*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.
*Concerning some obscure slang in this chapter…all I'll say is that some slang don't need no translation to get the point across ^_^
**WARNING!! There is some sexual innuendo as well as torture here. The name of this chapter is not whimsical, it's a hint. If you cannot abide by blood, pain, or suggestive language, I'm sorry, but perhaps you shouldn't continue.
You've been warned.
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"Low Light, WAKE UP! THAT'S AN ORDER!"
With a heart-stopping gasp, slate gray eyes snapped blindly open at the Tomahawk's command. Low Light tried to slow his terror-borne panting. For one disorienting moment he thought he was back on Hawk's couch.
Then the pain hit him.
Strained muscles and abraded skin filled his awareness with an ache that pulsed from fingers to shoulders, from his toes to his thighs and all the way up his back, and a tiny but deep pain stabbed at his neck. He tried to struggle. No use. He tried to look around but intense light filled his vision. Briefly he was blinded, blinking against the lights. He squinted, shielding his eyes from the glare.
From the top of ramshackle warehouses forming a quadrant, huge halogen lights illuminated the night, pouring cool bright light over his sweat soaked body. He was firmly lashed by the wrists and ankles to a steel frame with chains, tightly stretched spread-eagle with his back on the dirt. He was also barefoot and stripped to the skin from the waist up. "What the---"
Raucous laughter erupted around him.
His lips thinned as he fully realized his surroundings.
He was in a junkyard.
And he was surrounded by bikers wearing the Dreadnok colors.
"Aw, man, look," a coarse voice mocked in disappointment. "Widdle Joey's awake."
"Ain't that sweet," a woman brayed. "He thinks Daddy's here to scare the Boogie Man away!" More people hooted and called out fresh jibes, emboldened enough to throw empty and not so empty beer cans and hard grape soda bottles at the bound Joe.
Low Light stoically ignored the barrage and schooled his features to show nothing, but he felt his cheeks flush. They'd seen him in his damned night terrors---
"Low Light," Hawk barked.
The sniper's head immediately swiveled to the right. Hawk's shadowed face loomed from a laptop screen perched on top of a stack of junked car engines. "Sir?"
"I'm impressed," an unseen man's voice said over the laptop's speakers. "I was sure he was going to need help waking up."
"Too bad," a hidden woman's thick Aussie voice chuckled over the speakers. "It was real entertaining t'watch 'im wiggle like a whipped puppy."
Low Light's eyes narrowed. He recognized those voices.
Zartan and Zaranna.
Everything came back to Low Light with the force of a gut punch---the roof, Adams trying to warn him, the needle in the neck, the gun to his head, the treacherous eyes---
Low Light turned his face away, feeling sure he knew who 'Hawk' really was.
"Soldier, look at me," Hawk hissed.
"Yeah, look at Daddy," another man jeered from the darkness.
Low Light didn't even bother to search for the loudmouth. He just curled his fingers and flipped them all off.
The Dreadnoks' rambunctious laughter and cursing burst into a roar. "Hey, baby's got balls after all," someone cackled. A new round of strident catcalls and whooping cut through the night.
"Dammit, Low Light," Hawk roared over the din, "LOOK AT ME!"
Warily, the sniper returned his winter gray eyes to the screen.
Brown eyes almost completely dilated black looked back at him: watery, bloodshot…and blinking in a pattern at him. Modified Morse code, Low Light realized with a barely hidden start.
-O-W-L-
The icy gray eyes thawed slightly.
"You look like hell, soldier," Hawk said bluntly.
"You too, sir," the whispery voice managed to croak. "Drugged?"
Hawk nodded cautiously. "My liver can take the shock. You?"
Low Light shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "Feels like the third day of a two day leave," he said, blinking rapidly in code back to Hawk.
-W-A-R-B-I-R-D-
The tension around the General's eye relaxed just a bit.
"Where are you, sir?"
"I…I don't know," Hawk admitted. "Disoriented. No windows."
Guilt softened the night spotter's stoic expression. "Hawk," he whispered miserably, "I'm sorry. They got past me---"
"Beat yourself up later, soldier," Hawk said gently. "Right now I need you to hang tough."
"Funny you should mention hanging," Zaranna laughed. "Road Pig!"
Somewhere behind Low Light an enormous motor kicked into life. There was a whirling over head. Low Light felt the steel structure he was chained to rattle. The Dreadnoks began to whistle and cheer.
"Dammit, not again," Hawk roared.
"Aren't we sensitive," Zartan chuckled. "If you care so much you shouldn't have woken him. It was far kinder to let him sleep through all this."
"What the hell would you know about kindness," Hawk hissed in a strained voice. Whatever drugs were affecting the General did nothing to dull the helpless rage blazing starkly from the dark eyes.
