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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ: ᴛᴇsᴛᴏsᴛᴇʀᴏɴᴇ ʙᴏʏs

❝ ɪ'ᴍ sᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ'ᴠᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴛᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ǫᴜɪɴᴊᴇᴛ. ❞

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BRENDON FIDDLED WITH THE BULLION CUFF LINKS ON HIS SUIT JACKET as he sashayed down the partially crowded hallway, the heels of his freshly-shined dress shoes creating an echoing clank-clank as he walked. He kept his focus trained on his dinner partner sitting across the room at a table in the most secluded area of the restaurant.

There was a pianist playing a medley of classical songs on the grand piano in the centre of the room, right underneath an enormous glass chandelier, as waiters clad in shirts and waistcoats strolled between tables of high-society groups conversing in hushed tones.

The entire place screamed 'pretentious and materialistic', and usually Brendon would have no desire to be in such an atmosphere. But tonight, he had to make an exception.

With a quick flex of his jaw muscles, Brendon lifted both hands to readjust the collar of his shirt before walking the last few steps to the table where he would be dining.

"Mr Brady, an honor to finally make your acquaintance."

"I wish I could say the same," Brendon replied coolly, extending his hand to grip his counterpart's in a firm handshake.

A dark chuckle left the lips of the other man as he unbuttoned his jacket and sat down once again, a hand smoothing down his shirt as he did so.

"I see my reputation precedes me."

"That would be an understatement."

"Well then you have me at a disadvantage," the man's eyes flinched lightly as he forced a smile, "Because your reputation seems to be practically non-existent."

Brendon forced a smile of his own before motioning for a waiter. "I try to keep to myself as much as possible. A double bourbon on the rocks, please."

The waiter gave a polite nod and turned to fetch the drink as Brendon turned back to his counterpart.

"When you're not slaughtering my employees, you mean."

"I only kill people who deserve to be killed."

"Ah yes," the man sighed, leaning back in his chair slightly and pointing a finger at the youngster across from him, "How noble of you. I must admit... seeing your handiwork, I was impressed. "

The waiter returned with the bourbon, placing it down on a paper coaster on the mahogany wood table. Brendon smoothly reached for it and took a gulp, maintaining eye contact and a perfect poker face the entire time.

A dark gleam flashed across the man's dim eyes and he continued. "And it got me thinking - surely a man of your... talent, wouldn't have gone unnoticed for so long. So, I did a little digging. Tried to find whatever information I could on Scott Brady. Do you know what I found?"

Brendon raised an eyebrow in boredom, replying in a monotonous tone. "Enlighten me."

Another forced smile graced the man's features as he twirled the butter knife from the table setting in his hand.

"Nothing," he said, "Other than a vague description, there are no personal records whatsoever of a Scott Brady. What I did find, however, was the profile of one Agent Brendon Urie, a S.H.I.E.L.D employee who supposedly died just a little while ago. Naturally, the information was accompanied by some pictures and I-" he paused for a moment to chuckle shortly, "I couldn't help but notice that you, Scott Brady, bear a striking resemblance to him."

"How strange," Brendon responded without missing a beat, cocking his head to the side in mock surprise.

Suddenly, the knife was brought down, piercing the complimentary rolls in one harsh, swift movement. The force of the action resulted in the crockery on the table clanging, causing a few of the other patrons to halt their conversations and turn to investigate the disturbance.

Brendon didn't even flinch; he stayed as cold and unmoving as an ice-sculpture, slowly lifting the glass to his lips and tilting it upwards to allow the liquid into his mouth.

"Do not," the man hissed in a hushed tone so that only Brendon could hear him, "play games with me, boy. I can assure you that it won't end well for you." His expression changed from that of an extremely irate man to a properly smug one. He once again leaned back in his chair and tossed Brendon a small smirk. "You were unwise to even come here tonight."

The emergence of three black flashes in his peripheral vision prompted Brendon to look up onto the balcony around the restaurant's perimeter, where he was met with the sight of three burly men spread out around the area, just in front of the marbled pillars.

The younger man drained the rest of his drink before copying his counterpart's stance - leaning back and smirking.

"And you were stupid to think that I would come alone."

