Chapter 9:
[Spartan POV]
[Weeks later, New York City]
[Brooklyn.] [Rooftop.] I traverse the rooftops, and my vigilant patrol of the city draws to a close. It has been a relatively uneventful day, with little action to keep me occupied. As I consider wrapping up my duties, a commotion on the street below catches my attention. A teenage boy sprints through the busy thoroughfare, pursued by two overweight cops. Their dark blue uniforms cling to their bodies, drenched in sweat from the summer day's heat. The boy, attempting to conceal his identity, wears a ski mask that seems out of place amidst the sweltering temperatures. "One moment, kid! Stop right there!" one of the officers wheezes, his name likely Libowitz, based on previous sightings in the neighborhood. He's either a lackadaisical cop at best or an unpleasant one at worst. His partner, struggling for breath, leans against a nearby wall, his face turning an alarming shade of red.
I hope the poor guy doesn't suffer a heart attack. "Just hand over the nightstick, kid. We can't effectively deal with criminals without it. Give it back now!" the officer named Ozwald demands. In response, the agile young boy leaps onto a dumpster and quickly ascends the first level of a nearby fire escape. The officer lunging after him, loses his footing and tumbles into the dumpster, emerging covered in garbage. "I'll shoot that kid! No one steals a police officer's nightstick and gets away with it!" Ozwald barks, reaching for his gun.
The threat gives me pause. Peering down from my vantage point, I witness Officer Ozwald making a move for his firearm. Is he truly willing to shoot the boy over a trivial nightstick? Uncertain if it's merely a scare tactic or a genuine intent, I realize the line has been crossed, and this asshole needs to be stopped.
[Ground-level.] With a swift descent, I disarm Ozwald, relieving him of his weapon. I swiftly incapacitate both officers using close-quarters combat techniques. Glancing up at the fire escape, I see that the kid has made his escape. However, being intimately familiar with the neighborhood's layout, I know exactly where his route leads. Employing my grappling line, I ascend to the rooftop, aiming to intercept him ahead.
[Alley.] The kid descends the fire escape using a wall pipe; I stand waiting at ground level, my arms folded in a display of authority. Startled by my presence, he jerks back, exclaiming, "What the fuck?!" Seizing the opportunity, I quickly snatch the nightstick from his belt strap. Twirling the baton in my hand, I remark, "All this trouble for a piece of junk. So, what's the story? Why pick a fight with trigger-happy cops waiting for an excuse to turn anyone into a social media hashtag?" The teenager removes his mask, revealing his Latino heritage. He appears to be around 15 years old. "It was a dare. I needed to prove myself and deter the bullies constantly tormenting me. They dared me to steal a cop's nightstick," he confesses. Shaking my head, I respond, "That was reckless, dangerous, and could have easily led to a disastrous outcome." The realization of the potential consequences dawns upon him, and he lowers his gaze.
Tossing the police baton back to him, I consider the situation. "Word will spread about the dare. Your reputation just received a boost. If Brooklyn still adheres to the old code, the punks will think twice about messing with you." With those parting words, I exit, but before I leave, I offer the young teen a final piece of advice, "If you're going to take a dare, make sure it's not one that jeopardizes your life."
[Drake POV]
[Val-Verde]
[Rooftop.] I find my position on the rooftop, hidden from view, patiently awaiting the moment to strike. There's a thrill in going all out on this operation, embracing the fight ahead. As the target enters the grand mansion, oblivious to the impending danger, I can't help but feel a surge of excitement. "Time to unleash some violence," I whisper to myself. Utilizing my grappling line, I swiftly move to a nearby watchtower and swiftly dispatch the nameless soldier stationed there, breaking their neck. With a mischievous grin, I intentionally trigger the alarm, adding an extra level of adrenaline to the upcoming encounter. After all, I crave a good fight.
[Compound.] Blood stains the corridor, a macabre canvas painted with the bodies of fallen foes. "What a letdown. Val-Verde's so-called elite special forces were nothing more than bark without bite. These rejects barely lasted eight minutes in battle," I scoff, casually striding through the carnage. With each step, I move closer to the safe room where the target seeks refuge. Reaching into my pack, I retrieve a breach charge, placing it strategically on the weak point of the door. Activating the detonator, the explosive force blows the door open, creating a gaping hole for me to enter.
[Safe-room.] As I step into the shattered entrance, my eyes lock on General Baro, who immediately raises a pistol in my direction. Without hesitation, I engage in a lightning-fast draw, shooting him in the knees. The general crumples to the ground, writhing in agonizing pain. Slowly, I approach him, his desperate pleas for mercy filling the air. "Wait! Wait! I'll double whatever you're being paid!" he cries out, attempting to bargain for his life. A sinister smile spreads beneath my mask as I complete my objective, delivering a fatal bullet to General Baro's head. The mission is fulfilled, a job well done. Almost instantaneously, a text message flashes on my heads-up display, signaling the arrival of another operation awaiting my skills and expertise.
