This is a really short chapter, but the next two chapters - the last two chapters - are much longer, and this sets up the climax of the story. This chapter and the one after it are where the story earns its Action genre.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

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My Silver Bullet

They dragged Buckman inside the doorway and the door slid shut behind them. Pietro dropped the man's left side onto the ground and began patting his pockets.

"Damn it, where'd I put those other injections?" he mumbled. He withdrew something from his shirt pocket. "There we go!"

"What's that?" Lance asked, eyeing this new syringe.

"The stuff Fury said would make him forget his own name. We don't want him identifying us and ratting us out, do we?"

"Good thinking."

Pietro administered the shot, and they hauled the unconscious businessman into a storage closet near the door. If anyone took a peek inside they'd find him easily, but for now it was fine. Buckman would be out for a while.

"You know when he wakes up he's going to realize something's not right," Lance pointed out as they shut the door of the storage closet together. "I don't know how often it is that he wakes up in a closet full of cleaning supplies. And then he'll tell the Club and they'll probably check the cameras or something."

"Are there cameras?" Pietro wondered aloud. His eyes scanned the room and he frowned. "Ugh, there are. Let's just be quick."

They were in another corridor, although this one was nearly entirely metallic. It had a sterile feel to it that unsettled Lance. The pair appeared to be alone, but that did nothing to ease his restless mind.

"Alvers." Lance held his watch to his mouth. Obviously the head honchos over at S.H.I.E.L.D. had something to say to him. "Alvers, are you there?"

"Yeah. Who is this?"

"It's Drew. I was notified that you'd gained entry into a private sector of the Club reserved for top members. From here on out I'm personally supervising your mission from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in Chicago."

"All right," he said. "Question, though: now that we're actually in here, what are we supposed to do?"

"We want you to access the computer database inside. You'll find computers in many of the rooms along the hallway, if I'm correct in my guessing, and I usually am."

"How're we supposed to get in?" Pietro inquired of his watch. "We're not exactly computer hackers here."

"We don't expect you to be. Our specialists couldn't get in from the outside, and we've come to the conclusion that they obviously don't use a password system. More likely than not they use fingerprint scanners or some physical failsafe."

Lance glanced back at the storage closet. "You're telling me that Buckman's going to have to come along for the ride."

"Yes."

"Great," muttered Pietro. "One more question before we go do our grunt work, though. There are cameras. What the hell are we supposed to do about the cameras?"

"Once you activate the computers I want you to implant the extra USB drive attached to your watches," crackled Drew's voice. "From there our technicians will have better access to their mainframe, and we'll work on taking their security systems offline."

"Right-o. Call us if there're any other chores you want done. Groceries, dry cleaning… really, we love this stuff."

"Do your job, Maximoff."

"Yes ma'am." The communicator shut off, and Pietro threw Lance a look. "Boy, she's not happy, is she? So much for asking her out."

"You know she can still hear us, right?"

Pietro smirked and began to pull open the closet door. Buckman looked very relaxed, lying on top of several mops, although Lance figured anyone would look relaxed with the amount of sedative they'd injected into Buckman's bloodstream. Lance hoisted Buckman upward and threw one of the man's arms on his shoulder, and Pietro did the same. Together they carried him out of the closet and into the corridor. With some effort they managed to open the first door they came upon and drag Buckman's limp body inside. Lance supported the man's weight as Pietro activated the office's lone computer.

Even the desk is metal, Lance thought. Buckman's head sagged on his shoulder. This is really starting to creep me out.

"Okay, it's a fingerprint scanner like she said," Pietro announced. "Come over here and give me his hand."

Lance hobbled to the desk, and Pietro placed the man's thumb to a pad nearby the monitor. A green emblem flashed onto the screen and Pietro grinned.

"All right, you can drop him now." Thump. "We're logged in. Where's the damn USB drive on this thing? God I hate Macs."

Lance let Pietro investigate the hard drive for a while. He'd never really been very good at computers.

"Aha!" With a click something was detached from Pietro's watch, and the mutant placed it into a slot on the hard drive before holding his watch to his mouth once more. "Drew, we're in."

The crackling sound came back, notifying them of Drew's audio presence. "I noticed. We're working on the security as we speak."

"All right, is there anything you want us to do?"

"Actually, we'd like you to save some of the documents to the removable hard drive. We should be able to get them from our technicians, but it's always best to have a hard copy just in case."

"I read you." Pietro opened a folder on the desktop. "This looks interesting. Do you just want me to copy the entire folder?"

"That would be preferable, yes."

"All right. It's transferring."

"Good. While we're waiting, I'd like both for you to put in your earpieces and activate them. It's bad enough if they hear you; if they hear me it'll be even worse."

The two broke off detachable clips on their watches and placed them in their right ears. Drew's voice was now closer, more intimate.

"How's the transfer going?"

"About normal. It'll be done in a bit, then I'll get some of the other folders on there." Pietro opened one of the files and sped-read it (something at which he was particularly skilled). "What the hell? This looks like a memo to the Zimbabwean president. Isn't there a big controversy going on over there with the election?"

