Nick of Nite

January 31, 2016:

Steve gets jumped from behind mid call to Sara Pezzini.

Characters

NPCs: TBNL

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Brooklyn

The small condo Steve bought is at the end of the hall as the elevator doors open up. It's late. Really late. Yet he's fumbling with a bag of groceries in one hand while trying to dial a number in the other.

Normally, it'd be impolite to call at this hour. Perhaps a text would be more appropriate, but he knew that Sara was still at SHIELD when he left and would therefore still be awake. He also found out that his meeting with Agent Lombardozi was cancelled for tomorrow, freeing up his evening.

The phone begins ringing and Steve holds it up to his ear as he makes his way towards his door, eager to get the eggs put away and to see what is on Nick at Nite tonight.

"Pezzini." Sara's never been one for that whole going home on time thing. Not when there's work to distract her from the rest of her life. She steps away from a table strewn with bit and oddities confiscated from the raid on the shop they hit the other night, all the subject of inspection by some lab techs as they try to determine what's actually magical and what's just old junk.

"Sara, it's Steve. I know you're busy so I'll make this quick. I wanted to hit up that Ital—"

From behind Steve all is not well, a man in black, impossibly big, pads along the carpeting silently before he aims a kick to the back of Steve's head. The bag, as well as the cell phone, goes flying from Roger's hands.

Clang!

The phone ricochets off the wall and the bag slams into the ground, sending broken egg yolk everywhere. Steve turns over, trying to defend himself as the man lands upon him, pummeling him over and over the face. As the attacker pins Roger's arm, he reaches back in an attempt to get a vial on his side.

"Steve?" Sara eyes the phone for a moment before she puts it back to her ear. "Steve." That doesn't sound like Steve fumbling with this whole cell phone thing. "Dammit," she mutters, keeping the connection open as she turns back to the table. "Send an alert up the chain. Sounds like someone's come after Rogers."

Keeping her phone to her ear, she starts to jog toward the garage before realizing just what traffic to Brooklyn is going to be like. "On second thought…" She turns, heading up the stairs toward the roof instead. "Steve. Come on, Steve, I need details."

Steve's eyes go wide as his assailant brings a syringe high above, ready to stab the star spangled Avenger with some sort of serum. The blonde rips his arm free from under the others knee and delivers a mighty crack to the face, strong enough to knock the mask side ways and send him clear off his lap.

"Sarah, are you still on the phone?" Steve says far too conversationally as he crawls over to grab at it. "Being attacked by—!"

The man with murderous attempt leaps towards Cap who catches him with his feet. In one movement, he throws his legs upwards and sends the assailant straight up with a smash into the ceiling.

"I'm on my way, Steve," Sara says, Witchblade growing into armor as she burst out onto the roof. Gold and silver weave around her as she keeps running toward the edge of the roof, throwing herself off at full speed. A pair of wings burst from the armor between her shoulders, silver veins webbed with blue and red like a dragon's wings in stained glass, and she's rocketing over the streets toward Brooklyn. "Keep talking!"

Inside Steve's apartment there's someone else as well, though—the second part of this operation. She sits at his kitchen table with his laptop turned on, and with some odd looking technological device into the USB port. She sits, looking nervous as the commotion from the hallway gets louder and louder.

Across the hall, Steve's neighbor Charice, and elderly woman with a questionable grip on sanity open her door as the two men are now both upon their feet in hand to hand combat. Charice, unfortunately, is without her glasses.

"Steve Rogers," she says in her gravelly old woman's voice. "This sort of noise after midnight is unacceptable. If you want to have friends over you should do it earlier. Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Sorry, Mrs. Campbell," Steve responds as he ducks over a cycle kick.

One of the benefits of being a native New Yorker. Even if you're not exactly used to navigating the skies instead of the streets, you know more or less where you're headed. And one of the benefits of taking the skies instead of the streets is the distinct lack of traffic. Sara might not have rockets or super speed, but she's figured out this flying thing well enough that it only takes her a couple minutes to get almost to Steve's place. "Steve, I'm almost there," she says over the sound of the wind in her phone. "What's the situation?"