[Spartan POV]
[1 day later, SHIELD HQ, New York City, USA]
[Training area.] Wanda engages in a sparring session with Karai and me. To my surprise, Wanda holds her ground against seasoned operators. Although we are holding back, her resilience is impressive. Then again, considering her upbringing in a rough environment, it's not entirely unexpected. Surviving and defending oneself become second nature in such circumstances. Wanda unleashes a series of boxing moves on Karai, who skillfully evades her attacks. While Wanda possesses a decent foundation in melee combat, she is still a novice. Karai lands a few strikes on her body, causing Wanda to retreat, clutching her abdomen.
Despite her incredible powers, Wanda is like a glass cannon. In a swift motion, Karai attempts a jump punch, but Wanda halts her with a surge of her hex powers. Seizing the opportunity, I draw my pistol from its holster and fire several stun bolts, hitting Wanda in the back. "Ow! Damn it, that stings!" she exclaims, rolling on the ground. "Dirty trick, Spartan!" Clint stifles a laugh and interjects matter-of-factly, "There's no such thing as a fair fight. The bad guys won't show any compunction about being nice. They fight dirty and fight hard. Alright, let's move on to the next segment."
Wanda, Clint, Karai, and I proceed to the shooting range. Clint points to the array of weapons and instructs Wanda, "You need to learn how to use these." Wanda looks at the guns nervously, admitting, "I've never used a gun before. Not sure if I should." Understanding her apprehension, Clint gazes at her sympathetically, "In a perfect world, you would never have to use a gun. But unfortunately, it's not perfect. Sooner or later, you'll encounter a situation where you'll need an equalizer." Wanda sighs and nods, and that's when I step in. I pick up a Glock-45 pistol and hand it to her, saying, "The first rule is always to treat the weapon as if it's loaded, even when it's not. Keep your finger off the trigger unless you intend to shoot." Wanda nods, accepting the weapon. A bit hesitantly, she fires a shot that misses the target. "Well, that was terrible," she hums. Stepping closer to her, I guide her, "Go back to a neutral stance. Let's start from the ground up. Just follow my lead." Wanda nods, ready to absorb my instructions.
I demonstrate the proper technique by drawing my pistol, gripping it with both hands and extending my arms forward. Wanda mimics my actions with precision, and I commend her, "Good. Nice form. Now, aim down the sight. Breathe. And try to keep both eyes open when aiming." She takes another shot, and this time, the bullet hits the target in the center mass. "Yes!" she exclaims excitedly. Encouraged by her progress, I urge her, "Good. Do it again." Wanda continues firing shots, honing her skills in one-handed and two-handed shooting, as well as switching between different shooting stances. After a few more rounds, we finally call it a day.
Once Clint and Karai leave, it's just Wanda and me in the training area. I inquire about her adjustment, asking, "How's it going?" Wanda responds, "It still takes some getting used to. I can't remember the last time I slept soundly through the night. Sokovia is a war-torn country, and I'm sure you can relate to how difficult it is to sleep in a war zone." I empathize, saying, "Yeah, I can understand that." Wanda expresses her apologies for her remark, but I reassure her, "No need to apologize. It's okay." There's a brief moment of awkward silence, quickly broken by the growling of Wanda's stomach. She blushes in embarrassment, and I smile, grateful for the tension breaker, "Worked up an appetite." She simply nods, too embarrassed to say anything. Together, we head to the mess hall.
[Mess Hall.] After grabbing our meals, we find a table in the cafeteria. Wanda sniffs the aroma of my dish and curiously asks, "What is that? It smells delicious." I explain, "It's an Onigirazu, a fusion of a rice ball and sandwich." Perplexed, Wanda tilts her head and admits, "I don't believe I've ever had that dish." Knowing that trying new food can be a gamble, I offer her a small sample. She takes a bite, and her eyes widen with delight, exclaiming, "This is amazing!" Excitedly, she rushes back to grab her own plate of Onigirazu. "Back in Sokovia, we heavily relied on rations. Food like this was a luxury only for the elites," she shares with me. I nod in acknowledgment, and the conversation smoothly transitions to other topics. Curious about her first experience firing a weapon, I ask, "How did it feel?" Wanda places her hand over her chest and reflects, "Scary at first, then exhilarating. I had seen weapons being used, but I had never used one myself until today. Honestly, I appreciate the experience."
