thearena | Goddamn alien monsters

Entry tags:

Goddamn alien monsters

Who| Jet and Sam, Jet and Bucky
What| Various. Fighting, rescuing, exploring
Where| All over the station
When| Later week '0' and all through week 1
Warnings/Notes| Cybargs. Also, if you want something with Jet, I'll be happy to add you to this log, just let me know.

After having been stabbed five seconds into the arena, he'd been living under the assumption something would come around the corner and kill him at any second. It was space, it really wouldn't surprise him. Venus had fixed him up pretty good and with Bruce's help, Jet was nearly a hundred percent. There were times when pain would flair up and make him feel like something was twisting a long-removed knife in his gut, but it was manageable. Besides, he was pretty sure half of that was all in his head anyway.

In the meantime, he had two people to look after and supply runs to do. Sometimes he went with either Venus or Albert and sometimes he went alone. Sometimes there were so many creatures to dodge or fight off, he was surprised when he came back unscathed and sometimes his trips were so uneventful, he half wondered if a large chunk of the other tributes had just been sucked out to space and he'd missed it. At least it kept him on his toes.

His favorite times, however, was when the gravity would switch off. Venus tried to have them back at base in time to strap themselves down, but sometimes Jet would purposefully stay out a little too long just to get caught in that weightlessness. Unlike the others, he could maneuver in the zero gravity, there was still oxygen, so there was still enough friction for him to use his thrusters to get to wherever he wanted. It was probably the best he could get to flying free when there were so many confining hallways and only a few large enough to grant him some altitude. He could almost call it peaceful.

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Jet tried his best to keep his scouting away from the large open area that seemed to be the middle of the port, it always seemed to have something nasty in it -whether that was monster or tribute was a toss-up- and he figured it was just better to skip it entirely. Why even bother to risk it? However, he hadn't really been paying too much attention to what corners he turned before he found himself stumbling into the large open area he hadn't wanted to be in. Brilliant.

To top it all off, there seemed to be a large group of the killer aliens massing in the middle, converging on some poor sucker caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. It'd be pretty easy to just walk away and avoid the danger...but then he'd be leaving someone to likely die in the confrontation, making him just as responsible as the creatures doing the attacking.

He loitered a second more before sighing and blasting into the air, his engines giving off the scent of fuel and ozone and emitting a light whir as the mechanics kept him aloft. He was going to have to pull an air-rescue.

This is what Sam gets for going out by himself. Never mind that he's done it more than a few times by now and is as well prepared as he could be - sooner or later, this place, the gamemakers, would catch up with him.

And apparently that time is now, although he's not counting himself out yet. He has a switchblade, a few syringes of neurotoxin, and a laser gun pilfered from from one of the damaged robotic turrets, he can make it through this. No matter how many of them just keep coming.

At first he thinks the smell of fuel and the sound of jet engines are just something else coming at him, another one of the spaceport's defenses, but when he takes a second to look, he realizes it's actually a person. Not one he can see clearly, considering he's still slashing at any alien who comes close to him, but there's only one person who's told Sam they come equipped with jet engines. And honestly, he isn't going to be any worse off than he is right now if he takes a chance.

So he changes tactics, scoping out the area for the best route for an air rescue - the one he'd take, if it was him, the one he knows Riley would take if it was him bailing Sam out of trouble, like he'd done more times than Sam can count. It earns him a bite on the arm from the closest alien, when he isn't quite enough at cutting the thing's throat, but he ignores it in favor of making a break for the spot, and shooting as many of them as he can to try to keep at least some of them clear while he waits, bracing himself for a pick up.

As soon as he's in the air and close enough to see his target, he's glad a hundred times over that he didn't choose to walk away. He would have been leaving a friend to die and that wasn't the kind of person Jet was.

He watched for his best avenue to extract Sam, knowing he couldn't just dash in without risking them both being torn to shreds in the process. However, Sam seemed to have noticed him because the next thing Jet knew, he was moving into perfect position for Jet to grab him.

