The frozen dirt beneath Tom Mandaver's boot crushed slightly from the pressure as he stepped from his vehicle, which was pulled up to next to that annoying punk's truck. Smirking, Tom pulled his sidearm and calmly attached the silencer. The weapon felt good in his hands, a reminder of the power he wielded. A step above the law. Murder without consequence, so long as it was done in an intelligent fashion.
"Schmidt!" he called to his partner, who remained in the car. "Do me a favor and call into HQ, tell them we're initiating the operation."
From inside the vehicle, Peter rolled his eyes. Lethargically, he leaned out the opened window to answer. "I'm not your bitch, Mandaver. Do it yourself. You're so goddamn eager for this anyway..."
"Fuck you, Peter," Tom shot back, his voice turning cold. "You can be sure Prescott will hear about your attitude."
Tom leaned back in his chair, staring at the fuzzy ceiling of the SUV's interior. "Prescott doesn't pay me for my attitude. So. Any day now, hotshot. Sooner we get this done, sooner we can get our asses home."
"Amen to that," Tom mumbled as he searched for his phone.
Peter watched his partner move into the foliage with the grace of a true professional, avoiding any steps that might cause a sound. Once out of sight, Peter sighed and stepped out of the vehicle to stretch his legs. This is such bullshit, he thought while scanning the clouds for any hint of blue. Like most days in the pacific northwest, an oppressive layer of grey silenced the sky. Calmly, he lit a cigarette and leaned back against the car, while examining the blue haired girl's truck.
Fuck, he cursed to himself. Gonna suck having to dispose of that truck. But thems the rules. Leave no trace.
The minutes passed slowly, each dragging on more than the last. Finally, a gunshot rang out over the open space. A previously invisible flock of birds took flight a moment later, rustling the mass of trees around him.
Wait a tick. Tom was using his silencer. What the fuck?
A moment later Peter's training kicked in and he took cover behind his vehicle, sidearm drawn and pointed upwards close to his chest. Carefully, he inched outwards, following his partner's steps into the woods. An eerie silence filled the void after the gunshot, which had scattered most of the forest creatures and birds. Peter cursed as he felt his heart begin to thump. Keep it cool. Just a pair of teenagers. Mandaver was a professional, but every idiot gets lucky. Still. There wasn't any intel about them being armed...
After a small eternity of creeping forwards, Peter swore again as his partner's body came into view. Mandaver lay face down in the grass, just outside the protection of the forest cover. In the middle of the clearing, Peter caught sight of the two targets. The two girls. The shorter one was holding the other tightly. The taller, blue haired girl-Chloe Price-appeared to be in a state of complete shock. He instantly registered the six shooter held in her hand, which was aimlessly pointed at the ground.
Gotta say, I'm impressed, Peter thought. Like, really impressed. Girl must be a fucking marksman to make that shot, at that distance and with a handgun. And to beat Mandaver on the draw. Hell, now I want to buy her a drink. Mandaver had it coming. Goddamnit. This is seriously not how I saw my life at thirty five years.
His blood froze as he made direct eye contact with the smaller girl. The brunette. Maxine, he recollected. Shit. Better act fast. That might've been a lucky shot from her friend, but it's not something I want to bet on. He quickly raised his weapon to the taller girl, squinting down the sights to aim the shot in a practiced, fluid motion. And then something odd happened. The "Maxine" girl vanished.
In his day, Peter had thought he'd seen it all. He'd fought screamers who charged into battle with wanton carelessness. Snipers with cunning precision and guile. But when he saw Mandaver's gun disappear off the ground, and felt the cold hard steel of a barrel pressed against the back of his head, Peter knew this was something else. Outside context problem, was all he could think.
"Drop. The weapon," Max ordered in the most menacing tone she could muster. Which, if she was being honest with herself, was probably not that threatening. Still, she was the one who had the drop on this man, who was hunched down, aiming his weapon at Chloe. Like his deceased partner, the man wore a pristine black suit, but no tacky shades. Unlike Chloe's kill, who was a gargantuan behemoth of a man, this second assassin was leaner and showed signs of a well toned muscular frame through the suit's fabric. Max had gotten a clean look at his face on her mad dash across the field. The man appeared to be middle aged, with faint traces of worry lines creased his rugged face, none of which betrayed any sign of emotion.
