All-Star: Breaking Point (Part II)
Alone
"So, you say the package you were supposed to recover contained a prepubescent girl, Agent Carter?"
"Couldn't have been older than maybe nine or ten."
"You know you weren't authorised to-"
"Of course I wasn't authorised to know what I was dealing with. How else would you get me to blindly follow orders?"
"Agent Carter-"
"Your people think those people can do what they did to that girl and get away with it?!"
"Agent Carter, please."
"You think you can screw me over and just pretend like-"
"Agent Carter, let me remind you that it is your conduct that is being brought into question, not ours."
"...Yes, sir."
"Good. After uncovering the true nature of the weapon, you were understandably alarmed by what you found. What were your next steps?"
"I was freaked out, confused. Here I was in a shitty motel in the rough part of Caracas with an unconscious kid in a duffel bag on my bed. It was a little..."
"Disorienting?"
"That's one way to put it, I suppose."
"Agent Carter, the contents of that bag and the nature of the weapon were-"
"On a need-to-know basis, I know. Don't patronize me, alright? I've been at this game for five years: I know when I'm not supposed to know something."
"I didn't mean to patronize you, Agent Carter. My apologies."
"Don't say sorry if you don't mean it. I hate that."
"Very well. Continue."
"So there I was in one the most awkward positions I had ever been in. I legitimately had no idea what I was going to do, so I did what I was ordered to: I contacted my handler-"
"Special Agent Kurt White, yes."
"I contacted Kurt and went looking to him for answers. If I was going to get anywhere on this, I was going to need to know what exactly I was dealing with. Kurt's the only person I know I can trust a hundred percent when it comes to government. I was hoping that trust wasn't misplaced on this one."
Nate's fingers rested on the small table in front of him, anxiously tapping an arrhythmic beat to match the disordered thoughts racing through his head. Initially, it had taken Nate a few seconds to fully embrace the gravitas of his situation. Regardless of what his eyes clearly perceived, it had taken a while for his mind to come to terms with such a thoroughly overwhelming scenario and, though Nate was a notorious man of action, it was only once he had accepted just how real the contents of the duffel bag were that he was able to focus on formulating a plan.
And so, half-dressed in a torn and slightly bloodied t-shirt and muddy cargo pants, Nate stood in the lobby of the cheap motel holding a payphone to his ear and hoping against hope that the man on the other end of it would give him the information he needed. Nate's fingers stopped tapping as the shrill dial-tone started up. He tensed in the uncertain moments spent waiting for the call to go through and was a fraction of a second from returning to his nervous tapping when the dial-tone abruptly ceased and a voice called out from the receiver.
"Where goes the true patriot?" The cool voice asked, routinely.
"Wherever he's needed." Nate responded, briefly glancing around. "Does his homeland march with him?"
"Whenever it's wanted." Said the voice, the cool tone becoming somewhat warmer. "Hello, Nate."
"Kurt." Nate said, his tone gruff and his patience short.
There was a brief pause on the other end as Kurt registered Nate's tone. "I trust you're calling in to confirm that you're in possession of the package?"
"I've got it, Kurt, but that's not why I'm calling." Nate said, firmly. "I looked at the package, Kurt. I know what it is."
"You weren't authorised to-" Kurt started, his cool tone becoming noticeably more aggressive.
"Cut the shit, Kurt." Nate snapped back, making sure to keep his voice as low as possible. "No one told me what I was dealing with here. No one told me the dangerous weapon was a little girl."
Kurt's reply didn't come for a few seconds. "...The weapon is a girl?"
"You didn't know?" Nate asked, taken aback.
"No, I didn't. The order for this gig was passed from up high, Nate. Even I had no idea what we were really dealing with, here."
Nate gritted his teeth, partly in anger and partly in frustration. "Then who does, Kurt?"
"Look, Nate, I'll ask a few questions, alright? Bark up a few trees. If this weapon is a kid then something isn't right and someone's trying to make it seem otherwise." Kurt said, his voice reassuring and calm. "In the meantime, I need to know that you understand your mission parameters, okay?"
"Screw the mission parameters, Kurt!" Nate growled, his voice raising and drawing attention from the nearby hotel manager.
"Nate. Do you understand your mission parameters?" Kurt repeated, as calmly as ever.
