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magnetic-darkness · 3 years

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Zombies The Infected

*credit for this amalgamation result of Pathogen The Infected and Zombie The Coil is listed under general credits but I wanted to mention it again out of respect since they are both wonderful fanmade creations*

*also FYI none of this has been play or beta tested and is mostly cobbled together from the inspirations and so sources listed above, uh, just so you know...*

Zombies, exist within the World of Midnight in a variety of forms, such as the Giovanni's or a Matter/Death Awakened Mage's raised corpses will attest. But such entities are little more than animated meat puppets.

The Infected, as these more sentient Zombies prefer to call themselves, are a different breed entirely. They are as much akin to the raised corpses of those other group's as the Kindred are to the vampires of Hollywood. Which is to say, inspired from and by, but different none the less.

These Infected must grapple with themes of body horror and gore, disease and chronic illness management, and the struggle of how far they are willing to go to survive.

Below is the details of the Infected;

The Pathogen is believed to be the source of the Infected in much the same way as Caine and Gaia are for the Kindred and Garou, with just as many mysteries surrounding its Origins and the reasons it reacts to its victims as they do. It is the source of a Zombie's Hunger and power in much the same way that the Beast does for Kindred.

The Infection provides a unique power source (like Vitae/Blood for Kindred, Rage and Gnosis for the Changing Breeds, etc.) called Viscera. When it runs low, the Infected begins to experience symptoms of their Hunger as an Outbreak (a little like a frenzy). Viscera is regained in one of two ways; Gore and Devour. Gore is the consumption of living organic material, risking Mortality and reducing Hunger by boosting the amount of energy gained from body part consumption. Devour is the consumption of dead organic material, safely avoiding the risk of Mortality loss but not fully easing the Hunger as it reduces the energy gained from body part consumption (but never below one point).

Different body parts provide different amounts of energy; Brains are the most satiating, then come the Liver and other Organs, and, lastly, bones and blood provide the least amount of Viscera.

Outbreaks are very similar to the Frenzies experienced by Kindred and Garou. They are a state of intense emotion and Hunger that the Pathogen overwhelms its host and begins to change and mutate. While the state will often pass and few ever recall events during such a state, there is some small relief and mildbconcern over the fact that the changes the Pathogen creates in the body during an Outbreak are reversed when it is over. During an Outbreak, the Zombie exits what has now been called the Carrier Stage (the Pathogen is passive and non-contagious while the host experiences chronic but minor Symptoms) and enters the Acute Stage (the Pathogen is more active due to Hunger and Fear, one's Symptoms become more severe and contagious to victims, the Symptoms one experiences will have a direct influence on the potential Vectors of the individuals exposed).

The Infection does not always result in Zombies, it should be noted. Infected is a general term for those organisms under or directly linked to the Pathogen's influence. Maglinants-or Mals as they are commonly called-are those who have been Infected but remain mindless, guided solely by the Pathogen's raw instincts to consume and wander. Symbiotes are Infected plants and animals. Wights are a ghoul-like Infected human who has been exposed to Viscera in some way, but have not been Incubated properly into Malignants. Liches are cannibalistic Zombies who hunt humans as if they were prey (a trait similar to some True Fae Keepers with their Changelings), and are one of the many antagonists for the Infected to deal with. There are also the various human-ran organizations that are after them for their own gains and reasons.

The process of becoming an Infected is two parts; Incubation and Latency. Incubation is when the individual has succumbed to the Pathogen's influence and become a Mal. Latency is when they regain their sentience after their First Meal of organic material and the resulting Viscera.

The Buried Gored their First Meal while fhe Reposed Devoured theirs.

Mals, Zombies, and many other Infected tend to travel in groups called Hordes.

There is a minor Delirium-like effect on humans called the Haze that appears when Infected are at low (3 points and less) Viscera and lifts if they rise above it. Any supernatural effect that not be be explained away/rationalized will simply be ignored unless the individual is actively harmed. However, that will only extend a cettain amount as trying to consume someone in a crowd versus doing so in a back alley will naturally draw far far too much attention for even the Haze to cover up. Liches are the only ones immune to the Haze's protective effects on mortal perceptions of Infected despite their more monstrous corpse-like appearances.