Come on, dude. Just drop the damn gun. Please. I don't want to kill anyone. Max thought desperately. Deep down, though, she knew she had the will to pull that trigger. After all, what was one more life? She'd sacrificed thousands for Chloe. And here was a clear and present danger, threatening Chloe's life in the most direct manner possible. Nevertheless, this was different from her decision up on that cliff side. Inaction had caused the destruction of Arcadia Bay. Now, only action might save Chloe's life. And it would have to be decisive. Max knew she was almost out of juice. She could feel the cold strain of blood running down her nostrils and the steady thumping in her head that always accompanied the overuse of her powers.
To her relief, the man dropped his weapon onto the grass, slowly moving his hands up into the air. Max backed off, carefully, keeping the dead man's gun that she had grabbed during her frantic jaunt across the field trained on their assailant. Holy shit, she found herself thinking. This is so fucked up. Just last week my biggest concern was whether or not to submit a photograph for a contest. Now I'm holding a gun on a freaking hitman. I... I never wanted this! All I want is to be left alone, damnit!
Max did her best to hold it together. The past fifteen or so minutes, for her at least (at this point, she wasn't sure how much "real time" had actually passed), were fraught with the most horrible events imaginable. Chloe getting shot. Over, and over, and over again. Max was terrified Chloe might pass out: more than a small amount of Chloe's blood was plastered onto her face and clothing. If she understood how her powers worked correctly, then that meant the blood on her was blood no longer in Chloe's body. So fucked up, was all Max could think. But she could see Chloe, and Chloe remained standing, looking dazed and confused. God, I'm so sorry, Chloe. I'm so fucking sorry. Max had to summon a strength of will she didn't know she had to keep from screaming in frustration.
It had taken an eternity for Chloe to get the shot right. Even from the beginning, after Chloe's first death, Max had felt more than a bit drained. She couldn't go back more than thirty seconds. But again and again that fucking bald-headed freak had put a bullet in Chloe. With increasing panic, Max kept rewinding, telling Chloe to aim up. To the left. To the right. To the other right! When Chloe finally landed the shot, Max couldn't believe the horror had ended. Her head felt like it was about to cave in on itself, imploding her consciousness into dark oblivion. Instead she grabbed a bewildered Chloe, no doubt confused and amazed she had made such an improbable shot at the turn of a dime. Max gripped her so tightly, tears streaming from her face, mixing in with the layers of blood that had accumulated. For the first time, she was glad Chloe had kept David's gun, and that she had it on her. Even if she had kept it a secret from Max.
And then Max saw it. Her photographer's eyes caught that faint movement, that subtle shifting of position. She knew this wasn't over yet. Spotting the spare gun by the freshly deceased assassin's body, Max summoned every last bit of strength she had and rushed forward as fast as her short legs would carry her. She saw the man train his gun on her. Rewind, continue the sprint. The man looking shocked, but shifting his aim with professional fluidity. Rewind, keep up the pressure. Rewind. As she apparated closer and closer to the their attacker, his surprise grew with increasing intensity. Finally she was able to grab the dead man's weapon and position herself behind the new target. Rewind.
Chloe finally caught onto what must have happened, and quickly made her way towards them with the spry agility granted by her longer legs.
"Get ready to die asshole," Chloe shouted as she skidded to a stop in front of the second hitman.
"Chloe, wait!" Max cried. "Just, just hold on. A second. Let me try something."
"Max, these fuckers just tried to kill us. And... holy shit, Max! Your... your face, your clothes. You're covered in blood! Is that..." Chloe was no idiot. It didn't take her long to put the pieces together. "Max... how many times did I..."
Grinding her teeth in frustration, Max shot Chloe an intense look. "Too many," Max replied as tears began to form in her eyes. "Just, please, stay cool, alright? I got this. Please, you have trust me."
Taking a slow breath, Chloe lowered her gun, all the while maintaining a safe distance from the man who was now holding his hands high above his head. "Okay Max. I trust you. What's the plan?"
