard to tell.

"I'll take that into consideration Agent Lessair. What can you tell me about your current orders? I find it odd that you should be stationed here of all places." He studies her face in curiosity, wondering what could be churning behind that placid face. "I make it my business to keep up to date on the local goings on as best I can." He wonders how much she is reading him, how deep into his movements and nonverbal hints she is reading and calculating "Can she read my thoughts?" he wonders to himself "At any rate, if she can I have a feeling I'm about to find out." He glances along the street, keeping a watchful eye. This district of town is known for it's less than savory characters. Perhaps the very reason that of late he's taken to wandering it's streets. It's always a good idea to keep your ear to the ground and this place is the lowest point in the city of any.

"The orders were simply to report here and standby. It has only been eight point zero two minutes, so it's probable that I will receive further instructions shortly. To answer your question, no I cannot read your mind. However I can read your facial patterns and the dilation of your pupils, along with all other outward motions and then calculate all that data at an accelerated rate to form probability calculations." Meanwhile she offers up nothing in return. Her facial features, her body language, her tone are all under very precise control. She can read you like a map, and she might as well be a sphinx. It doesn't seem fair, does it? "If this is a drill, I assume there will be a physical component and I would appreciate your standing down. I would not want my assessment contaminated because of outside aide." His psyche profile showed Steve Rodgers as the old school kind of hero, the kind who might find it objectionable to let a lady face danger by herself. Best to ask that before things got hectic. If they were going to. Part of what she appreciated so much about SHIELD is that they managed to keep even her outstanding mind on its toes. On occasion.

He does his best to mimic level of control but is well aware that she can see right through him, it's quite impressive really. "I'll keep my distance, Agent. I'm sure you're more than capable of handling yourself." If he was being honest, she was almost intimidating in a way, even to the legendary Captain America. "I hope you won't mind if I stick around to see what unfolds. Out of sheer curiousity, of course." He was doing his best not to betray his natural desire to be in the mix, to ensure her safety and that of the passersby who went unknowingly about their business. Perhaps unknowingly wasn't an accurate statement. He couldn't help but notice the occasional set of eyes wandering in his direction. He supposed it was only natural that people would be curious, it wasn't every day that he was spotted standing in the streets of East Harlem.

"I do not mind at all Steve. Were it not for your interaction, I might believe you were part of the scenario, but I believe that your presence…" She pauses as her earbud chirps with an order that given his proximity, Steve might be able to catch. ~Non-lethal engagement~ Now given Captain America's status as the quintessential super solider, his reaction time could be said to be legendary. If that was held as the standard, then Tessa's reaction is down-right pre-cognative. Her body moves in perfect precision, her head snapping to the side and her far arm slipping free the heavy pistol that had rested at her thigh. Though the outfit was standard issue SHIELD, the weapon is visibly custom made. Almost before your brain has a chance to recognize the words that were spoken through her head-set, she's let go of two shots, one crossing the street and downing a shadowed figure in an alley, and the other taking down a suspicious person in a hoody about twenty feet down the road. The rest happens almost in the blink of an eye, Sage spinning in a quick circle and firing a total of five more shots, taking down a supposed enemy with each one, two having advanced in the alley behind them, another across the street, and two more on rooftops, which if you can spot them before they go down had been sporting rifles of some sort. "Seven Tangos neutralized. Requesting mission update." She recites into the wrist mic, her eyes darting for evidence of more targets, calculating every person on the street, many of which are oblivious to the confrontation given the near silence of Tessa's taser rounds. While waiting for dispatch to respond, she takes a heart beat to glance back at you and finish the thoughts that was interrupted by the training exercise. "…is a coincidence."

Without taking a moment to respond to her statement he pulls his shield from it's magnetic catch and whips it upward toward the top of the building, sending it careening with precision into the forehead of another hooded figure. He rolls forward past her retrieving the shield from mid air as it returns in his direction. The figure collapses forward over the front of the building and hits the ground with a meaty thud.

