"Hey, Aleskei, are you there?"
After a few seconds, the big guy's voice clicked back. "Yeah, Herman," his voice spoke into my ears. "Where the hell are you? Are you ok?"
"I'm peachy," I said from my lofty perch. "You guys make it back in one piece?"
"Didn't see a single zombie, Herman. Heard them, though." Through the hint of static, I heard the concern in his voice. "We took the side tracks past a couple of the stations. We could hear em, walking around on the platforms. Ain't the worst part, though."
"What happened?"
"The subway's starting to flood. Had about an inch of water on the tracks near the warehouse. Damn near shocked myself when I stepped in it. We had to ditch early and walk home on the streets. Nothing I couldn't handle. Everyone's home safe and sound, except for you."
"Ah...yeah," I responded. "There's no one watching the sump pumps. A couple of those things break down and the water's gonna seep in, especially down near the river. Ok, I'll definitely hotwire a car when I'm done."
"You ain't done yet?" Rhino's voice had a bit of alarm, and a bit of 'oh, now what' on it. My friend knew me all too well. "What happened?"
"I had a run in with someone. The Vulture decided to take a swipe at me while I was in Hell's Kitchen. I'm fine," I said, cutting him off, "don't worry. I'm gonna hotwire a car in a few minutes and head back once Adrian wakes up."
"Adrian? Why the hell would...you think it's tied to Electro trying to off you?"
"Probably. I'm gonna ask him as soon as he wakes up."
"You managed to get the stuff you wanted at least?"
"Yep, and it's all in plastic anyway. Nothing broke that I could tell. Look, I'll fill you in when I get back, alright?"
"Yeah. Hey, Herman...told you this was gonna happen. I should never have let you go off by yourself, after last night."
I managed to chuckle at his remarks. "Write this date down, Aleksei. The day you were smarter than me."
"Hell, Herman, I've had plenty of those. Remember when we went to that after hours club that one night? And you insisted on going home with that one girl even after I told you she had a history? You had to keep going to the free clinic for shots..."
Below me, the lid of the dumpster twitched.
"Adrian's waking up," I said. "I'll get back to you once I'm on the move, big guy." After disconnecting from Aleksei, I took a final swig from the bottle of water I had found in the cab of the truck before tossing the empty container away. The plastic bottle bounced off the head of one of the zombies clawing at the metal side of the trailer before being lost underfoot. Hey, it's the end of the world, do I look like I give a hoot about recycling?
The lid twitched again, as the poor sucker I had trapped inside pushed upwards. The lid only had a give of a few inches before being stopped by the bolt I had jammed in the way. After a few seconds, the lid began to rattle, as Adrian pushed and shoved against it. I didn't know how much room he had inside to move around, but trying to get leverage while standing or lying in a pile of garbage, well, physics didn't quite favor him. The lid shook in place as Adrian banged against it. Over the moans of the living dead reaching up at me, I could hear him cursing as he tried to shove his way out of what couldn't have been a pleasant smelling prison.
The banging and rattling stopped, but the cursing didn't. As I watched, a single talon poked through the black plastic lid, and started to claw its way down through the rubber material. I took aim with one of my vibro-smashers as soon as the metal claw appeared. A level one from close range brought a squawk of indignation from the guy trapped inside, and the claw quickly pulled back.
"Herman," a muffled voice called out. "You're still hanging around?"
"You'll have to speak up," I shouted back. "I can't hear you over the crowd."
"Yes...so not only did you pass on an opportunity to flee, but you've allowed yourself to be surrounded by zombies. This doesn't strike me as the best of plans, Herman, especially for a meticulous plotter such as yourself."
"Well, it's hard to see the big picture when you're trapped inside a garbage can," I taunted. "Trust me, this works out for the best for all involved not named Adrian Toomes. You and I are going to have a little chat, Adrian, and if you want to get out of there anytime soon, you're gonna answer my questions, starting with who the hell wants me dead."
