I just got a sudden idea to write a quick Taskmaster story. No real point to it, just a whim. Takes place after Agent X, but before, well, any appearance after that. Usual disclaimer, I don't own any part of Marvel, Taskmaster, or any of that other crap, although it'd be super-nice to work as Gail Simone's monkey-boy should she ever come back to Marvel and write something with Tasky in it again!
One note beforehand: Taskmaster is mostly referred to as 'Tony' in this, because while it's in third person, it seems more appropriate that he's referred to by his real name than his code name.
One Second
Photographic memory is a funny thing. Photographic reflexes even funnier.
There are very few things that Tony can't remember. It's his gift. Whether he sees it, smells it, hears it, touches it, or even tastes it, he instantly commits it to memory, and it never seems to leave. Even better, if he sees an action being performed, he memorizes the act, and can duplicate it at will.
But running along the rooftop, Alex yammering on about the funny weather they're having, while a positive rainstorm of ammunition sails down on them from three helicopters, Taskmaster can't for the life of him remember why he agreed to partner up with the man.
Alex takes a hit in the shoulder, staggers for a second, but keeps moving. If not for that little pause, the man might not have shown any trouble at all. All Tony has to get by on is a lot of luck and borrowed skills, both of which he puts to use as he turns, and in one motion, activates his SSG – Solid Sound Generator – and as it whirls to life in the shape of Captain America's shield, he hurls it at one of the helicopters' rotors. He doesn't take the time to see if it connects, already sprinting off to the left and away from that maniac Alex. With luck, the choppers flying after them would split up, sending one after each of them.
A sudden crash behind Tony tells him that one of the 'copters is down, and for a second, a brief second, he feels exhilaration, and even a bit of relief. The next second comes, and Tony's luck runs out, three bullets biting into his back. The body armor prevents them from hitting flesh, but it's all he can do just to keep himself from falling face forward to the ground. He keeps his legs pumping, and ahead, he can see an old venting system. He dives over it, rolling, and stops once he's under protective cover. Bullets rattle harshly against the vet, and Tony knows he needs to keep moving, but for just a second, he needs to stop and breathe, even if it's just coming out in ragged gasps. The helicopter pilot's lost sight of him, which is good, but a searchlight is casting about, searching for him, while two gunmen are looking for him through their guns' scopes. And worse, with all the noise and unauthorized air traffic, some Cape was bound to notice and arrive to see what all the commotion was about, and that was the last thing anyone involved needed.
He should be moving, but Tony just can't stop thinking. Thinking about the job, thinking about if it's all worth it, thinking about why he joined Agency X, when he doesn't like, trust or tolerate Alex. Thinking about the pain in his back, and the ragged air coming in and our of his lungs, and how maybe, he's just getting a little too old for the spandex game. Thinking about Sandi, and that lop-sided smile of hers, and how she makes him a little soft, but in all the right ways, and about that dinner she's been insisting on cooking for him tonight despite the fact that they both know her secret ingredient is ordering take-out and disguising it as her own dish, and how he's going to smile at her and compliment the food, and tell her what a wonderful cook she is, and how he lo--
And as soon as that thought hits him, he's on his feet and moving again, and none too soon, because as he does, a bullet strikes the ground he'd been sitting on, but it doesn't matter now, since he's on the move. More bullets follow him, but none hit him. His legs are pumping furiously, working harder than any normal man's. Just last week, he'd watched some tapes of Donovan Bailey and Maurice Greene on their world-record breaking sprints. In fast forward.
He might as well be the fastest human at that point, but already Tony can feel the strain on his legs. His muscles just weren't meant to handle this kind of stress, and even as he sees the rooftop ending ahead, he feels something in his left leg snap, and suddenly, he's tumbling through the air.
He's not going to make it to the next rooftop, he knows. There's just too much distance, and he's tumbling through the air uncontrollably, his leg betraying him at the wrong possible moment. And as he's falling, he sees.
Startled from its hiding place, a pigeon takes wing, flapping away, and for a second, one beautiful second, the little rat-bird looks like the most graceful swan Taskmaster has ever seen during the course of his life. And for that second, he takes it all in. He sees the bird's motions, the way it angles its wings, tilts its head, positions its tail, and for that second, Tony almost feels like he can fly, like he can spread his arms and mimic that bird's movements in every detail.
But Taskmaster has no wings, no tail, no feathers, and as that second passes, Tony twists himself about, activates his SSG, and mimics Spider-Man's webbing, latching on to a fire escape, and swinging down safely to the alley below. He lands poorly, his left leg going limp even as he puts weight on it, and falls, but again he's up, his survival instinct on par with ... something that wanted to live really badly.
There would be no fist-shaking at the helicopter above, no desire to get in the last line, none of any of that idiocy. He's back on his feet, his left left barely cooperating, and he's biting down on his lip, hard, to keep from making any outcries in pain. His image-inducer flicks on, and suddenly he looks like a homeless man, any of a thousand that inhabit the streets of New York.
And even as he staggers away, relatively safe, for one second, Taskmaster looks up to the sky and wonders what it would be like to fly.