Dexter, Old Industrial District

“STOP!” Dexter ordered causing everyone in the factory to freeze. “You, take some pictures!”

A mindless goon Dexter hadn't bothered to learn the name of, took a picture of the scene Dexter had set up. Dozens of mind-controlled goons stood perfectly still as they assembled military-grade armaments smuggled into the country inside bags of coffee beans that a front company for one of the local color gangs ordered.

This was phase 1 of his plan. He would use his powers to take control of as many gang members as possible, have them do a bunch of illegal crap, take photos of it, and send all the evidence to the police. However, that vigilante, Steel Sentinel, might present a problem for Dexter’s plan.

“Steel Sentinel, why does that name sound so familiar?” Dexter wondered.

Steel Sentinel got “lucky” with the last guy he caught. That murderer abused drugs so much that shortly after arriving at the station he died of organ failure. The media hadn’t caught word of this, and Dexter doubted they would. He suspected that he was killed by that corrupt policeman, Detective Stoney, while in custody. From what Dexter managed to learn from his mind-controlled goons, Detective Stoney was the guy criminals paid if they wanted evidence against them to disappear, both physical evidence and witness testimonies. Dexter planned to deal with Stoney eventually, for now, he had gangs to pick apart. He would have to do it quickly, controlling this many people was draining Dexter’s stamina at an increasingly quick pace.

“This one has finished its task,” the camera goon said.

“Let me see them,” Dexter ordered. His hand outstretched beckoning for the camera.

It was hard to make out the pictures on the dim camera screen through his sunglasses, but they looked good enough. Dexter wasn’t sure if the goons would remember his face when he released them from mind control but just to be safe he decided to keep his bandana and sunglasses on at all times. He also added a pair of latex gloves to his outfit so that he wouldn’t leave fingerprints behind. It was a chore to see indoors with dark sunglasses, but that was fine. He didn’t need to see, it's not like he was doing anything other than barking orders and he ordered the goons to warn him if anything that could threaten his plans comes around.

He considered using leather gloves, but he remembered watching an episode of NCIS when they arrested a murderer based on the prints his leather glove left. Dexter wasn’t sure if that was true, but he didn’t want to tempt fate. What he was doing was illegal, maybe. Dexter wasn’t sure if there were laws against mind control and he doubted there were any. He knew these guys were guilty, he had read their minds just to be sure, but he doubt a jury would see it his way.

“Master,” a voice echoed in Dexter’s head said. “We have an unknown vehicle approaching. What should this one do about it?”

“Nothing,” Dexter said. “I will have someone handle it.”

With a thought, a mind-controlled goon by the door of the factory walked outside as he shared his senses with Dexter. The mind-controlled goons didn’t have weapons on them and they didn’t need them. He controlled almost all of them at this point. The only people he hadn’t mind-controlled yet was this one gang calling themselves The Remnants. Dexter could feel he was reaching his limit with mind control, so if The Remenants proved to be a problem, he would start arming his goons.

The mind-controlled goon waited outside. He was by far the most threatening one he had with him. The goon was a big dude covered in tattoos and scars. He would be enough to scare anyone away but if he needed to Dexter could send extra guys out to provide backup. Shortly after the tattooed goon got in position, a familiar-looking beat-up truck parked out front.

“What’s John doing here?” Dexter thought. “And why is the door to his car missing? And most of his steering wheel?”

“Hey!” John called out. “I’m looking for a friend. I think he may be in there.”

“Leave, this is private property,” the goon said under Dexter's orders.

“This isn’t good,” Dexter thought. “I won't have the goons beat up John! If he pushes past him I will need to get everyone out of here and make it seem like I’m not the one running things.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it's your property. The company that owned this land went out of business months ago, this land is owned by the bank. Judging from your choice of clothing and the tattoo on your neck, you are part of a color gang,” John said. “That tattoo under your very fucked up eye indicates you’re a high-ranking member too. Normally you would stay inside and watch over, whatever it is you do, and send someone else out to scare me off. That tells me what’s in there is important, or so illegal even the cops you pay wouldn't look the other way.”

“How the hell did he know that? Let alone notice it! Hell, I didn’t even notice the rank indicator tats on his face!” Dexter panicked. “Calm down Dex, John is just one guy, and a smart one at that. He wouldn’t recklessly charge in. I’ll just send a few more guys out to intimidate him then get the hell out!”

Dexter ordered four more men out in an attempt to scare John off. When the last one left the door, Dexter ordered him to lock it to give him enough time to get everyone out. He had zero confidence five goons could beat up the former special forces soldier.

“Leave, or we will make you,” the goon threatened.

“Five on one? That hardly seems fair,” John said, unusually calm.

“It’s not meant to be a fair fight,” the first goon said.

“Good point, you guys don’t stand a chance,” John shrugged. “Now I want everyone to know I didn’t come here to kill you.”

“C’mon John!” Dexter thought. “Just leave already!”