I take out a phone from my pocket and slide it toward her, explaining, "It's a STARK-phone, for us to keep in contact." Wanda examines the device in her hand and questions, "Is this a new model?" Pointing to the phone, I respond, "Yeah, it's fresh off the line. It even comes with a virtual assistant." Intrigued, Wanda perks up, asking, "Virtual assistant? Like an AI?" I nod, saying, "More or less. It's more of a limited AI." This sparks her curiosity further, and she wonders, "Are there different types of AIs?" Holding up two fingers, I clarify, "Yeah, there are about two types. Limited AI is good at specific tasks, while Smart AI can think and strategize. Jarvis, Tony's AI, is a blend of both types." Astonished, Wanda's eyes shine, and she exclaims, "Amazing!" I chuckle, scratching the back of my head.
Wanda shifts the conversation, expressing her desire to know more about me, considering our upcoming collaboration. I reply, "There's not much to tell. I'm an orphan from Brooklyn. Karai is my best friend, and we've been a duo since childhood. I joined SHIELD at 18, but I've been a crusader for much longer." Spending time with Wanda feels enjoyable. She's funny, intelligent, easy to get along with, and down-to-earth. It's a pleasant experience. Our conversation remains light, providing a good starting point for our partnership. As Wanda prepares to leave, she suddenly stops and turns to face me, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She hesitantly suggests, "Um, if you're up for it, would you like to meet up later? I'm still new here, and I'd appreciate someone showing me around NYC." My cheeks blush slightly, and I respond, "Sure, let's meet up at Zion. I'll send you the location via your new phone."
Karai joins me, settling into a nearby seat, and remarks, "You two seem to be getting along very nicely." I grin and reply, "Yeah, Clint is going to continue training her in close-quarters combat." The conversation takes a serious turn as Karai expresses her concerns about Wanda's immense power, recalling what we witnessed during our first encounter in Sokovia. I lean forward, clasping my hands together, and ask, "Do you think she'll be a threat?" Karai's eyes drop, and she admits, "I honestly don't know. I hope not, for our sake."
We sit in silence for a moment. In my mind, I replay the scene from Sokovia, the sheer display of power when Wanda obliterated those mindless acolytes. Deep down, I sense that was just a glimpse of what she is truly capable of. Shifting the topic, I unexpectedly offer some advice that catches Karai off guard, "I think you should ask Skye out." She nearly spits out her drink, clearly surprised by my suggestion. Karai takes a moment to compose herself and exclaims, "Wait, what?!" Laughing at her reaction, I reassure her, "It's just a suggestion. You don't have to get all worked up about it." Karai breathes slowly, reminding me of her past unsuccessful relationships, "Dude, you know I don't have the best track record in romantic relationships. My last one didn't end so well." I wave her concerns away, emphasizing, "First of all, you both agreed to end it. Secondly, that relationship was toxic, and you're better off without it. Lastly, it's just a suggestion. It's entirely up to you." She rolls her eyes in response.
[2 Hours Later, Zion, New York City]
At Zion, a bustling bar in New York City. It's been a relatively quiet day, and I appreciate the temporary peace. As a crusader and soldier, my definition of normality is quite different from that of others. But today, it feels good to blend in with the crowd and experience a touch of normalcy. After patrolling the city for a while, I decided to take a break and meet up with Wanda at Zion.
Zion stands out amidst the city's chaos, a neon oasis that draws people in. Stepping inside, the low hum of conversations fills the air. The residents glance at me, assessing my presence before returning to their own affairs. This place is familiar, where everyone knows each other's names but keeps to themselves. I settle at the bar table, ready to unwind.
One of the bartenders catches my attention—a woman with a striking appearance adorned in a black tank top, her arms and chest displaying beautifully crafted tattoos. Her name tag reads Nicole. I can't help but compliment her ink, and she smiles in response. I order something strong, and she nods, understanding my preference. In a short while, she returns with a glass of alcohol, perfectly mixed to balance bitterness and sweetness. I take a sip, savoring the taste, even though being a BIO-ENHANCED super-soldier means I can't get drunk. It's a habit, a way to feel normal in an extraordinary life.
Zion's history is far from glamorous. It was once a rundown block controlled by the Viceroy gang, a place filled with dim lights and faded colors. Tired-eyed prostitutes and gang members with menacing attitudes roamed the streets. But it was also one of the first territories Karai, and I tackled, liberating it from the grips of the Viceroy.
A commotion from the back of the bar interrupts my thoughts. Intrigued, I make my way toward the disturbance. In the backroom, I find a man harassing one of the girls, clearly against her wishes. She forcefully pushes him away, but his intoxicated state doesn't deter him. Determined to defend her, I swiftly intervened, seizing the man's arm and hyperextending it behind his back. He cries out in pain, realizing his actions have consequences. With a growl, I make it clear that his behavior is unacceptable. He retreats, nursing his injured arm, and I turn to the woman, asking if she's alright. She sighs in relief, expressing her gratitude. Returning to my table, Nicole approaches with a cup of coffee, expressing her thanks for stepping in. She goes back to her duties, attending to the other patrons.
