Chapter 45.
Ruin.
Oliver sat on the ground, legs crossed, picking through a bowl of rice. He liked to eat the vegetables first, and then the nuts and berries. Tatsu challenged the stereotypes of savory meals.
Maseo was pacing in front of him, "Why must you question everything?"
"I don't want to hurt anyone."
He sighed, "You misunderstand your purpose here, then."
"I didn't have a choice."
"Neither did I." Maseo paused, running a hand through his hair. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself. "We have our orders, and we both know what will happen if we don't obey. You know what will happen."
"It doesn't have to be that way," Oliver insisted. "If we can-"
"No," Maseo cut in, "I don't know how you live with these fantasies. You're young. You don't see the world for what it is."
"I'm old enough to know that you shouldn't have to kill people to serve an agenda."
Maseo went back to pacing.
Oliver had been arguing with him for two days about the list Waller had given them. People to strike off, information to bury. One in particular was a point of contention. It was one of the worst things he had ever done, something he couldn't scrub from his past. He was carrying around years of regret for something that, in this world, he had not done yet. Maybe if he stopped it, he could let go of the guilt. Maybe he could be better.
"You can't go up against Waller," Maseo said, lowering his voice, coming to sit across from Oliver at the table. "I'm asking you to cooperate. Please. It's not just your life, or Sara's life, on the line. My son cannot be caught up in our moral objections."
Oliver felt those words like a slap to the face. What had killed Akio? Negligence. Malice. Things Oliver had failed to stop. Waller wanted them to hide her attempt to bring down that plane, to kill China White before she could release the virus. This mission was not about stopping the virus. It was about protecting her image, hiding her mistakes.
"He's on the list," Maseo said, with no commitment.
Oliver finished his rice, stood, pieced his thoughts together. "There shouldn't be a list."
He left, unable to continue looking Maseo in the eye. Since he got to Hong Kong, he had been formulating a plan. Waller had a hold on him. She was threatening his family, threatening Sara. He wanted to turn the tables, to find some way to prematurely end her control. In his old life, everything came to a head when the virus was released. Oliver was searching for a way to leave the rails, to forge a new path. It had to start with Waller.
Maseo was right, though. Oliver had the information and the motivation to go after Waller, but the human element was too much to ignore. His actions would have consequences, and right now, the two of them had too much to lose. It required careful thought, manipulation. It was a game of chess in which every felled piece was a dead family member.
Sara was sitting on the edge of their bed, alert, cautious, like she had been since they arrived. She knew the stories of Hong Kong, the things he had done, the people he had lost.
She said, "Did someone win the argument yet?"
Oliver said, "Yeah. He did."
XxXxX
Oliver followed Maseo through a bustling market, the dark nature of the outing dragging his heart into his feet. Waller was pulling the strings, making them dance. She had things to hide, and he was in Hong Kong to take care of them for her. She sat in her base, in her jet, in her ship, and made plans that other people would have to make good on.
"Go in the front," Maseo instructed, as they came upon their target. It was a small store, one of the few proper buildings in this area. Most of the stores were open stalls. "I will go in the back. If he flushes, stop him."
Oliver went around the front of the dilapidated building. It must have been built a long time ago, and then repaired with whatever was found lying around – a quarter bricks, half metal paneling, a few pieces of drywall. It was no bigger than his bedroom at home. The sign over the door advertised handmade dressed. Oliver knew the place. He had been here before. It was, unfortunately, home to one of the few families maintaining a very old lineage of dressmaking. In their hands, the garments of their ancestors lived on.
He went in the front, wordlessly splitting from Maseo. The old man inside was adjusting the threads on a mannequin. But he was not the one they wanted.
His son, the target, was sitting against the wall, sewing.
Oliver had been here before, done this before.
"Can you help me?" Oliver said to the old man in Chinese.
The younger man, the son, looked up at the sound of his voice, now becoming suspicious. He was an American, after all. Not a common sight in this area.
And Oliver was becoming desperate – because he had been here before, done this before.
"Can you come and look at my dress, just outside?" Oliver said.
The old man snorted. "I am busy, boy. Where are your manners?"
Maseo came in through the back.
The son saw him, realized he was surrounded. He jumped to his feet, a gun on his hip, turning first toward Maseo, and then toward Oliver. He was going to try his luck for the front door.
It was a mistake.
The moment he was close enough, Oliver flattened him. He didn't even have time to go for his gun. Oliver put him down so hard that he let out an oof of breath. The handmade glass pins on the ground beneath him shattered. His father went to help his son, but Oliver pushed him away. He fell into the dresses, dragging a mannequin down.
