Chapter 2: Being a Hero isn't a Choice
Here I was at the age of 16 the first person since Steve Rogers to successfully undergo the super soldier upgrade, well I don't actually know, Barnes I vaguely recall being experimented on with a diluted serum, but anyway it was time to test what this new me could actually do, already my mind feels enhanced, I'm processing my thoughts and ideas like no tomorrow. I need to measure my strength, my senses feel much sharper, I can hear and smell things I couldn't before, that would take some getting used to, I'm already thinking of things to test myself with, I need to know how much I can endure, do I heal faster, my reaction speeds. All that stuff is easy to test, how do I explain to the people that know me though, that's going to get me noticed and put on some lists and the last thing I need is SHIELD showing up at my house while I'm out. Quickly a plan comes together in my head, nobody looks for a dead kid, especially if he's found dead after his parents death. My parents research means that people will come after me for it anyway, so my only solution I can think of is to blow the house up and let people think I died inside, I opened up all the gas valves in the house and broke a bulb before moving to the back door and flicking a switch, I ran and never looked back.
One year later
The past year has been a long road of discovery for me, the first month I spent living on the streets, the serum had changed me that no one would recognise me as the kid on the news that people were looking for, of course I had in my haste overloooked the fact people would assume I was dead when there was no body in the house, it was after 3 months of no news or sightings that the search was called off, I kept up my training using the forests as the perfect training grounds, no one around to see me and animals to hunt and eat, I had never killed anything before so I knew that if I wanted to be what I wanted I would have to remove any emotion from the process of killing, it certainly helped that it ensured my survival.
The year was 1999, people were scared of the millennium bug, the good Friday agreement had ended most of the violence of the troubles the year before, still there were remnants of the IRA and the UVF on either side, I wasn't able to discover who was behind the bombing my parents were killed in, so I made the decision that I would hunt down any and all who escaped the law, I didn't see myself as having a choice in the matter, to me they were guilty and I was their executioner. With my decision made, I was going in to the lions den, Belfast.
Belfast 1999
Being raised in the south and being a catholic meant that you went to West Belfast if you wanted answers, there it was 90% catholic, it wasn't too hard to see where one could go to get answers, just walk into any republican pub and start talking, this served me 2 purposes, I could identify who was UVF and who was IRA and then it's climbing the ladder of their chain of command, get a name, interrogate him and kill him, easy enough.
Walking into the pub, the atmosphere was tense, I was a stranger to them, they saw a man who dressed in black, face thick with scars and an eyepatch, the type of bogeyman you tell your kids about, the men visibly relax when I ask the barman for a shot of whiskey with a southern accent, all I had to do was play along with them and I would get the answers I seek, I sat alone with my back to the wall, just taking them all in, 3 men in their 60s sat drinking pints and reminiscing about simpler times, the barman on edge constantly, hovering near the shotgun under the bar, it's loaded by the way he acts but he hasn't used it, inexperience will give me valuable time to deal with that threat, 2 men standing at the other end of the bar, both carry switchblades in their pockets from their postures, ready to draw at a moments notice, both have consumed a copious amount of alcohol, that only increases their danger rating to me, drunk men with knives are more dangerous than if sober, finally at 10 p.m in walks a man, late thirties wears a 2 piece suit, has a layer of body armour underneath his shirt, carrying a pistol in his inner jacket pocket, also a knife sheathed on his lower back, this man screams calm yet dangerous, a man with information, I observe him for 10 more minutes, he doesn't pay for his drink, indicating that I was correct and this pub pays protection to the IRA and he is the collector, how I handle him will tell me if people are going home in bodybags tonight. I buy him a drink through the barman and wait, an Irish car bomb, that should tell him everything he needs to know.
A few minutes later he's finished his drink, looks up at me and heads out the side door, I follow him out a minute later, before I step out the door, I listen, his breathing is heavy, indicating he's nervous, his hands are shaking and he's holding his gun, I step out that door, gun pointed at my head, "who are you?, what do you want?" He asks shakily, breathing is heavy, heartbeat is racing, I answer him calmly showing my hands, "who I am is irrelevant, I'm here cause I need names of UVF members", he's visibly calmed, calculating how to answer that question, if or if not I'm a cop, finally he asks "why?" still trying to figure out if I'm a cop, I simply respond "they killed everyone I cared about", he lowers the gun, I keep my hands visible, no need to scare him, he thinks over how to answer before finally "John King is the man your looking for, local who runs a small cell out of the docks, brings in weapons on a city level" his heartbeat is constant. Truth. "When's the next shipment?" "Tomorrow night, white van pickup at 3 a.m" again truth. "That's all I need"
East Belfast, the next night
It's a good night for gunrunners, no moonlight, cloud cover is good, and I have a good view from across the street perched on top of this building, peering through my binoculars, I can count 5 combatants, 2 armed with the famous Ak-47, 2 more with pistols and finally my target John King, the balding overweight man who even from this distance I can see is sweating profusely, listening in on my stolen police radio, I can tell that this deal is going down with help from corrupt cops, unfortunately I'm here to do their jobs and bring this scum to justice, for the last time tonight I check over my gear, black combat boots, urban camo combat trousers, black hoodie and finally my skull mask, I choose this because everyone needs a symbol, mine isn't a symbol of hope but rather a symbol to spread fear into enemies, a skull is after all expressionless and lacks emotion. My choice of weapons is my ever trusty twin tanto blades, I've been using them since I was 10.
Right on time the boat pulls in and starts to load the guns into the van, I make my move right as the last weapon comes off the boat, everything I do is calculated down to the last second, I stick to the shadows looking to isolate my prey, there all armed with guns so I need to take them down quick, I leap off the shipping container I'm on, executing a perfect roll on landing before sprinting after my first victim, my first attack is a downward slash with my blade to his thigh, bringing the man down on his knees, I roll over him before throwing my second blade into the throat of the 2nd AK wielding thug, the 2 other thugs have drawn their pistols and before one of them can fire my other blade has reached his throat, now weaponless I launch myself into the last man kicking him into the shipping container behind him breaking his neck from the impact, I retrieve my blades before snapping the mans neck who's bleeding from the cut to his thigh, all that's left is John King, who's doing a bad impression of a stoic man, I lower myself in front of him, "this can go 2 ways, you give me names and I'll give you a quick death like your men or you refuse and I'll take the names from you" he spits in my face in response, "fine then" I gag the man and tie him up before bundling him into the back of the van and drive off.
One hour later
"You must recognise these mountains Mr.King, after all this is where your comrades bury your victims, so if you truly persist on your current course of action, I'll bury you with these men" he's still attempting to look like he won't break the moment he bleeds, have to give him some credit, "if you simply give me names, be they IRA or UVF I'll make sure you can be buried in a Protestant graveyard and not this catholic one" his heart beat is increasing, good I'm getting to him, "so what will it be" I remove his gag, he breaks patheticly easy, "Patrick O'Brien, Ruairi Patricks and Connor Mac Fadden" no lies "see that wasn't so difficult, but they are members of the IRA, I also want the UVF names" he stumbles around refusing to give any names up, "looks like I'll have to do this the hard way" I drive a punch into his gut, "give me names" another and then another punch "I know you can talk Mr.King" I go back to the van and pull out a revolver, I return to King, the fear rolling off him "names now" he mumbles out "Richard Burton" his heart skipped a beat there "Lie" I fire into his gut "that shot there will kill you in 2 hours, it'll be a painful 2 hours for you" he's withering on the ground, the blood pooling beneath him
"Alright, alright, Dennis Creel, Michael Flawton, that all I know I swear" the truth, "pity" I put 2 bullets in his head before leaving.