Nate relented with a sigh of defeat. "I get the package back on US Soil or..." He bit his lip, looking at the window. "I make sure it doesn't get back into the enemy's hands."
"You got dealt a bad hand here, Nate." Kurt responded, his voice sympathetic. "I don't know how you're going to get the kid back to the States with you, and I'm sorry I can't be of more help, but you need to swim on your own with this one. I can't promise the higher-ups will take my asking questions well."
"And I can't promise I won't ask a few questions myself." Nate said, gruffly. "Goodbye, Kurt."
Placing the phone back on its hook, Nate ran both hands through his hair and fought against a rising desire to scream at the top of his lungs. With his hands returning to his sides, he reached for the phone book on top of the payphone and began flicking through it, stopping at the 'N' section and moving his finger down to a particular name: 'Niebla, J'. The only 'J' under the name Niebla. Memorising the number, Nate returned the book to its position, made his way outside of the small motel and sat on a nearby bench, prompting the scruffy-looking old man sitting beside him to turn to face him, pulling his cigarette from his mouth.
"<You look like you could use one of these.>" The man said, half-jokingly.
"<Sorry, I'm not a smoker.>" Nate replied, throwing him a sideways glance.
"<Well, neither am I.>" The man croaked, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and handing it to Nate. "<But these are smoking times.>"
Nate stared at the cigarette momentarily before gently taking it and sticking it in his mouth. The man then reached for his lighter and, sparking a flame, raised it to Nate's cigarette. His cigarette now lit, Nate took a long, savouring draw before removing it from his mouth and blowing out a thick fog of smoke.
"<True enough.>" He eventually said, nodding in appreciation. "<Never much cared for these.>"
"<Are you one of those anti-smoking nuts?>" The man asked, taking another draw on his own cigarette.
Nate looked down at the dirt beneath his feet with thoughtful apprehension before placing his cigarette back in his mouth. "<My dad smoked.>"
The man nodded slowly, thinking it best not to dig any deeper with that particular line of questioning. Instead, he shifted over to a new topic. "<Got a story then, stranger?>"
Nate thought for a moment before shaking his head. "<No. Don't have much to tell.>"
The man spat on the dirt to his left and stubbed his cigarette out on the bench, a quiet hiss emanating from it. "<Hm. I don't believe you.>" He muttered, brusquely.
Nate gave a weary smile and a hollow chuckle in response. "<Is it that obvious?>"
The old man returned the smile and stood up, dusting his filthy work clothes off. "<Look, I won't pretend to know what you're going through, boy, but I've seen enough people looking like you to know that you won't get far alone.>"
Nate didn't reply, looking at a young man go by on a worn bicycle, not a worry in his head.
"<You take care now.>" The man said, offering a half-hearted wave as he ambled away. "<And get some rest. You look tired as hell.>"
Nate waved back as the ragged old man turned a corner and disappeared behind a row of houses. For a few therapeutic minutes, he sat in the humid Venezuelan night and smoked his cigarette as slowly as he could. Eventually, however, he stood up from his position and, dropping his used cigarette into the mound of dirt at his feet, made his way back to his room.
Nate bit down on his rolled up t-shirt and stifled a pained grunt as he drove a set of tweezers into his arm. Though he had built up a resistance to the pain of removing bullets, nothing ever quite steeled a man against driving cold metal into his own flesh to extract wedged-in pieces of metal before they caused infection. Since returning to his room, Nate's last thirty minutes had been spent disinfecting his wounds and fighting against pain with only a cheap convenience store first aid kit to help him.
It was far from enjoyable.
With one last muffled moan, Nate secured his hold on the final bullet and pulled it free from its fleshy prison, dropping it in a cup of hot water and releasing his pent up breath. Grabbing for a roll of wound dressing, Nate quickly began tightening the uncomfortable material around the bullet wound. Once certain that the wound was properly dressed, he stood from his position and drifted towards the grime-coated window of his dank little room, making sure to grab his lukewarm cup of mediocre coffee on the way.