The cacophony coming from the crowd I had attracted, sitting exposed on the roof of the trailer, seemed to die down a bit, as a gravelly chuckle answered my comments. "Alright, Herman, I'll play along with your little game of Twenty Questions. Let me go first. How's your arm?"
The level one I sent into the lid was enough to cause Adrian to curse, but not enough to move the dumpster from its position flush against the side of the trailer. Surrounding the dumpster, reaching up at me, hands futilely slapping at the sides of the trailer, about a dozen zombies, mouths wide open, eyes wide had gathered. No worries on my end. My ass was well out of arms' reach and easily with range of blasting the dumpster. A good shock of vibrating air would be like ringing a bell right outside Adrian's ears. Not pleasant in anyway, and a good way to keep him locked up and not trying to claw his way out.
"Arm's fine," I lied, wincing as I shook off the recoil. Even my good arm ached from the evening's activities. Maybe Fred's wonder pills were wearing off. No matter, no time for distractions. "So, Adrian, why the hell does your boss want me dead?"
"Why the hell do you think, Herman," he spat as a reply. "You screwed him over twice, cost him a fortune in gold and other hard goods, and took the life of one of his best people. Do you know how annoying that is? You've gone beyond a fly in the soup to a full-blown hindrance. When he wanted someone to take you out, I volunteered in a heartbeat. And I would have gotten away with it, too...lousy Shocker." I could make out a deep sigh thanks to my audio enhancers. "You killed Max, Herman. Max was my friend. I wanted revenge, and I'm still going to get it, somehow."
"Christ...I didn't kill Electro, Adrian. That was the Punisher. Do I look like the type to use a damn gun? Max got shot, Adrian."
"Semantics. You were there, Herman. You were the one who beat him up and tied him to that chair, and left him to die. If it wasn't for you, Castle would never have gotten the drop on him. He was helpless. You were an accessory, Herman, might as well pulled that trigger yourself as far as I'm concerned."
I resisted the urge to fire off another blast. "I didn't know the Punisher was out there, Adrian. And even so, I was giving Max a chance to cut himself loose while I gave myself a...you know, no. No," I said, raising my voice a little. "I'm not going to play this game. Electro tried to kill ME, Adrian. What was I supposed to do, just roll over and die?"
"Yes! Yes, that's exactly what you should have done! Things would have been so much easier for all involved."
"Sorry, Adrian. I kind of like breathing."
The lid suddenly jumped into the air, rattling as Adrian pushed against it from below. It bulged slightly as it was blocked by the bolt, but it was never in danger of popping loose. "Let's clear the air right now, Herman. I will never tell you anything you want to know. You're playing way out of your league at the moment, above a level you can't possibly even imagine. You're a pawn, Herman, a simple pawn who insists on crossing the board and becoming a queen."
"Brave words coming from the guy stuck in a garbage can." I adjusted my gauntlet's aim as I spoke. "Talk, Adrian. Who's your boss, and what's his plan?"
"Herman, Herman, Herman...trust me, I'm much, much more scared of him than I am of you. You can throw those little airbursts all you want. Make them as loud and buzzing as you wish. They tickle compared to what misery my boss would inflict upon my person. Such is the price of treachery."
"What about the price of failure, Adrian?"
"That cost is more about wounded pride then wounded flesh. Mockery, I can endure better then pain..."
A level-one cut off his statement. "I don't believe that for a second, Adrian, but I'm willing to experiment and find out."
"Do your worst, Herman. I will divulge nothing."
"We'll see about that, Adrian. There's just one thing I want to know, man, and that's a name. Where this guy is, what his plan is, who else is with him, I really don't expect you to spill old that. All I need is a name, Adrian, and then I'll walk away and you can get out of there."
Even as the zombies clawed at the side of trailer, yellow teeth snapping at my leg dangling above them, it was Adrian's silence that made the most noise. "Just a name, Adrian, or else I can keep you in there all night long," I spoke after a few moments.
"Hope you had a big dinner, Herman," he taunted in reply.