Vectors determines how one was infected by the Pathogen and thus the type of Zombie the character is. Meanwhile, Symptoms are the way the Infection manifests within the individual. Antibodies are unique weaknesses of the Vectors. As a whole, the Infected appear to be weakened by both the usual methods of destruction (Fire and Decapitation) as well as concentrated forms of CT's or Calcium Tablets (Things like Marble, Limestone, Chalk, Pearls, and the like).

The Vectors are; Airborne (vapors and contaminated air), Bitten (Animal, insect, humans), Endoparasite (Fungi, molds, and parasites), Infused (Bloodstream or organ transplants), and Tetrogen (those unborn exposed in-utero or through the birthing and breastfeeding processes).

The Symptoms are; Dermis (Rashes, hives, and inflamed swelling), Fever (fever, muscle aches, chills and sweats), Respiratory (Coughing and congestion), Gastroenditis (Vomitting, diarrhea, bloating, gas), and Insomnia (Fatigue, night terrors, hallucinations, insonmia).

The Antibodies are; Silver for the Bitten, Jade for the Infused, Sunlight for the Unborn, Salt for the Endoparasite, and Water for the Airborne.

Mortality is the measure of a Zombie's Humanity versus how much they have been consumed by the Pathogen's influence.

Strains are the Discipline and Gift equivalent of Zombies, the types of supernatural powers they have access to. Every Zombie will start with access to three Strains upon character creation; one determined by the Vector, one determined by the Symptom, and one of the player's own choice.

The Strains are summarized below;

Seance is a series of powers that affect the minds and perceptions of its victims. It also providing access to the Horde Mentality, a Hive Mind connecting the users much like the Malkavians in their Networks while also providing access to Whispers, an odd and disjointed collection of memory fragments from one's past life as well as the mass Hunger and trauma experienced by many Infected as they struggle for dominance against the Pathogen.

Mutations requires the merging of one's very flesh to whatever one wishes to manipulate and control in the world around them. It does not work on living or dead things, but things that were never alive are fine, such as tech.

Disencarnate allows for the change of movement between various creatures and places and things, as well as enhancing the senses of its user.

Convalescence and Necrosis are two sides of the same coin in that they are reverse powers of each other. Convalescence is the set of powers tied to regeneration and growth and purification while Necrosis is tied to plague and rot and corruption.

Vivification and Necromancy are also mirrors of each other in that manner. Vivification allows for control over the bodies of the living (Garou, Mages, animals, etc.) while Necromancy allows for the same over the dead (Vampires, Mummies, corpses, etc.). Neither allow the ability to change oneself in any way.

Pathogenesis is the term for disease development and thusvis quite fitting for the set of powers tied to changing one's own body through mutations and modifications, such as acidic bile or poisonous gas and sharpened tongue blades. It cannot be used to affect someone else's body.

Cessation allows for the suppression and manipulation of one's Hunger. At higher levels, it also allows for the direct conversion of other energy forms into Viscera and vice versa.

Extinction is very simple as it allows use of the classical elements, often for self-burial and extinguishment.

Vigor is the set of powers linked to increasing one's strength, endurance, and, eventually at higher levels, speed.

Wheel of Life allows interaction with Wraiths and Spirits across the Gauntlet, eventually growing to allow Possession of others and the ability to Astral Project oneself, as well

Resuscitation is the set of powers tied to being able to blend in with humans and the envoirment. This is also extended to other fleshy-based disguises and mimicry.

#Zombies #The Infected #world of midnight #Pathogen The Infected #Zombie the Coil #Vectors #Symptoms #The Pathogen #The Buried #The Reposed #Liches #Symbiotes #Wights #Malignants #Mals #Strains

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whostheblondegirlwriting · 6 years

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you asked for it...

