It was a comm. That's what the armed figure was taking from the body. Barnes sat upright in bed and glanced at the time. No bothering Steve at this hour.
Comms could be contacted and traced. The solider knew how, so Bucky did too.
So who was the dead man? The folder Widow had given him produced a name, bio and contact data. Laurence Engers. Barnes paused. Why had Widow given him this? What had she expected him to do?
He hesitated, then picked up his own comm, the soldier's comm, and touched it to wake, glancing at the window as he did. It was HYDRA technology, yeah, but it was too useful to go in a box somewhere. The electric ink screen flooded matte black, then grey. He scrolled through the display until TRACE appeared. Then he pressed OK and entered the man's phone number.
UNAUTHORIZED.
He stared at the glaring message and felt a chill creep down his spine.
"They're dead," he mumbled to the window.
Wary, Barnes returned the comm to the modified shelf under the bottom lip of his nightstand, and from there drew out its his knife. He gripped the handle and rolled onto his feet, skirting away from the dark curtained glass and checking the lock on his door. Solid. Defensible. Satisfied, he flicked the lights off and crawled back into bed with the knife cradled against his chest and eyes fixed on the glass.
"Hey Buc?"
Barnes sat up slowly, pressing his flesh hand to his shooting back. It was morning and he had somehow ended up on the floor.
"You in there?" Steve was trying the locked doorknob.
"Yeah," he mumbled, standing and checking the area. The knife was somewhere, in his sheets probably. He frowned and opened the door. "What?"
"The news. It's your story, if you want to see it."
"The dead guys?"
In the living area the news channel had the segment on loop.
"It happened right here at the corner of Taffel and Elliot. Last Sunday, four doctors found dead in a closed machinery facility. Among them, Laurence Engers, a researcher at the American Cancer Institute. And the suspect? Well take a look at these surveillance photographs, released by the amended Freedom of Information Act. None other than the Triskelion's DC Shooter."
"Bull - " Barnes growled.
Steve fidgeted.
"Police Chief Derain spoke to us on the situation."
"This event appears to be a continuation of a set of serial murders over the past two months. With these photographs now linking the events to the at large DC Shooter, our investigation is making significant headway."
"Again, we bring you the developing story on the DC Shooter-"
"-." Barnes swore, and looked at Steve.
"They'll come asking," he echoed.
Barnes struggled with the clicker a moment, then shut off the display. "But do you see it? Whoever's in those photographs is clear of suspicion. It's aimed right at me, and it's only a couple dots to join. Whatever they're doing, I'm taking their fall."
Steve considered this, then went for the phone. "Natasha will have places. You can't stay here."