A/N Been awhile since I've posted anything and this Fandom is new to me. But the movie caught my eye and a scene bashed its way through my skull. So, it's write or never sleep again.
And I do miss sleep.~~The Chronicler
(Don't own the Losers, but, hey, my birthday's coming up... hint, hint)
Loser for Sale
By The Chronicler
0o0o0o0
The squeal of excited joy made even Cougar wince.
Four heads turned at odd angles, four pairs of eyes finding the source of the ear piercing squeal.
Captain J. Jenson was too distracted to give a hoot. "Oh, my, my, my!" he purred at the technical wonder before him as his hands, ever so gently, caressed the sleek, silver casing. "I am in love." He looked up at his teammates. "Seriously: in love! Gonna need a best man. Bachelor party…"
His teammates exchanged mildly amused glances.
"What do you know?" Roque huffed. "Jenson's finally gonna get laid."
"Does it have a port small enough?" Pooch wondered.
Cougar smirked, shaking his head before he raised his rifle and went back to the business of making sure all stayed clear out their exit, a dented in garage door raised only two feet off the ground.
"Oooooh, don't listen to them, baby." Jenson continued to pet the computer, leaning close to offer it a snuggle. "You got all I need…"
"Oh, get a room." Pooch groaned, turning back to his job of watching the exit.
But the hacker was nowhere near discouraged. He continued to purr and romance the computer, petting the keys, receiving exciting responses of color and data across its fast and pleasing screen. "Oh, baby, you know what I like… yea, baby, that's the spot… baby, oh, just like that, baby…. Oooooohhhh, baaaaby….."
"I swear, Clay, one more baby and I'm guttin' them both!" Roque warned. "Screw the honeymoon!"
Smiling, Clay stepped up behind his young hacker and encouraged "Jenson…"
"Oh, ba…" Jenson stopped short and threw a glance at Roque who sneered at him before stomping off to watch the hall door. "…Man…. Boss, this is the Lady of all computers! She is the slickest, smoothest, fastest…"
"I get it. Love. Marriage. I-phones in the baby carriage." Clay interrupted, glancing at his watch. "Can you get in?"
"Man, I am sooooo in!" Jenson nearly panted as his fingers danced across the keys. "I have her in my grasp. Legs are wrapped around my waist. Hand is up her skirt. She's swooning to my manly…"
"Okay then." Again Clay cut him off. "Three minutes, Captain, and counting." Leaving Jenson to his swooning and whatever else he didn't want to think of going on, he joined Roque by the hall door. "All good?" Clay asked in a hush tone of Roque.
"All good… so far." Roque answered in the same hushed tone. Then he looked Clay straight on and asked "You even know what the hell an I-phone is?"
Clay smiled, shaking his head. Instead of answering, he said "Keep it good. I'll send Cougar out in two. Bring up the rear." Receiving a waved salute, Clay turned to connect with his other two men.
As always, Cougar was completely focused, 100% deadly, his black cowboy hat pulled low, his rife at the ready. He laid flat on the ground, peering out from under the door.
Clay crouched beside him. "Cougar?" A barely noticeable twitch of the hat told the Colonel all he needed to know. Giving the sniper a pat on the back, Clay rose to find his last man.
Pooch was checking out a rather nice, heavily armored, heavily armed ATV. When he saw Clay approaching, he asked "Evac wheels?" There was kid in a candy store plea to his tone and big, hopeful eyes.
The Colonel once more found himself smiling. "If we get out all nice and quiet, I'll steal one for you from Black Water." He patted the man on the shoulder, reminding him of their mission, before glancing around to take in any corner that might need his attention.
It was an armory of sorts, a storage space for everything important to your worldly, indiscrimitve weapons dealer. Everything from mines to machine guns to a high sophisticated computer that could predict, pinpoint, and paint a target days before the strike (or some other confusing geek hacker crap that Clay just couldn't grasp to save his life [good thing he had Jenson]).
The Losers' job: get in, copy the apparently impressive tech Jenson was currently getting overly friendly with, get out without anyone knowing the better.
First part was a breeze.
Second part going well (for the exception of the uncomfortable witnessing of geek lust).
So far, so good.
That usually was when the Losers namesake kicked them in the ass.
"Huh." Jenson's sudden change in tempo caught Clay's attention.
"Huh what?" Clay demanded, stepping back toward youngest Loser.
