Joseph sat on the tailgate of the 44 Reaper’s recently ‘decommissioned’ truck. The plasma fire had slagged the motor, but the chip for the safety features must have still been intact, flooding the engine compartment with fire retardant chemical slush. The seats and electronics in the cab burned themselves out shortly thereafter, before the fire could spread to the back of the truck where Joseph now sat applying a field splint to his injured leg. Gritting his teeth, he yanked on the straps, ratchetting them tighter and bringing the bones back to some semblance of alignment.
A low groan escaped his throat, and he reflexively turned his head to the side as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He met the unblinking gaze of the dead man sprawled in the truck bed with him. The shards of the Reaper's shattered rifle optic still stuck out of his eye socket, looking like a winged insect in the weak light. The two of them stared at each other, Joseph panting as the wrenching pain racked his body, the biker unburdened by such needs anymore.
Fritz. The man's name was Fritz. Not a good person by any stretch of the imagination, but Joseph couldn't help but imagine the circumstances that led the man here. Would he still be alive if he'd never fallen in with a sadistic mesmer like Gull? Was his death entirely necessary? Or justified?
Bravo One forced himself to look away, checking his work with the splint.
Passable. It would get him to tomorrow at least. That was all he needed.
With that done, the only thing left for him to do was wait for Overwatch to get there with the gear. A rational man might have gotten up and tested his weight and his range of movement with the new handicap, but Bravo One wasn't feeling particularly rational. If he got to his feet again, he didn’t trust himself to not go looking for his prey, the plan be damned. Long’s recounting of his time in Las Almas and Gull’s loathsome behavior played in Joseph’s mind on a never ending loop, each go around dragging him deeper and deeper into despair.
The bastard wasn’t in hiding. Gull was celebrating.
Meanwhile, the world’s heroes had bigger fish to fry, up above the clouds. What a sick joke.
So, Joseph sat there with Fritz. He thought about all the ways tomorrow might go. How it might end. All the while something cold and hungry writhed in his guts.
Before long, tires crunched on gravel in the direction of the depot entrance around the corner from the Joseph's courtyard, and a few seconds later, Wilhelm’s van pulled around the bend, no headlights, a black box against the white of the pebbled ground. The van rolled past Joseph and parked in front of the warehouse that they’d picked to set up their kill box.
Kicking open the vehicle door, Wilhelm strode purposefully to the back of the van and flung the double doors open to dive inside.
Joseph, finally presented with something proactive to do, slid down the tailgate, gingerly putting weight on his leg for the first time. The pain exploded in a sudden flare of white followed by a dizzying array of spots that flooded his vision. He stood there for a time, breathing deeply, compartmentalized things like he’d learned, the pain slowly passed through him until it was a low buzz in the back of his mind. When he was finally under control again, he blew out a long, slow breath through his nose, internalizing this new normal he'd be forced to endure, then flung himself back into the operation, albeit with some difficulty now.
As Joseph hobbled up to the van to join in the preparations, Wilhelm was already prying the lid off of one of the crates and digging around inside, flinging shock resistant packing material onto the floor of the vehicle.
Wilhelm looked up from the exposed contacts of the bundle of explosives in his hand to regard his nephew. “You okay, kid?” He asked, concern clear in his voice.
Joseph stepped past him and grabbed one of the spools of wire with one hand and an old pair of cutters in the other. When he replied, he did his best to keep it stoic.
“I’m good," he mumbled. That was probably a little too much stoicism.
Wilhelm certainly wasn’t fooled. “You sure?”
Definitely overdid it.
“Yeah," Joseph replied, wishing he had something more to say, but he just couldn't dredge up the words. He didn't need to talk. He needed to do. Do something that would get him closer to Gull.
Wilhelm didn’t respond this time, but he didn’t have to. He put his home made bomb back down in the crate and angled himself to face his nephew. Though he could feel the old man staring at him, Joseph kept working, unrolling the wire they needed, cutting it, and stripping the ends. No wasted movements. Complete focus.