Well, gotta admit. Not how I thought I would kick the bucket, was Peter's immediate thought after observing the two, again, scrawny teenage girls, debate over what to do with their victory. Their triumph over two professional assassins, both of whom boasted years of experience under their belts. He was ex-special forces, for Christ's sake. While he wasn't bemoaning the fact that he would no longer have to murder two innocents, he had certainly thought his last moments would be, well, more glamorous.
Still, something more than meets the eye is going on here. I could've sworn I saw that damn brunette flicker over here. And what her friend just said... "how many times?" What the hell did she mean by that?
But it was all pointless. Peter had lost, and he knew it. He hung his head, staring at the ground, expecting it to be the last thing he would ever see. "Listen, can we just get this over with?" he asked. Prescott better hold up his end of the bargain. As long as they're safe, then I'm okay with this. I'm so sorry, Brenda...
"We want answers," the shorter girl replied, keeping his partner's gun held towards his head.
"Then you'd better just kill me," Peter sighed.
Another strange moment passed. Peter's animal instincts, that had kept him alive through thick and thin, told him something was amiss. That something fundamentally wrong had just occurred. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight, and goosebumps shivered down his spine.
"Peter," Max said.
What. The absolute. Fuck. How does she know my name?
"Listen, Peter. Peter Schmidt," Max continued. "I know you don't want to be here, doing this. You're just looking after the people you love, right? I get that. You have no idea how much I get that. But we're in the same boat! Prescott is threatening us both! I know he's holding your family hostage. Your wife Brenda. Your son, Josh. We don't have to be enemies, Peter. We could work together. We can end this nightmare. Please. I don't want to kill you. I don't want anyone else to die."
Peter could hear the desperation in her voice. He'd heard it before. That honest, railing drill of a person at the end of their line, desperate for one last push towards hope. And then the meaning of her words caught up with him. This is impossible, he asserted to himself. How could this... this scrawny, teenage, nothing of a person, know all this? Prescott keeps his information compartmentalized to hell and back. How could he have a leak? How could a fucking art student know this kind of detail about my life? Then again... how could an art student teleport? How could a punk bimbo make impossible shot against a trained assassin? I'm... fuck. This is fucked. This is so completely, holistically, and utterly fucked. What the hell did you get us into, Sean?
"Max, the fuck? Did you..." Chloe said with surprise. Then her expression changed, as if realizing some epiphany. "Nice, dude," she remarked with a grin. "But, I don't... I don't think he's buying it, Max. Besides! We got nothing to feel guilty about! They tried to kill us. Hell, they did! Repeatedly!"
The hell is she on about, Peter thought.
Chloe raised her gun again, pointing it directly at Peter's head. Her expression hardened, eyes creasing with focused concentration. "Just say the word, Max. I'll do it. You don't have to. This'll be on me, alright?"
Peter's head began to thump softly as he processed his situation. This Maxine girl knows everything. Every last goddamn detail. How is that possible? Massively more informed than we thought? Or, fuck it, a telepath? Which is impossible. But, as they say, seeing is believing. If this is real, then could she... could this be a way out?
Since trying to leave Sean's employment more than a year ago, Peter had done nothing but regret his decision to sign on in the first place. It had seemed like a great gig: the requirements were high, but the pay was set to match. Enough to provide a good life for his family with the skill set he had. It was only several months in that he realized his mistake. When he tried to quit, Sean made one of his not-so-subtle threats. Directed not towards him, but instead, his family. Peter didn't know exactly what Sean meant, and he didn't want to find out. By that point Peter had seen his fair share of what his employer was capable of.
"Wait," he interjected. "Just, hold on, a second."
Both girls gave each other a look, surprised and hopeful.
"You're... You're right. I'm no friend of Prescott's. But if we're going to make some sort of... deal... then I need assurance. Do you understand?"
Max was the first to respond. "We'll keep you family safe, Peter. It'll be our first priority. But then, you have to help us get close to Sean. And you need to tell us everything you know. Like what happened to David Madsen."
Peter observed the taller girl stiffen a little at the mention of the security guard's name. Shit. Right, Madsen was her step-dad, or something. Well fuck. They're not going to like what I have to say about that. So I guess they don't know everything? Jesus tap-dancing-christ this is confusing. Talk about "out of left field."
