It was chaos.
His gore-soaked hands squeezed warm, blood-coated organs, freshly ripped from the rib cages of his victims. Wild black hair threatened to cover the grey eyes that screamed insanity, as the maniac pounced into the next cluster of agents who dared to fire at him.
More bullets struck the thick Kevlar on his back.
He yanked a battered USP from his chest holster, aimed at the muzzle flashes, and mashed the trigger until the magazine was empty. The brutal .45 ACP hollow point rounds exploded inside his foes, ripping their suits to shreds, pulping their internal organs.
One man remained, huddled in the corner as the lone survivor of some untold horror. He raised his hands in abject surrender.
"W-Wait! Hang on a second-!"
The intruder dashed forth and slammed his forehead into the Agent's face with a bestial roar. He stomped down on the man as he fell, his boot snapping the neck.
Objective complete.
He stood amidst the corpses: laughing, revelling in this celebration of blood, gore and death.
The lights flickered back on.
"Jebus Christ, Nikolai." His partner whispered, looking around him. "Don't you think you're going a bit overkill? You could have at least leave me some."
Nikolai flipped the young man off with his blood-coated hand.
"Too slow, Fuckface. Faster next time."
"Yeah, yeah. Wanna smoke?"
"No."
"Suit yourself." Nikolai's partner said with a shrug. He lit his cigarette and stared at it. "So what're you going to do now?"
"The usual. Go back to HQ, grab a can of NevAlcohol, get stinking drunk..."
"Come on, I'm not stupid, Nik. I heard the rumors that you're gonna be reassigned. Partnering up a Junior Agent, of all things. Diaper duty, it seems."
"Yeah, Fuckface, I heard that rumor too. Even saw the scrawny kid once. What a crock of shit. I'll just back out of it or something."
Nikolai's partner blew a ring of smoke. "You know, that's probably not going to be an option."
Nikolai snorted. "Maybe. Fucking higher-ups are full of shit. Always have been. So, if I can't get out of it the 'nice and civilized' way, I'll just beat the crap outta that trainee until he gives up."
The partner smirked. "Didn't expect you to say much else. Just… try your best not to kill him."
"No promises. I need my celebratory beer, let's go."
[Timestamp: 0130, 03/14/2013]
[Summary: Two weeks after the betrayal of Junior Engineer Felix. Senior Logistics Officer Theodore Lex (A-AID: 0903_TL) and Senior Field Operative Mikhail Nikitin (A-AID: 0574_MN) discuss Junior Agent Hank J Wimbleton (A-AID: 6727_HW). The verdict is that they pair him with Senior Field Operative Nikolai Khrushchev (A-AID: 1322_NK)]
[COMMENCE RECORDING]
574: "They're a perfect match."
Lex: "Who, again?"
574: "Nikolai Khrushchev and Hank Wimbleton… you won't find a better compatibility, I guarantee it."
Lex: "That's the first time I've ever heard 'Nikolai' and 'compatibility' in the same sentence."
574: "Probably the last, too."
Lex: "Touché. You certain this is a good idea? After what happened last time with Nikolai?"
574: "You can't blame Nik. He ate fifteen rounds of 9mm that day. It was a miracle that he finished the mission, let alone walk all the way back to base with the injuries he sustained."
Lex: "True. Anything else?"
574: "They've shared room for the last couple of months. Their Hanne-Quentin Lethality ratings are both in the high 90's, assuming that Hank can pull off the moves he did with the malfunctioning BOTs. And their backgrounds are eerily similar. You know, house burns down, loved ones die..."
Lex: "... except Hank didn't spend a decade on the streets with burn scars on 70% of his body. Are you sure Nikolai is mentally stable enough to partner up, considering all those years of being looked down upon with disgust? With fear?"
574: "Let me tell you… if you went through half of the things Nikolai went through, you would have to be both sane and insane to survive. Better yet, Nikolai ran with… the other Wimbleton. For once, trust me on this: do me a favor, and check the goddamn box already."
Lex: "You've convinced me. Still, I'm gonna feel bad for Hank."
574: "Won't we all?"
[END RECORDING]
Chapter 35: More Mentors, More Problems
He needed to train. Hard.
