✧ ✧ ✧

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sɪx: ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʜɪᴛ

❝ ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ sᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴀ ɢᴜɴ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ. ❞

✧ ✧ ✧

                           "AND SO, MEUS AMIGOS, we reach the curtain call."

"Let us have it, Weekes," Seth called out as the group gathered in the mission room and took their seats around Dallon's hologram.

"This one hits pretty close to home, since the assailant is a former S.H.I.E.L.D agent," Dallon informed somewhat solemnly, producing a photograph of a man in a snake-themed costume, "His name is Frank Payne and we sent him undercover in Corporation back when they first originated. He was compromised, sadly, and turned into a Corporation bitch. He was given the codename 'Constrictor', and he has no mutant abilities other than incredible speed and stealth."

The men nodded appreciatively, thankful that their newest foe wouldn't be spitting fire or throwing ice blasts at them during combat.

"And of course this extraction is a cut above the rest. Technically, it isn't even a typical extraction. It's an abduction."

"Aren't... all of Corporation's extractions technically abductions?" Roman frowned.

Dallon looked at the Samoan in silence before sighing. "Reigns, just..." he made vague hand gestures, "okay?"

Roman smirked amusedly and folded his arms as he motioned for the techie to continue.

"As I was saying," Dallon huffed, "Constrictor has been sent to kidnap Jim Wilson, a friend of the Hulk. And you gentlemen are fortunate enough that your ambush will need to take place in the very city you're in."

"Explain," a cold voice commanded.

Dallon pulled up surveillance footage of Jim Wilson climbing into the passenger side of a truck. "Wilson is currently searching for Hulk, so another Corporation employee was sent undercover as a trucker to offer him a lift to New York City. They're en route as we speak and from the looks of it, once he's in the city, Constrictor will handle the rest."

"Alright, so we've got a little bit of time before we have to move out," Seth spoke, settling down into one of the uncomfortably modern chairs with a slight breath of relief.

"Don't get too comfortable, Rollins," Dallon warned, skewing his mouth, "My satellite systems are showing that the truck will be arriving in the city within the next thirty minutes or so. You better get to suiting up."

A unanimous groan sounded around the room as The Hounds reluctantly started shuffling towards the gear. They all felt like hell, looked like hell, and were not at all looking forward to the prospect of stepping into another mission and being dragged through hell. Again.

At least not until they'd all gotten their necessary sleep-protein-caffeine recharge.

As if reading their minds, Brendon stood up and walked over to one of the overhead cabinets in the adjoined kitchenette, opened it and reached for some fuel. He tossed a can of Red Bull and a protein bar to each of the younger men.

"Two outta three ain't bad," he remarked as he received three lazy smiles of gratitude.

Brendon offered some to Aaron and Doctor Spalding, who both declined; he shrugged, tore open the wrapper of one of the bars and took a big bite.

"Do as Weekes said and suit up." He cocked his head up at the group as he chewed. "We leave in 10."

✧ ✧ ✧

New York City, New York.

The Constrictor laid flat on his back on the damp floor of the warehouse, spluttering and choking on the bountiful fountain of blood flowing up his oesophagus and into his mouth. The poison had thoroughly infiltrated his bloodstream, and his body was convulsing as a result.

"You're not...g-going to...beat-"

"Yeah yeah, cut the 'dying breath' monologue crap," Ambrose rolled his eyes and crouched over the failing man, clamping one hand over his mouth to trap the flash-flood of blood inside and speed up The Constrictor's death. "My tolerance level is only enough for one overly dramatic person, here."

"You think I'm overly dramatic, Ambrose?" a cold voice resounded through the room, just barely echoing off of the empty walls.

"Yeah. But don't worry." The Lunatic stood up straight and pursed his lips as he waved a dismissive hand. "It's all part of your undeniable charm."

The brooding agent scoffed in response, coming to a halt in front of the newly-made corpse.

"Alright, let's get this shit over with." Brendon turned to Dean and Aaron. "Get Rollins and Reigns to bring 'em in, then the two of you clear out."

"You got it, baby." Dean practically leapt away, bounding towards the exit as he called for his best friends over the comms.

The withdrawing of the Hound left Brendon alone with a very confused looking Aaron, who was furrowing his brows harshly as he looked in the direction Dean had gone.

"Something wrong?" Brendon enquired, frowning himself.

"No, not exactly," Aaron shook his head as his mind tried to compute, "It's just that... I was unaware that Agent Ambrose is interested in guys."

Brendon had to fight harder than he'd ever fought in his life to try and supress his laughter.

"Uh, he's, uh... he's not."

Brendon's answer seemed to perplex Aaron even more, leaving him to tilt his head and squint his eyes as he gestured to where Dean stood only moments ago.

"But he just called you 'baby'. Is that not a romantic term of endearment?"