The reveal of the alternate version of Allison’s escape in the woods from Echo. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you…the 4,080 word disasterpiece that is The Death of Brock Rumlow.

Allison kicked Jack’s leg off of her and scrambled to her feet. She sprinted the short gap from her to Rumlow, catching him in her arms before he completely collapsed.

“It’s okay,“ she assured him, needing to convince herself, hushed and with a small, quick nod. “It‘s okay.”

If there was a sound to warn her, she missed it. Surprised by the sudden yank on her arm, dragging her back and to her feet, Allison spun in the grasp to see Barnes scowling down at Rumlow. It finally registered that Rumlow had removed his balaclava and his identity was exposed. She figured he’d done it for his comfort. His breathing was more labored than she had seen it before and Brock tipped from his knees and the brace of his hand to fall back on his hip, staring back up at Barnes. Rumlow’s eyes ticked over to Allison, settling there for a moment while he swallowed a breath to try and steady himself again.

There was a pause between Brock, Allison, and Barnes. A moment where time seemed to stop. But while nothing in the world moved for that brief second, Allison’s mind raced. Barnes was the only possible shooter in the area. He must have seen Brock’s uncovered face and pulled the trigger from behind him. Seeing Allison and another body on the ground, while Rumlow stood nearby with a pistol raised in his hand, it’d be easy to mistake him as a threat.

Barnes had pulled her away from Rumlow. Maybe he only saw her go toward Brock and him come into her arms. If he only saw Allison struggle to the ground under Rumlow’s dead weight, and in her dissolving strength, to keep him from falling too hard, it could be easily misinterpreted. To him, maybe, Barnes saw it as a fight. Maybe it was instinct for Barnes to pull her away and put her back behind his shoulder. But it was survival that had Rumlow’s pistol aimed up at Barnes.

Rumlow had learned everything about the Asset, knowing there might be a time he was broken and couldn’t be fixed. She had seen his assessments in the tablet she took from his office and read the contingency plans. He could dismantle Barnes, even without the trigger word. He only needed one shot and Brock always found his mark. He had been a Horseman, back in his own day, before taking command of the STRIKE division. He had been the Asset’s handler and knew his moves as well as his own. He had always qualified as an expert marksman. But something stopped him.

In that fraction of time, she read something in Brock. That he had recognized Barnes’ defensive posture in front of Allison, a damsel who didn’t need saving from him. It was in his eyes when they met hers. Rumlow knew there was someone to replace him; someone who would keep her safe at all costs. And just as suddenly, there was a tick of a relief at the corner of Brock’s lips. The flinch of expression hardened Barnes’ frame, his metal arm stiffening to inch her further back, as his gun hand locked out.

Barnes was misreading Brock’s tell for a threat, overlooking the start of Rumlow’s aim withdrawing. His body broadcasted his next move and Allison shouldered her weight into Barnes, before he could squeeze the trigger. She edged past him, sliding down to her knees and angling her body to shelter Brock, while Barnes faltered a step to regain his balance. Allison took the gun from Rumlow’s failing grip, setting it aside by her leg and, she hoped, effectively removing the danger from Barnes’ mind.

Rumlow closed his eyes to the sun streaking through the trees, reaching up feebly with his good arm to touch her cheek. “You’re okay, now,” he quietly wheezed, grimacing at a flash of pain.

She cupped her hand over his and nodded. “I’m okay,” she promised. She turned a fast kiss into his palm before gravity and his weakness stripped it from her hold. The limpness of his body sent a sharp panic through her and Allison searched his neck for a pulse, finding none.

The heat of tears pricked at her eyes, as a new fear went through her. Her wide eyes unblinking, Allison watched for a rise in his chest. “No, not like this,” she murmured. “Come on. Not like this. Please, don’t.” Mumbling a fast prayer, she tore the glove off her right hand, her fingers fumbling across his neck to frantically search for a pulse.

