Cammy stared down the sights of her Mark II while her target’s heavy subsonic rounds slapped the pavement around her. Every impact propelled blooming barrages of stinging asphalt shards that peppered her hands and cheeks and made tiny *tink* sounds on the metal of her gun. Hugh’s lumbering footsteps boomed behind her sending subtle tremors through her body with every step, and the gunman in the truck was shouting something that was hard to hear over the rushing sound in her ears. Something in her mind, the part that held conscious thought, told her Hugh’s ponderous, thundering steps signified something extremely important.
However, that part of her brain was currently fighting a screaming monkey for control of the wheel. Her nerves tried to sabotage her with every bit of sensory input. She flinched and jerked spasmodically as her instincts insisted on no uncertain terms that she should already be running instead of lying there waiting for death to claim her.
But there was nowhere to go. Standing was death. Staying was death.
She pulled the trigger.
In training they’d taught her to squeeze the trigger smoothly until the round fired, something that should always be a surprise when it finally happens. The idea was that a gentle pull kept the weapon in line with the target all the way up until the round left the chamber. Then and only then would the shooter relax their finger and get ready for the next shot.
Easy. Mechanical. Precise.
She should have done that, but she didn’t. She pulled the trigger hard like an adrenaline fueled ape just wishing the predators would go away. *Crack!* And after her first shot she kept pulling once, twice, three times. *Crack!* *Crack!* *Crack!* Sometime between her second and the fourth shot the gunman in the truck doubled over and shrank back into the cab.
She gulped at the air, her vision blurred with tears, and her heart pounded in her head. The Mark II felt heavy in her hands like the weight of it had just now registered in her mind.
Then a deep, gurgling string of unintelligible sounds came from behind her. Cammy rolled over, tucked her knees, and sat up, bringing her weapon up to address the second threat.
Hugh had jumped down from the loading dock still carrying his hopefully just comatose MP, and, even though his eyebrows were gone, his skin charred, and his lips blackened and cracked, the utter malice behind his eyes was unmistakable. His chest heaved and his shoulders rose and fell like he was about to go into cardiac arrest.
Cammy brought her Mark II into a more stable grip and sighted in. Hugh didn’t hesitate though, he kept coming, one wheezing, lumbering step after the other, looking at once like he was ready to collapse and simultaneously like he was an unstoppable maniac.
She swallowed. Her mouth was bone dry, but she found her voice. “Stop!” she shouted. It was all she could think to say.
Hugh did not stop. He shambled forward and brought the unconscious soldier up in front of his chest, taking the man now by either side of his torso. There was more gurgling from Hugh, then he turned his head and spit out something black that fell wetly to the asphalt. Then he answered her.
“No,” he croaked. That was it. He kept coming, never slowing, holding his human shield in front of him.
“Drop him then!” she commanded, but Hugh was close now, towering over her in size and violent potential, nearly close enough to lunge at her. She scrambled back, sliding over the ground on her rear, still trying to keep Hugh covered with her gun, but her pace was only slightly faster than Hugh’s inexorable advance, never able to create any space.
“No,” he croaked.
Cammy couldn’t let him leave, not with his hostage. She couldn’t shoot him either. However, he was prepared to leave even if he had to go through her. Behind her, the truck engine revved.
Oh.
She shifted her aim, rotating on the ground so she was no longer scuttling away from the behemoth, instead whipping her weapon around to aim at the truck, specifically at the engine block, or at least where she thought the engine block was. That made Hugh hesitate for a brief instant. Cammy kept her eyes on his.
“This is your getaway vehicle right? You know what this is,” she said, wobbling the gun back and forth. “I can see it in your eyes. You know what it is.”
Hugh didn’t answer, but he’d come to a stop. Progress.
“You know what this is and what it can do." She said it like an incantation, a statement backed by fervent desire for it to be true. "Set that man on the ground, and you can go on your way.”
Hugh looked past Cammy to the truck then back, considering. “No.”
“Well you’re not getting anywhere like that,” Cammy observed as she got to her feet. She never allowed her weapon’s aim to drop. “Not without a ride. Your driver is wounded, and the police are on their way. What’s it going to be?”
Hugh’s burned face was a study in intense hatred bordering on unbridled rage. Cammy could see the gears turning, warring with the big man’s desire to kill her and let the chips fall where they may.
“Time’s ticking. You don’t have to kill anyone, Hugh” she implored. She was only asking him to put off his violent rampage for a later date. That's all. Everyone would get something they wanted. That had to appeal to something in him.
Hugh seemed to come to a decision, tensing his muscles and preparing to do something Cammy would come to regret.
“Hey!” A familiar voice called from the broken doorway to the hospital interior. Cammy and Hugh both turned to see, Cammy having to lean to the side to see around the giant man’s frame.