Suddenly, John struck the goon in the neck with enough force to cause it to break with a quick snap. Before Dexter could process what happened, John grabbed a second goon by the face and used his body as a shield to bash the third goon into the wall of the factory. The sudden acceleration from John grabbing the second goon caused his neck to beak just like the first, and the impact from hitting the wall shattered the back of the third goon's skull and left a vaguely human-shaped splatter of blood on the concrete factory wall.

Finally processing what happened, Dexter ordered goons 4 and 5 to tackle John as he sent more goons to their aid who were already outside watching for cops. They didn’t last long, goon 4 got his chest caved in as John punched him with enough force to explode his heart, and goon 5 was judo flipped so hard he broke his back in 3 places on the ground turning him into a vegetable.

“Does John have fucking powers too?” Dexter thought. “Goddamnit! Look’s like it’s time for the evacuation plan!”

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Dexter ordered all of the goons in the warehouse who weren’t fighting John to scatter and had the cameraman wrap his arm around Dexter’s neck and point a gun to his head. The gun wasn’t loaded for obvious reasons, but it would do the trick of making him look like a hostage. Dexter removed his sunglasses, bandana, and gloves. Quickly incinerating them with orange fire.

Meanwhile, John was killing the backup goons without any difficulty. He had even ripped a stop sign out of the ground and was using it as a bat. So the fight only lasted a couple more seconds as he caved their skulls in with an aluminum and stainless steel pole. With the last goon dead, John dropped the bloody stop sign and moved towards the door.

The prosthetic on his right hand couldn’t take much punishment and the only thing it was good for was helping him hold things still. He couldn’t even drive with that hand.

“He did that with one hand…” Dexter thought. “He killed them all with one hand, and a stop sign!”

Suddenly the door to the factory was kicked in with enough force to send it grazing past Dexter's head and imbed itself in a concrete pillar.

“Stop!” the cameraman goon said, “Stop or I’ll sho-”

BANG!

Faster than the eye could see, John drew a pistol and put a hole between the cameraman's goon’s eyes. The goon's head snapped backward at an unnatural angle as his gun clattered from his hand onto the floor. Warm blood, brains, and bone shards splattered all over Dexter’s face causing him to recoil with surprise. His stomach threatened to dump its contents all over the floor, but he managed to swallow it at the last minute.

Sure he may have killed in more brutal manners, but he could barely see Alex when he was impaled on the tree, the car obscured Joe after he jumped into the street, and his memories of the night Zac died were still fuzzy. Dexter wasn’t even sure how Zac died. So the sight of so much gore disturbed Dexter in a way he wasn’t even aware of.

“John! What the fuck!” Dexter exclaimed.

“I killed him, I know,” John said as he put away his gun, and walked over to Dexter.

“But you just shot him, without hesitating!” Dexter said. “Not that I’m any better…”

“I’ve killed before Dex, you know this,” John said.

“I know, just… Fuck…” Dexter said

“Adrenaline is keeping the shock at bay,” John said, tightly gripping Dexter's shoulders. “Before it wear’s off I need to go out to my car and grab the bucket of orange powder in the passenger seat.”

“Why?” Dexter asked.

“I need to get rid of the bodies,” John said.

“Did he plan to come in here guns blazing!” Dexter thought as he walked to John's truck.

Just like John said, in the passenger seat was a white bucket filled with dark orange powder. Dexter quickly returned to John, who had managed to stack the corps of every gang banger into a pile of corpses, blood, and gore in a manner of seconds. Dexter couldn’t hold it in any longer, a vomited his breakfast all over the floor.

“John what the fuck!” Dexter exclaimed.

“Right, sorry. I forgot people aren't used to seeing this sort of thing,” John said as his blood hands took the bucket from Dexter.

“What the hell did you do in Iraq that made you desensitized to… that!” Dexter exclaimed gesturing at the pile of corpses.

“Classified, I can’t tell you for your own safety,” John said. Dexter tried to read John’s thoughts, a power he still couldn’t figure out how to use but to no avail.

When it came to reading minds, his telepathy power seemed to, for lack of a better word, have a mind of its own. Maybe the ability to communicate with his mind was only something he could do with his goons, but it had worked on Joe when he encountered him in the street. Maybe it was just a one-time thing.

Dexter watched as John took handfuls of powder from the bucket and put mounds of it all over the bodies. Once he was done he liberally spread it across all the corpses. He also put a small handful on the pule of Dexter’s puke.

“I need your jacket,” John said. “Before you ask, it’s because owning clothes with blood on them is stupid. I’ll be doing the same with my shirt. Thankfully, blood only got on my shirt and your jacket and not our pants. I don’t have anything in your size so it would be an awkward drive back to my place.”

Without waiting for Dexter to take it off, John ripped Dexter’s jacket off his body. John then used the jacket as a towel and expertly cleaned the gore off Dexters face. John then took off his blood stained shirt and threw them into the pile of corpses. Long scars from deep slashes and circular ones from bullet holes riddled his back. It wasn’t the first time Dexter had seen the scars, he had first seen them while visiting John in the hospital a year ago.