"What, J?" Roque teased. "She got herpes or somethin'?"
Pooch chuckled. "Talk about bugs in the system."
Jenson leaned back, frowning at his new lover. "This isn't right." he mumbled more to himself than answering anyone.
"What isn't right?" Clay again made a demand. He threw each of his men a quick glare, reminding them that they were on a mission and not chaperoning Jenson's Senior Prom.
"This is wrong." Was Jenson's way of clarifying the situation.
"Captain Jenson!" Clay snapped.
Jenson's eyes snapped up to his commanding officer.
"What! Is! Wrong!"
The hacker waved a hand at the computer. "It's all window dressing." When Clay's eyes narrowed dangerously, Jenson hurried on to explain "The program is there, but it doesn't work."
"How do you know it doesn't work?" Roque wanted to know. "You gave it a quick slap on the ass while you were mooning…"
"You were just supposed to copy the program." Clay reminded Jenson.
But Jenson was shaking his head. "The prediction system is sound in the bases, but, brush away the encryption algorithms, and there's no path that accounts for the variables of…"
"Hey!" Clay interrupted. When Jenson looked up at him, he reminded the kid "Stupid it down some, would you."
The kid shrugged. "Pretty pictures. But any geniuses hacker can tell there isn't anything else here." He scratched his chin. "Just a shiny bobble."
Pooch huffed. "All this trouble for a pretty bobble? Coulda just snatched one off Cougar's fishing pole."
Clay frowned for only half a second before his head snapped about to see Roque suddenly just as alarmed as he was. "A lure?"
"A trap!" Roque snarled.
"Everyone out!" Clay snapped out orders. "Cougar, get to high ground, give us cover! Pooch..."
"Boss, I could tag this thing… find out where it came from…. Who set us up…" Jenson was offering, already tapping away at the keys.
"Leave it!" Roque snapped. He made a snatch at the kid on his way back, but something suddenly hit him in the shoulder, spinning him away from Jenson.
"Roque!" Jenson cried, leaping after him. He was only a step away when he was tackled from the side, slammed to the ground in the opposite direction of his team.
Men came pouring in from every opening into the room. From under the garage door, through the hall door, out from within the ATV… within a breath, there were fifteen guns trained on the four members of the Losers.
Pooch was backed up against the ATV, being disarmed by one man, while another five kept him in their sights.
Roque was snarling and growling as he grasped his bleeding shoulder. One man was trying to pull his weapon away and, when Roque took a weak swing at him, he kicked the downed Loser in the head, dazing him long enough to be disarmed.
Jenson was struggling on the floor, wrestling with a pair, but a quick punch to the face, bouncing his head back against the cement. A nasty sounding thud and Jenson lost the fight.
Lt. Colonel Franklin Clay stood in the center of the room, hands held out, as numerous weapons settled on him. Defeated before they could even think to respond.
They had been so utterly blindsided that there was no fighting back. He had led his men right into a damn ambush! They were dead by rights! He knew it!
And that's what had Clay pausing. Why were they still alive?
"Gentle! Gentle!" called a tall, well-dressed man, holding his hands up to the men on top of Jenson. "No damaging of the goods." He waved the men to drag the hacker to his feet. Stepping up to their prisoner, he took Jenson by the chin and turned his face up. Wincing, he offered "Ooooh, sorry about that." Tilting his head, he assured Jenson "You'll live. We'll make sure of that."
Jenson jerked his head away, his bright blue eyes glaring at the man.
The man smiled, perfect white teeth doing little to ease the feeling Jenson had of being eyed by a Great White shark. He looked back at Clay, then found the other two Losers. He frowned. "Where's the cowboy?" he wondered.
Clay was careful not to look around. He knew Cougar wouldn't be far. All the sniper needed was a good vantage point and they'd all be buying him a beer back at the base by tomorrow night.
Two of their attackers dragged the still snarling Roque back, dropping him at Clay's feet. Pooch was shoved forward to join his teammates. Only Jenson was kept separate, which Clay found more than a little unsettling.
"Roque?" Clay called, calmly.
"Fuck! What?!" snapped his second in command.
"You gonna live?"
"Just fucking long enough to fuck someone the fuck up!" was the snarled response.
"Pooch?"
Reaching down to help Roque to his feet, Pooch answered "Just another picnic in the Bronx, sir."