Out of the red glare of the emergency lights and smoke limped Firebreak, a man in scrubs on atop his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and a clear glass bottle in his hand. Also, he was almost fully naked except for a few tatters of scorched hospital gown around his neck plus his now filthy looking leg cast. His body was... It was a tapestry of scars the likes of which she had never seen. Firebreak was covered in sweat, and he seemed to sway on his feet slightly even as he spoke again. “Sorry. *huf* That was a… lot of stairs. She’s right though, Hugh,” he said, groaning and crouching down awkwardly to set the man in scrubs on the floor before he straightened again. “No one has to die today.”
That seemed to settle things for Hugh. He bellowed with fury, bending his arms to raise his human shield in front of his face then launching the MP directly at Cammy even as he charged. She didn’t try to dodge. She took the blow, embraced it with open arms, the full weight of the soldier hitting her squarely in the sternum and knocking her backwards off her feet and spinning the two of them around, tumbling end over end until they came to a stop halfway to the back tire of the waiting truck.
Her bones ached, and she felt dizzy. She stared up at the brightening sky, allowing the world to spin.
Distant sirens wailed.
Hugh thundered past her with his arm outstretched then he bent his legs and leapt up nearly to the top of the beige trailer, catching himself with his massive arms and pulling his bulk up and out of sight. The truck’s brakes hissed, and the vehicle pulled out into the street and away with Hugh atop of the trailer, crawling his way to the cab.
Cammy weakly slid a hand over to check on the MP she was now entangled with, an older man with craggy scars on the side of his face, probably a career soldier. He was breathing.
She collapsed back onto the asphalt and allowed herself a moment of rest. Christ, how long had she been awake now? Too long, she decided.
—------------------------------
Joseph watched as the cops pored over the loading dock scene with their cameras and multi-spectrums. It had been about half an hour since someone had asked him any questions, and that suited him just fine. It helped that he probably looked like tenderized meat with his freshly bandaged burns and swollen face. A medic came by and gave him stretchy pants and an oversized t-shirt to wear at least. He pulled out a granola bar he’d commandeered from a snack machine and tore into it with gusto. For some reason, no matter how many fights he got into, he was always hungry right after.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Johansen got the worst of it. The police were extremely interested in just how many shots she fired and how many were fired at her, not to mention the probationary Company ID she’d used to justify her involvement. To put it lightly, she’d been interrogated in all but name right after having to fight for her life. Inconsistencies in her story were pounced upon and scoured until Johansen couldn’t do much more than make the same statements over and over with compounding exhaustion.
Now she sat cross legged on the lip of loading dock number two sporting a thousand yard stare.
When Joseph looked at the woman he saw someone coping with a lot and still doing what she could to assist in the pursuit of justice, despite how she was being treated. She didn’t complain when a uniform got in her face. She never broke down or lashed out.
Joseph could respect someone like that that even if she represented a dangerous new presence in his life.
The Company wanted him, and that meant Nimue wanted him.
Why now?
Was Johansen's assignment meant to coax him out of hiding?
Relevant questions, none of which could be voiced aloud. Not here.
He hated this political cloak and dagger crap or at least having to deal with said political cloak and dagger crap so close to home. That kind of thing belonged out there, in the larger world, away from his home and his people.
Monsters he could understand. In the end, the monsters were simple things, creatures driven by pain or hunger or sex or just plain malice. Human beings were so much more complicated than monsters, even if the two categories overlapped a great deal.
People lied to everyone, including themselves. Especially themselves. What was he supposed to think about the woman that just thrust herself into his life? Did she even know Nimue was using her?
Did she have to be in on Nimue's grand design to be used?
He knew what his instincts told him, even if he didn’t like it. It would have been so much easier if she was knowingly complicit in Nimue's schemes, but, despite all the other things she was, Johansen was genuine.
He sighed, coming to his decision, limping over to sit next to his designated Company babysitter.
“Still alive, I see, Agent Johansen,” Joseph began. Then he plopped down next to her, dangling his legs off of the edge of the loading dock, watching the authorities circle things with chalk and snap their pictures.
Johansen nodded. Her hollow eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused, letting reality carry on without her for a while.
Joseph did the same, though he couldn’t keep himself from picking out individual investigators and watching them scrutinize the angle of the spent brass or the shape of the pool of broken glass from the getaway truck.
He silently offered the Company woman a granola bar. His pockets were stuffed with the things, so it was the least he could do. She didn’t seem to notice.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Weird isn’t it?” he ventured, pausing momentarily to wait for a response.
Johansen sniffed and opened her mouth to speak and closed it again, but the damage was done. Joseph knew she was listening now, so he continued.
“By weird I mean there’s always a come down after these sorts of things, where your body dumps all that adrenaline and your mind starts to wrap around what just happened. What you did. What they did. And everything starts to look different.”
Her body language shifted slightly, more erect. Attentive. A good sign.
Joseph leaned back on his elbows, and thought for a moment before speaking again. “It's- It’s like the world changed while you weren’t looking, or it was always like this and you didn’t notice. Everything has a little more depth, or it looks a shade darker or brighter. It happens to me sometimes to varying degrees, so I figure it’s happening to you now that you've been in the thick of it." He was rambling now, but he'd never put these concepts into words before. "Of course, I may harbor some wild assumptions about human nature based on my own experiences, so take all of that with a grain of salt, Agent Johansen.
