Part 3 – Young Justice – Pilot
Pamplona, Spain…
The monstrous thundering of hooves, the scattering of feet across cobblestones, the horrid smell of literal bull shit on the street below.
Above the street, an olive-skinned male with brown hair and green eyes watched the festival below.
With his white suit pants and black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up beyond his elbows, he could have fit right in, especially since his hand was holding a kalimotxo (a mixture of cheap red wine and Coca-Cola) which was a staple drink among the bullfighters.
"Those pour bulls," a man said as he approached Graham, "You know they torture them before they release them onto the streets?"
"It's not fair to them," Graham said as he sipped at his kalimotxo, "That's why men have to even the score."
"Men like us," the man asked.
"Indeed," Graham said as he turned toward the man, "Saint-Hudson."
"Fernando," he said as he shook Graham's hand, "I'm surprised they sent a legend."
"Legend," Graham asked as they walked toward the opposite side of the roof, "You give me too much credit. What's the intel on the tower?"
"Run by an independent firm," Fernando said, "There's obviously something that needs to be hidden. They've surrounded it with armed guards."
"I have a way around that," Graham said, "Been dying to try out some new equipment."
"There's something else," Fernando said, "Some of the Brain's sympathizers were recently spotted in the area."
"You're thinking the Justice League might get involved," Graham asked.
"Only if they need to," Fernando said, "Be careful out there. You can never tell with these rent-a-cops."
That night…
Graham was set up in a tree fifty feet away from the tower, observing the hostiles moving around the tower.
The lenses that went over his original glasses were very useful in scouting: five hostiles patrolling the perimeter of the tower, armed with semi-auto weapons, Kevlar, and night-vision.
These guys were professional, and there was no way they wouldn't let this go without a fight.
Graham checked the magazine of his AJM-9, fifteen rounds, and one in the chamber: plenty for what he needed.
About ten minutes later, one of the guards was patrolling the north-west corner of the perimeter before a small mechanical 'phew' was heard, and he was struck in the arm with what appeared to be a black dart that suddenly sent 50,000 volts through his body, sending him convulsing, and falling to the ground, completely immobilized.
Another one of the guards heard his friend drop, and turn, only for a similar dart to hit him in the side of the neck, dropping him against the side of the fence that surrounded the tower.
Another hostile turned, only to be shot in the leg.
The fourth didn't hear anything, but that didn't protect him against the round that struck him in the back of the neck.
The fifth saw his friend go down and opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out as he was hit in the bicep.
The final one turned to see Graham only for a large 'bang' to shatter the peace of the night as Graham nailed him in the groin with a 20-gauge beanbag round which sent him kneeling over in tremendous pain, and finally nailing him in the area above his Kevlar with another round from his AJM-9.
Spinning the gun around, Graham holstered the pistol, and walked up to the guard before taking his keys and using them to unlock the gate.
"Overlord," Graham said as he put two fingers to his earpiece, "This is Immortal," he looked up to see the receiver was almost at the top of the tower, "I'm at the radio-mast, the new sidearms are a resounding success."
"Good to hear," Fernando said, "You have the equipment?"
"Affirmative," Graham said as he walked over to the ladder before exhaling, and pumping himself up, "I'm heading up to the dish."
Graham began climbing, only looking upwards: acrophobia since age 6, not a paralyzing fear, but a terrifying one if you asked him.
The receiver was about twenty-five feet up, a small platform about four feet by four feet was all that Graham could sit on.
Inside the backpack that Fernando gave him was a laptop with a WayneTech i10-10000k processor with 10 processor cores, a base frequency of 4.30 GHz, and a bus speed of 10 GT/s.
The cord that he attached to his computer, then to the receiver had a computer-chip-style port that he inserted into the side of the receiver.
"We have a connection," Fernando said as he watched the monitor that was connected to the computer Graham was using.
"I'm going in," Graham said as he began breaking down the firewall, a few cross checks into the algorithms, a sweep of the background software, and a few adjustments was all the computer needed to break into the system, "I'm in."
"The computer did all the work," Fernando said.
