“So, do you think whatever is in the syringe is safe?”
The mercenary had maintained contact with his information broker ever since he left the warehouse, trying to get a grasp on the job that was very quickly described to him before all hell broke loose and his previous target escaped in a sea of electricity. He maintained a rather high altitude while flying, wanting to keep a somewhat low profile as he zipped through the air, staying out of distance of close scrutiny from the eyes below.
“In my professional opinion; the client has no reason to hand you something that would kill you unless he wants to off you before he has to pay up, which also makes no sense.” Came Warden’s stern advice, his stoic tone never wavering in his speech. “You have already shown that you are an asset, willing to work for your pay and can get a job done. If he was going to try and kill you with poison, he’d be needlessly wasting a resource.”
“Plus, if I feel woozy, I’ll just grab a car battery, and then blammo! My body can beat the poison!”
“Also true, I’ve seen you touch radioactive materials with little to no effect other than increasing your kinetic power, so there is a decent chance that even if it is a powerful toxin, you won’t have any ill effects from it.”
“Okay, so no problems then!”
“In my personal opinion, however, I don’t trust it, and I don’t like it.” Warden snapped abruptly, almost interrupting War-Pulse’s confirmation. “You inject yourself with chemicals and you...dump these vials in drop points?”
War-Pulse’s flight path slowed as his eyes drifted to the ground, brow furrowing at Warden’s words. “Yea, that seems to be the plan…”
“And you don’t see a problem with this?”
“Of course I do, this is clearly terrorist-style havoc we’re about to cause, here.” War-Pulse retorted, offering a shrug. “What, you thought I was assuming we were dumping the cure for cancer into these drop points? I’m straightforward, Warden, not friggin’ stupid.”
There was a pause on the other end, Warden’s breath coming to a halt as he looked for words. “You...you know it’s wrong, and we’re going to do it anyway?” He asked, his monotone almost coming to a bit of a waiver.
“Yeah, we are, Warden.” War-Pulse replied. “We’re professionals, Warden. We said we’d do the job, so we’ll do the job. That’s our guarantee.”
“Even if that job will undoubtedly cause civilian casualties?”
“We’re mercenaries, soldiers of fortune, and at the moment, this guy is offering the most fortune.” War-Pulse said. “Look, I know I said we would take more jobs on the straight and narrow, but with a shrinking budget for our high-tech gizmos and the Lost Haven police already well-aware of my interpol reputation, we don’t have a lot of options yet.”
“And you think this will improve our clientele?”
“Not in a ‘hey, War-Pulse is an upstanding member of society’ kind of way, but people in Lost Haven need to know I can get shit done, y’know?”
“You really want to go through with this? You help save the town from demons, and now you’re going to pour potential contaminants into their water ?”
At this point, War-Pulse’s flight path had come to a grinding halt, his hand on the comm link as his voice dropped to a very direct bass tone. “We do the job, that’s our promise, now stop pushing the issue, Warden.”
“Trent, I thought after the incident--”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Another long, tense silence echoed through the comm link, the only sounds recognizable were that of War-Pulse opening up the metal latches of the suitcase to pick out the syringe. He temporarily removed his kinetic sheath, rolling up a sleeve just enough to expose one of his arms. He quietly jabbed the needle end into his forearm, the plunger slowly sinking to push the mystery serum deep into his bloodstream.
“I…” Came the first few words, interrupted by the slamming of the suitcase. “Your closest drop point is the Water Treatment Plant just outside of Little Sicily.”
"Well, sounds like we should get to work."
The rest of the short flight was done in continued silence, then tension slowly beginning to alleviate with each gust of wind whipping War-Pulse's coat. This was not the first time the mercenary had this argument with his info broker, and it would not be the last. Out of all their conversations it was one of the rare times that the mercenary would be deadly serious, no jokes, no banter, an incident that the silver-clad metahuman would prefer to forget.
And for now, he would, as the water treatment plant came into view, which he quickly acknowledged to his comrade.
“Okay, I’m at the Plant, how should we go about this?” War-Pulse asked, descending to a nearby building rooftop. “If the goal is to get to the main reservoir, the quickest route would be to come down from the top, blast my way, then throw the vial in and hightail it out before anyone knows what’s up.”
“Sure, that sounds like a great plan.” Began Warden, “If you want to cause unnecessary civilian casualties and alert every metahuman with a hero complex to an otherwise covert operation. I’ve been keeping tabs on current police reports, there are enough metas running about right now that stealth may be the preferred option.”
“Yeah, but my way more fun than the sneaky way…” War-Pulse snickered as he hopped down from his position, sliding down a fire escape into a nearby alley. “I get to blow stuff up and punch people!”
“Yes, but you and I know this isn’t just about fun.”
“Alright, alright, you got a good point.” War-Pulse said, pulling his silvery coat from his shoulders and tossing it into a nearby dumpster. Reaching into one of the coat’s pockets, he pulled a change of clothes, carefully folded into a neat and compact square that fit snugly into one of the auxiliary pockets of the coat. If he was going to do this covertly, dressing in a gleaming battle suit was not the best way to go about it. A red cloth t-shirt and some khakis, light, easy clothes he could wear over the battle suit, his face mask easily pulled down and changed into a small neckerchief. This was a tactic he used often, hiding his battle suit underneath a light pair of normal clothes to prevent detection, a great way to get the drop on an unsuspecting assassination target, or infiltrate a compound. “So what’s the plan, how are we going to get inside?”
