Post by Wachter on Jun 15, 2018 9:20:20 GMT
The Initiative #3
Instinct
First In, Only Ones Out Finale
Shusterville, (Present)
After sneaking around in the dark, finding himself beneath the smoldering Florida sun was not a refreshing change of pace. The Hooded Man was hot, sweating, and bits of him still bled through his bandages. Why anyone would choose to live in this place with its heat and giant palmetto bugs was beyond him. Why he was here in the first place was a simple enough matter. It was a choice brought on by a lifetime of instinct.
His fingers tapped the steering wheel of the rusted truck he had purchased, to his regret, back in West Virginia. She got him here after much bitching, complaining, and paying more for gas and repairs than he had for the actual vehicle. The dirty bandages around his knuckles began to ooze with the strain. Quickly, he put them down in his lap. Then as high school girls in skirts much too short to be described as reasonable pieces of clothing walked by, he rethought the decision. He rested one on the truck's door and tried to find something less awkward to do with the other. It had been a lot easier breaking into Stark's house and the Triskelion.
Something about a grizzled old man waiting outside of a school all alone raised alarm bells.
And as always, fate had her way of making it more difficult. The sheriff's own truck passed him by, pulling into the student drop-off. Like the rest of the small college town (and so much of Florida), the school featured its modern imitation of the poor man's Spanish architecture. Wide and open, spread out over quite the amount of grounds, the hooded Man only saw two structures that rose above a single story. He pegged them out as the gymnasium and the main building that probably featured the offices and auditorium. Maybe the cafeteria.
No. A scent wafted by. He caught the smell of breakfast and saw small circular tables just around the corner of the far building. They didn't use to serve breakfast at school. When did this happen?
His eyes were drawn back to the sheriff's truck. A wide shouldered boy, hunched befitting a loner, stepped out. He wore a hoodie of all things in this weather. That was the style he assumed given others wore them as well or maybe, micro miniskirts notwithstanding, this weather was honestly cold for them? Florida folk could be a strange people with their swamps and giant bugs. At least he would not be so out of place in his own.
The sheriff pulled out, his son waved goodbye and promptly picked a spot underneath a tree to wait out the morning bell. Those very same girls spared him a glance when they passed the boy by, laughing as they were wont to do. The Hooded Man turned his head to mess with the radio as the sheriff drove by again, catching sight of a manlier mustache and goatee than Stark could dream of pulling off behind that steering wheel. Fitting for a lawman. When the Hooded Man looked back up, the boy stared back at him.
Instinct.
Helluva thing.
Zambesi, (Past)
"Uncle Logan," the young woman approaching the Howling Commandos at a run did the unthinkable. She gave their taciturn Sergeant a hug of all things. "I am happy that my message got through."
"You've grown. Might just have to stop calling you Little One now," he joked despite the woman's head barely reaching his chin.
"Ugogo will be jealous. You have not aged a day!"
Snapper barely had time to take a picture of Sarge smiling for once before his guard – more often attack, he'd come to notice – dogs flanked him, ruining the shot. Both the giant Dog and tiny Runt received hugs in turn from the lady. It kept Snapper from getting a good look at her as the rest of the Howling Commandos fanned out from the trees into the plains surrounding the huts he assumed to be Zambesi Village the capital of this tiny African nation. Fresno and Pinky were already inspecting what they had to work with in terms of a battlefield. The men loved to blow things up more than anything the photographer had come to learn over the course of the past few missions.
The shadow of Dum Dum fell over him, the big man sweating from helping the baby faced Junior lug a majority of their heavy armament from the Trinjet. He wiped his brow beneath his hat, unwittingly splashing Snapper with it. Or wittingly, never could tell with the big guy. Bit rude considering Snapper had helped carry all that shit too. Only Dog and Runt had been exempt as forward scouts. Which tended to happen every time. They never had to do the heavy lifting. He supposed it balanced out with the fact they were also the ones who got shot at the most.
Another figure approached from the village, dark skinned and still sweltering in this heat. He wore the same tribal clothing as the woman but not half as well. It hung off him uncomfortably, making him look unsure in his movements even to Snapper's untrained eyes.
"Gotta say, Sarge," the man saluted lazily, "I thought you were a racist bastard stationing me here but you were right."
"Get back in uniform, Musicman" grunted Logan, tossing the man a pack, before frowning down at the woman talking avidly with the savage soldiers. "I wanted to be wrong."
