[He braces himself against the rollcage so that when the car turns, he stands steady. He hears the thunk on the hood of the car, and he's turning before Natasha shouts.
Aim. Fire.
There's a certain cold detachment he finds whenever he's in battle. Things will frustrate him when they go poorly, but he remains emotionally apart.
He's a weapon, finely tuned and carefully crafted. He is a weapon.
There is a certain comfort to be had in the absolute clarity of your position, even if it will all dissipate in the aftermath.
The zombie on the hood crumples, and the Soldier turns his attention to another.]
no subject
Aim. Fire.
There's a certain cold detachment he finds whenever he's in battle. Things will frustrate him when they go poorly, but he remains emotionally apart.
He's a weapon, finely tuned and carefully crafted. He is a weapon.
There is a certain comfort to be had in the absolute clarity of your position, even if it will all dissipate in the aftermath.
The zombie on the hood crumples, and the Soldier turns his attention to another.]