“No!” In a moment of confused muscle memory, she looked up, her eyes searching for help, but this wasn’t a regular mission. There was no medic to call for. She had no kit, no Hextand to run or drugs to push. There was nothing she could do. “Oh, god,” she breathed out, the horror of her realization making her stomach sickeningly drop. Shaking her head, the tears welled in her eyes spilled over her lashes, as she softly begged, “Please, don’t go.”

There’s a sound that only a completely broken person can make. A guttural and primal scream, the summation of all the suffering one soul can bear and not succumb to death. The sound rang in her ears, as Allison cried out, her hands balled into fists, arms pulled to her chest, and eyes crushed closed to the sky. A sob left her, as she opened her eyes again to see Brock’s lifeless form beside her.

She fell silent and still, one hand clutched tightly to Brock’s at his chest and the other soothingly resting on his forehead. She bent down, setting her forehead to his, her lips moving in a soft adoration meant only for him. She put her lips to his for a moment, begging for a last kiss that would never be returned, as tears fell from her eyes closed in pain. She moved, her forehead pressed into the crook of his neck, where she’d found such comfort and warmth before, and she wept for the emptiness that was there now. She cried, silently, until there were no more tears to bleed. When they were gone she sat back, admiring him for a long moment before pressing her lips to his forehead in a last goodbye.

She heard Barnes come to stand near her. She didn’t let go of Brock, when she looked up to see him. When her eyes met his, he wasn’t standing beside her, like she anticipated. He was several feet away, behind her shoulder in a tactical advantage, and looming over her, eyes leveled in a mix of horrid realization and wounded hesitation.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

His expression filling with rage and betrayal, he thumbed back the hammer of the gun in his right hand. The click of the cocking triggered her muscle memory and training took over, making her grab the pistol on the ground beside her. They leveled their guns at each other in the same instant. Her heart racing, she turned on her hip on the ground, twisting herself to hide what she could of Brock behind her, instinctually. A fallen agent, her commander, and her could have been husband. She wouldn’t abandon even his body until their was nothing left in hers. No one left behind.

Allison quickly assessed her adversary. His muscles locked, pupils wide, chest heaving, and trigger hooked. He was as ready as she was. She brought her other hand to wrap around her first in support. She could feel the last edge of her adrenaline fading. There might be another rush if she was lucky, but for now, the inventory was almost spent and leaving her. After their escape, muscling through injuries, her fight with Jack, and her trying to aid Brock, she didn’t have much left to give. She swallowed hard, waiting to see who would move first.

“You’re her,” Barnes said, his voice low and accusing. “You’re Addy.”

She felt the hot sting in her eyes, the first flinch of fear, and she blinked. “How do you know that name?” she demanded, gritting her teeth in her own anger.

“He used it,” Barnes hissed. “He said it.”

How? When? Why? The Asset knew. But Brock would never have said that name in the company of HYDRA. He never said it in front of SHIELD. That’s how he kept her safe, from everyone.

“You’re lying,” she seethed. “He never would have told you. He stopped handling you in 2010, before he knew me.”

“He didn’t tell me,” he agreed. “It’s what he called her. When he was alone, when he spoke to her- when he spoke to you.”

A hot tear fell from her lashes to her cheek, cutting a fresh trail through the dirt on her face. “How…” she choked quietly on her tears. “When…”

When she couldn’t go on, he did for her. “He was around. Not a direct part of the program anymore, but he was running missions and working on Insight.” He paused, his eyes shifting past her to reference Brock. “He talked to them. There were dozens of names they said, but only one woman. They called her Addams, when they talked about assignments and training; about the people they had inside SHIELD.“ His eyes ran up and down her, seeming to draw a conclusion. "He told them you were part of Insight. That’s how you got in; how you’ve been doing all of this, isn’t it?”

All she could do was give him a nod, her breath failing her as much as she felt her heart was.

“I’ve heard that name,” he went on. “Out of cryo, waiting for debriefing or recalibration. Sometimes he made a call. He told the person he was alright, when he’d be home; things he said to someone that he’d say ‘I love you’ to. Always quiet. Always from the corner of the room where no one could hear. Only, I could hear. He called her Addy.”

