This War of Ours

by JDPrime22


Chapter 17 - Micro

Manhattan, New York

6:27 a.m.



“Good morning, Manhattan. Breaking today, we are following up on the recent travesties that occurred in Vienna, Austria recently. During the UN meeting, a bomb squad had located an explosive device within a news van, but were unable to disable it in time. The result left several wounded following the explosion in the UN building, including the death of King T’Chaka of Wakanda.”

A plate of poorly made scrambled eggs and burnt toast was gently placed on the foldable dinner tray. A small, dirty glass of milk was added, followed by an empty Beretta M9 placed on the edge. The ghostly glow of the TV offered every bit of light to the dark apartment living room. A tall man stepped back into that ghostly light, placing the Beretta’s clip next to the pistol.

He took his seat, his breakfast laid out in front of him. The news anchor droned on. Looking down, he prepared to have his meal.

No fork. No knife. Mumbling something, he got back up and walked all the way over to the kitchen ten feet away. As he pulled out the kitchen drawer and searched for a clean fork and knife, he could hear the anchorman talking more about Vienna, more about the bombing.

“Eyewitness reports, as well as camera feed, have officially identified those responsible for the bombing. It appears that it was only one individual who seems to have planted the bomb within the van before he made his escape.”

His attention was caught once it mentioned “officially identifying those responsible”. He returned to the living room rather quickly. He didn’t even bring his fork and knife. Instead, he watched as the news report shifted to a camera’s view of what appeared to be some sort of parking lot, cars scattered within the film.

And forward came a hooded individual, the video pausing once his face came into view.

The anchorman started talking again. He rarely paid him any attention. He was far too focused on the suspect’s face… and just how familiar he looked.

All he really heard from the news anchor was…

“Facial identifying software have confirmed the identity of the suspect in connection to the bombing. It appears to be James Buchanan Barnes, more so known as ‘The Winter Soldier’. We know this due to leaked HYDRA files…”

Every other word was completely drowned out. Standing straight, staring forward into the still image of the Winter Soldier, his mind was already putting the pieces of the puzzle together. He had remembered reading those HYDRA files mentioned earlier. He read them years ago after they were leaked, hoping that some other HYDRA agents lived near him, or so he could find them.

Nazi war criminals. Soviet agents from a war already lost. Worst of the worst. They’d been hiding for years, living in the shadows, trudging through life as if they could hide away from the lives they once lived. The ones he had managed to find didn’t last too long. The ones he hadn’t found yet, well, they just haven’t been found yet.

But still, there was always one, one he could never find. His file, his locations, everything had been either false or he just got out before he could get to him first. The one that managed to get away, the one that killed yet again, this time in Vienna, the mass-murdering ultimate weapon of HYDRA…

“The Winter Soldier…” Frank Castle muttered to himself.

He stared at that still image until it vanished, other news flashing by.

Even then, his shattered mind kept the image of James Buchanan Barnes fresh, waiting for later use. He couldn’t focus on that with the TV rambling on, with his breakfast getting cold. Shaking his head, Frank grumbled, “Can’t be.” He turned to his laptop resting on the dining table, scattered newspaper, empty bullet shells, and numerous other weapons surrounding it.

He pulled out the chair and took a seat, booting the computer up. As it asked for his password, Frank quickly typed it in, watching as several files from the other day remained opened. He clicked out of every single one of them. Every single one… except for the last.

The closed chat.

The final message, the one from days ago, was from the user “Micro”, simply saying, “Good luck with that”. Frank hadn’t spoken to him since. Still, he felt he needed to. It had been over a year since he’d chased the ghost. If what the bombing in Vienna told, and who the suspect truly was, then Frank basically only had once chance to get as much information as possible before it was pulled.

Micro may have been smart on the keyboard, but he wasn’t that smart.

Wasting time. Frank quickly typed out a message: You there?

He pressed “Enter”.

And waited.

Almost five seconds later, a new message popped up.

Always.

Three seconds this time.

You got something?

Frank eyed the blinds, the peeking sunlight hidden behind. He typed away. You see the news recently?

He got a reply. Yeah. Big stuff.

Frank cracked his knuckles and continued to type. I want everything on James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier.

Everything?

EVERYTHING.

Alright, I got you. Micro didn’t reply for nearly thirty seconds afterwards. Frank just sat there staring at the white screen, his mind trained on the image of the ghost. Caught in his line of sight.

A minute later, and Micro replied. Okay, it may have taken some digging, but I got some of the more important HYDRA files saved. Counting that to the new sightings we got today. Basically, everything you need to find him. You can thank that Romanoff chick for spilling HYDRA’s secrets.

Castle didn’t type anything in response.

Almost ten seconds for another reply. I’m sending you the info now.

Frank checked his private email, spotting the new message. Opening it, it was filled with information. Everything he needed. Maps. Locations. Times. And a single image of the video frame Castle had seen earlier. The hooded figure strolled right through and took one glance at the camera, giving little but losing everything.

Not smart.

Castle had him.

Finally.

It had been so long since he had been chasing that ghost. The first time he had seen him, even before the chase had started, was that day on the highway in Washington. He remembered seeing that man with the metal arm hop on the hood of the speeding vehicle, ripping a human being out of the car as if he was nothing. He remembered seeing the ghost fling the man directly in front of him, the man meeting the front of Frank’s truck.

He almost completely ignored the new message popping up.

Need anything else?

Frank leaned forward and began typing. I need some cash for the trip, a fake ID, and some weapons.

Got the cash and the ID. You won’t get any weapons on the plane. I’ll send them to you. I already got a list of what you’ll need to get the job done quick and clean. Check them out.

Another message followed, a link being the reply. Frank clicked on it, the screen shifting to a new tab with images of weapons and equipment. His primary weapon was a Barrett .50 caliber with a silencer. Secondary was a Glock 17 pistol, no silencer. Knives were also added. Never could go wrong with those. Equipment consisted of grenades, flash bangs, and a grappling hook, a launcher to go with it. Top notch. Military grade.

Frank nodded and typed. Good pick. How did you know?

He only had to wait two seconds this time.

Just a hunch.

With that, Frank closed out of the remaining tabs he had, letting the chat being all that remained open. Just as he was about to close his computer, another message popped up, stopping Frank right where he was, gripping the top of the computer screen.

It read: And Castle…

Three blinking dots. New message.

Don’t miss.

Frank closed his laptop.