In an instant he is upon the attempted assailant and lifting him from the ground in one furious move. He slams him against the wall and pins him there with little effort. Steve turns to Tessa "You sure this is just an exercise?" The hooded man struggles feebly against Steve with little effect.

"They were." Tessa states, calmly walking toward where the war hero has the punk pinned up against the wall, reaching up to push his hood back while her earbud chirps the mission successful. The agents playing the dummy enemies begin to rise after just a minute, Sage having been kind enough to dial down the voltage on her taser rounds. "He's not. William Charles Amery. Brooklyn police department has issued a warrant for your arrest on three counts of burglary and one count of assault. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Your other rights will be explained while you are being arrested." She takes a moment to raise her wrist mic again "Verification Cerberus. Captain Rodgers has detained a violent criminal. Manhattan Police Dispatch will need to be informed. Please deploy detention agents."

With the business at hand taken care of, Tessa turns those cold purple eyes on Steve, and it's almost skin crawling how to imagine how her brain works in that moment. "Well done Steve. I was clearly too focused on the mission."

He stifles a laugh. "You took down seven would be assailants, I was just picking up the scrap. Commendable agent." He turns his attention to Mr. Amery "And you sir, what exactly were you doing looking down on us from up there?" Keeping the man pinned with one arm he briefly frisks him with the other, searching for weaponry and discovering a 9mm pistol. He extricates it from the mans waistband, removes the clip and pops the shell out of the chamber. "Add to that possession of a concealed firearm, Agent." he says turning his attention briefly to her before returning his gaze to the man.

Clearly dazed, it's a wonder the poor thug is even still conscious. Bad luck it seems is his fate today. "Maaaan…" he groans pitifully, seeing two hulking frat boys holding him against the wall, then taking his piece before checking out the sweet little thing that had been babbling at him a minute ago. "…I ain't tellin yous nothin yo… I got rights…" It was a sad fact of harlem that everyone had to hustle to make a living, and those who got good at it eventually got pinched. Just his time is the thought he comforts himself with. But damned if it didn't add a little insult to his injuries to take down by a plate throwing boyscout. He'd just been curious after spotting on of the snipers setting up after all.

Tessa relays the additional charge through her mic before continuing their conversation, visibly able to multi-task effortlessly. "I was training. You are preforming a public service. Clearly you are the more civic minded of us. I admire your dedication Steve." She takes a moment to glance meaningfully to the side as two of the agents she'd just shot a few minutes ago walk toward them, ready to take the incredibly unlucky Mr. Amery into custody.

He leans in closer to the man, locking eyes. "You're correct there Mr. Amery. You do have rights. Rest assured that if there's more to this story than is apparent I will find out. Now you are going to be taken into custody and you will be given your day in court. I hope that this time you will have enough time in jail to consider your life and how it might be improved."

He turns to the approaching agents with a nod "He's all yours boys." Relinquishing his grasp as he watches the man be handcuffed and read his Miranda rights, he glances over at Tessa "With power comes responsibility as I'm sure you are well aware, agent. He'll have his day in court."

Willy, as he is affectionately called by his friends, ineffectively tries to shove the much more physically imposing Steve in response to the ultimatum before being handed over and cuffed. It was just his luck that friggin Captain America would spot him on a rooftop while he wasn't even doing anything. He spits and mumbles curses as he is taken away.

"That is the law Steve." Tessa agrees, sounding as if the letter of the law matters more to her than the spirit, something that might be in direct conflict with the moral compass following super soldier. "My training session is complete. I have been given leave. Perhaps you will allow me to accompany you on your patrol. I feel the experience might be… educational."

"Of course, I would be honored to have you along. I'm sure it will be educational for us both." He knew today was going to be an interesting day and those intuitions, he had found, rarely did him a disservice. "Besides, it'd be nice to have some company."
Steve stands alongside Tessa, a couple of SHIELD agents are on the scene handcuffing a perp nearby. They read him his Miranda rights as they prepare to haul him off. Steve and Tessa discuss the events that have just transpired. "I'd be honored to have you along, agent. I'm sure it will be a learning experience for us both." He says, pulling his attention from the man he has just relinquished into the custody of the agents.

