DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS FROM The Secret Saturdays (If I did I would be named Jay Stephens but I'm not) HOWEVER I DO OWN THE OTHER CHARACTERS

Making an Impression

Doyle had accepted this job only two weeks ago; he had spent the weeks researching and planning his actions, preparing his equipment to suit the task. And now he sat barely fifty meters outside the gates of the target facility waiting for the brief one-minute opening to breach the perimeter of the fence and enter the main building. As he waited he ran through his objective; enter the facility, find and hack the main computer for the XF-9 files, get out and get the files to his client and, after that, he was on his own.

Guess they don't mind letting the messenger die. He thought as he looked over his weapons; on him, Doyle carried two semi-automatic .22 caliber Smith and Weston handguns, eight grenades, an emergency knife and his self designed jetpack for the escape. Of course he hoped that he wouldn't have to use most of this equipment for the job, but then again he didn't know for sure. The heat of the jungle and sounds of the wildlife were driving him mad as he waited. To block that out he gritted his teeth and focused on the building structure. He stared and stared, glancing at his watch. Twelve minutes to go time. Then eleven and a half. Eleven and fifteen seconds. The time until he started his mission was ticking by slowly. He reached for a grenade, wrapped his finger around the ring, flexed his muscles to pull and—

He didn't have time to pull on the ring as the sound of a high-powered explosive shook the jungle. The shock wave had knocked him off balance and in turn caused him to drop the hand held explosive. He dug around for it and recovered it.

The sound of the explosion came from the other side of the facility, smoke and fire rising from the origin of the blast, security flocking to put it out and assess what had happened. Doyle took the blast as a once in a lifetime opportunity. He knew that if the threat was resolved and reconstruction went under way, that security would be increased and completely eliminate any possibility for a second chance at breaking in. Doyle placed the grenade back on his belt, thankful that he didn't pull the ring and ran in towards the fence. At half the distance he started up his jetpack and the resulting force propelled him well over the fence. The view from Doyle's vantage allowed him to see over the building and observe what allowed him his chance.

There was a tank-like vehicle, with a camouflage paint job; it was rounded, with tinted glass domes at the front, and the treads were resting some ways behind and below them. The cannon was double barreled, it rested atop the rounded haul and one of the barrels was still smoking. Surrounding the tank were two groups, one was the security shooting at the intruding tank and the other side was composed of renegades with bandanas wrapped around their faces and machine guns flashing, mowing down the resistance.

Doyle touched down seconds after the brief look at the diversion and tossed a grenade at the door that blocked his way in. Why be subtle when there's a tank and a gunfight? He ran down a hallway with red lights and deafening horns alerting anyone inside of the assault, then down another hall, and another. He could navigate these halls better than a janitor in a school, all thanks to the prep work and memorization of the blueprints that he had found on this place. Now the real trouble with his plan after break in was that he only had a hunch as to where the main computer was kept and Doyle wasn't entirely sure if he was right. Doyle needed more than a hunch, more than a gunfight and definitely more time.

His boots banged at every step as he moved in closer to his assumed target, he was quite sure that the fight outside eliminated his need for stealth. That, along with the fact that sirens were blaring really helped cover up the sound of his heavy footfalls. He continued his approach towards his target at a steady pace. He needed just a few more turns; a few more steps and he would be at the door to his goal. He took a sharp turn and his boots squeaked some as he charged down the hall to the next corridor to his prime target the distance closing. A few yards down the hall the sirens stopped and the light returned to normal; with the suddenness of the change Doyle's rhythm was disrupted and resulted in tripping over his own feet.

The fall knocked the wind out of him; his weapons shifted around in their places, the grenades making an uncomfortable landing even more uncomfortable. Doyle stood up adjusting his equipment and thought about devising a better system of arrangement for his things as well as reducing the size and weight of his jetpack. With the alarm off his brain started screaming at him, telling him to find a safe place or get out of the facility while he had time. More thoughts occurred asking why the alarm went off, which side of the battle outside had won and most disturbingly why was he hearing voices. Doyle shook his head and the voices didn't disappear, many possibilities ran through his mind in that instant but some logical, intelligent thought suggested that he stop thinking thoughts of idiots and listen for the voices.