I thought I could play the waiting game. Making sure I wasn't in any danger of falling off of the roof, I sat there, one foot quietly tapping against the side, eyes locked on the lid of the dumpster. Two more ghouls joined the crowd while time passed, three more arms now reaching towards me, even though I was well out of reach. It was a mixed horde that wanted a piece of me, young, old, male, female, and I thought, under the graying flesh, I could make out black, white, Hispanic. The worst was...she couldn't have been older than six years. One pigtail, stained with dark spots, hung down from the side of her head, while on the other side, her scalp had been ripped clean away. She didn't hiss or moan like the rest of them, however. Her stare was neutral, almost bored, as her tiny hand barely reached the bottom of the truck, even as next to her, the woman clawing at the metal, leaving trails of dead skin, looked like an extremely pissed off Iggy Pop.
How many zombies were there on Manhattan? There were 1.5 million people living on the island. Let's say...200,000 of them were off-island when everything went to hell and didn't make it back. That left 1.3 million. How many managed to evacuate once the crap hit the fan? I'll be optimistic, and say 100,000 got off the island before everyone else was told to get ON the island. 1.2 million, that's our hard number. And let's throw my optimism right out the window and say 3/4th's of those people died. Could be zombie attacks, could have been murder, could have been people self-nominating for a Darwin Award. 900,000 dead people. And maybe a quarter of them, and that's picking my optimism back off the ground, dusting it off, and taking it out for a nice dinner, died in a way that they ain't coming back. 675,000 zombies. Shelling out for the lobster for my optimism, let's say in the course of the past few days, the army and the superheroes, along with the supervillains who decided to pitch in, half those ghouls got put down for good. 337,500 zombies, therefore, were still walking around the island, craving human flesh and never stopping, never resting, in their quest to get it.
For reference, that's more people than live in the city of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Someone explain to me what the hell I was still doing in the city?
Adrian had been quiet for a couple of minutes now, so I fire a level one into the hole he had clawed open. "Damn it, Herman, that's getting very annoying. I'll remember this when we clash again."
"Dream on, Adrian." We were talking in circles. He was taunting me, teasing, and the frustration was rising. "Who is it? Kingpin? The Hood? Osborn?"
Ok, I didn't expect the laughter. I expected more snide remarks, maybe even some spit. But Adrian's response was a deep chuckle. "No, no, and no. You're thinking MUCH too small. Children in the kiddie pool, each of them." He paused, taking a breath in between small giggles. "Alright, Herman. I'll give you two pieces of information. And that's all you'll get out of me. I tell you, and you walk away and let me go. Deal?"
Looking up at the smoke-filled night sky, I weighed the offer over for a few moments. I knew if I walked away from Adrian, sooner or later, we'd cross paths, if his boss really wanted me dead that badly. The only other option was killing him, and that wasn't an option at all. Sitting here, drawing an undead crowd, and listening to the sounds of silence for the rest of the evening wasn't really an option either. The supplies I had managed to pull from the drug store before my clash with the Vulture were still intact, luckily, and the truck still had its keys in the ignition and half a tank of gas, easily enough to get me back to the warehouse and safely behind closed and locked doors.
"Spill, Adrian," I finally conceded. "And just so you know, I got both vibro-smashers aimed right at you, so don't get smart."
"No worries. Listen carefully, Herman. One, you've worked with this person before. He is not a stranger to you. He knows you and he knows of your reputation and abilities first-hand. Hence...his interest in you."
Well...that actually narrows it down a bit. "And what's the second piece of info, Adrian? Why don't you just go ahead and tell me his name, man...save some time."
"I don't need to give you his name, Herman." That chuckle again, getting on my nerves. I hate not knowing the damn joke. "He's everywhere. He's all around you. Everywhere you look, Herman, no matter if you're indoors or outdoors. His touch, his sight, you can't escape it. His grip is closing on you...on everyone in this fallen city, Herman." The lid rattled as one talon pushed through the gashes in the lid of the dumpster, pointing at where I sat on top of the trailer. "You just seem to be the one he's focused his scarlet eye on."