"Yes, the incumbent is being accused of subverting democracy," replied Drew. "What does the file say?"

"It looks like Buckman and someone named Shaw were selling Zimbabwe weapons." Pietro opened another file. "And this is a similar memo to Haiti, but it's from about a decade ago."

"Interesting." Drew didn't sound surprised. "Transfer done?"

"Yeah, I'm copying another folder. Huh. It appears Buckman has some holdings in a major Iranian oil company. And he has holdings in a rival US oil company, as well."

"Yes, we assumed that there were some shady deals going on," said the S.H.I.E.L.D. operative. "But we're looking for another folder. Something dealing with mutants."

Lance glanced at the hallway. No one was coming. "We're good."

"All right. I think this folder may be it." A second as Pietro skimmed several files. "Who's this Shaw person? He keeps coming up in these files. And there's something here about a school in Boston, but it doesn't look like much of a school. It looks more like a training facility for a mutant task force."

"That's what we're looking for. Copy that file."

"I am." He surrendered a low whistle. "Whoa. They've got a full profile of each X-Man. They've got a file on us, but they don't have much. For the first time in my life I'm actually glad Xavier's team of losers gets more publicity than we do."

"I still don't like the sound of that," said Lance. "I don't like the thought of these creepos reading up on us over their morning coffee."

"I concur," said Drew. "This isn't good. Just get the files and get out of there. Copy them all and run for your lives. I don't care. Something's not right here."

Lance added, "Yeah, it's like they pretty much invited us to read all their secrets. Shoddy security. That reminds me. How are the security-breaching efforts going?"

"They're working on it. I'd feel a lot better about all of this if you two would hurry up and get out of there already."

"I can't make the transfer go any faster," Pietro chided her. He grinned. "Am I the only one who thinks it's funny that Í'm being the patient one here?"

Minutes passed as Pietro found more and more files of interest to the brass at S.H.I.E.L.D. He summarized them aloud for Lance and Drew's benefit, seemingly unaware that Lance could read, and Drew had a camera. Buckman had some deal with Russian nuclear "enthusiasts." He was planning to send two employees to deal with them, and from this it looks like they're mutants. Hm, doesn't look like things went too well, does it? And what's this about a mutant village in Argentina?

Please, Lance thought. We get it. Just shut up. But Drew was fascinated. Continue, Maximoff. Open that file, Maximoff. Mutants, did you say? Yes, mutants. Open it. I am, honey. Don't call me honey. Lance thought their banter was enough to drive a decent hard-working kid from Illinois nuts.

More nuclear crap. Something about Weapon X. Bla bla bla. What are Chinese mutant terrorist organizations doing in the middle of Afghanistan?

"This is really freaking weird," Pietro said in conclusion.

"I could've told you that," Lance retorted. Thank God he's stopped summarizing.

"How is the file transfer going, Maximoff?"

"Not too fast." A hint of displeasure in his voice. No surprise. "Those Russian diagrams are taking a while. It looks like some of the waivers are slow to download, also."

"That's enough. As soon as the download's complete, get out of there. Leave Buckman. We'll handle him."

"Really? How so?"

"Send an agent disguised as a doctor," she said brusquely. What she meant was: Duh! You imbecile! "Say that Buckman called, that he was having a heart attack. They'll find Buckman in this room, and it explains everything."

Pietro gave a tut of approval. "You're a genius, Drew."

"No, I'm just smarter than you are. That doesn't make me a genius."

"Thanks." Pietro opened another file. "Oh. Wow."

Lance, supremely uninterested, decided to make an effort and grunted, "What is it?"

"It's a plan for action in case of the eventual economic demise of the United States of America. Thing is, from what it says in here – I'm only halfway down the document – it seems like they're… planning on this economic demise."

"Copy that entire folder," Drew commanded. What she meant this time was: Screw the safety of our operatives and what I just said. If I pull this off I'm going to get a promotion. Goodbye, cubicle, hello corner office! "Scan that and get the hell out of there."

"All right, we got it already. I'm sorry the computer isn't as fast as I am."

Lance didn't bother mentioning the alternate, less flattering side of that statement. Drew, after all, was a woman, and it was impolite to say such things in the presence (well, whatever) of women. Not that Rogue or Tabby seemed to mind. Mystique would've minded his double entendres, but Mystique seemed to mind everything. For some reason evil manipulative supervillains were always really uptight.

"My God, how long is this going to take? This computer sucks."

"Whack it," Lance suggested.

"Alvers, remind me to suggest that you take a S.H.I.E.L.D.-standard computer science course," Drew sighed.

"Whack it," Lance repeated.

"What the hell. Sorry, boss." Pietro whacked the hard drive. "What do you know, it's going faster now. I never knew that actually worked."

"Neither did I. But whacking the computer always made me feel better."

"Enough with the drivel," droned Drew. "Focus."

