Thanks for reading and all the support. It's nice to know that even years after the show is finished, people are still interested in my H50 fanfic.
Danny made it to Kapolei in seventeen minutes, breaking all the speed limits.
His anger aimed at agent Brooks and her partner almost dissipated by the time he pulled up to meet Tani and Junior, who were already kitted up and waiting for them. Almost, but not completely. How dare they decide that Steve's life was not worth the risk?
In a way, he understood. The stakes were high. But he was pretty confident they could save Steve while halting the catastrophic trade that loomed on the horizon. Leaving his best friend in the clutches of a monster was simply not an option. Period.
As he pulled up, he quickly scanned the surroundings. To one side, a precipitous cliff cascaded down to meet the blue ocean, waves pounding relentlessly against the unyielding rock. On the other side, an old harbor in the distance seemed like a place forgotten by time. Danny wondered if anyone but local fishermen still used it.
He looked ahead, where a gravel road led to a desolate enclosure bounded by tall wire fencing, guarding a few rows of cargo containers stacked upon each other. The surroundings had an abandoned feel, as if this place hadn't been taken care of for months. Which corresponded with the information they had.
He and Lou scrambled out of the car and equipped themselves, fastening tactical vests and retrieving rifles from the trunk before advancing to meet the rest of the team.
Tani stood at ready with a rifle in her hands, unlike Junior, whose weapon was slung over his shoulder. He held a heavy-duty bolt cutter and noticed Danny eyeing him.
"Figured this might come in handy in a place like this," Junior replied to the unspoken question.
Danny nodded, appreciating the young man thinking ahead. "Ready?" he asked.
They gave him a wordless nod and gripped their weapons tighter.
Danny led the way. They inched closer to a sturdy gate covered in rust, bound by chains and a weather-beaten secure padlock. Danny noticed the displaced loose gravel creating distinct tracks leading from the inside of the fence all the way up to the main asphalt road behind them. Fresh tire marks.
He gripped his weapon tighter as he watched Junior cut through the chains. It only took a few seconds before the young man swung the gate open.
Danny moved in cautiously with Lou on one side, briefly aware of Tani and Junior on the other. His weapon high, he scanned the area methodically, expecting some kind of pushback. But as they cleared the enclosure, he realized there were no vehicles in sight. No voices. The dull thud of their boots against the gravel was the only sound in the eerie silence. And he didn't like it one bit.
Yet, he kept moving with precision, focusing on one single goal ahead. Steve might be here. He had to be here, because it was all they had.
Eventually, after reaching the large open space in the back where he guessed more containers used to be months ago, his readiness to act turned into a deflation. He heard Lou swearing under his breath, sharing Danny's frustration.
He gritted his teeth. "Junior," he called out. "Start opening those containers."
"All of them?"
"All of them."
Probably well aware that it would take a while, Junior nodded and got to work, starting with the one in the back.
"Maybe we were wrong about this place, after all," Tani said with disappointment lining her voice.
Lou shook his head. "I don't know. I can see why would Makoni insist on using this place," he said. "It's abandoned. Far from anything. And it looks like someone has been here recently."
Danny nodded. It wasn't all lost. "Split up," he said. "Steve can be somewhere here."
Tani and Lou did as told and started to inspect the rows of containers. Danny joined them too, desperate to be right. At the same time, the thought of his best friend made him feel sick. It had been an incredibly hot and sunny day, and if that was the case, Steve could as well be dead already.
Hoping against all hope, he kept looking. Kept inspecting container after container, desperately trying to stop the doubts creeping into his mind. And then he noticed something. He came to a halt.
"Hey! Over here!" he called out, his heart racing.
He stared at the small trail of dried crimson on the ground for a moment too long before coming out of his reverie. It led to the doorway of one of the containers. This had to be it!
"Steve?" he shouted, aching for the reply. The lack of any terrified him more than he thought possible. He banged at the door. "Steve! You in there, buddy?"
Tani and Lou came to a stop right next to him, their eyes quietly darting between the blood droplets on the ground and the locked container.
"Move," Junior's voice sounded behind his back.
He turned to see Junior holding his bolt cutters in his hands. Danny stepped aside and let the younger man cut the lock open, trying to ignore his racing heartbeat.
Junior's biceps bulged as he put all his strength into the bolt cutter. After a few long seconds of effort, the thick lock finally snapped, and anticipation surged through Danny as he swung open the container door. His hopes soared, but what he found inside was definitely not what he had hoped for.
