Hello everyone! Welcome to a new chapter of Overwatch: Rise of the Successor! First off, allow me to apologize for the huge delay. The usual happened: Sickness, lack of inspiration, esteem problems, school came back. Anyways, what's important is that I'm back!
Now, I'll answer some of your questions. A lot of you have said that the hoodie kid's name is Brian, instead of Jackson, and his little brother's is Chris instead of Albert. To clear things up, I simply came up with these names because I couldn't find any reliable source, and even the Wiki says that Brian's little brother is named Timmy instead of Chris. So before I just jump to conclusions, I'll wait for Blizzard's confirmation. I apologize to all that feel upset about this, but there isn't exactly a canon name for them. Be assured, though, that once we get confirmation, I'll edit the names properly!
Secondly, comes shipping. Some of you requested me to ship him with Tracer or Alejandra. I apologize to all who feel sad about this, but I'd rather not ship Tracer with Jackson/Brian. Their age gap is too big for my comfort (15-26), and it makes me go just… no. As for Alejandra, well I don't see how she'd come in, though it sounds more comfortable for me.
Well, there's that. Hope you all enjoy the chapter!
...
Jackson grinned to himself as his hands worked fervently on the device before him; Greased, scratched and even burned, yet still vigorous in their task. Sometimes, he had to admit that, even if it could be unbearably difficult or just plainly frustrating, engineering (Or tinkering, if he were to be modest.) made him feel like a blacksmith of sorts. Specially when he managed to do something correctly; And much to his surprise, he was on a streak of luck for the past couple of days. It felt as if everything was going his way.
A few days had passed since he took down the trio that had tormented him and Brian since they started High School. They had been arrested, and even if he didn't like to jump to conclusions, the lack of action on behalf of their parents (Who could easily bail them as they were prominent figures in major corporations.) did sound a bit suspicious, especially after he discovered their involvement with Baltimore's fearsome mafia, the Kings. Nonetheless, Jackson was rather impressed by how the public reacted to his actions: Most of the people in the city sounded plenty grateful despite him defending an Omnic, given that he had managed to defeat members of a gang thought to be unbeatable even by the law, whereas the police was surprisingly vague when mentioning the masked stranger with the gauntlet.
On the other hand, however, the inspiration coming from that small victory was more than enough fuel for his creative mind, and the boy wasted no time in transforming his motivation in hard work. He researched multiple designs and mechanisms, mostly pistons and pneumatic machinery, and even borrowed a few books from the city library on advanced robotics and engineering to aid in his quest for improvements. Video-games played a big role in the design choice, as expected of a teenager, and Jackson stuck to the concept of a 'power fist': A gauntlet which propelled a steel ram forward when the user threw a punch, making the strikes hit harder and even deadly.
Granted, Jackson was still a teenager, and one with time limitations at that. Not only had he had to deal with managing his time in the basement throughout the afternoons and nights, but he also suffered from the bruises he obtained when fighting Ian and his peers. Hiding them was no problem, as he constantly wore long sleeved clothing, yet coping with the pain when moving his arms was almost unbearable, even if the darkened spots had healed greatly.
Jackson shook his head suddenly, yanking his hand out of the way as the blue flames from the welding torch he held nearly caught his finger. He groaned at himself, lifting his father's old and rusting welding helmet to take a breather. "C'mon, almost there…" The boy muttered, throwing the helmet back down as he continued to mend the last parts of his creation. It wasn't easy, but after painstakingly long days of engineering, testing, planning and researching, he was almost there. Just a few more welds and the ram's support will be fixated on the fi-
Before he could even finish his thoughts, the door to the basement slammed open, making him jump back and let out an unmanly shriek of surprise. The welding tool slipped out of his grasp, falling to the ground together with a couple of unused scraps of metal, their clanking assaulting his ears for a moment. Desperation took over his actions, and Jackson threw the helmet off as quickly as he could, the gloves in his hands soon following as he dusted his shirt, slightly blackened by the labor involved in his crafting.
"Bro?" A soft voice came from above, obviously belonging to Albert. Jackson wasn't relieved by that, however, and hurried for his gauntlet. He hissed as his hand made contact with the still red hot area, the weapon joining the other tools on the floor with a duller 'clank'. Albert's footsteps were heard, and he came into view in the blink of an eye. "What are you doing with dad's stuf-"
The boy interrupted himself instantaneously as his curious eyes landed on the crudely-designed yet rather intricate gauntlet laying on the floor. There was no hesitation: Albert came running down the remainder of the stairs at lightning speed, his face brightening at the sight. Jackson tried to awkwardly kick his creation under the table, yet it was already seen, and his brother simply reached down for it, luckily avoiding the overheated spots as he inspected it. "Bro! This is so cool! I knew it!" He pointed a finger at the taller boy, a grin playing on his lips. "You did listen to what Tracer told you!"
"What?!" Jackson exclaimed, trying to feign indignation, yet to no avail. "I didn't- I don't- That's not- Gah!" He groaned, burying his face in his hands for a moment. "That's not what you-"
"Of course it is, Jack!" Albert cut him off, holding the gauntlet in one hand with some difficulty as it was heavier now that the ram had been added in. "Look at this! You're becoming the next Doomfist! Does it work?" The little boy inspected his brother for a moment, noticing the bruises on his arms. "Aw man, you even got battle scars! Wait, you…" A pause, and somehow his face got even brighter than before with sheer enthusiasm. "You were that guy on the news! The one who beat those Kings gangsters!"
"Okay, okay, okay, I kind of am that guy, alright?" Jackson finally blurted out, holding his hands in front of him as to stop his brother's fit of excitement. There was no use in denying it, after all. Since when was Albert so quick at linking the dots, though? "I just… decided to mess around with the basement, and Dad happened to have a lot of spare stuff… so, well, here it is, I guess."
"So awesome!" Albert pumped his fist in the air, still struggling to hold the gauntlet with his other arm. "I can't believe my big bro is a hero!" He carefully set the weapon on the table, rushing towards Jackson and wrapping his small arms around him in a tight hug. Jackson didn't recoil, much to his little brother's surprise, but rather allowed a warm smile to form on his lips as he ruffled the other's hair playfully. "I knew that you listened to Tracer." He wiggled himself out of Jack's grasp, beaming up at him. "So, when are you going to save the world? Join the Overwatch? Kick evil's butt with Tracer and Winston and Reinhardt and Mer-"
Jackson held his hand up finally, somehow effectively managing to get his brother to pull the brakes. As much as he loved the little guy, he did wish that, at certain moments, he had some sort of on/off button. Silence settled for a moment, and he crouched to collect the scattered tools, arranging them on the table again as his mind whirred for a way to explain everything to his little brother. In all honesty, Jackson was just relieved that it wasn't his mother who found out about his secret ambitions. "Just… let me explain, okay?"
Albert nodded rapidly, holding his hands together and rocking on the balls of his feet, his grin still plastered to his face. Jackson took a deep breath, and stretched his arms out, as if to buy time to come up with a way to properly describe to his brother what happened. "I don't know what really happened in me, but… I guess the whole thing in the Museum got me inspired, you know?" He pointed to the gauntlet, and then to all the spare parts piled up in crates inside the basement. "And, well, we have all this stuff, and I kind took after the idea of Doomfist… well, I didn't quite want to copy him, as I can't level skyscrapers, but you get the idea. So, here I, kind of am."
