A/N: More Mysterion time yey
Enjoy~
Stake-outs had never exactly been his forte. Sitting in nothing but an unbridled anticipation for the inevitable fight never fared well for him. Back when he was a kid doing this schtick, it'd always been easier for him to accept the role. After all, a child's imagination was a wonderful thing. He could easily envision himself swooping down like a hawk, whamming a crook in the head. He could see the fear in men's eyes as they realized the 'great and powerful' Mysterion had caught them in the act. As a child, he could 'play' detective. It was so satisfying, watching pieces falling into place as he stalked out petty robbers and vandals. He could put together the puzzle long before the cops even had an inkling as to the potential hazards plaguing their city. He was what he considered to be the epitome of observation.
Nowadays? It wasn't so easy.
His clues were now more convoluted than his poor ten year old mind could have ever conceived of. No longer were the days of merely hearing gossip as he went about his day-life persona and taking it into account as he donned the cape. Now it was pray to shit that he could take down someone with even a smidgeon of information. He was finding out that more often than not, he was hitting walls. Walls with tiny cracks splintering up the sides that maybe a touch of air could worm its way through if hit at just the right angle.
The complexities of the organizations he was dealing with never seemed to cease to amaze him. Each member of the group had their own torn pieces of the map, barely enough of a piece to encompass the display of a back roads, one horse town. In the few he'd managed to subdue in this little mission of his, he'd found pieces of these towns scattered all across the country. He just hoped that eventually he'd find one down the road that covered more terrain.
He reached back into one of his cape's pockets, digging down and wrapping his fingers around his watch. He pulled it up in front of his face, thumb digging into the small button on the side to illuminate the numbers. 10:03.
Mysterion narrowed his eyes. His source was late. He bit his lip, placing his watch back into its holder and reassuming his position behind his strategically placed pallets. Maybe this guy wouldn't show without the other being there first. Maybe there was a code. Or, maybe, his last intel had lied to him. Wouldn't exactly be surprising, but the hero liked to think his empty threats got him far in this field.
He shifted almost uncomfortably, cracking his fingers silently as he continued to wait. This could be bad, this could send him spiraling right the fuck back to square one. He could just be wading around town concealed in the shadows, just hoping to hear a drug deal going down as he had when this whole investigation began. And even he knew well enough it was pure dumb luck he'd managed to find the two that he did. Spiraling from their information onwards into the belly of the organization had been a break in his nearly three years of nothing but isolated incidents. At the time, it'd been wonderful, like he was that excitable ten year old kid again; starry-eyed and pumping his fist in enthusiasm at the concept of being able to crack such a dire case wide open.
How quickly that changes when one finds themselves taking baby steps and knocked over time and again, having to try to cover their ground and fight off a barrage of obstacles along the way.
He smirked to himself, remembering Stan finding himself in the exact same position upon making detective. Going into the job, Stan was nothing but eager talking and overwhelming zeal. A few months in and he was groaning that he was doing nothing but paperwork almost constantly. Mysterion huffed a bit at the memory. At least Stan got paid to do this.
His ears perked, head shooting up as a shuffling noise pervaded the air. He tongued over his lips, peeking through wooden slats and watching a dark figure emerging into the hidden area. The hero grinned. Good. He was just tardy. Time for his demerits.
The figure huffed impatiently, glancing at his phone and shoving it into his pocket, looking out towards the street, Mysterion out of his line of sight. With the sly steps of a predator, the man slid out into the open area, body poised for quick pivots out of the line of a possible attack. Heavy brown boots moved silently as ballet flats with his practiced maneuvering. He edged ever closer, a deep, reticent breath falling through his lips.
He edged up nearly two feet from the man before his target turned, the both of them locking shadowed eyes and the shock keeping them still for but a moment. Mysterion flew out of his surprise, kicking off with his left foot and pivoting to send the right into the man's side.
He flew back and onto the ground with a shout, the masked vigilante moving to tackle him. An obviously practiced swipe of the criminal's arm slid down and up, a gun clutched in his fingers that Mysterion growled at. He landed on the man's forearm, keeping the gun angled away from the both of them and trying to wrestle it from his fingers.
"Let go," he demanded.
"Fuckin' get off of me!" the crook shouted, squirming underneath him and trying to move the gun up towards his head.