Hank gritted his teeth, glaring at the punching bag. His sore knuckles glowered red and his aching muscles begged for rest, but Hank was too eager to get back into action to give himself a break. Weeks had passed since he was confined to that damned wheelchair, while everyone else had been out on the field, getting real combat experience.
Getting closer to their goals.
Hank's hand darted out and hit the bag. He swung his other fist in from the side, sinking his knuckles into the resilient fibers and bringing them back again. It was somewhat depressing, watching his comrades drift apart one by one, and being unable to do a thing about it.
Eli and Hina had been assigned to their own unit. They had returned from a few successful operations already, performing barracks raids and sabotaging AAHW communications arrays alongside more experienced operatives: trifling, yet necessary, tasks.
As for DJ, Hank hadn't seen much of him. He had visited a few times while he was still in the sick bay. The last time Hank had seen him was a week ago, DJ made a passing mention that he was set to get transferred to some other facility for advanced training. After his promotion, however, the rest of the group had become rather spiteful towards him, as if DJ had insulted them by accepting it after the disaster. So he simply disappeared, the bonds he shared with the rest of his team melting away.
And Aaron...
His fist shot out once again, smacking into the bag.
Smack!
He followed it up with a solid roundhouse kick.
Smack!
The bag swung to and fro under Hank's relentless assault. Sweat dripped to the floor.
Aaron was a changed person. Hank barely recognized him... and a part of Hank missed the old Aaron, the nonchalant hothead he once knew. But, if the combat reports were to be believed, the young man had racked up a respectable kill count in his last few operations. Hank hoped that his former comrade-in-arms was doing well.
That left himself. He'd finally gotten clearance to return to his regular routine a week or so after he heard about 574's desertion. Hank didn't waste his time while he was in recovery; he read up on tactics and combat techniques almost every waking hour. Most of his free time was spent testing out what he'd taught himself.
He had considered trying some moves on the BOTs, but he couldn't force himself to step near the androids... not since his last encounter with them. Darius had clearly explained a hundred times that "Felix had triggered a backdoor exploit in the system when he went rogue," and that the "BOTs were now as normal as normal can be."
Still, merely looking at the training androids made Hank shiver. He avoided them like the plague.
Hank elbowed, then uppercut the bag. Smack!
"Hyaah!"
Smack!
"Morning, Hank."
Hank turned his head to face Shane, breathing heavily.
"Hey."
Shane held up a classic light tan folder, a few pieces of paper sticking out from the sides. "Yeah, I should be doing some more maintenance, so I don't have much time to chat. I just stopped by to check up on you and give you your new orders. Though, based on how you're beating the non-living shit out of the punching bag in front of you, I think you're ready to get back on the field."
Hank grinned. "Finally!"
Shane placed the folder into Hank's hands. "Well, at least you're eager… for now. Good luck."
As Shane left, Hank wiped his face with a towel and passed his eyes over the papers.
Order: Directive L-AA-002637
Upon reading these orders, Junior Agent (JA) Hank J Wimbleton (A-AID: 6727_HW) will be henceforth be assigned to aid Senior Field Operative (SFO) Nikolai Khruschev (A-AID: 1322_NK) in all operations.
Until he is otherwise unable to perform his duty, JA Hank is entrusted to the care of SFO Nikolai. JA Hank must hereby follow all orders given by SFO Nikolai. Should he disobey orders, he will face charges for insubordination under Wartime Article C3, Section 1. In return, SFO Nikolai will be responsible for the training and continued well-being of JA Hank.
You are to report to your assignment immediately.
Addendum: The order may not be countermanded, by the authority of Senior Logistics Officer Theodore Lex (A-AID: 0903_TL).
He had totally forgotten that his roommate even existed. And now, they were partners.
Shit.
Stapled to the reassignment sheet was a second piece of paper that bore a list of Nikolai's achievements. Though Hank wasn't looking forward to their next encounter, the file was certainly something to brag about. Nikolai had at least two hundred confirmed kills to his name. As if that wasn't enough, he had been wounded almost a dozen times in battle.
Hank flipped the page, and read on about Nikolai's combat abilities. Instead of mastering other, more conventional martial arts, his designated partner had apparently created his own hand-to-hand combat style, a fusion of several close combat disciplines. His marksmanship capabilities were only slightly above average. The file mentioned, in bold text, that he was a class-5 CQB combatant, and had a Hanne-Quentin lethality rating of 96.
