Arsenal: Legend Watcher #3

[spiritofvengeance]

Arsenal: Legend Watcher #3
Nothing to Write Home About

Written By: Jim Crawbuck
Edited By: Mike Bowen

Arsenal stands beyond the fallen chain link fence. He only has moments to take in and assess his situation. Before him are three ninjas trained by the League of Assassins, Dr. Darrk and his
battered friend Agent Kevin Draper. He sees another man in black in the distance casually making his way across the field towards them. His weapons were taken from him. All he knows is that this mission went from an investigation to a rescue to a well-planned trap meant for him.

This son of a motherless goat has been playing me like a fiddle. I’m completely blanking on options. Damn it, Harper, you’ve played this whole thing like a rookie and now you’re going to get both yourself and Kevin killed.


“Stand down Arsenal. We can do this without violence. I brought you here to bargain not fight,” assures Dr. Darrk.

That’s a bit of good news.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already,” explains Ebenezer.

Unfortunately that is most likely true. Must be nice to be holding all the cards. You hemorrhoid.

Roy grits his teeth and squeezes the car keys. He looks hard into Dr. Darrk’s pompous grin and sees no sign of worry.

“All this trouble for little ol’ me?” Roy asks with a southern twang as he bats his eyes.

Now stay calm, Roy. Get this dung pile talking. Buy some time. Give that lump between your shoulders a jump-start.

Kevin is keeping his eye on the straggling Onomatopoeia, watching him causally making his way towards the party.
Dr. Darrk smirks and places his hand on his chin. He looks Roy up and down like a poker player about to make a bet. He’s assessing his opponent.

“What’s up, Doc?” Roy says with a grin.

I know I can take down these four but not before they kill Kevin. Plus there’s that fifth one who’s not close enough yet. Without any weapons he’s totally out of range. That was my favorite bow. Focus Roy.

“What is up indeed,” begins Dr. Darrk. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Merlyn, world renowned archer? He sees great potential in your marksmanship.”

“So do I but if he’s looking for a date I’m booked until November. Besides we need more in common than both of us thinking I’m great.”

Stall. Stall and think. Come on Roy, what are we doing?

"It seems you do have more in common, Agent Harper. Both of you have all consuming egos that obscure idle conversation."

As Onomatopoeia approaches, Kevin notices he has his gun in his hand, pressed against his hip.

"What I offer you is an honor. The League of Assassins is interested in your abilities. Do you see the compliment in that? Can you see beyond your own monstrous head?"

Onomatopoeia makes it to the scene. He places his gun hand on the shoulder of one the ninja’s, aiming the gun at Roy's head.
`
Kevin screams, "No!" He jumps from the ground and takes the first bullet in the shoulder. He collapses right back down.

"Click. Bang," Onomatopoeia’s raspy voice whispers. He turns his gun on a ninja standing in front of Dr. Darrk.

Dr. Darrk shouts, "You imbecile. What are you doing?"

Roy cries out, "Kevin!"

Think, hero. You need a weapon.

Roy's mind is racing as he is scanning the ground for a makeshift weapon.
A second shot is fired. One of the ninjas acting as a personal bodyguard to Dr. Darrk takes it in the head.

"Click. Bang," says Onomatopoeia with a more gleeful tone.

The ninja he originally shot over is trying to get a weapon out. His ear is bleeding and he is swaying back and forth.
The remaining ninja bodyguard is shielding Dr. Darrk with his body as he is trying to get him away from the shooter.
Onomatopoeia sees the staggering ninja trying to draw a weapon.
A third shot is fired. This shot lands between the eyes of the struggling ninja.

"Click. Bang," Onomatopoeia rings out confidently.

The keys! You're holding keys.

Before the thought has even finished entering Roy's mind he throws them. They spin so perfectly in the air you'd have sworn they were a throwing star. They find their mark, imbedding themselves in Onomatopoeia’s gun hand.

"Jiggle, jiggle," placidly says Onomatopoeia as he drops his gun.

Arsenal, without further hesitation, springs into action. He quickly closes ground and sidekicks Onomatopoeia in the kidney area.

"Whack," exclaims Onomatopoeia as the air rushes out of his mouth.

Arsenal follows with a left hook across his opponents chin then connects with a straight right to the nose. A quick left to the forehead and a right uppercut pushes Onomatopoeia backwards.
Onomatopoeia repeats the sounds the connections makes with every blow.

"Pow. Thwack. Smack. Smack. Crack".