He pressed the switch in his back molar and watched as time slowed down, Sam seemed to fight against the very air to move as did the monsters slowly turning to try and follow. Jet yanked up his sleeves and opened the panels in his arms to get better maneuverability, anything to give him that five second edge. Just as he was nearing the group of aliens, time snapped and everything moved back to it's normal pace, just in time for Jet to smash the fires coming from his feet into the alien's faces and launch him perfectly into position to wrap his arm around Sam's chest and pull him in close to draw him safely back into the air with Jet. It put them a little on the intimately close side, but he couldn't risk grabbing him by the arms and wrenching Sam's shoulder; he was only human.

"You're into some really wild parties, huh? Wouldn't've guessed."

Sam doesn't really give a second thought to the intimacy of their position. He's been in one like it before, the hundreds of times he and Riley had practiced drops and catches with each other. It's familiar in a way he hasn't had in a really long time - he's been on the other side, the one doing the catching, but not like this, not since Afghanistan. He can almost feel the desert heat, the snap-flutter-click of metal wings, Riley's lips against his ear so he can hear over the beat of the wind, his voice huffing after Sam'd tried something particularly fancy in his free-fall:

'I thought you were a soldier, Sammy, not an acrobat.'

I thought you were a bird of prey, Ri, not a pigeon.'

It's not a bad memory, not by far, but Sam can recognize the signs in himself, when he's slipping back. When he's starting to be more there than here, and he really can't afford that right now. So he sucks in a breath, grounding himself in the scent of jet fuel, in the cool of what passed for air in the space station, the difference in flight pattern from jet engines to wings, in the sound of Jet's voice.

"Wild? Nah, that was just starting to get boring. Good thing you were around to crash it."

"That's what I'm good at: ruining get-togethers." Jet looked down at the clump of aliens and how they all seemed to be intent on keeping their attention on the two airborne men. So much for them dispersing like Jet had hoped.

However, the schematics shifting in his eyes pointed out something far more pressing before darting away to the edges: Sam's arm. One arm still firmly wrapped around Sam's waist, Jet's other hand reached for his friend's injured arm. "Looks like they took a chunk out of ya." Concern fell into his expression as his eyes caught Sam's. "You think it's bad?"

If it was, he'd dart out now and risk turning tail on the group of murderous aliens to get Sam to safety. If it wasn't...well, maybe they could do something about this threat and do the first aid later.

The part of him that misses flying, that’d love to do some damage against those aliens even if it’s not him doing the flying, wants to say that it’s fine without even looking at it. But Sam’s more practical than that - especially when Jet’s clearly concerned about him - so he shifts carefully, just enough that he can see his upper arm better, without disturbing his balance.

It’s… not exactly great, and Sam doesn’t even want to think about what kind of nasty stuff that alien’s saliva’s got in it, but it’s nothing that’s going to get a lot worse without immediate medical attention.

He shakes his head. “Nah, man, let’s take these things out.”

Different circumstances and Jet might worry more, but they did have some aliens to take care of and Jet trusted Sam to do the smart thing and not the proud thing when it came to his own health, so he simply nodded.

"You got it. I'll provide the maneuvering if you provide the Attacking." He'd keep him safe. If there was one thing Jet was proud of and knew he could do, it was fly circles around anyone he was fighting. If there was someone else with him, it only meant he was more careful not to get hit.

Shifting his hold slightly to have Sam's back to his chest, Jet dove down towards the small horde of aliens below.

Sam gives him a salute, his grin probably a little too wide for someone who's about to get flown into a pack of aliens with nasty sets of teeth, armed only with a laser gun and a switchblade.

But he trusts Jet to do the flying, and he trusts his own aim, especially like this. Aerial combat is what he does.

He grips the switchblade in his left hand, just in case one of the aliens gets lucky and ends up a little too close. When Jet dives down, Sam starts firing. Before he'd been cursing how many of them there were and the way they swarmed him, but now? Now it means with a good shot, he can take out a couple of them at a time.

