"Hitchhikers May Be Escaping Inmates"
I haven't written any fanfiction in over a decade, but I felt suddenly inspired and, lo-and-behold, this one-shot poured out of my figurative pen late one night.
Set in the MCU / Avengers film-verse, but heavily influenced by Earth-616.
Cookies to anyone who picks up on the myriad of comic canon continuity nods.
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"—oduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste—"
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"—eal your shrinking soul. Hey buddy, you know you're never ever coming back. He's a go—"
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"—she's climbing the stairway to—"
"Aww, hell no." Click.
"—nd this is NPR…"
"That'll do."
The high desert was immensely dark on the brisk winter night, illuminated only by the innumerable stars above and the bright headlights of the little black Jeep as it sped down the narrow strip of empty blacktop. The woman behind the wheel of the Jeep looked tired as she adjusted the radio, searching out something to keep her awake.
"Just one more stop to go tonight," she murmured wearily to herself. "Just one more."
She turned the radio's volume up, letting the soothing rhythms of the bland female newscaster's voice flow from the speakers.
"Earlier today, an explosion was reported at a Federal installation in the Mojave Desert. Government officials reported only minor injuries were sustained in the blast, but declined to comment on what caused the explosion. They also would provide no details on what government agencies were involved in the incident or what type of facility was damaged. Witnesses say that…"
The news droned on, fading into the background as the driver watched the desert slide past the windows. A bright yellow sign flashed past, illuminated in the hi-beams. "Hitchhikers May Be Escaping Inmates." The sign was peppered with tiny holes, most likely from a load of birdshot, delivered by some backwater hick taking pot shots.
The driver chuckled. "Well, isn't that reassuring," she quipped to herself.
Up ahead, a gritty turnout onto a dirt road came into view. She slowed the Jeep and turned off the main road, leaving a wispy trail of dust in her wake. The road was poorly graded and narrow, but nevertheless clearly defined and lined by stands of Joshua trees, with their odd, twisted branches reaching skyward like some bizarre alien foliage grasping at the stars.
The driver had cruised down this road for more than an hour as it meandered deeper into the desolate reaches of the desert when there was a flash of movement ahead of her. Suddenly, a tall figure staggered out of the creosote brush and into the dusty road. Starkly lit by the headlights, the person threw up an arm against the intense light.
"Holy shit!"
She slammed on the brakes. The Jeep's oversized tires skidded briefly, kicking up a flurry of sand into the air, then bit home into the loose, gravelly earth. The Jeep jerked to a stop, barely a foot away from the man in the road.
Over hands clenched, white knuckled, on the steering wheel, the driver gaped at the figure caught in her headlights and swirling dust. He was very pale, with long, ragged dark hair, and dressed in what appeared to be a long black and green coat. His hands were still up, shielding his face. He moved to lower them, but before she could get a look at his face, he swayed on his feet and collapsed to the ground.
Snapped out of her shock, the driver cursed and threw the door open. She swung out of the car and, heavy workboots crunching on the loose stones in the road, rushed to the man lying prone on the ground.
"My god," she breathed as she reached him. "Are you okay?"
Face down on the ground, the man groaned and muttered something incoherent. She reached down and took hold of his shoulder, carefully turning him onto his side. Up close now, she could see that his clothing was something a little more exotic than an ordinary long coat. It looked like something out of a science fiction movie or a heavy metal band, with intricate designs and adornments, along with bits of metal armor on the arms and legs. The clothes seemed charred in places and there was a lingering smell of ozone and cordite in the air. She drew back slightly, a bit wary of what this could mean.
A dry, hacking cough from the man brought her attention back to focus, however. He struggled to pull himself up into a sitting position and she got a glimpse of his face in the glow of the headlights. He looked terrible—his pale, narrow face was haggard, bruised and cut in places, a line of fresh blood dripped down his temple, his black hair singed at the ends, and thin lips were cracked and dry.
