January 5th, 1989
Mason, Texas
He had to admit, the show was shaping up to be pretty good.
From his spot in the back row of the big top seating, Agent Phil Coulson sat munching on a corn dog on a stick and watching the main attraction at Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders. He had been skeptical at first, especially when the first act had been a couple of clowns working with trained monkeys. Idly, Coulson wondered what it was about clowns that made people laugh and be creeped out at the same time.
Maybe SHIELD could look into that, sometime.
But as the show had progressed, the acts had gotten better. Presently, a high-wire act was wrapping up. A stack of three performers, the bottom one riding a unicycle, were presently crossing the wire backward, the top performer holding three sparklers, one in each of her hands and one between her teeth. It was a pretty impressive display of balance. When the group made it to the platform, the top two performers disembarked and the third one flipped off the unicycle and onto the platform with a flourish. The band gave a fanfare and they all took a bow.
"Let's hear it for the Magnificent Malinowskis!" the ringmaster intoned from the center ring as the performers took another bow. The crowd went wild and Coulson focused his attention back on the ringmaster. Or perhaps, he should have called her ring-mistress. The photo he had in his pocket identified her as Marcella Carson, the third-generation and recently-appointed owner of Carson's Carnival. She seemed fairly young, no older than 35 or so.
Marcella continued on to the next act as the high wire troupe climbed down from their perches.
"And now, here to thrill and amaze you," she announced, "one of Carson's Carnival's most unique acts, please welcome the master bowman, the one, the only, the fantastic Trick Shot!"
The crowd cheered again as the tent flap of the stage entrance pulled back and a man who was maybe in his late forties or early fifties walked into the ring, dressed in fringed buckskins and carrying a recurve bow and hip quiver fulls of arrows. Around the perimeter of the ring, stage hands set up several different targets. Coulson's eyes skimmed over them quickly until his eyes settled on one of the stage hands in particular. He, too, matched one of the photos Coulson had, a long-time petty-thief by the name of Simon Lancaster. Word was that he had gotten himself involved in something a little more sinister; the type of thing that got him on SHIELD's Radar.
Coulson put the photos back in his jacket pocket and finished off the last of his corn dog as he watched Trick Shot's act. It wasn't anything terribly ground-breaking. Trick Shot was taking shots that seemed impossible to the crowd, but were still very achievable. He ramped it up somewhat as the act went on to the point where Coulson had to admit he was impressed with the skill, but it still really wasn't anything special. The crowd seemed impressed, though, and he had their complete attention.
Just then, when the crowd was completely focused on Trick Shot, Coulson spotted out of the corner of his eye a lithe figure creeping around the edge of the tent, making for the trapeze ladder. There was a quiver of arrows on his back and a recurve bow slung over one shoulder. Judging by the gaudy black and purple getup, complete with mask with funny little points over the eyes, he appeared to be another performer. Trick Shot continued to tell a grandiose story about an impossible shot he had once had to make in the wilds of the redwood forests in Washington in order to escape a bear. He was setting up a shot that was meant to replicate it. He was just drawing a bead at his target when the masked archer took to the trapeze and began to swing from his knees.
Trick Shot released his arrow and in a flash, the masked archer released one as well, sending his arrow to collide, mid-air, with Trick Shot's pinning it to the ground through the shaft.
"Oh no! Ladies and gentlemen!" Trick Shot said, pointing to the masked archer on the trapeze. "We're all in danger! It's my arch nemesis, the Hawkeye!"
Coulson raised an eyebrow, studying Hawkeye from his spot in the crowd. Swiftly and easily, the performer swung back up in a flip and landed on the bar of the trapeze, standing on the bar of the swing. He drew two more arrows and shot them in rapid succession just an inch away from each of Trick Shot's feet, all while still swinging.
This guy was good. Really good. And not just with a bow and arrow.
"Huh," Coulson murmured with a bit of a smirk, wondering if it would be evil of him to root for the bad guy.
"That's right, Trick Shot!" Hawkeye shouted from his swinging perch. From the tone of voice, Coulson guessed he was pretty young. "I have found you at last! Your plan to travel with this circus was clever, but your posters gave you away!"