Mysterion snarled, pinning his arm down against the ground and digging his thumb and index finger around his wrist, squeezing the radius viciously. He smirked, watching the man's fingers twitch as he tried to keep his hand steady before they unfurled without his permission and the gun dropped to the ground. Mysterion grabbed it and hit the safety, sliding it across the ground to the other side of the lot against the building and turning his attention back to the man under him struggling to get away.
"Calm the fuck down," he ordered, yelping as a knee came up and whammed him in the back, throwing his balance off. The man took his opportunity and threw the hero off and to the side, scrambling to get to his gun.
Mysterion rolled with the shove before his soles caught the pavement and he launched back forward, pinning the man on his stomach and forcing his wrists behind him onto the small of his back. "Stop fuckin' squirmin'!" Mysterion barked. "Make this a little easier on both of us, will ya?"
"You're makin' a hell of a mistake, you fuckin' freak," he hissed, shoulders jerking around as the hero attempted to subdue him.
"Only mistake here is your fuckin' cologne, Bud. You smell like a fuckin' farm," he rolled his eyes, forcing his wrists into a zip-tie bind. He gritted his teeth as he pulled the ridges taut, moving over to kick the man over onto his back. Mysterion smirked, putting his shin down overtop his thighs and pinning him onto the ground, staring him down from the umbra of his hood. "Now, let's talk."
The man scanned his cloaked form up and down, upper lip curling into a sneer. "The fuck you doin'? Out runnin' a fuckin' pride parade?"
He cocked his brow, "No, I tend to go to those half naked. But I digress. Whatcha here for?"
He scoffed, "Mindin' my own business."
"Uh huh," the hero replied dryly. "Funny. Just a few nights ago I met another guy here just 'mindin' his own business'. Turns out he was passin' off money and sending someone else away. Ring any bells?" he cocked his brow. His sharp eyes caught the flicker of panic that came and went over his opponent's face in a matter of mere seconds.
"Shit luck for that guy," he managed to bat off. "You ain't got someone like that."
Mysterion shook him a bit, "Looks like I got someone who's quick to get their gun."
The man hitched his brow superiorly, "Colorado is a legal-to-carry state."
"You gotcher permit?" the hero smirked, watching the man's mouth open slightly before closing. "I mean, I could check yer wallet if I have to," he drawled, looking down towards his pocket and chuckling. "We can see how reliable of a-" he paused, catching a gleam from a rectangular plastic tag hanging off of his slack pocket. He noticed a familiar logo resting in the left hand side next to his picture and his breath caught. He reached down, snagging the tag and angling it in the moonlight, eyes widening at a plain red CartAd Agencies logo slapped on the identification.
He looked at the man, matching him to the picture, and he gritted his teeth, reaching down and snaring his collar. "You work here?" he demanded. He looked at the tag again, reading 'Trevor Schroeder'. "This your name?"
He rolled his eyes, "That's what the fuckin' thing says, ain't it?"
Mysterion growled, "What the fuck would you do in this company? You don't look the type to sit at a desk with your little gun there."
"Custodial," he drawled. "What's it matter to you?"
"I wanna know why there's a fuckin' drug runner workin' here. I know they don't hire criminal pieces of shit."
Trevor scoffed, "Maybe that's 'cause I ain't a criminal."
He shoved him back against the pavement again and glared, "I'm not blind, Buddy. You got worried when I told you your little worker is off in jail. Now, you're gonna go see him nice and soon, but I want you t' tell me just who it is I'm sending you off for."
The man cocked his brow, stocky body shifting under Mysterion's pin. That was the rule of the business, wasn't it? Tight-lipped until wanting to save your own skin. He couldn't be surprised that the man who worked under him had sold him out. He had so little to lose in the overall game but some free time while he spent it locked in a jail cell. Then again, Trevor couldn't exactly say that his situation was much different. He was just another messenger along the rails at the end of the day. He sighed, "And how do you know I ain't the one at the top?"
"Because I ain't stupid," he said dryly. "The boss ain't gonna be out here makin' errands. And your friend was kind enough to tell me that you're as much a grunt as he is." Trevor scowled viciously and the hero leaned closer towards his face. "Look, Buddy, here's the deal: You ain't goin' anywhere but jail. So you may as well tell me exactly what it is I'm dealing with here."
He smirked, "Somethin' that's gonna fucking kill you, that's what."
