Winter of the White Wolf

Chapter 35 - Jenga Retrograde

It was not the first time the soldier had been told Steve Rogers was dead.

It wasn't even the second time.

But he'd also seen him alive only days earlier, which made the statement stall in his mind.

The soldier's eyes narrowed as they carefully assessed the man in front of him. The soldier focused, rapidly running through a series of quick checks he cross-compared to his internal rubric on tells between if someone was lying or telling the truth.

Eyes - Focused. Vision stable. Pupils responsive.

Pulse - Approximately 140 beats per minute. Nominal change compared to rate taken prior to statement.

Breathing pattern - Labored due to constricted airway. Data deemed unremarkable for determining possibility of verbal manipulation.

Perspiration - Increased. Potentially connected with concern for self-preservation. Data also deemed similarly unremarkable.

The results could never be conclusive, especially when evaluating a trained agent, but Sam Wilson didn't appear to have any obvious tells that he was intentionally lying.

But it also didn't make his statement true.

The soldier took notice that the fight had long-since faded from the man underneath his hands. Sam was approaching the point where he risked going unconscious from continued lack of oxygen, so he loosened his grip but continued to hold him aloft against the wall. As his black metal hand held the man's throat, he found himself pushing aside the strange ghost of a sensation he felt. It was almost as if the change in pressure and position registered through his left arm. When had that modification been added? And why did the assembly seem lighter and less irritating?

He pushed the thoughts aside for later investigation. The man in front of him wouldn't be of any use to him if he were dead, and he was certain if the people here believed he might be, then their unofficial stalemate was likely to come to an immediate halt.

Sam Wilson's body shuddered as he choked out a gasp but kept his eyes focused on his own. He couldn't read his expression, but he felt like he should. It was very distinct. There was something in the eyes he couldn't place. The only thing the soldier felt certain of was that the man in front of him believed his words.

That Steve was dead.

It didn't make the words true, but Sam Wilson believed them.

What was his play here? Perhaps he'd been given false information in order to gauge a reaction?

But if that was the case, what was Sam's mission?

"In 2023?" he found himself asking. The better part of him knew this wasn't the time for further interrogation, but he felt compelled to find out if Sam had misspoken in haste or due to oxygen deprivation.

The soldier could feel Sam's hands tremble beneath his palm and the firm pressure he applied to them. The man's whole body shuddered as a renewed flutter of pain radiating from the breaks in his hands, "~-It's 2024 now,-~" he clarified, voice weak and winded.

The soldier couldn't know if any of it was true, but the man panting weakly under his fingers seemed to believe the words spilling out of his mouth.

He squinted at that proclamation, running the numbers through his head and cross-comparing it to the last date he felt reasonably certain of. If it was true, how had so many years passed without his knowing? Had they wiped him immediately after he'd come out of cryo? But if they'd wiped him, why did he remember?

He wasn't supposed to remember.

Perhaps this group of scientists had another goal altogether? But if they selectively wiped years from his memories, why those ones in particular?

None of it made any sense.

Facts he'd initially pieced together remained at irreparable odds with one another: If Sam's current mission objective was Steve Rogers, he couldn't also believe his target to be dead the year prior. Could he?

But 2024? It seemed unlikely, but the man in front of him appeared to believe the claim.

The soldier adjusted his grip and Sam managed to squawk out, "~-Wallet.-~"

His instincts firmly insisted he should get moving and this wasn't the time for paltry examination, but there was a curiosity to the strange demand he decided to indulge.

The soldier kept his eyes locked on Sam's while he lifted his right hand from Sam's hands and slipped it into his side pocket so he could retrieve the man's wallet. He wasn't sure what he was getting at, especially since documents and IDs were easy to fake, but he opened the tri-fold brown leather wallet and eyed the contents. He lifted the wallet high enough that he could continue to keep an eye on his surroundings, and stay alert in case this was simply a play to stall for time.

Which it probably was.

He examined the Military ID first. Samuel Thomas Wilson. Armed Forces of the United States. Air Force. Rank: E7. The issue date was listed as 09/23/2023 alongside an expiration date of 09/23/2028. Blipped: Yes.

Whatever that meant.