And he smiled. For as long as he could remember, Nate had enjoyed seeing things from a vantage point. In his youth, he had a habit of climbing trees and abandoned buildings only to spend minutes at a time staring down from the highest point he could find. There was a tranquillity to sitting isolated on a branch or on a roof, watching people live their lives and rush from point A to point B, completely unaware of the little watcher who had it all figured out. The twinkling star in the night sky who had nowhere to go and all the time in the world.
The sense of wonder was tainted by his training, however. Now, whenever Nate attempted to look from his vantage point and clear his mind of everything else, he also had to fight to keep his sniper training at bay. He had to stop himself from analysing every aspect of what he saw with the trained eye of a killer, a challenge made all the more difficult by his Hyperkinesis, which practically mandated that he subconsciously break every insignificant detail into its most quantitative form.
The birds were potential obstructions, the soft breeze an indication of wind speed and direction, the rustic lanterns swinging to and thro above doorways a potential environmental advantage. Nate gave a grimace. No matter how much he tried to deny or ignore it, he was a killer and he didn't enter a room without thinking of a dozen potential escape routes and a way to neutralise everyone else in it. He closed his eyes and brought his cup of coffee to his chapped lips; he didn't feel much like looking out of the window anymore.
When he turned away from the window and directed his gaze to the bed, however, he was glad for his finely-tuned mind. The girl, once immobilised by a peaceful slumber, stood across from him. Her icy blue eyes glared with poisonous scorn. Her hair, black and cropped short, was unkempt and damp from sweat. Her face was contorted in anger and, in her hands, she awkwardly grasped Nate's Glock, pointing it at him.
"Easy." Nate said, his eyes drifting over the girl. She couldn't have been older than ten or, at a push, eleven. Her only article of clothing was a grey and dreary jumpsuit with no distinctive markings or labels on it. On the surface, she didn't seem to be wounded or in pain but her eyes told of a different story. Nate hadn't gotten much of a look at her when he discovered her in the bag. He didn't want to. Probably to make his job just that little bit easier. "Don't."
The girl kept her gaze fixated on the stranger that was Nate, as steely and determined as she could make it. Her hands trembling somewhat, she kept the gun trained on Nate as he placed his coffee on the window sill and raised his hands over his head.
"Do you speak English?" Nate asked, tentatively. The girl didn't respond. "You gonna shoot me, cupcake? If you are, you're gonna need to correct your stance and adjust your centre of balance." The girl simply blinked, her gun still levelled at the advancing Nate. "Like a boxer, y'know?" Nate continued, putting up his dukes to demonstrate. The girl jumped in response, pointing the gun at him more firmly. Nate, satisfied that the girl definitely wasn't going to shoot him, raised his hands again. "We're cool. We're cool." The girl took the opportunity to take a few paces backwards anyway, her trembling becoming even more noticeable.
"I know why you're holding that gun, cupcake." Nate stated, his voice warm and calming. "You're scared. The gun makes you feel safe. Makes you feel like you can take on bigger and badder than you, right?" He took a few steps towards the girl, his arms still raised. "Makes you feel strong, doesn't it? Having all that power and technology at your side? But a gun is just a gun, kid. It's an object. Relying on it to defend you or to give you strength is dumb. The gun just gives you a fighting chance. The strength's gotta to come from you." By now, Nate was right in front of the trembling girl, looking down at her reassuringly. Kneeling down to her eye level, he slowly extended a hand. "And sometimes, it takes a little more strength to not use the gun at all."
The girl bit her lip nervously. Her icy glare softening somewhat, she looked up and into Nate's eyes, scanning them for a moment before shakily handing him the Glock. Smiling, Nate took it and tucked it back into his waistband before extending his hand one more time.
"I'm Nate Carter." He said, maintaining eye contact.
The girl extended her hand in return, taking a hold of Nate's and shaking it. "Iris."
"Can we be friends, Iris?" Nate asked.
"I don't have friends." Iris stated, somewhat coldly.
"Well," Nate said, standing upright. "Now's as good a time as any to get started on that."
The sounds of chomping and chewing filled the otherwise silent room as Nate and Iris tucked into a basic dinner of rice, fish and baked beans in their lamp-lit motel room. Iris kept her gaze on Nate as he hungrily scarfed the food down. After fitting an especially large piece of fish into his mouth and only half chewing it, Nate looked up from his plate and caught her eye, prompting her to look down into her food again.