The steel frame began to tilt up, head first.
"Low Light, brace yourself," Hawk ordered.
By that time the sniper could guess what was coming. He struggled to get enough slack to find a toehold, a finger hold, anything to help take the weight off.
No use. The chains were too tight.
He locked his knees, clenched his sore arm muscles and braced himself.
The steel frame lifted vertically into the air, spinning slowly, suspended by a wrecking yard crane.
Low Light held back a cry of pain as the rough links of chain dug into his raw wrists and ankles with the force of his own weight and gravity.
The crane stopped once he was a foot off the ground.
That didn't make it hurt any less.
"Now then, General," Zartan said. "Let us try this once more. These files that Zaranna told me about---"
"What kind of assassins are you people," Hawk snarled. "You got paid to kill me but instead you're toying with my soldier while I'M still breathing!"
"Oh, we weren't paid t'kill you," Zaranna chuckled. Her hand snaked into view, cupping Hawk's cheek. "We were paid to destroy you. There's a difference, y'know."
Hawk's face twisted in disgust and he jerked away from her.
"That's right, dearie," Zaranna laughed at him. "You're breathing but you ain't got nothing left. Not your friends, not your career, not your country…not even your precious Joes."
Even through the pain Low Light could feel Hawk's anger pour out in waves from the screen. The General's eyes narrowed into a raptor's killing glare. "What have you done," he hissed murderously.
"Don't you remember," she asked coyly. "You threw it all away. For love."
Agony slashed across Hawk's face. The Dreadnoks roared with drunken laughter.
"Leave him alone," Low Light yelled.
"ROAD PIG SAY YOU BE QUIET," an ugly voice bawled from the crane's cab. Low Light was lifted another five feet. "LET ZARANNA TALK OR I DROP!"
"Thank you, Road Pig, luv," Zaranna purred.
"Low Light, let it go," Hawk said quickly.
The night spotter's lips thinned, but he gave the General a curt nod.
"Well, sister, it seems you're mistaken. The General still has one Joe left."
"Does that mean we can't kill the hanging fuzz after all," a bored girl's voice asked from off screen.
"No, daughter," Zartan said patiently. "He still has some uses."
"Zanya, what did Auntie say about being too eager," Zaranna asked with brittle sweetness.
"I dunno," the girl sang with equal sweetness. "Same thing about talking too much?"
"Catfight," a bellow from the Dreadnoks cried out. "Catfight! Catfight!" The chanting picked up rhythm and volume. "Catfight! Catfight! CATFIGHT! CATFIGHT!"
The image of Hawk was snatched away to be replaced by the raging face of Zartan. "ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!!"
The junkyard filled with silence so intense, only the sound of the wrecking crane engine could be heard.
"That's better," Zartan said, once again centering Hawk's face on the screen. "Really, ladies," Zartan continued, "what kind of an example are you setting for the gang?"
"A sucky one," Zanya snapped.
"ZANYA," her elders roared as the gang laughed.
"I mean it, Dad! We're Dreadnoks, we're family! We know there's a line you don't cross. We RESPECT that line. This geezer's an outsider. He thinks he's so high above us, that he's better than us. Has the he shown you any respect? No! If this was another gang leader you'd have capped his sorry ass by now!"
"Very true," Zartan said. "But most gang leaders don't cost ten million dollars alive, so killing him is out of the question. But," he said, "you are right. He needs to be taught manners. I'm curious, daughter, what would you suggest?"
"He's got a tattoo, right?" An evil smile could be heard in the teen's voice. "Dis his colors."
Hawk snorted. "Go ahead. It's not even real."
"Not your tattoo, old man," she sneered. The screen spun around to show Zanya leering at Low Light. "HIS."
A tiny smile cracked the SHIELD Agent's stony face. "Like the General said---"
"ROAD PIG SAID BE QUIET!!"
Low Light's stomach lurched as the frame dropped four feet before jerking to a stop, knocking his teeth together, jarring him from ankles to hip, ripping muscles and nearly tearing his arms from their sockets. With an effort of will he kept from screaming, but his face twisted in pain.
"Low Light," Hawk shouted.
The Dreadnoks cheered.
The screen spun again, showing Zanya nose to nose with the furious General. "I say we start by skinning his tattoo off. In slices."
"A good start," Zartan mused. "What else would you suggest?"
Her smile stretched wider as Hawk's brow furrowed deeper. "They call the old man here the Tomahawk, right," Zanya asked. "I've always wanted to see someone get scalped."
The Dreadnoks cheered even louder. "Zanya! Zanya! ZANYA! ZANYA!!"
"THAT'S my girl," Zartan hissed with fierce pride. "Dreadnoks! Do I have a volunteer?"