It was a long night in Harlem, and it sounded like for some unlucky bastard, it just got longer. Logan was in the apartment next door, atop a massage table getting worked on. It wasn't any serious therapy, Bertha wasn't quite strong enough to work on his super dense muscles or his thick tissue, but he knew her from the '80s, and he enjoyed the company. Both of them froze when they heard the commotion out in the hallway, but Logan had been listening in since they entered the building downstairs. And as far as he was concerned, it was better to just keep out of the whole affair.

"It's alright, darlin'. Just keep yer head down, they'll be outta here inna New York minute. Scout's honor."

Difficult to tell that you're in New York without SHIELD's omnipresent fingers dipping into every pie of the government. The bright lights of a Ford Fiesta turn the corner down the street and stop as the ratty tires drag it behind the SHIELD paddy wagon. The window rolls down to reveal a tired, irritated looking man with a close crop of black hair and a scowl on his face. "Hey, are you guys going to be long, or can I pull around?" He asks, tapping a finger against the wheel.

From the nearby rooftops, a different finger begins dipping into pies. Baron Helmut Zemo plants the heel of his combat boot along the lip of a rooftop and peers over quietly. The optics in his lenses flutter until they find an adequate mode. Flanking either of his side are unusual well-equipped Hydra soldiers. Their sub-machine guns are compact and not any commonly produced variant of a known firearm. They're green and subdued golds are somewhat concealed beneath tactical armor, various grenades, and an unusually large harness hugging each of their chests. Another pair are waiting on the top of an adjacent building, each placing down an olive drab rucksack. Across the street and several buildings down from the SHIELD sting sprawls another Hydra agent. This one seems to be propping the barrel of a rather lengthy rifle on that same heavy rucksack. He studies his line of sight, running the length of the street below, and anxiously waits.

Laying a hand on the holstered custom sidearm that rests on her thigh, Tessa shifts the voltage back up on the taser rounds housed within. Having just been a part of a training exercise, she'd loaded the weapon with non-lethal rounds, and left the nasty ones in one of the few pouches along her belt, the uniform SHIELD standard issue field ops. "Thank you Steve. You might be surprised how valuable 'learning experiences' are for me." She leaves that cryptically hanging, her tone and posture perfectly poised and neutral, like she were a computer representation of a person, rather than an actual person. Some might consider her cold and aloof, Steve at least had learned different.

She spares a single glance for the irritated driver behind the loading van, mentally shifting her perspective to one of random search rather than task-oriented. All the better to see the vile and villainous with on these mean streets. "You seem to know this area fairly well. After you…" She offers the Captain, retrieving a pair of red tinted sunglasses from her belt and slipping them on in a manner reminiscent of a certain CSI detective. The only thing lacking is a witty observation.

"Alright. Be sure to keep a close eye out around here. This neighborhood isn't exactly known for it's peaceful, charming reputation." He scans the scene before taking a further step down the street. From the corner of his eye he notices a brief refraction of the Sun's light on a building not far down the way. "What in the…" he mutters to himself as is attention is drawn to the source of the glimmer.

"Look out!" he exclaims, alarming Tessa as he realizes that the attention grabbing light is reflecting from a sniper's scope down the way. He ducks into an alley, pushing the young agent along in front of him before taking cover behind a nearby dumpster. "There's someone on the roof down there and I don't think they came to talk." He had, afterall, known that today was going to be interesting. More than even now than before he found himself thankful to have such a capable ally at his side.

Logan was a hunter, and a survivor. He was also different from the average joe in that he could learn by trial and error when those errors would murder everyone else. From stepping on landmines to crossing a sniper, to charging the guy with the katana instead of just shooting him. Over the years, his superior senses were fine tuned after centuries of practice, to provide a rather nice danger alert, and even the haze of massage and pseudo meditation couldn't completely dull that.

The smell of fear, coming from downstairs. Fear and nervousness, combined with what was definitely the roar of a Ford engine. A shoddy engine, but that was a Ford.

The sounds of shouting and commotion, of running and scuffling..

