It all started with a folder.
There I was, face drenched in sweat, the skin under my eyes drooping to my cheeks, my prison attire dingy and scathed. In the Cafeteria I stood, feet planted, expecting to uncover where they had dragged Matiste off to, but instead I found a folder.
I live in the distant future so a folder in its paper form was not common. All content these days existed in hologram. This folder, much like me, was the last of its kind, and its pages were left to wither in a place unknown. The files spilled out of its protective arms, almost like this inanimate object was begging for help. I drew closer to it, curious about the information it held. Some bookie, or guard, or manager probably dashed across the Cafeteria late the previous hour and the folder probably slipped from their arms without them knowing. Because it slipped from its original position the folder found me, a worried sick twenty-four year old, posted under a single beam of light.
Without question, I went to its aid slipping all its papers back into place and I carried it in my arms. My first thought was "I'm gonna present it to a guard tomorrow." Incredible, how when I met the folder the urgency to find Matiste left and all of a sudden I thought it better to just to lay low. The truth being, I had become protective of this folder and I couldn't risk rescuing Matiste and then having personnel confiscate it. I had to at least see what documents it held and examine it; any information in tangible form was worth protecting.
I was completely unaware that my intuition had acted far beyond my normal sense. My normal sense would have told me that Matiste was far more important than a folder; in fact, if I was using my normal senses I would have kicked the folder off in a corner somewhere while on the search for Matiste. But my intuition knew more, it saw my future, and it knew my past. My mom always said I had the Marksmen intuition. And I knew whenever that third sense went off I had to obey.
Sneaking back into my cell, I opened it, and so my discovery began.
When I first flipped through the folder I was stunned. Inside were top secret profiles of criminals who warred against the Masters. I assumed the documents were real, but then it listed the abilities of these criminals and it seemed all to unreal.
It was the next day, and Matiste had just returned from captivity and I felt best to share the folder with him first. I felt terrible for not attempting to break him out so I flipped the folder open for him to read.
"Very interesting," Matiste commented stroking his fake beard. He was a nineteen year old with the worst attitude, quiet until he had something slick to say, but I loved him, just like a brother. "They say this guy turned into a big green monster and that there was a God that came from… from…"
"Asgard." I pronounced it for him. "Thor. They said he had the power of lightning." When I quoted it out loud it sounded even crazier.
Matiste broke out laughing, and I then realized how dumb the whole thing was. I started questioning why I risked Matiste and I's well-being for this old thing.
Matiste laid down on my chamber bed. "I'm willing to bet someone here, I don't know who, made this up and began passing it around for entertainment."
"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprise." I said feeling solemn. I had assumed I was holding something special, not some load of crap that was causing a tiny ruckus in the mess hall.
Then Matiste got up from my bed and asked the million dollar question. "Do you believe what's in this folder?"
He said it with a smile on his face expecting me to have some comedic joke to toss back at him. I instead leaned in and said: "I don't know. I read about the Gods and the monsters and soldiers injected with serum and the wizard… who could forget the wizard? and I'm like, it's stupid. But then I read about a man name Tony Stark creating an armored-robotic suit, and then I'm like Matiste could make that in his sleep. And so I think maybe it is possible."
"Probably could make a suit like that. But anything that takes unauthorized flight in this world gets vaporized. So flying armored suits don't exist either way, so no Iron Man. Can I show this to Titan?"
"No," I detested right away. I didn't want anyone to look at the folder without me being there. "I'll show him."
The third day with the folder, I had taken it to the cell across from me to show Jack, who on occasions we called Titan. Jack's strength and combat ability was like no other, which became reason enough for him to be locked away in our prison sector. His face pretty, extremely pretty, his hair a shimmering blonde. Jack at the moment was going through an identity crisis. An enemy of the Royal Air Force, he often questioned who he was without the uniform, so his moods occasionally wavered.
On that day, he felt like a comedian twisting his face when he came in contact with the folder. "What a load of crap!" Jack laughed.
"I know," I said solemnly again, with a fake smirk on my face.
Jack continued. "But then there has to be something special about it because the Masters kept it."
My spirits lifted; finally someone found some importance in the folder.
Jack kept flipping it back and forth. "I mean this looks ancient enough. Maybe it's like the secret profile handbook of jokes that keeps Johann Schmidt laughing on occasions." I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to laugh at this statement since Schmidt was the one guy that kept our lives a living hell.
For the first time, while Jack was reading I noticed at slim disk in a plastic baggy attached to the Iron Man page. "Don't move Jack," I commanded. I thought the little silver would self destruct if the page flapped anymore. I carefully removed it from the back of the sheet.
"What is it?" Jack complained. "Is it a bug or a chip of some kind?"
"No it just looks like a disk." I lifted it up in its plastic bag to show it to him.