Peter slowly rose to his feet, eyeing both girls carefully as he did so. "Listen. I don't know what's going on here, how you two are able to do what you do, or know what you know. But I'm betting it has something to do with why Prescott wants you dead." He paused to take a short breath, eyeing Max carefully. "In my seventeen years of experience, I've never seen someone move like you, girl. That was truly something else."
In an earnest gesture, Peter held out his hand. Max took it, and they shook. God help me, he thought. No going back now.
Minutes later the trio stood by their vehicles, deciding how to proceed. Max knew they had to hurry, but she felt a powerful reluctance to take any further action. More than anything she wanted to clean herself, curl up into Chloe's lap, cry, and then sleep for a million years. But she knew that right now, helping their new ally was in their best interests. He could lead them straight to Prescott. He was also trained in this sort of shit. His experience could be a massive boon to their efforts.
This is so fucked, she thought. Just earlier today I was worrying about going back to high school. Now I've got half a pint of Chloe's blood splattered over myself.
On the walk back Chloe had bumped up beside her, giving her an eye full of worry. "H-hey there, road warrior," she had stammered. "Looking ba-bad ass."
Max wanted nothing more than to throw herself around Chloe, cry, and apologize over and over again. At how she had let her die so many times over the past hour. Over the past week. But it would've been weird-awkward, to say the least-with Peter as a witness. Max knew she had to keep it bottled in. There would be time later for emotional breakdowns. Plus, she needed a shower.
Still, Max had to reply to Chloe with something. Trudging forward, she gave Chloe a sad look. In a small voice, she pointed to herself. "It's your blood, Chloe. It's... I've..." Max had to stop, realizing that she was starting to hyperventilate. Now's not the time, dumbass. Not when you've got Mr. Hardcore Assassin right there.
Chloe gave a solemn nod. Without permission she grabbed Max as they walked, pulling her close. Smearing the blood on Max's face across her chest. Chloe didn't care.
But now they had to decide what to do next. Peter wanted to leave immediately and check on his family. Chloe wanted to move her truck somewhere safe. Right out of the gate, their alliance was showing wear and tear. Max decided to play the mediator.
"Look, Peter. Your Family's in Centralia, right? Well, we need to head west regardless of where we go first. Chloe can drive her truck, I'll ride with you." Max had to hold her hand up to stop Chloe's immediate reaction to her suggestion. "We drop the truck off by my parent's house, where they can look after it. Then we head south, and find your family. Okay?"
"Max, there's no way I'm letting you ride alone with Mr. Killface here. We don't know if we can trust him!"
Max sighed. Chloe had a point, but there was no other way. Not if they wanted to move the truck. Which they really should, seeing as there was a dead body they didn't have the time to dispose of. Max had already ruled out the possibility of letting Peter drive alone. Too risky. She needed to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't have second thoughts. If he turned traitor she could use her rewind. Though that might be dangerous in a moving vehicle. There was always the fallback of using a focus. Though she remained loathe to do that.
"I gave you my word, girl," Peter reprimanded, approaching Chloe with his superior height and bulk. Undeterred, Chloe arched her back and raised her head upwards, cocking it slightly in defiance.
"That supposed to mean something to me, Pres-bitch?" Chloe shot back.
"Cool it, you two," Max commanded. "Chloe, I know you don't like it. I don't like it either. But it's the way it's gotta be. It's only a twenty minute ride. We'll be fine."
Chloe pouted, backing off while crossing her arms and staring at the ground. "Fine," she muttered, kicking at some dirt with her boot.
God, I'm sorry, Chloe. I swear I'll make it up to you soon. Just, hang in there. For a little longer. We just have to make sure Peter's family is safe. I wonder if we should involve the police now? Surely Prescott's influence with the law doesn't reach up here.
She decided to ask their new compatriot. "Peter, should we call the cops and report your partner's body? Tell them he tried to murder us?"
Peter stifled a laugh. "I take it this is your first rodeo. No, girl, that wouldn't pan out well. Already we're losing precious minutes standing around arguing. You can bet that as we speak a clean up crew is on its way. If my partner followed protocol, he definitely reported in with headquarters before trying to take you two out. It's been enough time that they've assumed we're both dead. Or otherwise failed our mission. So go ahead, call the cops. You'll get to learn all about what happens when you lie to the law. Because by the time the cops show up, there won't be shit-all for them to discover. But your girlfriend is right, I guess we do need to move that truck. God knows what the cleanup crew might do with it."