"Oh no. I'm shaking in my boots," he replied flatly. "How deep does this go?"
"Deeper than you can handle on your own, Buddy," he mocked. "This ain't a good business to be playin' hero in unless you got the cops right on your back."
"Well, they aren't against me if that's what you're implying," he scoffed. "They're pretty happy with my own 'custodial' work," he cocked his brow. "Tell me who you work for."
Trevor rolled his eyes, "You think I'm stupid?"
"Yes," he said sharply. "Smart people don't get involved with this kind of shit. And smart people don't withhold information from the caped man that could snap their neck at a moment's notice," he growled. "So. You smart or not, Schroeder?"
"Smart enough to know not to fight against the ring," he snarled. "Maybe you should take goddamn notes."
Mysterion sighed irritably, "Give me a name. If you think I'm gonna die fighting against it all, what the fuck do you have to lose?"
"My fucking neck if I end up held with someone else in the business," he said lowly.
He rolled his eyes, "The cops in this town ain't that bright, but they know to keep all you fuckers apart from each other. They take my advice. Believe it or not, I ain't a fan of seein' people gettin' killed. Help me and I help you," he glared. "If you're just a runner, you ain't lookin' at as much jail time as you seem t' think. Year plus at the most, maybe even lower if you cooperate," he drawled.
Trevor narrowed his eyes, "I doubt you have that kind of power in this."
"I hold a good amount of sway with the cops," he said primly. "Got a lot of your buddies better chances of a lower sentence for their information. You give me the information, I give it to the cops, they give you a fake story of them catching you at your trial, and everyone goes on their merry fuckin' way."
The man smirked, "So the cops don't want anyone t' know how useless they are, huh?"
"They protect the town from assholes going directly for the people. I work on the network underneath. It's a nice little system that you can be a part of if you just open your fuckin' mouth for something useful."
Trevor stared at him for a few moments, mind spinning through his options. He thought of his own boss, that intimidating dark stare that he gave even when cracking a joke, his tendency to overreact and get violent at the slightest provocation. Not that that was necessarily rare in this field... But it was never something that one enjoyed. He sighed tiredly, "You can lessen my sentence?" he grumbled.
Mysterion nodded with determined confirmation. "If you give me somethin', it's only right I give back."
"I got a family," he muttered. "You gonna let it spill that I spilled?"
"No," he promised, edge to his forced gravely voice dropping in the slightest. "No one's gonna touch your family. Easy enough to tell you morons I heard through the grapevine."
The man's captive shoulders sunk, eyes redirecting to the night sky spattered with clouds. "I don't know his real name," he muttered. "Goes by Boomslang."
"The fuck-"
"It's a fucking snake," he rolled his eyes. "I know, fuckin' retarded, right?"
Mysterion scoffed, "Well, I never give you people points for originality. Nice to see the trend continues. Where do you two meet?"
"It varies every time," he relayed. "I don't think we've ever met in the same location twice."
"Where do you learn where to meet?"
He twisted his lips, "Also varies. Usually a random runner."
Mysterion narrowed his eyes, "Never the same one?"
Trevor shook his head. "No. And we never talk. The runner passes by me, taps my back in a certain way and slides me a note. Then they just keep on goin'. Half the time I don't even see their face."
The hero gritted his teeth. Fucking great. "Any ideas of his typical location?"
"Not in the slightest," he said, shifting uncomfortably. Mysterion hesitated before sighing, moving off of him and sitting him up. Trevor flexed his fingers to bring the circulation back through them, looking at the masked patroller and shrugging. "My guy was right, I'm as much a grunt as he is. That's all I got."
Mysterion nodded solemnly. "All right." He stood and grabbed the man, dragging him over towards the broken metal pole of a construction zone sign. He reached down with another zip-tie, attaching him to the pole and ignoring his whiny protests. He bent down, sliding his hand into the man's pocket and snaring his phone. "Borrowing this," he informed him. The man glared before just sighing, leaning his head back against the pole and shaking it slowly.
Mysterion punched in the number of the Park County station by heart, having memorized it way back as a child when he was always calling them for assistance in apprehending a suspect. He snuck it under his hood, listening to the ringing and tapping his boot, eyes scanning vigilantly for any passer-bys.
"Park County Police Department."
"I need to talk to Sergeant Yates," he relayed.