Even to this day, the story of how John managed to escape sent chills down his spine. Dragging heavily armed men in heavy gear out of a car wasn’t easy and is made significantly harder if you cut off half your hand. Until now Dexter didn’t fully understand how dangerous John truly was, even with one hand.

That was before he had powers. Now John moves insanely fast and could rip a steel door off its hinges with one hand. Combine that with his Force Recon training, Dexter had no doubts John was one of the most dangerous people in America, maybe even the world. He remembered the stories he heard from one of John’s Marine friends when he was waiting for him to wake up in the hospital.

“You know what funny, we called him Action Hero because in boot camp he seemed invincible. Everyone he fought was out cold on the mat within seconds,” Dexter remembered him saying. “It’s crazy to think that someone nearly did him in…”

Dexter watched as John pulled out a lighter and ignited the pile of bodies. In a flash of blinding orange light, he watched as whatever John sprinkled the bodies with burned them like paper. Skin, muscle, flesh, and bone turned to ash in a matter of seconds before his eyes. His nostrils were assaulted by the smell of burning flesh. Dexter would have puked if there was anything left in his stomach.

“Time to go,” John said as he ignited the pile of Dexter's throw-up with his lighter.

Grabbing Dexter, John pulled the shocked teen to his car and began to drive away. The two sat next to each other, the wind whistling in their ears because the truck was missing its door and nothing was covering the large opening it made.

“John, explain, please,” Dexter said.

“Tell me why you were in O.I.D. first,” John asked.

“I was trying to find my phone, someone stole it from me and I went to get it back,” Dexter said. “I used the find my phone app on my mum's phone. I didn’t think it was a workshop for illegal guns. I thought it was just some junky hangout.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” John said. “Why didn’t you come to me for help!”

“I was still angry from when you guys abandoned me last night, but now I think I know why,” Dexter said, desperate to change the subject before John could question him further. “Something happened that gave you superpowers, if superhero movies have taught me anything it's rarely a painless process. Maybe you wandered back home in a daze.”

“Do you have any?” John asked.

“Any what?” Dexter asked.

“Powers,” John clarified.

“No,” Dexter lied. “Why?”

“The rest of the gang does,” John said.

Putting two and two together, Dexter's eyes went wide as he realized who Steel Sentinel might be. “Wait, is Donald the Steel Sentinel?”

“What makes you think that?” John asked.

“Back in middle school, Don and I were part of a D&D club, the name he used when he played tanks characters was Steel Sentinel,” Dexter explained. “I knew the name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it until you told me that everyone else got powers.”

“How do you know I’m not the Steel Sentinel?” John asked.

“You suck at naming things. Your steam user name is JohnCEastwood and it took you nearly a day to think of it. That and it's easy to spot you even when you’re disguised. Being as tall as a professional basketball player gives you away,” Dexter said.

“But Donald is shorter than the Sentinel,” John pointed out.

“Yeah, but it's easy to make yourself taller,” Dexter said. “I remember watching an episode of Criminal Minds where a serial killer/bank robber confused authorities by having lifts in his shoes to appear taller than he actually was.”

“I told you cop shows were educational! And you doubted me!” John said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, I did…” Dexter's voice trailed off as he thought of the dead men burning in the abandoned factory. “... Did you really need to kill them?”

“They may have been gangbangers, but I didn’t want them to die,” He thought.

“I didn’t mean to. I don’t exactly have great control over my strength just yet,” John said with a shrug.

“That's all you have to say? Do you even feel guilty?” Dexter asked.

“No, I don’t,” John said. “People say you don’t get used to killing, those people aren’t soldiers. I am a soldier, trained to kill for my country. You learn to turn off your remorse, or it will consume you.”

“What did you cover them with that burned them away so quickly?” Dexter asked.

“Thermite.”

“Bull,” Dexter said. “Thermite burns hot and fast, but not like that. To do that much damage that quickly it had to be burning at twice its normal heat.”

“It’s a modified thermite,” John said. “Everything else about it is classified.”

“What the hell did you do in that desert?”

“That’s also classified.”

“For god's sake John! Just tell me! No one is listening to our conversations!” Dexter snapped.

“I’m not even supposed to tell you it's classified!” John exclaimed. “The only reason I’m telling you this much is that I trust you!”

“John, you were only in Iraq for half a tour! There is no way you did that much-classified crap in such a short period of time!” Dexter said.

John reached over and rubbed his prosthetic hand gripping the remains of his steering wheel, and Dexter's eyes went wide.

“You were there longer than that…” Dexter realized.

“Dex, stop digging.”

“The only reason I can think of for them lying about that is if you were doing something the US doesn’t want other countries to ever know about-”

“Dex. Stop. Digging,” John said through gritted teeth.

Getting the message, Dexter shut up. He didn’t feel like pissing off John more than he already had. Clearly, he was still clinging to whatever happened to him. The two then proceed to sit in silence for the remainder of the trip.