"Be—-ing….attacked. At ….apartment," Steve grunts towards the phone on the ground as he's now enveloped by the larger man, who is squeezing the life out of the soldier, causing veins to pop out from his forehead. With a guttural scream, Steve backpedals with force, smashing his foe right through Charice's door and into her living room.

Amidst a huge kick up of dust, Mrs. Campbell doesn't even turn around. She's really into her program. "If it's sugar you need, Steve, it's in the cupboard. Now quiet down, it's Mary Tyler Moore!"

Sara puts on an extra burst of speed, swooping into a landing in front of Steve's building. "Walk-up, huh?" she asks as she runs for the stairs, a tendril of the Witchblade taking over as a spare hand to tuck her phone back away. Following the sound of destruction above, she shoulders out of the stairway and into the hall fully armored. "Shout out, Steve," she calls out, looking to either side for the attacker.

Inexplicably, the man in the mask puts his hand to his ear and suddenly let's Captain America go with a smash to the face that sends the latter sprawling onto Mrs. Campbell's sofa.

There's a thump-thump-thump announcing the runner, combined with Steve's voice, "Here he comes!"

As he emerges from Charice's apartment, the man stands nearly seven feet tall and is a bowling ball. A mutant? Mutate? It's not clear, but what is clear is that he's making a break for it, and only slightly slows down when he sees Sara after turning the corner.

"Oh, you picked the wrong girl," Sara smirks at the man running toward her, the Witchblade bulking up her armor and sprouting extra spikes as she pushes off in a running start toward the attacker. Sara was taking on and taking down men with a hundred and fifty pounds on her long before she had the Witchblade to help. Now? Now there's even more bite to her bark.

The attacker doesn't bother slowing down, but instead picks up speed as he looks to mow down this femme fatale and keep on going straight out into the seat. As both run straight at each other, neither seeming to be willing to dive out of the wall in the thin hallway, it certainly seems they are going to impact in a mighty collision.

Meanwhile, in Steve's home, the woman from earlier slips out a side window and somewhere into the night.

Problems she can just beat the crap out of are Sara's favorite kind of problems. Simple. Black and white. This guy shows up and attacks Steve, then tries to attack her? Excellent. No one's going to have any problems if she just introduces him to his own mortality a little bit. It probably doesn't hurt that the Witchblade concurs. Sara drops her shoulder as she meets the man in the hallway, tendrils of Witchblade shooting out to wrap around his arms and aid in the tackle.

SLAM!

Sara's body hurtles into the attacker, smashing him straight away in the chest. Amidst a loud popping sound, the man goes flying backwards and then is driven straight into the ground. He's not moving. Well, he's breathing, but he's not doing much else as Steve arrives on the scene.

"You have the right to remain silent." Sara picks herself up, keeping an eye on the man on the ground before she looks back to Steve. "You know, if you want me to leave work on time, there are better ways to do it," she points out with a flicker of a smile, one that fades when she sees the wreckage of the hallway and sighs. "Going to have to call back to the office, though, report this in so they can send some techs out."

"Yeah, well, who wants to be at work when you get to see things like this out on the town," Steve says with his face red and bruised. Nevertheless, he cracks a smile. "Thanks for the assist, Pezzini. I have a feeling I'm going to want to ask this guy a few questions.

Steve's face twists in disappointment. There, on the floor, his phone has been smashed into a thousand pieces.

"Well, you know," Sara says, watching the man as the Witchblade fades away, leaving just the usual bracelet behind. "It sounded like you were going to ask me out to dinner. Couldn't let you worm out of that with something like 'hey, I got attacked in the hallway and now my phone's smashed.'" He gets a sympathetic look for the phone, reaching out to clap a hand to his shoulder. "Don't worry. SHIELD's got a great replacement policy."

"That was my personal one," Steve says with a shake of his head. "Oh, about that dinner…"

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