Every hand in the crowd shot up.
"First one on the frame gets to cut my Princess new leather," Zartan roared. "GO!"
The Dreadnoks surged forward, some on foot, some on their bikes. They shoved, kicked, beat and bit their way to closer to Low Light.
"Road Pig," Zartan yelled, "we don't want to make this too easy! Bring him up!"
Low Light began to rise above the brawling Dreadnoks. The gang fought even harder. One stocky young Dreadnok leapt up and used the backs and shoulders of his gang mates as a launching pad. His wild mop top of bright green hair flopped crazily as he jumped and caught hold of the metal frame with both hands, causing it to swing precariously.
Hawk inhaled sharply.
"We have a winner," Zartan announced. The Dreadnoks groaned in disappointment.
Road Pig let the frame rise higher before stopping, letting it hang twenty feet in the air.
The green haired Dreadnok pulled himself up, steadied himself, found his balance on the narrow ledge and edged closer to Low Light.
A very sharp shiv was clenched between his teeth.
Low Light's eyes narrowed. Dammit, they weren't going to skin him without a fight!
Ignoring the protests of his agonized limbs, Low Light rocked the frame out like a swing. The frame swayed wildly back and forth, making the Dreadnok's balance precarious.
For a moment it looked like the thug might fall.
With a lightning fast grab, the Dreadnok grabbed the top of the frame with both hands and pulled himself up. Letting out a furious yell around his shiv, the Dreadnok whipped his steel-toed biker boot in a roundhouse kick right to Low Light's gut.
And again.
And again.
"STOP," Hawk shouted, ringing the air with command.
The green haired Dreadnok froze. The rest of the gang quieted down.
The frame stabilized as Low Light fought to breathe, his body instinctively trying to curl up.
"What. Do. You. Want," Hawk growled through his bared teeth.
A pause. "More money, of course," Zartan said, surprised. "As you can see, I have a large family to feed."
The Dreadnoks all laughed at that.
"What do you WANT," Hawk bellowed.
"The files," Zartan said in a flat voice.
"What files," Hawk asked irritably.
"Don't play dumb with me," Zartan hissed angrily. "You know which files I mean!"
"Why the hell should you care," Hawk demanded. "You've got enough of your own Intel to blackmail them all into poverty!"
"Maybe we'll do that one day," Zaranna said. "But they're giving me an extra bonus for getting your files on them." Her voice hardened. "The files, Gen'ral. Now. Or we do more than cut up your boy."
Low Light hung swinging with the frame's momentum, wheezing in strangled, tortured breaths. Low Light raised his head and met the frantic eyes of his CO. Coughing, he shook it sharply from side to side. The Jugglers couldn't be allowed to cover their tracks, not like this, not by using him against Hawk, not again!
-N-O- he blinked to the General. -N-O-
Before Low Light could convey more the green haired Dreadnok dragged the shiv's point right across the skin above the tattooed black owl. Low Light gasped at the sudden pain.
"Dammit, STOP IT," Hawk cried out hoarsely.
"Well, General," Zartan purred. "Have we convinced you of our sincerity?"
"I never doubted it," Hawk said angrily.
"Then where are the files," Zanya demanded.
Hawk's eyes flicked uncertainly between Low Light and the green haired Dreadnok. Hawk took a deep breath. "Abernathy," he said in a wavering voice. "Clayton M. Lieutenant General---"
"Let Auntie 'andle this, duck," Zaranna said sweetly. Her voice turned harsh. "Slice 'im again."
The shiv slashed into the night spotter's flesh again, cutting right through the owl's neck. Low Light ground his teeth down and refused to let any sound escape, refused to let any pain show.
The Dreadnok wasn't done.
Another cut and another, on either sides of the black owl, framed the bird's head in red wetness. Crimson drops fell from the sniper's wounds in rivulets.
The green haired Dreadnok grabbed a corner of the cut flesh and held the shiv's flat blade poised for skinning.
Hawk's dark eyes stared in horrified silence.
"Should we let him continue," Zartan asked smugly.
Hawk lowered his head and closed his eyes. "It's on a website," he said softly.
The gang cheered.
The green haired Dreadnok reluctantly backed off.
Low Light hung his head, feeling the shame burn past the pain and right down to the bone.
"There, that wasn't so hard," Zaranna cooed. "Now be a duck and give us the address."
Hawk mumbled.
"Speak up, deary," Zaranna said sharply.
Hawk sighed. "I said, it's posted on http://www.homecookiebake.net."
Dead silence.
The Dreadnoks gawked.
Even Low Light raised his head to look askance of Hawk.
"You can't be serious," Zartan finally said harshly. "You put Classified files capable of bringing down some of the most powerful men in America…on a BAKING website?!"