"Ok…" he shrunk his shoulders. "So again I ask, what is it?"
"I don't know. It doesn't come with an instruction manual."
I grazed my finger over the plastic that held the disc treating it like it was a prized artifact.
Jack at this point started to look on me with a hint of concern, as if I was turning into Evans. "Remember what you told me Nathaniel? To not let this place get to you?"
"And it hasn't." I said. "But I gotta feeling."
Knowing Jack wouldn't understand "feelings," I closed the folder and returned back to my cell. Before I did, I gave the disc to Matiste to examine. Matiste was a wiz at just about everything. When he was small they diagnosed him with some advanced form of ADHD, and anyone who met Matiste knew why. There were markings of equations all over his prison wall, with no leftover space. He was brilliant; almost too brilliant. It amazed me how such an immature kid could have such a mind beyond his years; and it wasn't something he learned, it was strictly how he was.
Jack, Matiste, Evans and me were all built with these things, things which were not normal. Matiste resembled a machine, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. Jack's strength and agility manifested in new ways every day. And Evans… Evans? Evans always had this thing for spells, in which we did not believe in, but when he started to make things move without physical force it was scary. And as for me, I had a dark past.
Found in an abandoned building at the age of five, they rescued me from the rubble, and I came with no memory of how I got there or who my family was. With no family, gang violence was the only route to take, that's how I got the weird tat on the side of my face. They gave me the gun, and by ten they crowned me the boy who never missed, by twelve top spy, and by fourteen I had a client list as long as the Bible. But something about me was different. Brought up in a crime world, many would assume I thought nothing about a life of cruelty, but I knew, from the moment I killed another human being that it was wrong.
There was a sigh of relief when they caught me at the age of fifteen. I thought with me locked up, the world would be better off; I couldn't offer it any good.
I waited till the sixth day, six days after receiving the folder, to show the youngest in our sector, Evans, what I found. There was always something strange going on with Evans. One week he would be just like any other fifteen year old jumping about with a thirst for knowledge. Other weeks he was controlled, stoic, and did not utter a word. The day I presented him the folder he was in his controlled-stoic week. "I knew you were coming. You found a folder right?" Evans said in a monotone voice. His eyes were glowing a dim gold and again I was forced to question:
"Wait… how did you know this?"
A slight smirk broke his blank face. "Calm down. Jack told me."
I slapped him across the head playfully like any older brother would and looked on the papers with him. "Crazy right?" I had already come to the conclusion that I would be the only one in my sector that thought something was special about this folder.
Evans took the documents completely away from my sight as a way to meditate with them. Unlike the rest of my brothers, he flipped through every page, and then flipped through it a second time.
"Jack thinks it's something the Masters laugh at on their own time." I don't know why I said this. I think I did it as a way to get both of us laughing. Evans was so serious sometimes.
Then he said the most logical answer. "The Masters do not joke. All paper documents were destroyed a decade ago. What is so special about this folder that they thought best to keep it?" I swore when Evans spoke I saw his eyes light up even more.
"Matiste and Jack also said it was a possibility that one of the other prisoners could have created it?"
"To go and find actual sheet of paper is impossible these days and we don't know how the other prisoners are like. We are trapped in this box."
"But I got out so I know how the outside is like." I rebottled. I hated being reminded of this. It made me feel less than human, like an experiment in a box.
"You got out once and that's because they took Matiste. You broke out because of desperation. At this point, it would be difficult if any of us were taken. Only the four of us have been interacting for five years. It would be devastating to our habitat if any of us were killed off."
I despised when Evans made so much sense, not just because he was the youngest, but because it was the truth. "So tell me, what do you think of the folder?"
"I can see why you would risk everything to hide it. It's precious."
"And? It doesn't feel fictional to you?"
"This sign." He pointed his finger at a half
-seen patch on the arm of one of the craziest looking men in the file folder, a man they named the Red Skull; because his mug shot photo showed him with a legit red skull. I thought someone tampered with image. But then I looked closer at the patch on his arm. The patch had tentacles like an octopus on it. Everyone who ever lived knew what that sign meant, I just couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it before.
"Hydra." I uttered. Hydra was the organization Johann Schmitt and the rest of the Masters served.
Evans returned the same eyes of fear to me.
"What are you trying to get at?" I asked him.
He then flipped to another image. It was a file that I had glanced over of a man who appeared to be the most normal joe in comparison to all the other crazies in the folder. Next to the description of the man's abilities it said that he was a spy, top agent, an archer, and most importantly mastered marksmen. "If you had a profile I think it would read much like his."
I read his name aloud for the first time. "Agent Clinton Francis Barton." It slipped from my lips slowly and it was at the completion of his name that my mind attempted to dig up memories which had been erased. It sent a shock through my brain cells so devastatingly painful I let out a loud cry. My cry was so loud that Matiste and Jack came out to join Evans as I collapsed to the ground.
