Vibranium and Chrome 4

The air in Wakanda felt harsh and dry with every breath Bucky took. Yet he set his shoulders, aimed down the sight and as the four-armed rapid monstrosity charged at him with a roar, he gunned it down with the machine gun in his hands. The bullet tore through the Chutari and sent the alien flying back, but there was more. There was always more. Hydra would have fit them better, for when you cut one down, two others screeched and took its place, and all Bucky could do was hold the line.

They had been fighting for what felt like days, but Bucky knew it had been only hours. He dodged to the side as one of the Chutari flung itself at him. His magazine was empty, so he swung the heavy machine gun like a bat, and the reinforced butt slammed into the creature's head hard enough to pulp its eyes as blue blood was sent flying. For the first time, Bucky was given a second to breathe again.

The plasma-heated air that burned its way down, yet he took in gulps. His blue eyes searched for Rogers. Then he heard the muted boom of another fight, deeper into the forest. He glanced around. The Wakandans were a tough people, and the reinforcements Thor had brought with him, like the talking raccoon for one, were holding out well enough.

Rogers needed him, so he lifted his gun, ejected the spent mag and loaded in a new one before he left the plains and moved to the jungle where the fight continued.

Smoke drifted between the trees, black against the orange glow of fires still burning from the battle he had left behind. Bucky limped through the debris, his rifle slung over his shoulder. His human arm ached, while his metal one groaned in the dying light. Around him, the sounds of the fight had faded, replaced by uneasy silence.

He spotted movement through the foliage and took his gun in hand before crossing it and was greeted to the sight of his brother in all but blood.

"Steve," he called, his voice hoarse.

Rogers turned. The other man looked as bruised and battered as he felt, but the sight of each other was enough to bring them both relief as the emotion flickered across Steve's face. For a heartbeat, it almost felt like the war was over. Thanos was missing, every other person in the clearing looked battered but Thor. The god of lightning stood frozen, his axe on the ground stained blue. For a second Bucky thought they had won. He actually felt like it.

Then his rifle slipped from his grasp.

He frowned, looking down at his hand, at the ash beginning to form across his fingers. It was spreading so fast. In a blink of an eye it was up to his forearm. His body was disintegrating and turning to dust before his eyes. He turned from his limb and to the other man, and the utter look of horror on his best friend's face forced his heart to twist.

"Steve?" he said again, quieter this time. A simple word, loaded with too much meaning. It was a cry for help, yet an exhilaration of life, a call back to better days, and yet a goodbye. But most especially it was a thank you. A thank you to the man that defied the world for his sake.

His legs buckled. He reached out, taking a single step forward, and his other fingers began to scatter into the wind.

Rogers froze, eyes widening further with dawning horror.

"Bucky?"

The name reached him just before the world did and he smiled as his body broke apart into dust, carried away by the breeze. The last thing he saw was Steve running toward him.

x

He went from sleeping to awake in a single second.

It had been the first real sleep he had allowed himself since waking in the cryo pod. His body, still processing the exhaustion of three days of constant vigilance and movement, surrendered to it completely. He did not dream. The Winter Soldier project had trained him out of that years ago.

Instead he remembered.

His eyes blinked open. His arms rested over his chest while he slept on the floor, positioned in a way that if his window or doors were breached, he would have at least a second or two to lift his gun and bury an entire mag into the first person to cross its sights. After so long in cryo pods, soft beds had never felt comfortable.

Bucky stood up and shook his head in an attempt to physically shake away the last memories he had. The last memories of his time on Earth before he woke up in a cryo capsule once again. He moved to the window and drew the blinds down, peeking outside. The evening had already set in. The neon glow of Japantown bled through the window of his motel room, casting everything in shades of blue and pink. The rest of the world outside was slowly coming to life. He checked the time on the room's antiquated clock: 7:47 PM.

