Taking out the Trash

[Jensen James]

Jensen sprinted up the east stairs, both oblivious and ignorant of any danger he might meet. His only thought was for Connor's safety. The gunfire had ceased its ominous echoing, thank God, when Jensen threw himself against the third floor doorway.

He stumbled through, "Connor!"
but met someone entirely different than he expected. Jensen's throat went painfully dry.

He'd only glimpsed the man as he passed by him on the ground level. He'd walked straight up and shot four men and strolled past Jensen and Jatinder huddled together at the doorway.

Wide eyes kept him frozen in place, but his were no more decipherable behind the visor shield than this man's was behind his sunglasses.

That's when he saw the carnage in the background. "Oh God save me."
He said, accent fully Texan, fully shamed, and heartbroken.

He threw his hand to the wall to steady himself. "Did you do this?"
Helmet pivoted toward him. The man was armed with every model of gun imaginable, of course he did it, but Jensen couldn't bring himself to believe it. His mouth was dry. His chest ached. And his chin quivered with remorse. They were evil men, but murder was not his intent.

He made to push past the killer. He had to find Connor, and see if anyone was alive.



----



Pao grit her teeth at the group of young ones. She and Jasmeen, one of the girls friends with the traitor, Shri, bundled the wee ones in a group and herded them away. The smallest girl among them, whose name she could not recall, decided she wanted to stay exactly where she was, and plopped herself on the ground.

"Oh no you don't."
Pao snapped. She snatched the child, now screaming and kicking in protest, and carried her on one hip. She grabbed the hand of another protester and the group slowly dragged itself away.

At the corner, she looked over her shoulder. Their hero darted indoors. She hoped he'd find his friend, and that both would make it out okay.

The group was two blocks down the road when the explosion lit the night sky. Even the temper tantrum in her arms was shocked into silence. They all gaped, Pao most of all until murmuring among them broke her of the spell.

"Let him not have been in there,"
she said, and together everyone ran.

[Hood]

Hood's hand had barely reached the door when it surged open to reveal the biker, still wearing that blasted helmet. Hood frowned in obvious irritation as the fellow's gaze seemed to take in the scene at Hood's back, and Hood stepped aside to let the fool stagger dumbstruck into the corridor, fully revealing the carnage Hood had left in his wake.

Soft hearted vigilantes. That was what he was dealing with here, apparently. If this bleeding-hearted liberal had made it up the steps in one piece, it probably meant the remaining slaver had either hoofed it to safety or...a burst of weapons fire outside drew his attention, but it seemed more panicked then anything before stopping abruptly. Someone had dealt with the last slaver, apparently.

"Connor your boyfriend? You just missed him. First smart thing he did since you two got here; ran as soon as I showed up, but one of these shits followed him."
He glanced at the last shooter, laying half through an open doorway and riddled with bullets from his dead friend, "From the sounds of it, your boy dealt with him."


The man was still breathing; barely. A chunk of his skull had vacated the premises and taken up residence on the door and wall. Not quite dead yet, but would be soon. Probably. He pulled his pistol and put a round through the man's throat; really, it was the merciful thing to do rather then let the bastard bleed out. And now there was no chance the slaver would make a recovery and be able to finger Hood to his friends.

"Police will probably be here soon thanks to you idiots. Next time, just call the police. Or bring a fucking gun."
He glanced at Jensen, then knelt long enough to dig out another dead man's wallet and flick it open, pulling out a wad of CCD cash. One thing he liked about greasing weasels like these was that they carried paper money still. Professional types, while far more interesting to deal with, never did.

A quick perusal showed that a visit to the butcher shop was in order. A few triple-A steaks and a case of beer was in his near future. "Of course, if those kids end up with the police, doubt many have a Visa to be here. Illegal immigrants and all. CCD doesn't like their type. Don't pay taxes. You want to do good by them, you pull these bastards wallets, grab their cash, and stuff those kids back in the tunnels and hope they find their own way home."

[Jensen James]

He labored toward the fallen. Standing among it, in its midst, Jensen groaned like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He was panting. No, he was heaving for air. The walls collapsed in on him. The helmet wrenched his throat into a tiny tube. I can't breathe! Panic set in, and he ripped the helmet from his face. If the murderer wanted revenge for what he'd done, Jensen wouldn't so much as dodge the attack.

He turned in a slow circle, and flinched to absolute stillness at distant pop of gunfire. "Connor your boyfriend? You just missed him. First smart thing he did since you two got here; ran as soon as I showed up, but one of these shits followed him. From the sounds of it, your boy dealt with him."