Whatever that was supposed to mean.
Despite his remarkable feats, whenever Hank thought about Nikolai, he could only remember the rude, disheveled man he had glimpsed on his first day at the agency. Could such a douche possibly be that incredible of a fighter?
He checked the rest of the papers in the folder, but found nothing else. Odd; there was supposed to be a quick run-down of Nikolai's background, but that page was missing. He would ask Shane about it later; for now, Hank presumed that someone had misplaced it.
Hank flipped over the last page, revealing a yellow post-it note containing a couple lines of Shane's neat handwriting.
If Nikolai complains, just mention that 574 called in favors to authorize this. He's also a bit of an asshole. Be careful.
Well, that certainly didn't make him nervous.
Hank closed the folder, stepped to his locker, and swiped his keycard over the reader, popping it open. He placed his belongings inside and pulled out a fresh set of clothes for when he got out of the shower.
Hank had already survived Marvin and Aidan. He knew how to fight, how to defend himself. So Nikolai shouldn't be too bad.
Right?
Hank treaded into the room cautiously, as if it were filled with mines. The other occupant in said room leaned against the opposite wall, stock still, staring him straight in the eyes. This was where Shane had set up the meeting between Hank and his new partner. Then again, if it wasn't for the scheduled meet-up, Nikolai would have probably never shown up.
Nikolai Khruschev emitted an aura of "don't fuck with me" which only grew stronger upon proximity. His unusually pale skin was laced with faint pink crisscrossing scars, and a black skull-and-crossbones tattoo adorned his muscular left shoulder. A pair of wild grey eyes glared from under a disheveled mess of black hair. Nikolai stood to his full height, staring down at Hank with those unnerving eyes.
"You should go." He declared, his voice impassive and gruff.
Hank ignored the statement and steeled his nerves. "Nikolai, correct? I was assigned to be your partner."
"Shithead."
Hank straightened his back. "Who's a-?"
"Your hair," Nikolai grunted, nodding towards Hank, "reminds me of a pile of smashed dog shit. So it's your name, now. Shithead."
Hank frowned slightly. "Look, either you can be an asshole about this, or you can just accept fate and drag me around with you. I'll learn quickly, I promise."
"Look, Shithead. If you want to make both of our lives easier, turn around, step out of this room, and get a reassignment." Nikolai continued as if he hadn't heard Hank's response.
Though Shane had cautioned him about Nikolai's attitude, the warning ill prepared him for talking to Nikolai face-to-face. Hank cleared his throat and mustered his courage.
"I didn't ask to be partnered with you or anything, okay? But I have orders. They've called in favors to authorize this, so-"
"Whose favors?" Nikolai interjected.
"574's."
"Fucking… is this some sorta joke?!" Nikolai yelled, slamming the side of his fist into the wall. He stood there for a few seconds before turning back towards Hank.
Nikolai sighed, recollecting himself.
"Let me make myself crystal fucking clear, Shithead. You're a hurdle I have to hop. You're a roadblock I have to avoid. You're an ankle weight that's slowing me down. Worst, I'll have to fill a metric fuckton of paperwork if you get yourself stupidly killed. Do you know how much fucking time that wastes?!"
Hank was indignant. "Hey, you haven't even seen me fight before! What gives you the right to just say something like that?!"
"Oh yeah, your so-called 'combat skills.'" Nikolai's smirk turned even more derisive. "I've seen your squad fight with Black Snake. When you fell off that edge, I knew that Black Snake were gonna win. But you found your way back in, somehow. You're not fit to be a field agent if you make stupid mistakes like that."
"That's not your decision-!"
Nikolai, pushed himself off the wall, striding towards Hank. Before Hank could make a decision on whether or not his partner's intent was hostile, Nikolai hand had seized the front of Hank's shirt. His voice was a venomous whisper.
"Shut up and listen. I owe 574 lots. Enough that I'll even be willing to drag Shitheads like you around. Everything you've learned before is bullshit. You're gonna learn a new way to fight, and I won't be afraid to break some bones to teach you a lesson."