It was like falling into old habits. He mapped the area and the targets in his head and weaved between them as though they were simply obstacles instead of monsters trying to kill them. Every time he got too close to the floor, he'd turn them so he was on his back and Sam was facing up, both so his friend could continue to attack and so Jet could protect him from a fall if it happened -it didn't- and as soon as they were clear of claws, he'd shoot back up towards the ceiling.

He flew literal circles around them and tried to stay conscious of how close Sam was to the aliens so he could push them back away if need be. However, between his flying and Sam's excellent aim and ability to make up for Jet's movements while firing, they didn't end up fighting for more than a few minutes before alien bodies littered the floor.

Jet hovered in the air after the last one fell and gave an appreciative whistle. "Nice shooting, partner."

When the last alien falls, Sam resists letting out a whoop only because he doesn't want to draw more attention to them than necessary, in case any more of the things are nearby.

But he does grin wide at Jet's compliment. "Impressive flying, partner," he returns. "What do you think, that a good story for our team up comic?"

"Perfect adventure for volume one, it'll be a bestseller."

A brief moment of mental deliberation and Jet flew them out of the large open area and into one of the smaller hallways off of it. It was more cramped and made maneuvering difficult, but it was better than being exposed. Once they were a little further away from the alien corpses, Jet set Sam on his feet before landing himself.

"How's your arm? Still attached?" Obviously, it was, but joking was easier.

"I'll start making plans for autograph booths now."

He touches down on the floor with a familiar feeling combo - regret at being back on the ground, satisfaction at a successful flight and a job well done. Even if he wasn't doing the flying this time around, it was the closest he'd had in over two months. Now that they're not at imminent risk of alien attack, though, he can take a closer look at the bite on his arm.

"Long as I clean it out good, should be fine. I don't even wanna know what those things've had in their mouths," he jokes. ...but really, he doesn't. He sobers a little after that, smile turning more sincere. "Thanks, man. For the assist, and the ride."

Jet doesn't want to think about it either, he knows infection is a very real thing in the arena, especially since they weren't receiving any outside help this time. He'd have to hope for the best otherwise he wouldn't be able to leave Sam's side for fear of his friend randomly keeling over. Not something he wanted to think about.

He offered a smile back and put his hand on Sam's uninjured arm. "Anytime, seriously." He had double-teamed like that with just about everyone on his team at least once, but he'd only had that good of a combination with Albert before.

"Can I walk you home, or do you have somewhere you were headed before you were so rudely interrupted?"

Thank God for Sif and the med kit she’d managed to snag at the Cornucopia, man. Sam’d be a lot more worried if didn’t know they had at least the basics of supplies back at their little home base.

Sam smiles back at that, shifting his arm in Jet’s grip so he can grip Jet’s forearm in return. He doesn’t say anything, because he already knows that Jet gets how much flying like that again meant to him, but he does give Jet’s arm a squeeze before he lets go.

“Saving my ass, letting me fly with you, and walking me home? You sure know how to make a guy feel special,” he teases. He can’t not, okay, with an opening like that. “I was on my way back there, actually, that’d be great.”

He laughs. "Finally, someone who can tell I'm a perfect gentleman."

He gestures that Sam should lead on (since it wasn't like Jet knew where they were going) and fell into step beside him once they got moving. Hopefully their little aerobatic performance would be the extent of their excitement for the day.

Jet had been out exploring for a long time now, so long he'd found himself somewhere he suspected was a lot further than he ought to be from 'base.' His curiosity was to blame, every time he thought he should turn back, he pressed on with the thought that he might find something that could really help them just around the corner. He'd briefly looked into a room that seemed empty and had moved on when the voices came to him.

"Jet? Jet! In here!"

He felt a stomach he didn't have anymore drop to his feet and his chest grow painfully tight, those voices were unmistakable to him. But they couldn't be here, they'd vanished after their first arena here. They'd gone home, as Jet continued to tell himself day after day whenever he thought of them. It had to be some kind of arena trick.

"Jet, help us! Please!"

Pyunma and Joe's voices echoed back to him from the room he'd just passed, pain clear in their tones. It had to be a trick...but what if that really was his team -his family- calling to him from somewhere? What if they'd been brought back into this arena like last time and had gotten hurt? Jet cursed under his breath, turned and ran right back into that room, his eyes switching to a low-light setting to allow him to see better.

