BACK TO THE FIGHT
Mohammed Zidane stood as still as the statues that were across the hall from him. His arms folded back, his eyes narrow and focused. Every muscle tense and read for action, like a cat ready to pounce. It was no coincidence that he'd been called the tiger in the ring, while he was still an active boxer.
The forty year old man still relished in those days. He'd tell his exploits in the ring to anyone who would listen, when outside of duty. Hell, even back in his last job, as a member of the peace keeping corps known as Overwatch, he'd talk about the ring on duty. He was so much more excitable then. Why the Armored Protection Agency, had asked him to guard a librarian, was anyone's guess. Maybe that's why he was so still. He was bored. There was nothing to do, and the agents down below weren't interested in his tales.
"Four PM, and all is clear," came the chatter of his headphone. "Sector eight, clear. Sector nineteen, clear."
"This keeps up and I'm going to go mad with the mention of all these numbers," he muttered to himself. The warm, coastal air drifted in from the balcony to his left, along with some light. Mohammed stroked his auburn hair, and breathed in. "At least its not so bad."
"Smells like someone is making some tajine," the other sentry said, also taking in a long wiff of lamb stew.
"That's why I said it's not all bad," Mohammed said with a dry chuckle. He bent his head back, pulling in the odor and inhaling it. "Good thing the shift is almost...,"
The sound of thunder, along with a rise of brown white dust drifting up into the balcony interrupted him. Before the other man could move, Mohammed had put charged forward, and scanned the scene. Below him, dozens of people lay crying, screaming. A few bloodied individuals ran or hobbled away from the building. More than a few lay motionless in heaps of rotting flesh and discarded body parts. His head swiveled from the left, to the right, trying to see where the attacker might be, or possibly even was dashing away from. Nothing.
"Group B, come in, I repeat, what is your situation?"
"Survelliance," Mohammed said, his voice hoarse from the dust trickling into to his mouth. "No signs of the attacker. Could it have been a suicide bomber?"
"No damage to the entrance of the building, or anywhere in the immediate interior. Its possible our building was not the target."
"Then I'm going down and seeing if I can help the wounded."
"Negative," came a sharper response than he'd expected.
"There are people down there that need help," Mohammed growled back. He was surprised by the tone in his own voice. He hadn't heard that in a long time.
"The peri medics will help, you're just security for the customer. Stay your ground, and make sure he is safe."
"You have to be kidding me," the tall, armored man snapped. His lips sneered like a tiger caged and cornered. From the corner of his eyes, he could see a child, skin darkened with ash and dirt and caked in blood. Her leg was pinned by fallen debris. "At least tell me some of our people are out there helping."
"This is not up for a discussion. We're not being paid to babysit the whole damned city. Just to keep our customer safe. Not get your ass back to your station."
Mohammed's boxer instincts were coming back faster with each second, and with each poor innocent individual he could see who needed his help. If he just left this station, helped those people, instead of arguing, he'd be back before they knew it. "Agent Lyon, check the librarian. Make sure heA's safe. And have two men go with you," he called behind him.
"I, I don't think they'd like that, Mohammed. I mean we were told to stay here. I heard the comm."
Before he could open his mouth, another blast of thunder, closer now, and more people screaming and running. It was followed by a burst of three quick popping noises. And people who had been scrambling to get away from the hell, were now barreling as quickly as they could to get back to it, with terror even wider on their eyes. "Damn it to hell, the first blast was a distraction."
"Then don't you think we'd better stay here, just to keep our man safe?" Agent Lyon asked as his compatriot was activating his cyber helm.
"I care more about just one man, at the moment," Mohammed said, sprinting towards the window. "You and two others get the the librarian, make sure he's safe. I have work to do." He flicked off the comm, so not as to deal with the bitching he was sure he'd head, and with that, the former boxer leapt from the second store floor, and barrel rolled to the ground, as the innocents poured forward to escape the bullets.