Hank was tired of being pushed around. He needed to show Nikolai that he was no incompetent weakling. He had dealt with these kinds of people before; the kinds of people who only understood the language of physical strength.
Remembering his CQB training with Shane, Hank grabbed Nikolai's hand and twisted it into a wristlock, breaking the grip. Nikolai effortlessly yanked his hand from Hank's hold, slightly surprised.
"Hmph. You've got balls, doing that to me, Shithead."
"Your lapel hold just sucks."
There was a small pause, and Hank saw Nikolai become tense. Hank's partner made a slight grin.
"Go to the gym."
Hank felt somewhat nervous at Nikolai's odd response, but he feigned a cocky attitude.
"What're we gonna do there? Pump weights or something? Because I was doing that all morning."
Nikolai stopped smiling.
"Go to the gym."
It was at that moment that Hank wished he kept his mouth shut.
Hank's muscles still felt sore from his morning workout, but here he was once again. Back in the gym.
Nikolai entered, wearing an undershirt and a pair of shorts. Hank noticed the faint pink scars ran down his arm and his legs. They seemed to cover his whole body.
Hank began to wonder if Nikolai's biography was accidentally misplaced or purposely removed.
Nikolai stepped onto a raised platform and gestured towards Hank with a finger.
"Come."
Hank obliged. He hopped onto the boxing ring, opposite from Nikolai. The veteran raised his fists and bounced on his toes.
"Full contact. No eye pokes, biting, or bone breaks. And no complaints."
Hank raised an eyebrow.
"Er, so we're sparring? I thought you're supposed to warm up and-"
Nikolai edged closer. Without warning, he sent a punch straight towards Hank's stomach. Hank felt the knuckles graze his abdomen as he dodged backwards.
That was too close.
Before Hank could counter, Nikolai hopped back. "Save your breath for the fight."
"Hey, that's not-!"
Nikolai blurred forwards, twice as fast as he was previously.
"Hurk-!"
Hank didn't know exactly what happened, but there was an explosion of pain, and Nikolai's fist was sinking into his stomach. He doubled-over, but just as he thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, Nikolai snapped Hank's head upwards with an uppercut, and followed it up with a powerful sidekick.
"Gah!"
Hank felt his feet leave the ground, and was stopped by the elastic bands surrounding the ring. Nikolai sneered in disappointment.
"Are all trainees this incompetent?" Nikolai taunted, "Or are you the shittiest cream among the shit-crop? Get up!"
Hank, beaten and exhausted as he was, managed to stay upright, using the bands behind him for support. His face hurt, and he felt a trickle of warm blood seep down from his nose.
Hank swore to himself that he wouldn't be beaten down again. Marvin and Aidan had won in the past.
Not. This. Time.
He felt a deep fire, a cold rage, ignite in his belly. Hank looked at Nikolai with eyes burning with hatred. His opponent crossed his arms contemptuously.
"Huh." Nikolai muttered to himself.
Hank pushed off the ropes, but as he stood, the elastic bands didn't twang back into place; instead, they vibrated with exaggerated slowness. Planet Earth stopped its rotation, and gravity ceased to exist. Time painfully inched forwards.
Bullet-Time. Perfect.
Hank lunged towards his foe, pure energy pumping through his veins. He sent a punch hurtling towards Nikolai's chest; There was no way that he could block it.
But he did.
Instead of smashing his knuckles into Nikolai's ribs, Hank felt his wrist knocked aside by Nikolai's forearm.
Impossible. Unless...
Nikolai's next attack confirmed Hank's fears; his fist shot forwards as if he were attacking at normal speed.
Two could play that game.
Hank sidestepped, evading the strike. Though they were both in Bullet-Time, Hank felt as if Nikolai was moving slower than he would be in real-time. At least they were now approximately matched, in terms of speed.
Nikolai spun to face Hank, but he blundered straight into Hank's kick. Hank felt the satisfaction of victory as his boot smacked into Nikolai's outer thigh.
His satisfaction, however, was short-lived, as Nikolai had grabbed Hank's ankle, leaving Hank to balance on one foot. Nikolai twisted the leg, trying to flip Hank into the ground.