Instinctively, Brendon's dinner partner looked up to check on his men and felt his stomach drop as he did. His reinforcements were gone.

And The Hounds stood in their place.

"Don't even try," Brendon scoffed, noticing that the man was reaching to tap the screen of his smart-watch, "We took care of your goons outside, too. Now, you don't need half a brain to figure out that this isn't gonna end well for you; so if you don't wanna get torn to shreds by my friends up there, I suggest you tell me what I want to know."

The man's eye twitched somewhat as Brendon leaned forward, face hard and menacing.

"Where is he?"

FOUR WEEKS EARLIER

The Hounds were gathered in the living room area of their and Brendon's temporary living space, groaning in a mixture of pain and annoyance as two out of three of them fussed over their injuries.

Seth - being the most rational and least hot-headed out of the trio - stood in front of his friends, holding his hands up in an effort to calm both of them down as he spoke soothingly.

"Once- It happens every once in a while, okay?" he started, "It's not a big deal. You don't need to be upset about it. It's-it's-"

"Yeah," Dean groaned sarcastically, wincing in pain as he rested one hand on the sofa cushion to push himself up while the other hand gripped at the side of his abdomen, "Oh yeah, my best friend spears me and I get a broken rib-"

"You act like I did it on purpose," Roman cut in with an annoyed voice, holding one hand out as Dean continued grumbling in pain. "Bad things happen, you know I pull the trigger. I see a spot, I take it. I didn't mean to-"

"Look- Hey!" Seth jumped in once again to try and diffuse the situation, swatting Roman's hand away.

"I can't see anything right now!" Roman interjected, referring to his injured eye.

"HEY!" Seth reprimanded, "Come on! Those assholes didn't beat The Hounds, guys!"

Dean, ignoring the two-toned man's words, turned to Roman and threw his right arm out and leaned forward a bit in expectation. "What do I look like? Do I look like a target?"

"Calm down!"

"You speared me? Since when do you spear me?"

"Calm down!" Seth repeated, pointing at Dean as Roman shook his head, "It's not broken, just bruised! Calm down and sit down! The Hounds beat The Hounds. But guess what?" Seth looked between his friends with a hopeful expression. "People win the lottery every single week. You know, even The Cubs win the World Series once a century. Those guys are not the best in the world; tonight, they were the luckiest pricks on earth."

"This," Seth persisted, gesturing to Roman's eye, "is gonna heal up and these," he lightly touched Dean's ribs, "are gonna be alright."

"Lucky? Yeah, lucky you speared the shit out of me," Dean sassed. Roman slowly turned his head to glare at his teammate as Seth ignored them and finished his speech.

"We are still the most dominant force-"

"Does this look bad?" Dean questioned, lifting his vest up to expose his side; Roman swatted it with the back of his hand and Seth sighed in exasperation.

"It's fine. It looks fine, man. Take it easy." Seth looked back to Roman. "Nothing's gonna stop us. Not tonight," he looked to Dean, "not ever, alright?"

"Just watch where you're going next time, huh," Dean lightly massaged his ribs with two fingers as Roman rolled his eyes.

"I can't see anything!" the Samoan defended, pointing to his eye, "I got all sorts of fluids floating out of my eye. What-"

"HEY!" Seth raised his voice, "Focus!"

"Looks horrible," Dean scrunched his face up, nodding as he looked at Roman's eye. "Looks really bad. Don't touch me like that right now," Dean sneered at Seth after the younger boy smacked his hand against Dean's injured abdomen.

"Believe in The Hounds, guys. Come on," Seth sighed, extending his hand for a fist bump.

"You know," Dean grumbled, harshly bumping his fist. Roman did the same.

"We run this. We'll be fine, man. Chill out. Jeez," Seth scoffed and shook his head, starting to turn away. Then, he pointed out his own injury - his right eye that was bruised and swollen almost completely shut, "Look at my eye, for crying out loud. Come on. I got busted in the face; look at this. Pfft."

"Yeah, you did," Roman chuckled as Seth walked away. "I need some ice."

"You should spear him next time," Dean chimed as he turned to Roman, "See how he likes it."

The two guys proceeded in nursing their injuries with ice and tape and other supplies while Seth made his way over to Brendon, who had just finished cleaning up his own wounds in the bathroom and was now sitting down at the table in the middle of the poorly furnished dining room.

