THE RETURN OF R.A.G.E. AFFAIR
Chapter 2
"…I'm the guy who's gonna save my past…and my hair"
Having quickly donned a cheap off-the-rack suit that, because of a constant consumption of even cheaper alcohol, barely fit the protruding belly of the ex-agent of U.N.C.L.E….
Napoleon Solo, Walther P38 contained within the soft embrace of a leather shoulder-holster such as he had not worn beneath any suit's coat since a forced early-retirement from that top-secret organization still located in New York City and still behind and beneath Del Floria's, that no longer trendy tailor's shop.
"I should've realized this years ago," Napoleon chastised with a resurgence of self-worth and an undying desire to go up against THRUSH one last time. "I should've…remembered what could've been. What should've been."
Leaving the claustrophobic confines of his rundown apartment in order to follow pseudo-memories from a far different life...
"If I'm right about this," said Napoleon under his breath, while waving down taxis, "I can change it all. I can be what my whiskey-soaked dreams believed I could be. A successful, agent of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. Along with Illya."
Allowing for a sudden surge of memories of what could have been over what was, Napoleon Solo made his way toward another brownstone, that was an upscale version of his own, wherein he knew, just knew!, THRUSH maintained a secret entry point to their New York City headquarters.
A situation that would've never developed in the timeline of Napoleon's pseudo-memories…
Where, from a far different present, THRUSH's subterranean HQ had a super-accelerator device which should make it possible for Napoleon Solo to go back to 1964 and save his past in order to correct his present.
Napoleon prepared to take out the flesh-and-blood obstacle dressed in the familiar jumpsuit-and-beret with a fully loaded MP7 A1 machinegun-capable assault weapon in hand…
Bak-cht! Bak-cht!
…though Napoleon had not kept either a silencer-extension or the carbine-conversion attachments since last he held official operative status, the Walther P38 still tended to stifle that double gunshot.
Then doing something Napoleon remembered from a previous past not stolen from him by a time-traveling THRUSH chieftain, the balding ex-agent dragged away the dead thug which, because of swiftly delivered head shots, contained no noticeable blood stains on said jumpsuit-and-beret.
Thus Napoleon stripped the corpse in order to don both beret and jumpsuit, then, slipping his U.N.C.L.E. handgun into one pocket, because he had to remove of cheap suit's coat and shoulder holster so the THRUSH jumpsuit would close at all.
Then Napoleon took possession of the MP7 A1 in order to potentially fit in as much as possible while skulking through the sub-levels some six hundred meters straight down.
Sucking in his gut whenever nearing underground corridors under constant micro-camera surveillance or whenever nearing similarly dressed and armed THRUSH thugs, Napoleon Solo quietly followed what existed in pseudo-memory until…
"Finally," heaved Napoleon as he slipped into the unsecured, unguarded door leading into a lead-glassed observation blister wherein a single smocked science-tech prepped super-advanced inter-linked control consoles that, according to recollections-that-never-were, originally required several science techs to operate.
As luck would have it, this was no ordinary science tech. This was…
"Dr. Sabastian Malachi," breathed a grinning Napoleon Solo, the previously pocketed Walther P38 leveled at someone pseudo-memory recalled being killed in a previously unaltered timeline in the subterranean THRUSH headquarters beneath the streets of London, England.
"Who are…?" began Dr. Malachi in bewilderment over someone his skewed timeline memory could not possibly recall.
"Let's just say," said a smirking, self-certain Napoleon, "I'm the guy whose gonna save my past…and my hair."
END OF CHAPTER 2