Hawk ignored him. "Log in under 'flouredrose'," he continued, refusing to look at anyone. "Flour with a 'u' as in uniform. One word. No caps. Password 'toiyenem'. Spelled tango oscar india oscar yankee echo november echo mike."
"What the hell is he spewing," Zanya demanded.
"American military alphabet," Zaranna told her condescendingly. "Don't worry, ducky, Auntie's got it." A pause. "Well. We're in," she said, surprised. "I 'ave to admit, I'd never 'ad thought of looking 'ere. What now, Gen'ral?"
"Type in the search box." Hawk closed his eyes again. "Six zero dot five charlie romeo three whiskey dot uniform."
A pause.
"That's it," Zaranna demanded.
"That's it," Hawk confirmed. "A series of recipes will appear. The files on the Jugglers are encrypted in them---"
"Just wait a damned minute," Zanya snapped. "60.5r3w.u? Is that it?"
Hawk didn't say anything. He just nodded.
"You smart ass BASTARD," she screamed, punching Hawk hard across the face.
"ZANYA," her father roared.
"That's hacker slang for 'go screw you,'" Zanya shouted back.
"BLOODY HELL," Zaranna shrieked. There was the sound of something being thrown hard against the wall. "That code triggered a flag! Someone tried to trace us!"
The teenager's hands appeared on screen as she grabbed Hawk by the shirtfront and shook him. "You stupid old man! You think this is some kind of joke?"
"No, little girl," Hawk hissed, his voice rough with scorn. "I'm just showing you what real disrespect looks like." He turned his dilated eyes to Low Light, their dark depths brimming with defiance. "If my soldier's going to get butchered, then dammit, he's going down proud! Tell the Jugglers that they're too late." A horrible smile stretched across Hawk's face. "In fact, tell them to thank Zaranna. She just forwarded all the files to a secured private e-mailbox and shut the website down. A friend of mine will find them an interesting read."
An inarticulate screech of rage shrilled through the night.
"ZARANNA," Zartan yelled. "Put the knife down! You can't kill him!"
"Two million dollars, Zartan," she screamed. "Those files were worth TWO MILLION!"
"The General is worth five times that much alive and half LESS dead," Zartan hissed. "Let it go!"
"We coulda milked 'em wankers for years," Zaranna panted. "'E's killed the goose that laid the golden eggs, 'e 'as! Oh, you think you're so smart, eh, Gen'ral? You think we're just going to cut your Joe up a little? You've just made things a 'ell of a lot worse for 'im! Butchered you said? I'll show you butchered! You there! Dreadnok! Don't stop with the tattoo or the scalp! Skin that Joe alive! All of him! I want 'is balls stuffed and mounted t'the back of me bike!"
As the Dreadnoks whooped, Hawk's eyes flicked between the green haired Dreadnok and Low Light. "Whatever you do," he said in an even, almost fatherly voice, "I won't think less of you. I'm just sorry I had to put you in this position." His eyes steadied on the sniper. "Always remember, Low Light…" Hawk blinked rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears. One last word in code…
-N-U-T-S-
Low Light almost gaped.
Nuts?
"Yo Joe," a very quiet whisper hissed right into Low Light's ear.
With a start, slate gray eyes darted to the side. The green haired Dreadnok was saluting his fellow bikers below with his shiv, grinning like a loon.
Low Light shook his head. Did he just hear…?
The green haired Dreadnok grabbed a corner of the cut flesh and laid the shiv's edge poised for skinning and waggled his eyebrows like a maniac…but the soft words that pushed out from behind his unmoving lips were sober. "Wardog said this is going to hurt, Owl. Sorry, sir." And without another pause the blade sliced right under the skin, lifting the black owl's head free of Low Light's flesh. The Dreadnoks howled at the sight of the blood.
Low Light squeezed his eyes shut, partially from the pain, but more to keep them from going wide in shocked realization.
The Dreadnok was a Joe!
"Won't be long, sir," the Covert Ops hissed. He draped the skin over the frame to dry. "Sorry, sir." He sliced into the skin again, right under the owl's talons.
Despite the pain, the sniper was about to go limp with relief when the hair on the back of his neck rose.
Something was wrong.
Without warning Low Light gave a massive heave, sending the frame rocking wildly. The Covert Ops was caught off guard. He dropped the shiv and fell with a yelp into the arms of the biker gang, who safely caught him and laughed at his stumble.
A split second later a laser beam struck the frame in a splatter of molten metal, roughly the same level where the Covert Ops' chest had been.
"THIS IS SHIELD! EVERYONE FREEZE!"
And before anyone could react, all of the lights were killed.
At the same time, two bullets struck near Low Light's wrists. He choked back the yelp of pain from the unexpected sparks and hot metal burrs, instinctively recoiling.