"This calls for some of my special arrows!" Trick Shot intoned, pulling out an arrow with a particularly heavy looking tip. "My net arrow should catch him!" He aimed directly for Hawkeye and loosed. Half way through the arrow's flight, the tip burst open, spreading a net with some small weights flying toward the acrobat.
Deftly, Hawkeye flipped to the next trapeze swing, avoiding the net and flipping around into a crouch. It took a moment for Coulson to realize that he had also drawn another arrow at the same time. It was set to the string by the time Coulson noticed it.
"Your nets could never catch me, Trick Shot!" Hawkeye exclaimed. "But my stun arrow will knock you out and then you'll be mine!"
Hawkeye loosed his arrow and Trick Shot danced aside of it just in time. When it hit the ground, there was a small pyrotechnic flash and a burst of sound. Coulson reflected that the maneuver must have been well-rehearsed. These two archers must have had a lot of trust in each other.
"Hawkeye's stun arrows are truly terrible!" Trick Shot exclaimed to the crowd. "I'll have to do something fast to counter them!" He drew another arrow and set it to his string. By then, Hawkeye had readied another arrow. The two archers released at very nearly the same time. Coulson's trained eye was able to note that Trick Shot had released just a fraction of a second sooner, leaving the actual work of the trick to Hawkeye.
The two arrows collided in mid-air, tip-to-tip. There was another burst of pyrotechnics and this time, thick smoke spread out from it, just after the flash faded. The smoke enveloped the entire center ring and drifted up into the trapeze, obscuring the audience's sight of both archers. As the smoke cleared, it was obvious that both archers were gone.
"Oh no!" cried the ring-mistress. "Where could they have gone? What has become of Trick Shot? We may be able to find out, at tomorrow's performance!"
The crowd cheered again and even came to their feet. Coulson found himself doing the same. Again, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the masked Hawkeye peeking around the stage entrance tent flap, a large grin on his face. He pulled the mask back like a hood, revealing a short-cropped head of sandy-blond hair and a younger face than Coulson had expected. He couldn't have been any older than 17 or 18, which only made his skill that much more impressive.
"Unfortunately, we are coming to the end of our show, ladies and gentlemen," Marcella Carson said, stepping back into the center of the ring as stage hands cleared Trick Shot's targets. "But we're going to send you off with one more act for the road. So, here to send you off with a smile, please welcome back MoMo, MooMoo, and the Monkeys!"
Oh, the clowns again. Coulson didn't bother to sit back down and made his way to the audience exit at the back of the rows of seats instead. The archery act had been an interesting diversion, but Coulson was technically here on business. His mark was soon to be running around doing god-knows-what at the carnival, so it would be best for Coulson to begin tailing him now. Perhaps he could also catch the owner and speak to her, as well.
Clint finished pulling a t-shirt over his head and then ran a hand through his hair and worked a tight muscle out of his neck. Not far away, Buck was packing away both of their show costumes in a beat-up old wardrobe that served as the backstage closet.
"Keep on fluffin' that golden mane of yours, kiddo," Buck said with a smile, "eventually the girls'll notice."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Clint shot back in kind, "or maybe they'd start noticing me if I got to be the good guy for once."
Buck gave a laugh. "Somehow I don't think the crowd would buy a young pup like you being an experienced bear hunter."
"Awww, I could make up a better story than that, anyway," Clint replied giving Buck a smirk as they both headed for the exit to enjoy a little down time.
"Well, aren't you gettin' cocky!" Buck said, grabbing him in a light headlock and giving him a noogie. Clint pushed him off with a laugh.
Clint was about to head off toward the vendor booths and find something to eat when he spotted Marcella Carson, her ringmaster getup having been replaced by jeans and a t-shirt and her brown hair now pulled back into a neat braid. She was talking to a guy who was way overdressed for a trip to the carnival, in a smart two-piece suit. He was showing her some photos and had a very serious demeanor, made all the more ominous by the dark pair of shades he was wearing.
"What do you suppose that's about?" he asked Buck, indicating Marcella and the suited stranger.
Buck's smile drifted away and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Dunno," he said, making his way directly toward the pair. Clint followed only a step behind.
"This guy bothering you, Miss Carson?" Clint asked as they approached.
Marcella turned back to them with a bit of a smile. "Buck, Clint," she said, "no, it's nothing like that. Buck Chisholm, Clint Barton, this is Agent Coulson from the... what was it again?"
"Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division," the man rattled off, taking off his sunglasses, "and you must be the archers from the show. Pretty impressive." Coulson's eyes lit on Clint. "Especially that stuff you were pulling from the trapeze. Never seen anything like it."
"Our Clint is one of the best," Marcella stated proudly, "only Buck's better."
"Taught him everything he knows," Buck said, ruffling Clint's hair. Clint pushed him away again.
"That so?" Coulson asked, looking to Buck with a quirk of his mouth. Maybe Clint was crazy, but was that a hint of skepticism he saw in the agent's expression?
"Agent Coulson is following a lead on a case," Marcella stated.
Coulson pulled out his stack of photos again. "Do either of you recognize any of these people?"
Buck took the photos and flipped through them, Clint looking over his shoulder as he did. Buck went through them quickly, powering past one that triggered something.
"Wait, wait, go back," Clint said, "no, no, too far. There! Yeah, that looks a lot like Simon. The other guys I don't remember ever seeing, but that one is definitely Simon. What uh... what's he supposed to have done?"
"I'm not really at liberty to give specifics," Coulson replied, taking the stack of photos back, "but I'm mostly just chasing down a paper trail. Miss Carson, would it be possible to see Mister Lancaster's records of employment?"
"Sure, they're just in the office trailer," she replied, "I can take you."
"Actually, I'll tag along if that's okay," said Buck, "my bank is asking for a copy of my last pay statement."
Marcella nodded her ascent and then led the way to the office trailer, Buck close behind. Coulson paused for a moment, gave Clint and smirk, and raised an eyebrow at him before replacing his sunglasses and following the two of them.
Clint couldn't believe it. Holy crap, the suit knew! Coulson had caught some of the little things in the performance and he knew! Clint was grateful to Buck for training him, but he was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he was better than him these days. He wasn't sure when he had started to suspect, and he had kept those thoughts to himself, convinced that no one would ever believe him if he said it aloud. But Agent Coulson, who had only seen the both of them shoot just the once, knew it too.
Clint watched the three of them walk away for a moment. "Huh," he said, then shrugged and continued on his way to find some dinner.
It took Coulson forever to find a payphone in the tiny town. The fact that the Carnival was on the outskirts as well and that it was near a neighborhood didn't help, either. In the end, he went all the way into what passed for downtown in Mason. Someday, he mused. Someday SHIELD would develop phones that could be carried around. Rumor had it they were working on it, already, and he couldn't wait for that convenience.
He did a cursory glance around to make sure he wasn't being watched and picked up the pay phone. Dialing a number, he reached a message asking for an access code and punched in four more.
"SHIELD switch board, please identify," answered a voice that suggested a robotic habit.
"Agent Coulson, ID code X-ray-two-eight-nine-six," he replied, "confirm the line is secure."
There was a short burst of static, no more than a click, really, that came over the line. "The line is secure," said the voice at the switchboard, "haven't heard from you in a while, Coulson. How's Texas?"
"Quaint," Coulson replied, "and clueless as to what's dropped into their back yard. I need Assistant-Director Fury."
"Hold," said the voice and the line went quiet for a moment, then began to ring again.
"What have you found, Coulson?" Fury asked him as soon as the line was picked up.
"Spotted our guy," he replied, "just as we thought, Lancaster's traveling with Carson's Carnival. Looks like he's a stage hand for the main show."
"So Lancaster has been using the Carnival to get around unnoticed," Fury mused.
"Looks like," Coulson confirmed, "employment records go back about a year, right when the Carnival ended up on our Radar. Haven't spotted the cheese yet, or the buyer. So far the carnival owner seems clean, so I don't think she knows what's going on under her big top."
"Still, can't be too careful," Fury replied, "keep an eye on her anyway. But if she really is in the dark, try to keep her there."
"Understood," Coulson stated, "and sir, there's one other thing. One of the acts has this kid, an archer, Clint Barton. His marksmanship is off the charts and he does it all while hopping around on the trapeze. He's either incredibly talented or..."
"An enhanced," Fury cut in, understanding the point Coulson was getting at, at once.
"Affirmative," Coulson said, then lowered his voice even more. "Sir, the cargo we're trying to recover."
"Gamma-irradiated rocks recovered from a meteor site in Moldavia," Fury said.
