The presence of Vought’s poster boy and girl changed the scene Mason expected to find when the plane landed.
Being more like celebrities than heroes, the presence of reporters, journalists and news vans and cameras went without saying. Or so he believed. When he asked Rayner about this, he learned something completely different.
And she’d been right. Though considering her position in the world’s number one spook organisation, he never doubted her in the first place.
When the plane finally landed and the passengers were helped out, a peek through one of the tiny windows revealed scores of personnel—a lot of them in tactical gear—their vehicles, vests and jackets covered with bold F.B.I. tags.
Members of airport security were also present, but not only were they scattered about the edges of the perimeter, the agents outnumbered them by a good margin.
Even though the hijackers had been dealt with and they knew that, precautions still had to be taken. So the passengers passed under the watchful eyes of the agents before they were allowed to reach the paramedics also present.
Standing at the mouth of the stairs extending from the plane were Homelander and Maeve, guiding the shaken yet relieved passengers.
As survivors of such an experience, most of them would likely hold off from air travel for a while. Some may renounce it completely.
After all, despite them being a world where superheroes could save them if such a thing happened again, the cold bodies that didn’t walk off the plan would haunt them forever.
As the person solely responsible for preventing this tragedy from going from bad to nightmare, Mason had no doubt there were people eager to put face to him and talk to him about what happened.
One of those people, perhaps the most important of them, was the senior agent on site; Special Agent Edison Drake. Rayner had briefed him on what to expect and what to do.
Taking his eyes off the terrorists to go and debrief was a definite no. Sure, the agents would have questions as to why he refused to disembark but Homelander and Maeve would explain things to them.
That alone rubbed him the wrong way, and he wasn’t the only one. That’s why the deputy director in his ear had sent a couple of her agents to smooth things over the senior agent.
About three minutes after every living passenger disembarked, Mason spotted a black SUV stop near the cordon. Three people alighted and slammed the door shut: two women and a man dressed in suits and windbreakers with the C.I.A. logo.
“Your guys are here.” He pressed two fingers to his ear and informed Rayner.
One of the female agents broke off from the group, flashed a badge to cross over into the active region. Where she was going did not need much guessing. It was the agents she left behind that drew his curiosity.
According to Rayner, the F.B.I. would handle the terrorists and everything that came after; detaining, holding, interrogation, investigation… the works.
In order to complete the first two parts without getting themselves killed and letting loose bloodthirsty, superpowered terrorists upon U.S. soil, they needed proper containment and control procedures and methods.
Whatever the two agents removed from the trunk of their vehicle was going to help the F.B.I. with that. Mason regarded the package in their hands, wondering if he could get his hands on some of their contents.
He moved his gaze away from them to the senior agents—the woman and Drake. They seemed to have come to an understanding and were waiting on the duo with the package.
In the meantime, one of the agents handed Drake a walkie. Right at the same time, Maeve re-entered the plane and passed a similar one to him. He took it, sticking to his policy of minimum interaction with any Vought affiliated person.
Maeve held a similar if opposing view but instead of turning around to leave, she chose to speak out anyway. She stared at Mason for a brief moment, breathing out in an obvious, tired way.
“This game you’re playing with Vought…” That alone seemed to have taken a chunk of her energy, yet she maintained intense eye contact, despite the little fidgeting actions she did instead of looking away.
“You need to be careful.”
Before Mason could utter any reply, the device in his hand crackled to life. By the time he looked up from it, the heroine was already climbing down the stairs of the plane.
“Hello? Am I speaking to Mason Von Sloan?”
“Affirmative.” He brought the device near his face and kept it there. “Whom am I speaking to?”
“This is Senior Special Agent Drake of the F.B.I.. I’ve received word that you’ve disabled our friends and are maintaining a watch on them.”
“That would be correct sir.”
“Good. Now we’ve heard the news from the passengers and your friends in the C.I.A., but I want to hear it from you. Do the terrorists have powers?”
“Yes. Without a shadow of doubt sir.” Mason roamed his eyes of the defeated trio.
