All-Star: Same As It Ever Was (Part IV)
"Name." The burly man working the confiscated property desk said with more than a hint of boredom in his tone. "Name. Your name, sir?"
"Huh? Oh. Nate. It's Nate." A 21 year old Nate Carter responded, dryly.
"Full name." The man groaned, barely even formulating the words before sighing heavily. It was always the same with these types. Take your average criminal and toss them in a maximum security prison and in a couple of years, they're broken. Less than human. They'd come out glassy-eyed, weary, wilted. At first, their appearances had shocked him. They had made him think about the true nature of the penal system, about whether or not prisons truly reformed the irredeemable. Eventually, though, he stopped his pondering and looked in the mirror to find that prison had broken him too; and by the time he had realised just how much damage it had done, he was too damaged to care. Broken.
"Carter." Nate muttered, his head bowed in shame. "Nathaniel J. Carter."
"Welcome to freedom, Mr. Carter." The man said, bemusedly. He scribbled the name down on a form and reached for a box beneath his desk with his free hand.
"Huh. Thought freedom would feel a little more free." Nate joked, hollowly.
"They always do." The man said, shaking his head. Poor asshole. With a huff and a lift, the box landed on the desk, heftily. "Property of one Nathaniel J. Carter at the time of his capture and subsequent incarceration." The man stuck a grubby hand into the box and pulled out the first item, laying it on the desk in front of him. "One box of toothpicks. Some used."
"Thanks." Nate said, with a tired smile, scooping the box into his pocket.
The man reached back into the box and placed the next item within its confines on the desk. "One wallet. Contents: expired credit card; $45 in cash; two tickets to a matinee showing of-"
"Lost in Translation." Nate interrupted, suddenly, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the man. "She liked it. I didn't."
"Right..." The man continued, placing another item on the desk. "And a Sony Walkman."
"It was a different time." Nate replied, defensively.
"Son, it was 2003. You don't have an excuse." The man said with what he thought was a warm smile.
"I was never very good at excuses, anyway." Nate smiled, gathering up his belongings and shoving them into his pocket. "Do you have any idea how a guy like me wound up slipping off of Death Row at the last second?"
"Nope." The man responded. "But my pappy had a saying about looking gift horses in the mouth."
"I think I've heard that one." Nate said, moving towards the exit.
"Son," the man called out, prompting Nate to turn to face him again. "I don't believe you killed her, if it's any consolation."
Nate stopped for a bit, looking at his feet. "It's not."
With that, he turned and stepped through the doors and into the blinding light, shielding his eyes from its piercing gaze. Outside, a black sedan waited on the sun-parched desert road, a man in a black suit and shades waiting by it. His face carried all the telltale signs of aging despite the fact that he looked a man in his late twenties. His upright posture, clean-cut features, short-cropped blonde hair and impeccably neat suit all screamed one thing to Nate: Government. As Nate stepped down the stairs of the institution which had been a home to him for the past two years, he moved to greet him, smiling jovially.
"Mr. Carter." he said, holding out a hand. "I'm Mr. White. With the agency that approached you?"
"Mr. White? Were all the less obvious codenames taken?" Nate replied, still shielding his eyes from the sunlight and pointedly refusing to shake the hand.
"Well, I tried to go for James Bond, but you know how it goes." White smirked, tilting his head at Nate's squinting. "Having some trouble, there?"
"Yeah..." Nate answered. "Has the sun always been this bright?"
White chuckled, pulling a spare pair of shades from his pocket and handing them to Nate. "Only gets brighter from here on out, Mr. Carter. I'll give you some notes on global warming when I get the chance. Blow your mind."
"I was only under for a few years. I know what global warming is. Thanks." Nate said with a brief nod, sliding the shades on. "I guess I'll give these back to you when we get to the car?"
"Keep 'em." White said, walking back to the sedan. "I've got a million. Besides, they suit you."
"So, what do the feds want with a worn out black guy sitting on death row?" Nate asked, stepping towards the sedan.