Why can't I explain things like a normal person...
"You should become the next Doomfist, bro!" The little boy enthused, pumping his fist in the air again. He then ran around his brother, grabbing the weapon with little care as the heated metal had cooled down some. "So, does it work?"
"Sort of." Said Jackson, through his gritted teeth as he snatched the gauntlet back and placed it on the table. His eyes ran over the newly added component, noticing that the welded part was cooling off. A sigh escaped his mouth, and he collected the welding helmet and the gloves, putting them back on as Albert watched him with mouth-gaping awe. Even if he was a bit frustrated at his progress being halted in the last stretch, Jack could never bring himself to be fully angry at his brother, as impossibly energetic as he may be, given by how he was already smiling. "Just let me complete it, and I'll show it to you."
Only a mere moment went by, with Jackson only having to alert his brother to not stare directly at the flames as he finished connecting the ram's support to the top part of the fist. He then lifted the helmet once he had finished his work, a sigh of relief leaving his mouth as he stared down at the gauntlet, joy and accomplishment flooding his senses. Then again, it wasn't the prettiest thing ever: It was still crude, as one of the supports were lower than the others, yet he had to make do with what his father's part supply had to offer. The ram itself was an unused block of metal, pressed against the base of the piston as it wasn't triggered; As for the mechanism itself, it was formed by a small set of wires connecting to both the piston and a button located at the fist's palm. He was lucky that the instrument still had its systems, and was surprisingly adaptable to the wires, despite the actual programming and the fixation of the ram taking way longer than he expected.
Done inspecting it, Jackson held the weapon up, finally acknowledging the increase in weight as it was considerably harder to lift. Albert let out a 'wow', his eyes widening at his big brother's creation. "Well, I guess it's done." His little brother started to jump in place as Jack put the gauntlet on his right hand, moving and flexing his fingers some to adjust them properly. His thumb searched briefly for the activation mechanism of the device, a small button planted on the top part of his middle finger, requiring some effort to push it so that it wouldn't trigger the ram at the lightest of touches.
"C'mon, bro! Try it out!" Albert urged, pumping his small fists in the air before throwing a few mock punches himself, his face contorting with a childish expression of determination.
Jackson took a moment before attending to his brother's request, looking around the room for a suitable target. As much as he cared for the integrity of his house… the wall did seem like a good candidate. He walked up to the more easily accessible one, seeing that most of the room was littered with boxes and piles of spare parts, and rose his fist, prompting Albert to let out an 'ooh' of anticipation. His stomach froze with nervousness and he closed his eyes, finally throwing the punch, his thumb pressing down hard on the button. A loud impact was heard, the piston's sound being muffled by it, and Jackson's arm came to a full stop, prompting him to jump back with a gasp, eyes shot wide open as he gazed at what the results:
He had managed to punch out a chunk of cement from the wall. The dislodged piece fell hard on the floor, shattering into smaller pieces, leaving behind a head-sized dent on the wall.
Jackson gulped. Albert let out a squeak of mixed surprise and awe.
Perhaps he had set the ram speed configurations a bit too high.
"Wow!" He exclaimed, jumping in place despite the destruction before his eyes. "That was so cool! You're like, the new Doomfist, up and coming!"
Jackson clenched his teeth, desperation washing over him as he crouched next to the pieces of cement on the floor. His eyes flicked back and forth between the damaged wall and the decimated structure, heart beating like a wardrum in his chest. What is Mom going to do to me?! What is Dadgoing to do to me?! Oh my God, Oh my God… His mind raced with the infinite possibilities, yet Albert wasn't done, musing out loud about a myriad of Doomfist 'ideas' and 'similar alter-egos', creating an ambiance of pure chaos for him. He stood up, tuning his brother out, and touched the hole, whipping his head in every direction to look for something to cover it up.
Albert continued to drone on, carelessly devising plans and names and even battles against the so-called evils of the world, not even minding the older boy as he hurried around the room, hauling boxes and crates across the room and precariously piling them next to the damaged wall. He only stopped once the hole had been covered up, albeit not very discreetly, but it'd do. Jackson then kicked the pieces of broken cement under the table, letting out a sigh of relief as the problem had been solved… partially, at least.
"...So when are you going to kick bad guy butt full-time?" Albert asked right when Jackson started to pay attention to him again, earning a confused look from his older brother.
"What do you mean?" Jackson threw the question back, raising an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction.
"I mean, well, heroes don't exactly take breaks, you know." He snapped his fingers, trying to think of better wording to convey his point. "Like, I know you were working on your gauntlet and all, and there was school, but, I dunno, heroes gotta always be there for the people, right?"
Jackson opened his mouth, believing to have the answer right away, yet nothing came: His brother's question hit him like a warhammer, foiling all and any argument he had to come back. Albert was right. He had gone and decided to be a hero, yet so far he has only saved a single Omnic, and has remained in the dark for a whole week. Since Ian and his peers had been defeated, the Baltimore Kings had become more aggressive, carrying out lightning robberies and sparking gang wars whenever they could. The city wasn't exactly in a state of anarchy, yet the rise in criminality was worrying for all the citizens, seeing that the police could barely hold their onslaught back. His head lowered some, a look of guilt in his blue eyes.
"O-of course, I'm not saying you need to go and take down the Kings alone, but now that I know that you're the gauntlet guy who saved the robot's shop, I just thought that, you know, maybe you could, well, help the city?" Albert's eyes shined with expectation, the small boy holding both his hands in front of him as if pledging Jackson to let him get more cookies from the house's kitchen. "You got this super cool gauntlet, and, well, you defeated three guys alone!" Suddenly, he was filled with his youthful energy again, pumping his fist in the air. "Now that you've added the ram thingy, I'm sure you could kick their butts even better than before! As Tracer said, 'The world could always use more heroes'! This could be your chance!"
Despite the guilt weighing down on his conscience, Jackson couldn't hold back the small smile forming on his lips. Surely, he had failed to help the city in a time of need, but not all was lost. There was still a chance. It wouldn't be easy to get over the feelings, certainly, but Jack understood that while his negligence lead to a rise in the city's violence, he had the resources and the power to fix the situation. "Yeah… I'm sure it is."
"Ah, bro, don't look so down!" Albert ran to his side, patting the taller boy on the back. "Not every hero has a smooth start. Like, look at that reaaaaally old hero, from the comic books that dad and our grandad used to read. What was his name again…" Another pause, and another fit of snapping fingers. "Spider-Man! Yeah, the guy in the red and blue suit which crawled walls and shot webs. He thought he could use his powers to make money, but that made his uncle die!" Jackson's eyes shot wide with terror, and Albert recoiled, noticing how terribly his example had backfired. "W-w-well, I mean, I just wanted to say that heroes don't have easy starts and have to fix some stuff at the beginning."
"Oh, good, I get it." Jackson replied, nodding and breathing in relief. He closed his eyes and stretched his arms, hearing the joints 'pop' some, then going to crack his knuckles. Once he was done relaxing, he glanced at Albert, a more comfortable look in his eyes. "Well, buddy, thanks for the advice. I think I'm ready to take on the responsibilities now. But now that you know..." He lowered his voice tone some, looking around as if someone was eavesdropping on them. "Just don't tell Mom, right? Or Dad. They'll have my hide if they find out."