His hands were free.
He grabbed the frame above his head to stop from toppling forward.
Another two small bangs, this time near his ankles. He was ready for the pain this time. The chains slithered off his ankles and hit several Dreadnoks below. "The Joe's getting loose! Shoot him!"
"No ya don't," Fury's gravelly voice bellowed. "SHIELD, advance!"
"ROAD PIG DROP!"
"Don't drop 'im," Zaranna snapped. "SHOOT 'IM!"
Something landed on the frame's top.
Slate gray eyes looked up and dilated wide in the night.
A masked man clad in a black spy-jumper wearing night vision goggles wrapped his limbs around the frame and held up a 9mm Beretta with a custom made silencer. "Grab on to something, Light," a familiar golden boy's voice ordered. "YO JOE!" He shot the eyebolt anchoring the crane's cable to the frame.
The frame fell.
Low Light held to the bottom of the frame for dear life as it plummeted in the midst of gun and laser fire. The ground was coming up fast.
"JUMP," Duke yelled.
They jumped free just as the frame crashed into the crush of retreating Dreadnoks right under them. Broken Dreadnoks cushioned their landing.
Low Light had enough time to see that the Coverts Ops wasn't one of the casualties before a laser beam shot perilously close to his head.
"Dammit, hold your fire," Carter's voice ordered harshly. "We got friendlies down there! Someone get those lights working!"
Duke rolled awkwardly to his feet, clutching his head in one hand, his Beretta nowhere in sight. "Low Light," he gasped, blindly reaching out his free hand.
The concussion, Low Light belated remembered. He grabbed Duke's hand. "We need to get you some medical---"
The hand tightened around the sniper's. "No. Get us cover," Duke told him, staggering to his feet.
Low Light hesitated. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Do it, Owl," Duke hissed. "Eagle's orders."
That did it. Low Light draped one of Duke's arms over his shoulders and helped the man to a pile of junked cars out of SHIELD's sight. Duke passed the sniper his remaining Beretta and swore with soft venamance as he clutched his aching head in both hands.
"SHIELD won't be able to contain the Dreadnoks on their own turf in the dark," Low Light commented quietly, keeping an eye in the night.
"That was the idea," Duke whispered through his teeth. "SHIELD just barged in without coordinating with Joe. Damned rude, damned stupid, damned dangerous." Duke looked around cautiously before going on. "As it is, we almost lost a few in the crossfire. You saw."
Low Light's lips thinned. The Joes' Covert Ops. "Yeah," Low Light said. "I saw." He hesitated. "Are they---"
Duke held up his wrist com, briefly showing Low Light the text scrolling across the screen before wiping it blank. "Shaken up, but all fine." Duke grinned. "One of them says 'Thanks for the save.'"
Low Light let out a puff of relief. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Hawk's going to keel-haul your ass."
"Only if I die," Duke grunted.
"Well well," Zartan's voice mocked in the darkness. "This IS a memorable night. For once, it seems that Cobra Commander was correct. SHIELD was indeed trolling bait for you, sister. And Executive Director Fury himself is after you! Sister, I am indeed impressed. Tell me, Director Fury, is that lovely Director Carter here as well?"
"Yer not her type," Fury growled.
"So I hear," Zartan chuckled. "But she just hasn't met the right bad boy. The geriatric boy scout might have the equipment, but I don't think he knows how to rev her engine, if you know what I mean."
"Watch your mouth," Hawk and Fury snapped at the same time.
"Cooo, Zartan," Zaranna said slyly. "If I'd known you fancied Carter, I'd 'ave wrapped 'er up all nice and pretty for you with the Gen'ral!"
"Keep that in mind for my birthday, sister dear," he said.
"Yer a sick bastard, ya know that," Fury spat. "Hide all ya want, Zartan. Only a matter of time now."
"Do tell," Zartan purred.
"SHIELD, spread out and find me this sicko," Fury ordered. "And someone turn on those damned lights!"
"Afraid of the dark, Director," Zartan mocked.
"Dammit," Duke spat, straightening up as Fury and Zartan traded insults. "Low Light, quick. What's the com frequency you use to contact Carter?"
"1.41 gigs XM," Low Light replied. "Why?"
"SHEILD's walking into a trap," Duke told him as he punched the frequency into his com. He pulled his Bowie knife from his boot sheath. "Light, I need you to put the gun down, sit, and hold real still. This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch."
"What---?"
"Do you trust me," Duke hissed.
"Of course---"
"Then do what I tell you, soldier," Duke snapped.
Low Light obeyed.
Duke crouched next to him. "Sorry about this, buddy," he said softly.
The knife cut into Low Light's tattooed skin. Low Light held back a hiss and choked down questions.