He waits for Arsenal to close the recently created distance between them and throws a quick right.
Arsenal steers it aside.
Onomatopoeia throws a combination of rights and lefts.
Arsenal keeps blocking as he moves himself in a better position to retaliate.

He's strong. I’ve got be careful. I'm much faster and much better. I just have to stay on him.

Onomatopoeia repeats the sounds of the blocked punches as he stays on the attack, "Smack. Smack. Smack...."

He throws a straight right.
Arsenal catches it and hip tosses him onto the hood of the car.

Onomatopoeia shouts, "Thud. Crash". The impact of his body smashes the windshield.

Arsenal jumps up on the hood, landing two feet into Onomatopoeia’s stomach.

I can't even tell if he's hurt. He just seems to take the beating.

"Pop," leeks out of Onomatopoeia’s mouth along with his wind. He tries to grab Arsenal but is fought off.

Arsenal drops to his knees landing them on Onomatopoeia’s ribs.

"Crunch!" Again Onomatopoeia reaches for Arsenal's neck.

Arsenal knocks his hands away and lands a right-left combination to Onomatopoeia’s face.

"Pop. Pop," gasps Onomatopoeia as he kicks Arsenal off him.

Arsenal redirects the momentum of the throw. He springs right back to his feet in his fighting stance.

He still has a great deal of power. No sign of fatigue. I must be hurting him. Or am I? Dr. Darrk and his lackeys are probably long gone by now. Arsenal, stay focused.

Onomatopoeia comes leaping off the hood of the car throwing a right and then a left hook.
Arsenal blocks both of them giving him inside position. He retaliates with a left uppercut, a right uppercut, straight left, right cross, left, left, right cross, left hook, right uppercut.

I'm getting so tired I have to finish him. Pour it on Harper.

The onslaught is pushing Onomatopoeia back towards the car.

"Pow. Pow. Smack. Thwack. Smack. Smack. Pop. Pop. Pow".

He tries to throw some punches back but each one is countered by Arsenal.

“Slap. Pop. Smack. Thwack. Thwack. Snap. Pop. Pop. Smack. Pow," he blurts out as each offensive fails and he takes more punishment.

Arsenal is slowing with each shot. Every third punch he tries to knock him out but Onomatopoeia still stands.

I'm so damn tired. He's got to be hurting now. He has to be hurting more than my hands are.

The fatigue starts making Arsenal a little slower and sloppier for each attack. Then finally Onomatopoeia gets two hands on his neck.
Everything goes silent. There are no sound effects to be imitated. Arsenal can hear his heart racing as he's being lifted off the ground by a much more powerful man. He desperately wiggles in the grasp like a fish on a hook. His lungs are crying for space so he can breathe.
Onomatopoeia removes one hand and reaches to his boot with it. He still has Arsenal in the air with only one hand.
Arsenal wiggles harder to no avail.
There's this split second of confusion when Onomatopoeia feels the empty sheath in his boot.

"Squish!" he screams as Kevin plunges his own boot knife through his wrist staking his hand to his leg.

He drops Arsenal. He bends down to get his featureless mask eye to eye with Kevin.

"Squish," he repeats slowly as he pulls the knife from his leg.

Kevin has barely anything left. He used all his energy for that last stab.
Onomatopoeia, keeping his face inches from Agent Draper again repeats, "Squish," as he removes the knife from his hand.

“Thud. Thud. Thud,” he says and abruptly stops. He drops the knife and turns to the car.

Arsenal is lying across the hood with his feet dangling over the steering wheel. He has a tranquillizer gun stretched out in front of his chin.

"Night. Night. Freak boy," boasts Arsenal as Onomatopoeia falls.

****

[spiritofvengeance]

Chloe Sullivan has had a very hard day. She spent most of it dodging government officials. The ones that found her she had to explain to why she has two missing agents without sounding like the situation was out of her control. Then she had to explain to Vinny Calvi, Kevin Draper’s field partner, why he wasn't the one sent to get him. Why he was left out of the information loop while Kevin was in trouble. And she had to make it sound like it was for his benefit and not for hers.
She’s letting herself be taken away by the music in the elevator as she tries to get back to her office. She hopes there’s some good news in her near future.
When she gets to her lobby she sees her secretary, Duke, obviously perplexed. He's staring at the ceiling looking like he's deep in thought.

That’s unusual. I hope nothing’s wrong.

Her face is colored with concern when she approaches Duke. "Duke, is everything alright?" she asks.

Still obviously confused he responds, "It's the cleaning service people Ms. Sullivan. They usually put the garbage in the front unless they are new. Then they'll put the garbage in the back with the cans."