"Whatever you say, Fernando," Graham said as he did a triangulation search for the signal's destination.
The signal was bounced off of several signal towers in the area, but the encryption was very basic, there were only one of three towers it could have come from.
However, upon further inspection of the area the towers were located, there was a large warehouse in between the three.
"The warehouse," Fernando asked.
"I'm on my way," Graham said as he unplugged the computer, and began his descent.
The Nova II was an absolutely amazing car, two-tone seats with cushioned centers, the steering wheel was a little weird, being as there was no top arch to the wheel, and the D.E.O.'s logo was imprinted on the center of the wheel underneath a millimeter of acrylic.
There was convenient storage underneath the glovebox which easily housed flash-grenades, smoke-bombs, bolas, and caltrops.
The warehouse wasn't a far drive from the tower, but there was a slight problem being as the only road that led to the building was a single-lane road that only went one way.
Pulling off the road, Graham got suited for the fight: a long sleeve army sweater that was covered by a Kevlar-plate carrying vest, a pair of black combat pants, thick-soled boots, and a one-hole balaclava.
A few flash-bangs, a few smoke-bombs, a few handfuls of caltrops, and a few zip-ties was all he needed.
The perimeter was surrounded by razor-wire, and there wasn't a door: simply laying his vest across the wire made an easy way to climb over the wire.
The area around the building, which was really a large warehouse was surrounded by guards and crates that acted as perfect cover as he moved through the sea of crates.
One of the guards was patrolling the site, the full-auto AK-type rifle was custom-made, and held a flashlight.
Another boring night on the job, meanwhile his wife was at home with the kids screaming their heads off.
The constant thought going through his mind was: when is this night going to be over.
He didn't have time to think of that when he passed the next corner as someone struck him in the throat with a flat hand, flipped him onto the ground, and then held both hands over his face, blocking his airways.
As he struggled to breathe, clawing away at his attacker's arms, he slowly realized there was nothing he could do as he fell completely unconscious.
As Graham released him, he secured his arms behind his back with a few zip-ties before rolling the unconscious guard into a small alcove that was made because someone had stacked a bunch of containers facing sideways against one that was facing forward.
The entrance to the factory was well within reach if you can count a short sprint across an open area to open a door that was most likely locked with armed guards patrolling near it.
The light over it, however, would be the biggest obstacle, and the cloud now passing overhead could work as some kind of cover.
Aiming at the light, a simple pull of the trigger was all he needed to shatter the bulb like a cheap water balloon.
As the cloud blocked the moon's light, Graham sprinted as fast as he could across the yard, and reached the door, expecting to find it locked, but instead, the door swung open, allowing him to bolt inside, and shut the door behind him.
After exhaling, Graham leaned back against the door to catch his breath before proceeding to the main office where he guessed the computer he was looking for was located.
As he was moving through the facility, he swore he could hear the sound of someone moving around him, and he was soon proven right as someone grabbed his shoulder, then threw him against the nearest crate.
His attacker tried to deliver a punch, only for Graham to move to the side, dodging the blow, then threw his back onto the sturdy surface of the crate, using it as an anchor to donkey-kick his opponent forward.
His opponent landed backward against the nearest crate which shattered upon landing.
Graham's next move was to draw his pistol and aim it directly at his opponent who held an electric baton up to Graham's neck.
It wasn't until the light from the baton illuminated the space between them did the light allow Graham to see who he was fighting.
"Nightwing," Graham said, "Former member of Young Justice. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"You too," Nightwing said, "Whoever you are."
"Call me Saint," Graham said.
"You're trained aren't you," Nightwing asked, "These rent-a-cops weren't that well trained."
"Before I answer your question," Graham said, "Answer mine. What are you doing in my AO?"
"The Brain had a shipment that came here," Nightwing said as Graham suddenly felt something pointed directly at his head: a taser-tipped arrow that was strung on Tigress's bow.
"You brought back up," Graham said, "Color me impressed."
"Now who are you," Nightwing asked.
"We'll stick with 'Saint' for now," Graham said, "I'm here on official business from the U.S. Government."