"Shit," she exclaimed, "let me get you some water…"
She quickly went back to her Jeep and pulled a canteen from her supplies. Bringing it back to his side, she unscrewed the cap and handed it to him. After a moment's hesitation, in which he peered at her with a suspicious gaze, he accepted it and took a long, slow drink of the water. All was quiet except the incessant open door chime of the Jeep behind her and the news radio chattering away.
When he handed the canteen back to her, nearly half empty now, she replaced the lid and slung its strap over her shoulder. "Can you stand?" she asked, concerned.
He said nothing, but nodded. With a grunt, he tried to maneuver himself up. Getting to his feet, he suddenly wobbled, threatening to fall again. Quickly, she grabbed his arm to steady him. At her touch, he gave her a sharp look of disapproval. Nevertheless, he still said nothing as she pulled his arm over her shoulder and supported some of his weight to keep him on his feet. He was surprisingly heavy for a man of such a lean frame.
"Here, let's get you into the car," she said, leading him towards the Jeep. "You probably ought to get to a hospital." Never mind that the nearest hospital was more than 80 miles away, she thought to herself with an inward sigh. So much for getting home at a reasonable time tonight.
Still utterly silent, he limped along with her to the Jeep. She assisted him into the back seat, which he gingerly climbed into. She handed the canteen back to him, then climbed back into the front seat and closed the door. She glanced at her phone. No service out here in the backcountry, of course. The overhead dome light faded off as she turned to look back to the man slumped in her backseat.
"There's a first aid kit back there," she said, indicating the red nylon bag strapped to the roll bar beside him. "And there's a towel on the floor if you need it, too." She paused, a prickle of nerves on the back of her neck making her uneasy for some reason. "Do you want me to take you to a hospital?"
"No," he rasped, finally speaking. His voice was harsh through what must be a dry throat. "Just get me out of here," he barked, clearly skipping any pretense of politeness or gratitude.
She hesitated now, unsure of how to proceed. Finding an injured man staggering around a remote corner of the desert was no ordinary occurrence. She couldn't just leave him out here to the rabid coyotes, obviously. But what the hell was she supposed to do with him?
Coming to a snap decision, she turned back to the wheel without another word and put the Jeep in gear. She straightened the wheels and they lurched off down the rough dirt road. There was an old 4x4 trail through the mountains not far ahead. She could cut through the canyons there and drop him at one of the little outpost towns on the other side. No hospital, but he could surely find his way to one from there on his own if he so desired. More importantly, he'd be someone else's problem—which, considering the apprehension she felt right about this stranger, was probably the best plan to go forward with.
She explained this to her passenger in brief, concise terms. Silence was the only answer from the backseat, but after a moment she could hear the zipper of the first aid kit and the rustling as he dug through its contents. Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and confirmed that he was attending to his wounds.
To diffuse her tension, she turned up the radio.
"In Manhattan, protesters lined the streets outside the Latverian Embassy. The demonstrations were in response to the Latverian monarch's current visit to the city. Although protected by diplomatic immunity, the monarch has been accused by some groups of…"
"Do you have a phone, by chance?" came the voice from behind her, startling her out of her thoughts. He sounded steadier now, less hoarse. There also emerged a cultured tone to his speech, with hints of an accent she couldn't quite place.
"I do, but there's no signal way out here. Sorry. Once we get through the mountains it should work, though."
There was a long pause. The voice from the backseat drifted forward once more, sounding ever stronger and less strained. "What does Roxxon mean?"
"I beg your pardon?" she replied, caught off guard.
In the rearview, she saw him incline the canteen in his hand towards her. "On your shirt."
"Oh." It was embroidered on the right breastpocket of her work shirt. "Roxxon Energy Corporation. I'm inspecting prospective drilling sites for them out here." She snorted, "they're bastards and probably doing shady business, but it pays the bills."
He made no further reply. She shrugged and kept her eyes focused on the trail ahead.