The smell of gunpowder, of explosives, and the little voice deep in his gut that told him to move, to run. To RUN!

Logan didn't have to be told twice. He sprang from that massage bed to run towards the plump, older woman, to tackle her into the bedroom, ro run into the bathroom, to jump out the fire escape with her. To do something, -something- before it was too late. Anything!

"NRAAAAAA-"

It /was/ too late. The shadows of Zemo's mask slither into a smile while Steve and Tessa rush to cover. From his own vantage he steps away from the wall and turns to follow their line of sight, sighing with indignation as he realizes the issue. That idiot was supposed to use subdued optics. His gauntlet lifts as he silently gathers the attention of his subordinates. Once eyesight is established Zemo whirls a finger in the air and points towards an adjacent rooftop. Both men nod, with the heavier of the two sliding what looks like a cellular phone towards their commander.

Zemo calmly reaches forward to press his wrist, breaking silence to deliver a message across their network. "Three. Suppress." He commands, glaring at the distant glimmer at the end of the block. The sniper keys his own mic twice to acknowledge, snorting and trying his best to control his breathing.

The irritated driver honks several times again, leaning uncomfortably so that he may awkwardly roll his passenger side window down. "Hey! Hey asshole!" He shouts at Steve, drawing his lips with grim determination. "Hail Hydra!" He roars, reaching down to pull his emergency break. Everything goes white.

The crummy car erupts and there are no flames. A pillar of dust, ash, and rubble tear into the sky as the explosive detonates, sending a shockwave of fragments peppering the street. The SHIELD van is ripped and tossed back from the concussion; the agents vaporized into a red mist that, by now, has mingled with the miniature mushroom cloud. Alarms immediately scream through the alleys. Car alarms for several blocks howl to life, smoke detecters in adjacent apartments; especially the ruins of Bertha's condos and massage parlor. Somewhere, everywhere, the cries of the wounded join the dying rays of sunlight.

Number three knows his orders. Survivors are afforded no respite as he begins the rhythmic, consistent howl of sending fifty caliber rounds towards the Captain's last known position. They probably don't hit him. They probably only hit the innocents taking refuge behind the paper-thing walls. Helmut breathes out happily as he flips open his cell phone a dials a number then removes the battery and sim card. His thugs withdraw a grenade and place it at their feet, pulling the pin and waiting.

Emotions were such interesting things, and upon taking a half step to follow the Captain Tessa sees his change dramatically. Hers are neatly tucked away normally, but now they are all but buried in a flurry of situational awareness and training. In these moments she feels as cold as most people think she is naturally, and her vision lifts to follow Steve's line of sight before he makes the heroic calamity of pushing her down an alley and behind a dumpster instead of toward the van that housed weapons better suited to countering the threat. It wasn't his fault, it was his nature, and even if there was time to be irritated, she wouldn't have blamed him. Sage operated on pure, clear logic, and she understood that people like Steve worked with animal instinct. It was just the way of things.

Crouching beside the Captain, the pistol in her upraised fist as if by magic, the girl speaks clearly and evenly into her wrist mic, belaying none of the tension that the situation warrants. "Code 17 emergency. Agents in duress. Unknown assailants, at least one sniper." And while she makes the verbal report, her glasses are busy rendering a 3d model of the surrounding area, pulling information from databases public and civil and creating an engagement map. "Hey! Hey asshole!… Hail Hydra!" And then the bomb.

Let's take a moment and give a standing ovation for intuition, the savior of poor analytical Sage. Sage, who upon living through the detonation just as calmly as if she were sipping lemonade in the sun says to her wrist "Code 3. Repeat, code 3. Engaging Hydra." It's about now that the rain begins. And .50 cal rounds were not something you wanted to face without the proper umbrella. So it was time to get creative, and to do that they needed information and the high ground. "Can you launch me up at least thirty feet?" She asks Steve, as if it were no more difficult a request that passing her a pen. The render complete, Sage eases back against the wall, careful not to allow a profile for the sniper, but getting the needed distance to run at Steve for the maneuver. Her cyber-glass showing the rooftop of the building to their left a mere 55 feet up, and her mind quickly calculates the parkour movements necessary to make it to the ledge, but first she needed a boost.

