Chapter 10: Escalation [Part I]
"Sheriff, sir? I bring news."
Jebus gently shook The Sheriff's shoulder. Beorg Konig, The Sheriff-Mayor of Nevada, stopped his snoring, opened his eyes, and sneered.
"Didn't I tell y'all I'm not ta be disturbed? What is it, partner?"
"Apologies, sir. HQ received intelligence confirming a high-level target."
The Sheriff sat forward in his chair, quirking one of his bushy brows. "Elaborate, partner."
"Agent Wilson, from Sunset High School, initially brought the target to our attention. Further intel says the target had recently been administered an IQ examination. The young man's score of 200 places him on the blacklist."
This puzzled The Sheriff. When did this happen?
"Skip to the important stuff, partner."
"This news should surprise you. The man- or rather, teen-that has been causing all this commotion is Hank Shawnson."
The Sheriff snorted.
'That li'l dipshit? The same one givin' me all that crap over watchin' his pappy die in fronta him?' The Sheriff thought.
He gritted his teeth. "Sonnuva…"
"There's more, sir."
The Sheriff grumbled in annoyance. There was more? Of course there was. Nothing was ever that simple nowadays.
"Spit it out, already!"
"First of all, we've found that the Anti-A.A.H.W. has attempted to make contact with the youth in the past, and are amplifying their efforts to somehow recruit him, even deploying one of their top agents for the task."
The Sheriff recalled Hank's seemingly farfetched story about the "ninja." He slammed his fist on his desk.
"Mother fuckin' Agent 574! Rrgh! That bastard!"
The informer glanced at his boss, surprised. "You have the identity of the Anti-AAHW operative, sir?"
"Yeah, I reckon I do, partner. Hank, that li'l dipshit, met that devil himself. I didn't believe 'im at first, but yer words're startin' ta make me think otherwise."
The informant's composed expression morphed into one of alarm. "Then we must take action now, sir! Shall we try to bring the boy to our side?"
The Sheriff closed his eyes; he had to think it out before reaching a conclusion... this was big.
Hank gritted his teeth and stood up, slamming his fist on the table. "You know what? Fine! I don't give a fuck if you don't believe me! Serves me right for trying to get my answers from some low-life asshole like you."
"No," The Sheriff ordered, opening his eyes. "Don't fetch him. It's too late fer that, partner. We have ta get rid o' him. Per-ma-nent-ly. This Shawnson kid, he's an orphan, yeah?"
The Grunt nodded.
"Easy. Burn the goddamn orphanage down. Flush 'im out o' the burnin' building and plant a bullet in his brain. Make sure y'all leave no evidence that shows ya diddit."
"That plan is insanity! This course of action could cost us everything, for what?! We're not only eliminating Hank Shawnson himself, but the rest of the orphans as well! Do you have any idea what that could mean to the AAHW's reputation?!"
The Sheriff stood from his chair, cutting the soldier off, and leveled his revolver at the man's head.
"... S-sir?" The Grunt stammered.
"Partner, ya better list'n ta mah orders, or mah Boss ain't gonna be happy with this mess. I reckon there ain't no other choice; we gotta kill this "Hank" kid 'fore he kills us, partner. An' even if the li'l bastard don't kill us, if mah Boss hears what's goin' on, I reckon he'll kill us. Capiche?"
The Grunt swallowed nervously and frantically nodded. "… A-as you wish, sir."
The Sheriff lowered his gun and patted the man on his shoulder. "Good. Get goin', partner."
"Do not leave, soldier." A deep voice ordered from the shadows.
Jebus' sudden words startled The Sheriff. The Grunt stopped in his tracks, confused.
The Sheriff shook off his surprise and hastily spoke. "Hey, whaddya mean, 'don't leave?' Partner, just go on, git outta here!"
The Grunt hurried away, already assembling a small team to execute the operation. The Sheriff was once again left alone with Jebus. The Savior growled. His halo crackled with energy as he clenched his fists.
"Sheriff, have you no honor? What you are doing is senseless murder, a massacre of innocents! I find such actions, and the people who perform them, objectionable to the highest degree!"
The Sheriff yawned. "Oh, I get it. Yer sense o' honor actin' up on me ag'in."