His mind wouldn't comprehend. What may have been sarcasm, struck a deep nerve, and Jensen's thoughts reeled to set the man straight. Connor was not- ... They were not- But he couldn't get the words out. He had to focus on brighter news. Connor was outside. He was safe; gone, Jensen prayed.

Strained of attention, he wilted to one knee alongside the closest body, but he couldn't bring himself to touch him. It was clear the man was gone. I'm so sorry. He pivoted to go to the next. The man lay across a threshold; one of the ones playing cards. A chunk of his head was stuck in the door frame. Jensen's stomach bubbled acid in the back of his throat. But.. he was still alive! He shifted to go to him, but movement caught the corner of his eye.

The shot fired took Jensen completely by surprise. Fear wrenched a gasp from his throat; but the yell was short-lived. He rounded on the murderer, blanched with horror. "Oh God."
he whispered.

The man went on like nothing unusual had happened. "Police will probably be here soon thanks to you idiots. Next time, just call the police. Or bring a fucking gun."


The shock riddled Jensen to stillness. He watched the murderer blandly steal the man's money. He tucked it away with the same casual manner in which he dealed out death.

"Of course, if those kids end up with the police, doubt many have a Visa to be here. Illegal immigrants and all. CCD doesn't like their type. Don't pay taxes. You want to do good by them, you pull these bastards wallets, grab their cash, and stuff those kids back in the tunnels and hope they find their own way home."


He knew what Jensen and Connor were doing? It was impossible! Jensen didn't even know what was going to happen until after he got here. He couldn't fathom--

Why would he wander by to murder scores of men just to rob a wallet?

He had to find out. The need for closure, for why, drove him through the fog of fear that beckoned him to go elsewhere. He kept a short distance, but Jensen followed the man none the less.

"I don't think I can stop you if you turn and shoot me, though I'd forgive you."
His accent drawled heavy, grieving, yet also afraid the man might make good on Jensen's suggestion.

The Gift filled him with hope, and it steadied his legs when instinct said to run the other way. "I ask you why. Though. Why murder these men? Who are you?"
Hearing the question out loud sparked memory of the woman in the foyer. He put a hand to his mouth to cover the sorrow darkening his expression unending. Thus was murder was added to his list of sins: the first was a victim of anger unchecked while these were victims of pride. He thought he could succeed, save people, on his own. Even with Connor he was woefully undermined.

He caught up with the murderer, and tentatively reached to touch him on the arm, but at a look Jensen withdrew slightly.

[Hood]

Jensen's decision not to touch Hood was probably a wise one. He had little interest in the strange helmet-wearing man, but that lack of interest didn't afford him much protection should he cross any boundaries. He paused long enough to collect one of the AK103s from a dead slaver; a spare throw-away weapon was always handy.

Hood stopped at the top step, and glanced at Jensen with a frown. For a moment, it may have seemed as if he were pondering further violence aimed at Jensen, but then there was the smell of smoke. The sound of a fire roaring from below. A moment later, smoke began to billow up the stair case from the first floor.

"You know, for a Texan, you sure as fuck don't seem to like direct problem resolutions."
He started down the stairs at a hurry, not liking the idea of being caught inside when the smoke got too thick, or the flames too close.

He made it to the second floor landing and paused long enough to glance down the length of the hallway, although there was little to see for the smoke already beginning to cloud against the ceilings. "Why not kill them? So they can go to jail? And then what, waste perfectly good tax dollars, getting three meals a day? So when they get out they can go back to their gang? Fuck that. Save everyone the trouble."


Seeing no signs of folks struggling to exit the building there, he pushed on to the first floor, where the smoke was at it's thickest and the heat was rapidly growing. The fire didn't seem to be moving like a normal one would; it was blossoming rather then spreading. "But what about their parents? Fuck their parents. They dropped the ball hard to put out shits like these guys."


He booted open the door to the outside, and walked out past the body of the last slaver. Whoever had shot the man had landed their round square in the bastard's brainpan. A quick glance around revealed biker boy's boyfriend was sprawled not far away in a pool of blood of his own. So this pretty boy hadn't done too well for himself either. And there was no sign of the kids...but that was probably Jensen's doing.

He crossed over to Connor, staring down at him for a long moment as if inspecting the wound, one hand resting dangerously close to his pistol, although he had no intention of shooting the man. "You two seem damn fucking intent to make sure I don't get to sleep tonight."
The wound didn't look bad. Not nearly as bad as it should have been anyway; maybe the round had been faulty, not enough powder?