"Fuck," Max swore under her breath. She brought her hands to her temples, rubbing in a soft motion to try and ease the roaring pressure in her head. I'm running on fumes here, she thought. After our practice session, saving Chloe, sprinting across the field, and going groundhog day on Peter, I'm lucky I haven't passed out. But if what Peter says is true then we need to get moving. No rest for the wicked...
"Chloe," Max said as she closed the distance between them. Seconds later they held each other in a tight embrace, neither wanting to let go.
"I'd kiss ya, but..." Chloe whispered into Max's ear. That's right, Max remembered. I'm smothered in her blood right now. God, we are such a fucking mess.
They both heard Peter cough uncomfortably, and reluctantly ended the hug, pulling away from each other slowly. Chloe gripped Max by her forearms, moving her back a bit. "Max... I love you Maxine Caulfield. Don't you dare forget that, alright?"
Max uttered a sob mixed in with a happy laugh, feeling fuzzy at Chloe's words, despite the horror they had just experienced. "I love you too, Chloe Price. And stop being so melodramatic. I'll see you in like twenty minutes, alright?"
Chloe gave Max a look that communicated worry and fear. Like she would never see Max again if she let go of the frail girl. Without another word Chloe drew Max in again, this time placing a kiss on her head.
"Sir, come and take a look at this," Kevin's underling yelled from down the field. He stood up, having determined Tom Mandaver's cause of death. Gunshot wound to the head. Kevin headed over to see what the commotion was. His subordinate held a cell phone, miraculously still unlocked. On it, a video played in loop. It showed one of the girls standing far away, and then simply disappearing. Kevin couldn't help but feel a bit perturbed at the imagery of it.
"Get that video back to headquarters. Verify its authenticity," he ordered.
Kevin reviewed the facts in his head. One of their best, albeit crazy, assassins killed in action. A waif little girl that could teleport. An incredibly dangerous operative, presumably gone rogue.
"Jesus," Kevin muttered to himself. "What a fucking day."
Max kept her eyes focused on Chloe's truck from her seat in Peter's SUV. Somehow, just seeing the back of Chloe's short blue hair made her feel better. Knowing that she was alive.
"Here," Peter said, handing Max a bottle of water. "You can find some paper towels in the back seat. Get yourself cleaned off-you look like you just wandered off the set of a zombie horror movie."
Still dazed, Max took the bottle and searched around for the tissue. Several minutes later she had managed to get most of the blood off, though her clothes seemed thoroughly stained.
"Thanks," she mumbled, returning her attention to Chloe's truck.
"Maxine," Peter started.
"It's Max, never Maxine," Max quickly corrected, as if on auto-pilot. What the shit do I care right now about that, she thought.
Peter gave a short chuckle. "Alright, Max. You need to tell me what exactly is going on."
It was Max's turn to laugh. "Funny, wanted to ask you the same question!"
Peter shot Max a hard look. "I'm serious. What-precisely-are you capable of? There were some things your partner said back there that were very... interesting. But if I'm going to be able to help you, I need to know what my assets are. Clearly, you can do things normal people can't. And believe me, I've seen it all. So help me out here, Max."
Max bit her lip, unsure of how much she should say. He has a point. If I tell him how my rewind works, then he might be able to craft a super-spy plan to bring down Sean. Then again, my rewind has been just between me and Chloe. It's... it's our secret. How would she feel if I just went and told this dude, who we barely know? I guess telling him about the rewind wouldn't be too bad. But there's no way I'm spilling the beans about the photograph focus. Or freezing time, not that I can do that on command anyway.
"This will sound completely crazy," Max started.
"Try me," Peter insisted.
"Okay. I can rewind time," she explained plainly, as if it was obvious.
A silence fell on the cabin, with Peter chewing over Max's words, trying to decide if she was bullshitting him.
"So, you're telling me you're not a teleporter. Or a telepath? God, that would be easier to believe."
"I can rewind time," Max repeated. "I can't demonstrate it here, because my position in space doesn't change after the rewind."