"You know you can trust me, bro!" Enthused the small boy, fist-bumping his brother. He let out a fit of giggles, and Jackson chuckled. "My brother's gonna be a real hero now!"
…
Blatant lies.
Jackson wasn't ready for the responsibilities.
Or at least he thought so.
It was already 11:30PM. Jackson was sitting on his bed, arms hugging his legs as he lightly rocked back and forth, eyes staring blankly at his wardrobe. Once again, guilt had come to haunt him. After his brother had reminded him of Baltimore's skyrocketing crime rates since the mysterious gauntlet-wielding vigilante took down three members of the Kings, he spent a good part of the night searching about the facts. Indeed, the situation was miserable. The police could do even less than they already tried to keep the gangsters at bay, and it was estimated that there were at least 10 homicides during the last week, and numerous robberies.
Just the mere thought of deaths happening made him shiver some. Baltimore wasn't the safest city in the world, as the Kings' presence was solid since the disbanding of Overwatch, but the events of the last couple of days were majorly concerning. And in a way, it could all be blamed on him. He was no one man army or hero, though he did have the power to stop at least a good amount of the incidents… which he didn't, for he was focusing in his own self. What sort of half-assed hero am I to let all this happen… I should've done something…
Before yet another wave of guilt could wash over him, a part of him asked him to stop. Albert's words played in his mind once more. "Not every hero has a smooth start." As hard as it was to accept it, he couldn't throw all the blame on himself. And even then, the situation wasn't all but lost; He could still 'redeem' himself. He could still learn from his negligence. Jackson was still young, but if he sought the path of a hero, he'd have to take in the responsibilities that came with being one. And quitting because of a mistake wasn't what heroes did, as far as he was concerned. If he was to call himself a hero, then he wouldn't allow such mere things to drag him down.
Even with all the determination, he couldn't help but feel the weight being dropped on his shoulders. It wasn't the easiest decision, without a doubt. He was a 15 year old teenager, taking the mantle of a legendary lineage of both a hero and a villain, fueled by the fires of inspiration to go and do something worthwhile with his life; Even if said something was extremely dangerous. Needless to say, it was a ton of matters to take into his own hands, but something drove him on. Despite the doubt and the hesitation and the fears raining down on him, he felt an urge, a force moving him forward. What it was, he couldn't know, but it made him feel even more alive.
Shakily getting out of bed, his hands curled into fists as he swallowed the lump in his throat, fighting back the negative feelings welling up inside of him. There was no time to mull about spilt milk. Not when he had even more resources to swing back at the Kings. Using every ounce of his mental fortitude to instill a more confident mindset, he opened the curtains on his window some, peering out at the moonlit Baltimore skyline some. He heaved a deep breath, focusing his mind on what to do at the moment.
Perhaps deciding what course of action to take at first would be key. He whipped his head to the back, his computer coming into view. Jackson was quick to sit down and boot it up, the gears of his mind whirring with thought as to what exactly search on the internet… the BPD website! They always have important information and warnings for civilians, so he should find something useful there. As soon as the computer had booted up, he quickly accessed the browser, using the search engine to access the city's police department's site.
Not a minute into searching and he found an announcement: 'Areas and Buildings to Avoid/Be Wary Of'. An article detailing several spots in the city rumored to house Kings' hideouts or be high activity regions, so the citizens would steer away from them. His brows furrowed as he scrolled through the locations, most being far too shady for him to even consider. However, one of them caught his eye. A warehouse near the city's docks, from the looks of it. Compared to the other options, this one appeared to be the 'easier' way to go.
That is, if easy was even an option when it came to raiding gang hideouts.
Without thinking much on it, he stood up again, taking one last look at the screen to type the address on his phone. The GPS quickly projected a trajectory… and well, it was pretty far away from his house. Far enough for him to have to grab public transport to actually reach it in time. Humming as he weighed his options, his face brightened some as an idea came to mind. He grabbed his school backpack, removing all of his material and replacing it with his 'gear': His bandana, his goggles, and lastly, his gauntlet. It barely fit, though it was nothing that a few adjustments wouldn't fix.
Next, he dressed up in the same clothes he wore when he had set out to save the Omnic's shop, a pang of pride washing him as the memories of his small achievement played in his head. Jackson had no idea if people would think of him as the vigilante on the streets because of the attire… but the possibilities sounded pretty thin. Finally, he snatched his keys from the desk and grabbed some money from his wallet - enough to pay him a bus ride to the warehouse and back - , shoving them in his pockets.
Jackson breathed deeply, a familiar feeling of both fear and exhilaration growing inside of him. He walked towards the door, but there was a moment of hesitation; After all, he was going to try and 'make a difference' through the means of infiltrating a gang hideout. Not exactly the easiest task, but his moral compass saw it as fitting in order to make him feel better about himself, as borderline suicidal as the idea was. Even then, it wasn't like he was completely helpless, for he had his upgraded gauntlet, capable of punching small holes in walls, and, well, his rather flimsy-but-still-holding-up-fine confidence.
Opening the bedroom's door with care to not wake up anyone in his house, he set out on this new, self-imposed adventure.
…
Jackson questioned himself as he held onto one of the bus' many handles, his body swaying some as it took a sharp turn: How much of a trashy hero did one have to be to use public transport? All the heroes that he had seen or read about, including the agents of the late Overwatch, owned some sort of vehicle or possessed powers and gadgets that made travelling a cakewalk. But him? The half-assed successor of Doomfist, riding a bus to purge evil. He sighed. Well, perhaps this was one of the cons of being a trashy hero.
Much to his luck, the bus arrived quite quickly at the stop, and it was sparsely populated: A couple at the front, a father with his child next to him, and a tired office employee in the back, fast asleep despite the rocky trip. Jackson was already on his feet, noticing that his stop was closeby, and peered around carefully, in search of suspicious behavior. Seeing that a good half of the bus drivers were Omnics, busses often became targets of vandalism or robberies, especially this late in the night. Thankfully, none of the citizens around him looked shady or ready to pull out a weapon, so he could be at ease for now.
As it drew closer and closer to the stop, Jackson's eyes wandered some, abandoning the dimly lit streets of Baltimore's harbor area, and focusing on the father and the girl next to him. The adult's gaze met his, and he smiled gently, nodding his head as if to wish him a good evening, and Jackson awkwardly did the same. The child, a girl of blonde hair styled in childish ponytails, let her mouth fall agape as she looked at the older boy, squeezing her father's hand some. Panic started to well up in Jack's chest, for he guessed she had identified him through his hoodie.
Much to his relief, Lady Luck was nicer to him today, and the bus came to a sudden halt, almost robbing the pair of their balance. He took advantage of that, quickly leaving the vehicle as soon as the doors slid open, hands trembling with tension.
Though he feared for the safety of his identity, curiosity took over him, and he glanced over his shoulder. His blue eyes met with the girl's brown orbs, and they seemed to shine with enthusiasm as she gleefully threw a light punch in the air, nodding her head before the doors closed and the bus was moving again. Jackson gulped. Was he that careless? He did remember having every piece of his trashy attire on when he helped the Omnic's shop, and it would be impossible for someone to guess his alter-ego just through his hoodie…
He shook his head, the concerns flooding his mind being suppressed some. Now was not the time to ponder about a child's assimilation capabilities, and rather focus on the task at hand. Just as he focused on the environment around him, tension crashed down like a hammer. Silence reigned supreme, only broken by the odd hum of a distant engine and the muffled sounds of the factories, and no soul could be spotted. With tension came fear, and he quickly set to finding the warehouse, wanting out of the street's terrifying atmosphere as soon as possible.