The silence was getting uncomfortable, though. Wilhelm was so still, staring at Joseph like he was. The old soldier was never truly still. Plus, he was their explosives expert. Wilhelm had things to do, and he certainly wasn’t going to get them done like this. What the hell was his problem?
“I’m fine,” Joseph insisted. “Seriously. It hurts, but if things go right, I won’t need to run a marathon or anything.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Wilhelm replied dubiously, spitting a glob of something brown over his shoulder. Then he narrowed his eyes and chewed on a couple of the long hairs of his beard. It was the same look he used to get when Joseph would come home from school with fresh bruises or a split lip. “You can help me unload the VLAD then. Yeah?"
The VLAD was a heavy and awkward haul, made harder by Joseph’s handicap, and by the time the two of them lugged it into the warehouse, backed it into position, and bolted it down, they were both sweating. Afterward, Joseph had to admit temporary defeat, temporarily taking a seat to take some of the strain off of his leg, so he busied himself unspooling more wire while Wilhelm set up the charges on the inside of the building.
The silence stretched on between the two of them, Joseph working frantically, at least as frantically as one can work sat on the floor of a van, to avoid having to talk while Wilhelm did that infuriating stare thing every time he returned to the van for a part or a tool.
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Joseph broke first. He tossed his cutters down to the floor with a clang and rounded on Wilhelm as the old man was heading back into the building.
“What? What is it, Wilhelm?” He called at the old man’s back. The words felt awkward and jagged as they left his throat. Damnit why did he always break first?
Wilhelm froze in place, seeming to be willing to let Joseph stew momentarily before he turned around. When he did, he wore an uncomfortable expression. The former green beret ran his fingers through the tangles in his beard, and his gaze flitted around like a man about to put to words something that shamed him. “What if tonight just ain’t our night, boy?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean- What if this operation was FUBAR from the jump?”
That took Joseph by surprise. Of the two of them, Wilhelm was the zealot. Always on the hunt for irredeemable supers to take down. Always preparing for the next target. “You can’t possibly mean you want to pack it in,” Joseph demanded. “After all of this?” He raised his arm and gestured at the blood soaked courtyard and rapidly cooling bodies.
He’d done that. He’d done it to get to Gull, their prey. Now, after that, Wilhelm was suggesting they let him go. That cold feeling crept up from his stomach to settle somewhere in his throat. Disgust. Disgust at... everything. The world. People like Gull. The authorities. Wilhelm and himself. He shook his head in disbelief at the very notion they could leave Las Almas as it was. "How could you do that? Walk away?"
Wilhelm’s face scrunched up like he’d swallowed something sour, but he continued. “Listen, kid, I’m not saying it ain’t worth doing. I’m just looking over our operation here, and there’s lots of things that can go wrong- have gone wrong.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Joseph ground out between clenched teeth, unable to look the old man in the eyes anymore. “Get me next to Gull, and he’s done. Simple.”
“You’re all messed up, kid. You're tired. You can’t walk right. You’re not thinking right either. You know damned well the plan was never to put you next to Gull. That’s your emotions talking.”
“I’ll give you the physical part. I'm beat up, but I’m ready, Overwatch. I want to stay on mission," Joseph assured him. "I'm motivated. Isn’t that what you always wanted me to be? A motivated soldier?” He was being louder than he knew he should be, but the dam had broken. His words were starting to come out harsh and spiteful. “I’m here and I’m willing, Wilhelm. What exactly is your problem now that I’m finally all in for the cause?"
“That right there is what I mean. This ain’t a cause, boy. We’re putting down rabid dogs. I heard what Long said earlier. He painted a real picture for you, and it’s got you all twisted up. Now you’re making it personal. You never make it personal.”
“Let’s not sugar coat it, Wilhelm. We came here to kill a man. A horrible monster of a man. But now that I’m eager to get it done, you’re getting cold feet?”
“I”m no- aurrrrgh,” Wilhelm cried in frustration before he spit and looked up to the sky for guidance, pacing and mumbling to himself. When he spoke again, he was a bit more collected. “We’re not 100% green, and a piece of shit like Gull might not be worth the risk.”
