The man was crawling away. He had broken a leg in the struggle, and he couldn't even bring himself to walk. If Caspar was a pettier man, he'd be offended that he wasn't inspiring enough terror to cause the man to walk despite his injury. As it was, he just took satisfaction in what fear he was causing. Was this the wrong city to be having fun in? Absolutely. Taking his time with a kill in Metropolis was just asking for a member of the Super-family to come down and try and stop him. The key word being try. Caspar knew that, despite his superiority to any human, he couldn't pose much of a fight to Clark Kent, but sometimes he thought it would be fun to try. A true challenge for his formidable skills. 

But as it was, he was stuck hunting down simple humans. Important ones, for sure. Ones who could post a threat to HYDRA if left unchecked, but Caspar wished just once that that threat could be physical, for once. Instead he was still following up on that damn journalist who had found something out about HYDRA while researching them for a story. Of course, they could not stay in the shadows forever, but Caspar knew that letting Kammi decide when they made their presence truly felt to the public was the best path to take. So here he was, killing the editor of the paper the journalist had been writing for. The chance that they'd been in contact was too high to leave him to go unchecked. Which meant that that poor, unfortunate editor, his only truly bad decision being trying to compete with the Daily Planet in Metropolis, had woken up to the sound of his door being kicked in.

To his credit, he'd tried to fight, but a tired, unfit human throwing clumsy punches did little to dissuade Caspar, and he'd started to take his leisurely time with the "fight", as it were. Once the man was somewhat subdued, Caspar had taken his time, finding an intact door to slam him against until it had splintered and the man had gone through, blood leaking from lacerations in his skins. That's when he'd broken his leg. He was trying to reach the front door, screaming for help, and Caspar was taking his time, dawdling, going through his weapons, deciding what would make for the easiest and funnest kill. The editor actually reached his front door, desperately crawling through it, and Caspar continued to follow him, practically whistling.
"Please!" The editor cried out as Caspar callously stepped on his leg, making his screams increase in pitch and volume. A woman looked through her curtains and Caspar stared her dead in the eye before pulling out his Mauser and shooting her with barely a second glance. 
"We are beyond begging, my dear man," Caspar told him, mock sympathy in his tone.
"Please! I have a family!" And yet the pleas continued.
"You have a mother in upstate New York," Caspar sighed, "And I'm sure she'll miss you terribly." 

And then Caspar's tomahawk came down and separated the editor's head from his neck. The severed arteries gushed crimson onto the grass, and Caspar looked down at it impartially. He started to leisurely look around, his gun out again, waiting to see if anyone else was looking, almost begging for somebody to challenge him.

James needed out of the tower. He'd been spending entirely too much time training Titans and squaring up the Avengers for combat. Between those two full time projects, he'd barely had time to do anything else. Not that he minded spending so much time in costume. He was used to living as Cap now, but he figured that he might as well actually be seen doing actual Cap things. Field work and all that.

The 1969 Impala hovered over the city, propelled by SHIELD's lovely flying car technology. He'd taken time when he was the Winter Soldier to layer a whole bunch of tech through out the car. It made it easier to get around. Batman had the batmobile and James had the Impala. It kept balance. He'd heard a ping over the scanner, just then.

After a moment or two of tuning in the signal, James listened to the dispatcher report that a man had been beheaded by an unknown assailant. It wasn't Cap's usual bag, but it was only a few blocks away. James activated the car's cloak and made a beeline for the scene.

Moments later, the car's sensors were showing him the scene. James decided the best plan of action was a brazen, direct attack. He brought the car in low, still cloaked. Then took a second to clip on his shield to his back. If this went wrong, he'd need it there to take the impact and save his spine. A few button taps and the autopilot course was programmed.

The door opened and James leaned out, hiding behind the cloaked door. He counted to ten in his head and then jumped out, angling himself for Crossbones, coming at him from an angle with both armed crossed over his head. If Cap hit, then he would hopefully keep the man from running. If he didn't or was deflected, well, the shield was there for a reason.

Caspar wasn't sure what else he expected to happen at the scene. Neither hide nor hair had been heard of Superman or his family in a long time, so it wasn't like he would be granted the chance to test himself against a Kryptonian. Any other superheroes in the area were likely small time. Barely worth the effort it would take to kill them. And of course, the American police would have to respond to somebody being decapitated in their own front garden, but Caspar had already shot the most likely witness, and they had the natural laziness of Americans. By the time the so-called 'cops' arrived, it would likely be past the point Caspar could justify staying just for the fight. 

