Ok, now if you don't know what the league members are from, here's a little list.
Indiana Jones: Raiders of The Lost Ark, The Temple of Doom, and The Last Crusade
Jack Sparrow: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl
El Mariachi: El Mariachi, Desperado, and Once Upon a Time in Mexico
Lucian: Underworld
Willow Rosenburg: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Jason Bourne: The Bourne Identity
Gabriel: My Brain.
And also, with Lucian, this is set after my story "Pursuit of Purpose", which also features Gabriel. It hasn't been finished yet though. I was going to finish it first before writing this, but my muse kept bugging me, so I gave in.
Well anyway, here's chapter one.
***
The Retired Adventurer
***
Norman Caprice stepped out of the limousine and stared at the house in front of him. It was a rather rundown place, and one of the windows was actually boarded up.
Good god. Has this man become THAT pathetic…?
Caprice walked back to the limo and leaned in the driver's side. "I won't take long." The driver nodded before Caprice turned and walked back up to the house. He walked up to the door, taking note not to step on the three broken beer bottles he found on the ground as he walked up to it.
"Well, let's hope this was a good idea," Caprice muttered as he reached for the door bell, only to find that it didn't have one.
…wait, no. Caprice leaned closer and noticed that it did have one, but someone had broken it.
He must not get company much…
Caprice raised his hand and knocked on the door. No one came.
He knocked again, and again, no one came.
He raised his hand and started to knock a third time when the door opened. A man who appeared to be in his mid thirties-early forties poked his head out. He was wearing old wrinkled clothing, and looked like at some point in his life he had decided to crawl into a bottle, and stay there.
The man looked at Caprice for a moment before speaking. "What do you want?"
"Am I speaking to Indiana Jones," Caprice asked after a moment. Jones' eyes widened at that, and Caprice could tell it had been a while since he had been referred to by that name. "I thought so," Caprice said with a nod. "May I come in?"
Jones looked at him for a moment, then inside his house, then back again. Finally, with a shrug, he stood aside, allowing Caprice to walk in. "Thank you," Caprice said, but Jones didn't answer as he reached over and shut the door.
* * *
"So, can I get you a drink," Jones asked from the kitchen.
"No thank you," Caprice answered as he looked around the house he was in. It didn't look as bad as the outside did, but not by much. Some beer bottles littered the floor and dust covered a good portion of the room he was in now.
Jones entered a minute later, sitting down in a chair across from Caprice. "So, how do you know my real name?"
Caprice sat down in a chair also. "My name is Norman Caprice, and the government needs your help."
Jones arched an eyebrow at this. "Really," he asked in an almost sarcastic-sounding tone.
"Yes. We have an emergency and you are one of the few who would be able to help us."
There was a pause, and then Jones burst out laughing. Caprice's eyes widened in surprise at this; this hadn't been his expected reaction.
After a moment Jones stopped. "Okay, who sent you? Seriously, this is just so damn hilarious."
"Mr. Jones, this ISN'T a joke." Caprice stated, mentally cursing as that just made Jones laugh harder. Finally, Jones stopped laughing, and looked at Caprice's expression.
"You really aren't messing with me," he began. "The government actually wants my help with something." Caprice nodded. "Well, you can tell them I'd love to help, but the truth is I'd be pretty worthless."
"What are you talking about? You're Indiana…"
"NO!" Jones suddenly yelled, causing Caprice to slightly jump. "I WAS Indiana Jones." He sighed, leaning back and looking at the beer bottle in his hand. "Now I'm just a pathetic bum."
Caprice sighed. This wasn't going to be easy.
* * *
The limousine driver's eyes opened as he suddenly felt the presence of someone standing outside of the vehicle. "Caprice," he asked as he looked.
It wasn't Caprice. Instead, it was a man in his thirties with dark hair, who wore all black, as did the other two who were with him. "What do you want?"
The man leaned down in front of the window. "Would the man known as Indian Jones happen to live here," he asked after a moment, and the driver nodded, and he smiled in response. "Thank you."
Then, before the driver could react, the man pulled out a gun with a silencer and fired, shooting him in the head. He then motioned to the other two, who nodded, as they walked up towards the house.
* * *
Caprice sat for a moment, staring at Jones. Then, he smiled. Suddenly lashing out, he grabbed the bottle out of Jones' hand.
"HEY!" Jones yelled loudly. "Give that back!"
Caprice smirked. "Make me."
