WARNING: mentions of blood, bruising, gun violence, and murder


Die a Hero or Live Long Enough to Become a Villain

'Don't you take another step,' the man growled. His eyes were wild, hair stuck up all over the place. There were bloodied scratches and bruises all over his face and arms, and his orange jumpsuit was in tatters.

Scott held his hands up, keeping them where the man could see them. He was obviously desperate, and any sudden movements might set him off. Not that Scott was worried about himself. No, he'd stared down the barrel of a gun more times than he could count – both in the army, where it was soldier against soldier, and in IR, where fear sometimes presented itself in the form of violence.

Alan hadn't. Alan was just a kid. A kid who put his life on the line everyday to help others. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to be trapped in the clutches of an escaped prisoner, with one of the man's arms wound tightly around his chest, and the other pointing a gun at his skull. Scott could see the terror in his eyes, even if his jaw was set and he was keeping his head held high. He was trying to be brave. Scott wasn't sure how much longer his kid brother could keep that up. Wasn't sure how much longer he could do it himself. He tried another slow step forward.

'I SAID DON'T,' the man screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. 'YOU COME ANY CLOSER AND I'LL BLOW HIS HEAD OFF!'

Alan whimpered. Scott stopped, but not before he had completed his step. It was risky, but he had to do something. Had to get close enough to disarm the man. To do that, he'd need to keep him talking, keep him distracted. And to do that, he needed to not be distracted himself. He reluctantly tore his eyes of his littlest brother and said, 'Okay. I hear you. I'm not coming any closer. Let's just talk. That's all I want, just to talk.'

The man laughed, tightening his grip. 'Oh, I bet you do. I know your type.'

'My type?'

'Yeah, your type. The type who thinks they can set the world to rights with a quick chat around the campfire.'

'That's not something I believe,' Scott said. 'It'll take more than that to fix the world. Sometimes we have to resort to desperate measures… is that what this is for you? A desperate measure to… what? Not go back to prison?'

The man shifted, his eyes darting around. The danger here was that Scott had him cornered; and like wild animals, cornered men could lash out. Especially the desperate ones. But his actions were what Scott had expected, and they told him he was on the right tracks. The man was using Alan as a bargaining chip to ensure a safe getaway.

'Listen, I'm not law enforcement,' Scott continued, shuffling forward just a fraction as the man's eyes continued to roam around. 'I have no authority to arrest you here, and neither does my colleague. That's not what we're here for. We're just here to get everyone to safety.'

'I was fine until you showed up.'

'No, you weren't. I don't know if you noticed, but this tunnel is collapsing. Now I know you don't want to go back to prison, but surely you don't wanna die down here either?'

The man snarled. 'I said, I'm fine.'

'Okay, I'll take your word for it.' He inched closer. 'But I can't leave without my friend here. So, if you let him go, we'll leave you alone. We'll walk out of here and let you find your own way. Sound good?'

'The police –'

'The police are outside, yes. But they're not coming in until this area is declared safe from falling debris,' Scott assured him. 'Now, if you like, I can tweak our numbers to keep them clear of the area a little longer –'

'Yes, do that.'

'Okay, I will, but only if you let my friend go.'

'What? So, you can go outside and send in the cops?' The gun twitched. 'No, I don't think so. How about you go say whatever it is you have to say to keep them out, and I'll drop this one off somewhere safe once I'm away.'

'I can't let you do that –'

'The I'll just have to shoot him now, won't I?'

Suddenly, Alan found his voice. 'You fire that gun, and we all die.'

The words echoed around the tunnel walls, slowly petering off into silence. Finally, Scott allowed himself to look at Alan again. The kid looked… well, totally calm. Well, calm all things considered. He was stood rigid in the man's clutches, but his eyes were no longer trained on Scott, begging him to do something. Head tilted back, he was locked in on something on the ceiling. Scott held his breath. His brother had a plan.