"Yeah...then he can come find me his own damn self." Time was getting short...sure, I could sit up here and blast away at Adrian until I got bored, but somehow I knew this was the end of the line. There wasn't anything else I was going to get out of the Vulture, and the natives were still restless. Eventually, the noise they were making as their futilely clawed at the trailer would draw enough of them to become a real problem.
My legs ached as I stood up. Rubbing my thighs to get the circulation back, I called down to Adrian. "Anything else you want to add before we part ways?"
His response sent a small chill down my spine. "One, two...he's coming for you..."
"Yeah? Well, if he wants me so damn bad," I yelled down at the dumpster, "why does he keep sending scrubs like Electro and you after me? If this guy's so badass, Adrian, why doesn't he just step out and come after me himself?"
"He's not going to waste time on you, Herman...besides, you're still mine. I will have my revenge on you for causing Maxwell's death."
"Whatever, Adrian. I kicked your ass once and I'll do it again if you're stupid enough to try it again, I'll do it again! As for your boss...it's damn obvious he's scared of me if he doesn't have the balls to confront me like you did!" I stepped back from the edge of the trailer, raising my aching arms. "Come on," I screamed into the Manhattan air above Washington Square Park. "Come on, if you're that bad ass! You're everywhere, right? If you got the stones, I'm standing here and I can spare a few minutes to drop you just like I did that bird brain down below and that dim bulb back on Wall Street!"
My words agitated the pack...screw them. I had this truck hotwired and ready to go, a couple more zombies wouldn't mean much to an 18-wheeler's front grille. If this guy wanted me that much, he could damn well show some courtesy and reveal himself. I wasted too much damn time the past few nights dealing with his garbage, and better to let it out here than in a warehouse full of civilians who were probably waiting for myself or Boomerang to go off at any time.
"Right here, big guy, I'm standing right here! Come on, man, show me a sign..."
I was looking south, across West 4th Street, when the light flared in the sky. On the roof of a three-story townhouse, a bright white spot burst into being for a split second. By the time I turned to stare at the spot, it had vanished, replaced instead by an orange trail...
...and a hissing noise...
"...OH, CRAP!"
I didn't even think about it. I turned and was in the process of diving off the side of the trailer as the rocket-propelled grenade flew through the air at the truck, not even pausing to wonder if I was diving into a horde of zombies that had gathered on the opposite side. As my feet left the roof of the trailer and my eyes took in the concrete sidewalk below me as I cleared the side of the roof, the zombies had gathered by the dumpster, where I had been visible.
The bad news was, once again, I was airborne, heading straight towards a solid patch of masonry.
The good news? The exploding truck broke my fall.
I didn't see the explosion, but I damn sure heard and felt it.
My body felt the heat a split second before the blast wave caught me. The pressure damn near stopped my fall, shoving me forward away from the truck instead, halting my thirteen-foot fall somewhere around the six foot mark. Of course, I still had to deal with the fireball, and the pieces of metal truck whizzing through the air like shrapnel, and add to it that hitting the ground from six feet in the air still isn't a pleasant feeling.
I felt something cut into my calf, just grazing the back of it. I knew it wasn't deep, but it hurt like hell. Then, something much more painful hit me, or rather, I hit it. My brief airborne journey ended with me slamming stomach first into the outer edge of the park's central fountain. Wind? Knocked clean out of me. Groaning, I managed to roll over, sliding down the stone edge as I used it to stay upright as I slumped to the ground. Sitting against the edge, I took several deep breaths as I took in what the hell just happened.
The RPG had annihilated the trailer. The damn thing must have slammed into the side gas tank hanging underneath the back of the rig. The rear end was somewhat intact, as the open doors channeled the blast out the back, but the front end was a flaming wreck, several large jagged holes ripped into the metal. The center section was just gone, scattered across the park in the form of flaming shrapnel. That's where the fire blazed, flame and smoke adding yet another plume to the sky above New York City. My body gave itself a few seconds to recover, letting me sit there and watch the scene. Yeah, there was some idiot on the roof across the street with an RPG, but why fight my body? It needed air.