Doyle listened; he slowed his breathing and concentrated on the sounds around him and found it quite… interesting. There was the ringing in his ears and the pumping of his heart slowing to smoother pace as well as the sound of his breathing, but was interesting was that he could hear people talking and the soft tapping of people pacing. The voices he heard were gravelly, quick and sounded strongly of Russian accents, talking of breaking into a certain room.

"Why did you kill the sirens, Pavil? If those foolish guards are done with those brainless drones we hired and find that their security is down they'll know someone is in here," demanded the first voice, it came from around the corner.

"Well, Sergei," the second one, Pavil, spat, "The thing is that it's tough to focus on cracking this lock when there is a siren screaming in your ear!"

"I don't care!" Sergei shouted, " I still say that we should blast the damn thing open." Doyle listened to the two argue busting down the door as he approached the edge of the wall. He peered around the bend and saw not two but three men, dressed in similar outfits and helmets at the end of the hall. One was crouched next to the door with a black, sharp-edged laptop with a series of cords and wires connected to an automated lock on a high security door and more wires from a hole cut out of the wall. Doyle figure that he was Pavil, and the other who was bent over and making wild gestures must have been Sergei. The third one, who hadn't said a word, was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed widening the tattoo of some animal's head, for some reason Doyle could tell that the third one was steadily getting more and more irritated with the others.

The third one finally snapped when Sergei and Pavil's argument devolved into 'nuh-uh, uh-huh'. He threw himself up from his leisurely position, revealing the height difference between him and the others and a sheathed sword strapped across his back, and shouted something in Russian at the two. Doyle himself shuddered at the outburst and continued watching the three helmeted men.

"Enough you two, I didn't let you come along to argue like Americans. I let you come along to prove why I should hire and at the moment I am very displeased with your performances. My woman could do this faster and look better without even trying. Now, Sergei shut up and keep watch of the corridor for our unknowing hosts. Pavil get to work on that lock." The third man, their boss, said nothing more and returned to his leaning against the wall. Sergei shifted his position and looked down the hallway, the lenses of the dark green helmet hiding bored eyes. Doyle snapped his neck back around to hide his head from the eyes of Sergei. Doyle tried to keep his focus but it was in vain, the boss had moved down the hall to the turn and was now looking Doyle square in the eyes.

A cold shudder ran down Doyle's spine as he stared at the red lenses of the gold helmet. A gun was held to Doyle's head, he didn't even bother to recognize the model. A familiar click sounded from the gun but the trigger hadn't been pulled. Doyle would've flinched but he was so stunned by the arrival of the Russian that he didn't. The Russian lowered the gun from Doyle's head, grabbed his collar and pulled him out into the hallway with the other two.

Sergei quickly ran over and took Doyle's back, his weapon ready to fire if Doyle didn't cooperate, Pavil took a quick glance over his shoulder before returning to work. The head Russian paced back and forth looking over Doyle, twirling his gun around his finger before holstering it and planting his feet.

"Who are you?" the Russian asked.

"Baba O'Reilly," Doyle retorted. Sergei didn't like that and pressed the end of the gun harder against Doyle's head.

"Funny. I don't like The Who or smart talk, but I'll let that one slide. Just answer the question, boy."

"Why does it matter? Your probably going to kill me," Sergei pressed the gun into Doyle's head so hard that blood trickled down through his hair. He guessed that he needed to give his name and not be funny or give a boring excuse.

"My name is Doyle," Pavil could be heard chuckling at the name further down the hall.

The Russian stood there and asked another question, "Whom do you work for?"

"Whoever pays the most, and right now-" Alright, I get it I do the same thing," the Russian interrupted.

"What were you hired for? Protecting this place or getting what's behind that door there?"

"The latter."

"You're carrying many weapons and some large thing on your back. Were you expecting a fight?"

"Yes, but not anything like this."

" How long did your reconnaissance and preparation take?"