The table was crowded with papers and manila folders crammed with intel and profiles, various weapons and ammunition, other supplies and empty take-out boxes.

"Brendon," Seth's shoulders slumped as he huffed, "Look, you know we've got your back, alright. Through whatever. But we've been at this for four months now, and every single lead we've gotten has been a bust. And I can tell we're all on edge. We need to find a breakthrough, man."

"You don't think I know that?" Brendon snapped, hitting a file off the table and tossing a cold stare at the Hound, silencing him.

Somewhat ashamed by his actions, Brendon broke his gaze and shut his eyes, allowing his head to tilt back as he rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair and groaned.

"I'm just so sick of this shit. You're right; four months and no progress. Zero fucking reliable leads. I'm starting to think I should've just stayed on that fucking quinjet."

Brendon placed his elbows on the tabletop and hung his head in his hands, leaving Seth to stare at him awkwardly before letting out a sigh and shuffling forward.

"Here we go," he mumbled lowly, "Pep talk number two. Alright," he brought his voice back to its usual volume as he pulled up a chair and took a seat diagonally across from his dejected friend and struck his hand against the other agent's shoulder to get him to perk up.

Brendon reluctantly did so.

"Come on, man. What happened to the Urie we all know and are secretly terrified of?" Brendon scoffed in amusement at the Hound's comment; Seth gave a small smirk and continued. "You're easily one of the most bad-ass motherfuckers on this planet, and one that never ever backs down from a fight. And this... this is a fight. It's tough and violent and brutal and mentally draining, but if there's anyone who can win it, it's you. 'Sides," Seth shrugged and smiled smugly, cocking his head at his friends who had just joined them and were flanking his sides, "You got The Hounds with you, buddy. It's virtually impossible for you not to succeed."

Brendon raised a taunting eyebrow as he darted his eyes at Dean's taped-up ribs. "Unless you take each other out, first."

His remark was met with a chorus of protests and groans from the three guys, and Brendon smirked slightly before frowning down at his laptop, whose light was flashing and speaker was emitting a series of beeps.

Without hesitation, The Hounds gathered around Brendon as he pressed a few keys on the computer. Seconds later, Dallon's face appeared on the screen.

The techie's greeting smile faded and was replaced by a grimace as he took in his colleagues' appearances. "Hell. You guys look horrible."

"Yeah," Roman pursed his lips, "courtesy of yet another one of your defective leads."

"Have you ever been speared by a two hundred and sixty-five pound Samoan before, Weekes?" Dean interrogated, leaning in closer to the screen; even though there was no way the Hound could reach him, Dallon still winced. "'Cause I'd be more than willing to help change that."

"I-I'm sorry, okay," Dallon fumbled with the glasses on his face, "I really thought that was a good lead, that time."

"Suuuure. Because the four ones before that were wonderfully solid, too."

"Okay, alright, I admit that that - and... all of them, actually - was my mistake. Buuuuutttt," the techie sucked on his teeth and held one finger up to tell the boys to hold on a minute as he ticked away on his keyboard.

Not long after, multiple windows of new information popped up on the laptop. Brendon narrowed his eyes as he scanned over the info.

"This is legit?"

"As rock-solid as your heart, bro," Dallon smiled.

Brendon nodded in approval and tapped his fingers against the table as Dallon started explaining.

"The Corporation is an organization consisting of businessmen and politicians who seek control of the criminal underworld through acts of terrorism and espionage. They're especially interested in superhumans - both recruiting and creating them. They even funded Silvermane during his leadership of Hydra."

"I remember that," Brendon spoke with a furrow of his brows, "Even worked a couple missions on it. I thought the entire thing went under after Stryke was defeated and the leaders committed suicide."

"You're not wrong," Dallon informed, ruffling his hair slightly, "Their main centre of operations did go dark. But yours truly did some digging and found out that other factions of the Corporation are still fully functional - particularly in the East Coast area. They even sent an agent to go undercover in S.H.I.E.L.D a few years ago. Fury caught on, obviously, and started looking into her. It turned her into a liability for the Corporation, and they killed her."