"You do not have the authority to authorize such wanton killings!" Jebus' voice rose in anger. "That authority belongs only to agents of justice! Despite your title as Sheriff, you fail to fulfill this role!"
"Ha! I've got all the power I need! Ain't nobody gonna stop me, today, tonight, or ever!" The Sheriff retorted.
Jebus shook his head. "You think you have control, yet your mental state slowly deteriorates. I can see it in your eyes. You will go mad, like many have before you, drunk with power."
The Sheriff glared at Jebus. "Ya better shut yer yap, Jebus. Or I'll-"
"Or you shall do what, exactly?" Jebus loomed over The Sheriff menacingly, the carved metal of Binary Sword glinting in the dull light. The cold blade lightly pressed against the back of The Sheriff's neck.
The Sheriff swallowed nervously. Though he hated to admit it, Jebus was infinitely more powerful when it came to combat.
"O-or else I'll… I'll tell The Auditor to kill ya!" he sputtered.
Jebus paused for a moment, then sheathed his sword. The Sheriff regained his usual cockiness and proudly stood straighter.
"That is true. You could do that." Jebus mused.
The Sheriff made a smug grin.
"However," Jebus continued, "there will come a day when The Auditor can no longer protect you. And the moment you are unable to hide behind him, my blade shall taste your blood."
The Sheriff took a step back, immediately intimidated by the threat of death. He wasn't sure on whether or not Jebus was serious, but his gut suggested not to try his luck. For his own sake.
Jebus walked out on The Sheriff for "fresh air" once again. The Sheriff sighed angrily.
Was he losing control?
The Sheriff stared out the window of his office, at the gray skies. Perhaps he was.
But, for now, his life depended on the end of Hank Shawnson's existence.
Hank couldn't sleep. But could anyone blame him?
All night, the ravaged teenager had glared at the wall in front of him, trying desperately to sort his thoughts and all the memories from the previous days. With bags under his eyes, he turned his head to see the clock beside him.
[07:00]
School. The gates of Hell awaited.
Hank got off his bed and picked up his backpack. He had done absolutely no homework yesterday, let alone check to see what assignments he had to complete. The grades didn't matter anymore... nothing did. Not his well-being, and not even the dream of owning a gun shop that he'd been so keen on just the day before.
It was all so... pointless.
After slipping on some suitable clothes and washing the blood and grime from his face, Hank prepared to depart. The other orphans were utterly silent; they had heard about Hank's incident with his father. It didn't bother Hank much though; he skipped breakfast and walked out the door, purposely avoiding Julia.
Julia squeezed her eyes tightly, forcing a teardrop to roll down her cheek.
Merely walking to school had become a trial, which became worse with every step he took. As the people around him noticed who he was, they stepped aside; as Hank walked forward, head low, he heard their whispers.
"You see him right?"
"That's Hank Shawnson."
"Yeah, Marvin beat the shit out of him yesterday at the station. Looks like he wasn't lying after all, seeing the bruises on his face."
"And nobody helped the guy?"
"Well, what do you expect? This is Nevada, the kid had it coming to him."
"He did. Serves him right for fucking with Marvin and his gang."
"Yep. Stupid kid."
Hank tried his best to ignore the painful words, increasing his pace as he reached the school's entrance to clear is as fast as possible. Again, with the whispers. Everywhere he went, there were always those damned whispers.
Hank had never been regarded as the center of attention in the school, given his quiet nature. And, now that he was, Hank sorely wished to disappear into obscurity once again.
That's when he saw Marvin.
The bully proudly stomped down the hall, his reputation for brutality confirmed with not one, but two vicious beatings. Hank quickly stepped to the side, hiding away the bruises on his face. He didn't care that the other teens had watched him withdraw. Hank wanted nothing more than for the end of the school year to come, so Marvin could graduate.
But to Marvin, watching the empty, destroyed teenager slink away was more delicious than it had ever been before.
His school day was a nightmare filled with more rumors, more stares, more idiocy.
Hank walked into his physics class and took his seat. This was his last class of the day; the principal had revised his schedule after their meeting for some strange reason.
Already, everyone had gone whisper-silent as Hank took his seat and stared at the board. Andrea was stunned to see Hank was still in the classroom, even though she had recommended him to attend a higher-level class. But the teen must have had his reasons to stay, and she decided it would be best if she let him sort out his own problems.