He glanced at Jensen for a moment; the bastard was probably on the verge of tears at this point. How the fuck did these two expect to save twenty some drugged up kids from a bunch of gun-wielding criminals? Their hearts may have been in the right place, but fuck if they hadn't thought things through. He pulled a can of QuickClot spray from a pouch on his pocket and tossed it to Jensen before moving over to the dead men scattered around the parking lot to find the keys, "Close the wound and get him in the van."


The can of spray was a sort of foam, designed to help seal wounds and keep them clean until proper treatment could be provided at a hospital. The burning building was paid little heed; he'd seen plenty of them in his time. The fire raged unchecked, having spread impossibly fast for a building made mostly of concrete.

[Jensen James]

Jensen certainly recoiled from the murderer's look, but he didn't run. He would live up to the promise to die without a fight, if Hood so chose. However, both their attentions were simultaneously drawn elsewhere. The smell of smoke, powerful and permeating, filled the air. They also both seemed to come to the same conclusion. Fire, and the same instinct.

Hood took the stairs, Jensen quick on his heels.
"You know, for a Texan, you sure as fuck don't seem to like direct problem resolutions."

If he had had the wherewithal to process that, he might have noticed that the man's accent was similarly American.

At the second floor landing, Jensen paused alongside. The layout of apartment doors mirrored the floor above. One door already swung on its hinge despite the lack of fire alarm. Everyone must have ran during the gunfire. He stared so intently, Jensen seemingly forgot the ongoing conversation. However the answer was far from pleasing. "Why not kill them? So they can go to jail? And then what, waste perfectly good tax dollars, getting three meals a day? So when they get out they can go back to their gang? Fuck that. Save everyone the trouble."

They departed for the next level down. "We can't be judge, jury, and executioner. Its not our place to decide who's worthy of death!"
He corrected Hood, gently as a shepherd to his flock.

The fire blazed hotter than expected, and Jensen winced upon peering through the brightness of it. Again, he paused alongside Hood to check for anyone in need of help. "But what about their parents? Fuck their parents. They dropped the ball hard to put out shits like these guys." He was well-desensitized to vulgarity in his travels, but the endless vulgarity woven with cold-blooded murder chilled his soul.

The door popped open behind the force of the man's kick, and together they stumbled out to seek fresh air. The cold never felt so great.

It took him a moment longer than it ought to realize what he saw. The fire raged its heat at his back, but the real turmoil was inside.

Connor?

He blinked the sting of smoke from his eyes, and the long-forgotten athleticism of a high school sprinter surged his legs at breakneck speeds.

He was on his knees at Connor's side where he cupped a hand behind his neck and lay the other on his chest. "Connor,"
he breathed, looking the man up and down. All my fault. "Steady breaths."
And he leaned low to keep the man's eyes locked onto his. "Look at me. Just look at me."


Something, a can, was dropped at his side, but Jensen ignored it.

His lids fell low as his head bowed. His lips were quivering and his throat strangled with near-panic, but he dared not move an inch for fear of losing the tumultuous war with the Gift. It meant to consume him, but he kept the storm at bay, refusing to allow it to destroy him, not until Connor was whole again.

Seconds or minutes, Jensen couldn't tell, but he was watching the sand drip from the hourglass in slow motion. He felt every wisp of hair curl around his face on the wind. He saw each and every one of Connor's eyelashes blink with despair. Beneath his palm, Connor's heart beat wild and erratic, but Jensen refused to surrender.

The Gift stretched his skin tighter, it pulled the noose firmer around his throat, and wrangled beads of sweat from every pore like some discarded rag left to dry in the sun. He was close to death, yet he had never felt so alive!

When it settled, whatever it was, Jensen fell into sitting alongside his friend. His limbs, his very cheeks, sank beneath the strain of having ran the end of a long marathon. He pulled his helmet to his lap and peered down into the bowl of it. "This was all,"
he panted, "a big mistake."


His gaze finally lifted, broken and full of regret, and settled on Hood.

[Connor Kent]

His mind floated in infinite blackness, a kaleidoscope of images and memories flitting across his thoughts, for a single moment; for an eternity. Hayden, 1 day old, asleep on his chest, breathing peacefully; Ma comforting him when he had broken his finger; Dad playing Risk!; Grandpa sleeping in his chair, newspaper on his chest; Jaime and him in Hawaii on their honeymoon; Babushka making his favorite pirogs; Ayden laying next to him, looking into his eyes. A billion memories, ebbed and flowed across his mind, as he drifted away, the life seeping out of him...