Peter's eyebrows shot up, his mind racing with the implications of the revelation. "Holy shit, that makes sense," he said, more to himself than Max. "Okay, let's say I believe you. When-"
Peter cut himself off mid sentence, the road suddenly stealing his full attention. Both the SUV and Chloe's truck were headed down a narrow, single lane stretch of highway, bordered on either side by thick forest. Peter had been maintained a fair bit of stopping distance between them and Chloe's truck, as the roads were still slick from last night's rain. The gap between them was quickly filled by two black SUVs, both of which had come up behind them and had signaled to pass. But instead of passing them, Max and Peter now found themselves cut off from Chloe, with the two new vehicles sandwiched between them.
"Damnit," Peter cursed. "Hold on Max, this is gonna get rough."
"What?" Max asked, turning her head to face Peter. Moments later the g-forces of Peter slamming the breaks catapulted Max from her chair and into the seat belt. The vehicle in front of them had come to a sudden stop, intentionally causing a high speed collision. Max's head snapped back into her neck rest, and the world went black.
Hearing was the first sense to return. Max could make out the faint sound of a fire. The grunting noises of someone working near her. Vision brought along with it a sudden headache, forcing Max to shut her eyes quickly.
"Good, you're back," Peter exclaimed. "Was getting worried about you for a second."
Max forced herself to open her eyes again. She was lying down in the backseat of their car. The side door was torn off completely. The front windshield was blasted to hell, both airbags out and deflated. Carefully, Max hoisted herself up into a sitting position, while rubbing her head.
"What the fuck happened," she grumbled.
"They found us," Peter replied simply as he went back to work. "Shit," he swore. Max squinted to bring Peter into focus. He was outside, working on another car with its front hood up. "Just need a few more minutes, then we can take this car and get the fuck out of here."
Still feeling like reality had that dream-like quality to it, Max forced herself to examine the scene. Several bodies were strewn out across the highway. They all showed signs of bullet wounds. Peter was cursing and muttering, his torso out of sight as he went about the repairs. Looking up, she noticed Chloe's truck, which had been diverted off the road. The whole of its front was smashed into a tree. Chloe! Max thought suddenly. Without hesitation, and despite the screams from her body to stay where she was, Max stumbled out of the car and began to wander towards the truck.
"She's not there," Peter explained while keeping his attention focused the only car that remained in somewhat drive-able condition. "They snagged her in the ensuing firefight. As you can see," he said, waving his hand at the dead bodies,"I was able to hold them off. But I'm sorry, Max. They got her."
Max stood dumbstruck for a moment, unwilling to believe Peter's story. No, no way, she denied. Chloe's... she's... but... The dam inside Max burst, and she fell to the ground, screaming as tears freely rolled down her face.
"Whoa, hey, hey," Peter consoled, sticking his head up from under the hood. "Max, it'll be okay. If they wanted to hurt her, they would've. But they didn't. Something's changed, Max. Prescott doesn't want you dead anymore. He wants you alive. That's the only explanation. Otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation. We'd be dead."
Max allowed herself to be calmed by Peter's words but she said nothing in reply. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Max weighed her options. Okay. So, there's the photo I took just before we left. That's not a bad "restore" point... But still, if what Peter says is true, then we're all still alive. If I jump back, will there be any guarantees of that? For all I know, maybe this is the best possible timeline. Maybe we wind up dead in all the others! Maybe when I exit the focus... that'll be it! Show's over, folks. Say goodnight! Fuck. Plus, what if I really am leaving behind a copy of this timeline? Would I be ditching a Max stranded here, powerless and alone?
Max begrudgingly decided to keep this timeline, at least for now. She could always go back if there truly was no hope. Her wanton focusing last Friday was excusable-she already knew Chloe was dead. Until she was certain of that fact, she resolved to keep the focus as a weapon of last resort.
"We have to save her," Max decided.
Peter paused, looking up again. "We had a deal, Max," he reminded her with an even voice. "My family is in serious danger. Now, I can help you get Chloe back. But only if my family is safe."
Max felt conflicting emotions tear at her heart. On the one hand, she couldn't bear the thought of not immediately working towards saving Chloe. It had been her modus operandi for so long now, no other course of action made sense. But she did promise Peter. And she knew getting Chloe back without his help was a fool's errand. They could have her anywhere by now! And what if they used Chloe against her? No, she needed Peter's support. Her heart felt sick saying it, full of reluctance and self loathing, but she spoke the words anyway. "Okay, Peter. Let's save your family."