The well-dressed man clapped his hands. "Ha! I must really try a picnic in the Bronx."
Ignoring him, Clay tilted his head, looking at his hacker still being held with a dozen men between him and his teammates. "Jenson?"
"Yea… Yes, sir." The young Captain blinked away bleary vision. "I'm good." he assured.
"Actually!" interrupted their host, "He is very, VERY good! Best damn hacker I have seen in a coon's age. And, considering hackers haven't been around all that long, that'd just about make him the best I've ever seen!" He clapped his hands and giggled as he practically skipped around Jenson like a kid who got just what he wanted for Christmas. "Oh, he's just tasty!" He reached out to pet Jenson's arm.
The hacker jerked away, but his captors kept him from moving too far.
Clay suddenly felt a rock drop to the pit of his stomach. "Jenson." He hissed, realizing what this was all about.
Only a good hacker could have found that computer.
Only a great hacker could have opened the system.
Only the best hacker could have discovered that the system was only bait.
"Jenson?!" Roque snarled, looking from his bloody hands to his young teammate. "This whole shit-up's about Jenson?"
The three Losers looked across the guns and enemy faces to stare at Jenson.
The young hacker's eyes went from narrowed confusion to wide with alarm.
"Who are you?" Clay wanted to know.
The well-dressed man hesitated in admiring his prize to look back at the Colonel. "Why? Plan on winning him back?" He smirked and shrugged. Giving Jenson a pat on the chest, he turned to face Clay. "I am a business man. I predict what will sell and I acquire it."
"You think someone's gonna pay for wimpy Jenson?" Roque chuckled. "Man, did you fuck up! When did geeks get in high demand?"
Their host frowned. "Since the beginning of the computer age." He answered, sounding more than a little put off with having to answer questions from such a lower life form. He shook his head in disgust at the burly soldier. "You never knew what you had! Don't understand a damn thing if it can't be beat down with fists… or stabbed or shot or blown to kingdom come! You are nothing but an ape with a gun, pounding away in the mud and blood… bah!"
He adjusted his gaze to include only Clay. His tone lost its edge as he explained "Blow up a building, and economies take a hit, but they rebuild. More jobs are created just to support the rebuild and protection of said building." He took a step forward as if he really wanted Clay to understand what he was losing. "But if you strike at the economy itself… drain the right accounts, leak the right files, know the moves before they are made…" he shook a finger in the air. "Discover the true power of a nation… of a world… you could collapse entire governments! Without firing a single short!"
"And you think Jenson will do that for you?" Clay asked slowly, carefully.
Keep him talking.
Draw it out.
Think!
He knew he had to get his men outside, out where Cougar could cover them. But how was he gonna get all of them out when a small army stood between him and the youngest of his Losers?
"You weren't listening." Their host shook his head. "I don't care about governments, who rules the world, who falls into shadow." He laid a hand on his chest. "I am a locator, a finder of rare goods. I procure them; I tidy them up; I prepare them for their new function; and, then, I sell them."
"What if I don't want to be sold?" Jenson finally managed to speak up for himself, giving his arms a jerk. "Think I'll do shit for you?!"
His captors were quick to jerk him back into place. Jenson wasn't small, but, in the hands of these men, he was beginning to look more and more like a little boy.
A defiant, wayward little boy, but little boy none the less.
The well-dressed man smiled. Not bothering to look back at his prize, he looked over the three Losers in front of him. Then he pointed a finger at Roque. "Kill him." He said it as if it was nothing. As if he was telling him to put out the cat or close the drapes.
One of the gunmen stepped forward, raising the barrel of his gun until it was level with Roque's snarling and spitting head.
Both Clay and Pooch jerked forward to protect their teammate, only to be shoved and jerked back into place.
"Wait!" Jenson yelled, jerking against his captors. "Stop! Don't!"
Their host snapped up a hand.
The gunman's finger froze in mid-squeeze.
Slowly, the well-dressed man turned his head to look back over his shoulder. "Yes?" he asked expectantly.
Jenson's eyes were big as he looked from their host to Roque.
"Don't you do it, kid!" Roque warned. "Don't you give that fuckin' bastard a thing! Not for me!"
Big blue eyes turned up to find Clay, desperate for him to say something, to give him an order, to tell him what to do.
Clay pulled against his captors until one jabbed a gun muzzle in his gut, doubling him over.
Their host began to lower his hand.