He thumbed through insurance cards and pulled out the corner of the nearest credit card with a stylized logo he recognized. The expiration date on the first one listed 11/2024 and the one behind it was stamped with 06/2026. Sam silently watched him peel back a few loose bills in the far back. The topmost twenty-dollar bill was stamped Series 2023, but the figurehead and design were different from what he remembered.

Odd.

It didn't prove anything of course, but it corroborated his story.

If the dates were true, if that much time had passed, had he been under cryo this whole time?

And was Steve Rogers dead?

Inconclusive.

"~-Yours is.-~-Your back pocket.-~" Sam offered. The soldier regarded him critically. This was a play, he was certain of it.

Before he could decide how to proceed and if he wanted to feign interest in Sam's continued attempts to manipulate him, a sudden vibration in his rear pocket drew his attention.

He tightened his grip and kept his eyes steady on his hostage as he pocketed Sam's wallet and slipped his hand into his rear pocket. His fingers slid along the leather of the wallet Sam mentioned, and then slipped to the device that was vibrating against it.

In a smooth motion, he pulled a thin, silver-backed cell phone from his rear pocket. His eyes flicked to Sam's as he observed the device with passing curiosity. It listed an incoming call from "J. Rhodes" below a smiling photo of a man posing in an armored suit.

War Machine, his memory clarified from old intelligence reports.

His hand remained motionless as he allowed the phone to vibrate until it fell silent. Once it did, the home screen returned to a photo that looked to be an orange-cast sunrise or sunset over a body of water.

He wasn't sure what to make of it or why it was passingly familiar.

Probably another misdirection.

He returned the phone to his rear pocket as he tried to piece together how that particular military officer played into all of this. Was he an undercover agent as well?

A moment later, his side pocket vibrated and he narrowed his eyes accusingly at Sam: because it was his phone that was vibrating this time.

Sam didn't say anything as the soldier pulled the phone free: Same caller. That was Interesting. The soldier was of two minds: He could ignore the phone and keep moving, or perhaps he could use it as a way to glean more information about his current situation.

He kept his eyes on Sam, watching him for signs he was considering anything clever at all as he slowly lowered him to the ground. Once his feet caught the floor and the soldier felt certain Sam wasn't planning on struggling, he clearly stated his intentions, "You're going to take this call. If there's any misbehavior, a single word, he'll get to hear you bleed out on speakerphone."

The smallest wave of relief shot through Sam the moment his feet were on the floor again and his legs could support his weight rather than the straining muscles of his neck. He wasn't sure who the caller was at first, but the better part of him was relieved as anything when he saw Not-Bucky pivot the phone in his direction and caught that the portrait of the caller wasn't Sarah. Thank god have mercy: He wasn't sure his heart could have handled that particular conversation just then.

That being as it was: Rhodey wasn't exactly the social call he wanted right now either.

For the first time in his blissful life, he found himself wishing it was a telemarketer, someone claiming his car was in need of an extended warranty, anything. Hell: he would have taken some teens taking dares prank-calling Captain America over this.

Damn it.

Instinctively, he started to reach out one clawed hand to try and take the device, only to have HYDRA's off-brand take on the Terminator-1000 reflexively snap the phone away from him.

It was probably for the best.

Sam was doing what he could to ignore how the nerves in his hands and fingers were screaming at him in protest with what felt like each and every heartbeat. They looked more like dark, misshapen mittens than the hands and fingers he remembered. It wasn't hard to piece together the grim reality that he was still useful as a hostage even if he couldn't hold a damn thing.

He was certainly not going to be throwing that shield or doing much at all for awhile if he survived this.

He really did want to survive this.

He told himself if he could just… just wake Bucky up, they'd find a way through whatever this was. He could forgive him, right? He'd done it before. This wasn't him. Wasn't his choice.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he also tried to swat away the passing thought that if this could happen again, would he really be comfortable sleeping in such close proximity to him? Or leaving him alone in the house with Sarah and his nephews?

...Yeah...

He didn't have time for thoughts like those as the assassin, clad in black, blue, and lines of gold, held out the business end of a cell phone in his direction.

"No funny business," Sam promised, because he wasn't sure what else he was going to say besides the fact that he wanted this to be the world's shortest phone call. Beyond the searing pain in his hands, he was finding it rather hard to concentrate on feigning things were a drop okay for any audience about now, especially with those frightful blue eyes piercing through him and that vibranium hand of his resting tight and threatening over his clavicle.