"So, you're wondering what my game is here, right?" Nate asked, leaning back in his seat and raising a cup of water to his mouth.
"You put me in a bag and brought me here. I remember that." Iris replied, tentatively eating a forkful of beans.
"Wasn't me, cupcake." Nate said, coarsely. "I'm here to take you home."
"Why do you keep calling me that?" Iris asked, looking up at Nate curiously.
Nate gave a shrug. "You struck me as a cupcake. Want me to stop?"
Iris looked back to her food and began playing with her rice. "I didn't say that."
Nate finished his meal and pushed his seat away from the table, tossing the paper plate and plastic knives in the trash. "Finished with yours?" He asked, turning to look at Iris. She nodded solemnly and Nate threw her meal into the trash also, sitting back down shortly afterwards.
"Okay, we're both fed. Now, let's talk." He said, leaning forward in his chair. "Where were you taken from, Iris? When you were kidnapped and put in the bag, where was your convoy coming from?"
Iris closed her eyes in an attempt to recall the information, sitting in meditative silence for a few seconds before shaking her head. "I don't remember...There's always bright lights. Always. Bright lights and doctors in white coats. They were always looking at me from as long as I remember."
Nate's eyebrows furrowed as he processed her response. Leaning back in his seat he nodded to himself before continuing. "And what did these 'doctors' make you do?"
Iris looked down once again. "Exercises. On big exercise machines. Some of them taught me stuff like Math and English. Most of the time, I was all tied up in big machines. There was..." She paused before pulling up her sleeve, revealing a series of needle marks and scars from minor incisions. "A lot of doctor stuff there."
Nate blinked at her display, fighting against his anger at the mere sight of it and maintaining his calm. "Did they ever tell you why you were there, Iris? What they were doing?"
"No," Iris said, "They told me my parents died. That I was there to help people. To get stronger. They never let me outside, either. Not unless I had one of the doctors with me and it was in the backyard."
"Okay. I believe you." Nate said with a sigh.
Iris looked at Nate once more, her face softening again. "You said you were going to take me back home, didn't you?"
"I did." Nate responded.
"Well..." Iris started, rubbing the back of her neck. "Why was I taken in the first place?"
Nate hesitated as he looked at the frightened little girl, averting his gaze for a moment. "I'm sorry, cupcake; I don't know." Iris gave a slow and introspective nod in response as Nate stood up once again. "I'm going to go make a phone call, alright? You don't answer the door for anybody."
"Mr. Carter," Iris blurted out as Nate opened the door. "Why are you helping me get home? What do you get from helping me? Who are you?"
Nate looked back at her. Smart kid. "I'm just a guy who wants to make sure people like you stay safe. I'm your friend."
Iris tilted her head, curiously. "Like a superhero?"
Nate paused for a moment before looking back to the doorway and stepping out of the room. "Don't answer the door for anybody."
With that, he was gone.
For the second time that night, Nate stood in the lobby of the motel, his ear pressed against a payphone and his fingers tapping against a table. Regardless of whatever similarities there were, however, almost everything about his situation had changed in the gap between his earlier phone call and his current one.
The girl who was supposedly the weapon was some sort of experiment. She had no real leads or information on who or what had turned her into that and Nate still had no idea just how dangerous she was supposed to be. Without a passport there was literally no way the girl was getting back to America legally, and, until he was completely sure about the details of the matter, he didn't feel particularly confident about bringing her back to the States in a less-than-legal way.
And then, there was Plan B, should the risk of her permanently winding up in enemy hands ever present itself...
The person on the other end of the line picked up with a yawn. "<Hello? Who is this? You'd better have a good reason for calling me at one in the morning.>
"Lance Corporal Javier Niebla, First Marine Division, Second Battalion, First Marine?" Nate interjected.
There was a deathly silence on the other end of the phone. "Who the fuck is this?" The voice eventually responded.
Nate grinned to himself. "This is Sergeant Nathaniel Carter. We served together for six months in Afghanistan. You were in my squad."
"...Holy shit." Javier said, awestruck. "Nate? The freaking All-Star?"
"I go by both these days, yeah." Nate chuckled, leaning against the wall.