"I know that the reason we're after them is need-to-know, but I'm thinking, sir... I might need to know."
"Agreed," Fury replied, "there's a new theory the egg-heads at SHIELD Science have been working on. They think that gamma radiation may be one of the key factors in re-creating Doctor Erskine's super soldier serum. We took great pains to put those rocks out of reach of the commies. If they were to make it into the hands of the Russian government..."
"We might be dealing with a Russian-made super soldier within a year," Coulson realized, "there's a comforting thought."
"Exactly," Fury affirmed, "so I don't need to tell you what's riding on this. I'm putting Agent May on standby in case you need backup. If things start to get out of hand, or even if they look like they will, call it in and I can have her there in three hours."
"Understood, sir."
"Good. Anything else?"
"Not at this time, sir."
"Good," Fury groused, "because I have a stack of paperwork I gotta get back to." He said it as if it was a hell-borne curse.
"You accepted the position from Director Carter, sir," Coulson quipped, one side of his mouth quirking up slightly, "how is the transition process going so far?"
"I can hear your smirk from here, Coulson," Fury bit back, "get rid of it."
"Yes, sir!" Coulson replied, doing his best to get rid of the grin and not really succeeding. The line went dead a moment later, so he hung up the pay phone. It gave a metallic rattle and he reached into the coin return, retrieving his quarter and giving it a flip of satisfaction before returning it to his pocket. He took a few steps away from the phone, intending to head back to the carnival. But he stopped a moment later. As if in afterthought, he took the quarter out of his pocket again and tucked it into his sock.
Never can tell when you'd need to call home. Best to be prepared for all contingencies.
The 5:00 show was in full swing when Clint wandered toward the big top. Buck's act was toward the end of the show, so he still had about an hour before he needed to be ready to go on. This allowed him to be a little more casual about getting ready to go.
There was a section behind the big top, between it and the carnies' trailer town. The space was reserved as a practice area for the performers. Presently, one of Buck's targets was setting at one end of the space, and Clint decided to use it for some warm up.
The cowl for his stage costume still pulled back like a hood, Clint drew a line in the gravel with his toe and stood over it. He took five arrows from his quiver and held them in his right hand, against the side of his bow. He took a deep breath and then began counting his heartbeats.
When he was ready, he grabbed the first of the five arrows from his hand, nocked it, pulled, and released it in one swift movement. Without even waiting for it to land in the target, he moved on to the next, then the next, until his was out of arrows. After the fifth arrow struck the target, there was a perfectly-spaced ring of arrows sticking out of the gold zone on the target. Then he was in motion, moving fluidly to his right as he pulled five more arrows from his quiver. When they were readied, he picked a spot on the blue ring and did the same, all while moving back toward the line he had toed in the gravel. Choosing a spot on the black ring, he did the same again from the left, ending at the starting line again.
A long whistle came from near the tent flap that led to the backstage area of the big top. "Fifteen in seventeen seconds in three perfect groupings," came a voice that Clint did not immediately recognize. Turning toward it, he found Agent Coulson standing near the tent flap. "You really are that good. Give you a minute and enough arrows, you could blot out the sun."
Clint gave a non-committal shrug and wandered toward the target to gather his arrows. "Well, I prefer the shade," he said, "the back area is for the carnies only, Very Special Agent. Something you need? Or are you just lost?"
"Still working, actually," Coulson replied, wandering in Clint's direction, "I understand Lancaster is on stage crew right now?"
"Yeah," Clint replied, tucking his arrows back into his quiver, "if you want, I could give you an account of all the time's he's screwed up. Maybe you could take him off our hands for negligence."
"Not fond of him, I take it?"
"He's an idiot," Clint said, crossing his arms over his chest, "and an asshole. But for some reason Buck likes him, so..." He trailed off and gave a sigh, then a shake of his head, "I dunno. I just don't like him. He's always sticking his nose in where it don't belong."
"He ever stick his nose in your business?"
"He tried once," said Clint, "when he was still new here. I stuck an arrow through the dorky little pom pom on his stocking cap from fifty paces."
"He pissed you ruined his favorite hat?" Coulson asked.
"Well, yeah, but I think he was more pissed that he was wearing it at the time."
"Cheeky," Coulson said, giving a grimace and a knowing smile, "does he have a normal circle around him? Anyone that maybe came into the carnival around the same time?"
