Men in dark suits and body armor swarmed the quaint cul-de-sac, shiny combat boots smacking against the pavement as they moved into position. Children peered from behind blinds and curtain, at least until their parents pulled them away, at the figures whose faces were obscured by the frightening gas masks. Their equipment was marked with a simplistic lighthouse, contained in a sphere with its beam shining across the dark, turbulent waters. Looking slightly inadequate amongst the heavily armed, ominous agents who had arrived in fortified vehicles that were treads and a cannon barrel short of being tanks, were a pair of beat cops beside their squad car. They were positioned in front of a house that bore no obvious differences from its neighbors aside from the black ring now encircling it.
Amongst the threateningly garbed strike force was a broad woman boasting ruby red curls loosely contained by a black scrunchy. She wore a dark pantsuit and shiny obsidian loafers that clicked against the ground as she approached the police officers. There was a green cast to their pallor and she wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell of vomit that invaded her nostrils. Shoving down her own bile at the rotten stench, she demanded, in a rougher tone than she intended, "Which of you called us in?"
"That'd be me. Who are you?" retorted the elder and less obviously shaken of the pair, still defending his territory.
In a practiced motion, she drew the ID from within her jacket and presented it to him, "Agent Sherri Caldwell. I'm with Lighthouse. Now would you care to explain why you called in an entire strike team for what appears to be a simple extraction?"
"This is a pretty quiet beat," he shrugged, obviously reluctant. "About an hour ago, a neighbor called in what they thought sounded like a domestic dispute. We came over and checked it out, but nobody answered. We heard yelling, so we entered, and then-"
The door was suddenly thrown open and a dark-haired man stormed from the two-story structure, whitened knuckles clenched about a wiry child who bawled and reached for the house with a blood caked hand. A tempest raged across the man's face while a flood poured from the boy's, tears and mucus running together and soaking his carrier's shirt. All watched the spectacle as the man reached the end of the walk and savagely cast the youth into the street, revealing the crimson stains on both their clothes. Guns rattled at the howl of the boy who clutched at his newly skinned elbow and began to crawl towards his father who yelled, "There! There you go. Take the monster and toss him in the biggest hole you got. Go on. Take him."
"Daddy! No!" shrieked his son, scrambling to his feet.
The man stepped back, drawing up his fist and causing the youth to flinch before the redheaded agent interceded, introducing herself in an attempt to prevent the situation from escalating.
"Sir, I'm Agent Caldwell of the Lighthouse Agency."
He glared at her, lowering his fist as he seethed, "I don't really care who the fuck you are, just get that . . . that thing out of here."
"I'm sorry! Daddy, please! I'm sorry!" cried the boy from behind the agent. The black-garbed strike team withdrew from their positions, congregating in the front of the house. Agent Caldwell regarded the child with glimmering, forest green eyes and light brown hair that rose in tiny tufts all over his head. She looked back to the man in front of her and accused, "This is your son."
Folding his arms over his chest, he scoffed, "Not anymore."
"I'll be a good boy! I promise! Please!"
Signaling for the nearest member of the team to approach, she instructed, "Try to calm him down. I'm going to work out things on this end."
"Yes, ma'am," he nodded before kneeling next to the boy and sliding his mask up. He offered a reassuring smile at the boy who wiped at his nose, smearing the bodily fluids across his face, "Hey, kiddo. The grown-ups need to have a little chat. How about you come and check out our trucks, huh? I bet we have some armor that'll fit you like a glove."
Mute aside from the occasional sob and hiccup, the child could only nod, but the armored man's smile grew regardless as he returned the gesture, "Awesome. Here, follow me."
He guided the boy, a gloved hand gently resting on his shoulder. As the interval between father and constantly backwards glancing son grew, the former heaved an immense sigh, his tension abandoning him. He pinched the bridge of his nose as fatigue and sorrow claimed dominion of his expression. Giving him a moment to collect himself, Agent Caldwell then requested, "Can you explain to me what happened here?"