Now that he thought about it: he probably didn't need intact ribs or clavicles to be a useful hostage either.

He was damn sure the man looming in front of him already knew that, though. Knew the proper order to twist and break bones to draw things out if needed. He had seventy years of training under some of the biggest assholes on the planet, after all.

Sam pushed that bucket of awful aside and did his best to focus on taking the first full breaths of air he'd been permitted in what felt like the better part of half an hour. He wasn't altogether sure how much time had passed, either. A fleeting glimpse to his watch didn't help any, because the dome had apparently been cracked to hell by Bucky's hand too.

Damn he'd forgotten how strong he really was when he wasn't keeping it all tempered and bottled up.

Which was more than a little unsettling and a whole lot of frightening under the circumstances.

As the super Soldier flicked the slider on the phone to accept the incoming call from Rhodey and set it to speaker phone, Sam tried to tune out the narrow hallway, the assassin glowering in front of him, and the cacophony of pain radiating from all over his body. He did his best to channel whatever paltry theatre electives he'd taken back in High School and summoned up what he hoped was an altogether convincing, "Rhodey, Brother! How you doing?" He could feel his voice shaking. Could Rhodey hear it too?

"Same old, same old," Rhodey pleasantly rolled from the other end of the call, "You know how it is: a bottomless buffet of neverending paperwork these days. Hey, I gave Barnes a ring but he didn't pick up so I wanted to try your cell. They have a developing situation in Symkaria I'm sure Torres has already been feeding you intel about, but the UN's officially asking for some outside help now. They've authorized Barnes since they suspect a Super Soldier might be responsible for the hits, but I also wanted to reach out to you to see if you wanted to get involved too. I wasn't sure if Captain America came as part of a package deal, or if you preferred to sit this one out."

Rhodes had said a lot of words, and Sam was doing his best to focus on them, but he was also finding himself unable to keep his full attention on the call when his eyes were also searching the man's expression in front of him, hoping for some tell of a reaction, or perhaps fearing retaliation. It took him a beat longer than he would have liked to get his senses about him, but a firm press against his clavicle brought him back to the immediate present. The actual hell was he supposed to say, though? Sorry Rhodey, Buck couldn't come to the phone because he was seeing fit to use me as a shield and was busy mangling my hands during a brief but very pointed round of Q&A. You have any interest trying to get a word in with him about what happened to Steve? Because I sure as hell don't want to broach it. In fact: Now that I think about it, there are a pair of black flowers sittin' in water back in our suite that are a whole hell of a lot closer to that solemn topic than I'm wanting to be about now.

The pressure on his clavicle tightened and Sam scrambled to get his words under him, "Ah yeah. Well Bucky's not with me at the moment," he half-lied because he was looking right at Not-Bucky, "but if it's all the same to you, I'd like to run it by him before I make a call either way. Partners and all."

Sam kept hoping he'd see some reaction, but it was like looking into a statue of the man he knew. Same features: no change. A painful amount of nothing.

"Understood," Rhodey acquiesced, voice shifting back to pleasantries now that official business was out of the way, "Torres told me you needed to make a detour to Wakanda. How is it? I keep meaning to make it back, but I haven't managed to carve out the time. Always one more thing that needs handled, you know?"

Sam was torn between wanting the call over now, or letting it air out so he could continue to catch a few more welcome sips of fresh air before that hand returned to his neck. He didn't have a solemn clue what the Frosty the Murder Snowflake was hoping to glean from the conversation, but apparently he was willing to let the conversation play out a little longer, "The food alone's something else, and I'm pretty sure you could spent two full days in their Aeronautics museum and not see everything. You know the Wakandans beat us to manned flight?"

"For real?"

"For real. You'll find yourself taking a whole hell of a lotta humble pie, especially once you compare their dates to the ones in our noble Air and Space Museum." Sam felt pressure increase against his sternum. He got the message: wrap it up, "Anyway, I should probably get going. But we'll catch up soon, okay?"

"Yeah. Stay safe out there and let Barnes know his voicemail's full, will you?

"Heh, yeah. Sounds about right. I'll let him know. Talk soon," Sam concluded. He hoped the performance was sufficient, because right now? He felt like he was on the verge of throwing up his lunch with how much his nerves were bouncing all over the place at once.