Allison felt her heart break, for the things Barnes overheard and the deceit she knew he saw through now. She felt the air leave her and the tears roll from both eyes. She felt the small tremor in her grip, losing her strength, his words like a series of blows to her gut. She was ashamed and startled and worried, all at once. Her eyes broke off his, falling to the ground away from him and drifting back to Brock. Her vision blurred by tears, Allison knew she had nothing left.

Her hands parting slowly, she lowered her gun. She opened her palms to him and let go of the weapon, leaving it to fall to the ground beside her. “Do it,” she told him, her request hushed by exhaustion, dragging her vacant eyes back up to his.

Barnes’ rage switched to indignant questioning, in a blink. Allison unfolded her feet from beneath her, falling back with slumped shoulders. She was completely resigned, the fight gone from her. She had found out who Rumlow was. In the end, he was exactly who he had always shown her. A warrior and loyal soldier who loved her endlessly and gave everything to protect her like he had always promised he would. With everything else around her destroyed and a lie, she didn’t know how to go on without him.

“Do it,” she repeated, a heart wrenching begging in the words that was completely void of hope. “Finish this.” Allison closed her eye, calm and expressionless. She felt Brock’s body behind her, the small of her back curved against his side. She was so tired. She waited for the relief that didn’t come.

She opened her eyes to see Barnes again. His resolve slipping, Barnes’ expression had softened. Looking at her with pitying eyes, his arm had fallen, his aim tipped to the ground. She was confused, for a moment. Allison had kept him from his mission. She kept and protected Brock from him and took what probably would have been one of his greatest blows and satisfactions in his revenge against HYDRA.

Barnes shook his head, slowly. His lips parted, as if he were about to speak, but no words came. His brow furrowed, in concentration and question, and his eyes flicked to Rumlow behind her. A tension built up in Allison, as she waited for him to complete his mission. And suddenly, she was angry. Furious that he didn’t take the shot and end her misery, she launched up from the ground.

Bucky retreated only a half step. She was on her feet, rushing to stand in front of him. Allison grabbed at his wrist, jerking his hand up, pushing the weapon into her gut, and wrapping both hands around his arm to keep it there. When he flinched his arm away, she pulled him back, pressing her forehead into the end of the barrel.

“Come on!” she yelled. “Do it!”

Bucky’s breath caught, his eyes wide with confusion at what she was doing. He bared his teeth, struggling to pull his shoulder and point the gun away, but the adrenalin made one last surge and she held on to move with him. Eyes wild and tears streaming, she demanded again.

“Do it!” she pleaded, her voice cracking in desperation and pain, as she wrapped her hand over his, pressuring his hand to shoot.

The strength of his mechanical arm was too much for her to overcome and he ripped the gun from his own hand and dropped the magazine as he thumbed on the safety. She had lost everything and now he denied her an end to the pain.

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered, his breath coming back and his gaze hard, as he eyed her up and down and she pushed away at his empty hand and fell to her knees.

Slumping down to rest on her heels, she had no direction or will left. She looked at her hands, empty palms up and useless in her lap. She sobbed again.

Her body reflexively hardened at the pressure on her shoulder and she coiled, swinging up at the cold arm reaching down to her and tipping away to rise. She came to her feet, but not on her own power. Barnes pulled her up, his metal hand gripped around the back of her arm. Allison lashed out, determined to provoke him to a fight to the death if he wouldn’t pull the trigger. He knocked down her next strike at his throat and pulled her in to him. Her arms folding in front of her, he wrapped himself around her and held her close. She struggled to break away, but in the warmth and strength of his arms, she stopped. The only sounds in her ears the pounding of her heart and her ragged breaths pushing across his chest, Allison felt her muscles soften, and his head tipped down to hers.

Muffled by his uniform and arm, she asked him a final time to end her misery and he shook his head. “No,” he told her quietly.