Rather than taking the fall, Hank rolled to the side, kicking for Nikolai's head. Nikolai released Hank's foot, retreating to the opposite end of the ring. He gritted his teeth; the lesson he had planned to teach Hank was not going as planned. He didn't expect to fight at more than fifty percent of his strength and speed, and yet, it had taken most of his agility to dodge that last kick.
Hank quickly readied himself. His advantages and disadvantages were clear; while Nikolai was far stronger and more experienced, in Bullet-Time, Hank was faster. So all he'd have to do was-
A jolt of pain streaked through his spine, triggering a headache which felt like a spike jammed into his forehead. Hank gasped, nearly blacking out from the excruciating agony. His mind relapsed into a jumble and his breathing became erratic.
When he looked back up with blurred vision, Nikolai's fist was already centimeters away from his face.
Exploding Stars. Then darkness.
"Shithead?"
The voice reached his ears as if it were a distant echo. Hank wasn't sure which hurt more; the blinding lights stinging his eyes, or his dully aching face.
"Shithead! Wake the fuck up!"
Though his sight still seemed a bit opaque, the words had become more comprehensible now, as Hank's hearing returned to him. The voice still sounded as if it was coming from a million miles away. Hank just wanted to breathe out, close his eyes, and take a nap on the hard, wooden floor.
A splash of ice water on his face caused him to sit up as well as he could in his half-conscious state, propping himself up on his hands. The frigid liquid was followed by a towel, tossed sloppily over the top of his wet hair.
"It was funny watching you drool. But I'm not going to be the one hauling your ass all the way back to your room." Nikolai quipped, sloshing a canteen in his right hand.
Hank pulled off the towel from his head and winced. He traced his fingers over the bruise swelling just underneath his eyes.
Nikolai took a deep drink from his canteen. "You okay?"
"Yeah..." Hank murmured.
Nikolai snapped the lid on his bottle shut. "You're lying. Cut the act, Shithead, and tell me what the Hell is wrong with you? You were doing sorta okay until that miraculous fuck-up! What if I were an agent, huh? You'd be face down in a pool of your own blood."
Hank wordlessly stared at Nikolai. He stared off into the distance as if a third entity was present. "I… I don't know."
Nikolai sighed in frustration. "Don't give me that 'I dunno' shit. Dry yourself and haul your ass to the medbay. Don't come back until you have a real answer."
Just as Hank managed to get steady footing, Nikolai called out to him once more.
"One last thing. That stunt you tried to use on me? Don't pull that shit off again unless your life depends on it. It'll kill you if you don't know how to do it properly."
Nikolai leaned back on the bench. "Also, consider yourself lucky that I didn't dunk your head in the toilet to wake you up. But next time, I will... if you keep giving me that cocky-ass attitude."
'Attitude?' Hank thought, 'Oh, yeah. The bit about the lapel hold.'
As much as Hank wanted to argue, his brain simply couldn't formulate any witty retorts. He left the gym in a dazed stupor. The door shut behind him with a slam.
Nikolai turned his attention back to the ring and watched droplets of Hank's blood seep into the mat. His thoughts flickered to a conversation he had earlier that day.
"Nikolai. Wait."
Nikolai turned his head. "Shane. Whadda hell do you want?"
"There's something that you need to understand about your partner."
"Aside from the fact that he's a spoon-fed, incompetent, puny, useless excuse of a partner? Why, he's god-fucking-damned perfect!"
"I'm serious, Nikolai. I wouldn't have run up all these stairs for no reason."
"Yeah, yeah, cry some more."
"I get that you're frustrated right now, but please try taking it easy on him."
"Tell me something the others haven't yet. 'He's a likkle wee smidgen, Nikolai. Don't hurt de widdle baby too much.' D'you want me to train him or not? You can't expect me to-"
"That's not it, Nikolai. I'm not worried about the intensity of your training."
Nikolai tilted his head slightly, confused but interested.
"Well, then what the fuck are you worried about?"
"Look. We've done some tests on Hank. Seen everything that needs to be seen, but I feel this is critical information to-"
"Just spit it out."
Shane rolled his eyes at Nikolai's impatience. "Bullet-time. Hank has bullet-time."
"... Er, say again? Bullet time?'"
"I did. It's apparently in his blood."
"You high or something? 'Cause I want some of that stuff you're taking! Genetic bullet time?! Ha ha!"