The Soldier used his thumb to end the call and regarded Sam with that eerie, vacant expression of his. He just kept expecting there to be some reaction behind those eyes, but if news that Steve was gone wasn't enough, or that Sam was now Captain America, he wasn't sure what was.

But he sensed a pause happening here. Not a moment, but it was clear the gears were turning in that man in front of him with Bucky's face. Sam only wished he would put the important pieces together. What he wasn't expecting was for his next question to be -

"What're you after in Symkaria?"

Of literally all the pieces the cyborg assassin could have latched onto, that was his question? He figured honesty was the only real play here. Besides: If he was talking, he was alive and breathing, "The last of the royal family was taken out by an unknown assassin that can leap between buildings." He decided to risk supplying an additional statement of fact, "You and I were in Aniana two days ago investigating."

The man looking back at him kept that same creepy neutral expression on his face as he deadpanned one of the first potentially useful things he'd said so far, "That wasn't where either of us were two days ago."

Us?

The pressure against Sam's clavicle stayed firm as the solemn fact in that statement, but the hand didn't press harder. It was at that moment that Sam got the distinct impression that maybe there was a lot more going on in the Soldier's head than he was letting on or that Sam was giving him credit for. Maybe his read on all this wasn't nearly as straightforward as he originally thought?

Who was this guy?

Sam wasn't sure what all this pointed to, but he felt like he had maybe one more question he could risk asking till this moment of theirs came to a sudden close and they'd be back to that hand tight around his throat and business as usual. Bucky hadn't reacted to his name, to him, to the Wakandans, to the date, or even the news about Steve. He didn't blink an eye about the remark about Captain America or 'Partners,' but he'd latched onto Symkaria, why?

He could've asked a question about that, should've, probably, but instead his stupid mouth went back to try to search out some common ground that might wake him up.

So what did he say? He tried to steal a line Steve'd told him like it was his own, like that could make all the difference, "You used to tell Steve, 'Till the end of the lin-'"

He didn't see the swing coming.

One second he was flapping his lips, the next, he heard his nose crack open and the world went searing black.

And then there was nothing.

Ayo thought it no accident that the Soldier had managed to locate a spot just out of sight from the Wakandan Design Group's security cameras, but the Chief of Security pressed on as she led the way up the last few stories of the emergency stairwell. None of them knew what his plan was, but when he'd suddenly stopped moving, a growing panic rose in Shuri and she'd had to slow her steps so she could try and deduce what was happening just out of sight.

"His vitals barely fluctuate," She complained to no one in particular before suddenly adding, "Oh! I think he's moving again." She nearly stumbled on one of the stairs as she focused her attention on trying to pull up additional camera feeds of the area the Soldier had just stepped into. Her tone dropped, "Oh… oh no…"

Ayo quickly turned her head around. From this angle, she couldn't get a good look at what Shuri saw in the live feeds, but the princess's expression was far more troubled than it had been only moments before, "What is it?"

"Sam is no longer walking," Shuri's strained voice supplied, "The Soldier is dragging him by his chest, but I cannot tell if he is merely unconscious or…" her voice faded off.

Or dead. Ayo silently finished.

"There is a trail of blood in their wake," the princess's voice added unsteadily as she watched the footage. The Soldier's arm crossed Sam's chest, supporting his weight while his feet dragged behind him on the floor. His body was limp and lifeless, his head rolled over to one side like a worn stuffed toy.

Moments later, Ayo's Kimoyo Beads shimmered with a new message from Nailah, one of her Doras stationed just inside the cafeteria:

[Author's Note: The following exchange is offered as a series of text messages. It plays out much better with how I visually coded it if you want to look for this chapter over on AO3/Archive of Our Own.]

Nailah:

The hostage does not appear to be moving.

Should we intervene?

Ayo:

No, do not engage.

Does the hostage appear injured?

Alive?

Nailah:

I cannot easily tell if he is alive or not, but his eyes are closed.

There is a great deal of blood on his face and shirt, and his nose may be broken.

His neck and hands are dark and bruised.

He does not look well.

If he breathes at all, it is shallow.

Ayo:

Do not do anything to earn his captor's attention.

We aim to allow him to the surface where we plan to intervene.

Alert four of the Dora nearest to the entrance to be prepared to enter the main hallway to prevent him from doubling back.

