by Lee, Tristan
“Ronin,” Sandor gulps.
“You must be the S.A.B.R.E. agent,” Ronin replies in a smooth, velvety voice.
“I am,” Sandor says, pulling his body as far away from the blade as possible without actually moving his legs.
“Who trained you?” Ronin asks. “I cannot sense any other S.A.B.R.E. soldiers, so if they sent you alone to kill me, you must be quite formidable.”
“I’m really not,” Sandor says. “I’m not here to kill you.”
“Do you know how many people have told me that and then immediately tried to kill me?”
“How many?”
Ronin rolls up his right sleeve with his telekinesis, there are various calligraphy symbols stretching from his wrist to his shoulder. They cover his arm and each one is only about an inch long.
“Each one of these marks is a man who has tried to kill me,” Ronin explains as he rolls his sleeve back down.
“Impressive,” Sandor says nervously, “now would you be so kind as to put the sword down?”
On the contrary, Ronin pushes the blade forward until it presses against Sandor’s throat. The blade is cold and extremely sharp, seeing as Sandor did not even notice he had been cut until a thin stream of blood started trickling down his neck.
“I’m not here to kill you, I swear,” Sandor says.
“Hilarious.”
“I’m serious,” Sandor says through gritted teeth. “Can’t you read my mind or something?”
Ronin places two fingers from his free hand on his temple. Sandor sees a brief blue flash come from behind his blindfold before Ronin lowers his fingers and sheathes his sword over his shoulder.
“Thank you,” Sandor says, rubbing his neck.
“One can never be too cautious,” Ronin says. “Why have you come to me?”
“I need your help.”
“I wasn’t aware that S.P.E.A.R. still needed new recruits.”
“The S.P.E.A.R. agents went rogue and you know that, Butler.”
If Ronin is surprised that Sandor knows his real name, he does not show it, “Then why do you want me? A new death squad?”
“This one is less of a death squad. There is an alien fleet orbiting Earth.”
“I know. What of it?”
“They killed our ambassador and destroyed Hong Kong.”
“You want my help to stop them, do you not?”
“I do.”
“Allow me to infer further, you have a team assembled to stop the aliens, a small team of extraordinary people because your world militaries could never stand a chance against this fleet.”
“Precisely,” Sandor says, a little taken aback.
“May I further guess the members of this team: Dr. Invictus, Defender, Demoness, Titan, Nightshade, and myself?”
“How did you-“
“The file was on your passenger seat. I read it when you got out to check on the body.”
“How?”
Ronin disappears for a moment and then appears on top of Sandor’s car, “I must keep some secrets, Mr. Burns.”
“Well, now that you know why I’m here, what do you think?”
“I think that if I go through with this, then I will die and so will at least three of my teammates. One might go missing.”
“You’re a cynical man.”
“These are cynical times.”
“Are you in or not?”
“What do I get from it?”
“What?”
“What do I get from it? If I’m going to be risking my life, I want a damn big paycheck.”
“Well, your pay will be significant, of course, but I don’t have the details right now.”
“And is this a permanent gig, or is this a one-time deal?”
“The goal is to make the strike team permanent, but this is going to be your pilot mission. If you can swim, we’ll keep you guys on if you want. If you sink, well, there’s not going to be a whole lot of us left if you sink.”
“I would enjoy it if the team is permanent. I’m sick of always being alone.”
“But what about Kunai?”
Ronin looks away, “Kunai . . . we’re not really on speaking terms anymore.”
“What happened?”
“I more or less fired her.”
“She was your partner.”
“And the closest thing I’ve had to family for a long time. I couldn’t afford to lose her, so I thought that it would be better that I don’t endanger her by getting close to her.”
“I’m not going to pretend to know more about being a vigilante than you,” Sandor says. “But maybe by cutting her off you’re going to make her want to come out onto the streets more.”
“I’ll think about it, Mr. Burns. Are we going to meet in a S.A.B.R.E. facility or a church?”
“Neither. Gideon bunker in Skyline on the eighth.”
“I’ll be there,” Ronin says before disappearing into the rain.
Briefing
August 8th
Sandor finds the strike team inside the lab refurbished for Dr. Pryce. The entire bunker is state-of-the-art and the lab is no exception. Sandor does not understand any of the machines except for the display console and can only name three of the others, but the engineers at S.A.B.R.E. said that everything there was essential. The members of the strike team are in their field uniforms and are, surprisingly, already arguing with each other.
“You can’t just do something like that,” Dick says. “That’s classified shit.”
“Why not?” Dr. Invictus asks. “We have a right to know what secrets they’ve got hidden.”
“It’s hidden for a reason,” Dick argues.
“Aw, grow some balls, Barnes,” Belle says through a mouthful of chocolate covered blueberries.
“Shut up, bitch,” Anna tells her.
“Watch your language,” Chris warns.
Frank stays silent.
“Don’t threaten my sister,” Dick snarls at Chris.
“Did I say something threatening?” Chris asks.
“I didn’t hear any threats,” Belle says.
“Neither did I,” Chris continues. “I was just providing your sister with some advice, since we’re a team and all.”
“Really, you should be thanking him,” Belle adds.