Suddenly he felt as if had been falling and had landed with a thud. His mind was very much awake and he was very much aware of his body. And dear God in heaven he was in so very much pain. He could breathe again, but with each breathe came agonizing pain. It felt like he were breathing shards of glass through his lungs. He felt heat, warming heat in his legs and became aware of orange light on his eyelids. He opened them weakly and saw orange flame. He wasn't able to think clearly. Where am I? What is happening? He tried to move his head and felt cold snow against his ears.

There was movement, voices penetrating the fog, a shadow silhouetted against the orange glow, the feeling of hands behind his head, lifting. He heard words but he didn't know what they were. Through the shadow he could make out a familiar face, but couldn't place it. It felt as though he had been hit in the head, it was so hard to think.

And then there was no way he could think. He felt as though he were plunged into a frozen pond, his agonizing breaths coming in shallow droughts. He felt like he was drowning, sinking, desperately gasping for air. It went on for an eternity. And suddenly- as if a popped bubble- he could breath freely again and his head was clear. He was looking up at Jensen. Off to his side moved another dark man.

"What happened?"
was all he could think to say. His last memory was getting shot and his life slowly drifting away. And now he was clear headed. He tried to sit up and got woozy. He was tired.


Edited by Connor Kent, Jun 5 2014, 04:10 PM.

[Ayden]

Ayden hadn't forgot about Connor but time was fleeting. She had to get away before anyone saw her. It could ruin a great many things. It took all her effort, all her will to push forward. Ayden left the burning inferno at the quickest pace she could. But she couldn't just leave Connor. Her mind raced, she didn't know what to do. But the power had drained her of any extra strength she might have had. She wanted to go home and collapse, but worry tickled her mind.

The fire burned brightly in the sky, Ayden turned around, the fury left with when the fire bird extinguished itself. Two more men came running out of the building, Ayden quickly too cover. The sniper rifle still out and the scope still in good working order. The power was gone, so she could not hear, but they were not menacing. They stopped, one looked like he was about to cry. Ayden let go of the breath she didn't know she had been holding.

Ayden looked on curiously, Connor was getting better. She saw his eyes open, he was talking. It was a blessing. But what had happened? Did that man know how to heal? There was no other explanation.

Moments passed, Ayden's paranoia sank in over the releif and guilt. She had to get home. There was no hailing a cap this time. She'd have to push herself to make it home on foot. She prayed that she got home before Connor did.

((Ayden continues here: A Fine Line))


Edited by Ayden, Jun 6 2014, 04:53 AM.

[Hood]

Hood dug through the dead man's pocket until he found the van keys, and stood to glance back at Jensen and Connor, where he immediately frowned. Connor's wound hadn't been immediately life threatening (having already been partly Healed by Ayden), but it had certainly been too serious for the man to be sitting up and talking already. He'd seen it before though; that brief sudden burst of vitality before punching out.

Jensen's choice of words seriously spiked Hood's anger for a moment. The man had made a decision. A bad one. And was now lamenting having done it? Why? Because things had gone south. "Fucking own up to it, Texan. Lessons learned. Go cry to a shrink if you can't handle it, otherwise get your boy-toy in the van and lets get the fuck out of here."


His tone was ice cold, and he threw the freshly acquired AK103 into the back of the still open van, then scooped up his Uzi PRO while leaving Jensen and Connor to sort themselves out. "What happened is you two fucked up my whole night. Luckily for you I'm a fucking saint sometimes. Now either bleed the fuck out so I can leave you here, or take a knee, drink some water, and get the fuck over there."
He gestured at the van by throwing the uzi into the back as well.

He had realized by now that Connor's wound was...from where he was standing at least, gone. The man looked haggard as all hell but alive and breathing steadily. Something wasn't kosher with the whole situation, but he hadn't the time to deal with it at the moment. He still couldn't hear any sirens, but that would be changing any time now. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you had a plan to help those kids, because we're getting the hell out of dodge."


The driver door was wrenched open and slammed shut behind him and keys were thrust into the ignition. If they were coming, he probably wasn't going to give them much time. "Now where the hell do you two want to go?"

[Connor Kent]

Connor was sitting up, becoming aware of the cold seeping into his pants. He could think clearly now and while Jensen was troubled, he didn't seem worried with fear. He must have gotten the kids away from here. That was good at least. He looked at the fire and wondered what had happened there. Didn't seem like something Jensen would do.