“What exactly are we risking? Our lives? We do it all the time. You heard what the guy said. Gull is…” Joseph struggled to say it. The words hitched in his throat, so he chose others. “He’s torturing people. He’s not just killing them.”
“I know that. Hell, I’ve looked in his history, and that lines up. I’m just saying that dying here ain’t gonna bring his victims any closer to peace. The risks are piling up, and taking the shot may not be worth it now. We don’t need to risk you.”
No. No, the old man couldn’t put him so close to something like this then pull him away. “You wouldn't say that to one of your soldiers.”
“That’s different and you know it, boy. You’re not a soldier.”
“Then why did you train me like one?” Joseph snarled.
“Because that’s what I knew. I didn’t know a damned thing about raising a kid, but I did know how to train. I did the best I could with what I had,” Wilhelm shouted. The frustration and fear in the man’s voice dumped icy water on the fire of Joseph’s building righteous fury. He felt small in that moment, a child shown his place.
The old man swallowed and drew himself up to his full height. “In the end, though, soldiers are replaceable. That’s the job we signed up for, and we did it proudly."
"You-” Wilhelm’s voice wavered, forcing him to look down at the ground and gather himself before he continued. “You’re not replaceable.”
Wilhelm’s expression was raw, vulnerable in a way Joseph hadn’t seen the on him outside of some of his bad days when they were forced to use the medication he’d been prescribed by the VA. This was as close to begging as Wilhelm was capable of getting.
The gravity of Wilhelm’s doubt wasn’t lost on Joseph. Despite the regrettable things he’d said, Joseph trusted the old man with his life and loved him like a father. A very eccentric, bloodthirsty father, but you didn't get to choose your family. That didn’t change things, though. Backing down from this fight would exact a cost, and it was a cost Joseph wasn’t prepared to pay. Bravo One wouldn’t do it either, at least how Joseph envisioned him.
“He’s going to do it again, Wilhelm.” Joseph whispered. “If we leave and call the good guys, Gull is just going to do it again. They’ll try him. They'll put him in prison, but then they’ll need him for the war or he’ll escape or he’ll be paroled or the Church will get his sentence reduced. Then he’ll be back to doing what he does. They don't play by the same rules.”
“I know that,” Wilhelm replied. “And then we can try again when you’re healthy. Going off half cocked ain’t how we operate.”
Joseph shook his head, remembering Fritz's empty stare. “It’s too late, Wilhelm.” Too late to go back. Maybe not too late to help the people of Las Almas. “If we back down now and come back when we’re stronger, when does that stop? We’re just trading other people’s lives for our own. That’s not how I want to do this. We’ve bided our time, and now we have the chance to do something.”
He was getting through to Wilhelm now, he could tell, or, at least, convincing him to make some concessions. Wilhelm brought both of his hands up to rub at his face. “You trust me, kid?”
Joseph sighed and nodded.
“I'm on board to shoot our shot tomorrow, but if it ain’t good enough, promise me you won't let it mess with your head. Come home safe and live to take another shot. There's a reason we don't operate like the heroes.”
Because Joseph wasn't strong enough. Wilhelm would never say it, but Joseph knew. He couldn't just fly into a town and slug it out with the bad guy like the they did in the big leagues.
“If things go south, I won't push my luck,” Joseph allowed. Then he let a small, vicious smile play across his lips. “Let’s just make sure we bag this bird. You sure brought enough toys to get the job done. Did you even leave anything in your house, old man?”
Like a switch had been flipped, Wilhelm was back to crazy old coot like the conversation had never happened, grinning proudly under his beard and flashing brown teeth. “Oh yeah, boy. We've got enough to high ex to put Warlord to shame. Back home, I still got stockpiles everywhere, but they ain’t finding ‘em without some real effort. Not before I get back at least.”
“By ‘they’ I assume you mean the ATF?”
“They don’t mess around, kid. ATF don’t mess around.”