"We are focused, but we can't really help it if the computer isn't, can we? I mean, it's not like I can get in there and process all the files for it. Stop giving us –"

Pietro would never identify whatever it was she was giving the two: at that moment they heard a door slam down the corridor.

Lance muttered a choice word that would not have been wise to say on live TV.

"What is it?" Drew asked.

"Someone's here," Pietro whispered.

"Well, hide!"

A man stood in the hallway. Lance's eyes met his and both stiffened.

"A bit too late for that," mumbled Pietro.

Drew wasn't happy. "Shit."

"Who are you?" asked the man. He wasn't wearing a suit like the other patrons of the Club. In fact, he seemed to be in full uniform. A guard, probably. Hadn't done his job very well so far. "Why are you here?"

Pietro obviously didn't know what to say so Lance took a chance and replied, "Cleaning."

"You're not part of the cleaning crew."

"Take him out," said Drew. "Permission to use lethal force."

Lance ruminated that this poor bastard in front of them didn't know that an official from his elected government had just ordered his elimination. Life was full of its little ironies.

"Listen, we're part of the new crew…" The man took a few steps backward and Lance stopped. "Hey, what're you doing?"

The guard said nothing.

"Oh Christ," breathed Lance. "Pie, he's getting the alarm!"

There was a streak of beige and white and the man fell to the floor. He groaned, and Pietro kicked him in the face for good measure.

The alarm sounded.

"This sucks," Lance mused.

"I know, Einstein. And stop calling me Pie. It's the most embarrassing nickname on Earth."

"If you would stop flirting," huffed Drew, "I'd love it if you could get your asses out of there."

"All right, all right – oh sweet mother of God."

A door down the hall had burst open, and Lance stepped into the corridor to see what was going on. A team of new guards was standing in their path, and boy were they pissed off. Lance could tell. The raised guns were sort of a giveaway.

"Freeze and identify yourselves," barked the tallest of the men. Lance noticed that he was carrying a shotgun. The same type of shotgun as that idiot kid in Argentina had used. Lance hoped this one wouldn't end up three inches in front of his face. "I said freeze and identify yourselves!"

"Oh, shut up!" Lance growled, and he sent a light shockwave through the ground. The men were thrown off balance and tumbled to the ground. "Let's go, Pie!"

"Will you stop calling me that?" Pietro shot back as they turned to run for the exit.

And found themselves thrown on their asses right promptly.

"Oh my God," Lance said.

"They've got a freaking werewolf!" Pietro shrieked. God was conspicuously silent. "Jesus Christ, don't you think that's taking the Gothic thing a little overboard?"

"Werewolf" was indeed the most accurate term for what stood before them. A very pissed off werewolf in a tuxedo, but still a werewolf.

"Oh shit," Lance realized. "Fury said they had mutants."

Pietro scrambled to his feet, countering, "He didn't say they had mythical creatures!"

The wolf-in-the-tuxedo observed them, a speckle of drool dripping from its mouth. Lance glanced over his shoulder at the door. "Pietro, the guards are getting up. If you can handle them I'll get to work on this werewolf. Deal?"

"You got it!" cried Pietro, all too eager to avoid the high class beast.

"Did you say werewolf?" asked Drew. "Huh, so Von Roehm is there…"

"You know this thing?" Lance asked incredulously. "Forget it, I don't want to know!"

The tall guard picked up his shotgun.

"Pietro, now!"

The guards aimed, but that was as far as they got. In half a second Pietro had drawn his pistol and fired three perfect shots. Each of the guards dropped as the bullet pierced their skull, and Lance couldn't help but notice that Pietro was much neater at killing people carrying shotguns than he was.

Von Roehm roared, and Lance sent another shockwave, this time in the lycanthrope's direction. The werewolf faltered, but it did not fall.

Lance grabbed his gun and pointed it at the creature, which seemed to recognize the weapon for what it was. "Pietro, go get the shotgun, 'cause what I'm about to do is really going to piss this thing off!"

Lance shot the thing right between the eyes, and it howled. He didn't pause before shooting it again, but it was thrashing about and he missed the head, so this time he went for the heart. It shuddered, and his bullet probably ended up in the lung, but it was good enough – or so he thought.

The werewolf growled and began to charge the still-sitting Lance.

"Oh shut up."

Lance ducked to the ground as Pietro discharged a shotgun round into the werewolf's snout.

There was a thump and Lance heard no more growling.

"Huh," Pietro said. "Who knew? Apparently werewolves don't respond well to shotguns."

Lance grimaced as he got to his feet, his pants now blood-stained. "Ugh, that's sick. Werewolf brain. Let's get out of here before they set a dragon on us."

Pietro went to open the door, but it wasn't moving.

"Oh," said Pietro.

"What?"

"They've got this whole joint on lockdown. We're gonna need to find another way out."

"Motherfu–"

A bullet whizzed by his head and Lance dived around the corner.

Only to find an angry hulk of a man glaring down at his face.

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