"Ha! I know I told you to give me a call if you ever wound up on my turf, but I never thought you'd actually do it." Javier responded with a laugh of his own. "You were a crazy son of a bitch, man. I still get chills when I think of the shit you did."
"And I see you've still got your bad mouth, brother." Nate replied.
"Some things don't change, huh?" Javier said. "Still working for the feds? 'Cause I've seen you on TV living it up with those spandex types every now and then."
Nate rested his arm on the payphone, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. "In a manner of speaking, yeah. Listen, I need to crash with you for a day, a day and a half tops."
"You kidding me?" Javier replied. "You saved all our lives back in that hellhole. I owe you one."
"You owe me ten, marine." Nate joked, a sincere smile on his face. "Got an address?"
Reaching for the pad of sticky notes on the table beside him and the pen chained to the payphone, Nate scrawled Javier's address and directions down in chicken-scratch handwriting and finished just in time to see five heavily tattooed men walk into the motel, scanning the lobby with predatory eyes.
"Look, Jay, I gotta go." Nate whispered, bowing his head and avoiding eye contact as the men walked over to the check-in desk and began talking to the owner. "I'll talk when I get there. Semper Fi." Hanging up the phone and shoving the note into his pocket, Nate briskly began to make his way towards the stairs and the Glock waiting on the end table in his room.
As he passed by, one of the men turned and stared at him, his eyes narrowing. Flashing a friendly smile in greeting, Nate continued on his path to his room and the man turned his attention back to the motel owner. Sprinting up the stairs as inconspicuously as he could, Nate hurriedly searched for his keys at the door before pounding it with his fist. In a few moments, Iris opened it from the other side and Nate stormed in, making a beeline for the Glock.
"I thought I told you not to answer the door." He said, snatching up his Glock and checking it.
Iris closed the door, alarm setting in on her face. "I'm sorry! Don't shoot me!"
"What?" Nate said, spinning to face her. "No! I'm not gonna shoot you, Iris. I need you to...I need you to..." Turning to the bed-sheet, Nate ripped it off the bed, tossing it to Iris. "Wrap this up around you like a dress, okay? Like you're playing dress up."
Nodding in affirmation, Iris began wrapping herself in the bed-sheet in order to fashion an impromptu dress as Nate grabbed the keys to the pick-up truck, the spare magazines and his cheap sunglasses, which he promptly threw on.
"I did it." Iris called out, showing off her hastily made dress and pulling up her sleeves to match it. "It doesn't look so good."
"You kidding me?" Nate said, grabbing the girl by the wrist. "It's perfect. Let's move. Keep up, okay?"
Iris nodded quickly as Nate tucked his Glock into his waistband and moved out of the room, rushing down the stairs two steps at a time as Iris struggled to do the same. By the time he had reached the lobby, one of the men was grabbing the owner by the shirt and threatening him. By the looks of the owner's chubby face, the threats were working. As Nate tugged on Iris and tried to get to the exit, the owner fearfully pointed a finger at him. Cursing under his breath, Nate pulled Iris into his arms and began running. The men, angrily pushing the owner aside, gave chase.
"What's happening?!" Iris shrieked, alarmed by the sudden change in pace as Nate hefted her towards the truck parked nearby.
"Iris, take these keys and get inside a white pick-up truck." Nate said, placing Iris down and forcing the keys to her. "You get in the truck, you get on the floor and you stay quiet."
"But-" Iris started.
"GO!" Nate yelled, prompting a frightened Iris to turn tail and run. Pulling the Glock from his waistband, Nate fired a few shots up at the sky, causing nearby civilians to flee in panic, insuring that they wouldn't be harmed by the ensuing gunfight. As the five men pushed through the crowd to get to him, Nate ducked behind the same bench he had smoked on earlier that night and fired a shot at the man leading the pack, hitting him square in the centre and sending him spiralling to the floor. The other four men, taking this as indication that they should draw their handguns, opened fire on Nate as he dove back behind his cover, a bullet barely missing his head. The men poured on their fire as they split up, taking up different positions around the motel.