And then something collided into him, sending him backwards. Easy enough to turn into a backwards roll and hop to his feet, although there was some ache where he had been hit. At first, he was wondering if it was some overzealous neighbourhood watchman, or perhaps an enthusiastic teenaged superhero, until he saw the shield. Perfect. A smirk spread over his face.
"Captain America," He said with a mock bow, his axe in his hand, "It's an honour. To think America's finest can drag himself away from whatever he does all day to respond to a simple murder. I'm sure the deceased would be expressing his gratitude, were his head still connected to his lungs." Three taunts in one, and perhaps a little wordy, but he was sure it would be forgiven, as English was not his first language. 

What had started as a smirk turned into a genuine smile. Captain America, the man he had heard about for years. There was no way of ending this peacefully. He was going to get to test his mettle against one of the finer products of American science. Well, German always was more efficient. Of course, he had already taken one hit, but that had been perhaps unavoidable, and it hadn't been severe. Perhaps he could have wished to be better armed. A mauser, a couple of knives, and a tomahawk. All the weapons he had been afforded for this fight, but seeing as his opponent was unarmed beyond a shield, perhaps it would be all he needed. Still, Caspar gave an exaggerated look up.
 
"I don't recall you being able to fly, Captain," He said, his tone still polite, "So where did you come from? Taken up skydiving, perhaps? Or maybe your armoured whore flew you in." His tone not wavering, even as his words grew colder. For now, Caspar was avoiding commencing the overt hostilities. He wished to get the measure of the man first.

James looked over at the corpse. The civilian was clearly dead. Not many ways to survive the whole decapitation thing. He looked over his opponent, capturing a quick scan of him and running it through a SHIELD database. From the outfit and accent, he had a few guesses and the match proved him right. Crossbones. A Brock Rumlow wannabe. James gritted his teeth and gripped his shield.

"You're right. I don't usually respond to low threat level nobodies, but I was passing by and saw you trying to be scary."

Options started running through his head. If he was Hydra, then there was no need to dilly dally. A couple dazzlers from his belt and shot from the repulsor Ginnie outfitted his hand with. He hated using the thing because of the toll it took on the power cell, but it would be worth it to end the fight quickly. No. Better to save that particular trump. He had a course of action now. The comments about Ginnie assured that.

"Funny. Most people meet Iron Maiden before they call her anything like that." His tone was even and light, so as not to betray his intentions.

Captain America drew his hand back to launch the shield at Crossbones. And promptly drew the .45 Colt from his belt with the other hand and fired it at him instead, using the shield as a feint. Cap brought he shield up in front of him in a defensive position, charging towards Crossbones. Normally, James wouldn't escalate a battle like this, but dressing up like Crossbones made it a personal thing for him. He slammed the gun back into his holster and withdrew a dazzler, activating the filters in his mask.

The dazzler went out in front of him and fired a burst of flashing light and ultrasonic frequencies. It was one of his favorite non-lethal inventions. It was apparently a favorite of a few people, as he'd only recently discovered that someone in the Bat-family had reverse engineered his designs and started using them. He hoped it would catch Crossbones off guard for another shield tackle. James wanted to get in close and start the beating.

Caspar had a brief smile play over his face behind the mask and nodded, acknowledging the insult from Barnes. Honestly, he would take an insult from the former Winter Soldier. From Captain America was a bit rougher to take.
"Ah yes," He said, "American superheroes, always wittily insulting their enemies before and during a fight. A habit you all seem to share. Personally, I blame the man who wrote that contemptuous Vampire Slayer programme. She did it, so you do it." 

Caspar wasn't the best with people, but he recognised a man trying not to betray his true emotions, and that's what he saw as Barnes responded. The dig about Iron Maiden had gotten somewhere. Thankful again for the mask, he smirked. For all he said about banter, he was not about to lose his chance to get some insults against the man who had once been his idol. Not after what he'd done. At the shield toss, Caspar was interested to see whether he could catch it if thrown, or whether he'd have to dodge it. Beating the now Captain America with his own shield would be a fun activity. But then the shot rang out, and the gun in James's hand smoked. The bullet itself struck Caspar's shoulder and bounced off the suit. He felt the impact, of course, he did, but he'd likely not even have a bruise from it by the end of this.

"Fighting dirty, Captain America?" Caspar asked, a note of smugness to his voice, "Well, what more can we expect from a man of your background?" From what he had gathered, the time as the Winter Soldier was not public knowledge. Hell, not even a degenerate American would knowingly have their country represented by an assassin, surely. 

Caspar readied himself for the shield charge, eager to pit his German engineering against Barnes's American, but then something in the man's hand exploded, and he was temporarily blinded. A flashbang, how quaint. It threw Caspar off, so he wasn't as prepared for the shield charge as he could have been, but it only made him stumble back, raising his arms before his head to protect his vital areas. He would be on the defensive until he regained his vision, but that wouldn't take too long. Eager to offset his disadvantage, he lunged in the direction the shield had come from, trying to get a grip on Barnes. He wouldn't need to see him if he had ahold of him.