They drove on through the wilderness until they reached a fork in the road. Slowing, the driver ruefully looked down the left fork where her last inspection site for the night would have been. With a sigh, she turned to the right and towards the mountains in the distance instead.
The road here grew trickier, deeply rutted from winter floods and dotted with larger rocks. She engaged the four-wheel drive and slowed their pace as they turned into the path through the mountains, descending steeply towards a twisting canyon. Brush scraped the sides as the trail grew ever more narrow.
She glanced again in the rearview mirror. Her passenger had his eyes closed, leaning back against the seat. Perhaps he had fallen asleep. If so, it was for the best—something about this strange man set her ill at ease.
There was a hiss of static on the radio as they passed into the shadow of the mountains, but it popped up bright and clear after a moment.
"The Avengers were sighted in Los Angeles today. While Tony Stark, who is a member of the Avengers as the Iron Man, assured the public that this arrival was strictly a social call to his Malibu residence, rumors persist that they are on the west coast instead to pursue an escaped fugitive—the renegade Asgardian, known as Loki, who, two years ago, was responsible for the invasion of New Yor—"
Click.
A slender white hand reached forward from the backseat to turn the radio off.
The heavy silence that descended was nearly tangible and unimaginably terrifying. The driver's eyes widened and her mouth went dry as horrible realization struck. Pulse thrumming in her ears; she looked fearfully into the rearview mirror. Her passenger's eyes were open now, fiercely green and tersely alert. He was staring intensely right back at her through the mirror.
Her hands shook uncontrollably with sudden fright, so she gripped the wheel tighter to still them. Her thoughts turned longingly to the pistol under her seat, securely stowed in its plastic Pelican case—sincerely wishing there was some way to have it in her hand right now. Not, however, that she anticipated it would do her much good even if she had it.
"Keep driving," came the sudden order from the backseat.
She flinched at the words, but then realized she had let the Jeep drift down to a near stop—any slower and she likely would have stalled the engine out. Hitting the gas, she pushed on into the canyon. There was a rough patch ahead, with a steep descent down some uneven rocks. It was a small relief to be able to focus on navigating down the trail, rather than on her imminent peril and likely demise.
Once past the stony bit of road, she took a deep breath to steady herself. "Why… How did you get here?" she asked, putting a concerted effort into keeping her voice from trembling. If she was going to end up dead tonight, she might as well find out why.
In the rearview, she saw her passenger quirk a thin, dark eyebrow, as if amused by her audacity. His reflection regarded her thoughtfully, clearly considering his response.
"Punitive measures where I come from are severe and merciless, but largely unsupervised," came the cool, collected voice—he seemed to be recovering very quickly. Absently, he rubbed at his eyes as if plagued by the ghost of some irritant. "It was only a matter of time before I was free."
He continued, his words tinged with a hint of arrogance, "getting here was a bit more challenging, but it was made far easier by the noble efforts of such dedicated scientists who were so eager to open another pathway." He smiled, an unsettling sight. "I do believe they were expecting someone other than myself to come through it, however."
She thought of the radio's earlier reports of an explosion at a government facility, her blood going cold. A thought occurred to her and she wondered how far away that facility was from here. There were so many military bases scattered throughout the desert here—how far had he stumbled in the darkness before she came upon him? She summoned up the courage to speak again, "and when I found you?"
A sneer crept onto his face. "Needless to say, they were not pleased to see me," he said simply, as if this alone was sufficient explanation.
"Are… could they be following you?" she asked haltingly, her silent and most fervent hope was that there was an entire brigade in hot pursuit right now.
His gaze sharpened in the mirror, dark and calculating as he looked upon her. "In this wasteland?" he said dismissively, waving his hand at the dark desolation outside the window. "Unlikely."
It was true; this canyon road was incredibly remote and largely unknown except to the unfortunate few who had to work out here. The likelihood of anyone searching here was incredibly slim. She was well beyond rescue out here, trapped in her Jeep with one of the most dangerous criminals on earth.
She tried not to think about that.