He had slept the whole night, past the day and into the night once more.

x

He showered again, washing away the remnants of sleep and inactivity. His body felt better already. Stronger. The micro-tears and strain his body had suffered due to moving before he completely thawed had begun to heal. The hunger that gnawed at his stomach reminded him that even super soldiers needed to eat.

He made his way out of his motel, head down, his long hair acting as a curtain that hid his face from the world. The street outside was transformed. Where Japantown had been quiet and controlled during the day, three days was more than enough for him to not be surprised by the change that occurred at night. The bars and clubs spilled neon light onto the sidewalks. People moved with purpose and celebration, corporate workers in expensive clothing mixed with street-level folks looking to spend their eddies. Their words were masked beneath the loud music that exploded from just about every corner store.

Bucky found the noodle shop he had scouted three days ago. It was a small one, a storefront building partially covered by the hotel that was bustling with people. The noodle shop was run by an elderly woman who barely looked up when he entered. He ordered ramen and sat in a corner booth, his back to the wall, his eyes on the door.

He ate quick, swallowing the noodles without even tasting it.

After eating, he paid his tab and moved deeper into Japantown. The night had fully set in now, and the district's character had shifted again. More bars were open now, their doors guarded by bouncers with obvious cybernetics and obvious attitudes.

The bar he chose, Turbo Bar according to the holographic sign, had a cover charge. Five hundred eddies just to walk through the door. It was excessive, but it was also a line that separated the serious patrons from the casual onlookers. Four burly men, heavy with cybernetics, acted as bouncers screening people and eyeing anybody that stayed still for too long.

Bucky did not have five hundred eddies to waste on a cover charge, but he needed to get in there. A simple glance at the people lining up to get in told him that the building was a hub of valuable information if you knew where to look. He needed an alternative entrance.

He found the restroom window easily enough. It was the same one he had identified during his initial scouting. He slipped through without difficulty. His enhanced strength and vibranium arm made short work of the grate, and the hidden camera in the alleyway was bypassed with even more ease.

He slipped into the restroom and stayed still for a second, on the off chance that he had missed someone. But he hadn't, so he stepped out of the restroom and into the bar proper. The interior of the bar revealed itself gradually as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.

Turbo Bar was a den of excess, which was in line with what he expected. Dancers moved on poles and platforms, their bodies augmented and enhanced. Patrons sat in small booths and at the bar, drinking and watching. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of expensive liquor. Every surface seemed to glow with soft purple and blue light.

If Bucky ignored the cybernetic augments, he could have imagined he was back in time, in a random club in Madripoor.

Bucky found a seat at the bar and ordered a drink. A cola. Apparently the company had survived the decades he had stayed asleep in cryo.

The patrons at the bar spoke freely, even if some were a bit hushed. The conversations around him provided more information than any surveillance could have. A group of Arasaka salary-men celebrated a successful quarter, their voices slurred with expensive whiskey. They talked about corporate politics, about promotions and power plays. Another table held what looked like a pair of Edgerunners. The man was big, as big as Crusher had been, dark-skinned and heavily augmented. The woman did not seem as augmented, even if she was just as brawny, with blonde hair cut short.

The way they carried themselves told him enough, even without glimpsing the guns the man hid in his big jacket. He even heard Wakako Okada's name mentioned once.

It was in passing, a reference to "the old lady" and her connections. Bucky filed it all away.

It took another fifteen minutes for the stripper to approach him. She had watched him for five minutes, reading his body language before determining he was a potential mark. Male, single, alone, quiet and brooding. She was right. He handed her a hundred eddies the moment she got to him, and without words. She smiled and accepted the offer.

While she danced against him, her movements practiced and smooth, Bucky asked his questions quietly.

"I need information about someone. A fixer. Wakako Okada."

The stripper's eyes flickered to him, making him note they were optics, considering her pupils were shaped as bright red love hearts. She leaned closer to him, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

"The old woman of Westbrook? Dangerous business, choom. What exactly do you want to know?"

"Anything you can tell me."

