So it turns out Tony Stark's car was just another vector for the trigger words.
As soon as he heard Friday's voice suddenly echoing around him the Winter Soldier had stomped on the brakes hard enough for them to squeal, the smell of burning rubber filling the sports car and the vehicle fishtailing to a stop with a wheel wedged up on the curb, his hand flashing silver toward toward the door only to find the locks had all remotely engaged with a dull thunk. He loses a second there with the locks; another second trying to punch out the window (reinforced?) before Friday finishes rattling off the rest of the trigger words in quick succession, almost blurring them together faster than he's ever heard them used before so that they slam into his mind, his body, almost like a physical punch. That's the advantage of an AI: Friday doesn't get flustered and its enunciation is flawless.
Friday says stop. He stops.
Friday says stay where you are. He stays where he is.
Conflicting directives war with one another as the Soldier goes rigid in the driver's seat with his hands stiffly locked on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, barely seeming to blink as he twitches a little, a part of him struggling to fight off compliance as it always does and as always it's a losing battle in the end. Find Baron Zemo; free him; hand over the red book to Zemo because he is (was?) his handler. Stop. Stay where you are. Who's his current handler, Zemo or Friday? Can an AI be a handler?
Stop. Stay where you are.
He shouldn't, he still needs to -
- he doesn't want -
Stark's voice suddenly materializes next to the car. It takes every ounce of effort to even glance over, to flick just his eyes despite the order to stop. Sweat beads against Winter Soldier's clammy forehead. There's a faint, easy-to-miss tremble to his lower lip as he registers that Stark's somehow arrived, he's wisely suited back up, and that maybe he should've slit the man's throat after all and not gotten in his car in the first place. He hears more than sees Stark round the car and slide in, the passenger side dipping underneath the weight of his armored rig, the suspension creaking.
The drive back to Stark's tower is silent. The Winter Soldier can't speak and Stark's uncharacteristically quiet. Maybe he's regretting his earlier soft approach.
It's only when they pull back into the underground parking garage - exact same spot as last time, and there's the darkening red splotch of Tony's blood still drying against the concrete - that Friday speaks up again, the AI's voice filtering softly into the coupe and doing a surprisingly good job imitating the sound of a human's sympathy.
"Sergeant Barnes. Please exit the car and help Mr. Stark if he requires it."
The locks on all sides release with a click.
The new directive releases him from the stop order, the Winter Soldier visibly relaxing with a ragged gasp he doesn't realize he makes. It's the sound of a drowning man suddenly, unexpectedly, resurfacing above choppy waves; freed, his head swings toward Stark to stare at him with a mute, dead-eyed look. Stark's face is tight with pain, his skin paler than it was earlier. He looks like shit. Probably feels like it too. He can't say if he regrets he stabbed him or if he regrets he didn't stab him properly.
Without saying anything the Winter Soldier opens the door on his side and swings his legs out. This time he's the one rounding the car, stretching stiff legs that had been locked in the same position thanks to Friday. When he opens Tony's door, he doesn't lean in to snap his neck like he'd threatened to not even an hour ago.
Instead the Asset offers his left hand, silver palm up.
no subject
As soon as he heard Friday's voice suddenly echoing around him the Winter Soldier had stomped on the brakes hard enough for them to squeal, the smell of burning rubber filling the sports car and the vehicle fishtailing to a stop with a wheel wedged up on the curb, his hand flashing silver toward toward the door only to find the locks had all remotely engaged with a dull thunk. He loses a second there with the locks; another second trying to punch out the window (reinforced?) before Friday finishes rattling off the rest of the trigger words in quick succession, almost blurring them together faster than he's ever heard them used before so that they slam into his mind, his body, almost like a physical punch. That's the advantage of an AI: Friday doesn't get flustered and its enunciation is flawless.
Friday says stop. He stops.
Friday says stay where you are. He stays where he is.
Conflicting directives war with one another as the Soldier goes rigid in the driver's seat with his hands stiffly locked on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, barely seeming to blink as he twitches a little, a part of him struggling to fight off compliance as it always does and as always it's a losing battle in the end. Find Baron Zemo; free him; hand over the red book to Zemo because he is (was?) his handler. Stop. Stay where you are. Who's his current handler, Zemo or Friday? Can an AI be a handler?
Stop. Stay where you are.
He shouldn't, he still needs to -
- he doesn't want -
Stark's voice suddenly materializes next to the car. It takes every ounce of effort to even glance over, to flick just his eyes despite the order to stop. Sweat beads against Winter Soldier's clammy forehead. There's a faint, easy-to-miss tremble to his lower lip as he registers that Stark's somehow arrived, he's wisely suited back up, and that maybe he should've slit the man's throat after all and not gotten in his car in the first place. He hears more than sees Stark round the car and slide in, the passenger side dipping underneath the weight of his armored rig, the suspension creaking.
The drive back to Stark's tower is silent. The Winter Soldier can't speak and Stark's uncharacteristically quiet. Maybe he's regretting his earlier soft approach.
It's only when they pull back into the underground parking garage - exact same spot as last time, and there's the darkening red splotch of Tony's blood still drying against the concrete - that Friday speaks up again, the AI's voice filtering softly into the coupe and doing a surprisingly good job imitating the sound of a human's sympathy.
"Sergeant Barnes. Please exit the car and help Mr. Stark if he requires it."
The locks on all sides release with a click.
The new directive releases him from the stop order, the Winter Soldier visibly relaxing with a ragged gasp he doesn't realize he makes. It's the sound of a drowning man suddenly, unexpectedly, resurfacing above choppy waves; freed, his head swings toward Stark to stare at him with a mute, dead-eyed look. Stark's face is tight with pain, his skin paler than it was earlier. He looks like shit. Probably feels like it too. He can't say if he regrets he stabbed him or if he regrets he didn't stab him properly.
Without saying anything the Winter Soldier opens the door on his side and swings his legs out. This time he's the one rounding the car, stretching stiff legs that had been locked in the same position thanks to Friday. When he opens Tony's door, he doesn't lean in to snap his neck like he'd threatened to not even an hour ago.
Instead the Asset offers his left hand, silver palm up.