A World Without Heroes, Chapter 11: Citizens Flee Omaha.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.


The small bar in New York City was quaint. Flint had found it while wandering around after their demonstration the day before, and decided it was a good enough spot for a bit of a relaxed debriefing. The demonstration was mostly uneventful, though the Warrant Officer found himself both groaning and chuckling inwardly when they realized it wasn't just for Junior ROTC. Despite Hawk's insistence that the mission be kept low-profile, the whole school had apparently assembled for the presentations, with some parents even in attendance.

Afterwards, Flint decided to give the team some R & R until they made the trip back to base. It was the least he could do as their commanding officer on this joke of a mission. As they convened that night in the hotel, he told the three of them about the bar and set the debrief for 1800 the next day. They'd be in uniform, but it was still a respite from the daily grind of life on base.

That is how he found himself amongst Lifeline, Scarlett, and Roadblock, sitting at a booth at the small bar, the three of them talking animatedly about their various exploits in the city. Flint sat studying the menu as if he hadn't been there just the day before, waiting patiently for their drinks, and for the conversation to die down.

"They expected people like me and Flint," Roadblock said, glancing at the waitress in thanks as she placed the drinks on the table. "But you two," he said with a chuckle, gesturing toward Scarlett and Lifeline. "I don't think they expected that," he said, taking a sip from his fresh drink.

Scarlett laughed in agreement. "Did you hear them when I threw you to the ground?" she said, glancing at Flint. "And a pacifist?" she laughed again. "Who knew?"

Flint cast a good-natured glance toward the redhead, a small smile toying at the edges of his mouth. They all knew the hand-to-hand demonstration was shortened for the benefit of time, but they also knew Scarlett would almost always wind up besting him in drills anyway. He set the menu down and placed his order. "Well, the best of the best," he said after the waitress walked away with all orders in hand. He picked up his pint glass, "has a lot to offer."

The three others picked up their various glasses. "Hear hear," they said, clinking them together in toast.

Flint let the others continue to chat while he scanned the newspaper he brought with him. They'd have plenty of time to debrief, he thought idly, thumbing through the pages. He tried to tell himself he wasn't looking for the jewelry ads, but it was a losing battle. Clearly, he was in denial, even though he knew it was what he wanted more than anything. Putting the plan into action was a little more intimidating than he originally thought. Flint had walked to and by a number of jewelers, but never actually made it inside any of them. It was then that a curious headline caught his eye, and he began reading the article.

Suddenly, the glass all around them shattered.

"Everybody down!" Flint hollered. The team jumped to the floor, part in instinct, and part from Flint's shout. As quickly as the glass shattered, it stopped just the same. Then came the blue light, a flash of sorts.

After a moment, the dust began settling. Cautiously, Flint raised his head. "Everyone alright?" he asked quietly, glancing around at his teammates.

No one uttered a sound, but Flint caught visual confirmation from his team. Satisfied, he raised his head a little further and began scanning the rest of the bar. A smoky blue haze filled the air, and glass covered everything. He watched silently as some of the people around him gazed outside the bar and began walking mindlessly outdoors, broken glass crunching below their feet.

"Hey!" Flint called to one of the patrons walking toward the door.

The patron ignored him.

Flint hurriedly stood up. Brushing his hands on his pants, he rushed toward the patron. He grabbed the patron's arm, turning the man to face him. "Hey!" he called again, and again, he was ignored. The patron shook off Flint's hand, turned his gaze back outside, and continued out the door.

Roadblock, Scarlett, and Lifeline each stood up and made their way to Flint. "This ain't right," Roadblock said, watching as the majority of bar customers made their way out the door.

"No," Flint said, casting his eyes on the door. The smoky blue haze had begun to dissipate. "And it reeks of Cobra." Carefully he glanced around the rest of the bar. "Anybody home?" he called out.

Gradually, people began to rise from their positions. The waitress behind the bar, also their server. A couple of men who had been sitting on bar stools. An older couple in another booth. And others. Mentally, Flint ticked off the numbers and their previously held positions in the bar as various folks began rising from where they had previously sat.

One of the men who had been sitting on a bar stool approached Flint. "What the hell just happened?"

Flint set his jaw and picked up the newspaper article. "I don't know," he said after a minute. "But this may hold the answer."

"Citizens Flee Omaha," the headline said. "Terrorism Not Ruled Out."