"C'mon, Carter, pick up," Duke muttered under his breath. He dug the knife deeper. "Dammit, where is it---"
"Carter here. Who is this?"
"Can the Dreadnoks hear you," Duke demanded in a soft voice.
There was a pause. "No," she said, lowering her voice. "Who---"
"Call me Wardog. I'm a Joe operative," Duke told her. "The Dreadnoks know about the Casualty Awareness Tracking tags you SHIELD types wear."
"We don't wear CAT tags anymore," Carter said irritably. "Too much of a liability."
"I hope to hell you're telling the truth," Duke hissed, "because they got the activation frequency."
A pause. "How do I know YOU'RE telling the truth?"
"Dammit, that's how they killed that last Clip of Black Bullets," Duke told her.
Low Light felt his skin grow cold. "What?"
"Shit," Carter spat. "Black Bullet Clip Omega, this is Director Carter. Abort, repeat, abort."
A bestial roar bellowed its rage from one of the warehouses. "A little hard, Director," a harsh voice replied. "We've already engaged with the subject Road Pig---"
"DAMMIT, PULL OUT NOW," Carter snapped.
"Zartan, I think someone's picking on me Road Pig," Zaranna said peevishly.
"Well that's not very fair, is it, sister," Zartan said.
"Your damned boyfriend's a Neandralthal tank," Hawk snapped. "What the hell are you worried about?"
"What every girl worries about," she laughed. "Coming out on top!"
"Dad, Auntie," Zanya said, her voice amused. "I think the fuzzies here needs to be taught some respect."
"Carter, WHERE IS IT," Duke roared in frustration, pressing his blood slicked finger in the gapping wound of Low Light's flesh, searching, probing…
"The bird," she said. "Bullets, cut the bird off from your tattoos, dammit, or you're going to die!"
Duke hacked at Low Light's arm with renewed frenzy. He had almost completely sliced the black owl from the sniper's skin when the knife-edge struck something metal embedded in the flesh. He levered muscles apart.
A tiny dot of green glowed back at him.
"Quite right, daughter. Sister? End this."
"General, Director," Zaranna said gleefully, "say good-bye to your precious Bullets!"
Duke's knifepoint pried the flexible metal circuit from the bloody tissue just as the light turned from green to red.
Low Light sagged against Duke, limp as a towel.
He didn't move.
The bloody knife fell from the Second's nerveless fingers. "Oh, God, no," Duke whispered. "Low Light?"
No response.
"Black Bullets," Fury snarled. "BULLETS! COME IN!"
Silence.
"Low Light," Hawk called out.
Duke closed his eyes and held the sniper close, choking down tears.
"COOPER," Hawk screamed.
"Better tell Hawk I'm fine," a dry whispery voice told the Second.
Blue eyes snapped open. Through the night vision goggles Duke wore he could see Low Light turn his head to lift a corner of his lips up at him in a weak half-smile. "Why, sir," Low Light said, fluttering his lashes. "I didn't know you cared."
"You damned macabre son of a bitch," Duke swore angrily, pushing him away. "Don't you EVER do that to me again!" He pushed up his goggles and swiped his sleeve across his eyes.
"Carter to Wardog," the woman's subdued voice came over Duke's wrist com. "Status on Agent 38?"
"Don't suppose you got a Band-Aid I can slap on this, do you," Low Light spoke into the com, trying to cover his gapping wound with the hanging flap of owl tattooed skin, still grinning.
Duke growled low in his throat and lowered his goggles back into place. "You are unfreaking believable, Light, you know that?" He lifted the com. "The ghoul's alive, but he needs medical attention. How about the rest of the Black Bullets?"
Silence.
The smile disappeared from Low Light's face. His expression turned as hard as a tombstone. "Dammit."
"You've got the last Bullet with you, Wardog," Carter confirmed somberly. "The very last…and our very best." She sighed wearily. "Save 38 for a special hit, get him out of here---"
"I can't," Duke hissed. "Not yet." He gave his knife a quick wipe and sheathed it, then pocketed the bloody circuit. "Hawk HAS to know he's alive." He picked up his Beretta. "Light, I've got point. Give me some warning if I miss anything. Carter, that area the laptop's in secured?"
"Yeah."
"We'll meet you there. Tell your Agents not to shoot us. Let's go, Light."
The two men made their cautious way back to the quadrant. Agents with flashlights and guns met them suspiciously.
"I'm Agent 38," Low Light told them. "I'd show you my ID, but…" He gestured to the hamburger remains of his SHIELD ID tattoo.
"Still enough of the bird left," one of them said. "If you're really an Agent, you know the drill. You," the Agent said, shining a light into Duke's goggles. "Hands behind your head."