“One of them is some kind of insectoid with a long tongue and wings. The second has some kind of slash projection—”
“I’m sorry, slash… projection?”
“He can cut things with a wave of his hands.”
“I see. Continue.”
“And the third… I don’t know his powers… but when I took him down, it should have broken his jaw. He only lost a few teeth.”
“Hm. I see. Thank you for the information. Agents will soon join you on the plane to secure them.”
“What do I do in the meantime?”
“What you’ve been doing this whole time. Keep your eye on them while my agents work.”
“Got it.”
Not even a minute passed before agent Drake’s people arrived. Leading them was an agent in full tactical gear who directed the sight of his weapon elsewhere upon seeing Mason and confirming his identity.
Him and the other two armed agents spread out into the plane to secure it while the others, accompanied by the duo from the C.I.A. entered the compartment Mason ushered them into.
“I broke their arms and legs.” He said while leading them inside.
"I can see that.” One of the F.B.I. agents, a blonde with her hair in a pony tail replied slowly while she surveyed the scene. “But you didn’t kill them, so that can be forgiven.”
“Forgiven?" Mason eyebrows shot up. "I didn’t know there were sins I’d committed.”
Resisting the urge to cross his arms and betray a defensive posture, he watched the other agent closely as he pressed some kind of plastic oxygen mask with a small white can attached to the slasher supe’s face.
There was hiss and the mask fogged up.
“Hm.” The blonde agent chuckled lightly. "Terrorists or not, aggravated assault is still a crime. But, like I said, despite your rogue status, that has been overlooked since you refrained from killing them. God knows those two out there wouldn’t have shown that kind of restraint, or foresight. That’s why you didn’t kill them. Right?”
Out of everything she said, the part he was most interested in was the bit about Maeve and Homelander. There were countless news reports about situations they’d resolved, and more than a few of them were bloody.
Is their kill count what the agent was talking about?
Any little bit of information he could use against Vought was a welcome thing, but now wasn’t the time. Besides, he had to answer her question.
“I figured they were more useful alive than dead. You can’t extract information from someone dead.”
“Don’t be so sure Mr. Sloan.” The blonde agent stood up after the last hijacker had been dosed with whatever was in those cans.
“We’re done here. Tell the guys to bring the gurneys over . Let’s get them off the plane and moving. Drake wants them secure yesterday.”
Before the other gents left to do what they were told, Mason leaned down and grabbed an arm.
“Allow me.”
With the ease one would manhandle children, he picked up all three of the anesthetized hijackers. When he finally stood straight and spun around, he found himself on the receiving end of incredulous stares.
However, the surprise passed quickly enough and gave way to movement. They were professionals after all.
“That works too.” Blondie said before motioning with her head. “This way.”
Forming a single file with the agents, he finally left the confines of the plane and walked down the stairs. There were very few people around now, most of them having been escorted away once they and their luggage had been checked.
Homelander and Maeve were also gone, filling him with a bit of relief.
“Ma’am. What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you blonde agent in my head.”
“Special Agent Lucy Mitchell. And blonde? Really?”
“It’s your most standout feature within respectable bounds.”
Special Agent Mitchell looked like she’d been asked how many stars were in a constellation. She shook off the confusion with ease and resumed walking, bringing him the prepared prisoner transport.
It looked nothing like the ones seen in movies. They were not just bigger, both also more armored.
Three gurneys were rolled out from their open rear and Mason dropped off the unconscious hijackers one by one. Agents took over from there and hooked up larger tanks of presumably the same stuff used back in the plane.
“What is that stuff?” He pointed a gloved finger at the scene and looked at the agents.
“Concentrated halothane,” answered the woman from the C.I.A. “It interacts with the V in a supe’s blood to knock them out.”
“Interacts? So it doesn’t work on normal people?”
“It does, just not as good as supes. However, usage of it on regular humans has been banned.”
He’d have to do research on that later but for now…
“So what’s the plan? I was thinking I escort you guys to wherever you’re taking these guys. You know, just in case.”
Agent Drake came up from behind him. “We have it handled. You however, will have to come in for a debrief.”