"You ask too many questions, Mr. Carter. Don't you think it's about time you started looking for answers?" White responded with a practiced eloquence as he climbed into the back seat of the sedan.
Slightly taken aback by the 'answer', Nate swung the door open and climbed in. "What did you guys say you were called again?"
"Project Patriot." White said, as matter-of-factly as one could be. "No more questions."
With both men now inside of it, the sedan sped off down the dusty road and into the blazing sunset, leaving the prison and everyone in it behind.
"We've heard about you, Mr. Carter. Supposedly, you've got one hell of an aim." Mr White said, unfurling a rolled up newspaper and reading the headline. "'Masked Marksman A Marked Menace.'" With a flick of the wrist, he handed the newspaper to Nate.
"That one's from way back when you were All-Star, right?" he said, interrogatively whilst maintaining his unwaveringly calm tone.
"Never liked that name. And it felt less alliterative when I was doing it..." Nate remarked, pushing the newspaper aside. "Did you bring me out here just to remind me of how much I suck?"
"Something tells me you don't need any help with that, Mr. Carter." White said, leaning back in his seat. "Prison psychologist tells us you took your wife's death pretty hard. Underst-"
"Fiancee." Nate interjected. "We were engaged, not married."
"Understandable given the circumstances." White finished. "Did you kill her?"
"You saw the verdict." Nate quickly responded.
"I also saw the evidence. You were set up. Framed. You know it and I know it. And yet you still decided to plead guilty for all the murders. Mind if I ask why?" White, staring right through Nate with piercing blue eyes.
"Yeah, I kinda do." Nate said, bitterly. With a slight frown, he turned to watch the rain pitter-patter on his window.
White gave a solemn, almost knowing smile. "Project Patriot is a special government-mandated program designed to turn ex-convicts with exception skills or talents into the very model of the perfect soldier, willing to lay down his or her life for their country.
"Boy Scouts." Nate jumped in. "You've invented an adult version of the Boy Scouts."
"The goal, Mr. Carter, is to prove a point. Anyone can change for the better. Anyone can realise their true potential for good and become better for it. Anyone can be a hero." Mr. White continued, shrugging off the comment.
"I don't much believe in heroes, pal." Nate laughed, still peering out of the window with a contemplative look on his face.
"That's the problem with our world today, Mr. Carter." White said, smiling. "Very few people do."
"You want a hero, go look up that Thundrax guy in the phonebook. I hear he's into that sort of thing." Nate grunted, nonchalantly.
"You misunderstand, Mr. Carter." White said, shaking his head and sitting forward. "Capes and tights? They've been done. The whole superhero scene is a little too chaotic for our liking. These are individuals with immense power - the power to change the world - in their hands. Individuals with the power to move mountains and overthrow nations. These are people with their own views on what's right and what's wrong who enforce these views regardless of whether or not they fall in line with -our- views. In essence, Mr. Carter, we want a hero, not a superhero."
"You don't want a hero," Nate sighed. "You want a soldier. A weapon."
"We want someone who knows how and when to take orders." White went on. "We want someone we can mold into a better, more reliable enforcer of justice."
"You're insane. Take me back, we're done." Nate growled, raising his voice.
"If you could do it all differently, Mr. Carter, would you? If you could take all the sins of your past and cast them into a burning pyre, would you?" White said, resting a hand on Nate's shoulder.
"What the hell are you babbling about?" Nate responded, shrugging him off.
"You think death is the only way to make it right, don't you? To pay for your sins? Well, I'm giving you a new way. A better way. Redemption."
Nate went silent, turning his head back to the pouring rain splashing rhythmically against the window.
"Come be a part of Project Patriot, Mr. Carter. It's time to stop running." White said, solemnly.
"...Nate." Nate practically whispered.
"Excuse me?" White asked, raising an eyebrow.
"If we're going to be working together," Nate said, turning back to face White with an uneasy look in his eyes. "You should probably just call me Nate."
Mr. White gave an ear-to-ear grin, exuberance practically dripping from his face. "Wallace. Welcome to the team, Nate."
"Yeah," Nate breathed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "It doesn't get any better than this."