Duke peeled off the goggles. "Tell you what," Duke said, stepping back and chambering his pistol. "I'll stand by, and if I see you doing something I don't like, I'll just start shooting."
"Don't be an ass," a woman's voice snapped. Beams of light moved to show a beautiful athletic woman striding towards them, her flowing blonde hair doing little to soften a hard face. "Wardog? I'm Carter. 38, give me your arm."
Duke raised his pistol.
Dozens of laser rifles whined to life.
"Cut the damned testosterone level, boys," Carter said impatiently, grabbing Low Light's bloody arm. She took something resembling a palm pilot from her belt and passed it over the tattoo. A narrow band of black light scanned the owl. "Bar code in the feathers," she explained to Duke. "Special Field Agents wear them in lieu of ID cards."
"Bull," Duke spat. "The tattoos were an excuse to slip CAT tags on the Agents. You wanted to track them and make sure they didn't talk if captured," Duke said with disgust.
"And to make sure they don't go rouge," she added defensively. "More than one Bullet has in the past." She turned a humorless smile to Low Light. "You remember, don't you, 38?"
Low Light shivered and looked away.
The scanner beeped once.
The Agents all relaxed and stood down.
"Get this Agent medical attention," she ordered.
Several Agents hastened to obey. "It's all clean cuts," one Agent said approvingly. "The synthetic skin treatment should do the trick."
"You think so," another asked. "Better add some antibiotics in the pre-wash…"
Low Light seemed to withdraw into himself as the medical Agents treated him.
"Anyone tell you guys you've got the bedside manner of a mechanic," Duke growled.
The Agents looked at him blankly.
Duke rolled his eyes. "We need to see Hawk," he insisted.
She turned hooded blue eyes to meet hooded blue eyes. "We're still looking for him---"
"That laptop still transmitting," Duke demanded.
"Yeah---"
"That'll do. Where is it?"
She smiled grimly. "Listen for the sounds of some creative cursing."
"Fury letting Zartan have it," Duke asked.
Her expression turned odd as she walked off. "Not…exactly."
Low Light roused enough to exchange curious looks with Duke. The two of them trotted after Carter, the medical Agents protesting but keeping up.
The laptop was still where it had been, perched on top of the junked engines, miraculously untouched by gun or laser fire, and yes, the closer they got, the louder the shouting. Fury stood squarely in front of the glowing screen, his knuckles white around the huge laser rifle he held, face stormy with rage. His lips pulled back to reveal teeth grinding together in fierce anger…but the shouting wasn't coming from him.
"…cocklebur outfit got euchered into eating drag dust! You flannel mouthed, four-flushing, beef tea swilling, highbending FLANTLANDER," Hawk roared at Fury, his voice hoarse with grief.
"Ya ain't the only CO ta have lost men here," Fury thundered.
"And who's fault is that?"
"What the hell kinda gratitude is this? The next time ya get captured---"
"'Gratitude?' 'GRATITUDE?'" Hawk let loose an inarticulate roar as he furiously rocked against his bindings. "In case you haven't noticed, you piece of chunked crow bait, I'm still in enemy hands!"
"Only temporary," Fury ground out. "We're on it."
"Do me a favor. The next time I get captured, leave me the hell alone," Hawk snapped.
Low Light recovered his surprise and stepped up next to Fury. "Hopefully there won't be a next time, sir," he said.
Hawk's black eyes fastened on him in disbelief.
A smile tugged on the corner of Low Light's lips. "Quite a vocabulary, sir. Didn't know you had it in you."
Fury gave Low Light a casual glance and jerked his chin at him. "There. He's fine, Abernathy, so quit yer bellyachin'!"
Hawk closed his eyes, his anger draining out of him like a shattered urn. "Thank God," he breathed. His eyes snapped open. "And Wardog?"
Duke stepped into the light and waved.
"No casualties on the Joe side," Low Light reported.
"Too bad," Zartan sighed. "I was looking forward to giving my little Princess a leather Joe jacket."
"Yer family's a whole kennel just itchin' ta get put down, ain't they," Fury sneered.
Hawk fixed his eyes on Low Light's and blinked as Fury and Zartan bantered.
-D--L-T-S—W-H-E-R-E-
Low Light slid back to Duke and turned his back on the screen and beckoned to Carter. "Hawk's blinking Morse Code," he told them. "He wants to know where the Dreadnok lieutenants are."
"Who," Carter demanded, frowning.
"Buzzer, Torch, Ripper, Thrasher, Monkeywrench," Duke supplied. "Only Road Pig's here. Not exactly a guy I'd leave in charge."
Another animal howl tore through the night. A SHIELD Agent came crashing through a warehouse window and landed on a pile of crushed cars.
"But he's hell in a brawl," Low Light said with a wince.