The quiet returned, except for the sedate hum of the engine and the crunch of the tires on loose gravel. They were nearly halfway through now, with perhaps another hour before they emerged from the mountains. It was slow progress ahead in the dark—she had to pick their route very carefully.
She found her voice again to ask a nervous, but pressing question, "what… what are you going to do…?" The "…to me?" part of her inquiry was left implied, but unsaid.
His gaze lazily met hers in the rear-view mirror and he made a trivializing sound in his throat. "Just get us out of these mountains, as you said you would," he commanded.
His vague statement was far less reassuring than she would have liked. Nevertheless, she nodded once, "we're nearly out of the canyon. A bit farther and we should have cell reception again."
Indeed, the trail was widening now and the rocky walls on either side of it were pulling back, opening to the darkly clear sky above. There was one final ascent, a steep, twisty line climbing over some stony terrain. The Jeep rocked gently on its springs as they crawled up the path. Then at last the road leveled out and they were free of the mountains, emerging into the vast desert flats, illuminated only by winter starlight.
Shifting out of 4 wheel drive and accelerating along the dirt road, they put some distance between themselves and the mountains. Anxiously, the driver checked her phone and felt a jolt of mixed relief and apprehension: two cellular signal bars glowed from the screen.
It did not go unnoticed by her passenger. "Give me the phone and stop the car," he ordered in a no-nonsense tone. Clearly, this was a man well accustomed to having his words obeyed instantly. It was no surprise then that she found herself compelled to do as he said, passing the phone back to him and bringing the Jeep to a halt. She left the engine running, a tremor of fear returning to her fingers, which she worked hard to quell.
Behind her, she heard her passenger twist the door handle and open the door, letting in a gust of chilly wind off the desert. "Do not leave," he instructed sharply in a voice that demanded unquestioning obedience, and then stepped outside the Jeep with her phone, closing the door behind him. It seemed he was recovered enough to walk without limping now—such speedy recuperation was downright unnatural.
Alone in the driver's seat with the engine idling, she contemplated the feasibility of making an escape. Level as this dirt road might be, it would be difficult to get the Jeep up to speed very quickly. Moreover, if even half of what she had heard on the news about her passenger was true, fleeing alone might not be enough to save her from retaliation. Once again, her mind drifted to the pistol hidden under her seat.
She glanced furtively out the window. Her passenger's tall, slender form was just barely visible in the late night gloom. Standing just outside the pool of light cast by the headlights, he was speaking quickly into the phone. Who could he be possibly calling? And just how did an allegedly alien being know how to operate a cell phone anyway? Clearly, she was dealing with a very adaptable individual—one not to be underestimated.
He had his back turned now. Using this brief moment outside the high-powered lens of his scrutiny, she reached back to grope around under the seat, grasping desperately for the slim plastic case that contained her pistol. Her fingertips brushed the rubber clasp of the case and a surge of relief flooded through her veins.
The passenger door opened.
She froze, trapped in that piercing green gaze. His knowing, sharp eyes seemed to bore into her, glinting dangerously in the yellow light of the overhead lamp. However, when he spoke, his words surprised her, "what is the nearest township?"
After a spluttering moment of brain fog, she reeled off the name of the nearest town. He repeated it into the phone in clear, precise tones. "It's about an hour away," she added. This too was conveyed to the mysterious phone conversationalist. He did not, however, step away from the Jeep again or close the door now. His very presence radiated menace and unspoken warning. Slowly and with utmost circumspect discretion, she withdrew her hand from under the seat and moved it in the dark to her lap.
After a few more clipped and cryptic words to whoever he was on the phone with, he ended the call and turned back to her. Illuminated by the dim cabin light, his pale features were stark and angular. His recovery was nothing short of remarkable. He had wiped away the blood and grime from his face and it seemed that only a scant few scrapes and bruises were left on his face and hands. The rest had already faded away, far quicker than a normal person would ever heal. His hair and clothing were still singed, but otherwise one would hardly imagine he had only recently been a staggering mess.