"Two weeks." At that the Russian chuckled, and shook his head.

"Boy, you should spend at least two months preparing for an operation like this, especially if you're going solo."
"Yeah, well at least I figured out a time frame that I could sneak in. You had those guys barge in with a tank," Sergei pressed the barrel of the gun further into Doyle's skull, it was starting to hurt.

"Yes, but you must realize that I organized that so I wouldn't have to sneak around like a rat and have plenty of time to perpetrate that door. Of course, I didn't pay those men yet, but they think they have been, and the tank is expendable. Expensive, but expendable, and cheaper than the price that they were asking for to do this. I plan these things, even the use of a computer worker and a thick skulled buffoon to ensure that the operation goes of quickly."

Doyle had to admit that the Russian had a point. It was more efficient to have a large distraction that would both eliminate any threats and snuff itself out in the process.

"Van Rook, boss, why are you telling him this? You didn't even explain this to us and-" Sergei didn't finish his sentence, and if he did it was simply a scream of agony and pain that slowly turned to sobs and tears. The Russian, the boss, Van Rook, had shot Sergei; the shot wasn't anywhere critical, just in the knee that was exposed while Sergei had held Doyle at gunpoint.

"What was the first rule that I gave you?" Van Rook asked as he holstered his weapon, "Say it." Sergei was gasping for breath, he had never been shot before, he had always been the one to shoot.

"Ne-," he gasped for air trying to block out the pain, "Never, under any circumstances, even in private-," He shouted out of pain, "Never say your name until you hired one of us."

Van Rook shook his head in agreement before asking another, "And the second?" Sergei was shaking in pain, his hand applying pressure on the gunshot wound but it didn't do anything for the blood that trickled through his fingers. He sucked in a breath and used that to state the second rule.

"Never, under any circumstances, even in private, never say your name until you hired one of us." Van Rook shook his head again. Doyle was taken aback and he watched as Van Rook had gone from asking him simple questions in a light tone to a dark and grave interrogation with a man who he had just injured.

"Yes, yes those are the first two rules. And what is the punishment if you break those rules or any others?" Sergei had managed to block out the pain somewhat and started to speak up.

"The punishment for breaking any rules, especially the first two rules is that one takes a bullet that will end his life as our boss's apprentice." It wasn't Sergei who had answered the question but Pavil. Doyle and Van Rook turned to look at Pavil who continued on with the explanation.

"And when an apprentice of our boss takes a bullet by the boss's hand, it is assured that he will die that day by other means."

"Yes, that's right Pavil." Van Rook started, "But why are you over here? You should be hacking the lock."

"I have finished that job, but there was another series of locks that a computer won't open. We'll have to blow it open." The Van Rook, Pavil and Doyle stood a silence broken by Sergei's whimpering.

"Fine," Van Rook stated as he kneeled down to pick one of Sergei's grenades off his belt. He didn't expect to find a steel-toed boot slam into his helmet.

Doyle had been watching the whole episode and his anger had been growing since the gunshot. His foot had slammed into Van Rook's helmet, but it didn't release the anger that Doyle had pent up from watching Van Rook. He leaped over Sergei and swung a hard left into Van Rook's helmet, the pain of broken fingers and pierced skin spiked up his arm. A resounding crack was heard from the helmet as a large web like crack spread across the right side. Doyle wasn't done as he wound up a right and let it fly, pain coursed through his arm as another web like crack spread across the left side of the helmet.

The helmet slowly crumbled along the right side revealing some of Van Rook's jaw. Doyle took the opportunity to send another left at the jaw, and underneath the sound of skin flapping against skin, a pop could be heard. That pop was the sound of Van Rook's jaw being dislocated. Doyle then sent an uppercut sending Van Rook into the air along with fragments of his helmet flying. More jaw was revealed as were two thin white lines that stretched up Van Rook's cheek, possibly up over his eye.

