You have to demand a place in the world, my parents tell me. They tell me how lucky I am. How good I have it. How many opportunities I have if only I study, work hard, and demand a place; because I have a right to one. They tell me this as they labor. They struggle to make ends meet; juggling a mortgage, two jobs, overtime. Somehow they still find time to tell me I can make it; that they believe in me. We choose what we do with the life we're given, they say, and if anyone says you don't belong, you let them know you do. You show them. You demand your place.
-Jaime Reyes
Progress: 64 percent. Assessing Female and male subjects. Female: possesses weapon.
"Remember me?" the male spoke.
Lead projectiles: potentially hazardous in present state. Do not allow deployment.
"Sorry about this. But you scared a lot of people with that stunt you pulled. I really do want to help you."
Male: possesses weapon. Plasma projectiles: non-lethal. Still hazardous in present state. Do not allow deployment.
"Hear you're from Texas."
Progress- Texas?
"Live in El Paso long?"
El paso. Literal translation: the passage. Geographic translation: Texas-Mexican border. Symbolic translation: home.
"Your name's Jamie, right?"
Why could no one ever get it right? Was it really that hard? Every new school year. Every new teacher. What was it they'd say? Remember. Do you remember before? Priority: remain on task. Progress: 66 percent.
Just a sec. What was it ... it's right there. The memory. You can almost reach it. El Paso. What did it mean? Literal translation- No! Not that. The other thing. Symbolic translation. That was it. ... Home.
Who is that woman? That guy? You remember him. He looks familiar. But from where? El Paso.
"Jamie Reyes?"
That's what they'd say. The teachers would call, Jamie Reyes? Paco would be snorting at your rotten luck. Brenda would give you a sympathetic eye roll. And you- what would you say? It's right there. You feel your mouth forming the word; it remembers the shape.
"It's Himay," you say.
That's right. Now you remember. Jaime Reyes. Symbolic translation: name.
Peacemaker frowned, then realized the boy was correcting his pronunciation. "Right. Jaime. In Spanish the J's said like a H, right?"
A single nod. It was heavy with all the dejected tiredness of a soldier fresh from the battlefield. Peacemaker let the silence worm its way into the kid. Silence barrier was broken. Time to let the kid spill his guts. But the boy hung silent, expressionless and dazed. Peacemaker could feel the boy's gaze focus on him. Molten gold eyes met his. Where the whites of his eyes should have been was amber in color, and his irises were a glowing yellow. It screamed alien origins if Hollywood was anything to go by. His head jerked, as though catching something familiar in the back of his mind.
The boy's voice was hoarse as he spoke. "You're that soldier." Peacemaker offered a nod in return. Anger boiled over the innate apathy. Jaime pulled against the restraints. "Is this your idea of help, you sick psicópata!" The boy thrashed.
"Like I said," Peacemaker calmed, "sorry it had ta happen that way."
"Sorry? You have any idea what they've been doing to me?" His voice cracked. "Where am I? What do you want?"
Peacemaker idly scrolled through the file on the tablet.
"You can't keep me here," Jaime said, "When my parents find out-"
"Yes, your family," Peacemaker noted and began reading from the file. "Father Alberto; mechanic. Mother, Bianca; nurse. Younger sister, Milagro; first grade. I bet you miss them." Jaime's emotions were clear this time. His golden eyes went wide in hurt. "I bet you want to go home. We want that too. We want you to get home, Jaime. But you need to help us do that. You need to tell us what you know. Think you can do that? For your mom and dad? For your sister?"
For a split second, Peacemaker had trouble remembering why this kid was shackled from the ceiling. He looked so ... lost.
"I didn't mean to hurt that cop," the boy said. "I just-" His eyes slammed shut and his chin dropped to his chest. Jaime swallowed a few times. "When can I get a lawyer?"
Peacemaker almost laughed. "You don't."
"Why not? And who are you anyway? Don't you have to tell me who you are? Show some ID or something?"
Kids today. Watch a few pop-culture crime shows and think they're certifiable experts on criminal law. But it was best not to wall him off. Had to keep him talking.