"One moment," the responder said, placing him on hold. He shook his head at himself. He'd just struggled too much keeping the other guy from Friday hidden dragging him back through town. Sometimes he was just gonna have to have the cops come to him. Lucky enough for him this guy showed he had a damn phone on him. Saved him a lot of issues.
"This is Yates."
"And this is... M," he said, huskiness of his voice at full force. It was the only clue of an identity he'd given the force, signing all notes he left with his captures with the simple letter. Certainly got it across enough.
A brief pause filled the line before the sergeant started speaking. "If this is the M I believe it to be, then I assume there's trouble somewhere."
"The trouble is already done, I just have something for you to pick up, Sergeant," he assured him. "I can't drag him through town."
"All right, where is he?"
"First, I need to request something," Mysterion said briskly.
Another pause. "We told you that we don't want to-"
"This is for your town, Sergeant," he cut him off sharply. "Listen closely: Do you know of anyone with the street name of Boomslang?"
"The fuck-"
"It's a snake," he informed him. "All I have for intel is this fake name, could you possibly look into it and see if you can find anything?"
Yates took a deep breath, Mysterion hearing him tapping his fingers against his desk in thought. "Look, M, don't think we don't appreciate what you're doing here. But... there's two options here that you need to know: Either we figure it out and the case becomes ours, you drop out entirely... Or you figure it out. We can't work with you."
He glared, "Really? Want to risk your team and your town for this?"
"Look, we can't aid a vigilante. That's called being an accomplice to a crime, something that cops aren't too fond of," he reminded him.
The hero growled, looking at the sky and shaking his head. "Really? Can't just consider it assistance to a citizen?"
"Not when that citizen is technically involved in illegal activity."
He sighed, "Fine. What do you suggest we do? Do you want to handle this or what?"
Mysterion could hear some murmuring going on in the background, eyes drooping wryly with the realization that the sergeant had placed him on the speaker. Apparently this was just too big a decision for the man to handle on his own. "We're going to let you make that call," Yates finally answered. "You know more about this circuit than any of us do. Either you can leave us the information and we try to pick up the slack or you keep on going."
Mysterion bit his lip, looking from the man still sitting on the ground looking blankly into the sky to the ID tag still clutched in his free hand. He set his lips grimly, eyes lingering on the CartAd logo and taking a deep breath. "I'll handle it," he said quietly. "On one condition."
"I just told you-"
"This is for your benefit, too, Sergeant," he said firmly. "All I want is a phone."
He paused, "A... a phone?"
"One that isn't linked to my actual identity," he elaborated. "One used to call you and only you to inform you of criminals and where I catch them. I can't keep dragging them ten blocks across town, Sir. Too risky for either of our ends, wouldn't you agree?"
"That's... That's true," he mused quietly. "All right. We got some unlisted phones for detectives that we'll let you use."
"I have the guy behind the abandoned manufacturing plant on Wadsworth," he informed him. "He's chained to a pole, he's conscious. Send someone, have them pick him up and his gun that I threw to the side of the building. Leave the phone against the pole he's tied to."
"Will do. We'll be there in roughly six minutes. Keep yourself out of sight."
Mysterion grunted in acknowledgement, hanging up the phone and tossing it down onto his boot, sliding it off to beside Trevor. The man looked at him and shook his head, "You're headin' down the wrong path, you idiot. Shoulda let the cops handle this."
"If it's as dangerous as you say it is, I'm not letting them get killed over it."
He scoffed, "The fuck makes you wanna be a martyr?"
"I have my reasons," he replied softly before looking at him and sighing. "Stay put, I'll be watching," he warned, turning on his heel and speeding away back towards the side of the building. He twisted his lips, leaping up onto window sills and scaling his way up baby steps at a time to latch onto a fire escape a good four floors up. He struggled his way up and over the bars, landing in a crouch on the rickety metal and sighing again, sitting down and staring at the ID clutched in his glove, letting a gulp recede down his throat. He kept his ears perked for sounds of the man moving, letting his eyes slide shut for a few moments as he stroked over the smooth plastic and bit his lip. The night waned on around him, the world continuing to spin, but all seemed in his weary mind to come to a grinding halt with a silent prayer: 'Please, let this just be coincidence'.
A/N: We're edging closer to their meeting are you excited? Because I'm excited.
Thanks for R&Ring!