Shiro talked to Keith before heading back to wherever he'd come from without so much as a goodbye, and Coran made a quick stop to refuel before they proceeded onward. While at the fueling station, Lance sent a message to Hunk. Truth be told, he'd rather not drag Hunk into the mess he'd created, but his assistance would prove valuable with what Lance had planned.

When Coran touched down the helicopter in a private bay, Lance was both relieved and made anxious by the sight of his long-time friend.

Hunk looked up as Lance stepped off the chopper and ran forward, catching the Latino in a bear hug that had him grimacing. He still had some bruises from his encounter at the medical clinic, and he'd been pushing his body too hard to allow them to heal.

"Existing injury," Lance got out, and Hunk backed off at once, biting at his lip and scanning Lance. He'd taken the chance to change after the sicario raid, so he was no longer covered in blood. Now he was just wearing jeans and some cheap shirt he'd found at the gas station. He could be anyone. He could be no one.

"Lance," Hunk said, his eyes watering, and Lance exhaled, one thousand percent sure that he absolutely should never have contacted Hunk. Of all his friends, Hunk was the least attuned to violence, and Lance knew exactly how it would play out, how Hunk would see the monster in Lance and shatter their friendship of decades. Lance could and would sacrifice everything he had to for the figures in the drawing he carried with him in his pocket.

But for now, he and Hunk were friends. "Hey, Hunk," Lance said, leaning forward to give him a one-arm hug with considerably less force than Hunk had administered. "Sorry to drag you out here."

"Hey, I've always wanted to visit California," Hunk said, pulling back with a smile. "Just, you know, more as a tourist and not as the accomplice of a domestic terrorist."

"I prefer 'man of intrigue'," Lance responded with a half-smile. "And no one's saying you can't come back as a tourist."

Hunk winced. "I have a feeling that whatever it is you're orchestrating, I probably won't be welcome in this state for a long time coming."

"You and me both, buddy. But hey, let's get started," Lance said, turning and steering Hunk to the side of the bay where there were several tables and a whiteboard against the wall. "I've got this hangar rented for the week. Gives us time to plan," he said, pausing to take two more headache pills, and Hunk looked at the bottle.

"What are you taking those for?" he asked, and Lance tucked the bottle back into his duffel.

"Brain tumor," Lance said without looking over at Hunk.

"Very funny," Hunk said with a roll of his eyes. "What exactly did you bring me out here for, anyway?"

--

"No, you can't," Hunk said, shaking his head in vehement protest. "Attacking a guy in broad daylight? Lance, that's...well, for starters, your face has already been broadcasted on every television in the country, and I hate to break it to you but you don't exactly have a loving fanbase."

"I'll wear a disguise," Lance said simply. "You'd be surprised what people won't recognize in front of their own face when they're not expecting to see it. And besides, this guy has a retinue of guards surrounding him constantly. There's no way to get through that many human shields without being close enough to time it perfectly."

"Even so," Hunk continued. "You're putting yourself at risk, and you're endangering every single civilian in that area, people who have done nothing against you."

"That's why I need you," Lance reminded Hunk. This was the third go-round of the same conversation. Lance had filled Hunk in on the plan, which Hunk had immediately rejected as being too dangerous. "I can rig up an explosive just as good as anyone, but you can help make it more directed. If we can increase the precision, then we can make sure it doesn't hit any civilians."

"There are always unknowns," Hunk argued. "Things that change last minute, people who find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Are you going to pull the plug on the mission if an innocent person gets in the way? Because I'm not helping you if that's not true, Lance, and I mean it. I'm not a fan of killing anyone, but I can justify this one guy on account of what happened to Veronica and Raphael. Only so long as no civilians get hurt."

"If an innocent person would be injured as a result of the mission, then I would stop the mission, pull back, and wait for another opportunity," Lance said calmly because those were the words Hunk needed to hear. And Lance meant them now, he did. It was just hard to tell how he would feel when he was looking Simon Thorn, the man who had manufactured the slaughter of his platoon and family, in the face.

"Besides," Lance added. "The explosive is just a backup, a precaution. Plan A is for me to get in close enough to take the kill shot. If something goes wrong there or I'm picking up too much heat, we'll use the explosive."

Hunk sighed. "Lance, do you recall a single time we didn't end up using a backup plan?"