The dumpster was in flames, overturned on its side. The lid had been blown open during the attack, and the smoldering contents were spilled over the ground. Adrian had to be one of the several bodies burning around the dumpster, each one engulfed in flames as a mix of high explosive and gasoline torched the area. A few of the corpses were still twitching, one even crawling along, covered in fire, but still mobile as its' brains sizzled inside its skull, pulling itself along the ground by its fingernails. Damn it...Adrian may have wanted to kill me, but I didn't want to kill him...
I needed to move, before whoever killed Adrian tried to off me as well. My body agreed with me. I had burned through so much adrenaline over the past few nights, I didn't have a damn thing left in my gas tank. My urgency to exit stage left consisted of a low groan from my body and a weary push away from the fountain. I used the edge to climb to my feet…well, climb to one knee. Leaning against the stone, I took a deep breath, trying to will myself to stand. Even the threat some psycho with an RPG couldn't get me going. I was finally out. The flesh was damn weak, and no matter what my spirit said, just sitting back down…well, maybe it wasn't that bad an idea.
I caught movement. Lifting my head, at the edge of the patch of flames, I saw a form lumbering towards me. Somehow, the on-fire zombie I had noticed pulling itself along on the ground had made it to its feet where I couldn't. Flames still flickered on every part of its body, and it left a small trail of fiery patches on the ground as its shoes melted under the intense heat. Somehow, its brain still functioned, and even though flaming portions of a tractor trailer stood between it and the closest meal, it was telling the ghoul to push on, through the fire and the flames, and make a grab at me. What the hell was driving that thing? It was on FIRE. There was FIRE between it and me. I was a good thirty feet away, and by the time it got to me, hopefully its' brain would have melted out its ears. But that didn't stop it. It was the damn Unhuman Torch stumbling towards me. I didn't hear it moan, but even this far away, I was imagining what its sizzling skin sounded like.
While the theoretical death of a guy armed with RPG's hadn't been enough to get my ass off the ground, the definite death at the hands of a hungry zombie gave me the will to push up off the fountain. One hand stabilized myself as I stood, my eyes never leaving the zombie as it cleared the wreckage, still mobile and still locked in on me. Alright…I needed a car. There were plenty on the streets, and it shouldn't be too hard to hotw…
Fire and gas tanks, or any other explosive material container, are a funny combination. Sometimes, just having an open flame with ten feet of a gas can is enough to light the fumes and cause a big bang. Other times, you could shoot a tanker truck full of gasoline with high explosive tracer rounds and nothing. Explosions, much like Fate, can be a real dame bitch at times. Or, as Speed Demon put it one time, "Fate's a comedy writer, and she loves slapstick." In that case, who the hell knew an RPG and a tractor trailer's gas tank could make a two-stage delayed explosion? Well, the Lady who's writing this piece of humor, that's who.
I instinctively raised my forearm to partially shield my eyes as the wreckage exploded, a loud crackling boom accompanying the bright orange glow. Below my forearm, I saw the flaming zombie's feet leave the ground as, much like had happened to me earlier, the pressure from the blast wave propelled it through the air, towards the fountain…
My mind's processing of what was about to happen was quicker than my body's reaction. The ghoul was propelled through the air, on a trajectory that took him through right where I had wearily managed to stand up. What was probably 175 pounds slammed into my torso chest first, and it was only the stone edge of the park's fountain that stopped be from going ass over teakettle into the water. That still didn't deal with the fact that I had a zombie who was on freakin' fire trying to eat me. One of his arms flailed at me, with the other gripped into my shoulder, tightening its grip
Now, for the most part, my suit could take high temperatures, but that was a high temp environment, where the air was hot or filled with steam. I never took into account having a guy on fire grabbing at me. But that wasn't what made me yell out in fear and agony. Through the rips in my armor the Vulture had caused earlier in the evening, my bare skin was exposed in the form of slash wounds. The fire licked at them, searing the still open cuts. There aren't enough A's to sound out the long, continuously scream as I felt pain greater than anything I'd ever known up to that point searing at my skin.