No time to reel from the white hot pain caused by the deafening boom. He knows he has to act quickly. Steve takes less than a second to analyze Tessa and assure himself that she is still in tact. His eyes rapidly readjusting after the brilliant blast of light, his ears still ringing from the impact of the boom. No time now to consider the casualties now, only time to act. Through the pain assaulting his ears he can barely make out what Tessa is saying and without words he nods his ascent. No room to be unsure now, he knows that he has to make this work.

He rolls out into position, staying low so as not to reveal his location to enemies who may be on the lookout. He crouches in preparation to fling Tessa upward, tensing his muscles and focusing his mind on the task at hand. "This has to work, no room for failure now. Who knows how much more devastation might ensue at any second, no time to wait for backup." he tells himself. In less than a second he finds himself prepared for the maneuver and quickly signaling to Tessa to make her move.

The blast, the fall, the sudden landing as his skull smacked against brick, wire metal and rubble, and the collapse of an entire building's worth of people on top of him. Needless to say, the Canadian was thoroughly knocked out and completely unconscious for a fair bit. When he came to, it was the distant, hazy sound of gunfire, of a high powered rifle sending high caliber deliveries, and nobody was returning to sender. But the real irritant, the thing that kept nagging at him was that…buzzing. An electric buzzing that didn't go away, not even when Logan tried to swat it away and stabbed the palm of his hand on a sharp metal wire sticking out of a cinder block. Instantly, the pain brought him back, and jogged his memory enough to inspire him to stand up.

Rubble, and bricks, and tons of wreckage was lifted up his shoulders, and dropped back down on either side of him, the short, stocky, muscular Mutant staggering into the open street like a drunk. Half of his face seemed to be missing, the entire right side nothing but red blood, twitching pink muscles, and a gleaming metal skeleton underneath, his unblinking wide open right eye looking around, his left eye looking hazy and underwater. Though his mouth was closed, one could still see his tongue darting around, even as muscles started to slowly reknit themselves. Slowly.

He turned toward where Captain America and the woman were, and Logan, through his underwater haze, seemed to recognize the soldier. His head tilted quizzically, and he was able to say a single word.

"Cap-"

Well, ok. Almost a single word. A high powered round punched square into his spinal cord, sending the Canadian flying forward, and landing on his face hard. Landing that right side against a sewer manhole cover, the head bouncing from the impact. He was still for a moment, and then…he started to stir. He was trying to push himself up to his feet. Even after something like that?!

Smoke, rubble, and blood. Logan's distant buzz matures into the explosive thud of a broken sound barrier catching up. A high speed transport of unusual, sleek design shrieks low and steady across the Manhattan skyline from the north. Zemo's lieutenants lift their forearms to their concealed faces from the bright pulse of the transport's engines as it rushes to a low hover over the opposite side of the building, ramp lowering to reveal the narrow confines of the passenger area. They take a moment then sprint towards the edge, leaping one then the other over the gap then deftly tumbling in. Helmut, however, lingers a moment. His concealment now lost.

He approaches the lip of the edge once more; it is clear he had a clear shot at Steve and his lovely partner throughout the engagement. He draws his pistol and fires a round at the super-patriot. Not fatal. Never fatal. Should it connect, it will graze a shoulder and little more. He taps his gauntlet again and every VHF and UHF receiver hisses with breach as his voice rises through. "Guten abend, Captain!" He greets, smiles and laughter.

He turns on his heel and rushes forward, following suit into the aircraft which immediately tilts and rockets away. Parting words are distorted and robotic through the interference as his jammer spitters and fails with distance. "So glad you did..n't die…plane. Did…ucky?"

The sniper is not so lucky. His anxiety is high and growing higher by the second. That one target he has is the only clear shot. The final ten rounds of that anti-materiel rifle find a new home after peppering Logan's limp form and plinging off of his unbreakable frame. When depleted he simply stands in the open and observes, tossing aside his rifle and raising his hands in surrender. Something is different. These are far from the incompetent regulars SHIELD has grown to expect.