"Well, in most cases, yeah. But sometimes it's used between friends, or when someone gets really hyped up or excited."

"Oh, I see," Aaron nodded in understanding, committing the information he'd just received to memory so as not to make a fool of himself in future.

The men stood in an uncomfortable silence as they waited for the arrival of The Hounds. Brendon's forehead creased as he thought about Aaron's theory. It seemed incredibly bold to assume that Ambrose had a thing for guys – especially since he was the resident 'ladies man' back at S.H.I.E.L.D – but when Brendon thought about it, he could totally see all three of The Hounds in a poly-amorous relationship with one another.

A tiny, almost inaudible snigger slipped past the agent's lips at the thought. In all honesty, joking about The Hounds being gay for one another was merely a favoured, entertaining pastime for the employees at S.H.I.E.L.D. The three men truly were best friends, but more than that, they were a family – a brotherhood. They stood by one another through anything and everything, and loved one another unconditionally.

Occasionally, the strength of their bond and their closeness would translate over into physical gestures of endearment – ruffling of the hair, giant bear hugs, kisses at the top of heads, or whatever else – much to the delight of the other employees. The Hounds were constantly teased about it but simply brushed it off, because they knew that under the mockery laid heaps of respect; they could take out all other agents in one go if they wanted to. For fun. When they're bored on a Tuesday afternoon.

And even though Brendon himself was guilty of teasing them (on multiple occasions), he absolutely understood their relationship, and he admired it. Even more, he knew what it was like to have brothers who stood by your side through thick and thin, who you were close enough with to pull them into tight hugs or kiss their heads after a mission without it meaning anything more than 'I'm glad you're safe; thanks for having my back'. After all, he shared that exact same bond with Spencer, more recently Dallon, and-

"Yo, Urie!" The sound of Roman's booming voice broke Brendon from his trance. The Samoan was dragging the greying, lifeless body of Night Flyer while Seth followed closely behind with the body of Moonstone. "Where do you want your corpse brides?"

"Prop them up on that wall over there, in front of the camera." Brendon instructed before reaching down to slip his arms beneath The Constrictor's back and under his arms and starting to drag him over as well. Some of the dead man's blood brushed onto the agent's skin but he didn't mind – it aided the authentication of his upcoming 'performance'.

The three men each placed their respectful Corporation corpses in a line against the wall, as per the plan. Once Brendon was satisfied with the set-up, he told the rest of the team to head out.

"You got this?" Dean checked.

Brendon nodded. "Yeah, Dallon has me covered."

Roman tossed him a set of keys. "There's a Sudan in an alley one block south; it's cloaked so you'll need to disengage the setting first."

"And work fast," Seth warned as the group started for the exit, "Once they pick up the signal they'll probably send out a team immediately."

Brendon tapped the screen on his watch and called up Dallon. "Fast is the only way I know how."

He lifted the mask dangling around his neck and fastened it over his face as Dallon answered the call.

"You ready?"

"Yeah," Brendon breathed, turning around so that he was facing the camera; he studied it for a moment before stepping out of frame and allowing the three corpses to be the only things that the camera could see. "Work your magic, Weekes."

✧ ✧ ✧

Corporation HQ, Eastern United States Branch.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," the frantic breaths of the mousy Corporation hacker resounded all throughout the grey building, earning him perplexed looks from his colleagues as he sprinted through the hallways, laptop secured under his left arm.

He just barely stopped himself from running past his destination, but managed to skid to a halt in front of the office before barging in through the door. He stood in the doorway, panting, as the unimpressed faces of his superiors frowned at him.

"What the hell-"

"Sir!" the hacker cut Stivak off, pushing into the room and setting his laptop up on the frosted desk, "You need to see this."

Both Stivak and Jackson instantaneously moved to flank their employee's sides, craning their necks to get a proper look at what was on the screen. The leaders felt their blood run cold at the sight.

There, propped up all in a line against a damp wall, were three of their best employees. Dead.

The camera then panned up on the concrete wall; there, crafted in what looked liked blood (but was in fact only spray-paint), was a question.

DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION?

Neither man said anything, and continued to watch the camera feed; the hacker stood to the side, nervously chomping on his nails.

Slowly, the camera zoomed in, focusing on each corpse in turn. And on each of the bodies, there was a card with a message.

BACKYARD STORAGE FACILITY.

LOWER EAST SIDE.

YOU'D BETTER SEND MORE THAN ONE AGENT THIS TIME.

The camera panned out again, and Brendon walked into frame. He looked straight at the centre of the device, winked and aimed his gun at it. One shot later and all that the laptop screen displayed was static.

The laboured breaths from both Corporation leaders were the only sounds in the room and Mills dared not to be the first one to speak; the pure rage radiating off of his bosses were enough to keep his mouth shut.

