2 – Broken But Not Useless

Brock visually studied the many pistols and rifles the academy armory had to offer. Meanwhile, Fredricks went to the other side of the armory's vault to select a pistol sitting muzzle down on a rack. The man then went to where the rifles were, getting one of them as well and carried both weapons to the computer by the window. As he began entering the serial numbers to each gun, the field agent watched the cadets ready themselves for target practice.

Not really giving a damn about Director Fury's order, Brock decided he'd remain at the firing range for the rest of the day. Should the SHIELD director disapprove of his going against the schedule, Brock was sure Agent Davis and Fredricks would cover for him.


Two-o-clock in the afternoon and already Brock had made a handful of cadets cry and a few others disheartened with themselves. Good. They should be. With shitty target practicing like that, they needed to hear the truth. As Fredricks played the good guy by providing false praise, Brock didn't mince words.

As one class left, another arrived. Brock reloaded the expended clip from his pistol followed by the empty spare tucked in his web belt's pouch. Some of the students he recognized from classes earlier in the morning he gave morale speeches to. He wondered how many of the students in this class he could make cry; if it was more or less than the previous ones.

Then his attention fell on one student, in particular, strolling into the building. Instead of the unflattering navy-blue pullover sweater and khaki pants, she wore an open black hoodie with a low-cut grey tank top underneath that teased a little cleavage and black cargo pants. From Brock's point of view, he was able to make out her shapely ass through her pants. This was not what he imagined underneath her previous homely appearance. His gaze followed her to the range armory, Fredricks happily greeting her.

She was then handed a black rifle case and a box of ammo. She turned and strode for a spot to sit at the opposite end of the room to assemble her firearm.

Fredricks finished issuing the rest of the cadets their rifles and joined the field agent. He cleared his throat and spoke in a hushed voice. "Liking something you see, son?"

Brown eyes didn't look away from the cadet. "That's a pretty nice piece that kid has. An M40 isn't it?" Fredricks nodded. Brock arched a brow and huffed a laugh. "Who the fuck is she anyway? And where the hell did she get the money for the rifle? Is Daddy loaded or something?" He watched how meticulously she handled her weapon.

Fredricks chuckled. "That's Cadet Syra Novak. I was quite surprised how well she took to sniper training given how easily triggered her PTSD is. No pun intended. She's got amazing skill and a keen eye. Don't get me wrong she's no Clint Barton by a long shot." The range instructor laughed once more. "Again, no pun intended."

A crease formed between the baffled agent's brow, either from Fredrick's plethora of bad puns or curiosity at the young woman. "So that's the fucked-up kid Davis told me about this morning." Fredricks gave a briefly amused gawk at the agent. "What's her story? How did she come to be so fucked up in the head? Davis told me nothing other than she's broken."

Fredricks leaned in a bit more to the agent and whispered into his ear. "That's something to discuss in privacy." Now Brock was even more intrigued. This went beyond being diddled by a handsy uncle.

To avoid any suspicions should a cadet or few notice his out of character demeanor, Fredricks started arranging some of the out of place pistol cases scattered about the armory. Still keeping some level of caution, Fredricks handed Brock some empty pistol cases and collected two more for himself.

Fredricks hinted the agent join him in the back of the armory. "Help me put these away." Once to themselves, the range instructor explained. "Her family was killed by a HYDRA operative… a ghost known as the Winter Soldier." Recognition of the name hit Brock head on. "SHIELD has had a hell of a time finding this guy throughout the years. She was present for two of his assassinations. He killed her parents when she was eight and her grandparents when she was fourteen. For some unknown reason, she was spared. Why, exactly, is the million dollar question."

Fredricks deeply sighed and continued. "But it's left her traumatized and scarred, and I mean that literally. She's jumpy and extremely paranoid. Refusing to have her back to a door or window… sleeps with one eye open kind of thing. Regardless of all this, she's quite the skilled cadet." By now, his obsessive-compulsive disorder kicked in, and he started to rearrange the pistol cases on the shelves. "Her first time shooting an assault rifle caught my attention. She's not so great with a pistol but is progressively getting better. As she showed improvement on her aim with a rifle, I decided to try her out on one of the academy's M110s. That's when she started one on one lessons with me. By the middle of her first year, her agency appointed guardian requested someone more specialized come work with her."

Brock snarled, "Jensen," under his breath. "That fucking Danish douchebag."

Fredricks shrugged. "Jensen has really pushed her in her training. He's had her practicing three days a week for at least two hours in the afternoons, sometimes three depending on how she performs for the last year and a half. It's like he's never satisfied with her progress, despite her obvious improvements. Other than that, she excels at her academics, too. A real favorite amongst her other instructors."

Brock snorted. "Why are you telling me this? You think I care about some fucked up kid?"

Fredricks paused in his working to intently stare the STRIKE agent in the eye. "It's not just SHIELD she's piqued the interest of. Other...associates...have been keeping close tabs on her training and progress."

Brock cut his eyes down on the older man. "Associates... What associates?"

There was a borderline sinister sparkle in Fredricks' eyes. "Hail HYDRA," softly spilled between his un-moving lips.

Brock crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. "Let me get this right. It was HYDRA who broke that kid, and now it's HYDRA who wants to recruit her? Why?"