"Joe! Pyunma!" He looked around wildly, hoping to either find them quickly and leave or find he'd been tricked, smash the cause and get out before trouble found him. But the sound of the door he'd passed through slamming shut told him he'd run out of time for either. The salt on the wound was the fact neither cyborg was around. The room was empty and Jet was trapped.

The sound of a door opening at the other end of the room he was in and the scratching of claws on metal greeted his ears as mutated dog-aliens poured into the room. A small pack of death and all Jet had was a scrap of metal and rocket fire to defend himself. If he found whatever had used his family's voices against him, he was going to smash it into a million pieces.

He can hear Jet's voice.

Bucky picks up his pace through the spaceport corridors, intent on finding his friend, moving as swiftly as he can without sacrificing stealth for speed. Judging by the tone and volume something was wrong. The names he'd yelled were unknown to Bucky, perhaps they were new Tributes in the arena Jet had met and allied with.

It doesn't matter, he follows the sound of Jet's voice and reaches his location just as the door slams shut. It's obvious that is where the other cyborg went and when Bucky finds it won't open to him he quickly suspects that Jet had walked into a trap.

Drawing back his hand he hits the door loud enough to be heard inside, "Jet!"

The pack of mutts were making a sound he was going to guess was their version of growling and he'd backed himself up to the wall next to the door -just as he heard the slam and Bucky calling his name. Thank god.

"Bucky! Got some really unfriendly looking company in here and not that many options to entertain 'em."

One of the mutts leapt for him and he clicked the switch in his tooth to activate his accelerator. With time slowed, the creature hung in mid-air, it's arch towards him gradual enough for Jet to step out of the way. He pressed his hand to what he guessed was it's shoulder and moved so his back was at the wall to his left. The switch turned off and time returned to it's normal pace, leaving Jet in view of the little window of the door that framed his friend's face and leaving the creature yelping in pain as a hand-sized burn appeared where Jet had touched it.

"Think you can get that door open?"

He didn't want to lead these things to someone he'd rather protect, but if he could get out and keep the creatures trapped inside, that would do nicely. Worse-come-to-worse, even a small pack wasn't likely to bring down two fully-functional and effective cyborgs working together.

Bucky pressed himself closer to the door, peering through the glass with enhanced vision to get a dim idea of what was going on inside. Mutt's, a lot of them, maybe too much even for Jet with all his cybernetics, at least alone.

The cyborg's words only lent credence to this assessment.

"Hold on!" he called and stepped back to make an assessment of the door. He could not see any things to work with, or a simple lock to break. He put his metal fingers to the thin line where the two halves of the door met, tracing it before trying to pry them open, however they were sealed too tightly for him to work the blunt edges of his fingertips into the crack. After another moment he decided on a far more forceful course of action.

The arm Hydra had given him was not equipped with fancy weapons, it had no guns or hidden blades, nor could it release a burst of electricity like his counterparts did. What it lacked for in fancy gadgets it made for in sheer power.

Stepping back he settled himself into position, braced his feet against the floor and drew back his left arm. The first hit landed a solid dent in the door, before he landed a second the metal plates recalibrated and the second shook it further. He'll be through soon if Jet can just hang on.

'Hold on.' Jet could do that, he was pretty sure. The mutts turned their attention to his new location, the one he'd burned now just more angry than before, but maybe he could work with that.

It darted up and at him again and, again, Jet clicked the switch of his accelerator. The gentle, high-pitched, whine of the system was potentially noticeable as he held kept it up longer, but not painfully so, more like a buzzing than anything else.

Jet went for the hurt one and dug his nails into it's skin, heat and a third degree burn rising up everywhere his skin made contact with the mutt's. He was slowly -or quickly- burning it to death and it couldn't do a thing about it. Unfortunately, he was all too aware of his prototype accelerator's limitations and how he only had a little over a minute left before it would burn out. Hopefully that was long enough to not only do some damage to the creatures, but for Bucky to get through as well.