While it wasn't the wisest thing to do in a deserted and dark street at midnight, he took out his phone, using once again the GPS for guidance. The warehouse he sought wasn't far away, a mere five minute walk that felt like a century-long march considering how eerie the air in this district was. His legs felt like they were made out of lead and his hands shook some once he had arrived by the building's entrance, eyes scouring over it for possible entries. He realized that the main door was out of question, so he reluctantly delved into a neighboring alley, his body becoming shrouded in darkness.
Not a second in the alley and he noticed a service access door, lightly lit by a yellow light, and stopped immediately. Well, there was his way in. Jackson fought against the nervousness as he crouched and set his bag down, taking out all of its contents and putting them on immediately. First, the bandana, the gloves, then the goggles, next came the hood, and finally, the gauntlet. He flexed his fingers in it to get comfortable, and just to make sure, he pressed the ram button a few times, satisfied to see that his mechanism still worked, albeit a bit crudely.
Now that he was geared up, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, glancing at the door behind the goggles. A wave of hesitation washed over him, yet something made him press on, realizing that it was futile to turn back now. He breathed deeply, approaching the door and opening it slowly. Its hinges, obviously aged, protested, the creaking sounds echoing through the large interior eerily. Jackson instinctively ducked his head, crouching and moving in fast, only turning back to close the door carefully.
As dark as the warehouse was, he could still make out the silhouettes of the long abandoned piles of crates and other wares, and even the Carrier-Omnics that had fallen into disuse. The air stank of old things, and just from the small slivers of moonlight that creeped in, he could see tiny particles of dust floating in the air, as if not a single soul had walked in here for centuries. Jackson's skin crawled: If he had thought that the silence outside was terrifying enough, inside it was much more prominent, becoming almost deafening.
Once again, he inhaled deeply, summoning some more courage to press on. He resorted to walk straight up, as crouching tired his legs, and no one was around to detect him. His eyes squinted some, trying to detect something in the penumbra, feet carrying him carefully through the aisles as to not bump into anything. Sadly for him, he did; Or rather, his foot got stuck into something, making him release a gasp as he was robbed of his balance, falling flat on his side.
His heart pounded fiercely in his chest at the fright, yet, aside from the pain, he hadn't landed on anything noisy. Jackson grunted, moving his feet around some in a failed attempt to free it from whatever it had gotten stuck in. Desperation started to grow as he budged his leg, yet nothing fruitful came of it. His eyes shot wide, frantically glancing around, only stopping as he had noticed what might have stuck his foot. Some sort of fissure in the ground. His panicking ceased some, and he puffed, now taking a careful look at the supposed crack in the ground.
Jackson's eyebrows raised in surprise as he identified what it was. A trap door! As confusing as the discovery was, he tried to make sense out of the fissure, hands trying to reach for some sort of button around, along with his eyes. The darkness made it certainly hard, yet he managed to spot a small button sitting by the corners of the large metallic door. He reached for it with his gauntlet arm, sticking his tongue out as it was just a bit out of his reach, only managing to press the button due to the fist's bulkier fingers.
A gasp left his throat again as the doors slid open, producing minimal noise yet allowing a strong orange light to flood part of the aisle he was in. There wasn't much to be seen from this angle, aside from the flight of stairs certainly leading somewhere more interesting. His leg was free, however, and he was left staring in awe at the secret passage that had just been revealed. Real clever of the Kings, he had to admit. An abandoned warehouse with a secret underground hideout was the perfect spot to set up a small base of operations.
Or so he thought.
Shaking most of the concerns out of his mind, he threw himself down onto the stairs, cringing some as his landing created quite a lot of noise. He stood up, glancing at the grey corridor that stretched for a short distance before making a small turn to the left, decorated with multiple orange wall lights. Jackson checked his equipment for a moment - his gauntlet was still firmly around his right hand, and none of his clothing had been torn by the door - before moving on, slow steps taken with extreme caution.
Just as he was reaching the tight turn made by the corridor, he could hear some distant conversation, prompting him to freeze for a second before pressing himself against the wall.
"...was that the trap door opening?" Asked one voice, gruff yet confused.
"Maybe? That old damned thing needs some repairs, but the boss says we don't gotta 'waste our funds' on it." Another answered, sounding more annoyed as he crudely imitated the supposed 'boss's voice. "Go close it already."
"What?! Me? Why is it always me?" The gruff one questioned, if not a bit scared, from what Jackson could tell. "I always get the scariest jobs, man-"
"You're scared?" The other replied, laughing. A punch was heard, and a quick 'ow' followed. "C'mon, man. It's nothing. Just the door."
"Ugh…" The deeper voice groaned, his tone failing him some. "Alright, alright… we're Kings after all…"
Despite the rather interesting exchange between the two (Supposed) guards, footsteps soon came within his earshot, and he tensed up. One of them was actually coming for him. Or the door, at least. Anyways, he prepared his gauntlet, closing his hand into a fist and pressing his back even more against the wall. The footsteps grew louder and louder. His heart beat faster and faster. A drip of sweat came down his face. Even time seemed to slow down as tension rose within him.
And then it came.
Lead by instinct, Jackson threw himself out of cover, his arm being wildly throw forward. All he could see was the guard's frightful expression as the gauntlet connected to his left cheek, the boy's finger pressing the button just in time. The ram was propelled forward as intended, and the result was astounding: The intensity of the punch knocked the man out cold, his body crashing against the wall before limply falling to the floor. Jackson's eyes went wide. What on Earth was that ram made of?!
"Carl? Carl, what was that sound?" The supposedly remaining guard questioned, his footsteps too growing closer to Jackson's position. "Dammit, Carl! Now's not the time to pull revenge pranks on me!"
Jackson runned towards the other corner, as the corridor seemed to take yet another turn, and waited. The guard was coming straight for him, albeit at a faster pace than the other. He thought of repeating the same process as before, though he'd aim for an uppercut this time.
However, the second the other guard showed up, he panicked. The man wielded a powerful-looking assault rifle, dressed in rather sophisticated clothes with the Kings' red colors. They exchanged looks for a moment, and both of them sprung into action. Jackson's arm swung in an uppercut motion, yet the man went for a rifle bash. Much to the boy's luck, his fist connected with his opponent's chin first, though the butt of his rifle hit him straight in the shoulder. Jackson let out a pained grunt as the man was lifted into the air for a split second, only to join his partner in the ground.
Once the adrenaline died out, Jackson couldn't help but lower himself some, the pain emanating from the hit spot on his shoulder being a bit too much to bear. That'd leave a bruise. A nasty one. He made a mental note to be more careful depending on what else this hideout had to offer, yet silence had settled again, no other King having been alerted of the small skirmish had between the intruder and two guards. Even with all the pain, Jack took a moment to breathe in. He had just managed to punch out two guards. Granted, it was because of his gauntlet's ridiculous power, but it was still an impressive feat.
Ignoring the awful ache that lessened frustratingly slow in his shoulder, he carried on, moving slowly to avoid any further detection. The corridor continued to make tight turns left and right, enough to leave him slightly disoriented. Jackson had to admit that, even if this was a Kings' lair, it was pretty well done. The walls eventually became decorated with red stripes, as a way to signal the gang's ownership of the place, and they subtly ended at a door at the end of the corridor. Jackson stopped dead on his tracks. That certainly lead to a more populated part of the hideout. A lump formed in his throat, yet he pressed on, crouching some to prevent any of the other gangsters from noticing him from the small windows on the door.