"Not a Night City local, eh? Anyway, Wakako Okada has been running the fixer game in Westbrook for decades. Word is she is connected to the Tyger Claws, but not in the way you would think. She does not work for them, but they protect her. So in this district, if you cross her, you get crossed out."

"Her location?"

"Operates out of a pachinko parlor on the edge of Japan Town, beneath the bridge and near the border with Charter Hill. Old place, been there since before I was born. But here is the thing." The stripper paused, adjusting her position as she continued her dance, the rhythm of her body distracting. "Word is she is unlucky. Or maybe she is just good at making people unlucky. Five husbands, all dead. Some natural, some not so much. People whisper that she knows something about their deaths. Maybe she caused them, maybe she just did not stop them. Either way, nobody asks questions about Wakako Okada and lives long enough to regret it." The woman finished with a pointed look.

Bucky processed this information without expression. A woman with five dead husbands and connections to organized crime was not the kind of person who would simply provide information out of the goodness of her heart. But she had orchestrated the raid on the facility. She had, in her own way, freed him. There had to be a reason. He refused to believe in simple chance.

"Thank you," he said, and handed her another fifty eddies.

The stripper smiled and moved on to her next potential customer.

Bucky sat and sipped his drink, processing. He needed to get to Wakako, preferably this night, but if he left as it was, odds were Tyger Claws would be protecting her at her parlor. He did not want to kill anybody to get to her. At least not yet. Lost in thought, the world moved on and the bar thrummed with life as the music pulsed and the lights danced.

Then something interesting finally happened.

The drunk man was corporate, that much was obvious. A rich one. His clothing was expensive, his cybernetics so fine they barely stood out. Whatever implants he had were done to enhance his looks or mind, not his strength. He did not need that with the figures of the duo of suited men with him. What he lacked in cyberware, they made up for it.

The man acted with a familiar kind of arrogance, the arrogance of someone who had never been told no. He had pinned the stripper that had danced for Bucky against the wall near the dancers' exit, his hands grabbing at her, his words slurred.

She pushed against him, but even if he was not augmented, he was still a man in his prime. The woman did not have a chance.

Before Bucky could entertain the thought of moving, another woman intervened. She was just as small as the dancer and dressed in a pair of jeans and a wide jacket alongside a white singlet. Yet she made up for her lack of physical presence with audacity. She grabbed the man's arm and yanked him away from the stripper with force.

"She said no," the woman said flatly.

The drunk man's face flushed with rage. Before he even thought it through, Bucky could already tell what he planned to do, the trajectory of the blow. A wide haymaker that anyone with a day of combat training would have dodged. It slammed into the woman and sent her to the floor. The stripper staggered back, looked at her savior on the floor, the two bodyguards that looked to be closing in on them to hide what their boss was doing from the rest of the group, then finally her eyes went searching until they saw his. They were wet with unshed tears.

For a second Bucky nearly looked away. That is what he would have done another lifetime ago. That is the choice the Winter Soldier would have taken. But James Buchanan Barnes was never one to look away. While he was no longer that man, for today at least, just for this moment, he would lie to himself. After all, it is what Steve would have expected him to do.

Bucky sighed and stood up.

He cut his way through the still unaware crowd of people, slipping past the ones he could and pushing the rest away. He got to the fiasco and acted immediately. His feet snapped out, catching the first bodyguard in the inner knee. The man fell to a knee and before he could turn around to face him, Bucky slammed the sole of his feet into the side of the man's head in a kick that knocked the man unconscious.

The second bodyguard turned in time to see Bucky walk up to him. He threw a punch. Vibranium hand caught the fist mid air, halting it, then he applied pressure, just enough to break the delicate finger bones. Before the man could scream in pain, a flat palm slammed into his throat, choking him. Then an elbow to the side of his head sent him to the ground unconscious.

Bucky took his second step forward. It had taken four seconds. From the moment he got in range to the moment he stood over the fallen woman and before the still drunk man. He stared back at Bucky with wide confused eyes, unable to process what had happened.