“I can’t,” she promised him, softly through fresh tears. Her whole world was shattered. She felt as if half of her was already dead beside Brock on the ground, and the other half was ready to give in. “Please.”

“No,” he repeated, with a new resolve and hardening his hold of her. “That’s not you. You’re gonna be okay.”

She shook her head on his shoulder. “I can’t.”

“I know who you are now,” he told her. “And I know what you’ve done. You can do this.”

“I’m no one,” she said, on a defeated breath.

”You’re Addy,” he reminded her.

Another sob sent a shudder through her and she felt him tighten his arms around her. They stayed there, a few long minutes of wounded silence before the sound of approaching footsteps crunching through the undergrowth grew closer. Bucky didn’t let her go. He lifted his head and she felt the move through his shoulders as he turned to the noise, his voice coming deeply through his chest to her ear as he spoke.

“It’s alright,” Bucky said, and the footfall stopped.

Allison pushed back against him and he loosened his grip enough for her to raise her head. To their right, Capt. Rogers stood surveying the scene, shield on his arm and Romanoff and Wilson following to catch up. Rogers looked over Rollins and then Rumlow. His gaze shifted to Allison and back to Barnes. Romanoff and Wilson fell in behind him, the same questions in their eyes as they looked around.

“Buck?” Rogers asked, the single word questioning everything in front of him.

“They’re dead,” Bucky said, still holding Allison and squeezing a hand on her shoulder as if he meant to send her its strength when he said it. “We’re done here.”

“Alright,” the Captain nodded, apparently needing no further explanation from him.

Rogers and the others turned to go.

“No,” Bucky called after them and they stopped to look back. “Rumlow- he goes back.”

Rogers’ gaze shifted to Rumlow’s body and then back to Barnes with a critical eye. “What?”

“I said, he goes back with us,” Barnes told him, letting go of Allison and taking a step toward Steve.

The Captain looked over his shoulder to Romanoff and Wilson before looking to study Allison. He eyed Barnes again and gave a small nod. Slipping the shield off his arm, Rogers swung it behind his shoulders where the magnetic harness held it firm to his back. Allison watched, with bated breath, as the Captain knelt to pick up Brock’s body, an arm under his knees and the other behind his shoulders. She felt a sudden sickness go through her when Brock’s head fell limply backward as Rogers stood and, in the same moment, Barnes’ hand grabbed hers and held it to the side of his leg.

Barnes led her by the hand, following Rogers and the others toward the waiting Quinjet and her exfil. Allison’s eyes burned, unable to cry anymore or look away from Brock’s lifeless body. Onboard the jet, Rogers laid Rumlow along the row of jump seats across the bulkhead. Allison pulled her hand free and moved to his side. As the ramp went up and Romanoff took her seat in the cockpit, Allison lowered herself to the deck. One arm laid across his chest and a hand cradling his head still, she rested her head against his shoulder, eyes closed, for the three hour flight to Stark Tower.

Stark and Barton were waiting when the ramp lowered into the hangar. Allison saw the questions on their faces and in their slacked open jaws. She felt a hand briefly touch her shoulder and looked up to see the Captain standing above her, as he inclined his head as a silent direction for her to move. Barnes came forward, reaching down a hand for her to take, helping her up and holding on. Tony opened his mouth to speak, pointing a suspicious finger at Rogers as he scooped up Rumlow’s body, but Clint shut him down.

“Tony,” he shook his head, “don’t.”

Stark closed his mouth and stepped aside, guided back by Barton’s straightened arm across his chest when Rogers started down the ramp. His finger still pointed, following each person as they paraded by him, Romanoff slapped down his hand with a scolding look. Rubbing at the sting in his hand, his eyes followed Allison as she passed with a protective arm from Barnes across her shoulders.

Inside the elevator, Romanoff finally spoke. “We’ll take him to Medical,” she said, her voice as gentle as she was capable of making it and nodding to Allison. “You can see him there, later.”

The elevator stopped and Wilson stepped out, waving a hand for Allison to follow. “Come on,” he said, with a quick look to check with the Captain. “You can get cleaned up up here. …Are you hurt?”