"Gabe Jones," Dum Dum whispered out of the side of his mouth. "Communications and cypher specialist. Been wondering where he was. Thought he accidently got launched out of a torpedo tube. Knew a man that did but they kept it hush-hush. Nauticarrier is perfectly safe, right?"
"Does anyone believe your bullshit, Dum Dum?"
"Women, usually, especially when they don't speak English. It's the mustache. Makes me trustworthy."
Snapper shook his head in disbelief and began doing his job, taking some shots of the village and surrounding woods. More people were emerging from the huts. Some even from the trees behind them where the photographer had failed to notice their spying. He finally got a good look at the woman. A girl practically he noticed. Beautiful with long hair rivalling Dog's in length
A strange necklace? Medallion? Of an indeterminate animal head hung around her neck. It drew his attention enough for him to zoom in and take a picture of that as well. When he was no longer looking through the lens of his camera, he saw the woman glaring back at him. Her eyes were full of the same ferocity as Logan's mutts.
"What's her story?"
"No clue. Here, carry this."
"What is it?"
"Mortars."
Snapper stopped in his tracks while the rest of the Howling Commandos moved onto the village. "Why?"
"You're more expendable than me." Dum Dum laughed, hauling his crate. "As for the girl, hard to say. They may not look it but the mongrels have been with Sarge and Trevor since the last war. Probably saved this village back then."
"Just how old are they?"
"No goddamn clue but I'm pretty sure our unholy trinity fought alongside good ole Teddy in the one before that. What was it? We won some islands out of it, right?"
"…the Spanish-American War?"
"No. No. Doesn't ring a bell."
"It was."
"Are you sure? Maybe there was some secret war where Sergeant Logan and the Rough Riders fought alongside the President against the Stonemen of Saturn in the Bermuda Triangle."
"… you should write down these fancy tales of yours, Dum Dum. I know a guy back at the Bugle who would probably pay you a pretty penny to turn them into serials."
"You think I know how to write? Hot damn, that's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me."
"I hate you sometimes."
"I know, sport."
Her name was Amaya Jiwe and she was the guardian of Zambesi. Which sounded like it meant something. How a tiny woman probably no older than Snapper himself could be considered was a question he figured would be answered come battle. Runt was even smaller. He made a decent account for himself. At the very least, he was incredibly difficult to kill.
The Howling Commandos huddled in a hut belonging to an aged woman, the elder, who lived to see many passings of the sun. There was some sort of relationship between her and Amaya just as there was some sort of relationship between her and the Sergeant. Yet within this packed hut, full of muscular, smelly soldiers, the old woman would not stop staring at Snapper. Amaya and Gabe – once more dressed like his brothers – took turns telling the story, their story.
Why Amaya summoned the Howling Commandos.
And why Logan knew to come.
The Thule Society, Nazi believers in the Occult, had set their eyes on the Zambesi treasure. The Tantu Totem Amaya wore around her neck. It supposedly granted supernatural abilities to channel the animal kingdom. Snapper didn't ignore the possibility of it. Dog and Runt couldn't be killed as far as he'd seen though it wasn't much. In the dark with the flashes of their muzzles, it was hard to see anything even through the lens of his fancy camera.
"They are led by a man named Jared Kurtz. He comes every night as the sun begins to get low in the sky," Amaya continued, her tone full of hatred. "He warns us, demand that I hand over the gift of my ancestors," she touched the animal head of the necklace and for a moment Snapper thought he saw a hissing snake flare behind her. "And when I do not, the monsters come for us in the darkness. Things straight out of our nightmares. Every night, more of our people die. I cannot save them alone."
"You can't save them all, Little One," tenderness was unusual to find in the Sergeants voice. He crouched, knuckles against the elaborate carpets faded with time. His eyes searched it and Snapper realized that the tale of the Totem was at their feet. Logan and his mongrels were atop a three-headed wolf leading an army of howling beasts through fiery gates.
Beneath Snapper, the start of the story. A warrior trapped in a web, promised a gift, the strength to protect their people.
"What have you seen, Musicman?"
"Werewolves, vampires, assholes in white hoods, and the Devil himself."
"Not exactly African monsters, kid," Dum Dum laughed.
Gabe's eyes narrowed but the Sergeant stopped him with a mere raise of his hand. "They have their own variations, Dum Dum, and even if they didn't… it's the last two that are important."
