what kind of self-respecting mad scientist skips straight to human trials anyway
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01 Mar 2017
All five of the dogs were in the backyard, bounding enthusiastically through an obstacle course assembled from the kind of junk that accumulated in rich people’s attics. There were platforms made of legless chairs, tents of old tablecloths to run through, and a pile of sofa cushions the dogs took great delight in plowing into. The dogs were being directed by a one-armed man with long brown hair and a serious case of resting murderface.
"You guys," Clint hissed. "That's the Winter Soldier."
"Oh, word?" America said. She looked idly at her nails.
Kate rolled her eyes. "Of course we knew. How many one-armed amnesiacs do you think are running around these days? It's fine, I shot at him a little when he first turned up to make sure he wouldn't go berserk."
"He was real polite about it," America said. "Didn't return fire or anything."
(In which Clint liberates a pack of serum-enhanced dogs and ends up collecting one more stray than he bargained for.)