Nikolai laughed, until he realized Shane remained stone-faced. He stopped his hysterics.
"Wait… you're fuckin' serious?"
"It sounds ludicrous, I know, but I'm not messing with you here. This is why your experience is needed. For now, accept it as fact."
Nikolai crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. "Fine. Tell me everything. I want no surprises."
"From what we've witnessed, Hank's body apparently doesn't have control over his bullet-time, because he didn't get it through training. As of now, all we know is that Hank activates bullet-time spontaneously when he reaches a critical mass of epinephrine in his bloodstream. However, it has a negative effect on his health. He's starting to lose more and more control of his body in this state. And we don't know how to treat it."
"Point is, train him to your heart's content, but be aware of his limits. That's why you've been matched up with him. We need your experience. We're trying to keep this kid alive. The Higher Powers invested a lot in him, so try to keep him from getting a heart-attack."
Silently, Nikolai stared at Shane, his gaze analytic and judgmental. He grimaced, turning back to the door in front of him; a portent the lead engineer didn't want to see.
"Nikolai?"
"I'll do what I can."
Before another word could be said, Nikolai was gone.
The scene vividly replayed in Nikolai's mind, haunting him.
"I get the shittiest cream of the shit crop," Nikolai sighed, muttering to himself. "You really know how to push my buttons even when you're not here, huh, Mikhail? I hope you're happy... wherever the hell you are."
Hank stumbled his way toward the elevator. The other agents ignored him; such minor injuries were commonplace in the Agency. It was a rare day indeed when every man walking down the halls was completely uninjured.
This was exactly why Hank almost jumped in shock when someone clasped a hand on his shoulder. The hand was accompanied by a voice
"Hey."
The voice... Hank recognized it.
"Aaron?"
"Where you going?" Aaron asked.
Hank turned to face his former comrade in arms, pointing at the bruise on his face. Aaron nodded, his face an expressionless mask.
"I see. Need help getting there?"
"I'm fine. Thanks for offering."
Aaron frowned slightly upon hearing Hank's response. "The least you can do when you're hunched over like a sick dog is to be honest."
Hank straightened his back, feigning normalcy. "Aaron, really. I'm fine-"
"No, you're not." Aaron firmly replied, "You're limping."
Aaron's observations were on point. It was true; Hank's legs were quite sore, from exhaustion and injury. He offered a shoulder. "Lean."
Hank complied reluctantly. He looked at Aaron as they moved down the hallway. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… shouldn't you have stuff to do?"
Aaron shook his head. Once, he had worn garish, brightly colored t-shirts, emblazoned with disestablishmentarian logos. Now, he dressed plainly: a black long-sleeved shirt, cargo pants, and a single fingerless glove on his right hand.
"Nah. Came back from an op day before yesterday. There's nothing to do, so I was just passing by."
"Oh."
They walked in awkward silence, until they reached the elevator. To their luck, it was unoccupied.
The two stepped over the threshold and Aaron tapped a button labelled with a red cross.
"How was the op?" Hank asked.
"Meh."
"Meh?"
"We just went around killing some guys, okay? Nothing special. Nothing... worthwhile." Aaron gritted his teeth. "The goddamned brass aren't giving me missions deeper into the metropolis."
Hank could sense Aaron's frustration. Perhaps there was still a shred of hope that drove him, a shred of hope that Ryder was still alive.
Unlike his old self, Aaron quenched his emotions quite quickly.
"Whatever. I killed some guys. That's it."
"Right, uh…" Hank hesitated, trying to change the topic, "Have you seen Hina or Eli recently?"
"No."
"Er... Who's your partner?"
"Senior Field Operative Norwich."
"SFO Norwich? I've heard about him. The other agents gave him a codename...uh ... they call him 'Gunner,' right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, do you know why? Is there some cool backstory?"
"He likes guns."
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
More silence. Hank considered trying to restart the conversation, but Aaron remained coldly concise; Hank decided against it. The elevator dinged, and the door scrolled open. Aaron cleared his throat. "Here we are."
Hank stepped out. "Thanks. I think I can handle the rest myself."
Aaron shrugged."If ya say so. Hold on, I've got something I need to spit."
"Go ahead."