"They die like everything else," Gabe stated matter-of-factly. He clarified more when Dog snarled. "I mean, no silver bullets or stakes through the heart. They kinda just turn to… dirt."
"Meaning Kurtz or one of his men is likely a master of the mystic arts." Those words actually came out of Sergeant Logan's mouth. They were honestly having this conversation.
"I sensed no magic," the elder spoke up for the first time. "It is something more powerful. Divine."
Logan grunted then went back to examining tapestry at his toes. The orders began without him ever looking up. The Commandos knew what to do. One by one, they left the hut. Dog and Runt to do recon, Gabe to set up a communications line with Jarvis. The others distributed munitions, prepared traps about the village, generally prepare fortifications until it was only the Sergeant, the two women, and Snapper left.
It was slightly unusual for Snapper to not be ordered to help. He'd developed a skill for finding perfect vantage points for sniping or simply observing. Another pair of hands was always useful when it came to the Commandos. Anything so that they could push the work off onto someone else and he was at the bottom of the food chain next to Junior.
"Elder Jiwe, do you trust me to save your people?" Logan asked quietly, his tone once more something unfamiliar to Snapper's ears.
"Ingcuka, I fought at your side," she pointed at his feet, at the picture, "I followed you when Anansi's Totem was my burden to bear."
It wasn't an answer, not yet anyways.
"You carry the sins of others on shoulders unbowed by the weight. I know this for truth. My people will survive because of you and your loyal pack." She closed her eyes, a toothless, mirthless smile on her lips. "I see no reason to forgive you for what is to come."
Logan nodded, not pleased with the answer, but accepting of it. He stood up and in the dim light of the hut looked like Dum Dum's tall tale might not be far off from the truth. He looked old, tired. Then the look was gone, masked behind the stoic features of Sergeant Logan of the Howling Commandos.
"Little One, with me. I need to see how you compare to your grandmother."
Amaya stood with him and Snapper felt like he'd been forgotten. And just what the hell did the old lady mean? She didn't see a reason to 'forgive" Sarge? Were the commandos about to commit another atrocity for the greater good? Was Snapper going to feel the taint on his soul, trapped in another Hassenstadt? Strings wrapped around him, making him feel the puppet in a scheme far too grand for him to understand.
"He will come for you tonight."
"What?" Snapper shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and remember the very basics of soldiering that he'd come to understand. Clean underwear. Socks too.
"Tonight, The Many Legged One," Elder Jiwe's eyes were still closed. Her body began rocking back and forth in a rhythmic fashion. "He is a trickster. A Maker of Mischief. He has found you caught in a web. Do not become tangled within his."
The warrior at his feet, trapped by a spider. Granted a gift by the spider. This was the tale of her people, their origin. Not a prophecy about his fate.
A hand calloused by hard labor, by fighting, yet still somehow soft to the touch grabbed his and yanked him off his seat. Amaya glared at her grandmother. She was incredibly beautiful up close and unlike the Sarge, they didn't have that much difference in height. For a moment, his rapid heartbeat and cold sweat took on a different meaning.
"Do not scare the boy, Ugogo," chided Zambesi's guardian, "he is not like the others."
That soft, scarred hand led him out into the light beyond the hut. He wanted to take offense to being called a boy. Instead he heard unspoken thoughts swirl around his brain, echoing.
That is why Anansi comes.
A few words were exchanged. Kurtz made gestures to rival Ole Happy. He didn't seem happy about whatever it was Sarge told him. If only he could listen instead of just watch. Finally, Logan took a long draw off his cigar and flicked it straight at the German's chest before turning on his heel to walk away. Rifles were raised. They aimed at Howling Commando only to howl themselves in pain.
Dog and Runt appeared out of the brush, their knives and ferocity carving decent holes in the enemy's flanks before anyone could react. When the insanity became apparent, Kurtz signaled a withdrawal. What little gunfire there was died down quicker than the screams of the men the two refused to put out of their misery.
"What did you tell him?" Snapper asked when the sergeant was close enough.
"That we're not here to protect the village and I'm not scared of shit." Logan looked down at him. "How 'bout you?"
"Uh…"
"Just keep your mind focused on who we've been fighting, soldier. Don't think about dying. Don't think about the people or the villagers. Remember what the Howling Commandos do and who fears us."
"I'd be a lot less scared if you finally let me have a gun."