Her phone was still clutched in his hand and he looked down at it thoughtfully. Showing an unsettling degree of savvy, he proceeded to wipe the call history from it before he handed it back to her without further comment.
He climbed back into the Jeep and pulled the door closed, this time forgoing the rear bench and instead occupying the passenger seat beside her. The close proximity increased her nervousness tenfold. "Drive on," he directed, "to that town you spoke of."
Again, she complied with his demands and put the engine in gear. They rolled down the dirt road, picking up speed as the road grew firmer and smoother. A few more miles passed before the dirt and gravel gave way to pavement at a dusty crossroads. Turning onto the asphalt, they headed now in the direction of the nearest town. She hit the gas and piled on as much speed as she safely could without risking a high-speed collision with some errant, jaywalking desert critter in the night.
Farther along the road, the glow of civilization and electric lighting warmed the horizon. Hope crept into the driver's mind—hope that perhaps she was going to survive this night after all. Her passenger chose this moment, however, to speak up after the long silence. "You know," he began in a low voice that sent unsettling chills down her spine, "despite what your radio might claim, I am not a complete monster."
Every hair seemed to stand with electric fear on the back of her neck, apprehension gripping her and shaking away the faint hope she had begun to feel.
"Your world needs a firm hand," he continued, "to save you from yourselves. And yet, your kind threw away the gift you were offered with both hands." He shook his head. "A pity, as some great gifts are only offered but once."
She was torn between the utter dread she felt at this sudden monologue and the unfortunate simian curiosity that prodded her to ask, "what will you do now?"
Her passenger seemed surprised by her impertinence, blinking incredulously as he turned to look at her. His face swiftly twisted into a wicked smirk, however, and he enigmatically replied, "oh, you shall see."
Her heart jumped into her throat and her stomach fell through the floorboards. Words failed her now, but she kept driving forward towards the haven of glowing lights and humanity ahead. They were close now and brightly lit billboards advertising cheap food and fuel slid past the windows. Finally, the town came into view. Ahead on the right, a lonely gas station was perched on the edge of the dusty desert.
"Turn in here," her passenger instructed.
She complied, turning the Jeep into the gas station. Illuminated by flickering fluorescent light, the station was abandoned except for a single car. A shiny black sedan with darkly tinted windows was parked beside one of the two fuel pumps. The store itself seemed to be closed and empty for the night, with the interior lights dark.
"Pull up to the pump," came the next curt command.
She did as she was told, parking the Jeep at the remaining unoccupied pump. She set the brake and sat staring straight ahead through the windshield, swallowing the silent fears of what would likely happen next and contemplating what she might do to save herself. Now it came down to it and she gritted her teeth, coaxing whatever steel she had inside herself to the surface.
"You have done well," he drawled, "now …" He stopped short.
She held the pistol in both hands, leveled at his chest. Her back braced against the door to steady herself, she disengaged the safety with a soft click and stared with grim determination over the sights of the gun. "Get out," she said firmly, although unable to disguise the slight falter in her voice as she added, "... please."
His eyes flicked quickly from her face to the muzzle of the gun and back. Whatever response she was expecting from him, a mirthful outburst of laughter was certainly not the anticipated reaction.
"You have some unexpected reserve of spirit, mortal. I will grant you that," he chuckled, with an amused shake of his head. "But your valiant display of heroics is quite unnecessary." With complete indifference towards the pistol trained on him, he opened the door and began to disembark from the car. "As I was saying, before you interrupted," he continued, "you have served well. Now, go forth along your way."
He stepped from the car and into the buzzing glow of the overhead lights. He straightened up, taking a moment to run a hand through his hair to smooth it down and to dust off his charred clothes. The muzzle of her pistol wavered uncertainly, still pointed in his direction. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back to her and bent back through the open door. "For your assistance, you have my gratitude," he said, his manner now formal and articulate, "consider my willingness to forgive and disregard your ridiculous threat as your generous reward."