"Hangs out with a few guys, pretty regular," Clint said, taking his spot on his starting mark again, "mostly some of the other stage hands. But some of the performers every once in a while, too, like Buck." He pulled an arrow from his quiver and released it in perfect form, landing the point perfectly in the center of the gold. "And as far as I know, he didn't know anyone when he came in."
"You ever see him moving around equipment or cargo he isn't supposed to be? Maybe some you don't recognize?"
Clint shrugged. "Well, he's a stage hand, so..."
"He ever get visitors?" Coulson asked. "Anyone coming looking for him on a regular basis?"
"Just you," Clint said, letting another arrow fly, its point landing so close to the first one that they seemed to be sticking out of the target from the same hole. "So when do I get to ask a question?"
"You just did," Coulson deadpanned.
"He dealin' or something?"
"What makes you ask that?"
With a roll of his eyes, Clint turned back to Coulson, setting the end of his bow on the ground and leaning on it lightly, like a staff. "Really? Do you think I'm a moron? You're asking if he sees strange people and moves around weird stuff."
Clearly surprised, Coulson's eyebrows drifted up toward his hairline. "I'm really not at liberty to say," he said.
Clint pulled another arrow from his quiver and loosed it at the target, his eyes never leaving Coulson's. He let the bullseye do the talking.
"Well," Coulson said, "if you think of anything, I'll be around a while." The agent flipped his small notebook closed and went back around the corner of one of the tents out of sight.
Clint began to go back to his warm ups, loosing another arrow at the target with ease. He was just readying another when he thought he heard an odd clicking noise from the direction Coulson had left. He loosed his last arrow, then crept as quietly as he could to peer around the corner of the tent.
Coulson was there, sweeping the area with a small, bright yellow, hand-held device. That was the source of the clicking. Clint didn't know much about physics or anything, but he knew just from basic pop culture that a device like that was used to measure radiation levels.
Suddenly, this mysterious case that Agent Coulson was working grew a lot more dire in Clint's mind. If Simon was involved in smuggling something radioactive, that could spell danger for the whole carnival. Could everyone be getting sick and not even knowing it yet?
Buck's voice pushed its way into his mind again. Carnies take care of their own, it said. As he gathered his arrows and made his way to the show tent, Clint resolved to do just that.
Coulson pondered a conundrum.
So far, he had not found anything that was giving unusual radiation readings. For the moment, he knew were Lancaster was, at the big top working as a stage hand. So Coulson was currently free to wander the rest of the carnival with his Geiger counter without too much fuss. He was fairly certain that Barton had seen him using it, but there wasn't much need to ruffle feathers about that. The kid was sharp, observant. Coulson was pretty sure he knew enough not to start a panic or spread rumors. But keeping Barton out of harm's way on the whole thing was likely to be difficult.
The conundrum that Coulson faced now was how to get into the big top with the Geiger counter. He couldn't do it right now, not with the performers and stage hands running around in there. There was just no way that he wouldn't be noticed. But once the show was over and it was empty, he would need to go back to discreetly shadowing Lancaster and wouldn't have the chance.
Idly, Coulson wondered how that cloning research was going. He could sure use another one of himself.
Calling for backup was out of the question, for now. Yes, Fury had May on standby, but it would still take some time for her to get to the carnival; time that Coulson wasn't sure he had before whatever deal was happening went down. Further, an increased presence while he poked around would likely raise more alarms. Lancaster had to know by now that SHIELD was on-site and investigating. Coulson figured that it probably moved his timetable up.
All of this running through his head, Coulson pocketed the Geiger counter and made his way to the food carts, just within sight of the backstage entry to the big top. He lighted on a picnic table with a hotdog and munched, still pondering the predicament. He had just about finished the hotdog when his brain suddenly provided the answer.
It was amazing what a bit of food could do.
He didn't need to search the big top. With Lancaster under more time constraint to finish the deal and make his delivery, he would likely be making a move of some sort tonight. All Coulson had to do was tail Lancaster and he would eventually lead him right to the gamma rocks.
With an inward smile, Coulson left the picnic table and treated himself to a lemonade as he listened to the rest of the show through the canvas walls of the main tent as the sun went down.
Some spy he was.