"This would be a wonderful opportunity to prove that statement wrong," Lance offered up.

Hunk just groaned. "How long do we have, exactly?"

"One week."

"One week!" Hunk glared at Lance. "That's–"

"A great song, I know. Look, I'm running on a short schedule," Lance said, deciding not to delve into why exactly that was. "Can you do it?"

Hunk rubbed at his chin with one hand, his other on his hip. "It'll be tough...but..."

"Great," Lance said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Give me a list of what you need."

"First, brain food."

"Done."

--

"What?" Lance asked, blood roaring in his ears as he asked Pidge to repeat herself.

"You were right," Pidge said with a disappointed sigh. "There was one stakeholder in the cap table I was able to trace to someone in the military, someone near your team who would've overseen Zarkon's Fist."

"But...he wouldn't do that to us," Lance tried to reason, shaking his head slowly at first and then more adamantly. "He trained us, Pidge. He wouldn't..."

"I'm sorry," Pidge said quietly.

"He wouldn't betray us," Lance said after a moment, but even as he said the words, he knew them to be a lie.

"What are you going to do?"

Lance was quiet.

"This isn't the same as Pelios," Pidge reminded him. "He was a one-off, an outsider from the Fed. He wasn't part of your institution. This...this would be like attacking your home base."

Attacking the institution he'd bled for over the past seven years.

But what other choice did he have?

"Lance..."

"Everyone has to pay," Lance said, his voice flat with exhaustion and resignation in equal parts. "If he wanted to live, then he shouldn't have let my men and family die."

"But you've taken orders from him for years, Lance, reported up the chain of command to him. Do you really think you'll be able to kill him?"

Lance closed his eyes for a moment, remembering all the bullshit spewed to him in his early days training as special operative recruit. Honor, integrity, dignity, loyalty...

All lies.

"I think I don't have a choice."

--

"Lance, do you have the shot?" Keith asked over the radio, and Lance didn't reply, eye lined up with the scope, tracking Simon Thorn as he emerged from the building and paused to talk with someone from his security detail. "Lance, do you copy?"

"Guard's in the way," Lance reported back. "Waiting for shot. Hunk, are you in position?"

"I'm in position," Hunk said, his voice shaky. The explosive was sitting in the backseat of the van Hunk was driving. All Hunk had to do was open the door; once he cleared out of the way, he would press a button on his end to arm the device, and Lance would press a button to launch it. "But I'm still not–"

"Guard moving away," Lance called out, cutting off Hunk before he could introduce more doubts. "Waiting for shot..." The guard moved to the car, and Steve's head was blissfully unobstructed in Lance's scope. His finger tightened on the trigger-

"Incoming!" Keith said. "Civilian approaching Thorn. Hold fire."

Lance brought his head back from the scope to find a reporter standing in front of Steve. "Shit," Lance said to himself, gritting his teeth. Their time window was running out. "I'm coming in closer," Lance said, as the only way he'd be able to get around the reporter was if he changed his angle, and he'd have more control of that closer up. He picked up his rifled and started running down the stairwell. "Hunk, open the van door and pretend you're grabbing something from inside so you block the view."

"Roger," Hunk said.

"Status update," Lance called out when he was just about to the bottom of the stairwell.

"Civilian is still in play," Keith said. "Four of Thorn's security detail are lingering. The others got in the truck."

"Roger," Lance said, bursting out of the stairwell exit and slowing to a casual jog along the street, concealing his rifle by tucking it beneath the duffel slung along his shoulder. He was wearing both a hat and sunglasses, but he kept his head down nonetheless as he continued moving closer to the Capstone Industries building.

"Reporter still isn't moving," Keith updated, sounding restless. "Lance, what's the play?"

"Almost there," Lance said back. The reporter was an issue, not because Lance thought he would hit her but because one of Thorn's guards could take her hostage, use her as a body shield, or end up hitting her in their crossfire. "All right, I'm going to need a distraction," Lance said. "Can someone fire a shot off to the right or left? I don't want them looking in my direction. I'm going to try and get the reporter out of the way."

"I can take a shot," Keith said. "There's a window in the building adjacent to them on the right. I've got my eye on a second-floor office that's unoccupied. I'll shoot at the window. Hopefully that'll get their attention."