It was an exaggeration to say the bar fell silent, but everyone around them hushed, the slightest. The brief brawl had drawn attention. The people close by were looking on with interest. The winter soldier in him disliked the attention.

Dull blue eyes stared into brown glowing optics.

"Boo." He said flatly.

The man immediately stumbled back with a scream, then fell on his ass to the wild laughter and jeers of the clubgoers.

The dancer had already helped the still unknown woman to her feet. She gave Bucky a nod and a smile before disappearing into the crowd leaving Bucky and the other woman alone. The unnamed woman dusted herself before she looked around at the mess then back at bucky.

"Fuck, just our luck. We need to go," she said. "Now. The Tyger Claw bouncers are already moving."

Bucky looked past her. She was right. Three large men with obvious gang affiliations were pushing through the crowd toward them.

Bucky took all of a second to decide if he could handle them. The answer came easily. With his vibranium arm detached and one eye closed, he would step out of the fight without little more than bruises.

"You are not fighting them," the woman said like she could read his mind. "You might win, but not without a body count. And not without making every Tyger Claw in Westbrook want your head on a spike." The woman grabbed his arm. "Come on."

She moved fast, pulling him in a random direction, but halfway there, he caught her hand and changed direction as he spotted another pair of bouncers looking for them. So he took them toward the restroom. They slipped through the window just as shouts erupted behind them. The night air hit his face as they dropped into the alley.

The woman looked in surprise at the clean gateway they had made as well as the exit they had used. Then she shook her head and muttered something that sounded like Spanish before turning back to him. Under more natural and brighter lights, she looked younger. Early twenties maybe. "Come on pal, my car is close by. The least I can do is drop you off somewhere."

Bucky considered the offer, then nodded in agreement and followed after her. Her car was a rough thing, midnight blue, with roughly done modifications visible even to his untrained eye. More patches than he expected. She opened the door and raised a brow, daring him to make a comment. But Bucky was smarter than his looks let on so he simply nodded and then moved into the passenger seat.

"I am Judy, Alvarez," she said as she took her seat and fired up the engine. "Thanks for stepping in back there. It used to be that back when we started, no one would dare touch a worker. Nowadays, nobody cares anymore, especially for the workers that are not official members of the Mox." She finished with a defeated sigh as she pulled into traffic.

"Name is Bucky," he introduced himself after a short pause. She waited for a few seconds for him to add something else and when he did not, she let out a chuckle.

"The strong and silent type, eh? Not too surprised. You look it. So what are you, a solo?"

He knew the term. Victor had mentioned it, just like Edgerunner. Solo seemed to be another name for a merc. He was certain there was more nuance to it, but whatever they were, he did not know. He leaned his head against the window, watching the city go by before he answered. "I guess."

"That is preem. Considered trying out once, but I do not seem to have that edge, according to my friends, that is. The embarrassing scene a few minutes ago proved them right, I guess. Anyway, where am I dropping you?" Judy asked.

"A block from the pachinko parlor beneath the bridge," Bucky said. "The one on the edge of Japan Town. Near Charter Hill."

Judy's head whipped around, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I am not really from around here, but even I do not need to be to guess you are going to see Wakako? Looking for a gig? I know a couple of people and I can help fix you up with something preem."

"Thank you," Bucky said, not bothering to correct the misconception.

"So what is your number, so I can shoot you a text sometime?"

"I do not have a phone."

The shock from his answer silenced her as she drove him through the neon-lit streets of Night City. The city rushed past, a blur of lights and noise and humanity. When she finally pulled over a block away from his destination, she turned to look at him with a serious look on her face.

"Be careful. Whatever you are walking into, Wakako Okada does not take kindly to surprises. And I still owe you a favour, so whenever you are free come see me at Lizzie's bar up in Kabuki, Watson."

"I will," Bucky said, and he did.

He stepped out of the car, closed the door and watched as Judy drove away without another word, leaving him alone on the street with the neon glow of Night City around him as well as the brightly colored residents.

Bucky took a breath and started walking. He was finally going to get some answers.