Willing to keep it that way, Hank watched Andrea write on the board and scold some of the students for chatting. Although he hated listening his teachers' lectures, he wanted to pay attention this one time. It would help him ignore all the hushed murmurs behind him.
Once she'd finished reviewing the topics on her upcoming test, Andrea distributed some handouts, just as she always did. Again, Hank was given higher-level problems than the others. It pissed him off, the fact that he was different, blessed with a great mind and cursed with a horrid existence.
Ignorance was indeed bliss.
Hank blankly stared at his sheet. Andrea noticed he was much slower than usual, but shrugged it off. Maybe Hank was having troubles at home. That would explain the sorrowful expression perpetually plastered on his face.
Hank continued to stare down at his paper, worked out the math in his head, and scribbled down the answer. He did the same with the second, not realizing that the hand he was using to write with was trembling.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of problem solving, he made it to the last question. Squinting his eyes, he took in the neat, printed text.
32. "You are on the target range preparing to fire a new rifle when it occurs to you that you would like to know how fast the bullet leaves the gun. You bring the rifle up to shoulder level and aim it horizontally. Carefully, you squeeze off the shot at the target which is 300 feet away. When you collect the target, you find that your bullet hit 9.0 inches below where you aimed.
The Earth rotates at 1675 kilometers per hour, and you are standing 1.3 degrees above the horizontal axis of the Earth. The Gravitational constant is 6.673 * 10 ^ -11 Newton-meters squared over kilograms squared.
What is the velocity at which the bullet leaves the muzzle of the gun?"
Hank's eye twitched. Something inside his head unhinged and broke away. His hand furiously scrawled a single sentence, gripping the pencil so tightly his knuckles turned white.
It snapped in half.
The students in the vicinity looked up in surprise. A neighboring colleague watched his struggle, but before she could comfort him, Hank stood up, flipping over his desk.
The epiphany hit him in the gut. She knew.
All the teachers knew.
"Rrgh! DAMN IT!" Hank roared.
Everyone knew that Hank Shawnson was the rejected spawn of a serial murderer.
Hank's breathing became heavy, and he turned his head towards Andrea, who watched with a mixture of surprise and remorse. Hank couldn't, for the life of him, understand why she simply sat there, looking at him like that.
Hank bit his lip; the inquisitive stares directed at his back were burning holes into his skin. He wanted Andrea to say something, to scold him. He wanted her to make scathing reprimands, to ruthlessly insult him for being the little dipshit that ruined his parents' lives.
Hank didn't want remorse. He hated the remorse. He wanted to feel pain.
So why wasn't she saying anything?!
Why was she just sitting there, staring at him like he was some kind of tortured dog?!
He clenched his fists.
"FUCK THIS PLACE!"
Hank ran through the classroom door, shoving aside anyone who stood in his way, abandoning Andrea and the rest of his class. He ran, and ran, and didn't stop running until he couldn't feel those damned stares and he couldn't hear those damned whispers.
Andrea watched her top student run out of the door. In the dead silence, she made her way through the room to Hank's seat, stooping to pick up his paper off the floor.
Her eyes scanned the answer box for problem number thirty-two. There were only nine small words, so hastily scrawled she could barely read them.
"It doesn't matter becomes someone always ends up dead."
Hank held his head in his hands as as he sat down in the schoolyard. A brisk breeze lightly blew through him, making his shirt flutter ever so slightly. Nobody had gone after him when he left. Were they just playing that sappy act of leaving him alone? Or were they just glad to be rid of him?
Frowning, he stared up into the sky. It would have been a beautiful day, if it weren't for the clouds.
A low rumble brought Hank out of his reveries. He sat upright on the red brick wall behind him as the doors slammed open. A veritable torrent of teenagers thundered out of the hallways to their freedom; school was over.
Hank watched the teenagers, parents, and teachers mill about in the front yard. Perhaps if his mother had stayed by his side rather than running off and dying, he would among those students. Perhaps if his father was glad to have a son, he would be there, in his car, waiting to pick Hank up. Maybe he would even ask Hank how his day was.
Those thoughts rubbed salt in the wound.
