Wow! Sure took me long enough eh? Well, I have had a very hectic summer, but now I'm back at college and I spend a lot of time on the computer, so Caballero can finally get finnished, thought a little slower than I planned. Anyhoo... at least I can say that I'm doing something for the Max Steel forum. This place is so dead lately! Nobody's writing the Steel fics! Whaaaa!
Anyway....
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ON WITH THE STORY!!!!!!!!!
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"I should have shown up as Max, Dad. She practically called me traitorous." Josh pulled his fingers through his hair with a distraught look as Jefferson pulled the car into N-Tek's parking lot. "He's probably told them more about Max Steel than Josh McGrath." Josh realized he couldn't bring himself to say his friend's name... almost like he was dead or something. He squeezed his eyes shut at the prospect. NO. Not dead. Not gone. Not-
Jefferson's cellular phone suddenly trilled, and the man put it to his ear as he pulled into his spot. "Yes." He was silent for a moment, and then his face blanched. "I'm coming in right now." He barely pulled the keys out of the ignition before nearly flinging himself from the car. Josh followed with a look of fear.
"Dad, what?"
"There's an SOS at the message center. It's from Berto."
The words made the insides of Josh's stomach churn as his legs suddenly went numb and he slowed to a stop. "What?" He asked, breathless.
His father turned his head over his shoulder as he jogged ahead toward the building. "They've tracked the message," he shouted. "He's right here in the city somewhere."
***********************************************
He stayed within the shadows, silently cheering himself for his luck. Finally... he'd finally caught up to that little weasel. And the shmuck was just hanging out in the underground floor of a museum that closed down maybe only a few years ago. The Renaissance. At first he'd been confused, following the guy from the bar, when the dark headed loud mouth drove up to the place. But then he'd pulled into the side of the building and went around back, and then Danny saw the "closed down" sign, he understood perfectly.
Pressed against the wall, Danny inched down the hallway, ears sharp for any sounds of movement. Earlier he'd even managed to catch a glimpse of Mr. Frank through a cracked door. Jack pot. Now to just find out what was going on and how to close him down. Danny had always been pretty good at espionage, if he didn't say so himself. His only problem at the moment would be where to go if he DID hear someone coming. Oh... here were plenty of doors to choose from. Goody. Only question now was who else was working for Finnish and were any of them behind these doors? One way to find out.
Danny pressed his ear to the first door he came to. Nothing. Anyway, he had a gun. With a silencer. Slowly, he reached out and turned the knob, and slowly, he inched the door further and further inward. A quick search showed the room to be empty. Well... not quite empty. Just empty of potential enemies. It had a linoleum floor, fireplace, and a counter on one side, with a big sink, maybe once was a kitchen or something. Now it was occupied with a couple of tables, one of them the display for a pile of machinery and what looked like dentist utensils or something. The other table, or platform rather, was equipped with wheels, grinds and ropes. It looked like something they might have taken from the museum upstairs, a stretch rack or something. There was a stand by the fireplace, next to a bucket, with a poker and sweeper and dustpan. What was going on in here? Shop class? A couple of chains were hanging from the ceiling, and Danny saw that they had shackles connected to their ends. For crying out loud... this was a torture room! What the hell was Finnish up to?
Danny snuck out and went to the room across the hall. Empty. Crossing again, he expected - but hoped not - to find the room next to the "T" chamber also filled with ugly devises he wouldn't want to see. He almost wasn't surprised, however, to find the poor victim of those instruments. Was that bed stolen from a hospital? There was a young man on the bed. Danny shivered a bit as he cautiously moved closer. The room was cold. Moving around to keep an eye on the door, Danny then peered down, finding the young man to be a black-haired youth, potentially good looking if he weren't so sickly looking, pasty and white. He almost thought the kid was dead at first, but he could practically feel the heat radiating from him, and he was trembling ever so slightly. Damn... Danny didn't usually let emotions play a big role in his job, especially considering he was working hard at being one of the bad guys, but the poor guy looked so pathetic and pitiful, Danny couldn't help feeling pretty bad for him.
The youth was tied at the wrists and ankles, and one of the wrist straps were wrapped around with duct tape. He was dressed in a tee shirt and pajama or hospital pants, both damp with sweat; it looked like there had been a blanket, long since having been wriggled out of, and it hung off the edge of the bed now. Man... Danny cringed. This was really going to complicate things; he couldn't just leave him there. He reached out and lightly tapped the clammy forehead with his fingertips. Shit, he was really burning up.