If the loud and drawn out sound of banging was anything to go by, certainly sounded like he might just get through.

Three hits and the door began to buckle. Four and it crumpled so far inwards that he could see through into the room beyond. There was Jet and there were the mutts attacking him.

Bucky latches his hands, human and metal, around the edge of the broken in door and with a snarl of effort pries it back far enough to fling himself inside the dark room. He goes into a roll as hits the ground and springs up out of it to land a blow on a mutt that had been about to leap on Jet's back. The creature is hit across the room and into the wall, stunned for the moment.

This allows Bucky to put himself into position to guard his friend, the two of them stood back to back as around the creatures hiss and growl, hungry for the kill and perhaps momentarily halted as their prey is joined by another.

Jet had pulled the medium sized piece of sharpened shrapnel out of the place he'd stashed it in the panel of his arm. It wasn't really a weapon, it could cut if he was fast enough and he could probably lodge it into one of the creatures with enough force, but then he wouldn't have it anymore. It wasn't ideal.

However, that didn't mean he couldn't punch or kick the damn things. One came at him and Jet roundhouse kicked it into the wall. However, the moment both his feet were on the ground was the moment one of them tried to attack his unprotected back. He'd barely registered it being there when it was suddenly across the room and Bucky appeared, Jet's back no longer unprotected.

"Hey, didn't hear you come in. I'm glad you could make it." He smirked but kept his attention on the mutts who seemed to be a little more cautious, though just as set on ripping them apart as they'd been moments ago.

"I'll take this half and you take that half?" Together, they had a better chance. Of course, if it got too bad, Jet had the back up plan of his accelerator. It had a little more time before it burned out and Bucky's metal arm meant Jet wouldn't burn him by touching him. Hell, he could probably withstand the air friction better too, so it was a decent plan B.

Not that they had too much time to think before the mutts got tired of waiting and leapt at the two cyborgs.

Bucky spares jet a brief glance over his shoulder for the banter, a little perplexed at why he feels the need to talk at this particular moment with hungry xenomutt's crowding round them on every side. He takes a quick mental tally of their number, divides and feels (reasonably) confident that between the two of them they can survive this.

It's putting faith in Jet as well as himself since Bucky knows he couldn't handle this many of them alone. He just hopes the Capitol's upgrades are as strong as they look.

The first alien to throw itself at him flies into the wall when it takes a metal fist to the face before Bucky uses that arm to block the jaws of another. The things have no eyes to speak of which is annoying so he goes for his secret weapon (or not so secret, it's no so easily concealed in this outfit), a laser gun he took off one of the turrets. After yanking his arm free of the things mouth he fires a bolt right through its open jaws and through its skull.

One down... he swiftly moves on to the rest of his share.

The complete lack of banter from Bucky in response puts Jet out a little, but he doesn't dwell on it. Mostly because there were more pressing things, but also partly due to the fact he suspected that was just a difference between them. The zero-zero cyborg team used it as a way to try and keep light about fights and situations that had the potential to be too much, but Bucky wasn't like that.

Trusting his friend to have the other half of the pack, Jet sized up his portion, stat read-outs flitting across the corner of his vision. Right, accelerator first. A high-pitched whine filled the room as Jet seemingly vanished from sight. From his point of view, Bucky's actions slowed to half their speed as did the mutts. Jet moved between them, using the shrapnel to slice them up enough for it to be fatal. Between the sharpness of the metal and the heat of the friction, he had no doubt it'd do the job.

He got through half of the damn things before he felt that brief but lancing pain that said his system was about to burn out from the accelrator and he dropped back into normal time -the last thing they needed was for him to be inhibited by literal burnout in the middle of a fight, he didn't want to burden Bucky. At least the sound of the creatures he'd attacked hitting the floor a second later was satisfying.

Go back seventy years and Bucky probably would have participated, right now though he's still subject to the asset's thinking and talking during a battle except to give or acknowledge orders? Unthinkable and an unnecessary distraction as far as he is concerned. The only thing that matters in this moment is killing the creatures.