Just as I relax into my seat, feeling the weight of the day lift off my shoulders, I suddenly feel a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I turn around to find Wanda standing there, a calm and composed expression on her face. A smile spreads across my lips as I greet her, relieved to see a familiar face in this neon oasis. "Hey, Wanda. Did you have any trouble finding the place?" I inquire, genuinely curious. She shakes her head, her eyes gleaming with confidence as she holds up her phone, displaying the waypoint she set. I chuckle, impressed by her resourcefulness. "Of course, you'd find your way easily. Leave it to you to navigate through any situation," I remark, appreciating her ability to navigate the bustling city and find me amidst the crowd.
Wanda's gaze shifts momentarily to the commotion that unfolded earlier, the incident where I intervened with the harasser. She praises my actions, acknowledging the way I handled the situation. I feel a mixture of surprise and pride. I hadn't expected her to witness that encounter, and a slight blush rose to my cheeks, betraying my inner emotions. I try to maintain my composure, turning away from her momentarily, hoping to hide my embarrassment. It's not often that someone catches me off guard, let alone someone I admire like Wanda. I take a sip of my drink, hoping to divert my attention and regain my cool demeanor. I don't want my momentary vulnerability to overshadow the image I usually present as a crusader and soldier. I turn back to face Wanda, attempting to regain my usual confident and collected façade. "Well, it's all in a day's work, right? Just doing what needs to be done," I respond with a nonchalant shrug, trying to downplay the significance of my actions. Deep down, though, her words have stirred something within me. They remind me that even in the midst of chaos, there are moments when my actions can make a difference, where I can protect and empower others. As we continue our conversation, I try to focus on the present, enjoying Wanda's company.
[New York City]
Wanda and I stroll through the streets of Hell's Kitchen; the air is filled with the energy of a block party in full swing. The sounds of music and laughter surround us, creating an infectious atmosphere. Suddenly, Wanda turns to me with a mischievous smile and extends an invitation, "Want to be my plus one?" I can't help but beam at the opportunity, eagerly accepting her offer. Side by side, we immerse ourselves in the pulsating crowd, moving with the rhythm of the music. Wanda's eyes meet mine, and she compliments my dancing skills. I blush, feeling a bit self-conscious, and respond sheepishly, "Honestly, I'm just following your lead." In a spontaneous gesture, Wanda places her arms around my shoulders, drawing me closer. Her touch sends a surge of warmth through. Everything else fades into the background, and it's just the two of us dancing and enjoying each other's company.
However, our carefree revelry is interrupted by a commotion nearby a restaurant. Curiosity piqued, we turn our attention to the source of the disturbance. A furious, overweight chef storms out of the establishment, brandishing a menacing meat cleaver. Hot on the heels of a small puppy, scampering for its life. Outraged by the sight, Wanda shouts, "Oh, hell the fuck no!" and immediately takes off in pursuit of the terrified animal. Without a second thought, I follow her.
[Alleyway.] We find ourselves in a dimly lit alley, where the puppy has been cornered at a dead end. Defiantly, it drops the meat it had been clinging to and growls menacingly at the advancing chef. The man laughs heartily, seemingly entertained by the confrontation. "You little shit screwed with my business for the last time," he taunts, his voice dripping with anger. Wanda acts swiftly, grabbing hold of the chef's attacking arm, surprising him with her strength. "Do not even consider that option," she hisses, her voice filled with an underlying intensity.
Sensing the tension and Wanda's urge to take action, I step forward, diverting the man's attention toward me. From my pocket, I produce a wad of cash and offer it to him, acknowledging the damages the dog may have caused. Ignoring his muttered words, I firmly state, "Take the money and leave." With a dismissive snort, the man begrudgingly accepts the compensation and walks away defeated. Turning my gaze to Wanda, I find her kneeling down in front of the frightened pup, creating a safe space between them. Slowly, the dog emerges from the shadows, cautiously approaching Wanda. She reassures it gently, "It's okay. The mean fatass is gone now." Wanda reaches into her pocket and retrieves the piece of meat the dog had dropped earlier. Unwrapping it, she offers a bite-size portion to the pup. The hesitant canine sniffs the offering before finally taking a leap of faith and devouring it. Wanda's words of comfort and her gentle touch gradually earn the pup's trust.
Drawn by the heartwarming scene, I step closer to join Wanda, getting a better look at the puppy. Its sleek coat boasts rich, raven-colored fur, and its eyes captivate me with their bright blue hue and striking black sclera. It's a breed I've never seen before, perhaps a hybrid Wolf-dog, given its appearance. Wanda affectionately names the pup Ahab, a name that seems to fit perfectly. The adorable creature licks her face in gratitude, sealing the bond between them. Together, Wanda and I walk away from the alley, not just as companions but also as the proud caretakers of our newfound furry addition.