"We could have come when he was alone," Oliver said to Maseo, in English. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the old man, who looked horrified and confused.
Maseo responded grimly, coldly, "He is never alone."
"We could have gone to their house."
"They live here."
Oliver had made these arguments already. Maseo was tired of it. Oliver had delayed this mission for three days. Just yesterday, Oliver had finally given in, resigned to do what she wanted. The next morning, they found a loaded gun on Akio's pillow. Oliver had a pit of rage inside already, becoming worse each time Waller tightened his reigns, but such a blatant threat to a child was almost enough to push him over the edge.
He reminded himself that she was smart. She wanted him to lash out. She wanted to strike back.
So, he was here again.
Some things, it seemed, were inevitable.
"He knows, too," Maseo said, gesturing to the old man. "He was on the list."
"He was not on the list," Oliver snapped.
Maseo shook his head, brow furrowed. "He was on the list she sent with her threats. Whose life is more valuable, his or hers?"
"Is that all this is?" Oliver said. "Just that question, over and over again?"
"What would you have me do?" Maseo demanded. "She put a gun on his pillow! My son!"
He could see that Maseo was spiraling. He knew him in another life, knew that he was a good man before the virus took his son away – and even after that. Grief ruined him. Maseo had been cheated out of the life he deserved. Oliver had no idea how much life he had taken for Waller already, but it seemed that she had never done something so frightening. He was cracking under the pressure.
Oliver wanted to take that pressure away.
Maseo deserved better.
He held the gun on the old man, speaking to the son in Chinese. "What do you know about Adam Catswidth? Where is he?"
Maseo stared at him, wide-eyed.
The son was trembling on the ground, hands up, eyes darting rapidly between Oliver and his elderly father. "I… I… nothing!"
"You're lying." Oliver cocked the gun. "If you lie again, your father loses a leg." He aimed it level at the old man's thigh. "Maybe his life, if I hit an artery."
The son was having a hard time getting the words out. He was sobbing. "Downtown." He gave an address, each line punctuated with terror.
"Say it again," Oliver said.
He repeated it over and over. Oliver asked four times. When he was satisfied that the answer was the same each time, he let him stop. His sobbing went on, turning into big heaves. "Please, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry. I don't know anything. I don't know anything."
"Oliver…?" Maseo said.
Oliver said, "He's on the list."
He shot the old man in the head, following with the son in quick succession.
As the bodies dropped, as the air filled with a bloody mist, Oliver packed the scene up and tucked it into the back of his mind. He had been here before, done this before. Only last time, Maseo killed the old man, and Oliver caught the son trying to escape. He broke his neck. He spent years remembering what it felt like, how the bone made a sickening pop. Maseo used to sit by the table, his head resting in his hands, reliving his mistakes.
Oliver got a chill as the memory faded, replaced by the bloody new scene he had created. This time, their deaths were in his hands alone.
His journey back here was going to ruin him.
It was worth it.
He would take every bullet, every beating, every ounce of suffering, to give the people he loved a better future. He could take it.
"We have to go," Oliver said, wiping the gun, dropping it on the body of the son. He lingered on his face, unable to stop himself. He was ruined on the inside, and the son was ruined on the outside. He said, "What was his name?"
Maseo was staring at the old man, "It didn't have to be you."
"Yeah, it did." Oliver searched the body, looking for identification. "What were their names?"
Maseo shook himself, like he was waking up. "No names. Just photos."
"No names," Oliver repeated quietly. He would remember their faces, then. And he said again, "We have to go."
Behind the shop, out into the street. Oliver took the lead first, but faltered, his head crowded with the sound of the gun firing. Maseo put a hand delicately on his shoulder, guiding him away from the market. The sound of sirens came in the distance.
Oliver noticed they were heading to the house. "We know where Catswidth is," Oliver said. "We can end this right now."
"We're reporting this to Waller," Maseo said.
"We can-"
"No." Maseo stopped, looking around like he was afraid someone might overhear. His eyes were narrowed, burning, "We're going home. You're covered in blood."
Oliver looked down at himself. His jacket had a spray of blood on it. He must have been standing too close to the son. Strangely, it was seeing the blood that made the whole thing real. He was slipping. He was becoming too much like the person Waller had made him the first time he was in Hong Kong. But what other choice was there? He had all the information to make this stop, but none of the power. He was as helpless as he had been then.
"You were right," Maseo said, as he continued leading him to his home. "I could only think of Akio when we were in that store. I think there will always be more names for her list."
Oliver spoke from experience. "There will."