The rancid smell hit him like a wall of stench, mingling with piss and blood. The sight before him was almost grotesque. Horrifying. Two lifeless bodies lay sprawled on the blood-soaked floor in the back of the container. A grim tableau of brutality painted the metal space, from blood spatters all over to the crimson smears and fingerprints on the walls and the inside of the doorway.
He gasped at the gruesome scene, his stomach churning in protest. His eyes darted frantically across the confined space, to inspect every terrifying detail. His gut wrenched, a whirlpool of emotions surging through him.
The others, too, seemed to be stricken with horror. Tani clamped a hand over her mouth, her face pale. "Oh, God," she muttered.
Lou, seasoned as he was, looked away for a few seconds before forcing himself to look back. Junior's eyes were wide with shock.
The seconds stretched as Danny stood there, so many questions popping into his weary mind. He had no idea what had happened in this stifling chamber of death, but he did know one thing.
Steve wasn't there.
But there was something else that captured his attention. A rectangular object lying there on the dirty floor.
An envelope. With 'Five-0' handwritten on it.
Steve stirred, wincing against the tormenting throb that resonated through his skull. His eyes fluttered open, but the darkness made him wonder if he hadn't just imagined that. He tried to remember where he was and what happened, but it was an eternity before he could focus on anything other than the relentless pounding in his head.
Hours, perhaps, had crawled by, but the silence surrounding him remained constant. It was quiet outside. Calm. Yet, within the claustrophobic confines of his metal prison, his mind was a battlefield, a cluttered mess of emotions fighting for dominance.
The rage, fierce and uncontrollable, surged through his veins like a wild storm. A hint of fear, an uninvited guest, had settled within his chest, even though he didn't want to admit it at first. Guilt, even though irrational, weighed him down. Worry, more pervasive than the darkness itself, wove through his every thought.
Despite the exhaustion, he fought to remain awake, to stay sharp should the opportunity to fight arose. Because it would, at some point. He was sure of that. But as hours passed, doubts crept into his no doubt concussed brain, and he wasn't so sure anymore. He was on a ship, after all. It could be in the middle of nowhere by now. And even if the temperature in the container was less brutal now at night, he could still feel his shape worsening every hour. His heart thudded against his broken ribcage with fierce determination, faster and faster as time passed. Breathing got increasingly harder, too. He was dizzy and nauseous, and his muscles cramped in protest. And staying awake took an extreme amount of energy. Maybe when the time came, there might be no fight left in him.
Maybe he would never find out what happened to his friends, whose fate was as uncertain as his at the moment. Maybe he wouldn't have a chance to get justice for the families and friends of the twelve innocent people who had died because of his failure to keep the monster locked up.
He shook his head, trying to push those thoughts aside. Allowing those to surface meant letting Makoni get what he wanted. That wouldn't happen.
Desperate to maintain control, he resorted to a technique he'd learned through the crucible of SEAL training. It worked every time, no matter how tough things got. It had gotten him through BUDs, which included the fabled and feared Hell Week–one hundred and thirty continuous hours of sleep deprivation, physical exhaustion, and mental suffering. It had helped him many times after the training too.
Box breathing, they called it. A methodical pattern, simple yet effective, that could reign in the chaos within his mind.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Repeat.
The sultry air scraped at the back of his throat as he drew breath through his blood-clogged nostrils. In the pitch-black recesses of his confinement, he envisioned the square, focusing only on his breath. Counting each second as he drew the air in.
One.
He couldn't help the thoughts invading. Taking him back to the events of the previous night. To the bar where he'd been taken. To the explosion in the distance.
Two.
He could still hear the news anchor's voice declaring twelve casualties. He couldn't help but wonder–were his friends among those numbers?
Three.
Makoni's sinister words danced through his thoughts as well. "Big day tomorrow." What horrors did the man have in store? How much worse could this get?
Four.
Steve closed his eyes and held his breath, desperate to get rid of those thoughts. Once again, he counted four seconds before slowly releasing the air out of his dry lips. Then held it again.
He started the cycle again. With each breath, he inched closer to composure. The storm in his mind began to subside, though the shadows of doubt still loomed above him. He was preparing himself for whatever lay ahead, gathering the mental fortitude required to face the unknown.
After finishing the third round, Steve felt a sense of quiet strength filling the void left by his emotions. He was a warrior, a protector, a leader. He was Steven McGarrett. No matter what happened, he would face it head-on, and do everything in his power to prevent more damage. It would all be okay.
It had to be.
*to be continued*
I hope you liked this one. Let me know what you think – I always appreciate it.