Note: I cannot believe I forgot to post this chapter on Monday and I cannot believe that none of you told me

NEVERTHELESS

here it is.

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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғɪᴠᴇ: ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ

❝ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʙᴀᴅ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs. ❞

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Corporation HQ, Eastern United States Branch.

"Find him and find him NOW!"

The rage-fuelled yells of Curtiss Jackson resounded throughout the entire facility, although none was more affected by it than the mousy tech analyst at whom the yells were directed.

"I'm trying, sir!" the youngster defended himself, gesturing to the multiple applications running onscreen in an attempt to back up his claim, "I really am! But it's as if I'm locked out of all of our tracking systems."

"How is it possible that we're blocked from our own systems?" Jackson sneered impatiently, beyond ticked off at the entire situation.

"Some-someone must have infiltrated it and blocked us from the inside," the analyst shrugged sheepishly as he continued working on securing access to the tracking system network.

"Someone a lot smarter than you, clearly," Jackson scoffed and gave a look of disgust at the incompetent analyst, "This is the second Corporation agent we've lost track of in less than a week – things aren't looking too well for you."

Mills gulped audibly, genuinely scared for his life. Stivak took the opportunity to offer his opinion.

"Curtiss, if this really is the cause of a hack, then it's more than likely that we're dealing with a hostile threat, here. And I'm almost positive that that Scott Brady guy is somehow at the centre of it all."

"So we find him, then," Jackson stated simply, regaining his composure as he straightened up and buttoned his suit jacket, "We find him and we kill him. I'll construct a team immediately. He's one man; a simple bodyguard." The leader started for the door. "In the meantime – well, I'm not willing to halt operations for this mere hiccup. The next retrieval team will be out before noon."

The remaining two men watched Jackson exit the room and when he disappeared down the corridor, the analyst turned to give Stivak a worried glance.

"You know I'd never question a leader's actions, sir, but I can't help but feel like he's seriously underestimating this threat. I mean, this type of hacking... it's-it's completely impenetrable and virtually flawless; I've never seen anything like it. I have a really bad feeling about all of this."

Stivak breathed in deeply before delivering his response. "Me too."

~

Jackson pressed his thumb to the fingerprint scanner attached to the automated door, allowing himself access into the secure holding facility.

Still slightly reeling from his interaction with the insufferable hacker, he took a couple deep breaths and rolled his neck side to side as he trailed the hallways. A small smile appeared on his face as his eyes landed on the person he'd come to see.

Even though there were complications surrounding the extraction missions, at least Corporation still had one good thing going for them.

"How's it going, son?" Jackson greeted as he strode into the assassin's allocated living space.

The Phantom Warrior, who was sitting visibly bored on his bed with his back against the white wall, tossed the Corporation leader an unimpressed look. "I've been holed up in this shoebox for three weeks, just staring at the wall. How do you think it's going?"

"I do apologise for the underwhelming living quarters." Jackson extended his arms and gestured around the room as he trudged closer to the assassin. "But it's only temporary. Once your... transformation is complete, we'll move you into someplace much more pleasant."

"How sweet," Phantom smiled sarcastically.

Jackson chuckled under his breath and pulled at the knees of his trousers as he took a seat across the room from his new associate.

"I know that our methods of recruiting you were... well, less than conventional-"

A scoff.

"But let's be real, here," Jackson continued, "we wouldn't have been able to get you any other way."

"You could've asked nicely."

"And would you have said yes?"

"No." Phantom shook his head before tilting it sideways. "I would've told you to fuck off. And that's also what I'm telling you now." He shrugged. "It would've been my answer regardless of the scenario, but at least if you had asked nicely, I wouldn't have had to kill my way out of your facility."

"You haven't killed your way out of my facility," the leader pointed out with an arch of his brow.

"Yet."

Jackson ran a hand across his mouth and shifted forward in his seat. He stopped for a beat before answering.

"You and I both know that you could've murdered me and everyone else in this building a long time ago, but the fact that you haven't means that you're willing to cooperate."

"No, Mr Jackson," the assassin sighed, stretching himself out across the bed until he was on his back, looking up at the clear ceiling and smirked, "I'm just waiting on someone else to do it."

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Secret S.H.I.E.L.D Facility. Queens, New York.

Five pairs of concerned eyes – and one digital equivalent – stared unblinking at Brendon as he pushed himself out of the chair, giving a soft grunt of pain as he did so.