Be strong, Chloe. I swear we're coming for you. You just need to hold out a little longer. I love you so much. And there's no reality where we don't wind up together. I won't allow it.
Chloe grunted as she pulled away from the goon sitting to her left, only to crash a bit more to the goon sitting to her right. She was reluctantly sitting bitch between the two, with the driver sitting solo up front. In the ensuing chaos after the crash, she found herself hoisted from her truck and stuffed into one of these asshole's vehicles. It sounded like they were trying to get to Max, but Peter held them off. God bless you Peter, she thought. That was so fucking badass. That dude single handedly murdered at least four of these assholes.
When their attackers realized the tides were turned against them, the survivors piled into Chloe's car and they drove off in a hurry. At least Max is safe. Last I saw she was still passed out in Peter's car. But we're still here. I guess that means Max didn't use the photo? Or... maybe she did. And we're the "left behind" universe. Fuck. I can't think like that. Chin up, girl.
Smiling, Chloe decided to banter. "You guys are so hella fucked. You don't get what you've done, do you? Who you're messing with?" She tried to struggle out from the seat again, but both men held her arms tightly.
The goon to her right, Pigfucker McScroteballs, I'll call him, chuckled with a deep, reverberating rumble. He smiled and looked over Chloe to his partner. "Quite the mouth on this one, huh?"
His partner, Prolapsed Kittycock, Chloe decided, responded with a smile. "She's cute, though. Maybe when we get to the safe house we can fill her word hole with something." He gripped his crotch tightly, making thrusting motions, as Pigfucker laughed in response.
"Enough, you two," the driver ordered with authority. "She's not to be touched until the boss says so. Is that clear?"
Pigfucker gave the driver a mock salute. "Aye-aye, sir!" he consented with a sarcastic tone. His partner chuckled and gave Chloe another hungry look that sent shivers down her spine. He leaned in close for a whisper. "You're safe for now, girlie. But once we get that magic friend of yours, I got first dibs."
Chloe had always presented a hard front, a false sense of bravado. For the most part it had worked: skeevy guys had kept their distance. She had always maintained an air of confidence about her that fed back in on itself, bolstering the image she had built until she truly internalized it. But the facade began to crumble as Chloe realized just how bad this situation was. She stopped struggling against the two men gripping her arms, going limp, and stared into her lap.
Max... I fucking need you Max. I'm... I'm scared...
A short while later they pulled into a sketch looking motel off the highway. They appeared to be the only customers. One of the men entered the main office, returning promptly with keys in hand. Prolapsed Kittycock yanked Chloe's arm, pulling her from the vehicle in a violent motion. Chloe could feel the blood pumping in her head as terror began to boil within her. Their short trip to the room seemed to take an eternity.
"Don't bother screaming," Pigfucker explained. "Boss rented out every room. We're the only ones here. And the owner is a friend."
In a daze, Chloe allowed herself to be herded into a nondescript motel room containing the standard amenities one might expect: two beds, a TV, bathroom, nightstands, and a lingering stuffy smell that reeked of poorly and hastily employed cleaning products. Mr. Kittycock threw Chloe onto one of the beds and and took a seat himself, while Pigfucker went to relieve himself in the restroom. The third man, obviously higher up in the food chain, was already on his phone, talking quietly.
"Yes sir. Very good sir. Immediately sir," he complied into his phone. Hanging up, he opened his briefcase and pulled out an ultra-slim laptop, placing it on the bed in front of Chloe. Within minutes a video call was initiated and Chloe found herself staring at Mr. Prescott himself. She recognized the face from newspaper articles.
"Ms. Price. Pleasure to make the acquaintance," he began. "Let's cut right to the chase, shall we? You are going to tell me everything about what your little girlfriend is capable of. Don't try to lie to us, we've seen the video."
Fuck, Chloe thought. That's right! My god damn phone. Did I leave it back in that field? I must have... how else would they know that Max has powers?
"Eat me," Chloe replied without hesitation.
