Four days. That’s the answer Mason gave Mallory when she asked how long before he produced results.
The extra day was supposed to be a wind down spent preferably in a bed with a hot woman named Lexi.
Some time before and after that, before he was deployed for who knows how long, he’d hand her the protective suit he’d made with her in mind.
There was no reason to expect any trouble. Apart from the podcast discussion, there was nothing else linking him with Lexi. They’d never been seen in public anywhere together and there were no social media posts of both of them.
Even if that wasn’t the case, Vought would have to think twice before they went after her. With the recent number of giant holes that’d been poked into them, they would be wise not to make any sudden stupid moves.
Still, these were the same people who armed the world’s worst groups with their secret supe making formula. You couldn’t be too careful when it came to enemies like that. Beyond dumb yet possessing unusual boldness.
It was currently the evening of the third day, and Mason finished not one, not two, but three suits. Well, not all of them were suits.
Lexi’s was a pair of blouse and pants that would see her walk away from a car collision with superficial bruising at most. It was the second thing he designed.
The first was obviously his super suit and the third the one for the military. Speaking off the war dogs, the wonder suit he promised them was wrapped around a mannequin, the sleek thing looking like full body scale mail.
Standing a good distance away from the suit wearing dummy, Mason set up the high quality camera while ideas for upgrades offered themselves up to him non-stop.
The suit already had an inbuilt GPS and thermal insulation. One could argue that the former had some utility where the military was concerned, but surely they’d love magnetic gun strips along the thighs and across the back right?
As amazing and impressive as that would be, it wasn’t what he promised.
Going above and beyond might be the right move in a classroom or corporate workspace, but this was the industrial complex of the U.S. military, the cheapest group of bastards to ever walk the face of the Earth.
Expecting a pay bump from them was like expecting to see a shooting star while you were underground. They were more likely to ask for a reduction.
That’s why Mason directed these ideas to his own suit. He just needed an hour, maybe two for him to manifest them into reality. And then he could sneak off to go and see Lexi.
Before he could do all of that, he had to finish this test first.
After making sure the submachine gun he nicked from Sage Grove was ready, he stepped close to the mannequin, raised it in a practiced motion and opened fire.
The bright flashes and continuous like of gunshots did not hinder nor disrupt his aim in the slightest. He waved the gun around, alternating his targets till the magazine ran empty.
Once it did, he raised the gun and blew the smoke off the muzzle before directing his gaze downwards, his feet hitting the empty shells and clinking some together.
There was a dull thump when he set the gun down and returned to where the camera was. He took it off the tripod and brought it close to the dummy for a close up shot.
The message he wanted to send was clear: look there’s not even a scratch on it. He flicked the dummy a few times, and it didn’t even tremble. Sure, he didn’t use much strength, but the thing didn’t even weigh a hundred pounds. It should’ve gone flying.
Overall, this should’ve been enough. After he handed over the suit and the military conducted their own tests on it, they’d learn all this. However, he wanted to be thorough.
So he directed the camera down to the feet of the dummy, showing the sorry state of the rounds he fired before grabbing one and bringing it close to the camera and turning it over.
He deemed it enough at this point and turned off the camera before returning to his computer. Rather than listen to the urge to dive into the upgrades for his suit, he set the camera down and connected it to the computer.
Copying the footage was a simple matter after that. While the progress bar filled up, he chatted with Lexi, promising he’d be home soon. She replied with a gif and he burst out laughing.
It was the old woman from the Titanic movie, saying that famous line; “it’s been 84 years.”
He shook his head amidst a chuckle and replied with laughing emojis and noticed something in the corner of his vision.
The transfer was done. He disconnected the camera, played the recording once more to make sure everything was on the up and up before transferring it to a flash drive.
His phone bristled against the table and he swiped it with an expectant smile. The screen lit up and his face dropped. It was a message alright, but it wasn’t from Lexi. Rayner was the culprit and her words were short but clear.
“It’s time.”
.
.
.
.
It was amazing how a single bad thing could cascade into more of itself, like the set of events were just waiting for that first spark so they could all come crashing down.
After being notified of his earlier-than-spoken-about-deployment, Mason had done away with the hardest thing. He called Lexi right away and gave her the difficult news.
It wasn’t easy, but he got it out of the way, assuming the hardest part was behind him. That turned out to be a freaking lie when he finally met up with the deputy director.
Apparently his first assignment was in Syria, so he was being shipped there on a flight that would take nothing less than 19 mind numbing hours. The next worst thing was revealed when she gave him a heads up on what to expect.
Rayner started with a video of U.S. army soldiers raiding a building. They swept through it masterfully and eliminated everyone in their way, demonstrating skill and efficiency that made him yearn for something similar.
At the end of their raid, they converged on a man who raised his arms in surrender. They lit him up anyway, prompting Mason to twist his head in the woman’s direction.
“He’s the one behind Flight 37.”
Oh… carry on then.
His attention returned to the screen in a heartbeat, just in time to see a shirtless man with a tattoo emblazoned across his chest.
That wasn't even the weirdest thing about him. The moment he stepped into view, unfazed by the guns pointed at him, his chest began to lit, like he’d swallowed a couple of glow sticks.
The camera feed glitched the more intense the light got before light was all it could relay. However even that didn’t last before the feed cut.
“Was that—”
“There’s more.” She cut him off.
The view changed to the building’s exterior, showing the explosion as it took place. Fire ripped through the windows and doors in a large wave, even setting a vehicle outside on fire.
Mason narrowed his eyes. Was this everything? Or was there more to this crazy stuff? He let the video play out, trying to figure out what was more insane than a terrorist taking Compound V and becoming a walking bomb.