After what seemed like hours, the students finally stopped funneling out of the building. Only a few scattered teenagers remained at the schoolyard, most of them making idle conversation.
Hank felt his head dip onto his chest and his eyelids droop. The fatigue from the last few days finally caught up with him. A nap seemed nice. If sleeping would bring him closer to death, then let him sleep forever.
A sudden shriek snapped him back into consciousness. It was genuine, filled with terror.
A girl.
Hank lazily turned his gaze to the source of the noise. Marvin. Of course.
He pinned a brunette to the wall, one hand on her neck, the other groping her chest. Hank felt his stomach lurch in disgust. He had seen much of Marvin's brutality the last few days, but this easily topped the list. Would Marvin really sexually assault his girlfriend? And who would want a punk like Marvin as their boyfriend? Hank could only assume that she did it for the sake of her reputation; for popularity points.
"Marvin, please, just... not here. Please. Not in public." The girl pleaded.
"Let them record, for all I care." Marvin spat back.
Marvin tried forcing his lips on her, but she turned her face away. The brunette wriggled out of his hands, pushing him away with both arms, only to have her wrist caught by Marvin's iron grip.
Hank couldn't take any more of it, but he didn't have the strength to stop Marvin from possibly raping her. He would just get beaten into a bloody smear. Again. Why should he help her, anyways? She put herself in that position, so she had to pay the price for the attention she gets. She was asking for it.
Stupid girl.
Hank stood up, ready to depart. He should just mind his own business and leave. That would've saved him a lot of trouble back then, and it would save him a lot of trouble right now.
The struggle continued, even as he turned away.
"Listen, you bitch. You follow what I say, and you can have whatever you like. I don't care whether or not you don't wanna do this. We do it right here and now. No fucking exceptions."
Hank froze. Marvin's aggression… for some reason, it seriously ticked him off.
The brunette tried yanking her arm away. Marvin laughed at her attempt and wrapped his hand around her waist.
"S... stop that!" she screamed.
Suddenly, it wasn't Marvin pinning a woman to the wall…
...it was Darren.
He stroked the hair on the woman, who turned her pleading hazel eyes towards Hank. Somehow, a feeling deep down told Hank that she was his mother.
It would be the same tragedy, just with different actors. She would get raped, and since her family was too poor to purchase contraceptives, she would be with a child.
Marvin pulled her in.
Her boyfriend would turn away his support. Her parents would look away in distaste. And she would have to face a world that looked upon her with perpetual disgust.
Hank closed his eyes.
She would become ostracized. People would bully her, call her a slut.
Then the young woman's heart couldn't handle it anymore. She would leave her crying baby at the orphanage doorstep, step onto the rails, and wait for the next train to roll down the tracks...
"Come on, baby. You know you want me." he whispered lustfully.
The child would grow, introverted and spiteful, just like Hank. What would happen if he saw the monster his father became? Would that child become another Hank Shawnson?
Another hateful, sociopathic genius, whose only wish was to let it all end?
The brunette broke into tears. "Please…don't…"
Hank wanted to just shrug it off; to coldly walk away from the catastrophe. To stand by and watch yet another impassive bystander. But, a question still lingered in his mind. One that he couldn't shake off no matter how hard he tried.
Marvin tugged at the front of the girl's shirt. A button came loose.
Would his mother still be here if anyone had helped her that night?
"Hey."
Just as Marvin was only inches away from his goal, he dropped the teary-eyed girl, who immediately bounded towards her freedom. Unfortunately, one of Marvin's friends grabbed her arm, complicating the situation once more.
The previously idle teenagers noticed the commotion, and a small group congregated at a safe distance, watching Hank face the five seniors. Marvin turned around slowly, grinning as he saw who his challenger was. Everyone's attention on him was gratifying.
"Well, if it ain't the little faggot I beat down yesterday? Came back for more?" Marvin yelled, with cockiness clear in his voice.
Hank kept a composed look on his face, using the same dead eyes that intimidated Marvin during their first confrontation in the lunchroom. He advanced towards Marvin and his gang in a confident stride.
"Wow, Marvin. I never thought you were that much of an ass to mess around with your girl like that."