There was no doubt in my mind at that point. Something was special about the folder.
When my brothers escorted me to bed, they rested my head on the pillow and placed the folder on my torso. And so then came the seventh day.
I read it again, not focusing on the files as a whole, but specifically on Agent Barton. His codename, or "hero" name Hawkeye. He worked for an organization known as Shield, which prime focus was to secure Earth and end the reign of the villainous organization Hydra. Well you failed at that, didn't you? Then right above my head a light bulb appeared and something clicked. I flipped back to the image of the Red Skull. Yes, it was indeed a red skeleton in an old Nazi uniform, but the outlining of the face resembled one of the Masters, Johann Schmidt.
My head started to throb again; sharp pain; my stomach like lava; I drifted off to sleep. In my sleep, I dreamt of a far off place, of a world with a piercing sun unlike anything I had ever seen. The sun's rays twinkled on a capital "A" which sat on top of a magnificent building. Then as I dreamt on, the sun's light dimmed in an ominous fashion, the concrete slowly chipped away from the building as the fog rose. Little by little, the building started collapsed. And that's when my thoughts gave me a tour inside the massive facility as it crumbled. The gymnasium equipment trembled and then sunk into the soil as the concrete floor parted. The framed certificates fell from the wall and in the glass ceiling cracks began to form. Then there was a boy running, I naturally followed him, I wanted to grab him and pull him to safety; I assumed he was trying to get out. But as I followed, I saw him venturing inward until he came to this small room with a single target at the end of it. On the wall, were thin metallic arrows quivering in their holders, and next to them were bows. But the boy didn't hastily enter the room for arrows. He ran into the room for the portrait which was on the wall parallel to the weaponry. The small boy fell to his knees, weeping like he was at a funeral, clawing at the photo like it was his lifeline. He didn't come up for air until a loud rumble echoed, and a bang hit his ear drum and that's when he showed his face to me. His cheeks were a blotchy red, his first teeth had already began to fall out, his knotty hair tangled with gravel, and his eyes an olive green. His face, the five year old version of mine. When I recognized him as myself, we shared a moment which I considered surreal. The little boy quickly leaped forward to grab one of the arrows that jumped out of its holder. He gave it to me, placing it in my hand, and he said words I would never forget, he begged, "Save me!"
I woke; breathing profusely, and gripping my prison gown. I rolled out my bed unto the floor and the folder followed me there, it scattered on the ground, and right when it did, a bang echoed, just like it did in my dream.
"WHERE'S THE FOLDER?!"
"WHERE'S THE FOLDER?!"
"CHECK UNDERNEATH THEIR BEDS!"
I recognized one of the voices as Lord Zemo. From the outside I could hear them flipping over tables and the silver on their uniform scratching the walls. Hastily, I took up all the documents which belonged to the folder and hid them under my pillow; the only unseen spot. I then ran out in a fear of what they might do to my brothers. I would rather have them harm me then hurt them.
"Lord Zemo!" I beckoned. "They had nothing to do with it!"
Lord Zemo's face was covered in a purple garment, his head crowned with gold. He came forth. I bowed at his feet while he had everyone else in my sector apprehended. The grunts of frustration from my brothers encouraged me to pamper him a little more, it would possibly end if I gave him the folder, but I couldn't, not yet.
Lord Zemo in his demanding foreign accent spoke. "Check their bunks."
"And then what?" One of the lead guards asked.
"What do you mean "then what?!" Lord Zemo yelled. "Whoever has it will die!"
When the words came from his mouth, something thumped in my stomach, funny, my main concern was I really wouldn't get to fully understand the contents of the folder and why the smaller version of myself had brought me to the portrait of the man who I now realized was Agent Barton. Well they said, not all will have happy endings. I could feel Matiste, Jack and Evan's eyes piercing my backside. Even though I couldn't see nor hear their thoughts I knew they were saying, "please tell me that you got rid of it!"
Zemo came out with the folder in his grasp. They got their answer, I didn't let it go, I couldn't let it go.
"Master kill me!" Jack knelt in front of me. I had never been so pissed before in my life. I ugly-eyed him and pushed him to the side.
"Don't listen to him Master!" I cried. "He is distraught. I took the folder. Now take me to die."
"Take you?" Zemo rubbed the manilla folder in between his two hands. "You will die right here Clint. In front of them."
"No please sir don't let them see!" I wept. The last thing I wanted was for them to go to sleep recounting the gruesome way I passed.