Running a hand through his mid-length hair, he drew a breath in through his nose and began, "Yeah, I . . . sure. My wife is – was a Promethean. Basic super strength. I knew this before we even started dating. And when we did start she'd sometimes, you know, forget how strong she is, and I'd end up with the occasional bruise or dislocated shoulder. Little things. And it wasn't a big deal. But that . . . kid. He pulled a damn tree out of the ground, and I mean a full tree, to play fetch with a dog. He doesn't have a fucking clue as to how strong he is. And when he – when he -"
He broke off for a moment, struggling with his next words as his anger bubbled forth, a buffer against the rising anguish. Finally, he snarled, "That freak killed her. He killed my Darcy! So get rid of it. Lock it away or whatever it is you do with the other things you catch. Just get it away from me."
Fighting to keep her own voice level as his comment sparked her fury, Agent Caldwell ground out, "You can't just abandon your son like that over this accident. I know that you're angry now, but -"
"'Accident?'" he snapped, "You want to call this an accident? Like some fender bender? A fucking baseball through the window?"
"I misspoke," she acknowledged begrudgingly, "But that doesn't change -"
Again he interrupted her, "You're Lighthouse, right? You guys find the dangerous Prometheans and you put them somewhere where they can't hurt others. Well, that thing not only hurt someone – it killed someone. So it's your problem now. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go clean pieces of my wife off the kitchen floor."
Agent Caldwell could offer no further comment but as the man turned and headed back towards, a scream tore through the air from behind them.
"Daddy, wait! Don't weave me!"
They turned to see the boy leap from the truck and begin to race towards his father only for one of the men to grab the child. He paused, his face transforming into a scowl as he roared, "Lemme go!"
Tiny hands made contact with the man's leg and suddenly he was flying through the air, crashing into and through a house before dragging a furrow in the ground and halting. Safeties clicked to 'fire,' but the boy, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring, stomped upon the ground with a single foot, generating a seismic wave that knocked everybody off their feet and set off all the alarms in the neighborhood. Small fingers wrapped about the bumper of the large truck, denting the armor without any apparent effort, and he began to drag it after him as he approached.
"I'm staying wiff daddy," he declared resolutely. "We're going to wake up mommy and pway 'Chutes and Wadders.' So just . . . go away!"
His statement was punctuated by the child hurling the vehicle into the sky where it seemed to take flight before descending back towards the Earth, too far away to be heard. Agent Caldwell collected herself and stood up, holding a hand out to the child, as she soothed him, "Sweetie, you need to settle down. We don't want to hurt you, and we know you didn't mean it, but you hurt somebody."
"It was an accident!" he bellowed, his eyes starting to moisten again. "I said I'm sorry!"
"I know, I know, sweetie," she said, inching towards him, "I know you didn't mean to, but that's why you have to come with us. We're going to help you so that you don't have anymore accidents. All right?"
"But I wanna stay wiff daddy," he whined, tears starting to roll down his cheeks. Close enough to him now, she dabbed at them with her sleeve and then stroked his head, slowly calming him.
"Your daddy isn't feeling too well right now. He's – he's not going to be able to see you for a while," she winced, forcing herself to say it.
His breath hitched and his brow furrowed as he declared loudly, "But I want my daddy!"
There was a soft whistling sound before a trio of darts suddenly buried themselves in the child's neck, causing him to yelp in pain. He reached for them, but his eyes turned cloudy and unfocused as the potent serum was delivered to his system. His stance became uneasy and he began to wobble before he toppled backwards though Agent Caldwell managed to catch him, cradling him in her arms as her glare whipped about to the only member still perched in a tree.
"Wyatts!" she barked, "I was calming him down."
"Different vantage points, boss," he answered over the comm., his voice dispassionate as he lowered his weapon.
There was a sudden slam and they glanced to see the door of the house was now closed. Agent Caldwell scowled and handed the boy to one of the other agents before rising to her feet. She glared at the door with an intensity that could have set it aflame before sighing and directing the team to pile in to the two remaining trucks. She grumbled, "Let's get the boy back to HQ. I really don't want to be in confined quarters when he wakes up from his nap."
Hope you all enjoyed this. Tugged at the heartstrings a little bit.
Our characters. Don't use.
Please review.