Oh my god. Tell me we’re not being invaded now. This can't be.
Duke, of all people, picked up on it. Wait. Pump your brakes. Let's not jump to conclusions.

"I couldn't find the garbage," he continues.

"Why are you looking for the garbage?" asks Chloe.

"I'm not. I found it," he says with pride.

What the hell is this guy talking about? Okay I'll bite.

“So where's the garbage?" she prods further.

"In the back," he exclaims.

What's your point? "And you’re confused because they weren't new?" asks Chloe, interested if she just figured out this man's logic.

"No. They were new," he replies.

I give up. I have no idea what this moron is saying. If his golden hair didn't look good in the glare from the window and he didn't wear his shirt well. He wouldn't have a job. Lucky for him you don't need to be too bright to answer my phone.

“So what's the catch?" she asks impatiently.

"It's in the cans,” he answers.

Unbelievable, I still have no idea what he's talking about.

“The garbage cans?" utterly confused she asks yet another question.

"Yep," he smiles and replies.

That's right. Smile and look pretty. Imagine that cleaning service putting garbage in garbage cans. Let's try not to talk too much. I think you just made me dumber.

"Duke, hold my calls until I tell you different.”

"Yes Ms. Sullivan."

Chloe walks into her office and plops down in her chair. She let's out a relieved sigh. The intercom buzzes.

Duke’s voice says, "Ms. Sullivan. You have a phone call, line one."

She rolls her eyes. Unbelievable.

She presses the intercom to reply, "Thank you, Duke." She picks up the phone. "Director Chloe Sullivan," she says.

"Chloe. It's Roy. You have to trace this call, now."

Chloe quickly presses another button on the phone's cradle.

"Bloomstien. Trace on line one yesterday," she barks. Her tone becomes flat. Her eyes become focused. "Harper, are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine. It's Kevin. He needs medical attention. It looks like he’s been beaten. I saw him take a bullet in the shoulder."

A response comes through another speaker into Chloe's office. "I got a fix."

"Ira. Call the local authorities and get an ambulance to the scene," Chloe orders. “Roy, go watch over Kevin. I'm hopping on a personal jet. I should be there in two hours. Wait for me.”

"Yes Ma'am." Roy hangs up and hurries out of the water tower. He runs back to where Kevin and Onomatopoeia lie.

"He's gone, Roy," says Kevin when Roy approaches.

"What? I thought that many darts could kill him. How?"

"I don't know. He got up. He was real wobbly. Then he staggered away."

"How are you, man?"

"I'll be alright. Is an ambulance coming?" calmly inquires Kevin.

Roy smirks at the carelessness in his tone. "On the way, Buddy."

"Roy?"

"Yeah, Kev."

"Did you know there's a man tied up in the back of your car? I think he's hiding."

"I forgot all about him," Roy laughs out loud.

****

[spiritofvengeance]

More then a month later, back in Director Sullivan's office, Roy sits across from Chloe at her desk.

"Harper, I read your report. I read Kevin's report. I interrogated your prisoner several times. If you ask me, we've been made to look like fools," sternly states Chloe.

"I don't know about that. I saved Kevin," Roy argues.

"Roy, if your mystery man doesn't go nuts on his teammates what happens?" asks Chloe.

"I can't answer that. I don't know and with all due respect neither do you."

"I am well aware of that, Roy. I just don't like it. The mission was a failure. The League of Assassins pulled one over on us. After pulling apart their little water tower I have reason to believe they were dealing with Lexcorp but I have no solid proof of anything. I don't even have a reasonable answer for why Lexcorp would want two astrophysicists killed. Especially since I found out they were under Lexcorp employment."

"What does this have to do with me, Chloe?"

Chloe stares down Roy. She clears her voice. "Roy, you want to be my top agent. I respect that. On a personal level I even like you. But you will not keep coming back from cases with no answers and more questions. We are in the business of answers. Consider this a heads up from a friend."

"Chloe you ca-" starts Roy in disbelief of what he's hearing.

Chloe interrupts, "Please Roy, just go." She goes back to the papers on her desk.

Roy, a little bewildered, walks out of the office.

She can't be serious. I'm the frickin' best. He makes eye contact with Duke. “Have a good one, Fido.”

"It's Duke," replies Duke.

She gotta be messing with me. "Sorry Toto." That’s it, she’s messing with me. I get it. Flaws in my game? Who is she kidding??

Duke smiles and mumbles to himself "Jerk."

To be continued...