"Wait," Roman shook his head, "if Fury knew about them, how come he didn't try and take 'em out?"

"They sorta fell off the grid after that. Their factions were scattered, their operations were down and they were seemingly inactive. To be honest, if it weren't for their most recent attempts to pit themselves against the Hulk, I probably wouldn't have been able to track them down, either. And I'm the hacker," Dallon blew out a breath and shrugged.

The guys nodded in understanding and Dallon wheeled his chair closer to his desk. "Brendon, it looks like they're picking up where they left off in their recruitment and generation of superhumans. And I'd be willing to bet anything that their relative inactivity means that they've found a new test subject. I know it's a bit of a stretch, but-"

"It really isn't," Brendon disagreed, flexing his jaw with his hand and leaning back, "In fact, it's highly probable. He disappeared from Hydra's grasp, and Hydra doesn't just lose people. I'm willing to bet anything that they took him. Do we have a location?"

Dallon pressed another few keys and pulled up a satellite map. "I'm still trying to ping their exact location, but I do have a start for you guys. Have any of you heard of Machine Man?"

"Yeah," Seth nodded, tapping his hand against Roman's arm as he recalled where they'd heard about it, "we learned about him down in developmental. He's a robot who was created by a secret government military project to produce robot soldiers with human minds."

"Yeah yeah, but then that Stack guy took him in as a son. Gave him artificial hair and skin and everything," Dean added.

"And Stack was killed when he tried to reverse the self-destruct orders the government had installed on the bot," Roman finished.

"Bingo," Dallon pointed a pen at the men through the screen, "And then Machine Man assumed the name and identity of Aaron Stack and tried to live a normal life. Well, I might not have been able to find their base, but I did find Corporation plans to study and create more bots like Aaron. They're planning on sending an undercover agent to try and bring him in." Once again, Dallon pulled up another window - this time, it was some kind of calendar. "I managed to get into Stack's schedule, too. He's meeting with a friend and their lawyer this Friday. I did a background check on both of them and couldn't find anything that seemed legit with regards to the lawyer. He could be the agent."

"So we ambush them," Dean tilted his head side to side, "Rough 'em up a little. Get them to talk."

"Find out where they're based," Seth furthered his friend's thoughts.

"And take 'em down," Roman finished, cracking his knuckles.

"Or we just let it happen."

Brendon's words earned him confused stares from all three of the men surrounding him, as well as a digital equivalent from Dallon.

"We don't know whether Stack is hostile or not," Brendon explained, "We're essentially walking in blind; if we barge in guns blazing, it's not gonna end well for anyone." All four men nodded quietly in understanding.

"It's only Sunday," Brendon pointed out and turned his body to look at The Hounds, "And we've had a rough week. We have about four days to come up with a proper plan. For now, take some time to rest up and recharge. We need to be as alert as possible from here on out."

Languidly, the three men nodded and said their goodbyes to Dallon before trudging away to grab whatever leftovers were in the fridge and drop themselves onto the sofa.

"Dallon?" Brendon spoke softly once the other three were out of earshot.

"Yeah?"

"How is she?"

Dallon's body language changed, and his face became softer. "She's doing well. Got a semi-decent grip on her powers now."

Brendon's lips twitched ever so slightly at the thought. "Bet she's a force to be reckoned with, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Dallon snorted, "She's beaten every agent S.H.I.E.L.D has to offer. Could probably kick your ass, too.

"Probably," he scoffed before looking down at his fingers and creasing his forehead. "Did, uh," he cleared his throat, "Did Fury give her the..."

"Yeah," Dallon nodded and gave a smile, "And she hasn't taken it off since. Wears it every day."

Brendon felt his chest tighten at the techie's words. He tried and just about managed to maintain his composure and not show any indication of what he was feeling.

"Great. Thanks for the good lead, Dall. We'll check in soon."

With a knowing smirk and a slight nod, Dallon accepted his friend's unwillingness to talk about you anymore, and gave a two-fingered salute before wishing him good luck and signing off.

After closing all the windows that were open on the screen and saving all the info, Brendon stared at the laptop's wallpaper for a long while, taking in every detail of the picture.

Once he was certain that it was so engraved in his mind he'd be able to draw it in his sleep, he slammed the top shut.

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