“Michael you aren’t listening.” Denis snapped his fingers in front of Michael’s face to force him to pay attention. Michael stirred and straightened his hunched posture. His blank, pale face, however, remained concerned. “I’m listening. Something about sabotaging a transport heading into the inner city from the wall. Blow it up, the regular deal.” “No, Michael. You. Are. Not. Listening.” Denis was firmer the second time around. He wouldn’t repeat himself for a third time.
His fingers on his right hand clenched. If this snot-nosed piece of shit didn’t respond properly, he didn’t know if he could hold himself back. The punch might be launched instinctively before he could even reconsider. For Michael’s sake, he hoped that the kid would actually try to listen.
Michael didn’t seem fazed by the blatant threat present in Denis’ tone, and simply stared straight into Denis’ eyes. A blazing rage met a frozen lake. The lake remained unstirred while the flames continued its futile attempts at consuming its contents. Michael didn’t flinch. Did Denis really think that he would take his shit? More than 70% of their agents had been swayed in recent years to view Michael as their leader despite his official position being one rung lower than the veteran Denis.
Most of the agents honestly viewed Denis as an impediment to their progress. His ways were outdated, and his mind not as sharp as it perhaps used to be. Not that these young agents had any idea about Denis’ accomplishments at his peak. Michael, however, they had seen in magnificent action. His calculated commands and his ability to remained collected in any situation had granted them massive victories even when the odds weren’t exactly in their favor.
How could their respect for a chubby traditionalist relic compare to the respect Michael had earned through feats they had witnessed themselves. Michael didn’t think it was time to overthrow Denis just yet, but he wouldn’t mind too much if the original plan was pushed forward by a couple of months.
Michael took a decisive step forward, while still retaining his neutral expression, and gently grabbed each side of Denis’ suit lapels. Denis’ reaction was instinctive. His right fist was thrust into Michael’s gut. Michael was prepared for this, however, and simply bore it. Only a slight smile on his face could act to hint about the instincts and emotions he was currently suppressing.
Following the punch, Denis’ fist trembled. Fuck, that had hurt. Was this kid wearing armor under his suit? His clenched fist trembled, but didn’t move from its position of being lodged into Michael’s gut. Michael’s smile broadened.
“Denis. You’re still useful. If you weren’t, I’d have gotten rid of you years ago. Be a good boy and remove your fist if you still want to have it attached to your body by the end of the day.” Michael gently slid his fingers up and down Denis’ lapel to underline his point. Denis might have been the “great commander” for twenty years, but this was his time.
Denis almost fell backwards upon hearing Michael’s statements. This kid had not only the audacity to question him, but to actually threaten him? Still, Michael wasn’t a weakling. If he punched him again, he would have to hope that Michael didn’t have a chance to resist. Otherwise, the retaliation might fracture their entire operation. Although Denis didn’t know exactly how much sway Michael had with the younger soldiers, he could imagine that Michael would have at least 50% of the soldiers under his influence if he dared threaten even him.
No. Any influence or sway Michael held would be absolutely irrelevant when Michael wasn’t here to defend himself. Denis pulled his hand away slowly.
Michael responded by cupping Denis’ cheek with his left hand and then he gently patted him on the other side with his right, “That’s a good boy.”
Denis’ second punch was equally predictable. Michael could see his tense right shoulder, followed by the tension in the man’s left shoulder, as Denis feinted with his already injured right arm and went for another gut-punch with his left.
This time, however, Michael had decided that the game was over. No matter how this would be “resolved,” Denis would do everything in his power to have him killed. He couldn’t let that happen. At least, not until he had finished the mission he had hidden in his own heart.
Michael was already backstepping before the second punch was fully wound up, and avoiding it was almost laughably simple. Did this fossil really think his physical prowess could match his? While backstepping, Michael moved his hands down from Denis’ face to instead grab hold of both of Denis’ arms. He ripped them downwards, forcing Denis’ already forward-moving momentum to increase. Denis would smash his face on the stone-floor below. On the way down towards the floor, however, a perfectly positioned knee stuck Denis’ chin and dropped him limply on the floor. The old man’s lower jaw had shifted from its position to instead protrude a decent chunk on the left side. The skin which wasn’t broken or breached, was twisted or bloody. Michael whistled two short bursts, which caused four of his own men to come jogging into the office with their weapons drawn.
