No need to sugar coat things. Dane is half way to wasted. He’d been through a great deal, lately, with the power of the Ebony Blade taking it’s toll. The power of the blade had destroyed every wielder who had come before him, and was working it’s curse on Dane as well. Oh how little he knew.
It hadn’t been the hundred thousand dollar security system that had tipped him off to the presence of the Winter soldier, but Percy. The damn ghost appeared before him, screaming bloody murder about a thief. An interloper. So he’d drunkenly jogged his way to the vault where the blade was kept. He rounded the corner with a bottle of expensive vodka in his hand, a helmet on his head and, frankly, nothing else but his boxers.
What. The guy can’t have a nervous breakdown in his skivvies? Cut him a break.
Dane scrambles behind the corner once more as shots are fired, screaming. Not just from the fear, but the pain of a bullet. He was half way to slumping onto the ground when something metal rolled in front of him. The pain in his shoulder entirely forgotten in the wake of the flash bang going off. He’s thoroughly deafened and blinded by the pop, screaming, ears bleeding.
He’s gonna feel all this tomorrow.