The ladies and gentleman from the C.I.A. reacted and stepped forward immediately. Apparently foreseeing this, Drake had something already in the chamber.
He raised a hand to pacify them and said, “I’ve spoken to your boss. This is not an arrest. We just need Mr. Sloan to give us a detailed explanation of how things went down. I hope that won’t be a problem?”
As the one this question was directed at, Mason hesitated a bit when he remembered the hostess he got killed. Still, he answered swiftly. “It won’t sir.”
“Good. My people will escort you to hq. Yes, you guys can join him,” Agent Drake said to Rayner’s people, and turned to Mitchell and the others.
“Get the prisoners moving.”
“Yes sir.”
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“You know… bottling it up does not help in any way. It never does.”
Mallory’s words jumpstarted Mason’s idle thoughts, causing him to look away from the plane window to the older woman and the lavish interior of the private jet.
In the two hours it took the F.B.I. to finish up at the airport, go back to their headquarters and finally have the sitdown with him, she flew in from D.C. and “rescued” him from the feds.
He wouldn’t lie and say he enjoyed the way they treated him and their line of questioning. However he knew the gigantic microscope he’d been placed under would magnify any black mark he betrayed, so he stayed calm and composed to the best of his ability.
Being brutally honest also helped. It was liberating to say whatever was on your mind knowing nothing at all could hold you back, physically, socially or mentally. One of the perks of having superpowers he guessed.
Back to what Mallory said, he thought back to the hostess. For some reason, the fresh line of blood flying from her temple caused a resurgence of the bloodbath at congress as if both memories were somehow related.
Deftly focusing his mental energies elsewhere, he gave the older woman growing on him his attention.
“You know what,” He sighed,before nodding. This is what Maya would do. “You’re right. Keeping it all in is unhealthy. So why don’t we do this; I’ll go first, then you second. Okay?”
She chuckled, but the reaction didn’t match her eyes nor the look on her face. “Careful. People already think you’re a mind reader.”
Now it was his turn to chuckle and shake his head. “It’s not mind reading. It’s… people reading. You’ve read my file so you know this… but before the V, I lived a sort of… outside, looking in existence. Everything was dull for me. Just me. Everyone else was bright and colorful, some more than others but even the worst ones had even a little bit of color to them.”
“You got good at identifying the colors.”
“Yes. But my uncle’s training really helped put things together. When we first met, your reaction to me was normal. However, when talk of my powers and Lamplighter came up, you’d always… you know what, let me stop there and get back on topic.”
The more he spoke, the more haunted the old woman’s overall vibe became.
“So yes, where were we…” His voice dropped a bit and he clutched the armrests unconsciously. ”The hostess.”
“The guys at the F.B.I. came up with a working theory of what the hijackers planned. Remember the guy in the cockpit, the one I slapped? He can fly. Yep. First thing he did after waking up. Good thing they had him chained. His system also wasn’t clear of the halothane yet so that helped in the containment. That’s besides the point but their theory is these guys didn’t plan to die with the plane. They were gonna escape after crashing into a skyscraper or a largely populated area.”
“I know I’m rambling but what I’m trying to say is, even before I learned of this, the death of the hostess didn’t bother me that much. It still doesn’t. I thought it did back on the plane, but looking back, that was just anger, wrath. I wanted to kill the piece of shit who took the life of someone innocent.”
Quiet resumed when he stopped and collected himself. Of course, Mallory’s subtle reactions didn’t escape him but he paid them no mind.
He had no idea how someone was supposed to take what he was saying, but the point of this exercise was letting things out not understanding them, he wasn’t going to stop.
Besides, she asked.
“I thought long and hard about it. Why don’t I feel guilty enough about this woman’s death? Is it because of the technicalities of it? Because if we’re going by facts, that asshole is the one responsible. He pulled the trigger, if you get my meaning. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that I let her get put in that situation and refused to leave when the asshole demanded it.
On the other side or from another perspective if you will, there’s a simpler explanation. The reason her death doesn’t bother me is because deep down, I’m not a good person. Never have been. Probably never will be.”