"Okay. Let me know if any of the security detail reacts as I'm heading up and wait til my count," Lance said, and he tugged his hat lower on his face before starting up the steps at an unhurried pace.

"Guards are watching you, but no one's making a move yet."

From just below the brim of his hat, he could make out the reporter's shoes not ten feet away. "Three, two, one," Lance whispered.

The next instance, he heard a shot break out accompanied by glass shards hitting the ground.

"Guards are distracted. Go now," Keith said, and Lance grabbed the reporter's arm, pulling her behind him.

"Go!" Lance yelled, pushing her away from him and turning to the men in front of him, who had started reacting. "Get out of here!" he yelled again after she hadn't started moving. Then he pulled the rifle out from under the duffel and took out two of the guards, taking two steps to his left so as to draw their fire away from the reporter in case a stray bullet missed Lance.

Thorn backed up, yelling into his earpiece as the other two guards lifted their weapons. The one closer to Lance was too close for him to get a good shot off with the rifle, so he used it as a bludgeon instead, swinging it at the guy's head and causing him to lose his grip on his weapon. The two of them grappled for a moment before Lance was able to swing an elbow into the man's face and land a crippling blow in his side, but the maneuver allowed the second guard to get off a shot, and Lance yelled, clenching his teeth as he took a bullet in his upper left arm.

He lifted his rifle to take out the guard, but a woman from Capstone Industries – a secretary if Lance had to guess – had been drawn outside by the commotion and stood near the doors about thirty feet back from the action. Lance's hands were shaking, and the gun wavered back and forth in his hands.

For the first time in his life, Lance wasn't sure he could make the shot.

"Hunk!" Lance yelled over the comm, dropping the weapon to his side. "I need you to arm the explosive!" The explosive had a pre-set trajectory, and the radius of the blast would be small enough that the woman would be in no danger.

"But- Lance! You're too close!" Hunk protested.

"Just do it and get out of the way!"

"O-Okay, it's armed," Hunk confirmed, and Lance pressed a button in his pocket as he ran in the opposite direction. He felt the impact and the heat of the blast at his back as he was propelled through the air and landed hard on the asphalt of the street. Lance allowed himself a quick look back to find the CEO on fire, his guard on the ground. The secretary was safe, having fallen to her knees in shock alone.

Thorn met his eyes with a silent scream as he crumpled to the ground.

"Gotta...gotta get up," Lance muttered to himself. There was a truck parked next to him, and he used the door handle to pull himself up, taking a moment to get his bearings before he started limping forward. At first there was silence, then noise began filtering back in, screams of passerby and of Thorn, cars honking, police sirens in the distance quickly getting closer, voices over his radio.

"Lance? Lance!" Keith yelled.

"I'm sorry, he told me to arm it!" Hunk responded.

"I'm here," Lance radioed, his breathing uneven. More voices on the radio, but Lance couldn't focus on that right now. He'd made his way next to a car, and he tapped the driver-side window and gestured with his rifle for the driver to get out. The man did so immediately, and Lance hopped into the vehicle and tossed his duffel into the passenger seat, offering a small apology before shifting into drive and hitting the gas pedal.

"We have eyes on you, Number Three," Coran spoke. "Police are starting to set up roadblocks, but I can navigate you out of the city." He instructed Lance on several streets to turn down. At some point, a cop car got on Lance's tail, but then he was out of the city and on the highway. "Several units are onto you now," Coran said. "And you're heading in the opposite direction of our rendezvous point."

"Not bringing them your way," Lance said, jaw clenched. He couldn't tell if his current headache was a normal one as the result of being near a concussive blast or one of his special brain tumor ones, but it was unwelcome either way. Not to mention his injured left arm. He needed to take care of that, and fast.

"Nonsense, Number Three," Coran said, his voice firm. "We have the chopper on site, we can get you out of there just as soon as–"

"Can't risk you guys," Lance said, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. One cop car had turned to two had turned to four. "Not on this one. I'll make the rendezvous, I'll just be a little late."

"You're injured, Lance," Keith said, and even he seemed ruffled. "We'll be fine, just stick to the plan and–"

"Negative," Lance interrupted, gritting his teeth as the first cop car tapped his bumper, and Lance turned the wheel to the right to tap them back. "Plan's changed. I'll make it to the rendezvous location when I can. Don't wait for me."