Carter unslung her rifle. "Son of a---"
"No," Duke said with sudden firmness, putting a hand on her gun. "Pull your men out of the buildings."
She scowled.
"Look, I'v got a bad feeling about this," Duke hissed. "The Dreadnoks love a good fight but they lit out of here real quick, and I've only seen one hard core member and that's Road Pig. That ugly pug can take a lot of damage. Zartan's with his family and none of them look too worried. This doesn't add up. Something's WRONG. Now are we going to stand here all night or are you going to play along?"
Carter's lips thinned but she spoke into the com at her shoulder. "All units, pull back to the perimeter, repeat pull back."
"CARTER," Fury roared. "What the hell are you doin'?"
Duke cursed under his breath but Carter simply said, "That monstrosity in there is guarding something. Has to be Abernathy. We need to regroup and replan. That bruiser won't let anyone near him."
Low Light slid back next to a scowling Fury and blinked, -O-N-L-Y—P-I-G-
Hawk blinked back, P-U-L-L—O-U-T-
Low Light glanced at Carter, who nodded. He signaled back to Hawk, -D-O-N-E-
"It figures," Hawk spat. "One ugly Dreadnok and you super SHIELD types can't even get past him!"
"LOOK, kid," Fury snarled. "If ya think we're so blasted incompetent, go get yerself outta this mess!"
Hawk bared his teeth. "I think I will." He raised his voice. "ROAD PIG!"
"WHAT JOE WANT?!"
"JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW ZARANNA TASTES LIKE WINE!"
Zaranna gasped.
Hawk's lips pulled back further. "AND BREATH MINT!"
Duke and Low Light looked at each other in horror.
There was a moment of silence.
"Run," Duke yelled, grabbing Carter's arm and pulling her along.
Low Light scooped up the laptop and dragged Fury behind him.
Road Pig let out a volcanic howl of jealousy. "ONLY ROAD PIG KISS ZARANNA!!" Enormous pieces of mechanical equipment went flying out of the warehouse, some through walls, some through the roof. "ROAD PIG CRUSH PUNY JOE!!!"
"Is he turning green in there," Fury demanded, sprinting like an Olympian.
"Don't know, don't want to know," Carter puffed, out distancing Duke.
Low Light skidded to a halt. "He's going to kill Hawk!"
"Road Pig, STOP," Zaranna cried out in a panic.
"RUN, LIGHT," Hawk ordered, his voice a whipcrack that sent the sniper running away again before he realized what he was doing.
The warehouse exploded in a fireball flash, rocking the ground like an earthquake. Low Light was knocked off his feet, almost feeling the synthetic skin bubble from the heatwave. "HAWK!"
"Still here," a voice from the laptop said shakily.
Low Light flipped the screen back up to stare at the General's pale face, un-burnt, with no sign of fire or smoke anywhere. Realization dawned in the slate gray eyes. "We've been had," he breathed. "HAWK'S NOT HERE!"
The rev of a colossal engine roared over the fire. A hulking vehicle put together like a Frankenstein monster crashed through the flaming wall and tore through the junkyard like a wild rhino.
"The Thunder Machine," Duke snarled. "Dammit, what does it take to kill that guy!"
"All Agents, pursue the subject Road Pig," Carter snapped. "Capture alive---"
The Thunder Machine vanished.
"DAMMIT," Carter shrieked.
"Those bastards have a cloak," Fury roared.
Zaranna laughed triumphantly. "So sorry, duckies, looks like we win!"
"DAMN you, you bitch," Low Light cried out. "Hawk, WHERE ARE YOU!"
"I---" Hawk's eyes clenched in sudden pain. His eyes started to droop.
"A man the General's age needs his sleep," Zartan chided. "It's been pleasant, but we really must go now."
"See you, wankers, later," Zaranna gloated.
"TRACE THE SIGNAL," Duke yelled frantically. He shoved Low Light out of the way and grabbed the monitor. "Hawk, stay with us. HAWK!"
The General's black eyes rolled, trying to focus on Duke. "Remember---"
The screen went blank.
"HAWK!"
"Director Carter," Low Light whispered, his normally dry voice a desperate question.
"We lost the signal," Carter said quietly. Her face softened as she touched Low Light's stricken face. "I'm sorry."
Fury put a hand on Duke's shoulder. "Son---"
"Don't touch me, you bastard," Duke snarled, striking the hand away.
Fury took the hint and backed off. "They won't kill him."
Duke curled into a tight ball. His whole body shook as if holding back a heart-rending howl.
The hair on the back of Low Light's neck rose.
"No," Duke finally gasped. "They won't kill him." He leaned his forehead against the screen. "I'll remember you, Hawk," he whispered. "I'll remember you."