The man trailed the gun down the side of his face, agonisingly slowly, until it came to rest on Alan's neck, right at his pulse point. 'You want to explain your thinking to me there, runt?'

'Scott.' John's voice leapt into his ear. 'I've informed the police of your situation. They're gearing up with protective equipment so they can come in after you. Just keep him talking; do not let him take Alan out of your sight.'

Part of him wanted to ask why. Wanted to find out what it was in John's voice that suddenly had his blood running cold and his heart dropping into his stomach. The rest of him was already connecting the dots and coming to the worst possible conclusion.

He thought he'd recognised those eyes the moment he saw them. Those years in prison hadn't changed the cold, soulless edge to them that Scott recognised from the news reports. The man in front of him – the man holding his baby brother hostage… this was the man that called himself 'The Hero Killer'. Infamous for murdering at least fifty people, though the number was predicted to be much higher than that. Many of the bodies had never been found, but his victims all had something in common. They were all heroes. Be it firefighters, medics, or just someone who did something profound for their community, they were all various spins on the definition. And a member of International Rescue would be his crowning jewel.

'Spit it out!' the man barked, shaking him roughly.

'Isn't it obvious?' Alan asked. 'Look up.'

The prisoner didn't, choosing instead to continue to snarl right in the youngest Tracy's ear. But Scott did. He looked up and he saw the really scary cracks in the ceiling that they had both seen earlier – the ones that they'd thoroughly scanned and decided that were not dangerous enough to be worried about. In fact, looking at them now, Scott guessed they were still pretty stable, and still would be if a gun was fired… but the other guy didn't have to know that.

'Oh God,' Scott whispered.

'What?' the man shouted, snapping his attention from Alan back to Scott. 'What is it?'

'It's not stable,' Alan lied. 'A loud enough noise – even just one – could bring the whole thing down on top of us. And you're not wearing a helmet, and you threw mine over there when you wrestled it off me so… we'd die for sure.'

'But wearing a helmet would save me?'

'Well, you'd definitely stand a better chance.'

The man looked from Scott, to Alan, to Alan's discarded helmet. He shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'No that won't work, it won't fit.'

'It'll fit me,' Alan grumbled, only to be shaken once more as the guy growled at him.

'You!' He sharply turned his attention to Scott. 'You come here, slowly. You take your helmet off and you give it to me.'

'If I do,' Scott said, 'you have to let him go.'

'How about I just promise not to paint the walls of this death trap with his brain matter instead, huh?' The man pressed the gun harder against Alan's neck. A slightly distressed noise escaped his brother's lips. 'Then we can talk about further terms.'

'Okay.' Scott looked to Alan, nodded once. He received just the tiniest of nods in return. 'Okay.'

Cautiously he stepped forwards, eyes flicking between the man and his brother. When he was close enough, he slowly, slowly, raised his hands and clicked off his helmet. He held it out to the man. Without thinking, the man reached for the helmet with his gun-arm –

Scott pounced. Dropping his helmet, he grabbed the man's arm and forced it up, squeezing his wrist hard. At the same time, Alan stomped on his foot and jabbed him in the gut with his elbow. The man cried out, letting go of his brother completely.

'Go!' Scott shouted at him.

He didn't have time to check that Alan had done as he was told. He moved quickly, spinning into the man using his full weight, manipulating his wrist and hand until his hold on the gun loosened. Only when the man was safely disarmed and the gun was in Scott's own hand, did he finally push away, sending the guy spawling to the ground.

He raced over to Alan, who (possibly a little predictably) was still standing nearby. 'You okay?'

He nodded, slightly tearful, before launching himself at Scott, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Scott squeezed back, thanking every deity or angel-like figure he could think of that they were safe. Then Alan screamed, 'Watch out!'

Scott whirled around, keeping Alan behind him. The man was charging at them. A flash of light identified the knife in his raised hand. He was nearly on them. It was a split-second decision. Scott raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

Desperate measures indeed.