Then he looked at his chest, shirt torn and bloody. So he hadn't imagined it. He had been shot, but Jensen had healed him. This time he was only mildly surprised. He was starting to get used to this new universe he found himself in. He thought of Ayden and his spirits lifted. He wondered if she knew her power could be used to heal.

He tuned into the converstation. "This was all a big mistake,"
Jensen was saying. Connor was tired of freezing in the snow, despite the heat of the fire. He tried to get up- and stumbled a bit at first. Jensen tried to help but he waved him off. He was ok. He finally pulled himself so he was standing upright. He was going to need some rest, but he was good for now. Better than good. He felt elated, the adrenaline rush gone from his body, relieved that they had saved those kids and not gotten killed. Well, I almost did, he said, marveling at the situation.

The other man was going through the dead men's clothes, throwing things into the van. He seemed irritated and it showed by the movements he made. "Fucking own up to it, Texan. Lessons learned. Go cry to a shrink if you can't handle it, otherwise get your boy-toy in the van and lets get the fuck out of here."
He didn't look the least bit concerned or guilty about the dead men he was stealing from. Frankly, Connor felt the same way.

"He's right Jensen. I'm not gonna apologize for killing that guy up there."
For a moment, he thought of that little girl seeing it. Well, maybe he was sorry for that part. A lot sorry actually. But not about the man dying at his hand, not for what he was doing. "We came to get the kids out and that's what we did. I presume they are somewhere safe, from the way you are acting."
After a nod from Jensen. "Well then, these guys got nothing but what they deserved. Better really. Real justice would have had them being helpless and raped."
He spat at one of the bodies.

He turned and saw their- he didn't know what this guy was, but from the things he said- and the fact that he knew Jensen didn't have the stomach to have killed these men- an ally of sorts. The man was serious and gruff, and his words only made it clear how very casual this sort of thing was for him. But there was an edge of humor in his words. A fucking saint indeed, Connor thought, laughing inside.

He went to the van where the man was sitting in the driver's seat, waiting expectantly. Connor looked him in the eye, face serious. "It's not boy-toy, it's Connor. Not my thing."
And then his face broke into a grin and he laughed- Man, he felt good!- to show that there was no malice intended. "And FU-UCK water!!"
Looking down at the holes in his shirt he went on. "If I've got a leak in me then I want to find out with the good stuff. Beer, whiskey, whatever."
He then jumped into the open back door and sat down. "So if you wanna get a drink, then let's do it. Otherwise, you can drop me off at home- Moscow Suites Apartments on Arbat street."
Ayden was probably still home asleep. He wasn't sure how we was going to explain the bloody shirt or that on his hands, but at this point, he didn't care.

[Jensen James]

Connor and Jensen helped each other stand, but Connor was the first to the van.

Jensen faced two capable, intimidating men arguing justification for murder. Pallor whitened Jensen's expression and an unreachable sadness whispered his response, "Murder begets murder."


He caught up to them, but only to lean warily at the door to the van. In time to hear Connor correcting the other man about the nature of their friendship. "It's not boy-toy, it's Connor. Not my thing."
Jensen looked down.

"One of the older girls is taking them to a charity group that will take care of them."


He crawled into the seat next to Connor. The interior of the van's back, with its sliding white door, gave him chills despite the ongoing blaze nearby. Sirens began to howl in the distance.

He pulled the door shut while Connor and the driver exchanged their enthusiasm. Jensen couldn't say he didn't envy a sip of alcohol at the moment, but his nerves were shot. He was just thrilled that Connor was alive.

The van took off with a screech that shifted Jensen in his seat. A block later and his hands tightened on the helmet in his lap. The glow of a sign from an all-night diner grew bright in his eyes. A parking lot rolled by.

"STOP!"
Jensen suddenly yelled. He opened the door without thinking and jumped from the moving van.

His ankles buckled as he fell to the asphalt. His bike gear did their job well, however, and except for the wind knocked from his chest and the shake of adrenaline exhausted by the night, he was in one piece.

The reason why soon became clear when he stood.

He was at the edge of the parking lot where he left his bike. He waved the guys to keep going, threw his helmet on, and hopped on the bike. Throttle down and one hand on the brake, he sped it into acceleration that spun the bike around in a donut.

In a matter of seconds he was following the van. Once steadily moving forward, he tapped the command into his visor shield and up popped an audio connection to Connor's Wallet.

"Couldn't forget my bike."


Edited by Jensen James, Jun 8 2014, 12:52 PM.