"Wait! Fine! Whatever!" Jenson quickly gave in.
The well-dressed man spun about on the balls of his feet and stepped back to his prize. He gave Jenson a pat on the cheek. "'Course you will. 'Course you will." He purred. He glanced down at his watch. "Well, off we go. Say bye-bye to your friends, now."
"You kill them and I won't do shit!" Jenson warned. "You put me in front of a computer and I'll bring down your economics!"
The man took a step back and looked him up and down slowly. His smile never wavered. "I do believe you." He admitted. "No worries, love. Long as we part all nice and friendly, not one of my men will put a bullet…" he paused to glance back at Roque. "Well, not another bullet in any of your precious, little friends." He held up three fingers. "Scouts honor."
Blue eyes once again sought out Clay.
Clay fought the urge to just fuck it! And dive after his man.
Take the bullet!
Take A LOT of bullets!
But don't let them walk out of this damn joint with Jenson!
Not his man!
But then those blue eyes broke away.
"Clay… don't you let him go!" Roque hissed. It was the closest the big man would ever come to pleading. He knew, if Jenson walked out that door, the chances of ever seeing the kid alive again were next to zilch.
"J, we got you, man." Pooch called to his friend. He didn't give a damn about the odds. He was ready to fight for him… right here, right now, go down in a hail of bullets… rather die trying, than do shit nothing!
But Jenson shook his head. Not looking at them, he just shook his head.
With a twirl of his finger, the well-dressed man started the men holding Jenson back for the hall door.
"Jake!" Clay suddenly called before they could push him through the door. When Jenson looked back at him, grabbing the door frame so he could stop for one last hope, Clay swore to him "I will find you! I will get you back!"
The kid actually forced a smile and a half-hearted shrug. "I know." He answered. Then his fingers had been pride from the door frame and he was hustled out of sight.
Humming to himself, the well-dressed man started to follow his men.
"Who are you?" Clay demanded one more time.
The man paused, turning and looking at him as if he had almost forgotten that he was even there. After a moment's thought, he shrugged. "Mr. Blond will do."
"Really?" Pooch huffed. "Mr. Blond? Get real!"
Mr. Blond gave a deep bow, before waving to one of his men. "Take them out the garage to kill them. I wouldn't want to upset my new toy."
"Wait a minute!" Pooch protested. "What about that whole no bullets thing?"
Mr. Blond sighed. "Very well. No bullets." He threw the Losers a smile. "Lots of ways to kill a body that have nothing at all to do with bullets." He was chuckling to himself as he left the room.
"Well, shit." Roque cussed, but he didn't put up a fight as the gunmen started to shove them toward the garage door. "Just what the fuck we gonna do now, Clay?"
"What about J?" Pooch wanted to know. He ducked under the garage door as it was being opened. They had to wait for it to raise higher before the taller Clay and Roque were pushed under. "We gotta get him back. Boss, they're gonna screw him up one way then another!"
Clay didn't answer as he carefully took in the sites.
Only eight men had been left to take care of them. The other seven went with Jenson and Mr. Blond. The ground was open, sight was clear. Gate was open, the jungle beyond looked empty of everything but poop flinging monkeys and snakes. Somewhere beyond the building they had just left was the sound of a chopper.
Apparently Mr. Blond wasn't planning on hanging around, risking Jenson of finding out what happened to the Losers.
"First thing's first." Roque growled. "Save our own butts. Then we can go do something about Jenson's." As they stepped out into the open courtyard, Roque stopped and turned to face the gunman who had been pushing him. "Touch me again and I'm gonna shove that pea shooter so far up your ass farting'll blow your fuckin' head clean off!"
The gunman raised an eyebrow. With a smirked, he jabbed his weapon at the Captain.
Roque moved with all the speed and brutality that he was famous for. Shoving the muzzle aside, a huge knife appearing out of nowhere, he sliced up through his tormentor, from groin to sternum. In the same, fluid move, Roque pushed back, sending the body slamming into the next.
Clay was moving even before Roque. Fist striking out, catching his guard square in the nose, exploding it like an over ripe tomato, Clay sent a kick at the man's knee.
Blinded by blood and tears, knee snapped, he went down with a scream.
Pooch was only a breath behind his teammates, moving lightning fast. Fist to a throat, kick to the groin… then he stopped cold, feeling the hard barrel of a gun pressing to the back of his head. "Hey!" he protested again. "No bullets!"