Doyle didn't notice these details, just his fists pounding Van Rook's exposed portions of his face. Doyle grew tired of his slugging at the Russian mercenary's face and turned his rage to the guts. Fists and knees dug into the tough stomach of Van Rook. The flurry of Doyle's attacks soon had Van Rook's back against the wall. Doyle grabbed at Van Rook's throat and held him against the wall with his broken and bloody hand with his other broken and bloody hand ready to drive Van Rook's nose into his skull.

"Khoro-" Van Rook began while he spat out some blood and a couple of teeth, "Khorosho, but your attacks can't be fueled by just the anger that was rising during the conversation that Sergei and I had." Doyle stared at Van Rook, his eyes looking through the red lenses at Van Rook's.

"No, no, it's not that anymore. That was your motivation for the kick; your rage from some time ago consumed you then and poured out of you for all the attacks afterwards. So why continue? Why did you keep sending blow after blow at me? I am guessing that you've been storing your rage somewhere and that I was the perfect target for all that rage and aggression. So, is this because your father didn't love you?"

Doyle's fist slammed into Van Rook's nose, breaking it. His breathing was deep and labored as he let Van Rook go and fall to the ground.

"You don't talk about my family. You have no right." Doyle stated as he turned to see Pavil prepping the grenades around the door, Sergei lay against the door. Pavil held a thread in his hand; the thread was tied to all the grenade rings and with a hard enough pull they'd all go off in seconds.

"What are you doing?" Doyle stated as he ran towards Pavil. He wrestled the thread from Pavil's hand. Pavil didn't answer. "Tell me, what were you doing?"

"His job," claimed a sloshed and drowned voice, heavy with a Russian accent. A stabbing sensation ran through Doyle's back and chest. The blade was twisted and dragged out of Doyle's back and through his jetpack. Doyle looked back at the culprit and his eyes glazed over as he watched Van Rook sheathe the blood stained blade. Doyle hadn't let go of the thread and his fall provided just enough force to pull the rings out. Three seconds passed slowly as Van Rook and Pavil retreated to the corridor that Doyle had been in to eavesdrop on their conversation earlier.

The multiple explosions were more than enough to remove the door from its frame, but only one grenade was needed to blast the door while the other grenades were meant to kill Sergei. Sergei was dead, the door was open and Pavil was extracting the files from the main computer. Van Rook stood over Doyle's dying body and examined the contraption on the dying man's back. A smile formed as he removed the device, he realized what it was and he liked it. From one of his pockets Van Rook Drew a card pristine white and tucked it into one of Doyle's pockets.

"If you do live, remember this and come see me when you're tired of losing."

The two Russian mercenaries soon left the building. As Van Rook had planned, the hired help and the building security had wiped each other. As the two approached the bullet riddled tank two men, sweat clinging to their faces and staining their shirts, climbed out to greet the man with the money. As the two mercenaries closed in, Van Rook removed his gun from its holster and shot the two men and tossed the weapon.

Pavil assisted his boss into the tank and started the vehicle. The large, oddly shaped combat vehicle soon tumbled away through the same path that it had come from.

Doyle hadn't died. Scientists and staff that had gone into hiding when the alarm went off had found him lying in his own pool of blood, barely alive. They rushed to heal him using first aid and called the nearest hospital to give him the attention he needed. With the surgery successful and blood given to Doyle, he awoke in a white room with large block shaped devices with green spiked lines that changed every now and then but not too much. Doyle looked at his hands, bound splints and bandages and he remembered things about his past, the fights, and the hardships. A man who entered the room broke his reflections, he wore a suit and his face wasn't that of a man who wanted to congratulate him on a successful surgery and wish him to get well soon.

No, this man wanted something. Doyle managed a groan with the bit of strength that he possessed. He wasn't going to get off with anything like that job without answering to somebody. Things weren't going to get better soon, they weren't going to get better for a long time.

Hi there and thanks for reading this. About the story, I had to rethink some details of the Secret Saturdays Universe so that this would seem more realistic. And since we, the audience, do not know much of Doyle's or Van Rook's pasts I found this story to be very liberal in the way things work. I may expand on this story later on, probably from the very beginning and I mean very beginning not just when Doyle became a mercenary.

I don't lie, I act