All-Star: Road to the Eugenics War
Nate Carter burst through the doors of Mercy Hospital's ER room to the shrill, scolding cries of an on-duty nurse. Gritting his teeth, he paid her no mind as he frantically searched around the hospital for his fallen comrades.
"Sir, you can't be in here!" The nurse warned, attempting to grab his arm.
Nate shook her loose and kept moving. "Official Protectors business means back the fuck off, lady."
The nurse fell back with a surprised look on her face as Nate continued his march through the hospital, his vision narrowing on a set of wooden doors bearing a plaque reading 'Harmon Ward for Metahuman Emergencies'. Swallowing hard, Nate placed both hands on either door and pushed for what seemed like an age. The moment the doors gave way to his efforts and unveiled the scene waiting on their opposite side, Nate's throat went dry with tension.
On the far end of the ward with a glass window laying them out on display were the Canadian Fist and Katsuo. Both were clearly unconscious, from what Nate could tell, and fitted to the gills with twisting tubes which seemed to sap the very life from them. Nate's mind went blank as he slowly walked over to their shared room, subconsciously placing his cold hands on the window separating him from his team mates like an impenetrable barrier.
Nate's expression remained unreadable as a familiar face approached him from behind, taking up a position at his side.
"I came as fast as I could." Nate muttered to himself.
"I know." Riptide said, calmly.
Nate nodded, solemnly and tensed his hand on the glass. "Katsuo?"
"Regenerating." Riptide explained. "He'll be fine."
"What about Dusk?" Nate asked, audible concern in his tone.
Riptide looked away, his eyes fixating on some minute detail Nate wasn't interested in. "They're not sure, Nate."
There was a brief moment of silence as Nate contemplated the answers, his gaze never lifting from the immobilised bodies of Katsuo and Fist. Riptide, in turn, simply waited for his friend to process the information, impassively folding his arms.
"How the fuck did this happen?" Nate said aloud, more to himself than to anyone else.
Riptide rolled his jaw a little before continuing. "Did you get Razira's APB?"
"I was almost out of the country, Rip." Nate responded, incredulously. "I was almost out of the damn country and off the grid for a week, and then..."
"Sparrowhawk needs to be dealt with." Riptide stated, bluntly.
His eyes narrowing behind his shades, Nate shot him an accusatory glare. "Jesus, Rip, what the hell do you mean?"
"You know what I mean." Riptide answered, his tone still level. "You were thinking it all the way here. If Sparrowhawk is a traitor and a wanted criminal, she has to be dealt with."
Nate relented, turning his attention back to his comatose team mates. "We can arrest her."
"Can we?" Riptide asked.
"We can find out what caused this." Nate mused. "We don't know the whole story here."
"We know enough." Riptide argued.
Nate bit his lower lip and removed his shades, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. He had almost been out of the country when this happened and it seemed that he had developed a noticeable habit of always being preoccupied or absent when the team most needed his support. Immediately, his mind traced over notions of self-blame. Could this have been averted with his presence? Would he be the one hospitalised in place of one of his allies? Did Alex have a means of taking him down too?
Alex. The name rang bitter in Nate's mind, reverberating through his entire being and sending ripples of anger, worry and confusion through his core. Balling his hand into a fist, Nate stood upright and placed his hands on his hips, pacing away from the window.
"Acting right now is your call, Nate." Riptide continued. "Rank says you're in charge."
"But if I chose not to make a move," Nate responded, absently. "Would you obey my command or act alone?"
"You know me." Riptide said, unwavering. "You know the answer."
Nate stared down at the floor. "Be straight with me, Rip: I haven't been much of a field leader, have I?"
Riptide didn't answer, prompting Nate to turn to face him. He was never very good at reading RIptide's emotions, but his silence was as telling as it needed to be. Exhaling, Nate walked back over to his side.
"When I signed onto this gig, you wanna know why I agreed to be the field leader?" Nate asked, rhetorically. "Because I didn't want to have to take orders from strangers in tights. That's it. It wasn't out of some sense of purpose or some shit like that; I just didn't want to have to listen to Thundrax when he told me to step to his beat."
"It's not a job I'd take." Riptide admitted.
A hollow laugh was ripped from Nate's throat. "And the only reason I ever thought about joining the team proper was so that I could have an easier time of getting into my girlfriend's pants. Damn it, what the hell am I still doing here?"
"If you have to ask," Riptide offered, shrugging his shoulders. "Then maybe you should bail. Turn your back on this mess and go back to real work."
"See, there's the thing, Rip." Nate said, disbelievingly. "I can't anymore. I can't be the guy who comes and goes whenever he pleases anymore. I can't do that to them. Not now."
Riptide perked an eyebrow at his friend. "So, you're staying."
Nate leaned against the window, his eyes focusing with intensity. "I ain't going nowhere."
The slightest of smiles flitted across Riptide's face for a brief moment before he asked his next question. "So, what's our next step?"
Nate stood back up, placing his shades back on his face and running a hand through his hair. He had neglected to trim it as of late and felt the lines he had trimmed into his hairstyle filling up with a newly grown layer of woolly hair.
"A haircut." He eventually answered. "Then we talk."