"Name's Peacemaker," he answered.
The boy stared at him. "Isn't that kinda an oxymoron?"
"What'd ya just call me?"
Jaime's eyes widened and he leaned back. "I just meant you can't really make peace."
"Oh, I beg ta differ."
"So ... are you army?"
"We're an organization."
"We?"
"We focus on cases like you."
"What kind of case am I?" the boy asked.
"Don't play cute," Peacemaker said. Time to get aggressive. The kid was dancing around the issue. "The super-freaky-weapon cases," he went on. "While we're on the subject, you want to tell me what you were doing in the middle of El Paso dressed like that?"
"I live there-"
"Get the suit from there too?"
"What? No-"
"From across the border?"
"No-"
"Are you the only one?"
"Only one of what-"
"How many are there? Who's in charge?"
"No one-"
"Who you working with? Where'd you get it?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Jaime shouted. "I'm not part of a conspiracy or terrorist-whatever. The last thing that happened ... this police car's chasing me. And- and- and I was just scared so I ran. I know it was wrong and stupid. I keep having these ... ideas. Like what the freaking vibrational frequency is for human organs. And something called Ohm's law. And the oxidation of graphene alloy and it just won't stop! And then I'm like knocked out — thanks for that — and wake up in an episode of Guantanamo Bay's Top Ten Geneva Convention Violations. So believe me when I say I am the last person who knows what's going on!"
Jaime had plowed through, barely taking a breath and his chest heaved. "My idea of breaking the law is cutting through my neighbor's yard to get to the bus stop," the boy went on. "So I'd appreciate it if you'd stop treating me like a terrorist. I didn't fight you. I gave up. Doesn't that mean anything?"
The tablet in Peacemaker's hand let out a soft ding at a notification. He ignored it. The kid sounded sincere. Peacemaker almost believed him. "Okay, Mr. Cooperative," he said. "Take off the suit."
"The what?"
"The exoskeleton. The armor. Take it off."
Jaime looked down at himself. He shook his head.
"You want me ta start treating you like a kid from Texas," Peacemaker said, "start looking like one."
Ding! went the tablet.
"What's ... what am I wearing?"
"You tell me. You can start by tellin' me where you got it."
"I don't know."
"Who made it? Who gave it to you?"
"I already told you I don't know!"
"You want me ta believe it was a happy coincidence you got your hands on an experimental weapon?"
Another ding from the tablet.
"Well you can have it," Jaime said. "I just want this thing off of me."
"That's great kid, because we want it off."
"Who's we?"
"So how's it done?" Peacemaker asked.
"Who are you?"
"There a special code you gotta use?"
"I'm not saying anything else until I see a badge or something."
"There some sort of trick to it?"
As he talked, Peacemaker circled around the prisoner. The exoskeleton was the deep ebony of space. There was a rear external generator of some kind mounted on his back, about the size of a bookbag. The armor ended at the boy's lips. The boy's teeth and pink gums could be seen when he spoke. Peacemaker wasn't sure how the suit managed that. An adhesive maybe? It clung like a skin to Jaime's body.
Peacemaker evaluated the exoskeleton. It was sleek. Aerodynamic. Meant for speed; stealth; striking hard and fast. Not for heavy-duty warfare; more like a special forces unit. Off the top of his head, Peacemaker knew a dozen countries and criminal masterminds that could design something like that. And a legion of organizations that would buy it. But a garage? In Texas? And a kid? They had to fit somehow.
Peacemaker came to a stop in front of Jaime, staring right into those molten amber eyes. "What's your game, kid? What were you doing in El Paso? What's your mission?"
"I already told you I don't-" a pause. "Mission?" The boy's eyes dropped and he shook his head again.
Peacemaker cocked an eyebrow. "What aren't you telling me? Come on, Jaime. This will go better for you if you tell me now."
"Shut up," he whispered.
"'Scuse me?"
"I don't have any directive. I just want to go home." He looked back up. "I didn't want to hurt anyone."