It didn't take him long to get his bearings in this fight. Never had in the ring, or for that matter, when he was a bouncer after his sport career had ended. He just seemed to "know" what a particular opponent might try, given the right atmosphere. And Mohammed was certain if there was any right atmosphere it would be the scene before him.
Many of the restaurants and hotels that were close to the one he had been in, were now tumbling. Crumbling stone colors of tan and dark white, with more than their share of victims screaming in them met his eyes. He hesitated for a moment, and then pounced to his first mark. The girl, whose leg had been pinned.
"I can't move," she whimpered. Her eyes were dark brown, but slowly melting to a whiter color as she panted.
"Lay still little one, I'll get you out," he said soothingly. His silver armor gleamed in the sunlight, from his helm to his feet. He probably seemed like some kind of angel to the child, because she just smiled weakly and said something that seemed like a prayer. Gripping the slab holding the girl, and with only a little bit of effort, he tossed it aside, and lifted the girl. Bone cut through flesh, and her blood was dark red. She'd need a doctor soon. If only Mercy had been here. A flash of gun fire caught his sight, and he dashed back, ready to defend the child.
It wouldn't be completely necessary. The guns were not aimed at him, nor the victims, but those using them to terrorize the crowd. He'd been so intent on saving the girl, he'd not heard the wail of engines, of police, and even a few military vehicles had approached behind. One of the policemen waved him over, and Mohammed relinquished the girl.
"Aren't you one of those A.P. Co guys? I didn't know you worked for poor civilians," the officer said, arching his head.
"I am, and right now I'm more concerned with the people of this city, than one individual," the armored man said. "Do you know who is doing this?"
"Not a clue," the other admitted. "Thought it might be a second Omnic Crisis or such. But these seem to be just people."
"I will see what I can do to help," Mohammed said. The hero turned, barely able to conceal a half snarl, half smile across his face. This was the kind of fight he hoped for, minus all these innocent individuals. He raced across the scene, helping individuals where he could, putting out a fire or so someplace else. Sooner or later, a rouge soldier didn't think so well, and tried to pick a fight with him. The guns they used were good against civilians and stone, even against a pretty well armored officer. But not against the steel he wore. Those terrorists that had been close enough, felt the fury of his fists as he removed his gauntlets and pounded them into a bloody mess. Others he managed to take out with his tiger gauntlet attack, which fired off his armored gauntlets into a distance, taking out those who figured he was a pure close combat fighter.
As good as his armor was though, with enough sustained fire aimed at it, it wasn't perfect. Mohammed felt a number of bullets break through the shell, and he could feel the pierce of metal slice through his flesh. With luck on his side, none of the assailants were very good at aiming all that well. These people were amateurs. And who he didn't take out, the police and military soon did. Only a small handful got away. The rest would either be taken to the morgue, or to be questioned. Soon more ambulances and public aide were arriving on the scene to take care of the wounded.
"We were promised good money," one complained. "Its not as if the government gives a damn about us anyway. And they promised us good money to keep you busy."
"Paid by whom?" a senior officer barked at the captured terrorist. His square jaw tightened as he glared down at the smaller man.
"Some people in black. Said they didn't want to cause unnecessary attention when they grabbed the professor," the thug said. "Look, they told us to be sure to set of explosives close enough that the building in question would seem to be attacked, but to stay clear of it with the attack in general. That way they could get in from the side and get him." His brown eyes cringed in fear. "But, but we thought it might be more expressive to make a bigger scene, so you know we used a bit more tnt there than we should and," he gulped. "Look I want protection and out of here right now. I can give you the rest of the story."
"What the hell is he barking on about? Professor? Black in black?"
"He's delusional," another officer said.
"If we botched the job of killed that old guy, those guys with the red eyes will kill me, why can't you see that?" Now the thug was roaring. As if he were suddenly high on some kind of drug he was thrashing like a worm on a hook, his pupils diolating with fear. "Shit, please just get me out of here now, please!"
Mohammed frowned, listening to the description he'd given. The professor? Oh shit, the professor! "Sector two, come in," he screamed, flipping on his comm. "Do you hear me. Sector two?!"