With Barnes’ hand at the small of her back to urge her forward, Allison shook her head. There wasn’t a hurt that anyone or medicine could fix. Barnes stepped out of the elevator with her and they followed Sam into a long hallway, lined on both sides by closed doors. A few doors down the hall, Wilson opened one and gestured them inside. The door revealed a well appointed bedroom with a wall of floor to ceiling windows that showed the sun setting behind the Manhattan skyline in their width as it overlooked the Hudson.

“These are guest rooms,” Wilson explained, walking in. He pointed out the door for the bathroom. “There’s towels in there. We’ll get you some clean clothes. You can rest here, if you like.”

Allison stepped forward to the windows without so much as a nod to acknowledge the offer, her eyes scanning the city vacantly. Behind her, she heard Barnes quietly tell Sam to give them a minute. She heard a door close and looked back over her shoulder to see Barnes coming to her side. He put a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll be okay here,” he said, it sounding half like a question and getting a nod from Allison. “They’ll take care of him. I told Steve what he did.”

Eyes back on the city, she asked, “What did you tell him he did?”

“I told him he kept you safe,” Barnes answered.

Allison looked up at him, the wetness coming back to her eyes again. “Why?”

“Because he did,” he told her. “If he hadn’t told them you were part of Insight, if he hadn’t lied to set you up with HYDRA, they would have found a way to kill you a long time ago. They didn’t know you were his. If they did, it would have been easier to get you in, but they would have seen you weren’t one of them right away. It’s not hard to see, he worked your career when you rose in STRIKE, only giving them the parts of you they needed to let you get close. The rest he kept for himself.”

”I failed,” she told herself, giving a slow sweep of her head, staring blankly out the window. “Everything I did was to find him, to get my life back with him…and he’s gone.” A tear escaped her lashes, as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t do this without him. Me and him…we could run the world. And, now…I’m all alone again. I can’t do this.”

She heard him slowly inhale, beside her, before his hand curved over her shoulder. “You’re not alone,” Barnes promised. “Not anymore.”

Allison stiffened under his touch. A new heat coming to her eyes, as she jerked her shoulder away from him, twisting to see the confused worry on his face. Her heart raced, remembering, “You. You took him away.”

“Kate, no,” he began to protest.

“We were almost there,” she seethed. “We were gonna be okay.”

“I saw the two of you fall,” Barnes told her. “I thought he-”

“He saved me,” Allison said, tears coming freely now. She stepped into him, driving her arms into Barnes’ chest and upsetting him back a half step before he caught himself.

“Kate, I didn’t know,” he tried to explain, the gentle tone of his voice doing nothing to soothe her. “I heard the gunshots and I saw him take you down.”

“No,” she shook her head, gulping down a breath through her tears. “That’s not what happened.” Barnes reached out for her again, but Allison put another shove into him. “You did this!” Her chest heaving, she shook her head again, telling him, “We were almost there.”

“Kate, please,” Barnes begged, holding his turned up palm to her.

“Get out,” Allison shook her head. When he didn’t move, she cried, “Get away from me!” She shoved him again, pushing him backward toward the door. “We were almost there and you killed him!” Barnes was stumbling back to the door, as she pushed and sobbed, “You son of a bitch!”

After a few angry strides, she stopped having to drive Barnes away. He moved on his own, but still plead, “Kate, I didn’t know. I never w-”

“Get out!” she screamed, the air forced from her lungs doubling her over, as she fell to her knees after the door shut behind Barnes. A sob racked her body, as Allison told herself, “We were almost there.”

Tagging a couple people that might be interested. @ceebeetumbles @ilovethings-somuch @mycapt-ohcapt @onetomanyknives @saffreelove @svetlanaabril

#tumblr exclusive #the death of brock rumlow #echo #alternate ending #you asked for it #angsty fic #apologies for the feels #brock rumlow #allison addams #bucky barnes #eonao3 #whostheblondegirlwriting

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