"I need to see some identification," Nightwing said.
Graham went into his pocket to retrieve his badge, "That good enough," he asked.
"D.E.O.," Nightwing said, "So you're investigating the Brain as well?"
"That's a no," Graham said, "What I'm doing is classified. What do you say we stay out of each other's way and we never have to see each other?"
"A D.E.O. Agent walking around here with a gun," Nightwing asked, "While my team is investigating? Give me one reason I should believe you?"
"Because I'm about to save your life," Graham said as he aimed just over Nightwing's shoulder.
"Hold it," one of the guards exclaimed as he raised his rifle towards Nightwing.
Graham pulled the trigger, striking the guard in the ribs, causing him to seize up in shock, and fall to the ground.
Nightwing looked back at Graham who holstered the weapon and walked up to the guard.
The guard soon raised his rifle to fire, but not before Graham stripped him of it, and used the butt-stock as a club to knock him unconscious.
"Tell me, Nightwing," Graham said, "You were the apprentice to the world's greatest detective once," he then tossed him the rifle, "How many rent-a-cops do you see carrying around that?"
"Kalashnikov AKM," Nightwing said, "Flashlight, laser-pointer, angled foregrip. I haven't seen this in the hands of a contractor."
"That's because these guys aren't contractors," Graham said.
Nightwing tossed the weapon aside, "You still haven't answered my question," Nightwing said, "What is your mission."
"I did answer," Graham said as he began his ascent to the manager's office, "My mission is highly classified. I can't share the details."
It was then that a yellow streak appeared in front of him, and standing in front of him was someone who wore a yellow, red, and white suit and had red hair that resembled Kid Flash, "My friend asked you a question," he said.
"You are him," Graham said, "I thought Kid Flash was dead."
"Emphasis on was," he said, "I left the Kid Flash moniker behind. My new moniker is Down-Force."
"I gave him my answer," Graham said, "My boss has not authorized me to share this information."
"Mr. Bones," another voice said as a very attractive woman, about five-foot-eight, wearing a magician's outfit floated up to sit on the railing.
"Zatanna the Amazing," Graham said, "You went all out on this one didn't you Nightwing?"
"You're damn right I did," Nightwing said, "I want a simple answer."
"Look, we're on the same side here," Graham said, "If I could share, I would. Right now, what I need is in there," he pointed at the manager's office, then at the warehouse floor, "What you need, is down there."
As Graham walked past Down-Force he saw the door was locked, but the window into the room was thin-glass.
"There's no way you're getting in there," Nightwing said.
Graham drew his pistol, placed the butt of the grip against one of the window panes, and gave it a slight smack.
As he put his pistol away, all he did was grab the pieces of the window that were broken, and place them on a small container next to the door.
"Not exactly my first rodeo," Graham said as he reached in through the broken pane, turned the lock, and pushed the door open.
As he entered, the factory manager turned, grabbed the monitor, and hurled it across the room at Graham who jumped to the side to avoid getting hit.
He then tore his pistol out of the holster and fired: the cartridge struck the man in the center of the chest, and sent him falling back into his chair.
Graham walked up to the man, zip-tied his legs and arms to the chair before pushing him across the room.
"What kind of gun is that," Nightwing asked as he walked into the room to grab the manifest, and saw Graham lifting the modem onto the desk.
"First-generation experimental tech," Graham said as he pulled out his knife, and used it as a makeshift screwdriver.
As he unscrewed the side of the modem, he unplugged the power source and began to remove the hard-drive Zatanna walked up to him.
"I never knew that the D.E.O. was into investigating the Brain," Zatanna said.
"I'm not," Graham said as he removed the hard-drive and slid it into his vest.
"He's investigating someone more dangerous," the warehouse manager said as he freed himself from his restraints, and pulled out what Graham instantly identified.
"Grenade," Graham exclaimed.
The manager pulled the pin, and Zatanna began, "T'nod edo…" was all she managed to get out before Graham grabbed her, and leaped through the glass window as the grenade went off.
Guess what happens…