“I’m not an Agent.” Her whisper was so soft, Joseph nearly didn't catch it.
Joseph let out an exasperated sigh and sat up again. “Yeah. I know. Sorry. Liaison right? It just seems like a weird title to put in front of someone’s name.”
“No,” she interjected. “I mean I am. I just- Hell, I don’t know.” She was coming alive now, moving her hands and turning her shoulders slightly to face him, even if she retained her far off stare.
Joseph waited, hoping she’d keep talking.
“I shot someone,” she stated flatly, nodding and pursing her lips. She had probably gone over this story a hundred times with the cops already, but saying it so plainly seemed to wound her. She swallowed then spoke more forcefully. “He was shooting at me and I was shooting at him and I just happened to hit him first. It was so- So arbitrary, how it turned out.”
Joseph pondered that for a moment, remembering. “What is it that’s eating you? The morality of it all or how close to dying you were?”
“I don’t know. It feels a little like- I think back to what I could have done. How lucky I was to not get anyone killed.”
“Yeah. Me too. I was just thinking about how I shouldn’t have set the hospital on fire,” he mused. “That one’s on me.”
Johansen ignored him, looking down at her hands. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this. For the Company. I thought I was on my way to- I don’t know, but I’m not. I’m afraid.”
“Well, yeah. Everyone's afraid when their time to step up is finally here.”
“And that makes me a liability.”
“Debatable.”
“I had no idea what I was doing out there,” she blurted, facing him now with angry tears in her eyes. “And now that it’s over, and I’ve had time to think, I still have no idea what I'm doing. Nothing. If there’s a next time, I’ll still be the same girl with the shaky aim and the shitty judgement. I’ve learned nothing. You read about these things from first hand accounts, and they're always going on about how their experiences changed them. Made them better. Well, I can't even remember it all. It's all a blur. I'm still just me when I'm supposed to be better. Is that the kind of person the world needs out there, doing what we do? Someone like me?"
“Johansen, none of us know what we're doing. We might have training or muscle or the ability to light birthday candles, but in the moment we're all just doing the best we can with what we have,” he said taking out another granola bar and tearing it open. “But I’ll tell you what I saw when I came on the scene. I saw you face down a superpowered killer with a pop gun and a prayer.”
“I didn't fight him at all.”
“You did, actually, and you fought him to a draw. You fought Hugh with the tools you had, and you got out with the hostage and your life. Know how many fatalities they’ve counted in this whole disaster?”
She stared down at her lap in silence.
“Zero. None. And don’t think I didn’t notice you taking a man-shaped missile to the face instead of getting out of the way like a sane person. That guy’s alive because of you.”
“You're ascribing motive to someone you don't even know. The truth is, I froze. I wanted to move, but I couldn't.”
“But you didn't. Now you're second guessing your own motives. Sure, you're afraid. Keep that fear. Your fear makes you human, and humanity is in short supply nowadays. Enjoy it. In the end, you did what you did even at great risk to yourself. The point here is that-” he broke off for a moment, looking down, searching for the right words. He was no good at this kind of thing. “I’m saying that if the Company's roster has people like you, well... They could do a whole lot worse.”
He held out another granola bar. "I didn't have an actual olive branch, so this will have to do."
Johansen hesitated, staring at the offering, but after a handful of seconds she reached out and took it. “I- Uh- I am a little hungry,” she admitted.
Joseph looked up at the brightening sky and grinned. “I know right? I’m always famished in the aftermath of these things.”
"Does this mean you want a Company liaison now?"
He snorted. "Hell, no."
"Ass."
So, they sat there in companionable silence, munching on overdried oats, waiting to be dismissed by the authorities. It was well into the afternoon before they were released with promises that they’d be contacted for follow up statements. As they walked down the path back to the parking garage, Joseph posed a question.
“Think they’ll give you back your super gun, or are we going to find it listed on a dark web auction?”
Johansen twisted at the waist and rolled her neck to stretch her sore muscles. The stiffness from her ordeal would probably plague her for a few days at least. “Don’t know. When I handed it over I saw a few of the gun nuts passing it back and forth like teenagers with a porno mag.”
“Do you want it back?”
“Not sure if I want it back, no. I’m not sure if I want to be that person,” she mused. “Oh. Do you want a ride?”
“No, thanks. I haven’t been discharged yet. I get the feeling they’ll want to recast my leg,” he speculated pointing down at the charred mess he'd made of his cast.
Johansen smiled at that, but it was a sad one. “Shame. I’d like to introduce you to Banks-” she stopped dead, and Joseph was a couple of steps ahead of her before he turned around to see what was the matter.
“What is it?” he asked.
Johansen’s face was a strange mix of dread and anticipation.
“What?” Joseph repeated, limping over to stand face to face with her. He hesitantly tapped the Company woman on the arm, and she jerked back as if waking from a dream, suddenly back in the present.
“Banks,” she went on. “I haven't talked to him in hours. It just came back to me. I slipped my receiver onto the truck- In the spare. Banks can track it. We can find them.”