"You are in hot, mother fucking water, Zidane, I do hope you know that," a grizzled voice replied.
"Our customer, is he safe?"
"Ask Agent Lyon and the men you sent to check on him," the reply came. "Don't bother, I'll answer that for you. Despite your need for stupid heroics and jumping around there like a dolt, high on self worth, yes, our man is still,"
"You need to double that watch, now!" Mohammed roared, turning and racing back to the hotel. "I mean now. He's in danger. This whole thing was a set up!"
"The fuck are you talking about?" the voice snarled, fueled with venom.
"This wasn't a terrorist attack. No, it was but not by amateurs. These idiots were paid by Talon. They are after the professor! Now get more men up there! I'm on my way!" He tore through the lobby, shoving aside individuals, giving a half hearted apology in his eyes to any wounded that he pushed passed. There was nothing on the other end. "Do you hear me? Respond!"
"Damn, and I thought you guys in OverWatch were good at your jobs," the voice ultimately said with a greasy laugh.
Mohammed stopped in is tracks, as if frozen in stone. No one his unit knew that he had been a member. Those were stories he'd kept to himself. "Who is this?"
"Talon says hello." There was a click, and then another explosion. A much greater one that thrust him through the wall of the hotel, and down below. He could only hear screams beginning to rise yet again as he landed, and a number of dark armored individuals, with red visored helms rushing through an open door. The terrorists, these pro, blasted at the police, and army, and the crowds with their more advanced guns, tearing them to pieces. In the middle of them, gagged and tied up, being forced to move was the professor he was supposed to have been guarding. Mohammed blacked out.
He wasn't sure how long he had stayed out, nor how badly he'd been hurt. But Mohammed knew he had survived that blast. His eyes flashed open, and he found himself in a hospital. Apparently it was at least a few weeks, as from the brief flash of the holo screen he could see that it was no longer Summer, but somewhere in Autumn now.
A doctor was alerted to his awakening, and told the forty year old man what had happened. The armor had saved him, but he had massive damages to his organs. Had a donor not offered to transplant, he might not have survived at all. Mohammed learned that it had been a relative of the girl whom he'd saved.
No one knew where Talon went after that, and no one knew where the professor was either, or what he'd been working on. Or why Talon would want that. But since it was obvious they definitely did want it, it wasn't good. Agent Lyon and the two men he'd sent in, were all found dead, killed by bullet wounds to the heads. Well, the other two men were. Agent Lyon was oddly murdered by having his skull crushed in an act that seemed like some kind of rage murder. Whoever had infiltrated the group it seemed had wanted Mohammed to enter to check on the professor too, so they could kill him that way. When he hadn't, poor Lyon was the blunt of the rage.
He also assumed that he was now without a job, and the director of the A.P. Co. admitted he'd almost considered it, except for one thing.
"Two days ago something happened," his boss told him.
"What?"
The man, eighty some in years, and one of the few who knew of who Mohammed's past in OverWatch handed him a dark blue cyber card. On it, was a picture of the auburn headed man with the large side burns, smiling goofily, a bit cockily. And a glittering Over Watch symbol. "I think you may know what this means?"
Muhammed paused, and pushed the symbol. "Counter-Punch? Is that you?" it was a voice that brought a smile to his face, but shock as well. Counter-Punch. His old code name for the organization. Given to him because of his uncanny ultimate ability to be able to read and react to an opponent's movement.
"The government reinstated us?" he asked in a broken wheeze.
"You sound older than Reinhardt," came a soft laugh. "You must have been through some crazy stuff."
"Don't insult me, Winston," Mohammed laughed, gritting his teeth, "and don't make me laugh either."
"No, we haven't been reinstated," a more serious responce came back. "But I think we're needed. You want to help?"
"To get back in the ring? Ah hell, I think this last encounter just proved to me how rusty I am. So that's a hell yes I'm back in this fight." He smiled, and closed his eyes for a moment. "You want me, you got me."
"You can fill me in, on everything once you get to Gilbralter. And Mohammed, well back to the fight."
"Amen to that, brother."