"Just like you didn't want to hurt your father? Or Luis Rivas?" A complete shot in the dark. Peacemaker had no idea what had happened inside the garage. But the boy's eyes went wide, telling all. Peacemaker almost felt guilty.
A ding sounded. Peacemaker tucked the tablet under his arm annoyed. This was crucial. He was slowly pulling the rug out from under the boy. Couldn't let a distraction interrupt.
"I was trying to-" Jaime began, then tried again. "Luis pulled a gun- I didn't mean to hurt him," he stammered.
"But you wanted to."
"No- I mean yeah, but-"
"And you didn't just hurt him. You killed him."
"What? No!"
"Or didn't you mean that either?"
"He's not- dead?" Jaime's breath shallowed. "I- I didn't mean-" He squeezed his eyes shut. "This is a nightmare."
Time to reel him in. He was scared. Peacemaker made his final play by dangling understanding in front of him. The safety of being understood, connected was what this kid needed. "People are hurt," Peacemaker said. "This is already out of your control. But it's not too late. I believe you, Jaime. You're a good person. Someone's using you. They're playing you. Your dad got hurt. Luis. Those police. Who's next?" He stepped closer to make sure he had the boy's full focus. "You don't owe this person anything. Look what they did to you. Your family. Your life. Let me help you. Tell me, Jaime, who gave you the armor?"
"No one," the boy said. "I don't know what it is."
Peacemaker stifled a growl. This kid was not going to break easily. Peacemaker cracked his neck one way, then the other. Calm approach wasn't working. Time to amp it up.
Progress: 90 percent.
The man who called himself Peacemaker — still an oxymoron in Jaime's opinion — popped his neck. Twice. Jaime shuddered. He hated it when people did that. The tablet under Peacemaker's arm kept making this annoying sound every so often but the soldier never checked to see what the message was. The device did it again.
Ding!
"I don't know what you're playing at," the man rumbled. Gone was the soothing tone. His voice echoed with the dangerous power of thunder. Peacemaker's face morphed into a hard, unsympathetic surface. The room seemed to grow darker, shrinking around them. Jaime felt his heartbeat pulsing through each and every vein. Peacemaker's blue eyes suddenly seemed deep and dangerous, as though Jaime perched at the edge of a well staring down into the bottomless depths of the cold earth.
"I'm tryin' ta be nice," the soldier said. "Be on your side." His hand shot out and latched around Jaime's throat. "You're not givin' me a lot ta work with."
Threat detected.
Threat? The guy was trying to strangle him!
Priority: remain on task.
How about remain breathing!
Progress: 92 percent. Remain on task.
"You know what's good for ya," Peacemaker said, "you'll answer."
"Suéltame," Jaime gagged. "Get off!"
The soldier spoke slowly, giving time and weight to each syllable. "Who are you working with?" He leaned closer. "Jarvis? Luthor? Who?"
"No one-"
"Who!" The grip tightened.
Respiration restricted.
No kidding!
Diverting all power to main task. Progress: 93 percent. 94. 95.
That burned- ow. Ow. Ay! Glowing lines swelled over his body, tracing his outer thighs and arms. It felt like a thousand tiny knives carving along his limbs.
At the glowing, Peacemaker leapt back, drawing his weapon to defend himself.
96.
"Knock it off," Peacemaker barked, aiming at Jaime's chest. "Warning you."
97.
Peacemaker fired. An amethyst bolt of plasma struck Jaime over the heart once, twice. It stung like carpet burn.
98.
Then, electricity surged through his body. Jaime's muscles locked. He tried to scream but his lungs were petrified. At least he thought they were. But he could hear himself swearing.
The charge disappeared. His body sagged, aching as every muscle cramped.
"So that's what the button does," a woman said. Jaime had forgotten she was even there, standing silent by the door. Her hand came off a red button. She watched Jaime with narrowed eyes, almost daring him to try again.
"That was level one," she said. "Don't know what you were doing, but try it again, I'll skip to level five."
Jaime panted. The shock felt like it had scrambled his brains. What was he doing again? The task. What task? Oxidation. Graphene. Had to keep weakening the gauntlets.
Ding!