Marvin laughed, showing no visible signs of hesitation as before. "The tough-guy act again, eh? I did you a favor by leaving you alone, but I guess your face is having a secret affair with my fists, cause it's just begging for more."
Hank shook his head. "I haven't taught you your lesson yet."
Again, Marvin went into hysterics with his friends. "A lesson!? You teach me a lesson!? That's fucking hilarious! Look at yourself! You really think you can take me down with a face like that?"
A small crowd of curious bystanders formed a rough circle, trapping Hank in. This was it.
"Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there? Or are you too chicken, even with your clusterfuck of circle-jerkers?" Hank mocked.
Hushed murmurs spread through the spectators.
"Hey wait, is that Hank?"
"You mean the kid who got his ass kicked yesterday? Are they gonna fight again?"
"... Fight? Fight. Fight!"
The last sentence began to reverberate around the crowd. Marvin grinned, already wrapping tape around his knuckles.
"Know why they call me 'Mad Dog?' Cause I like to rip people's fucking faces off. You get bonus points for tryin' to fuck with me twice in a row."
"Really? I think 'Mad Bitch' suits you better. Thought I made my opinion of you clear the first time around." Hank retorted with a smirk.
The crowd "ohh'd". The chants had now grown in volume.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
Marvin frowned, finishing off the tape. He seemed more eased this time around, possibly because he had already expected such a comeback to come from his challenger.
"That attitude of yours. I'll tear it right out of your fucking body with the rest of your limbs."
Hank didn't know much about fighting, but he knew from physics that a lower center of mass meant a more stable platform. College textbooks on human anatomy had also told him about several sensitive points in the human body.
He bent his knees and kept his hands between his chest and Marvin. Marvin had shown him yesterday that his straight punches had immense momentum. It would be impossible for Hank to block the punches with his hands, but perhaps he could bump the punches aside with his elbow, or jump out of the way.
Marvin might be stronger, but Hank was smarter.
Marvin rushed in, losing his patience. Hank willed the images of his past to dissipate. He was ready.
It was time for battle.
Marvin threw his first jab hastily. It seemed as though he was more focused on speed than power. Hank anticipated that Marvin would try to aim for the bruises on his face, so he raised his left arm, opened his hand and slapped horizontally as hard as he could. His open palm made contact with Marvin's wrist, knocking aside the fist.
Hank was as shocked as Marvin was at the almost instantaneous reaction. His foot slipped and his stance wavered as his arm was pushed to the side. Taking advantage of Marvin letting his guard down, Hank balled his right hand into a fist and lunged forwards, twisting his hips to exert a maximum amount of force.
His knuckles rapped Marvin in the cheekbone, right under the eye.
"OH, SNAP!" One of the bystanders yelled.
The crowd cheered, and Hank's morale skyrocketed. After spinning almost a full 90 degrees, Marvin regained his balance, his surprise quickly morphing into anger. He felt his face and gritted his teeth as his fingers touched the red marks on his skin.
Immediately, Hank saw Marvin making another aggressive attack. Hank stepped to the side in an attempt to evade Marvin, but the bruiser pushed off his left foot and rammed into Hank's body. Hank fell back onto the rocky floor, stopping his fall with an elbow. A lance of pain shot through Hank's shoulder as he rolled to his left, narrowly dodging a vicious groin kick.
Hank bounced upwards, back in his fighting stance, and sent a kick to Marvin's stomach. Marvin's arms shot downwards, leaving his face open for Hank's follow-up punch, directed towards the other eye. Again, Marvin's head snapped back from the power of the attack. He sputtered a long string of expletives, clearly enraged.
Marvin's friends were shocked. Was their leader losing it? Or did Hank somehow become twenty times stronger in the course of a single day?
Not wanting to lose the upper hand for a third time, Marvin threw a clumsy back-fist attack at Hank's head, but Hank caught the arm with both hands and yanked it downwards, pulling Marvin's head forwards. He threw a jab towards Marvin's exposed face. Marvin gasped at the impact and backed away, clutching his nose.
The crowd was now wildly cheering for Hank, the sophomore-underdog of the fight. Hank smirked as he got back into position; the fact that he was still standing made Marvin look utterly inept.
Marvin lost control of all honor. He cocked his head at one of his goons.
"Kill him."