The wooden bench coming apart under heavy fire, Nate looked around for new cover, his eyes falling on a beaten old SUV parked nearby. Darting out of cover with the fearlessness of a man with nothing to lose, Nate dove at the SUV whilst turning his body in mid-air, firing off two shots at one of the attackers hiding behind a churro cart. The first bullet successfully drove him back behind cover and the second bullet hit the wall behind him, bouncing off of it and embedding itself in the unfortunate man's spine. With a howl of intense pain, he fell to the ground, unlikely to move again.
With only three out of five men still shooting at him, Nate popped off four more shots to keep his attackers at bay before removing the magazine from his Glock and inserting a new one. Ready for round two, Nate readied his Glock and spun out from his cover, preparing to fire a shot at his next target. The moment he did, however, a bullet struck him in the shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon and fall back, crying out in pain. His teeth gritted, Nate grabbed the Glock with his left hand and pulled himself underneath the SUV. Using the large vehicle as his cover, he crawled through mud and dirt working its way into his recent wound and peeked out at his attackers from underneath it. From his position, he could make out the legs of one of the shooters moving to new cover. Pointing his gun forward, Nate fired two shots at the man, both hitting his right leg and sending him crashing to the floor, his face colliding with the pavement.
Rolling sideways, Nate emerged from underneath the vehicle and, with his position momentarily distracting the last two shooters as they searched for the source of his previous shots, fired twice. One bullet hit the man on his left in the eye, causing him to lull for a moment before collapsing backwards. The other hit his friend in the stomach, eliciting a choked gasp followed by a fall to the floor, the man already bleeding out.
Panting heavily, Nate stood tall and heard the first sirens of approaching police cars in the distance. Not wanting to stick around to answer any probing questions, he turned and jogged to the pick-up truck, grasping his wounded shoulder on the way. The truck sat around the corner, the keys already turned in the ignition. As Nate pulled to a stop in front of it, he lightly rapped on the window. A frightened Iris looked up from her hiding spot and hurriedly opened the door, relief washing over her.
"Your shoulder!" She shouted, her hand flying to her mouth in surprise and the relief quickly being replaced by concern.
"I've had worse." Nate said, wryly. "Come on, we don't have much-"
Nate's eyes darted to the side mirror of the truck almost instinctively. In it, the man who had been shot in the stomach stood, supporting his wobbly legs by leaning on the wall, and pointed his handgun right at Nate's back. Reaching for his Glock and pushing Iris back, Nate spun around just in time to get a bullet to the chest. The shock causing him to fire off his own shot, Nate slumped into the truck, struggling to stay calm as a blotch of red spread across his chest. His own bullet had struck the last man in his heart, causing him to crumple in a heap, a final wheeze escaping his lips as he drifted away. Nate wasn't so lucky. Excruciating pain wracking his body, he pulled himself into the driver's seat and, his hands shaking profusely, withdrew the crumpled sticky note from his pocket. He scanned the note through tear blurred vision, giving it a once over before slowly pulling out of his parking spot and driving away.
He wasn't dead yet. He wasn't struggling to breathe. The shot must have missed his lungs or any other vital organs. For that much, Nate was thankful. Regardless of that fact, however, he was losing a large quantity of blood from the wound and his shirt, once white, was now covered in a sizeable crimson stain. The screams and panicked inquisitions of Iris pounded in the back of his mind like the continuous whirring of a grand machine. He barely even registered other drivers as he sped through the streets of Caracas and towards the address on the note, his fading mind focused entirely on the task.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed by the time he arrived outside of Javier's residence, narrowly avoiding crashing into a parked car. He was only vaguely aware that it had been time enough for Iris to have stopped screaming out and to have fallen silent from the shock of what had happened. His lips dry, Nate reassured her with something inaudible and stumbled out of the truck. His legs, weighed down by some invisible force, dragged his half-asleep body slowly towards the house in numb, heavy strides.
Nate blinked and found that he was suddenly at the front door, his tunnelling vision from the lack of blood. His right arm covered in blood from his shoulder and having gone completely numb, Nate opted to raise his left one and gave three lazy pounds on the door. In a few seconds which felt like an eternity to the rapidly fading Nate, Javier opened the door and shouted something in surprise. Nate smiled weakly at his reliable friend, resting a bloody hand on his shoulder in what he dimly hoped was a friendly gesture.
"Semper Fi." He muttered, falling into a bottomless pit of warmth, respite and crushing darkness.