Once he had walked up to the door, he stood up some, his eyes peering out at the scene behind the door. It was… intimidating, so to say. The guards up front were nothing compared to what they had in there. Guns, bullet proof vests, even custom-made suits, crates filled with military-grade equipment… almost a whole panoply of war. Something to rival even the city's SWAT teams. Hell, it was enough to go toe to toe with Army, if he were to exaggerate.
He lowered himself, eyes wide with terror as realization struck him like a hammer. Just what did he get himself into? Beating up young adults with baseball bats was easy enough, but that? That was pure insanity. There was no way he was going to get past this many gangsters. Not without becoming a human swiss cheese. God forbid. The mere thought made him shiver.
He wanted to get up and run away, but something kept him planted in place. That same feeling of determination and otherworldly motivation that made him overcome his guilt (At least partially.) and leave his house in this self-imposed quest. Something that made him stay and not leave before the job was done. He inhaled shakily, and peeped back into the room. Well… maybe they weren't so well trained? They were only gangsters, and none of them seemed to be alert. If he were to open the door slowly, and creep behind the containers on the righ-
Before he could even complete his thoughts, one of the air ventilation grates fell flat from the ceiling, landing rather comically on the head of a passing guard. The man stumbled some, holding his head, and Jackson felt the urge to laugh… until three small rockets emerged from the air vent, exploding into the ground and throwing the gangster and some of his allies away in a ball of smoke and fire. Jackson himself recoiled, covering his ears because of how loud the explosion was, and felt the doors quake with the explosion. What the hell was that?!
Almost as if on cue to answer his question, a figure dropped from the vent, an advanced rifle in hands. He landed (Or Jackson assumed it was a he, though the build confirmed his doubts.) with impossible grace, apparently not bothered by the height of the fall. Not a second went by and the mysterious newcomer sprung into action, aiming his rifle at a poor stunned gangster. A single blue-colored blast came out of it, and the bandit was down, his other friends following as the man unloaded precise bursts on whoever dared to aim their own weapon at him.
That same sensation of determination surged inside of Jackson again, and out of pure adrenaline, he decided to make his entrance among the chaos, opening the door abruptly. The man that had just joined the scene seemed to still be busy with the other criminals, seeing that he fearlessly advanced on the Kings cowering behind the ammo boxes. Jackson looked around, his ears mercilessly assaulted by the sounds of the vigilante's rifle and his eyes tortured by the show of red and orange caused by the explosion.
Not daring to go and 'join' the newcomer, Jackson whipped his head to the side, spotting a rather cowardly King shakily pointing his own rifle at the man gunning down his partners. The boy was quick: He ran up to the gangster, who only acknowledged his presence when it was too late. Fear filled Jackson's heart as he saw the muzzle of the gun being quickly pointed at him, but Lady Luck seemed to be extra pleased with him today, and his punch connected first. The King's body became a ragdoll, the gun landing on his chest without firing a round. God, this is getting too dangerous already…
"N-n-none of you move!" Said a King, apparently the only remaining one as the pulse-rifle-armed vigilante was done finishing off the remaining gangsters. Jackson whipped his head in the other direction, spotting a tremendously frightened criminal standing by the corner of the room, switching the target of his revolver between the teenager and the much older newcomer, hands visibly shaking at the sight.
Jackson himself froze, the mere sight of the gun's barrel pointed in his direction being more than enough to keep him in place. He might've been crazy enough to (Partially, so far.) raid a gangster hideout filled with top-notch guns and equipment, but he wasn't crazy enough to charge and punch a guy with a revolver. Well, he was crazy enough to do that twice with guys with guns, but he had the element of surprise by his side.
Much to his surprise, however, the other vigilante didn't seem intimidated nor pleased with the gangster's threat. Even with all the tension boiling inside of him, Jackson cast a glance at him: An obviously stocky man, dressed in a jacket with a dashing '76' emblazoned on the back. His hair was white, contradicting his rather youthful agility and strength displayed. He slowly turned his head towards the taunting criminal, until he looked at both him and the teenager in the back of the room. His eyes were concealed by a glaring red visor, and his face, by a mask, though Jackson could spot a large and nasty scar coming from within the mask vertically. A guttural groan came from the vigilante's mouth, and he turned around, his eyebrows furrowing and creating an expression of inhuman hatred combined with the visor's angry stare.
The gangster trembled like a leaf, and even if Jackson could feel him reading a shot, he hesitated, noticing that the '76' vigilante aimed his rifle at him. A single pulse round was fired, shooting the revolver out of the man's hand, earning a pathetic gasp from him. 76's advance was more animalistic now, his brows somehow furrowing even more, and he held his rifle with one hand while the other closed into a tight fist, groans coming from his mask as a sign of the criminal's doom.
Jackson gulped, and his stomach froze.
Now that was someone he'd never think of messing with.
"Hey, isn't that the 76 guy that the UN is looking for?!" Echoed a question from an adjacent corridor, its doors still closed. 76's attention was taken for a moment, seeing how he whipped his head in the direction of the corridor, quickly grabbing his rifle with both hands to dispatch them. "Yeah, it's him, boys! Get his head, clean the mess, and we'll be rich! Haha!"
Laughter reverberated for a moment, and 76 suddenly ducked for cover behind one of the numerous ammo crates spread through the room that hadn't been ruined by the initial explosion. The boy was left staring confusedly at the scene, finally tearing his eyes off of the terrified gangster, leaning in some to try and peek at the corridor at a distance. His heart stopped for a moment: Another gangster, a huge and well-armored man, advanced slowly through the other corridor leading deeper into the bowels of the hideout with an intimidating weapon in his hands. The last thing Jackson knew before he too ran for cover was a hail of bullets coming from the machine gun, one so constant and utterly destructive that there was no shadow of doubt that whoever crossed the criminal's path would become an actual human swiss cheese.
Jackson's eyes went back to the revolver-wielding gangster, noticing that the man scrambled around the floor for his gun. It wasn't that far away from his reach, but the sheer fear instilled within him made it hard to get a good grasp around the handle. As dangerous as it was, the teenager decided to take advantage of that. He ignored the deafening sounds of the machine gun going off just next room, clenching his teeth as he raised his arm son, gauntlet ready to strike. However, it seemed that Lady Luck had grown bored with favoring him now, and the criminal finally got a firm hold of his weapon, whipping his body around with blinding speed. The boy's eyes widened as he caught sight of the gun's barrel so close to his face,
Soldier 76 was faster, much to his luck. The vigilante fired a carefully aimed pulse round at the man's hand, ripping a scream from him as he errantly fired a bullet into the ceiling. A deafening ringing robbed Jackson of his hearing, and swung his arm wildly, a dry yet muffled thud confirming his hit on the revolver-wielding gangster. Even if he saw the man fall limply to the floor, barely holding on to his conscience, the hellish ringing assaulting his ears didn't cease, prompting him to grasp the sides of his hair and close his eyes for a moment.