In an oddly calm manner, Jackson straightened up and smoothed the creases in his suit jacket as he turned to the hacker. "You've tracked the exact location?"

"Y-yes," he nodded furiously, rushing forward and typing on the keyboard, pulling up a GPS map with a pinpointed location to prove his point.

"Good." Jackson cleared his throat before pressing an intercom button at the edge of his desk. "I need all available agents suited up and assembled in the hangar bay within the next ten minutes. Don't keep me waiting."

Jackson turned on his heel and started heading for the door but was stopped as Stivak reached out to grip his arm.

"Curtis, you're not going in without a solid plan, are you?" Stivak's brows creased with concern. "We have no idea what we're dealing with, here. It could be a set-up, and you're about to walk right into it."

"What we're dealing with," Jackson spoke through clenched teeth, wrenching his arm back and pointing at the screen, "is a measly bodyguard, who has no idea what he's just walked into."

"A measly bodyguard who managed to hack our entire system and murder three of our top agents," Stivak countered, trying his utmost to get his partner to think rationally, "Unless he has the ability to clone himself, I highly doubt that he's working alone."

"Then we'll find whoever he's working with and kill them, too." Jackson refused to stand down. "We've risked too much and come too far to lose now, Eugene. And I'll be damned if I let anyone get in our way."

✧ ✧ ✧

Backyard storage facility, Lower East Side. New York City, New York.

A storm of flashlight beams scoured every inch of the facility, eventually settling on the far end of the room – at the wall where the three Corporation corpses sat.

The room was devoid of any other life forms besides the Corporation agents and their leaders, both of whom were huffing agitatedly.

"Don't," Jackson glared at Stivak, who was staring at him with a condescending look.

"He could be breaking into HQ as we speak." Stivak did anyway. 

Curtiss Jackson opened his mouth with the intention of spewing venom, but was stopped by one of the agents.

"Sir, there's something in Frank's mouth," the agent pointed out, approaching Constrictor's body carefully before tilting his head back and removing the item lodged between his teeth. "It's a cellphone."

The phone started ringing, emitting a sharp tone around the room and startling the agent who held it. Jackson wasted no time in striding over and yanking it from his employee's grasp.

"Wait!" The hacker that Jackson had forced to come with jumped forward. "Before you answer, let me put this on the phone." He held up a device no bigger than a chocolate chip and twirled it between his fingers. "It attaches to the charger port and emits an electrical signal into the CPU of the phone that'll allow me to trace the call."

Jackson held the phone out and Mills attached the device before checking to see if it connected to the application on his tablet. Seeing that it had, he gave a thumbs up to Jackson, who tapped 'accept' and held the phone to his ear.

"I will kill you," he spat into the receiver.

"Oooo, we're heading straight to the dirty talk? At least ask me what I'm wearing, first," Brendon's voiced crackled over the speaker.

"I'm not in the gaming mood, boy. What exactly is your goal, here?"

"Look, I know that you Corporation yuppies are kinda one fry short of a Happy Meal- oh, wait, let me put that into terms you'll understand – I know that you're all stupid, so I'm going to keep this simple." Jackson growled at Brendon's words, which only encouraged the agent. "You have something that I want. And unless you want me to kill my way through each and every member of your puerile organization, you're going to give it to me."

"Mm. And what is it that you want, Mr... Brady, was it?"

Brendon answered coolly. "The prisoner that you're currently holding in cell 45."

Jackson laughed in an almost maniacal way. "Keep dreamin', kiddo. You're not ever getting your hands on him." The hacker gestured that he'd managed to gridlock a location, and Jackson's lips curved up into a sick smile. "In fact, we'll be getting our hands on you."

"That so?"

Just as the hacker held up the tablet to show Jackson the location of the call, the screen went black and a second later, a block-lettered message appeared.

NICE TRY

Jackson's smile faded at the precise moment that a series of gunshots went off. The leader turned his head around just in time to see all fifteen of his agents drop to the floor, bullet wounds in their skulls.

The only people left standing were Jackson, Stivak, and the scared-out-of-his-mind hacker, all of whom stood in complete shock at the scene before them.

"You see, Mr Jackson," Brendon's voice rang over the phone, "Me asking you to hand him over was merely a formality – a kind gesture out of the goodness of my heart. I'm going to get him either way; I just thought I'd give you the option to hand him over peacefully, first. But clearly, you'd much rather prefer there be bloodshed. Not to worry, though – that happens to be one of my many specialties. Goodbye, Curtiss. I'll be seeing you when I break into your office and point a gun at your head."

Brendon was about to hang up when Jackson protested.

"Wait!" He yelled. When he didn't hear the click to indicate that the call had ended, he continued in a breathless voice. "Can we meet to discuss a deal?" he sighed. Dinner, at that restaurant on the corner of first and second."

"Only if you're paying."

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