Sean chuckled, causing the rest of the men in the room to laugh with him. Sean's expression grew suddenly serious, and he motioned to Pigfucker with a nod. The man grinned. Kittycock forcefully held Chloe's arm and hand to the bed, while Pigfucker retrieved a tool from his bag. A pair of pliers. He began to whistle as he positioned the pliers onto one of her finger's nails.
"Now. Ms. Price, I do detest restoring to... barbaric... measures, but I am not afraid to do what needs to be done. This is your last chance. So I'll ask you again: tell us everything you about Maxine Caulfield's abilities."
Chloe hated herself for starting to cry, but she couldn't help it. She wasn't cut out for this shit! She was just some wannabe "hard" girl from a no-name podunk town. She knew she would cave within seconds. And she doubted Max would want her to suffer.
Think, dumbass. What can I tell them that they'll believe? Oh, holy shit! That's right!
"Stop!" Chloe yelled, just as the scumbag with the pliers had tightened their grip on her fingernail. "Please, just please, I'm not hardcore like this, I'll tell you everything!"
Sean leaned back in his leather recliner, a small smirk forming on his face. "Of course. Do, please continue."
Chloe gulped, and began her lie. It would have to be convincing. "Max, she's, she's a teleporter. She can move her body across distances. Instantly."
The room went quiet for a moment as the men all exchanged looks, seemingly convinced by her performance. Sean was the first to speak. "We need details, Ms. Price. Tell us everything you know."
Shit. Right. Okay. Time to fallback on my tweenie anime years.
"About fifty yards, sir. She needs direct line of sight, there can't be anything blocking the path. She can only do about five in a row without resting. Using her power gives her headaches." Chloe knew she was rambling, but judging from her audience's reaction, they appeared to be buying it.
"Thank you, Ms. Price. This has been most informative." Sean motioned his head towards his foreman in the room, who promptly closed the laptop shut.
Chloe breathed a sigh of relief when the pliers left her fingernail. God. I hope I didn't give up anything useful...
"Well that was a hoot and a hollar," Pigfucker said to no one in particular. "Can we please have some fun now?"
"Shut the fuck up," the man in charge ordered. "Not until we get the other girl. Then, I could give a flying fuck."
Max awoke to a soft grip on her shoulder. She had passed out on the drive down to Centralia, catching up on some much needed sleep. Her dreams had been haunted, filled with situations of Chloe being forced from her. "Chloe?" Max instinctively asked looking around for any sign of her girlfriend. That perhaps, just maybe, it had all been a bad dream.
"No, it's me, Max. We're almost here," Peter explained. "Be on your guard, I don't know what to expect."
Shoving away the remaining fog of sleep, Max steeled herself as best she could. This is insane, she thought. I'm not an action hero! I'm a fucking photographer, and an amateur one at that!
Peter turned into a nice looking neighborhood, filled with three story craftsman style houses that must cost a fortune. Max jumped when an SUV rushed past them, taking a hard turn onto the arterial before slamming on the gas and disappearing down the street.
"Shit," Max heard Peter swear. Without hesitation he floored the gas pedal, sending them flying towards their destination in complete disregard for the posted speed limit. Within seconds they reached his house and he pulled a hard stop in his driveway, wasting no time in hopping out of the vehicle. Max's heart sunk when she saw that the front door was left ajar.
"No," Peter said to himself. "No no no no no." He quickly disappeared from sight, rushing into his house. Max exited the vehicle and slowly approached the entrance, terrified of what she might find inside. She found Peter on his knees, crying, holding a woman in his lap, with a free hand on a young boy's shoulder. The kid didn't look older than nine. Both mother and child had bullet wounds in their heads and lay in a small pool of blood. Despite having seen so many dead bodies just earlier today, Max felt queasy to her stomach. She stumbled over, grabbing the side of a couch for support.
He's just a child. This is so messed up. They executed a little kid! I... I have to fix this...
Max was terrified at the thought. What it meant she had to do. But standing there, watching Peter morn the death of his family, moved her to action.
She hunched down on her knees beside Peter. "Peter," she said, while trying to make eye contact. "Give me your gun."
"What?" he replied between sobs. A moment later realization dawned across his face. He slowly removed his sidearm, disabling the safety, and placed into Max's hand. Meeting her eyes, he pleaded, "Fix this. Please, Max, I'm begging you. Fix this."