"What?" he barked at his friends, glaring harshly.

The rest of the guys shifted their gazes instantaneously, busying themselves with other things such as gathering folders or clearing weapons. Well, all of them except Dean.

"Dude, you're a motherfucking legend, ya know that?" Brendon raised one eyebrow in a mixture of amusement and slight surprise, prompting Dean to elaborate. "I mean, you jumped out of a fucking three-storey window, landed on your fucking arm, got up and sprinted to the van as if nothing happened and you're still walking and working that signature douchey-ness only twelve hours later? Seriously – I bow down."

The Lunatic raised both arms above his head and then doubled over in a show of bowing to the superior agent. Brendon wheezed and his lips twitched upwards as he reached forward and pushed Dean over in a display of affection. The Hound laughed and picked himself up off the floor.

"Ya'll ready for Round 2?" Dallon asked the group, doing a dramatic spin-around in his swivel desk chair.

Five out of the six men responded with less-than enthusiastic grunts, still feeling the effects of the previous mission, with Aaron being the only one who gave a lively response.

"Yes!"

His keenness earned him strange looks from the rest of the group and he glanced around the room in confusion.

"We kicked some serious ass yesterday! And now we're that much closer to bringing down the people who murdered my father, so forgive me if I'm a bit – what did Ambrose call it? – hyped!" Aaron explained himself to the group, receiving small smiles from most of them.

Dallon smiled too before looking to Brendon for permission to proceed, which he received in the form of a short nod.

"Annnnnd Bachelor Number Two is...." Dallon drummed on his desk before pressing a key and painting the screen with a picture of a blonde-haired man, "Moonstone! Or, as his mother named him – Lloyd Boch. He got his powers from a stone found on the moon's surface, hence his code-name. His abilities include superhuman strength, superhuman speed, superhuman reflexes and best of all – superhuman stamina, which means that he's perfect for romantic evenings spent at home."

"And who's he after?" Roman queried, working on securing his hair in a bun.

Another picture appeared. "John Keane. A small time criminal who operates under the name 'Tumbler'. Seems as if Corporation sees potential in him. Resides in Denver, Colorado, so you'll have to fly out within the hour if you want to get this one."

"That leaves a pretty thin window of opportunity for us to work in," Brendon spoke up, wincing marginally as a pang of searing pain shot through his arm; he gingerly rested his other hand atop the throbbing area, "We'll have to hustle."

Doctor Spalding looked on uneasily, trailing his eyes along Brendon's arm. "Are you..." he sucked in a breath before continuing, "sure that you should even be going on this mission? Your arm's pretty banged up."

Brendon stared at him, unblinking. Then, a cold response. "I'm fine. Been through worse."

"Yeah, no doubt, but this is a pretty important mission and a busted-up arm could jeopardize-"

"I bring security to missions, Doctor. Not jeopardy," Brendon interrupted with a hiss, "I'll. Be. Fine. Now how about you start getting yourself ready for the flight instead of doubting my abilities?"

Spalding was about to fire back with a response but thought better of it, quickly shutting his mouth and turning away as he mumbled under his breath.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

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A few hours later. Denver, Colorado.

A loud cry of pain escaped from Brendon's throat and his face twisted in agony as Moonstone unforgivingly twisted his injured right arm at an angle that was hardly attainable for the limb to reach. What's more is that Brendon had been clasping the weaponised needle in his right hand, so when his arm was targeted, the needle dropped to the floor and shattered.

"Fuck!" he spat, blinking rapidly to rid his vision of the pesky white spots that had infiltrated it as a result of the pain while simultaneously trying to grab hold of Moonstone.

The villain took Brendon's temporary incapacitation as his chance to escape, and he was out of the building and sprinting down the dark street before Brendon could even stand upright.

As per the carefully scheduled plan, The Hounds came rushing in a moment later, ready to fulfill their role of collecting the dead body of the villain. Except that when they busted through the door, the only body sprawled on the floor belonged to their friend.

"What happened?" Roman demanded, voice thick with anxiety as he rushed to help Brendon up.

"He got away," Brendon informed through gritted teeth as he used Roman's shoulder to push himself up from the ground. Once he was up, he hunched over and rested his hands on his knees, squeezing his eyes shut and mentally beating himself up.

"He got away?"

"Yes, Ambrose," Brendon snapped, turning his head sharply to look at The Hound who had just spoken, "He fucking got away."