He got his answer immediately. The flames still burned strongly at every available opening in the building, yet at one of the doors on the ground floor, a spot of black emerged amidst the flames and walked down the stairs, revealing itself to be the shirtless guy caught on the first feed.
So it wasn’t a one and done. Of course not.
“Let me guess. He’s my first target.”
“Are you up for it?”
“Really? What’s the alternative?”
“Drone strike, or someone from The Seven. He moved to a different location after this, but we know where.”
“Drone strike?” It suddenly occurred to him why they wanted him. “Aren’t those crazy expensive?”
“Not more than a walking, talking artillery.”
He leaned back and gave the woman a proper look. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or horrified.”
“Decisive. Your work on Flight 37 impressed a lot of people. Naturally, the only reward for good work is—”
“More work.”
“That. So? Are you in? We can pull the plug anytime. No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
“It’s cool. I’ll do it. I’m sure the families of those soldiers will appreciate that their sons didn’t die for nothing. Besides, I made you guys a promise. Can’t chicken out now.”
“It’s not chickening out... but I get you.”
The drive to the private hangar was still ongoing, so Mason expected the remainder of the ride to be silent or for any further discussions to be centered around the walking islamist stereotype.
He was proven wrong when Rayner continued with her—whatever she was doing. It became quite clear that this wasn’t official, just a heads up borne from her own initiative. While he was grateful she wasn’t sending him in blind, it worried him how long he’d be gone.
Because it turned out Naqib—boom boom man—was just a starter. His termination wasn’t even the main reason for his deployment. Four groups located on three separate continents were the real reason.
In fact, as soon as he finished up with Naqib, he’d be shipped off to Bolivia since the situation there demanded the most serious attention out of them all.
Something about the cartels waging open war on the government and some suspicious stuff with the supes of one of the cartels. For the open, over two thousand people had become unfortunate casualties, but the true number was estimated to be higher.
Estimates showed that close to two hundred people died each day, and analysts predicted there were no signs the bloodshed would stop anytime soon. Mixed in with these civilian casualties were a worrying number of politicians, journalists, and police officers.
Things had gotten so bad that the Bolivian government had caved in and asked for external help. Mason could see why. There was a real chance there wouldn’t be a government or a country worth ruling once things was over.
The only way this ended was either they won or the cartels won. Luckily for them, no one wanted a narco state.
On the supe front, there wasn’t enough information for him to draw any definite conclusions, but there was concerning evidence that the one particular cartel had had supes way before Vought opened Pandora’s Box.
All in all, Bolivia being his first stop made absolute sense. The consequences of leaving things unchecked would be catastrophic.
In Armenia, a crime family headed by two sisters had become the largest and only one in the country overnight. Of course, overnight meant a week-long war in the streets where criminals and civilians alike died in droves.
You’d think as people who were probably on a couple of wanted lists, they’d be smart with how they handled their newfound power. Instead they dove straight into full-blown war, and though they won, they had won old Uncle Sam’s attention.
One of the sisters was apparently a supe with mind control powers and had been seen making moves towards governmental authority figures. Right now, the assumption was that everyone in a position of power worth something had been compromised.
Yikes. Even Mason with his inexperience could see how thorny that job was going to be.
Next on the chopping block was a drug trafficker, La Bestia, from Guatemala.
His son had become a supe and joined the family business, much to the chagrin of his father. His posts on social media about the havoc his invulnerability let him wreak is what drew the attention of the sharks.
Last but not least on the list were El Anillo Fantasma, The Ghost Ring, a Mexican cartel.
A mole in their ranks had reported back about their supe and suddenly stopped making contact. Considering that this supe could apparently heal people, Mason said an earnest prayer for the mole. They were going to need it.
To end this lore drop, Rayner swiped the image on the screen to the next. A vial, one much smaller than the one he saw in Sage Grove and containing a substance on the paler side of blue appeared.
“We’re calling it… Temp V.” She swiped the screen again. This time it was a video. “For a full twenty four hours, it gives anyone who shoots it up the strength, speed, and durability of a tier three supe.”
Mason blinked when she swiped again and pressed play on the video. A group of bald, heavily tattooed men drove their vehicle onto an estate, straight through the gates before dismounting into a hailstorm of bullets.
All the intruders were shirtless, yet they braved the fiery rain and returned fire with their own guns. Some even held their arms wide open and soaked in the attacks before advancing on the guards to work on them with machetes.
“How strong and durable are we talking?” He shifted his gaze to Rayner when one of the machete wielders refused to kill the guards outright, rather hacking off their limbs and moving on to the next.
Those that tried to run didn’t make it three steps. Their pursuers being able to reach automobile speeds after a second of sprinting didn’t have it any other way.
“So far, the heaviest we’ve seen someone lift is a truck full of drugs. That took two guys though. As for speed, they're around Black Noir’s level but their durability is way higher. Here…”
She forward the video to where there was a sudden deafening bang, and one of the attackers went down. A second followed, but by the time the third had gotten to cover, the first hobbled onto his feet, clutching his arm.
“That was a—”
“.50 Cal. I recognize it. This is insane. How hasn’t this reached the states yet?”
“We’ve not been sitting down twiddling our thumbs. There are people hard at work ensuring that doesn’t happen. But… it’s getting pretty close. That’s why we pulled you in early.”
“Well, I definitely get it now. The world has lost its freaking marbles.”
“It did that long ago, it’s just finding out the consequences. We’re here.”
Mason looked out the window and saw the plane waiting for him. Despite everything he’d just seen, setting eyes on the plane only brought Lexi to mind. Suddenly his farewell to her didn’t seem enough.
She would have to deal with it though. Contacting her now was a no go. The only way to get back to her was to do his best in the coming weeks, or maybe months? Who knew?
With a heavy sigh, he opened the door and got down.
‘Time to go to work.’