Soon enough, the roar of that one machine gun came back to his attention, and he finally opened his eyes. Noticing that the bullets spewed from that mad gangster now shredded the floor instead of the opposite wall, he jumped, pressing himself against the same wall that 76 took cover. The old vigilante groaned loudly, trying to get a few bullets in himself, but the rain of death was constant enough to destroy his own rifle.
"Gah, get off my lawn, you young punk!" He shouted angrily, his eyebrows arching at such an angle that the glare given by his visor became almost demonic. The intensity of his voice was such that he felt a wave of cold fear wash over him, yet his stubborn attitude spoke louder, making him remain glued to the wall.
In the interval of their one-sided exchange, the madman with the machine gun - no, scratch that, a minigun - had advanced enough through the corridor to be able to gun them down, seeing that the flash of the fearsome weapon could be seen and its roar was much louder now. "Get out of there, you cowards! You're all dead! Dead!" He laughed, confident in his advance, yet Jackson could see that, despite 76's displeasure, he nodded in his direction, as if implying something. "Get out, get out, wherever you ar-"
The gangster was interrupted the second he crossed the doorway into the storage room, courtesy of the old vigilante's rather brutal rifle stock strike, one that made a wet 'whack!' echo through the room. Suddenly, the minigun's hail of death stopped, and Jackson's eyes shot wide as he saw the giant frame of the criminal falling flat in his direction. He swung from right to left at him, hitting the barely conscious man on the back of the head, yet saving himself from certain death by crushing as he fell on his side.
His eyes met with 76's immediately, and more screams were heard, further down the next hallway. Despite his good work, the older man still didn't seem pleased with the teenager's presence. "What're you looking at?! If you want to stick around, then move it!"
He did as he was told, a shiver running down his pine at 76's demand. The old man went up front, moving with such agility and energy that Jackson wondered if his apparent age even meant anything. Not only that, but he was merciless; Whichever King that dared confront them as they walked through the narrow halls were met with pulse rounds or firm rifle stock strikes, ones so brutal that he could hear the wet whacks from where he stood. If there was any hint of doubt that this old guy was not to be trifled with at this point, it had all been obliterated at that exact moment.
"Punk, get into cover already!" Came 76's voice, smashing through his thoughts and bringing him back to the real world with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. He blinked, and the sight before him made him freeze: In his train of ponderation, he had blinded himself from reality, and now he stood before yet another room filled heavily armed Kings. Before they could open fire, Jackson felt something enveloping him, its weight throwing him to the side. There was a terrible burning sensation coming from his arm, but none of the bullets seemed to hit him.
When he opened his eyes, he caught sight of 76 standing over him, blindly firing at the bandits over the myriad of cabinets and boxes he had thrown them behind. Jackson would mutter words of gratitude, yet a sudden and overwhelming pain washed over his body, making him grunt and hug the affected area, his arm. He summoned enough courage to glance at whatever happened to it, and the sight wasn't pretty: A bullet graze, leaving a horrible red cut on his skin, having torn through the fabric of his cloth and flesh alike. Jackson let out a yelp of terror, pushing his back against the boxes.
76 grunted at him, and he fished quickly through his belt, fixating a small cylindrical object on the floor. Jackson stopped his wailing for a moment as he watched it spring into action, projecting a curious circle of soothing yellow light around him. Much to his surprise, whatever the device had cast around him seemed to close his wounds, and even cure him of the shoulder pain he was feeling. "Just stay in it to stabilize yourself… and once you're done, get up and fight! Flank around them, go!"
Jackson went into a shaky crouching position behind their piece of cover, moving alongside it as 76 had ordered him, face marked with utter shock. Just what had he gotten himself into?! There was no time to think, bullets wheezing above, adrenaline driving him further despite the obvious danger of the situation. He threw a glance back at 76, and the old man made a gesture with his hand for him to go on before firing at the gangsters again.
Truth be told, 76 was correct about the flanking part. The criminals didn't seem to have covered this part of the room, giving him easy access to the rows of cover they had set up out of either paranoia or sheer laziness. He moved as slowly as he could, taking a stop as he reached the other barricade and peered at it. One of the Kings was there, crouched, and he readied himself to attack… though, the second the man decided to try and land a hit on the vigilante, he was instead hit straight on the chest by a pulse round, limply falling over.
Jackson's stomach did a backflip at the sight, though the adrenaline made him pull through it, instead leading him to keep sneaking behind their lines.
As scary as this 76 guy was, the teenager couldn't deny that he was ridiculously good at fighting crime.
He was once again yanked out of his thoughts as a door directly to his right - one he hadn't noticed before - opened, revealing a King with quite the mean-looking pistol in his hand. Jackson went wide-eyed, his heart jumping on his chest, and threw a desperate punch at the criminal. Despite the jumpiness of his strike, it was successful at disarming the criminal, though not without him firing a bullet that flew dangerously close to his head. The teenager went for another hit, yet the hook missed completely as the man ducked, grinning madly once his hands reached for a knife, and laughed as he gave a firm thrust with it.
Jackson didn't know how he did it, but his normal hand grasped the man's wrist just as he felt the knife's sharp tip poking at his stomach with a small pang of pain. The King seemed surprised with the quick reaction, yet he pressed on, applying so much strength that their limbs quivered. The boy grunted, applying every ounce of his own strength to fight back, his right arm trying to move into position for a punch. He noticed the criminal's eyes switching from the knife to the gauntlet, expression eerily unchanging as he tried to block the incoming strike… but to no avail.
The teenager was filled with guilt as the punch finally connected, dealing massive damage to the criminal's hand as he recoiled in pain. Of course, he wouldn't apologize, but he had visibly restrained himself from attacking further. "Gotcha, kid!" Exclaimed the man, an insane look in his eyes as he struggled to lunge at the boy. Jackson jumped back in panic, avoiding the strike just by a hair, and replied with another hook, this one more successful as it landed dead on the thug's head, sending him to the floor limply.
Jackson didn't have time to breathe, as yet another thug - this one looking rather battered, though still rather confident with a machete in hands - lunged at him, arms wrapping around his form as they both fell to the ground. "No escape now, boy!" He announced as he pressed all of his weight against the teenager, holding his machete with both hands. Jackson panicked, raising his gauntlet arm as a desperate shield, feeling the machete penetrating through some of the gaps but being unable to go any further. The criminal groaned, frustrated, and wasted no time in sending a powerful punch at his face, hitting him straight in the temple.
The boy's world darkened for a moment, small black spots emerging at the corners of his eyes. His head bobbed from side to side limply, and the pain coming from his temple became screamingly unbearable. Even as he felt unconsciousness fighting to take over him, he noticed the King laughing as he raised the machete above his head, ready to claim his life. Suddenly, however, a red-gloved hand emerged, grabbing the criminal by the neck before smashing him face first on the floor.
"Coward." 76 stated angrily, prompting Jackson to weakly roll onto his side to watch the scene, eyes widening some as the old man gave the thug one last stomp, rendering the man unconscious. Despite his hazy state, the teenager could hear the vigilante groaning rather inhumanely as he stood straight up, turning to the boy with an outstretched hand which he took rather feebly.
Once he was back on his feet, albeit a tad shakily, the boy was met with quite the sight. All of the Kings who had dared to open fire at them were downed, some obviously beaten, others simply shot. The surprisingly bloodless carnage around him made him feel light on the head, and he stumbled back, the thug's punch still affecting him somehow. He exchanged a brief glance with 76, and the vigilante seemed to want to say something, only to be interrupted by a distant, muffled voice.