All eyes went to the tablet on the floor. Peacemaker had dropped it when he pulled his weapon. Plasma gun still in hand, Peacemaker scooped up the device. Jaime glanced up at the gauntlets.
Progress: 98 percent.
Órale. He didn't want to get electrocuted again.
Peacemaker navigated the screen and paused as he scanned the notification. His face went pale.
Does he know? Jaime wondered.
Peacemaker's gaze darted up and the two locked eyes. Whatever that thing said, it certainly wasn't "A-okay" judging from his expression.
He knew. Ahora. Get free now!
Progress: 98 percent.
"Bordeaux!" Peacemaker warned.
98, 100. Same thing. Jaime grit his teeth. Mustering all his strength, he heaved his arms towards his center. The gauntlets groaned, then gave, shredding away from the middle in corroded shards of rust. Jaime dropped to the ground. He wrenched his legs free just as the woman named Bordeaux slammed her fist on the red button again. Electric sparks exploded from the broken cables, cascading across the floor.
Several purple plasma slugs pegged Jaime's side. He grabbed the still sparking cable and thrust it at the soldier. Peacemaker dodged but Jaime followed. The crackling cable connected with Peacemaker's middle. He yelled, falling to the floor in a heap of limbs.
A kick caught him in the back and Jaime went flying forward. He hit the ground on his hands and knees. Bordeaux's foot descended like an ax and he collapsed, breath knocked out of him.
She pounced, knee planting in his spine. He tried to roll her off, still choking for breath. His arm was twisted behind his back and something cold and rigid pressed against his temple.
Gun.
Jaime froze. His brain buzzed with counter maneuvers, half of which he didn't understand. His mind screamed at him to move, to act, to fight. But the presence of the weapon kept him as he was. Which was absurd because the probability of death-
Jaime could guess the probability of his brains splattering against the wall. There was a freaking gun pointed at his head!
"Don't move," Bordeaux spoke. She didn't need to say "or else." That was clear from the increased pressure of the gun. She shifted, trying to reach something at her side. A second weapon? Another tranquilizer? A phone to summon help?
Whatever it was, he had to act now. Now!
But the gun-
Forget the weapon. She couldn't use it if she was dead. Sixty million volts had been transferred to him from the shock. He could easily deal it back. One hundred milliamps was sufficient to induce ventricular fibrillation of the heart.
Kill her? The thought felt like little bubbles swelling in his cranium. The pressure built in his skull. Why shouldn't he?
Peacemaker's words echoed over the headache, I believe you, Jaime. You're a good person.
Jaime clenched his fists. Good people just didn't go around killing. Even if someone had a gun to his head. That meant no ventricultaion or whatever it was. On the other hand, who was he to oppose the forces of karma?
"What goes around," Jaime grunted. His skin crackled as electricity lit into Bordeaux. A non-lethal current, but the result was effective. The shock blasted Bordeaux across the room. She slammed into the metal plated wall and slumped to the floor.
Jaime scrambled to his feet. Peacemaker lay on the ground behind him; Bordeaux to his left. Neither moved.
"This looks bad," he muttered. And it didn't just look bad. He had assaulted two army soldiers. That was like attacking the whole United States. That was like ... treason. He was going to jail for treason. No. Federal prison. He just had wanted to get away. Instead he attacked the good guys.
"Bad," Jaime groaned. "So bad." And it got worse. An alarm sounded; a wailing blare that made his eardrums want to split. Any moment now some squad of crack commandos would come barging in and make him wish he was never born.
But something else happened first. The mechanical arms popped out of their seamless ceiling compartments. There were four of them on all sides; each brandished familiar weapons; a syringe, a serrated blade. He felt sick. The world seemed to tip up at the edges, folding over him. His breath came shallow.
He was not letting those things touch him again. Not even an option. So ...
"Do something," he told himself. Jaime spun, trying to keep an eye on all four arms at once. "Que hago?" The answer came immediately.
Fight. Escape.
Loose Spanish translation as taken in context:
ahora - now
órale - hurry up
psicópata - psycho
que hago - what do I do
suéltame - let go of me