Although he never explicitly said it, the other three men knew that Moonstone's unexpected escape was most likely a result of Brendon overestimating his resistance to pain and injuries, but no one commented on it and the cold room was enveloped in an even colder silence for a few moments.

"He can't have gotten far." Rollins shook his head and looked at his teammates before starting for the exit Moonstone had previously used. "Maybe I can find-"

Seth halted and ducked down just in time to dodge the body that had been tossed into the room through the exit door. He, along with the rest of the guys, immediately turned their attention to the delivery.

It was Moonstone's corpse.

The four agents stared at the dead body in reserve. When a shadow appeared on the floor, they turned their heads to the doorway and were met with the stoic silhouette of Aaron.

Brendon locked gazes with the robot, who gave him a look of clear upset, shook his head and walked away.

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Secret S.H.I.E.L.D Facility. Queens, New York.

Brendon stood over his open suitcase, ruffling through items of clothing and trying to find a shirt to throw over his head. He sensed someone approach the room and stop in the doorway, and he waited for them to enter or at least say something. He knew who it was, and what they wanted, and when they didn't do either of the aforementioned things, he decided to instigate it himself.

"If you have something to say," he called out, hands still sifting through the remainder of his clean t-shirts, "just say it."

Aaron pushed himself off of the door arch he'd been leaning against and took slow steps into the room. He looked over the interior of the room before stating his piece. "Things could've gone horribly wrong today, you know. You're lucky he didn't kill you."

Brendon scoffed. "Lucky? That can be argued. Who's to say that death isn't better than life?"

"Don't be so patronizing; you and I both know that there are things in life that make it worth living," Machine Man quipped. He hesitated for a second before speaking the second part of his say. "For you, I assume one of those things is that girl of yours."

Brendon felt his stomach drop and he got nauseous all of a sudden, but was able to ignore the urge to vomit all over the place, since the overwhelming anger he felt rendered all other emotions and reactions obsolete. This was the second time in under a week that someone had brought you up, and he was beginning to lose his patience.

He threw down the plain grey v-neck he was clutching and turned around so that he was face-to-face with Aaron, taking a few threatening steps forward to ensure that his fury was impossible not to recognise.

"Stack, I respect you, I really do. Even more than that, I like you. Which you've gotta understand is a huge thing, because I don't like people." Aaron stood still and listened with a straight face. "But don't for a second think that me liking you gives you the right to say things like you just did, because regardless of who the fuck you are – you, The Hounds, the president or even the fucking Queen of England – I don't take well to you throwing her in my face. You don't know me. You don't know her. And I'm sick of everyone trying to equate everything I do to an extension of my 'feelings for her'. I am more than on edge. I already have one foot off of the fucking cliff. So please, if you don't want to get punched in the throat, do not mention her again."

Hundreds of responses were swirling around in the bot's head, threatening to spill past his lips, but he refrained from speaking any of them. A wise decision.

"Noted." Was all he said.

Brendon turned and went back to rummaging in his suitcase.

"I think it's best if you sit the next mission out," Aaron said.

"Like hell I am."

"As much as you wouldn't like to admit it, you did jeopardise today's mission, Brendon."

"Accidents happen."

"Yes, and accidents can be avoided, too." Aaron furrowed his brows as he walked forward and joined Brendon at the side of the bed. "It's okay to take a step back sometimes, Brendon. I know that you have this reputation of a – as The Hounds put it – 'a badass motherfucker' that you feel you need to uphold but you're only one man; you can't do everything. Just..." he sighed, "take time to let yourself heal up. It's pointless you exert yourself and worsen your injury and then when the real fight begins, you're benched. Stop being stubborn for one day, and trust us to follow through successfully."

Brendon was quiet for a long time before he eventually spoke. "I don't doubt any of you; I know you can do it. It's not about that. It's about me – I can't just sit here, complacent while there's still a war to fight. That's not me."

"So pretend," Aaron deadpanned, looking Brendon over before shrugging, "You're pretty good at that, aren't you?"

Brendon's eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he pushed himself to ignore the clear ambiguity of the robot's comment. He honestly did not want to punch him in the face – losing Aaron as an ally would be a real shame, not to mention a severe loss of resources.

"Fine," the brooding agent finally conceded, delivering a curt nod, "I'll sit out of the combat. But you're sorely mistaken if you think I'm not coming along. It's the finale, and as the star of the show, I need to take my motherfucking bow."

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Thank you for reading x