"...you idiots! I said, protect me against the damned Soldier whatever the hell that number was!" The voice belonged to a man, a frightened one at that, and it seemed to come from an specific room, obviously close to the one they stood in. Both intruders glanced in the direction, and the old man was quick to run up to it, gesturing for his unlikely companion to follow him. He pressed his back to the wall next to the door, prompting Jackson to do the same, and stood outside of his cover for a moment, accurately shooting off the hinges. "You useless mongrels! Do something! He's going to get in here!"
76 groaned, sticking his head out of the cover to stare at the door once again. Even if the hinges had been damaged, the door was still quite heavy-looking, and it wouldn't go down with a shoulder bash. Not only that, but kicking it down would leave them open to enemy fire… but the old man seemed to have come up with an idea, his concealed eyes analysing the teenager's gauntlet for a moment. "If you're still sticking around… follow to my plan."
All that Jackson could do was nod, the sheer fact that he had been addressed by this scary Soldier 76 and the persistent pain coming from the punch he had received made him a bit dizzy, to say the least, but he was recovering. "Punch the door, and I'll cover you. Hit the deck immediately."
His eyes went wide, fear welling up in his innards like a flood. Was he really supposed to be the one who goes first? Sure, they had been seemingly scared out of their minds by the absolute ass-handling performed by 76, though… it didn't mean that he wouldn't be gunned down the second that door was blasted off its frame. "B-but they'd-"
"I said, I'll coveryou." 76's gloved hands reached for the waist utility belt he wore, touching what looked like an extra version of those healing canisters from earlier on. Jackson didn't feel any less scared, but gulped; He had gotten himself in this situation, so now it was time to play along. "Play along. I don't plan on having a wounded kid on my watch. And I won't have one." The vigilante heaved a sigh, as if painfully admitting something to himself. "All I need, is your trust.
Despite the odd reassurance given by the ruthless vigilante, the young boy was still shaken by the urgency in his voice, and preferred not to argue with him. He inhaled a deep breath, reliving some of his dizziness, and stepped in front of the door; Not without taking a few steps back beforehand. He'd need to charge to bring the thing down, wouldn't he? Just as he started to take some distance for his move, Soldier 76 moved behind him; In a stance that told him that he was ready to move in as well. The old man made a gesture with his head, and Jackson knew that he was about to do the craziest thing he had ever done in his entire life.
Allowing that one feeling of courage and determination take over, he stepped quickly towards the door, arm raised and ready to punch the door. There was a moment of hesitation just as he was to strike, but it didn't seem to matter; Something hit against his foot, robbing him of his balance and making him fall forwards, his gauntlet hitting the door at full force. There was a feeling of weightlessness before he fell on the door like a ragdoll, the structure having been blasted out of the frame and serving as a painful 'cushion' for his pathetic fall. Bullets soon started to pour around him, and he quickly crawled into a fetal position as one luckily ricocheted against his gauntlet, leaving a sizable dent engraved on it. Pain shot up as the metal caved in some, making him press himself against the floor even more.
Time appeared to slow down around him as he spotted 76's frame diving directly above him, the red visor glancing down at the boy, a hand moving quickly to press a button at its side. The vigilante rolled, bullets narrowly missing him and the teenager, though the second he was back on his feet, a large holographic slate appeared before the visor. For a moment, everything seemed to stop. "I've got you in my sights."
What played through Jackson's eyes felt surreal: Within a second, 76 fired impossibly accurate bursts at the certain dozen of criminals aiming at him - some even perched on catwalks leading to other areas of the hideout - , every pulse round hitting their target and dropping them like fries. There was a beat, and all that they could hear was the pained moans of the Kings before they all dropped dead, a deafening silence falling on the room like a mute hammer.
Jackson was left slack-jawed at the old man's astounding accuracy, not minding the pains coming from his body from his fall. However, as deadly as 76's surprise attack was, one man was still left alive. Without a single defender left, an individual in a suit, oddly dressed compared to his more 'gangsta-styled' comrades, cowered, lowering himself and scrambling around for a gun. 76 grunted, reloading his rifle, only to fire a single round onto the man's hand, earning a shriek and effectively keeping him from fighting back.
Ignoring the little discomforts all across his body, Jackson picked himself from the floor, weakly dusting himself off as he recovered from the fall. So the old man's plan did work… it was still immensely scary. Taking a moment to gather his surroundings, he breathed deeply, eyes scouring around the room. To say the least, this one room was rather curious when compared to the others. Instead of crates of ammunition and weaponry, it bore desks, cabinets full of documents, drawing boards with lists of what to do and what looked like a list of Omnic targets to eliminate in the city; Not only that, but it had flights of metallic stairs leading to the catwalks he had seen earlier, which, despite their oddity, seemed to give access to even more office-like areas.
His examination was rudely interrupted, however, as a wet 'whack' sound similar to 76's rifle stock meeting a bandit's head echoed through the room. The teenager whipped his head in the direction of the noise, only to cringe and feel a pang of empathy for the man in the suit as his face kissed the vigilante's knee. He felt like turning away from the violence, though something caught his attention... was that guy familiar to him?
Driven by his curiosity, Jackson walked closer, trying his best to not mind the beatdown the man in the suit was suffering, courtesy of 76. Eventually, after having delivered a punch to his stomach that robbed the supposed 'leader' of the hideout of his oxygen, the vigilante gave him a small break, and the teenager could see his face more clearly now. There was a moment of realization as he identified what looked familiar, and Jackson nearly recoiled in terror.
W-what? It can't be… He…
Before he could give the beaten criminal an once-over to prove his fears right, 76 crouched next to him, noticing a small brooch stuck to the suit's chest. Even from where he stood, the boy could read it: 'Richard Markison, CEO'. Jackson's heart was filled with dread as he finally recognized the man's name, and face. Richard, CEO of the Markinson Banks… his mom's boss! He had seen the man on several occasions before, and even had a deal of respect for him when he accompanied his mother on her work back when he was much younger. 76 didn't seem to notice that, instead groaning before roughly pressing the defeated businessman against the floor. "Formal attire for such a rat, eh? Scum…"
The teenager was left paralysed as 76 left the man on the floor, too hurt to move or try to fight back, and instead browsed through the piles of documents and plans scattered around the room. Needless to say, Jackson felt betrayed. The man he even looked up to, despite the corruption rumoured to plague banks, was supposedly one of the heads of the gang terrorizing Baltimore. Richard started to groan in pain, rolling on his side a bit, and looked up to the boy standing by him. Startled, Jackson quickly faced away, taking large steps in the opposite direction and feigning interest in a large table plagued with multiple documents spread on its surface. He couldn't afford to let Richard realize it was him, out of all people, who had aided this internationally wanted vigilante foil his whole operation.
While he'd very much like to take a breather, the myriad of papers on the table proved to be greatly interesting, even with the terrible turmoil going on inside his head. Pushing the thoughts away, he grabbed a document at random, sliding it out of its folder before laying his eyes on it. Most of the information was fairly boring, with names and signatures here and there, but the sight of another familiar icon caught his attention. That… was the symbol of that one terrorist organization… Talin, Talan- Talon! The mere thought of the cell made him shiver, memories of the terrible attacks carried out by its members in the past playing in his mind, and he nearly dropped the document, only to have it snatched by 76. The old man seemed to have been gathering quite a lot of documents around the room, telling by the pile of papers held in his left hand, and read the one the teenager had found more carefully.