What happened next was horrific, complete with guards pulling out their knives to best slash me, and my brothers screaming bloody murder. My mind moved so fast that it failed to fully process the words that came from Zemo's mouth. Clint. He called me Clint. This was just a simple slip up and it shouldn't have phased me in anyway, but the fact that he called me Clint spoke volumes. Clint as in Clint Barton. I had no idea what all that meant… yet. But this I did know, I had to find out, and finding was impossible six feet under.
So quickly I snatched an exposed dagger from the side of a guard. I leapt forward and stabbed him in the gut. It was just like old times, heist, murder sprees, I hadn't engaged in it for a while, yet I hadn't forgotten its ways. I started snatching their weapons and slicing them off one by one. Zemo reached for his gun, but Jack came from behind, and slugged him in the face. Matiste and Evans made quick work of the other guards. Within the fifteen minutes, we had knocked unconscious and or killed all lead personnel. The boys then looked to me for guidance. And all I could tell them was, "Let's go."
"Wait!" Matiste stopped us dead in our tracks. "This disc you gave me." He hoisted up the silvery piece I placed in his room. "This is some extremely advanced tech. Maybe it could help us."
"Do you know what it does?" I asked.
"I think I do." Matiste said.
"Well use it, but we have to go now." I said. Then I lead my sector in the first prison break-out ever attempted in our time. We went fast, but as we trudged on more guards came up out of the woodwork. Jack dived in front displaying power I had not ever seen. He flung men so hard that they crashed through the glass windows and dropped many stories to their deaths. I knew he was strong, but no adrenaline could trigger this ability, he had to be superhuman.
Evans began to quiver, I thought because of anxiety, but then he started to lead the way to the exits, his golden eyes piercing.
We came to the top of the building having killed many, and I started to realize why we were set aside from everyone else in the prison. Maybe, they always knew we were too dangerous, and for their benefit keeping us contained was a good decision.
Wobbly on the feet from such a quick turn of events, I gathered everyone on the roof and asked. "Anyone have any idea of what we do from here?"
In this moment Matiste stepped forward.
"Stand back." He said, before going to the ledge of the building. I thought he had lost his mind.
Clenched in his hand was that thin disc, he hung his head, and then suddenly like a sweeping wind an armored suit covered him. It consumed his body until he wore nothing but its crimson gold. And just like that the bright white light of the eyes lit up. It was the most advanced robotic technology I had ever seen and Matiste was wearing it. I mentally referred back to the folder, and I remembered; Iron Man; the Tony Stark invention that changed everything. Fearlessly, Matiste jumped off the ledge, and I thought him insane until he swooped up and took off like a rocket into the sky. The guns he swore would vaporize him froze because of his incredible speed. The activation of the Iron Man set off a million signals. The prison facility lit up in panic. Everything was moving like lightning. But not us, no we three, Jack, Evans, and I, watched on in amazement. The folder real, which meant so were we.
"O'Neal they are escaping!"
One of the lingering guards informed her. The guard thought his head boss in command would be terribly worried about this breach, but she instead sat calmly in the chair, unmoved.
"What should we do?!" He asked more panically hoping she would be more concerned. But she just kept sitting, and smiling. That's when she took the gun from underneath her seat and shot him dead in his face. He dropped to the ground, instantly.
"You should get them," she responded to his question in a comedic fashion. She turned around to send instruction on the server to the other guard towers, she instructed them to go South, away from her runaway prisoners. Yes, her runaway prisoners. Yes, it was her who had Matiste put in solitary confinement for the night. She knew based on her study of Nathaniel Pietro Barton that he would go out looking for his patron, which set-up her plan perfectly for having the folder dropped right in the middle of the Cafeteria. She figured he would take to it and its secrets, hoping it would jog the memories of his past.
In the security booth, she watched as the four boys got away, she couldn't believe that such a convoluted plan succeeded this well. There had to be some God who knew the madness occurring on their Earth was diabolical, helping her scheme fall right into place. Her days of serving the Masters had lead up to this moment, for the day she would restart her father's work and bring them down. If all worked out well, Reed Richards would receive the boys and begin training them. They would also begin the work their fathers' started.
"Father?" She thought. She hated the word when she was a child. The word father was said when her mother finally told her the truth about her dad and how he refused to take care of them because he said his job was more important than family. She hated every bit of him, but as she inched closer and closer to her forties she found she needed the word 'Father' to pick up the pieces of this world. Her dad would never be "daddy," or "papa" to her, just Colonel Nicholas Joseph Fury. She had never known of a man so wrong yet so right. He was wrong to leave her and her mother, but he was right to, if he didn't lead Shield the world would be in even more of a mess. He was wrong to bring together these super humans, yet he was right. And there she was on the verge of continuing his right and wrong decision of bringing together a group of remarkable people, to see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when she needed them to to fight the battles the world never could.
"Alright, kids," she uttered from inside her guard room. "Now it's our turn."