He throws one back into a pile of debris, noticing the rusted pipes that stick up out of the ground and, with enough force, impale through the creatures hide. The next he knocks back with a hard punch, then hurls a broken piece of machinery after it.

Then Jet does something.

Bucky isn't quite sure what happens, except he heards the whine piercing the air and then suddenly mutts were falling dead onto the ground and Jet seemed to (from Bucky's perspective) appear out of nowhere from his last confirmed location. The astonishment clearly shows on Bucky's face.

When Jet was back in normal time, he swept the room with his eyes and caught Bucky's expression in the process. Once upon a time, an expression like that would swiftly be followed by hatred and scorn directed at the cyborg team, wherever they had gone, they were feared, no matter how many people they'd saved. For one brief moment, Jet fears for that reaction out of conditioning, but chases it away in the same instant as he shoots Bucky a smile and moves the few paces to cover his back again. Bucky wouldn't react like that, he was Jet's friend and they were a team.

A team. That gave him an idea.

"Hey, Bucky, d'you trust me?"

There wasn't time to wait for an answer as the remaining mutts regathered to attack again. Jet turned and thrust the shrapnel into Bucky's hand and wrapped his arms around the other cyborg's waist just as he ignited the jets in his legs and sent them as high as the roof allowed. Bucky was a lot heavier than Jet was expecting, particularly on one side over the other which threw him off more, but he adjusted quickly. Albert was well over three-hundred pounds with all his cybernetics and Geronimo was pushing a thousand, this was no different.

"Take 'em out." Maneuvering carefully, Jet dove down towards the mutts, aiming to get close enough to allow Bucky the space to attack. With the limited space, however, there was really only time for one chance to attack per pass, they'd have to be accurate.

The only thing going through Bucky's mind is what kind of technology allows Jet to do something like that. He doesn't care that his friend can do it (though is perhaps a little envious of the advantage it gives) only that it is being used to help them win.

"Why?" he asks to the question, right before shrapnel was pushed into his hand and a solid arm was wrapped around his waist. A red alert flashed through his head before the knowledge of his friendship with Jet and the mission priority took care of it, stopping him just on the edge of reacting badly to the touch.

Still he can't help hissing a swift curse at suddenly finding himself lifted into the air.

Quick to recover the Soldier obeys as his ally swoops down at the mutts. He's never fought like this before but They made sure that he was versatile and adaptive in all ways. Bucky slashes with the shrapnel, tearing into the mutts with all the accuracy Jet could hope for, his enhanced eyesight, speed and strength all lending themselves to not letting a single opportunity to take out a target go by.

He could feel Bucky tense and nearly apologized for not actually asking for his permission, but they needed to get the aerial advantage before these mutts used what numbers they still had left to over power them.

Soon enough, however, their numbers were dwindling and with one final pass around the room, the two cyborgs were the only ones left standing. Jet put Bucky back down before landing, a huge grin spread on his face. "Nice moves! You really saved my sorry hide, thanks, Bucky."

The Soldier dropped gracefully down from the air and onto the ground, letting out a long exhale of breath he hadn't realised he was holding by the end. There's a slight disorientation that he quickly shakes off before looking at Jet, giving him a nod in return.

"What you did, when you disappeared, what was that?" he has to ask. The jet's that allowed his friend to fly were self-explanatory, the other thing was not. Bucky had never seen anything like it (that he remembered).

"It's called an acceleration device. It speeds me up so I move faster than most people can see and it makes everything look like it's slowing down so I can affect it faster or get away from it. It's only a prototype though, my teammate's got the full version since he was 'made' later, so he can go a lot faster and keep it up a lot longer, but that doesn't mean mine's not any good either."

Joe had plenty of abilities, but his 'main' one was the acceleration device. Jet's 'main' was his flying. Pyunma was the fastest in water, Joe was fastest on land and Jet was fastest in the air. Black Ghost might have made them with the intent of selling them off separately, but they'd made one hell of an accidental team.

"I'd offer to show you for a second, but I'm afraid it'd strain your human parts, the air friction's harsh."