"Psst. Hey kid." He whispered. "Are you awake? Kid?" Danny pulled away a bit when the young man stirred, and a hitched breath went through his nose. "Shhh. Hey Kid. Come on, wake up." Finally, after a bit of prodding, two black eyes looked up at him, albeit a bit unfocused, wary and glimmering with old, unshed tears. "Say... can you hear me, kid? Say something." The shining eyes narrowed rebelliously. He didn't realize. Danny reached out and started unlatching the straps. "Don't worry; I'm going to get you out of here, okay? If you can say something, tell me how many there are around here."
The kid stiffened for a moment, an expression of discomfort flickering across his face, and he closed his eyes for a second. He began to work his mouth a little, and Danny could hear his breaths, shallow and wheezing. After a moment or two, when Danny was almost done with the restraints, he finally choked out in a raspy whisper, "Who are you?"
"As a matter of fact, I used play on the same team as our friend, Frank, until he bailed out, but trust me," Danny stole a glance toward the door, "I'm the good guy. I'm going to make sure you get home, okay? Safe and sound. But you gotta tell me how many there are."
Another long pause. "Four... three."
Danny picked up the blanket from where it fell on the floor. "What? Four or three? Which is it?"
"Three now." The kid was struggling now to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head.
Holding the blanket, Danny looked at the young man. Seeing no immediate injury but a few nasty bruises and whatever he might be doped up on, he asked sardonically, "I don't suppose you can walk, can you?"
The kid gave a frustrated grimace, even managed to look a little shamed, and then gave a weak shake of the head. Danny sighed. "Didn't think so. All right." He draped the blanket over his new acquaintance, and then tried to reach beneath him to pick him up, but the kid let out a ragged gasp and went rigid, jerking away. Danny jumped back, hands up, and waited for him to calm down and quiet his high-pitched gasps. Jesus, thought Danny. What did they do? Stepping back up, and still keeping an eye on the door, he very carefully inspected the damage, finding severe burns and abrasions, ribs cracked or broken, who knew what else. Arms and legs still seemed to be in tact.
"Sorry 'bout that, kid. The wheels were taken off this thing. I'm going to have to pick you up, okay? What's your name?" As Danny gently and slowly lifted him up, trying to ignore the young man's shaking, he watched the kid unclench his eyelids to look at him, unsure but knowing he had no say in the matter. So the kid croaked out his name, starting to fade back into unconsciousness.
"Berto? Nice to meet you. You can call me Danny."
Just before the said Berto was completely out, he said something else. One word, and Danny could just barely make out, thinking at first that he'd said "owch." But the 'O' was more rounded.
"What's that?"
Berto said it again, as Danny moved toward the door, softer this time, barely a breath, but the word was clear, and it succeeded in utterly confusing Danny. It made absolutely no sense. "Roach?"
Anyway....
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ON WITH THE STORY!!!!!!!!!
******************************
"I should have shown up as Max, Dad. She practically called me traitorous." Josh pulled his fingers through his hair with a distraught look as Jefferson pulled the car into N-Tek's parking lot. "He's probably told them more about Max Steel than Josh McGrath." Josh realized he couldn't bring himself to say his friend's name... almost like he was dead or something. He squeezed his eyes shut at the prospect. NO. Not dead. Not gone. Not-
Jefferson's cellular phone suddenly trilled, and the man put it to his ear as he pulled into his spot. "Yes." He was silent for a moment, and then his face blanched. "I'm coming in right now." He barely pulled the keys out of the ignition before nearly flinging himself from the car. Josh followed with a look of fear.
"Dad, what?"
"There's an SOS at the message center. It's from Berto."
The words made the insides of Josh's stomach churn as his legs suddenly went numb and he slowed to a stop. "What?" He asked, breathless.
His father turned his head over his shoulder as he jogged ahead toward the building. "They've tracked the message," he shouted. "He's right here in the city somewhere."
***********************************************
He stayed within the shadows, silently cheering himself for his luck. Finally... he'd finally caught up to that little weasel. And the shmuck was just hanging out in the underground floor of a museum that closed down maybe only a few years ago. The Renaissance. At first he'd been confused, following the guy from the bar, when the dark headed loud mouth drove up to the place. But then he'd pulled into the side of the building and went around back, and then Danny saw the "closed down" sign, he understood perfectly.
Pressed against the wall, Danny inched down the hallway, ears sharp for any sounds of movement. Earlier he'd even managed to catch a glimpse of Mr. Frank through a cracked door. Jack pot. Now to just find out what was going on and how to close him down. Danny had always been pretty good at espionage, if he didn't say so himself. His only problem at the moment would be where to go if he DID hear someone coming. Oh... here were plenty of doors to choose from. Goody. Only question now was who else was working for Finnish and were any of them behind these doors? One way to find out.