I tried to get my arms up to push the zombie away. We were so close, I could see the remains of its face through the flames. One eyeball had exploded from the heat, and the other was almost floating freely in its socket. All its hair had been singed off, and as I struggled, skin poured off its face like wax, oozing slowly down its bony cheeks. One arm bashed at my flank as the flaming skull loomed closer like the spirit of vengeance, blackened teeth gaping as it went for my neck. Through the fear and pain, I managed to fire off a blast. What level, I didn't know. What I was aiming at, no idea. But it hit its mark...at such close range, my chest caught some of the backblast, but I barely felt is through the pain from the cuts sizzling on my chest. The zombie's arm fell from my shoulder, and its face pulled away from my neck as the thing stepped backwards away from me. As soon as I could, both hands came up, and I let the damn ghoul have it. Even as the vibro-blasts smashed into its body, snuffing some of the flames while causing other patches to flare up, I kept firing, the pain I was feeling fueling the cry of anger as I did my best to pummel the zombie into oblivion. I didn't know if I even hit the head, but it was on the ground, unmoving, and I still kept unloading, making the corpse jump and twitch under my assault.
Eventually, the pain I was feeling on my chest overcame my fear and anger. My thumbs left the triggers of my gauntlets, numbness creeping in. The corpse was unmoving, smoldering in several spots, but importantly no longer a threat to me. I took a deep breath...
As I drew the breath, my chest felt like it was on fire. Looking down...my chest WAS on fire. The quilted fabric had caught on fire when the zombie embraced me. Not only did the flame lick at the Vulture's talon wounds, but the layers that made up my suit were beginning to singe, folded fabric and circuitry just waiting to ignite and possibly turn me into a human bonfire.
Now, kids, what are you supposed to do in a situation like this? Stop, drop, and roll? A cookie to whoever said that. What do you think I did?
"Aaaaaaaaaargh!" One hand batted and swiped at my chest, dragging across the cuts as I slapped at myself. Did this help? Oh hell no, what this did was just make the situation a little worse...especially as a red hot ember came loose. It hung in the air for a spilt second before I accidentally swiped it back at me, letting it settle directly on my secondary layer of skin.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" Louder cry, much more pain, and there went rational thought. Herman wanted out, as in "put out," as in "NOT ON FREAKIN' FIRE ANYMORE!" And, luckily for me at that time (even though it almost came back to bite me in the ass a few moments later), there was a source of water right behind me. I turned and climbed into the fountain as quickly as I could, tripping over the edge in the process. It sent me tumbling into the cool water face first, my chest landing on the thin layer of pennies and nickels. Oh, God, this felt better than any thing I could have scored from an Oriental masseuse, as the flames went now, the water feeling cold and refreshing against my skin. Sure, who knew what bacteria floated in a shut-off fountain three days in the middle of a zombie apocalypse with funeral pyres burning into the sky and dead corpses scattered all around? I didn't care. I wasn't on fire anymore, that's what mattered.
I lifted my head, aching as my chest expanded against what had to be second-degree burns on my torso. It took effort to hoist myself up, now resting my back against the center column. Water poured off of me, soaking into my uniform. Christ...the fire hydrant earlier was bad enough, but now, who knew how soaked my contact panels or my gauntlets were. I raised one of the gloves, water dripping from every part and crevice, and aimed at a nearby tree...
Click click.
Two clicks. Fail safe mode. The glove wouldn't fire, meaning the circuitry inside was waterlogged and it wouldn't let me risk a short-circuit. Results could range anywhere from a nasty electric jolt to an explosion that could take off my entire arm. I'd curse, but I built in the fail safe mode just in case of a situation like this, where I wanted to keep all my limbs and digits attached.
So there I was, sore, burned, cut, my gauntlets not working, my suit probably not working, blocks from home, and who knows how many ghouls between me and a working car?
Things couldn't get...
And that's when I got shot.