"Weaponry negotiations with Talon…" He concluded silently, adding the document to his pile without another word. Jackson could only step back and watch as the vigilante rummaged through the other files, collecting a few more. Needless to say, the teenager was absolutely shocked. It was all a lot to take in. The thoughts swirling around in his head were enough to make him feel nauseous, though he tried to maintain a stiff upper lip; He went and put himself in this situation, so the least he could do was deal with the consequences… even if said consequences were terrible discoveries and being shot at multiple times.
Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes, allowing his shoulders to slump forward some. Perhaps it was better to busy his mind with something else, and just sneak out of the place as soon as possible. The first doubt that came to mind was, what were this Soldier 76's intents? He had seen him on the news, of course, though he seemed to attack only major facilities, such as old Overwatch stations. What business did he have with a mere gang hideout in Baltimore? Despite the mystery, this small break from the harsh reality just presented to him was a breath of relief for the young 'hero', and he opened his eyes, watching as the old man grabbed one last folder, instead storing this one inside his jacket.
Now that 76 was distracted, Jackson thought that now would be the best moment to run away… only to realize that there would be no viable exit aside from backtracking all the way to the entrance. He turned around, glancing at the busted doorway, and took a step forward… only to hear the other vigilante clearing his throat.
"I wouldn't go that way if I were you, kid." He said, voice gruff, and Jackson glanced back at him. He had somehow found a roll of duct tape, and was tying Richard's arms and legs, and apparently muting him, telling by the muffled sounds. The teenager froze in place. "Police's going to come." A pause, and he nestled the pile of incriminating evidence in the CEO's arms, making the man's pleas become a tad louder. The vigilante glanced around for a moment, not bothering to pay attention to the now struggling Richard, and eventually pointed towards a dark room that could be reached through the catwalks. "Over there. Move it, kid, c'mon."
Without any other warning, 76 broke into a sprint, and the mere prospect of being left alone in a room full of dead thugs and a bound CEO whom he knew a bit too well was enough to get him moving as well. He did his best to avert his eyes from the corpses, though he couldn't help but to watch Richard from the corner of his eye. How could he…? He could have endangered his mother's life all this time; All that time, the nice 'boss' guy was but a filthy criminal, tangling himself with terrorists and being a big member of the Kings…
Jackson shook his head, pushing the wave of disgust and sorrow back. He was only concerned about his mother, and, well, getting out of here. As he was lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that 76 led him in the room he had pointed out earlier, the old man stopping and gesturing for him to remain close.
Just as they started to traverse what looked like a dimly lit set of maze-like service corridors, Jackson's temple started to ache terribly, result of his adrenaline rush dying ultimately. Not only that, but he was soon reminded of the multiple cuts and bruises on his hands, arms and even his legs, some spots of his clothes having been torn by the one-on-one fights he narrowly survived and some even resembling bullet holes. Not only that, but the clear blue of his hoodie had been stained by dirt and dust, his gauntlet had gotten quite the dent on the side, and his snowboarding goggles bore a small crack where he had been struck by that knife-wielding thug.
Needless to say, he was quite roughed up. At least his bag was… slightly intact.
Exhaustion came quickly, and he couldn't remember a thing about the path taken by 76 as he lazily climbed a set of ladders, ones that miraculously led to the surface after the vigilante removed the lid.
Much to their luck, this supposed sewer access ladder left them in some secluded alleyway, poorly lit by a few industrial lights. Jackson fell like falling to his knees in exhaustion, though he settled with shambling towards the nearest wall, panting profusely. 76 stood there for a moment, listening as the red and blue lights of a police hover-car sped through a nearby street.
As he rested, the memories of what had transpired played in Jackson's mind like a fever dream. Just… what happened? He wanted to officially become a hero by beating bad guys, but instead, he was met with gunfire, bullet grazes, bruises, hesitant cooperation with a ruthless vigilante, and learning a dark truth about his mother's workplace. That thought plagued his mind the most, more than the deadly encounters and the dead thugs. What should he make of it? Telling by how the police was on their way, they'd arrest Richard and whoever survived the onslaught, but… what would happen now?
He couldn't know.
"Hey, kid." Came 76's grizzly voice, the glowing red glare of his visor seeming a bit less intense now. Jackson looked up, nodding to confirm that he had his attention. "...Good job. And stay safe."
Jackson's eyes stared tiredly as the vigilante shared one last look with him before sprinting away, soon disappearing from his sight and leaving him alone in the dark, only the distant sirens of the police making him company. A feeling of odd tranquility washed over him for a moment now that he was on his own, only to be mixed with his doubts and his fears, bringing a sour expression to his face.
Gathering whatever strength was left, he quickly took off his goggles and the tablecloth hiding his face, storing them in his backpack. The gauntlet soon followed, and he pulled the hood back, running a hand through his hair. "That was… something…" He said, tone uncertain, and picked himself off the wall, legs carrying him out of the alley in an exhausted shamble. "Something full of… something…"
It was all too clear that he was too tired to think straight for now. Just as he set foot out of the alley, every joint in his body screamed in protest, and his head felt as if being bombarded infinitely with pain. The boy grunted, inhaling a deep yet shaky breath as he summoned what felt like his last reserve of energy, enough to carry him over to the closest bus stop.
After a bus finally arrived, completely empty, he boarded the vehicle, sitting by one of the many vacant seats. He still couldn't know what to make out of his experience. Part of him knew that he had done good, as the Kings would take a huge blow with the capture of one of their leaders, though the rest of him felt concerned about the amount of danger he had placed himself in… and the painful truth unveiled about Richard.
Resting his head against the window, he watched the empty streets of Baltimore with a somber gaze. Pessimism was quick to come; He had nearly died thrice, involved himself with a internationally hunted man, and uncovered a secret that could bring possible complications to his mother's job. Is being a hero really worth it? He asked himself, feeling a wave of sorrow welling inside of him, tears starting to form at the corner of his eyes. Perhaps it was time to stop. To accept that it was all but a irrational teenager dream…
But there was something inside of him that drove him forward. Something that didn't allow him to give up. Like a little flame, burning defiantly in the blizzard of doubts that was his mind. His hand limply grasped around the handle, as if representing his wish to remain on this path. Was he really ready to throw away the inspiration, the opportunity that brought back the fuel to the engines of his life?
No.
Being a hero required sacrifices. Being a hero involved danger. Being a hero involved becoming seeing the world for what it really was, as rotten and oppressing as it may be. He may not fully comprehend such concepts, though he was learning to cope with them, the discoveries of such obstacles only serving to drive him onwards, to give him the strength necessary to hurdle such adversities.
Now he knew. Even with all the pain, the fear, the crushing truth, he had done good. He had helped Baltimore fight against the cancer that corrupted its core. A small contribution, albeit a meaningful one.
His gaze became more confident, more determined, and he sat up straight, even with all the pains that plagued his body. A future full of hardships awaited him, and he was ready to pursue it with every fiber of his soul.
Now, he knew. He was finally traversing the path of a hero.
…
Phew. Longest chapter I've ever written, I believe. Probably not the best, though. Please, let me know what you think in the reviews! They help me improve and identify that which I need to correct in later chapters so I can give you guys a quality experience.
Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed it! With enough luck, chapter 4 will come on soon.
Till then, stay tuned!
-SteelyThePally