Danny pressed his ear to the first door he came to. Nothing. Anyway, he had a gun. With a silencer. Slowly, he reached out and turned the knob, and slowly, he inched the door further and further inward. A quick search showed the room to be empty. Well... not quite empty. Just empty of potential enemies. It had a linoleum floor, fireplace, and a counter on one side, with a big sink, maybe once was a kitchen or something. Now it was occupied with a couple of tables, one of them the display for a pile of machinery and what looked like dentist utensils or something. The other table, or platform rather, was equipped with wheels, grinds and ropes. It looked like something they might have taken from the museum upstairs, a stretch rack or something. There was a stand by the fireplace, next to a bucket, with a poker and sweeper and dustpan. What was going on in here? Shop class? A couple of chains were hanging from the ceiling, and Danny saw that they had shackles connected to their ends. For crying out loud... this was a torture room! What the hell was Finnish up to?
Danny snuck out and went to the room across the hall. Empty. Crossing again, he expected - but hoped not - to find the room next to the "T" chamber also filled with ugly devises he wouldn't want to see. He almost wasn't surprised, however, to find the poor victim of those instruments. Was that bed stolen from a hospital? There was a young man on the bed. Danny shivered a bit as he cautiously moved closer. The room was cold. Moving around to keep an eye on the door, Danny then peered down, finding the young man to be a black-haired youth, potentially good looking if he weren't so sickly looking, pasty and white. He almost thought the kid was dead at first, but he could practically feel the heat radiating from him, and he was trembling ever so slightly. Damn... Danny didn't usually let emotions play a big role in his job, especially considering he was working hard at being one of the bad guys, but the poor guy looked so pathetic and pitiful, Danny couldn't help feeling pretty bad for him.
The youth was tied at the wrists and ankles, and one of the wrist straps were wrapped around with duct tape. He was dressed in a tee shirt and pajama or hospital pants, both damp with sweat; it looked like there had been a blanket, long since having been wriggled out of, and it hung off the edge of the bed now. Man... Danny cringed. This was really going to complicate things; he couldn't just leave him there. He reached out and lightly tapped the clammy forehead with his fingertips. Shit, he was really burning up.
"Psst. Hey kid." He whispered. "Are you awake? Kid?" Danny pulled away a bit when the young man stirred, and a hitched breath went through his nose. "Shhh. Hey Kid. Come on, wake up." Finally, after a bit of prodding, two black eyes looked up at him, albeit a bit unfocused, wary and glimmering with old, unshed tears. "Say... can you hear me, kid? Say something." The shining eyes narrowed rebelliously. He didn't realize. Danny reached out and started unlatching the straps. "Don't worry; I'm going to get you out of here, okay? If you can say something, tell me how many there are around here."
The kid stiffened for a moment, an expression of discomfort flickering across his face, and he closed his eyes for a second. He began to work his mouth a little, and Danny could hear his breaths, shallow and wheezing. After a moment or two, when Danny was almost done with the restraints, he finally choked out in a raspy whisper, "Who are you?"
"As a matter of fact, I used play on the same team as our friend, Frank, until he bailed out, but trust me," Danny stole a glance toward the door, "I'm the good guy. I'm going to make sure you get home, okay? Safe and sound. But you gotta tell me how many there are."
Another long pause. "Four... three."
Danny picked up the blanket from where it fell on the floor. "What? Four or three? Which is it?"
"Three now." The kid was struggling now to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head.
Holding the blanket, Danny looked at the young man. Seeing no immediate injury but a few nasty bruises and whatever he might be doped up on, he asked sardonically, "I don't suppose you can walk, can you?"
The kid gave a frustrated grimace, even managed to look a little shamed, and then gave a weak shake of the head. Danny sighed. "Didn't think so. All right." He draped the blanket over his new acquaintance, and then tried to reach beneath him to pick him up, but the kid let out a ragged gasp and went rigid, jerking away. Danny jumped back, hands up, and waited for him to calm down and quiet his high-pitched gasps. Jesus, thought Danny. What did they do? Stepping back up, and still keeping an eye on the door, he very carefully inspected the damage, finding severe burns and abrasions, ribs cracked or broken, who knew what else. Arms and legs still seemed to be in tact.
"Sorry 'bout that, kid. The wheels were taken off this thing. I'm going to have to pick you up, okay? What's your name?" As Danny gently and slowly lifted him up, trying to ignore the young man's shaking, he watched the kid unclench his eyelids to look at him, unsure but knowing he had no say in the matter. So the kid croaked out his name, starting to fade back into unconsciousness.
"Berto? Nice to meet you. You can call me Danny."
Just before the said Berto was completely out, he said something else. One word, and Danny could just barely make out, thinking at first that he'd said "owch." But the 'O' was more rounded.
"What's that?"
Berto said it again, as Danny moved toward the door, softer this time, barely a breath, but the word was clear, and it succeeded in utterly confusing Danny. It made absolutely no sense. "Roach?"