Jones suddenly reached over, grabbing a whip that was lying on the char next to him. Before Caprice could react, he had uncoiled it, and lashed out. The cord wrapped tightly around the bottle and Jones pulled, jerking it from Caprice's grasp. Jones caught it as it flew towards him. He raised it to drink from it, but suddenly stopped, noticing the grin Caprice was giving him. "What?"
Caprice shrugged. "Just proving that you aren't that worthless, if you still know how to use that," he told Jones, pointing to the whip.
Jones looked at him, then at the bottle, then at the whip, and lightly chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you have a point." He paused. "But still, I don't think I would be of much use to the government just because I know a few tricks with…"
He suddenly stopped talking, and raised his head. Caprice noticed this. "What?"
After a moment Jones shook his head. "Ah, it's nothing. I thought…"
Suddenly the door was kicked off its hinges as three men dressed in black entered, all aiming runs at Jones and Caprice, who slightly recoiled.
"Friends of yours," Jones asked.
Almost instantly, one of the men opened fire, and Jones tipped his chair over backwards, the piece of furniture taking the bullets, as Caprice did likewise. "I guess not," Jones muttered to himself as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small pistol. He always kept it with him, just in case something like this happened.
He waited until the firing stopped before he sprung his attack. Leaping out from behind the chair he fired, hitting one of the men in the chest, who fell backwards, blood bursting from the wound. Jones then quickly re-adjusted his aim and fired again, but the second man moved out of the way, but was still hit in the shoulder, causing him to drop his gun with a yell of pain. Jones quickly walked up and kicked him in the head, knocking him out.
He looked around the room. Where was the other…?
A foot came out of nowhere, knocking the gun from Jones' hand before the same foot smashed into his chest, knocking him to the ground with a groan. He raised his head and found the barrel of the third man's gun aimed at his head. The man smirked, and pulled the trigger.
Click
The smirk instantly switched from the assassin's face to Jones'. The assassin snarled, and through down his gun as Jones got to his feet. He quickly lashed out with a punch, knocking the hitman back. Retreating, Jones grabbed his whip and cracked it before lashing out with it, wrapping it around the man's leg he pulled, sending the assassin spinning to the ground.
Jones would have probably continued his assault, but the assassin, while still on the ground, quickly lashed out with his foot, sweeping Jones' legs out from under him, and knocking him to the ground with him. Both quickly got to their feet. As the assassin did he moved into a fighting pose.
The assassin made the first move, punching at Jones, who blocked it but it left him open as the assassin grabbed his arm before kicking him in the side. He then shoved Jones back before jumping in the air, nailing him in the chest with a jumping kick. Then, while still in the air, he twisted his body and hit him again with a reverse thrust kick.
Jones hit the ground hard and cursed under his breath at the pain in his chest. "I'm too old for this crap," he muttered as he started to get up. As he did the assassin lashed out with another kick, but this time Jones was ready for him, as he caught his leg before bringing him down to the floor. Grabbing the assassin's shoulders he smashed him in the face with a headbutt. The blow knocked the assassin out.
As Jones got to his feet, Caprice came out from his hiding spot, pausing to look at the damage. "Well, it seems you're not so worthless after all."
Jones glared at him, when he suddenly looked over and saw that the one assassin that he had knocked out earlier was gone. Looking out the window, he saw the man running away. They always run, Jones thought as he grabbed his gun and whip, running out after him. Caprice followed
* * *
Outside the assassin suddenly stopped running and spun around, pulling something out of his coat.
It was a grenade launcher.
Jones and Caprice's eyes widened.
The grenade fired, just as the two ducked for cover. They are spared from the explosion but Jones' house was blown to pieces.
"Damn it!" Jones cursed before pulling out his pistol and firing, shooting the hitman in the chest, who fell dead also.
Caprice stood up and looked at the destroyed house. "…well…"
Jones looked at him. "Well, about that offer…since now that my house has been blown to hell, I guess I'll do it."
Caprice nodded. "Good. Now let's go," he said as he moved to the limousine, pausing as he sighed as the driver's dead body fell out. "Poor man," he whispered before getting in. "Let's go. You have to meet the rest of the team."
"Alright," Jones answered as he got in the car also. It started to drive away.
"…wait…did you say team?"
Caprice raised an eyebrow. "Did you think you were the only person who the government asked to help for this? There's more than one. You'll be meeting some of them soon enough."
"Oh joy," Jones muttered in a sarcastic tone.