Do not engage.

Nailah:

Bast offer her speed to you.

Ayo didn't have to ask who had given Sam such injuries, but she did not know why. Had the Soldier been trying to get information from him? If so, what? Had he not been willing?

The Chief of Security had been so deep in her thoughts that for a moment, she had forgotten those around her were looking to her for information. She did what she could to ground herself before she spoke, "It appears the Soldier has grievously injured Sam. Nailah is uncertain if he yet lives, but we have to assume he does." She did what she could to detach herself from the situation before her as she bore into her years of training, "It would not make sense for the Soldier to continue to carry him otherwise."

"We've not known the Soldier to lay claim to trophies," Yama saw fit to add.

Shuri cringed and shook her head rapidly, as if trying to clear her head. Her eyes went to Ayo as the group of them got moving again.

"He must have been trying to draw information out of Sam," Nomble offered, "Why else would the Soldier seek to injure him?"

"I do not know," Ayo spoke aloud, quickening her pace to scale the final flight of stairs to the surface, "But I do not think it happenstance that he did so away from where our cameras could see him."

"What are we to do when we reach the surface?" Nomble saw fit to ask.

It was a fair question, but one Ayo was uncertain how to answer. Yet all the same, it was her role to know what tactic they and the other Dora should take.

Her next words carried with them the weight of many lives, so she did not speak them lightly, even if no clear path presented itself.

They could not simply wait and do nothing.

"We need to lure him away from the building and the central chasm. We have seen him fight, we know how far he can throw or kick if agitated, and I do not want to put any of us in a position where we might find ourselves at the bottom of the mine's shaft. Once we are clear, Shuri can see what might be done to disable him."

"Do we seek an opportunity to use our words before we show our teeth?" Nomble asked, her question clear but without judgement for whatever Ayo believed they must do.

Ayo understood the crux of her inquiry, but did not feel confident the option was open to them any longer.

It did not mean she would not try.

Ayo retracted her spear until it was but a cylinder in her hand. It was all the conviction Ayo could offer her lieutenant.

"What if…" Nomble spoke as she twisted her face in thought and retracted her own spear in silent solidarity, "if the central core is like the memories we carbon date?"

As they reached the final platform and door leading to the topside of Mount Bashenga, the group's attention turned to Shuri to weigh in on Nomble's inquiry, "Speak quickly," Ayo insisted, for they were running out of time.

Shuri caught on to Nomble's inquiry, "...That it could be an echo of a certain Soldier we see before us," her face twisted as she evaluated the new theory, "or a blend. But which?"

"One that knows Sam," Yama volunteered without hesitation, before quickly clarifying, "at least in some way."

When Ayo turned her attention to question her lieutenant, Yama offered one of her easygoing shrugs, "He had opportunity to try to take captive either of you. He chose Sam. I watched him. It was like seeing a lion select a gazelle. There was intention."

Before either of them could speak another word, Ayo caught sight of her communication bead blink along her wrist. She toggled it quickly, expecting a report from another of her Doras. Instead, what she saw was notification of an incoming call that was not from a set of Kimoyo Beads, but a cell phone: James' cell phone.

*Tssszt!* Ayo made a noise with her lips, drawing those gathered around her to silence, "It is a call from him."

"He's just past the cafeteria," Shuri quickly supplied, pulling up a live video feed of a hallway that showed the Soldier holding a lifeless Sam in one arm while he calmly, and quite unexpectedly, regarded the lens of the security camera observing him.

The Soldier was hunched over like a predator in wait as he gripped the man beneath him with superhuman ease. A trail of blood streaked the front of Sam's shirt, trailing down the front and into a messy path on the marbled greytone floor below.

It was chilling. Unsettling for any number of reasons, including the memories it drew up in Ayo's mind that she did not have time for now.

Ayo nodded to herself, took a short breath, and accepted the call.

She chose to speak first, reminding herself for not the first time that the man on the other end did not know her, but it would not stop her from trying to find a way through to him, "White Wolf?" she breathed the name, as if trying to summon him forward through sheer will alone.

The voice that answered was not his, "Don't play games with me. I know your people are keeping watch. All of you need to back off or else I'll kill Wilson."

Shuri mouthed 'He knows Sam?' and Ayo frowned. It seemed perhaps Yama's instincts were correct, "We don't want a confrontation," Ayo assured him, trying to keep her voice as calm as she could, "We only wish to talk."