Ok. This wasn't a zombie apocalypse anymore. This was the universe screwing with Herman Schultz on every possible level. Yeah, there were families out there who had seen fathers eat sons, daughter devour mothers, policemen who pulled the triggers on their own grandmothers. But this was different. The dead rising to eat the living was happening to everyone. What I was experiencing was my own personal private humiliation conga, and every time I thought it couldn't get worse? Oh yeah, the universe was ready to show me just how wrong I was.
The bullet slammed into my shoulder, slicing through the fabric and impacting skin and bone. Any residual pain from the burns on my chest was immediately overshadowed by the agony of the round entering my body. I mentioned it earlier, but it bears repeating. Being punched, kicked, dropped from a building, slashed, grabbed by a zombie, jumping out a window, hit with an energy blast or a bolt of electricity, all really damn painful, but none of them as bad as being shot with a bullet.
My eyes went wide as I felt the impact. After a few moments, on reflex, my mouth opened to yell, but all I managed was a strangled cry. My free hand went to my injured shoulder as an intense, searing heat flared to life, my teeth grinding together from the pain. I started to shake as I took a good look at the wound. A flower of crimson was forming on my fabric, the yellow quilts turning a dark brown. I fought down the instinct to probe the hole with a finger, instead trying to fight my way through the pain. Someone shot me, after blowing up a tractor trailer in an attempt to kill either myself or Adrian Toomes. Three people fit that bill. One, the same guy who shot Electro last night. Two, someone working for Adrian's boss who wanted to tie up some loose ends. And three, some random loon with access to weapons and a severe need to use them. Any one of those guys meant my ass needed to vacate the premises, as soon as possible. My legs were fine, but climbing out of the fountain without using my hands was a experiment in fun. Every move I made with my body, a shockwave seemed to go right to where I was shot. For as much as I was in a hurry, I was taking my time to make sure...
I had one leg out and on the ground when a sharp pain erupted from the back of my shoulder. Something was probing and twisting, sending arrows of agony down my body. I crumpled, falling forward to land sternum first on the concrete edge of the fountain. Oh, Christ, between my chest, the front of my shoulder, and the back of my shoulder, this is what being eaten alive had to feel like. A hand grabbed the back of my head, and my contact plates failed to fire, letting whoever it was bunch up the fabric. I wheezed as wet fabric was pulled across my face, trying to pull a breath. An attempt to turn around and face my assailant was met by a second hand, pushing down at the top of my spine. I was forced over, back into the pool, and the hand on my head shoved me downwards. I managed to gasp a lungful of air before my head was underwater.
My lower body thrashed as the cold water lapped against the gunshot wound. With my free arm, I tried to reach backwards, flailing as I grabbed at my assailant. In the back of my mind, I managed to think "at least they're not biting me."
Small comfort.
Nearly fifteen seconds passed as the water pressed against me. My mask was drenched, waterlogged, and the air I held in my lungs was beginning to burn. Weakly, I kept reaching with my arm, but came up empty. Trying to lift myself out only cause whoever was holding me to increase the pressure. My lungs contracted, trying to make me breathe, but I couldn't. Who the hell drowns in a foot-deep fountain? That'd be a great way to go...
A yank on my mask, and fresh air in my lungs. I took a deep breath as soon as I broke the surface, gasping and trying to claw at my mask, but my free hand was grabbed by a thick white glove. That hand and the one on my head forced me down to the ground, on my knees, and then spun around so my back was against the fountain. Water dripped from my eyepieces, and as he let me go, I wiped at them, trying to clear my vision. The fabric of my mask made it hard to draw a breath, and eventually, I pulled it off, head back, trying to draw air. Each hitch of my shoulders from breathing so hard burned like phosphorous, straining the talon, burn, and gunshot wounds. I was a walking first-aid manual at this point.
I raised my head after a few seconds, my eyes clearing up as the last bits of water fell to the ground. Standing in front of me, he had a rifle over one shoulder, with a pistol in holster on his belt. He looked down at me, and as I locked eyes with that weathered, I knew, immediately, that I was going to die in the new few minutes.
"Alright, Shocker," Frank Castle told me as I sprawled against the central fountain, "you and I are going to have a talk."