"Want a gun? Here. Have one of mine. It's not gonna do much good." Logan shrugged. "Try to do Trevor proud and not shit your pants when night comes."
Snapper handled the Sergeant's personal sidearm with limited familiarity when the man left him to check on the others. Dum Dum had been overseeing his training and he was a decent shot for someone who held his first gun only a few weeks ago. Nothing impressive compared to the rest of the commandos. For some reason, it didn't make him feel better to have something to defend himself with at last. He retreated back behind the lens of his camera.
Dog and Runt hid once more, inhuman growls chasing the Thule Society members for their own amusement. Within the trees, staring back at the photographer, he saw yellow eyes.
Night came. No monsters, no soldiers. Unnatural silence as the clouds parted over the moon. Snapper admired the African sky, so different than the one he stood beneath in cities despite being the exact same. So many more stars. More than he could count. He poked his head out from cover just long enough to capture the moment for eternity.
The roar of a lion, the cry of an eagle, the laughter of a hyena… it taunted the tree line. Just outside of the village stood Amaya alone, her hand on her necklace. He pictured her with her eyes closed. Then he took her picture too. He saw the lion on her right and the hyena on her left, the eagle resting its talons in her shoulder. When he poked his head out, they were gone.
And he saw the yellow eyes.
Trees crashed and crumbled. From out of them came a monster, a chthonic beast of myth and legend. Nine heads in all, breathing toxic fumes, drooling acidic fluid that lit the grassland afire. It towered over anything that Snapper had ever seen. He was to believe Heracles beat this creature with a club and a burning brand? It was a goddamn Hydra straight out of the stories, right off the insignia of the men the Howling Commandos fought nonstop in their search for Baron Zemo and his experiments. Claws tore at dirt. Its cries struck terror in his heart.
Amaya stood still. The stomp of hooves, of feet, the beating of a chest, the howl of wolves and hisses of snakes. He brought his camera up to look at the beautiful woman alone beneath the starlight. The animal kingdom surrounded her from a swarm of ants and bees that covered her skin to the pride of lions and stampeding rhinos side by side with gazelles and gorillas. Serpents circled her feet. Birds of prey and scavengers spiraled in the air above.
With a single word she directed them towards the hydra. With another touch of her necklace, she was the rhino.
Mortars shook the earth. The roar of more earthly weapons unleashed hell upon the monster. The Howling Commandos unleashed their arsenal, rifles and machine guns cutting heads off only for two more to take its place. Two more that didn't matter when a mortar shell fell directly on top of it.
Weapons of man and the spirits of animals fought the chthonic creature. No sign of fear in their hearts. The Howling Commandos, unable to see everything, mowed down friend and foe alike. Entire chunks of flesh flew from the monster's back. The screams, the shouts, the yellow eyes…
The hydra had yellow eyes. It flung Amaya backwards until she rebounded against the ground to a stop, a single head zeroing in on her. A mouth full of rotting teeth and putrid breath opened. Snapper was already moving, operating on instinct, his peashooter doing nothing as he tried to fire with an ounce of accuracy and run at the simultaneously. He thought he heard someone yell his name. Not Reilly. Snapper. They called for Snapper to come back.
Snapper lifted Amaya in his arms even as he felt the flesh on his back melt.
Darkness.
No. Stars. Stars all around me. An echoing drop of water. I float on a sea of nothing.
Eight stars blink. Many legs pick me up out of the water. Bristles scratch at my bare skin.
"Would you be my champion, pale one?"
What's happening to me?
"You exist and yet, you do not. You are a mere idea on the brink, pale one."
The softness of silk wraps around my flesh, the many legs bundling me up.
"I would have an answer, pale one. Become my champion."
I don't know.
"You fight at the side of beasts. I can make you one."
I'm no hero.
"To be my champion does not require you to be a hero, pale one, you have already made that scarlet sacrifice."
…yes.
Fires burned all around Zambesi Village. Snapper woke on his side, shirtless at the center of the village where the Howling Commandos had gathered all the villagers and surviving Germans into a single place. Kurtz knelt with his arms tied behind his back, perfect features ruined. Yellow flames reflected off his brilliant blue eyes. A hand, Dum Dum's, pushed the photographer back to the ground, keeping him from attempting to stand.
"I recall telling you that I didn't come here to protect this village," Sergeant Logan lit a cigar from one of the many burning bonfires, the people of Zambesi watching intently. "It seems you require more proof."