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“Denis assaulted me and attempted to kill me to silence me when I spoke up against a plan which was going to get too many good men killed. I defended myself and knocked him out. Drag him to holding cell #7 and have two of our own watch over him at all times. Don’t hesitate to shoot or maim anyone attempting to break him out. Spread the word that I have officially taken charge due to not only Denis’ actions but also due to his general incompetence.” Michael spat the orders in short bursts.
The highest-ranking officer, a younger man called Oakland, saluted with a smile, “Affirmative, thank you for standing up against poor leadership sir” and dragged Denis’ body out of his sight. Michael sighed. It seemed like he had no choice but to move the plan up to achieve the intended effect.
They might be ready, but he still wasn’t completely convinced. He could assure their success if they had another six months, but it was too sudden. The agents bringing the next shipment might need to be detained depending on their willingness to cooperate.
After settling the matter of Denis being detained, Michael was finally left alone in his large office. He sighed and finally allowed himself to slink down into the comfort of the chair. He dropped his regal air like a mask and expressed the pain he had been suppressing during the short interval between being punched in the stomach and dismissing Oakland.
Michael gritted his teeth as he keeled over and hit his head on the desk. He was too occupied by massaging his stomach to catch the chair’s arms on the way down. The sting of his face smashing into the desk paled in comparison to the building tension in his chest. His throat constricted. Air. The intensity of the pain made him alternatively heave and wheeze. Air. More air. AIR.
The fact that almost all the air had been knocked out of his lungs was almost impossible to hide even in the few seconds Oakland and his fellow officers were in the office, but the effort to hide his weakness had made the ensuring pain all the more intolerable.
Michael opened his shirt to inspect the damage and noticed two points of skin-tear which were weeping thin lines of nearly black blood. The old fucker’s rings had poked holes in him. The old man didn’t even have a chance, but he still had to ruin a perfectly fine shirt with blood and some small tears. Another bout of tension was released through a simple strike on the chair’s right armrest. He would have to have these wounds disinfected, but first he needed a drink to dull the pain. His abdomen was still aching with pain, but it slowly dulled. Michael opened one of the cabinets behind the desk and grabbed the first full bottle he found. Its contents were emptied with great gusto and after every sip Michael felt just a bit better. He chuckled. What a way to celebrate his takeover. The next few days might be very challenging, but at least he could enjoy the moment.
“Captain Michael, there is an emergency report you need to take a look at!” The sounds of three firm knocks followed after the urgent voice.
“You may enter.” The alcohol hadn’t gone to his head quite yet. Or, at least, Michael didn’t think it had. Thomson’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of his mighty commander having his chest exposed with two lines of blood running down his bare chest. Michael put the half-empty bottle on the table with a clang, and Thomson reacted by beginning to explain the emergency report.
“Sir, because of the recent upheavals we have uncovered in the Eye’s eugenics department they sorely need new blood to aid their research. A transport-shuttle which reportedly is going to contain a dozen rising talents within the field is scheduled to pass through the Damaskus region on its way from sector three to the iris of the Eye. Additionally, security expert Significant Omar is going to be escorting them. If we are able to set up in the mountains of Damaskus before they pass through, we could ambush their shuttle. Both eliminating the shuttle and kidnapping the researchers and Significant are viable options.”
“How much c4 is left?” This was a great opportunity for their venture. A Significant security expert would be able to provide excellent intelligence. And maybe the researchers would give them a chance to dismantle the inhumanity of the Eye’s mass-production of slave-labor.
“Approximately 200 kg, sir.”
“That would be enough for another 4-10 operations based on our targets. We can afford to use a portion of it in this mission. Pick 20 of our elites for this mission. There is no discounting the possibility of this being a trap. Take great care to ensure that they have no escape. I want the Security expert alive, and as long as a couple of the researchers still live I don’t care what happens to the rest of them. If any other high-profile targets are detected, try keeping them alive unless you have no other option. Put it into action immediately.” Michael waved his hand to dismiss the sergeant and then leaned back to enjoy another burst of flaming liquid quenching the cold pain still lingering in his stomach.
A low hum escaped Michael’s mouth as he gently whispered that lullaby once again. “Who can sail without wind, who can row without oars, who can part with their friend without shedding tears…” The gentle humming eventually turned into a wordless melody when Michael’s head fell back in his chair and he finally nodded off. His blood-stained chest, and the intense red mark clearly displaying the indentation of a fist, starkly contrasted his confident expression and the indentation of tried tears staining his chins.