It had taken Clint all of about five minutes to lose track of Simon. The guy had bailed on the post-show cleanup and had left the main tent before Clint even had a chance to get changed out of his costume. He stunk as a stage hand, sure, but even so, he never blatantly ducked out on his work. Something was definitely up with him. Coulson's presence probably had him rattled.
Clint took a circuitous route back to his trailer, hoping to spot some sign of where Simon had gone. He had just about given up when he spotted him walking through the main drag of trailer town with Buck. Clint dashed for a shadow and kept out of their sight. They spoke low to each other and Clint couldn't hear, but the conversation ended with a hearty laugh from the both of them.
Probably just sharing some joke. He still didn't understand why Buck liked the guy.
After that, Simon and Buck parted ways; Buck heading back toward his trailer and Simon heading back toward the central part of the carnival. Clint didn't want to get Buck involved, not yet, so he remained in the shadows until Buck was out of range, then took off to tail Simon, pulling the hood of his dark purple hoodie up over his head, partly against the chill in the air and partly against prying eyes.
As the carnival was closing up, Simon blended in with the crowd of patrons that was leaving for the night, so Clint did the same. The crowd streamed across Rainey Street and most of them made for cars that were parked in the lot just next to the high school shot-put field. Simon continued onward, toward a line of trees at the far side of the parking lot, disappearing into the shadows of the meager woods.
Undaunted, Clint plunged onward after him, making his way into the trees. He lost sight of Simon and decided to stick to the shadows of the woods, hoping to catch sight of him without being seen. For several minutes, Clint found no sign of him. He even poked his head out of the woods for a moment to check by the grandstand near the high school track and football field but saw nothing.
Oddly, Clint felt like he wasn't alone in the woods. And it wasn't just the owl he heard off in the distance, either. He kept looking back over his shoulder, swearing someone else was there, but never saw anything. He figured he was getting paranoid. He was new to this, after all.
On one of his checks over his shoulder, Clint spotted the silhouette of a figure dash toward the track and field, making for the side of the grandstand opposite to the woods. With nothing else to go on, Clint decided to creep toward the grandstand to see what was happening there.
He stayed in the shadows of the north-west side. Peering around the front corner, Clint saw Simon pacing back and forth, as if anxiously waiting. From the south-east side of the grandstand, Clint spotted the figure in black silently make his way toward Simon.
"There you are!" Simon exclaimed, in a loud whisper. "Took you long enough! SHIELD is here, we can't just ignore it!"
The figure in black didn't say anything. Clint strained his eyes to try and see a face under the dark hood, but could not. There just wasn't enough light.
"What are we gonna do about that agent guy, that Coulson?" Simon asked urgently. "He's poking around and getting way too close."
The figure in black gave Simon a placating gesture with one gloved hand, his other still stuffed into a coat pocket against the cold. Clint couldn't hear what the man in black was saying, but Simon shook his head urgently.
"No, no, that won't work!" Simon replied. "We gotta find a way to get rid of him, even if we have to off him."
The man in black was saying something again and Simon continued to shake his head. "No, forget it! I'm not going to get caught by SHIELD! They disappear people! If you don't have the guts to do it, I'll do it!"
Simon began to stalk past the man in black, turning away from him with purpose. The man in black grabbed Simon by the shoulder and turned him back around to speak to him. Clint saw something flash silver in the faint light and then Simon gave a wet gurgling sound, gasping, before he fell to the ground and lay still.
Startled by the action, Clint wanted very desperately to leave before he was spotted. In his haste to sneak away, he backed into a metal garbage barrel and made it thump loudly on the ground as it rocked. Clint tumbled to the ground. The figure in black turned toward the noise and spotted Clint as he scrambled to get up. Decisively, he ran after the archer.
By the time Clint was up again, the man in black was only a few paces behind him and gaining. Clint bolted down the backside of the grandstand, near the trees where it was darker. Something large slammed into Clint from behind and it wasn't long before he realized that it was the man in black, tackling him to the ground. They scuffled for a few seconds, Clint trying to get a look at the man's face and dodge the already-bloody knife at the same time. It proved to be just a little too much. He was able to get enough leverage to get back onto his knees, but the man in black slammed into him again.
Something hard connected with the back of Clint's skull. He saw stars for a moment and lost control of his limbs. And that was all he could remember.