"You're a junior agent now, Hank. So am I. We're at the bottom of the ladder. The only way me - and you - are gonna climb the ranks is by licking boots and kicking ass. There's a lot of junior agents, and very few promotions to go around."
"I know, Aaron. Why bring it up?"
"If... I mean, when I get promoted, I'll get higher priority on mission selection. That means I get to go deeper into enemy territory. I'll expand my search to places that are even uncharted in our databases. And if the agents I come across don't tell me where Ryder is..."
Aaron clenched his fists, and Hank heard his knuckles crack slightly from the strain alone.
"I'll make 'em all scream." He growled. "Every. Last. One. Make their vocal cords snap."
Hank took a single, involuntary step backwards. The voice was inhuman, completely different from the Aaron Hank knew before. Aaron emanated a tangible aura of eternal hatred and desperate longing… and it made Hank shuddered.
Aaron loosened up somewhat. "But I need someone to watch my back when I go into stuff like that. Someone I trust. Someone who's good." He crossed his arms. "Really good."
A few more seconds of silence stood between the two of them. Aaron stared straight into Hank's eyes until the realization hit him.
"Wait. You're not referring to me, are you?"
"... Get well soon."
Aaron pressed another button, and the elevator door slid shut between them.
A/N: Sorry for the short chapter; the team and I just wanted you guys to sorta get a footing on what's really going on from here on out. This is just the first chapter of Season III, so don't worry; the amount of material we'll be providing isn't going to change. It's just a small taste of what's to come. ;)
Aside from that, I hope you guys have all been doing well! As usual, I'm trying not to fail and keep my sanity intact. For the most part, it seems to be working, but that's mostly thanks to the fact that I have this fanfic to look forwards to.
Without further ado, let's get to Reviewers' Credits!
Reviewers' Credits:
Sacrom: Aye. To the fields of glory and victory we travel.
ClassyKazMiller25: Haha, of course! Everything in the story has to serve a purpose!
Yep; we really wanted a gritty take on the War, and the Massacre really did it. Not to say such moments won't come again *hint, hint*.
Thanks for reviewing dude!
Cowbow50: Yeah, 574 leaving may seem like a bummer, but it may be for the best. He has his own means of survival, but the Anti-AAHW just won't be a safe haven for him anymore.
Thanks bro, I appreciate you still reading and reviewing. Keep making dem awesome tracks and animations. :)
Danreaper: Hey man, thanks for all the reviews! I really appreciate it when people like you take the time to read into my stories, and it really puts a grin on my face to see people actually enjoy my works! Hopefully this chapter (as short as it is) caters to your interests too! A lot more to come soon! ;)
SirPolarBear: Haha, no worries. We're all busy people after all. ;)
Thanks for the awesome compliments! Hopefully you've enjoyed the story so far, and keep up the fantastic work with your own projects as well! :D
Lolrus555: It's always great to see new faces around here, so welcome! Only time will tell how Hank will turn out; I will promise you though that this story will cover everything from now to the end of this War!
We've taken your advice into consideration, and you've made some pretty good points. We'll do our best to implement these elements into future chapters to come. :)
As for our Revolution, supporting me is a small way as to how you're helping, but if you really wanna uplift our cause, support other authors in this fandom too! As I placed in prior Author's Notes, there are many other Madness fanfics out there that deserve love, so supporting writers like me really does make a difference in the cause!
And of course, writing Madness fanfics would be pretty damn awesome too! Let your own characters start their own journeys. ;)
Thanks for reading, and I hope you stick around for more!
O.C. Credits:
Agent 574/Mikhail Nikitin by Sacrom
Shane Augustine by Dodge Streaker
Nikolai Khruschev (birthed by Nikolai247, adopted by Alias-Maxima)
That wraps up all due credit. Again, thank you all for sticking around for so long! More to come soon, and with more breaks down the horizon after my SATs, I'm really looking forward to the time I can use to write with Alias-Maxima, Sack-rom, Zanouji, and MCG! Shout out to all four of them; they've really done an amazing job in helping this series flourish, and they also put in a lot of work with me in re-editing the first 12 chapters (Season I) of Hank's Legacy!
Not much to say other than that, ironically. We hope you guys enjoyed this (short) chapter of Hank's Legacy! Stay strong brothers and sisters; more to come soon! :)
~Spirit9871