“I’m analyzing the security now...it’s not very tight.” Warden sighed, “Which is fair, considering it’s a Water Plant and not something important.”
“Was that sarcasm in your voice, Warden?”
“No, apparently I’m just the only one that values living resources instead of monetary wealth.”
“Right, well we can discuss the importance of the community values another time. What can you tell me?”
“In about 25 minutes, 14 seconds an electrician will be clocking in to tighten up some of the plant’s mechanisms.”
“Okay, so where should I go and...meet him?”
“There should be a service entrance about 100 feet from the main entrance. He clocks in there every day.”
“Okay, I’ll radio you when I’ve suited up.”
And with that, Trent severed the connection with Warden, subtly playing it off as a thank you wave to the car as he began to jog across the busy industrial district street to the Plant’s front gates. As Warden explained, there was indeed a secondary entrance down a small alleyway between the Plant and the nearby warehouses. Following the alleyway, he made the mild walk and a turn to the right into the layered brick entryway to find the door further into the building. Of course, he walked over to give it a quick tug, just to see if it was locked. It was, but War-Pulse’s strength severely tested its limitations, his light pull almost snapping the handle clean off. He cursed under his breath, covert operations were hard when everything had the durability of tin foil to him.
It did not take long for the white electrician’s van to come rumbling along the cement, passing by the entryway to get to the nearby parking log. War-Pulse took the time to provide a non-suspicious alibi, grabbing a fake cigarette from his pocket, one of the electronic ones with no tobacco, and pretending to inhale the water vapor as one would a normal cigarette.. Trent had never smoked a day in his life, but pretending to do it gave a reason for him to be out here, leaning against a nearby wall with an eye fixed on when the electrician rounded the corner to get to the secluded entryway. By all standards, the man looked completely and entirely average. Short brown hair, not out-of shape, but by no means engages in regular exercise. He was clean cut at the very least, his uniform well-pressed and cleaned, no visible dandruff, and no distinct smell, either. He was average, and much to War-Pulse’s glee, clearly forgettable.
“Hey buddy, how’s it hangin’?” Trent called to the passerby, attempting to get his attention.
At first, the electrician jumped, not expecting a voice before he entered the Plant, he leered up from behind his clipboard to the disguised mercenary, and momentarily found himself speechless before offering a polite smile in return.
“Oh, fine I guess.” The electrician said. “Same as every other day.”
“Oh? This is every day?” Trent replied, pushing himself off the wall as he took another pull of water vapor, letting it eke out the side of his mouth as he took a step towards the electrician.
“Well, yeah, ‘cept for weekends.” The electrician responded, adjusting his hat. “And even then, sometimes I get called in...do you work here?”
“Nah, just needed a place for a smoke.” the merc replied, tossing the fake behind a pile of nearby rubble, probably the remnants of D-Day still needing to be cleaned up. “Sounds like a lousy job, is the pay good?”
“Oh, yes, it keeps me housed and fed, I guess.” The electrician replied, trying to scoot around the larger man. “Plus I get vacation days every year.”
“Oh yeah? What about workman’s comp for injuries on the job?” Trent turned to the side, giving the man some space.
“Of course.” The Electrician said, “Wouldn’t be a good full-time job if it didn’t.”
“Good, because you’ll need a paid vacation after this.”
“After wha--” The Electrician was cut off by the feel of War-Pulse flicking him in the chest. To War-Pulse, this was a flick, the same way a normal person would flick away a pesky fly on their jacket, but to the electrician, it was like being pounded in the chest by a sledgehammer. The man was launched backwards, connecting hard with the concrete wall behind him, the air leaving his lungs in a sickening exhale, his skull possibly bouncing off the hard surface to further incapacitate him. War-Pulse chuckled to himself, pulling the electrician’s body out of line of sight, he had already scouted the area for cameras, but this was a Water Treatment Plant, so outside the facility was all but unguarded. Dragging the man to a nearby alleyway, he spent no time switching his clothes for the electrician’s, donning the ‘smaller than hoped for’ uniform and leaving the man bound inside of an empty dumpster. Secretly, the mercenary had hit the man hard enough to prevent memory, but that was an unlikely scenario, so the ‘forget me’ serum Warden had equipped him with was War-Pulse’s best bet.
“Seriously, that guy thinks of everything.” War-Pulse murmured to himself as he pulled the syringe from the unconscious electrician’s arm.
“Of course, because you wouldn’t.”
“Gah!” War-Pulse jumped when he heard the broker’s voice, clapping his hand over his mouth as he hoped nobody else had pass by to hear him shout. “God, I thought I said I was going to radio you when I was ready to move to phase two.”
“You did, but you know me better than to leave you all alone. You already have a key to the building in the uniform, so all you need to do is follow the map I uploaded to your retinal interface.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got the drill.” War-Pulse said, re-adjusting his uniform as the map appeared in his right eye. His eyes glanced back to the door, a smirk appearing on the metahuman’s face. “Let’s get to work, then.”