Awareness of the ringing in her ears allows Tessa a quick determination that perhaps Steve, whom had shielded her from the worst of the explosion, might be worse off. Quickly using hand motions to ensure that he understood he had to launch her at least thirty feet vertically, she braces against the wall, exhales, and then throws herself at the Captain. It's picture perfect, the man cupping her running foot and throwing with all his enhanced strength, her calculated arc that allows her to lengthen the launch by running a two step up one wall, jumping the the opposite and then rebounding her twisting body like a spider monkey for the ledge. And suddenly she's crouched on the roof, taking a quick visual sweep for immediate danger before waving a hand over the edge to let her partner know the maneuver was a success.

Oh the life of a henchmen. It must be cozy what with the insurance and dental benefits, easy hours, good pay. And this sniper had it best of all. He got to lay in the sun and rain down punishment from a safe distance, secure in the knowledge that he was five stories up and could bug out long before anything came near him. What a surprise then the taser bolt to the ear. What a day ruiner that must be. Because while a partition of her super-computer brain calculates the continuing casualties, Tessa briefly considers ruining it further by switching out the clip for a more ouchy round. But there were benefits to a live prisoner. Like interrogation. And given the conversation she'd just had with Steve about the merits of law and miranda rights, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

With the sniper out for at least an hour, and a super sized headache awaiting his return to consciousness, Sage turns to scan the rooftops for anything else moving. There were no bystanders right now. If it moved, it was getting detained. Was that a squirrel?

No, it was an air craft. And just as the perpetrator of all this carnage boards with this theatrical farewell to Steve, Sage darts forward. There are no warnings, no calls to freeze and no time to switch to an exploding round that might lengthen the battle. Instead there is only the always-loaded, practically thought out tracer round that thunks softly into the underbelly of the craft with a flick of her thumb to change the shot and a well aimed discharge at a somewhat impressive tracking distance for a handgun. Turning on a heel like a true action hero as the craft flies away, Sage takes up her mic again "Target is painted. Class one hostiles on board."

As Tessa bounds upwards from his push, all of his might exerted, he watches her bound nimbly to the rooftop in a catlike display. He would have been impressed if he'd been afforded the luxury of time, at this moment no luxuries were available. His next moment was occupied by a new sort of shock. "Zemo" he breathed to nobody but himself. How had he survived? There was no time to consider this thought as his foe met him with a snarky remark and fired a round that glanced painfully off of his shoulder. It pushed him back on slightly, numbed as he was by the events transpiring around him. Thoughts flooded his mind but he pushed them away. it was still time to act.

He bounded toward the fire escape and heaved himself toward it's base, swinging himself in one fluid motion toward the first stair and taking those that followed in leaps of five at a time. As he moved with all the energy he could muster he swing his shield from it's catch and raised it onto his arm.

In seconds he had reached the rooftop to find only Tessa awaiting his arrival as Zemo soared skyward at a rapid pace. "Damnit!" he shouted, forgetting for a moment any sense of couth he may have been holding on to. His eyes darted over the rooftop for any trace that may have been left behind. Nothing was making sense, it all seemed so impossible. "Did you get a trace on them?" he questioned Tessa without room for hesitation. "Please tell me you marked that craft!"

This wasn't over by damn sight, no, it was only beginning. He looked to the rooftop where the sniper had been positioned and allowed himself a fraction of a second to be pleased to find him laying unconscious and to hope that he was still breathing, waiting to be scooped up and interrogated. Now it would be time to assess, to plan, something that he had been deprived of up to this moment. He turned to Tessa in hopeful, no desperate, anticipation.

The little man was back up in record time, feeling those bullets shift through his body, making their way to his stomach. He'd have to cough them back up later, but that wasn't a concern right now. What was a concern, was that that beeping. The beeping up the building, that he noticed people running towards with reckless abandon. They couldn't hear it. In Logan's haze, that took him a second to realize, but after that he was running right after the Sentinel of Liberty. He took a running leap toward the wall the fire escape was on, then he was leaping toward the opposite wall of the building next to it, and leaping right toward that fire escape again. Climbing the outside of it quickly, he all but leapt to the top of the building, running towards the two.