"Lance–"

"Going dark," Lance said, pulling the comm out of his ear and crushing it in his hand before throwing the bits out the window. He couldn't have them catching him and finding his associates. Not that he planned on getting caught, but it was wise to plan for all eventualities.

A police officer waiting ahead on the highway threw out road spikes, and Lance swore, unable to avoid them. The car careened, sliding into the turn and coming to a hard stop at the edge of a forest.

"Lance McClain!" a cop yelled with the assistance of a bullhorn, and Lance groaned, eyes rolling around for a moment before refocusing. "Come out of the vehicle with your hands up!"

Lance's chest hurt from where he'd been thrown up against the wheel, but he forced himself to release his seat belt and climb over the console into the passenger seat, which faced the forest instead of the road. He kicked the door open and pulled himself, reaching back into the car for his rifle and his duffel.

"Gun!" the police officer yelled, and they all started shooting at the car, riddling the chassis with bullets as Lance set off into the woods, keeping low and weaving between trees so they wouldn't be able to see his exit right away.

He kept up a swift pace as he zigzagged through the trees. He needed to throw them off his trail, but that would be impossible until he managed to treat his bullet wound and stop leaking blood on every fucking leaf he touched. At some point he noticed a cabin about a mile and change to the northeast, so he changed course, heading straight for the cabin and forgoing tactics to cover his own trail.

When he was almost upon the cabin, he heard the sound of a pickup turning over. He hunched beside a tree, taking purposeful breaths in and out. He rested in place until the driver of the pickup took off, and then he bounded forward, listening for other occupants, but after identifying none from a cursory scan through the window, he used his rifle to break the glass pane in the door above the doorknob, reached in, and unlocked the door.

He let himself into the cabin and shut the door behind him, scanning the room once more, but it was empty. He spotted a radio on the kitchen table and he flicked it on, switching over to the police frequency. He saw a map of the park on the floor, and he grabbed that as well, giving it a quick glance before stowing it in his pocket.

"-state park. Tracking him on foot. Requesting dogs and air support, over," came the radio with a crackle.

He rummaged through the kitchen before coming up with a first aid kit under the sink, and he sat on the tiled kitchen floor, gritting his teeth as he used a wet towel to clean off the blood before pouring a disinfectant over the wound. Then he pulled a bandage from the kit and wrapped it around the wound as tight as it would go without cutting off circulation. Then he slapped an additional bandage over that.

Now to address his headache. He moved over to his duffel and pawed through the contents with his right hand, passing over ammo, night vision goggles, and several other items, but no white bag.

"Fuck." Lance shut his eyes and slammed his right fist against one of the kitchen cupboards. His medication must have slipped out of his duffel and into the passenger side of the car, which meant the tumor in his head would have full reign until he could get to the rendezvous point. Not ideal. "Gotta keep moving," he mumbled to himself, searching the first aid kid and not finding anything for pain relief, but he didn't have time to search around the cabin for pills.

Instead, he quickly rummaged through the remaining kitchen cabinets to find a canister of Folger's. He popped the lid and shook the ground coffee all over the entryway; the dogs would be led to the cabin at some point, and hopefully the strong scent would help throw them off the trail for at least a little bit.

He spied a few granola bars on the counter, and he grabbed them, tossing all but one in his duffel and putting the last one straight into his mouth, before exiting the cabin via the back door and taking off once more at a run.

The dogs were his first concern. Using the knife he kept strapped to his side, he killed several animals along his route, hoping the blood would draw them in and cover his scent, before changing directions once more. According to the map he'd snagged from the cabin, there was a river that ran along the northern boundary of the state park approximately fifteen miles from his current position. If he could make it there, he'd be clear of most danger and could proceed to his rendezvous point, which was further east downriver.

Fifteen miles only applied if he moved in a straight line; it didn't factor in the turns he took to throw the dogs off his scent or the places in which he went out of his way to enter a small stream and wade through it in a similar vein of thought. Fifteen miles was quickly becoming twenty, and he was moving too slowly.

He paused for a moment, sniffing the air, and he looked up to the sky. It was still a bright shade of blue, but there was something in the breeze that told Lance they'd be in for a storm soon, and a big one.

--

published 10/03/22 (mm/dd/yy)

3655 words