“Why don’t you just-“ Dick starts to say.
“I take it that you’re all getting acquainted,” Sandor interrupts.
The strike team looks up at him like deer in headlights. Except for Frank, who is sharpening his sword.
“So, what are we arguing about?” Sandor asks.
“Dr. Pryce has been breaking into classified files,” Dick says quickly.
“Snitch,” Belle mutters darkly.
“Is this true, Dr. Pryce?” Sandor asks.
Dr. Invictus shrugs, “If you really call it breaking in. I bet Mr. Drake could have bypassed your firewalls.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Chris says.
“It wasn’t a compliment, dummy,” Belle says.
“Oh,” Chris says, deflating a little.
“It’s alright, that’s one of the infinite reasons why our marriage is the best marriage ever,” Belle says affectionately. “I’m the brains and you’re the brawn.”
“Is that a compliment?” he asks hopefully.
“Yes it is, Sweetie-Pie. Yes it is,” she answers.
“Back to the matter at hand,” Sandor says. “Dr. Pryce, what were you looking for?”
“Well,” Dr. Invictus says, “at the moment I’m wondering why you have plans for a bomb that could wipe all life off of the planet.”
Belle chokes on a blueberry, “Excuse me, but what the literal frick-frack-frackity-whack did you just say?”
“Yeah, I think I misheard you because you said something about a bomb and wiping out all life on the planet,” Anna adds.
Frank, predictably, says nothing.
“I don’t support going through government secrets,” Dick says. “But I have to agree with the doctor
on this one. Why do you need something like that?”
“Planning on murdering another two billion people or so?” Dr. Invictus asks. “Actually no, never mind. You must be a lot more ambitious than just two billion people.”
“Yeah, maybe this time you’ll have the balls to do it yourself,” says Belle.
Being a superhuman herself, Belle was lucky to be born a scant six months after the S.C.A. was repealed. If she had been born just half a year earlier, there is a good chance that she would have been seized at birth and killed.
“Maybe I was wrong to come here,” Dick says reproachfully.
Sandor rubs his eyes, “You want an honest answer?”
The team looks at each other for a moment and nod.
“It’s because of him,” Sandor says, pointing at Chris.
“Me?” Chris asks incredulously.
“Him?” Belle asks, equally astounded, “most of the time he needs me to open his Otter Pops, why do you need a bomb like that because of him?”
“Remember what happened six years ago in Quebec?” Sandor asks. “When this guy you think is so sweet almost leveled an entire province to the ground?”
“I was actually saving the planet,” says Chris.
“Well you can’t just come to someone else’s planet and blow shit up!” Sandor cries.
“If I remember correctly, and I think I do,” Belle says. “Everyone here would be dead or enslaved if not for Chris. No one else could have stopped Xandar.”
“Exactly,” Frank says softly, speaking for the first time.
“Speak up, ninja man,” Anna says.
“That’s exactly why they need the bomb,” Frank explains. “Chris was the only one who could stop Xandar, so who can stop Chris?”
“Why would you need to stop me?” Chris asks.
“Yeah,” Belle agrees, “Chris is my Sweetie-Pie. Plus, he’s probably too dumb.”
“Everyone thought Paragon was a swell guy until he ended up taking over the world,” Dick says.
“Alright, fine. You have a mega-bomb to kill me,” Chris says. “Has this thing actually been built?”
“We have a working model of the U2-120,” Sandor says. “It hasn’t been tested yet, of course.”
“Well what happens if someone else gets their hands on this thing?” Dr. Invictus asks.
“The bomb is in safe hands,” Sandor assures them.
“Who’s watching it?” Anna asks.
“S.A.B.R.E. personnel,” Sandor says.
“How do we know that they’re trustworthy?” Dick asks.
“These men were hand-picked out of various militaries by our defense minister, Damian Santiago,” Sandor says.
“How do we know this Santiago guy is trustworthy?” Chris asks.
“Damian Santiago has been with S.A.B.R.E. since its founding,” Sandor says.
“Yeah, well, have you seen Captain America: The Winter Soldier?” Belle asks.
“Hate to say it, but the she-devil has got a point,” Anna says. “In fact, how do we know that S.A.B.R.E. is trustworthy as a whole? What if you’re all already worshipping your alien overlords and you’ve gathered the only people that could stop them coming to Earth in order to kill us and leave a clear path for them?”
“That’s a good point,” Dick says.
“Furthermore,” Anna says, “how can we trust each other?”
“What?” Sandor asks.
“Well, there is an alien here,” Anna says. “What if he’s one of the invaders?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Chris says. “I’m from Xor. I’m handsome. Those aliens are ugly little shit.”
“I’ve been living with him for six years, I think I would know if he was a hostile alien scout,” Belle says.
Dick walks up to Chris, “I got nothing against you, mate, but I think we might have to put you in lockup.”
“Try me,” Chris dares.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Dick, I’m really sorry, but I’ve been trying to be afraid of you, and it just isn’t working for me.”
“You’re no hero, Drake,” Dick snarls. “You’re a freak who never would’ve been anything without his powers.”