"GET AWAY FROM IT, YA FLAMIN' IDIOTS! IT'S GONNA BLOW!'

He didn't have time to think, or to react any way but with his gut impulse. He aimed to hit a running tackle on the both of them, sloppy but damn quick. The way he figured it, he could turn his body mid-fall, and take the brunt of the fall, and make sure they were reasonably ok. Especially if he landed himself on that destroyed Hydra Ford.

Of course, these weren't just mere civilians he was trying to tackle, these were world class heroes, made of tougher and quicker stuff. He could only hope that they didn't dodge him, and remain on the rooftop with the exploding corpse. Every vein was pumping blood, every muscle completely tense. His balls were receding into his stomach, in anticipation.

"Of course I did Steve. There are two F35s inbound with orders to use deadly force if that craft doesn't land immediately." Seemingly non-plussed… well by anything really, but certainly not by Captain America appearing on her claimed rooftop, Tessa continues her trek toward the edge that oversees the devastation. Taking up her handy mic, the girl begins relaying intel to the incoming emergency services.

Can't an agent catch a break? With the arrival of a new rooftop occupant, Sage's head snaps around. In the space of time it takes Logan to cross that roof and tackle them, she'd connected the undamaged facial features to his SHIELD file and tagged him as a suitable air mattress. What's more is that of the dozen or so plans she calculates to escape the unspecified danger he's raving about, it's simply the best choice to hop on pop. And so with little in the way of recourse, Tess goes limp and lets herself get tackled off a roof, trusting in Steve's instincts to lead him to the same conclusion.

Steve had only a second to register what Tessa had told him before Logan came rushing over the edge of the roof and straight in his direction. Had it not been for the verbal warning that brought the situation he had somehow missed to the forefront of his brain like a lightning bolt, Steve may have reacted defensively to the small but stocky mutant barreling in his direction. Instead he allowed himself to be bowled over the edge, turning his shield upward in an attempt to shield the trio from any firey blasts that might reach them as they fell toward the ground. He braced for impact, this was going to hurt no matter how you sliced it but at least he had someone to fall onto.

He used what little time to ensure that the area his shield covered would be comprised of their most vital organs as they fell toward the remnants of the previously demolished van below. He hoped that when they regained their feet the sniper would still be where Tessa had left him, dreaming a delusional dream brought on by a concussive charge.

Zemo has an unfortunate sense for the dramatic for it seems that no matter how many people Steve tries to save they keep exploding. The sniper drops like a sack of bricks, twitching several times as the beacon signal grows stronger with the aircrafts rapid escape, struggling to reach that distant destination. When, finally it pulses one watt too many, Logan's impulse proves entirely too accurate.

The vest ignites, creating a small, but violent blast of concussive force that punches a hole straight through the building it sits atop. Steel girders groan and gnash against one another as the building topples, creating a larger and larger blood of dust, ash, and rubble. The highest floors are most probably killed before they know. The rest have little opportunity to flee as one floor then the next come tumbling down upon them.

Then, the unthinkable. The rucksacks the agents placed on their original spider holes grumble and bellow with disturbing resonance, shuddering the streets below as the tragedy of the first building is replayed with added effective. Incendiary ingredients were placed with secondary charges. The buildings snarl into stabbing flames as the buildings distort, crumbling, and twist towards structural failure. All the city falls into car alarms, the screams of the incinerated, and the crumpling sizzle of heat.
Zemo pages, "The F-35's will probably be another 15 minutes. They intercept the signal off the coast of Nova Scotia. If it is waterproof, it's underwater. If it isn't, that was the last known ping."

(OOC:) Zemo says "Two buildings across the street from the original bomb are an inferno. Two buildings are blown nearly in half. One other building has been leveled. Estimated death toll will be near or about 1000 strong. Bystanders started to arrive and make their way towards the commotion after the first."

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