A signal. Dog's massive fist collided with the side of Amaya's face. The young woman crumpled to the ground, forcing him to bend down in order hoist her unconscious form over his shoulder. The villagers cried and shouted. The Howling Commandoes turned their rifles on them, silencing them.
"Now if you still haven't figured it out…"
Runt came from the Elder's hut, dragging the old woman by her hair. A spray of bullets from Gabe's rifle silenced the villagers a second time. Elder Jiwe did not struggle. That's what Snapper noticed. She didn't struggle even once as Runt dropped her between Kurtz and Logan.
The Sergeant pulled out the very same gun he had given Snapper earlier in the day. He executed the old woman with a single bullet to her head before supposed friend and ally alike.
"We wanted the same thing as you. The Totem. Now you can run back to your masters and tell them where to find it. Just ask for Sergeant Logan."
He flicked the cigar into the man's face and with a wave of his hand, his Howling Commandos followed him through the fiery gates out of the village, leaving hell behind them.
Shusterville, (Present)
Smoke woke the Hooded Man up from his impromptu nap. Cigarette smoke to be precise. Menthol. Disgusting. It took him a few precious heartbeats to remember where he was. It was still hot but this wasn't Africa. He was in the truck, traces of drool on his shirt that he wiped up with his filthy, bloodied hands. Once he determined that, he realized the vehicle was unbalanced like he had a flat. He glanced out the window, seeing the wind blow the smoke towards him from the back of the truck.
He looked up at his rearview mirror and saw a golden mane of hair fill it. A giant, filling out every seam of his tailored sportscoat relaxed in the cab, cigarette in hand. The smoker raised his hand in hello before hopping out the passenger's side.
"Good afternoon, old man," enlarged canines grinned as he waited for the Hooded Man to roll down the window. "Oh yeah, it's afternoon. Almost," he made an exaggerated sniff of the air as he dropped his cigarette, "lunchtime. Was beginning to think you finally died for good."
"What are you doing here?" The Hooded Man snarled, the bandages around his knuckles turning red.
"I had myself a meeting with the principal. Thought I'd take a problem child off her hands." He indicated his clothes. Clean, perfectly pressed, his face looked savage, yet he knew his fashion. This was not the man he remembered. Not entirely.
"You're not taking him…"
"Really? How do you see this playing out, mutt? I have proper credentials. I work for the government or at least, the government thinks I do. I go in there, I ask for the kid. I get the kid. You? What can you do?"
A red haze started to fill the Hooded Man's eyes. "Did I lead you here or did you already know?"
"We knew or at least had our suspicions. Now though, I know. And he's perfect in ways the white coats wished they could engineer. I can smell it in him. He's what you should have been had," he gestured at the Hooded Man's broken form, "you taken to it to properly. Gotta say, seeing you pathetic looking like this, I'm no longer jealous. Hindsight, right?"
"I'll kill you."
"And then what? Will you kill the men I have watching us? Will you let that berserker rage turn you into the animal we both know you are as you slaughter your way through sweet school girls to get to him? Is that really how you want your son to meet his real father?"
The Hooded Man squeezed the steering wheel to stop from doing anything else.
"We had the each other's backs for more than a hundred years. We fought so many wars, so many battles, and now it's time for you to stop fighting. Let me have your back one last time. Here," he tossed a card onto the cracked passenger seat, "one of our bank accounts. It'll set you up for what little life you have left."
"He's. My. Son."
"I'll treat him like a nephew. Raise him proper, like we were." The giant smirked, baring his fangs. "It'll be just like old times."
Golden hair blew in the wind as the man patted the door one last time before leaving. The Hooded Man watched him walk around the hood of the truck. Watched him walk past the line of no doubt armored SUVs full of the men he spoke of that flanked the school's gate. Rage bubbled to a boiling point within him. His heart raced with the anger over being helpless.
The bastard was right. Just as the Hooded Man had started to reason for himself before he passed out. This wasn't Stark's Mansion with its lack of witnesses. It wasn't the Triskelion with Fury and trained soldiers. It was a goddamn school full of kids. A school that had his kid. Just what the fuck did he think he could accomplish coming here?
Kill everyone?
Just like old times?
That wasn't the world anymore.
That wasn't his world.
The Hooded Man punched the dash, howling his rage.
Snikt.