With that, he stepped away from her Jeep, leaving the passenger door ajar, and strode effortlessly across the pavement to the parked sedan. A door opened from within and he disappeared into the dark car. In the dim light, she could not catch so much as a fleeting glimpse of the car's other occupants before the door was pulled shut and the sedan pulled smoothly out of the station and onto the road. She watched in stunned silence as the engine revved and the car sped away. Before it disappeared from sight, she noticed that it had diplomatic plates, rather than the ubiquitous California tags.
Alone now with his words still hanging ominously in the air, she slowly lowered her pistol and sat in numb, trembling shock with the cold metal of the gun resting across her lap. It was several long minutes before she could pull herself together. Taking a deep breath, she reengaged the safety on the pistol and returned it to its case under her seat. Then, she reached across the seat to pull the passenger door shut. After a few more moments and several more deep breaths, she put the Jeep back in gear and pulled back out onto the road—heading for the safety of home at last and leaving this damn desert and this horrifying night behind.
Epilogue, Two Weeks Later
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"—this. Is. Jeopardy! Now entering the studi-"
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"—eal cases, real litigants. Here in our forum: the People's Cou—"
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"—is Will Stern, reporting live from New York City, where an attack of some kind has been unfolding since mid-morning. Witnesses are reporting massive damage. The primary focus of the attack appears to have targeted Stark Tower and the surrounding areas of Midtown. A few nearby buildings, including the Baxter Building, several blocks north of Stark Tower, have also suffered heavy damage and may have been deliberately targeted. Local hospitals have been accepting numerous injured and wounded civilians, but no fatalities have been reported yet. As you can see from this footage, shot earlier today, the primary aggressors appear to be some form of advanced robotics. There is no information available yet on their origin…"
Slouched comfortably on the couch at her home, she watched the carnage unfold on the TV with wide eyes. It occurred to her that there was no force on earth that would convince her to live in a place like New York, where it seemed as if costumed lunatics were attacking the city every other week. Southern California might have its share of freaks, but she'd take vapid celebrities over rampaging supervillains any day. Granted, her recent encounter in the desert was pretty damn unsettling in its own right. She hoped it was not a sign of things to come.
In the next room over, she heard her husband's voice call out to her. "Hey, where's today's mail at?"
"… while the origins of the robots are as of yet unknown, it appears they are being commanded by this individual, seen here in a camera phone video submitted by a viewer. It's difficult to confirm the identity, but…"
She sat bolt upright on the couch, staring at the screen with her jaw agape at the distressingly familiar figure appearing in the blurry, unsteady amateur video, perched on some form of personal hovercraft and directing the disorder like a maestro of a grand orchestra. If one looked very closely at the grainy footage, a maniacal grin could just barely be seen on the assailant's face.
"Honey, the mail…?" the persistent voice called out again.
Absently, she replied, "it's on the kitchen table, dear. Now, shush! I want to hear this!" She leaned forward, hanging on every word that the reporter said now.
"… suspected that this is the same individual responsible for the invasion of New York two years ago. We're still waiting for confirmation of this, however. Judging by the scale of the attack, however, it is theorized that this individual may not be acting alone."
From the kitchen, there came a startled oath that ought not to be repeated in polite company, followed by a surprised question, "holee smokes, have you seen the charges on this phone bill?"
Irritated, she turned away from the TV, "can't this wait? I'm trying to watch…"
"…word has reached us that the Avengers are en route to the scene. With this much chaos on the streets, they are going to have their work cut out for them…"
"Honey," came the insistent, but puzzled voice of her husband from the kitchen, "who the hell placed these international calls to Latveria? I don't even know where that is!"
Her eyes grew wide and she slowly turned back to the scenes of destruction playing out on the television with a nagging thought pulling on the edge of her mind, disassembled pieces begging to be realized as a whole. After a moment of contemplation, she came to a snap decision.
She picked up the TV remote.
Click.