“Could you speak up? It’s kind of hard to hear you squealing down there.”
“That’s right, Drake, just crack jokes because you know it’s true.”
“Whatever, Barnes. Come back when you’re tall enough to get on the big kid rides.”
Belle laughs, but Dick’s cheeks grow red, “You know what, Chris? You got a pretty smart mouth for a guy who barely has two brain cells to rub together.”
“That’s really juvenile, Dick,” Chris says. “Are you going to throw a ‘yo mama’ at me, too?”
Dick’s hands curl into fists, “One day, you’re going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person and they’re going to shut you up for good.”
Chris stands up from the table on which he was sitting, “Yeah? And is that person going to be you, Dickey?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re pretty fierce for a little guy, why don’t you try?” Chris asks as he puts his helmet on. His helmet is the same dark brown as his suit and looks like an old Spartan warrior’s helmet, but without the plume.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“C’mon, Dick, grow a pair,” Chris mocks him. “Put some money where your mouth is.”
The tension in the room is electric, no one says anything and no one moves except for Frank, who is still sharpening his sword. Finally, Sandor steps between them.
“Stand down, both of you,” Sandor commands. “Look at yourselves. About to fight? Over what? Chris, taunting Dick was uncalled for, and Dick, you should know better than to distrust one of your teammates. Your enemy is the alien fleet, not each other. Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves.”
Both of them take a step backwards and Sandor moves away. However, they don’t look away from each other for another minute or so, at which point they turn away, Dick to Anna, Chris to Belle.
“Freak,” Dick mutters.
“Lab-rat,” mutters Chris.
They pause again, each of them having heard what the other was saying. Then, Dick swings a punch at the back of Chris’s head. The combination of Chris’s natural durability and his helmet make Dick’s punch a tad less effective than throwing a snowball at a tank, since Dick nearly shatters his hand from the impact.
“Enough!” Sandor shouts as Chris turns around to face Dick.
Sandor is ignored and Chris pushes Dick back with one hand, sending him crashing through the floor-to-ceiling window of the lab and down to the hangar below.
After a moment, a boomerang comes whizzing through the window. Chris catches it with one hand and snorts, “Dickey, old boy, you know I can catch these.”
“You were supposed to,” Dick says. The boomerang detonates, sending Chris smashing into a complicated-looking computer.
Chris gets up and shakes off the ringing in his ears, “You asked for it, Dick.”
He leaps through the hole Dick made in the window. The sounds of swearing and Dick’s body being smashed into things are audible even from a hundred feet above. As Sandor yells for them to stop fighting, Belle pulls up a chair by the window.
“Aren’t you going to stop them?” Frank asks her.
“You kidding? I haven’t seen a good cage fight since our neighbors figured out that we were mooching off of their cable two years ago,” she responds. “Plus, this morning Chris spilt orange juice on my white bunny rabbit slippers and the floor was cold and I don’t know if orange juice washes out and I love my bunny rabbit slippers, so I’m still sort of mad at him.”
Dick hits Chris over the head with a steel pipe, Chris staggers backwards a couple of steps, but the impact bends the pipe. Chris retaliates with a right cross that sends Dick flying into the side of a fighter jet, leaving a dent. Dick fires his grappling hook, which Chris dodges effortlessly, on its way back, however, the hook snags on Chris’s
cape and yanks him into Dick’s punch. Reflexively, Chris knees Dick in the genitals and smashes his face into the hull of the already-damaged fighter jet. Dick’s leg shoots out backwards and hits Chris in the gut. Dick gets up and rubs his head as Chris squares his shoulders and raises his hands while dancing lightly from foot to foot like a champion boxer in the ring.
Dick goes for a flying tackle, but Chris catches him and headbutts him in the nose. Everyone is surprised that Dick’s nose is not broken. Dick fires his grappling hook at Chris, the force of the hook’s impact coupled with the short distance knocks the wind out of Chris. Dick presses his advantage and sends his knee into Chris’s gut, making him keel over. Once Chris is on the ground, Dick straddles him and pulls off his helmet before landing punch after punch on Chris’s face. Chris catches one of the punches and uses his new grip on Dick to throw him off and twist his arm behind his back in a hold that would result in muscle tearing and possibly permanent damage if Dick tried to move his pinned arm.
“Say ‘I’m a little bitch and Titan is better’ and I’ll let you go,” Chris tells him.”
“Go to hell,” Dick hisses through gritted teeth.
“I can wait all day holding you like this, but how long can you hold out before your arm becomes paralyzed?”
Dr. Invictus lands behind them and throws Chris off Dick. Before either Chris or Dick can get up, Dr. Invictus throws down two bubble shields that entrap the two combatants.
“What do you have to say for yourselves?” Dr. Invictus asks, looking back and forth between them.
“He started it!” both of them say at once.
“Dick threw the first punch, all that was just self-defense,” Chris says.
“Chris provoked me,” Dick says.
“A verbal assault is very different from a physical assault,” Chris counters.
“Both of you should be disappointed in yourselves,” Dr. Invictus says. “Two of the world’s greatest heroes, fighting like children in the playground. I’m going to release, you two, but you better keep your hands to yourselves, alright?”