A whistle blew pass his ear and suddenly the pressure from the gun was gone.
Three more far off shots whistled through the air.
Three more of the enemy fell.
Leaving Roque and his violent temper and big knife to finish the last.
Pooch spun about, searching the jungle hills surrounding the compound. "Cougar?" he called out.
"Sure as hell wasn't your fairy godmother!" Roque assured. Stumbling to his feet, he glanced around, making sure there wasn't anyone left to kill.
"Get out!" Clay ordered as he grabbed a gun and headed back into the building and after Jenson.
0o0o0o0o0
Captain Jake Jenson kept looking over his shoulder.
He had no plans what-so-ever of going anywhere with scary Mr. Blond and his pack of gorillas. He just needed to give the boys enough to time to shake loose the goon squad and come after him.
So, name of the game was delay.
Delay…
Delay…..
Delay….
Where the hell were they? Stopping for coffee?!
"Hey, so how about them Jets?" Jenson asked one of the gorillas, pausing so he could turn and have a conversation with the man.
He was answered with a grunt and a shove.
"Okay…. Not a Jets fan… hey! Did you see that Captain America movie?" He grinned at the gorilla on the other side. "Now, man, there's an American hero for you… right? Who'd have thunk, huh? Little, skinny, geeky guy like that just pop out a whole, big, red white and blue, good looking guy like that! Right? Am I right? But, you know, might not be that great when you have that sit down with your kid about steroids… you know?" Another grunt and another shove. "Not Marvel fans? Anyone read DC comics?"
"Mr. Jenson." Mr. Blond spoke up with a chuckle. "I doubt too many of them can even read." He shrugged. "Not what they're paid for after all."
Jenson ground his teeth as he was shoved out the door. "You know, sitting me down in front of a computer isn't always the best way to keep me in control." He warned. "I'm pretty useless to you… to much of anyone, you know…"
Mr. Blond stepped up to walk at his side as the crossed a small garden. He enjoyed seeing the boy's eyes go big when he saw the helicopter.
The hacker dug his heals in, grinding the procession to a halt. He knew that, once in the air, there would be no getting saved. He was gone. So he made one last ditch effort to stall. "I'm just wasted money. Leave me here. Hell, shoot me if you like. Call it a learning experience…. A Bronx picnic!"
But Mr. Blond simply turned to face him and smiled that Great White Shark smile of his. "Mr. Jenson, I don't waste money. You see, there's an advantage to selling human weapons: if they don't fire as planned, there is always a whole other trade I can turn to." He reached up and patted Jenson's cheek. "A sweet, pretty, all American boy like you…." He turned and continued toward the chopper. "There's a lot of money made in the sex trade, you know, Mr. Jenson."
Jenson felt his chest tighten until his heart was in his throat. Yet, he managed to squeak out a "Huh?"
Mr. Blond waved a hand. "Gentlemen, perhaps Mr. Jenson would be comfortable if he was more… unconscious."
A sharp pain hit Jenson at the base of his neck.
"Ow!" he complained, hand snapping up to swat the needle away. "Well, shit, that wasn't coo…" the world went black and he fell forward into the waiting arms of the gorillas who quickly dragged him to the helicopter.
"Aw…" breathed Mr. Blond. "Sweet silence." He looked up at his gorillas after stepping into his seat in the chopper. "Why do I have a feeling silence is going to be a rarity in the coming days?"
"BLOND!" came a roar barely audible over the chopper's engine.
Gorillas and boss looked back to see Clay, flanked by his Losers, coming through the garden toward them.
"My. He does look piss." Mr. Blond observed. "Do kill him for me." He gave his last order, before sliding the chopper door close.
Bullets bounced off the metal bird as it took to the air, leaving the well-dressed man's seven remaining men behind to face the Losers.
Mr. Blond knew his men were dead, but wasted no remorse on them. If anything, Clay and his unit just saved him from having to pay them off. If luck had it that one survived to be question, he had no worries. After all, they were just gorillas. They knew nothing of his base of operation, his plans for young Jenson, even his name.
They were in the air.
They were away.
He had won.
The end.
Leaning back, Mr. Blond looked at the young man strapped into the seat beside him, head hanging silently on his chest. He reached over to play his fingers through that spikey blond hair.
Now on to the fun part.
0o0o0o0o0