"Not interested," the man on the other end said flatly, but with a palpable menace to his tone, "and if you decide to say one more word in Russian, это будет последнее слово, которое вы скажете, точка." That will be the last word you say, period.

Ayo's blood ran cold. She struggled to separate herself from the situation, to think of this an opportunity to try to get through to the other James she wanted to believe was still somewhere in there, "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You are in Wakanda because-"

The voice on the other end managed something of a feral snarl as it interrupted her, "You don't get to say that name." The Soldier's tone shifted back to its original threatening poise, "Last warning. If I come out the doors up ahead and anyone tries to stop me or follow me, Wilson will be the first to die. I'll come for you next." The line abruptly dropped and Ayo was left staring at the Kimoyo Beads around her wrist.

Before she could say anything, Nomble found her voice, "He claims Sam is alive, but… that was… not the Soldier we have fought so often, Ayo."

"It is not," Ayo agreed, "But who? Did you hear how his tone shifted once I spoke his name?"

"He recognized it," Shuri observed, "But that it was vile on your tongue."

"Perhaps he believes we are at odds," Yama said as she saw fit to retract her spear so it was but a vibranium cylinder in her hand.

"We have been at odds many times," Ayo admitted, "Could it be his memory has latched onto that and warped it into a truth?"

Shuri shook her head, "I still do not know. This is not like we have seen before." Her expression grew frustrated, with a layer of profound, personal guilt that pained Ayo to bear witness to, "If only we were in the lab so I could better understand-"

"What if we are looking at it wrong?" Nomble interjected, stepping over Princess Shuri's words. The whole group of them regarded her then, for it was both remarkably improper and out of character for her to speak over Shuri. Nomble immediately caught the misstep and quieted, looking for permission for Shuri to speak. The princess waved a hand, urging her to continue, but to hurry while Shuri monitored the Soldier's location through his tracker and the cameras within the compound.

Nomble continued, "What if instead of simply seeking a destination, he sought to escape from the lab. From what the lab represents?"

"From that it represents?" Shuri required clarification.

Nomble nodded, "As when he was coming out of cryo, in a daze. When he is reactive because his senses are confused and his mind cannot yet tell friend from foe."

"...that his chilled instincts react as if we mean to do harm, even if he is not in the throws of an Event," Ayo concluded.

"It is only a theory," Nomble admitted, careful to find her place in the hierarchy around her.

"But it is a worthwhile theory," Shuri corrected, adding, "But what of Sam?"

"The Soldier must believe him to be valuable quarry," Yama returned, "but why?"

When Shuri's eyes lifted to Ayo's, she saw a new horror latch into in her charge's expression, at the host of unknowns and frightening possibilities laid out before them like a wash of pebbles cast into a bottomless lake, "What if we are wrong and it is not the Soldier at all?"

Author's Remarks:

I tossed a quick little Soldier/Sam sketch I did up on Ao3 (ArchiveOfOurOwn) if you're curious to check it out. I didn't want to delay posting this chapter, so I kept it nice and loose, but I might update it if I continue to work on it!

Juggling all these points-of-view and characters trying to assess what's going on while only having fractions of guesses at the larger picture is… definitely a whole *feeling.*

I try to put a fair bit of thought into the titles for each chapter (some more than others), but for this one, I had this wonderful visual of basically watching a game of Jenga come to its inevitable conclusion… and then allowing the footage to be played in reverse, so you'd see all these Jenga pieces sprawled all over the place, and then slowly start to come back into a fragile tower shape filled with holes. I feel like that's where we are now with the Soldier/Bucky and our understanding of what's going on in his mind.

But I digress: There's a lot more action just around the corner... I wonder what the Soldier's plan is...?

Once again: Thank you, thank you for all the questions, comments, kudos, and just… joining me on this journey. I can't begin to tell you how immensely satisfying it is to find myself posting a chapter, and then being greeted with so much enthusiasm and support. Just: Thank you!

I plan to continue to post new chapters 1-3 times a week into the foreseeable future. I'd like to think of it sort of like offering you wonderful readers a few mini-episodes per week. :)

Thanks again for helping me keep the fire alive these last three months and onward!

Written to "Emergency Protocol" by Marcus Warner.