𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐄 // 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘

CHAPTER 1, ghosted

He hated these conventions, he only visited them when he required information. His next target? Gunpowder.

At first, he wasn't even sure whether this kid - or now adult - actually had powers, or was just some guy with guns. As expected, Gunpowder refused to say anything about the actual target. Days prior, his plan was to ask the supe about Soldier Boy, but after reading through some information Maeve gathered, the man decided to approach the situation from a different angle. Because if there was somebody, anybody who knew more about Soldier Boy, it was the Ghost.

But as her name suggests, she disappeared, civilians rarely reporting sightings of her. Are they true? Nobody knows, because by the time somebody else arrives to confirm it, the Ghost is gone. This wasn't even why she got the name Ghost.

The man didn't even know whether she was still alive or not, who knows, maybe he's chasing an actual ghost by now. No, if the others are alive, she surely is, too. The question was, where.

With no information gathered, the man steps out into the underground garage below the convention, the cold air hitting him in an instant. With the shoelaces of his boots carelessly untied, he stomps over to his car. In a swift motion, he tears the car's door open, plopping down into the driver's seat with a sigh. For a few moments, he sits there with eyes shut, thinking, replanning everything. This didn't work. Nothing he never heard before.

An annoyed grunt leaves his body as he adjusts the rear-view mirror, spotting something, or more like someone odd in the reflection.

"Shit," he mumbles as he ducks down, just as a bullet speeds past his face. The rear-view mirror shatters in an instant, and who knows, maybe if he didn't notice it, he, too, would have ended up the same way.

Panting, he just laid there for a few seconds. Just as he was about to check the other mirror, the object met a similar fate as the other. Right now, the man didn't have much of a choice. The green drug in his coat's pocket was still there, but after some contemplation, he settled on not trying it out at that moment.

The man climbs out of the car, laying as low as possible, his handgun clutched between his fingers. Gunpowder was nowhere to be seen, but he could feel that he was lurking somewhere in that garage. Now, let's be real, he did say some out of pocket things to that guy, called him Soldier Boy's underage nob-gobbler, not to mention that he tried to blackmail him too for the sake of some intel on the Ghost. Of course Gunpowder isn't going to let it slide.

After firing a few warning shots, the man inches backwards, crouching behind his car for some safety. Gunpowder might be an asshole, maybe he didn't even have powers, but he was still handy with guns. Better safe than sorry, even he knew that. Slowly, he stretches his neck, scouting the area of the garage. Still nobody.

Another gunshot rang out, it echoed down there. A sharp pain hits his leg, his blood splattering out from the wound.

"Fuck," the man breathes out, hissing. He glances down at the wound, his black jeans turning a different shade on one of his legs. He was quick to realize that he was fighting against someone he couldn't even see.

Throwing his head around in pain, he came up with an idea. It was far from a plan, it was barely even an idea. He straightens up, limping away from the car, his finger on the trigger of his handgun. He just fired shots blindly, the bullets occasionally reaching cars too. He slams himself against a column, panting in his hiding spot. Gunpowder was still nowhere to be seen, but it was definitely him, he just knew it. The shots were too accurate for it to be anybody else. With his handgun ready, he held it tightly, peeking out from behind the column.

A shell casing clicks, a pipe hisses, a car's window breaks, and in that same second, the bullet scrapes the man's skin, leaving behind a gaping, bloody scar. The man groans, his hand swiftly moving up to feel the wound. Yes, this was definitely the work of Gunpowder. Theory confirmed. Nobody else has such precise, calculated shots.