Although, speaking of 'human parts' he was reminded of something. "I noticed you're heavier on one side...is that normal for you?"

"And the Capitol recreated it." he says, not an entirely reassuring fact. If they could make it for Jet then why not for their own soldiers? If they could make cyborgs of Tributes then there's no reason to believe they wouldn't among their own as well.

It's not a pleasant thought.

"Useful." is what Bucky says, keeping the rest of his thoughts to himself. He doesn't mind not getting a personal demonstration of what it's like to be able to use something as powerful as the acceleration device, content with the knowledge of what it is and that Jet has it, someone who is a friend and not an enemy. "I think so."

Bucky lifts his metal hand up. He tore most of the sleeve off that arm as soon as it became clear it was catching on the plates whenever they recalibrated and therefore a liability, the fabric will be better used as bandage material. "The metal is only on one side of me" with his human hand he indicates where the arm stops, making it clear that it's not just the limb but his entire shoulder that was taken out and replaced. "and it's anchored further down my body."

It had to be or the arm would have ripped itself out of him by its own weight. Bucky's not sure how far the anchor points extend but he does know they bolt onto his ribs and collarbone, maybe even further.

"That sounds like it hurts." Jet can't help but wince at the thought. As a cyborg thanks to the capitol, all of his limbs felt heavy, but they were manageable. On one side, it'd be hell, especially on his balance. That was one thing Black Ghost had done right: when they made their cyborgs, they'd reinforced their entire skeletal systems to be able to comfortably support the enhancements. Bucky wasn't so lucky. Although, the fact he'd been able to adjust and still make himself as lethal as he was even with that was beyond impressive, it gave Jet a new level of admiration for his friend.

There is one thing he feels he needs to make clear though, it wasn't something he'd thought of until recently, but it wasn't hard to follow the thought of the Capitol being able to recreate the acceleration device and then use it themselves. That would be a nightmare.

"I don't think the Capitol can make the acceleration device. I don't have the ability normally, only cause they turned our ijiva back on for this arena which grants us our normal cybernetics." That didn't make any sense out of context. "Ijiva's this...energy, I guess. We...uh...got it in the place we were at before coming to Panem. It makes up the world and controls powers and that stuff. With ours, we were able to access our cybernetics again. It's...a long story, forget it, but I don't think the Capitol's quite on that level with cybernetics."

Otherwise they probably would have tried to mess with Bucky's arm before now.

"Sometimes it does." he admits. That much weight on one side of his body, even anchored as it was, was a strain on his body. If it wasn't for the serum then he'd be in a lot more pain. Hydra's priority had been in making him powerful and dangerous, they had little concern for his personal comfort so long as it didn't impede how effective he was.

When in the Capitol or in an arena where they didn't allow powers he felt the strain even more but so far he'd managed to keep it under control.

"oh." Yeah, Bucky doesn't understand that at all but he's willing to believe Jet when he says that it's not something the Capitol will be able to recreate. That's a relief as he nods in agreement, "I haven't seen anything on the level of ours with their people."

"Thank god for that." He could just imagine the Capitol getting ahold of either of their cybernetics and twisting it into making their own cyborg soldiers and what kind of damage that could cause. Hell, Jet had already sort of seen it in action; because Jet existed, Klein had come up with those Lazurus Cyborgs, cyborgs made from the bodies of the dead. Zombie cyborgs...and the U.S. government wasn't even nearly so advanced as this place was, so it wasn't like it was completely out of the realm of possibility. The image it gave him was not a pleasant one.

He shook his head and put his hand on Bucky's shoulder with a shred of a smile. "C'mon, let's get out of here before anything else decides to either mess with our heads or rip our throats out."

He really didn't need a reprise of whatever had made it sound like Joe and Pyunma were there and in danger.

Bucky is in agreement with Jet, though less vocal about it. He simple nods when his friend puts his hand on his shoulder, "Wouldn't want that."

Even the two of them would get overwhelmed eventually.

He'll let Jet lead the way out, following quietly and leaving the bodies of the xenomutt's, plus the wrecked door, behind them.

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Goddamn alien monsters

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For Bucky

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