Fredricks shrugged. "Why not? She's not the only one they're interested in. There are approximately thirty-two others that show promise from various career fields just from this campus alone. Agent Davis has been keeping a close eye on these prospects and has asked I do the same. They're young and gullible. Get them assigned to the right supervising officials after graduation to help sway their pro-SHIELD mindset and we have gained thirty-two new members." Brock laughed in disbelief. "All I ask is you do your best not to set off Cadet Novak. We'll need all the help we can get in the coming times. The top dogs are planning something, and it's going to be big. So big, they're not indulging the details to us little guys like Agent Davis and myself. Now you…" Fredricks jabbed a jovial finger into Brock's muscular chest. "You could possibly find out something being STRIKE team leader and all."

Brock half smiled and subtly nodded his head to himself. It was definitely something he wanted to look into, maybe ask questions about with a particular World Security Council secretary. "I'll see what I can find out and get back with you."

Fredrick's serious demeanor looked thoroughly pleased, and he resumed organizing the cases. "As far as Cadet Novak goes…" he turned around to retrieve something on the other side of the armory cage when he noticed they weren't alone.

Standing a few feet from where he and Brock stood was a tall third man clad in a black t-shirt and worn military fatigues. He stood there, unmoving in his observation with toned arms crossed over his chest. Slung over his right shoulder was his AS50 sniper rifle and a pistol holster strapped to his thigh. His expression was placid and his bold chocolate brown eyed gaze lowered. Loose strands of pepper colored hair hung in his face and the muscles of his square jaw flexed in silent anger. Without blinking, the newcomer darted his focus to Brock.

Fredricks cheerfully spoke. "Ah, Jensen! There you are! I was just telling Agent Rumlow, here, about your-"

Jensen barked, "Don't." His tempered gawk settled back on the senior instructor, continuing. "You know you can not disclose personal information of cadets to anyone not needing to know outside the academy." His foreign-accented voice came off menacing and threatening at the same time.

Fredricks clapped Brock on the shoulder. "Just telling her future supervising official some things to get familiar with."

As much as the words rubbed Brock the wrong way, his acidic stare refused to break away from the foreign man. "Jensen."

A subtle twitch teased the underneath of Jensen's left eye. "Rumlow." The two men stared at the other for several moments before Jensen said anything else. "I was not aware you were visiting the academy, today."

When Brock spoke, there was apparent malice for the other in his voice. "For the next two weeks, as it is. I advise you get used to seeing me around."

Jensen's nostrils flared in further growing anger. "Piss off the wrong person again?"

Brock knew he was being mocked and didn't like it. "Some bastard made a poor life decision and ended up on the wrong side of a bullet. My bullet."

The corner of Jensen's thin pursed lips cracked into a sneer. "Still the arrogant and cocky son of a bitch I remember from the last time I saw you."

It was Brock's turn to sneer, a taunting 'come at me' expression smeared across his face. "Can't fix what isn't broken."

"That depends on one's definition of 'broken.'"

Fredricks could tell things were about to escalate to physical violence and took a stance between the two men. "Now, now, gentlemen. Let's not start a fuss. You," he looked at Jensen still unblinking off Brock, "still have a cadet to coach and you," he then shifted is attention to Brock, "don't want your first day's report looking bad for Director Fury, do you?" No response came from either man. Then came the idea how both men were armed with firearms, and he was standing where there would be crossfire. "Right, then. Okay. I'll leave you two to it. Just don't destroy my armory too much." Fredricks left the armory cage and made a beeline for Cadet Novak. She, as well as the other students, anxiously awaited their instructor's orders to go outside. "My apologies for the delay, ladies, and gentlemen. If you'll please head outside and get lined up so we can get your training underway." He saw Cadet Novak get up to do as directed and stopped her. He grabbed her by her upper arm and whispered into her ear. "I need you to do something for me, Syra."

Green eyes looked at Fredrick's questionably. "Okay…I guess?"

"I need you to stop something before it starts. Go into the armory cage and get Mikel, will you? He and our guest are having a bit of a disagreement."

Syra dropped her gaze on the much older man next to her. "Why can't you?"

"Because he won't listen to me, but he will listen to you." Grey eyes stared down into jade green ones.

The young woman heaved a grumble in protest but did as requested. She neared the armory cage's open door and could see the immovable form that was her private instructor. Standing less than three feet from him was the field agent she accidentally bumped into earlier that day in the cafeteria. Just as he appeared intimidating, then, he seemed even more so at that moment.

Syra gently laid a hand on her instructor's shoulder and softly spoke. "It's time for training." The man didn't move or even blink for that matter. She quickly looked at the other man as she continued to usher Jensen away. "Come on, Mikel. Let's go."

Brock could see extreme confliction in the ex-agent's eyes and subtly smirked at his dilemma.

It wasn't until the young cadet stood in front of him that firm eye contact broke. Bold brown eyes met insistent green ones looking up to him pleadingly.

There was a flicker of something in Jensen's eyes Brock quickly noticed. The STRIKE agent gawked at the cadet in realization and slimmed his eyes down on her. She had the renowned sniper wrapped around her finger and probably in a way that would most definitely cost them everything. No doubt she'd suffer extreme reprimand and immediate discharge from SHIELD training. SHIELD didn't take too kindly to fraternization, whether it be between a cadet and instructor or junior agent and supervising official.

Brock decided he'd use this newly learned information in his favor for when he decided to bring that bastard Jensen down finally.