The Heroes We Weren't

Chapter 30 - There Is No 'I' In Team

To say that the atmosphere in Adam's apartment was a little bit uncomfortable was like claiming that the Real Number Three was a little bit crazy – An understatement to anyone in their right mind.

Speaking of the not so sane, the only one not bothered by the fight was M, who was now silently standing with his back to the room, by the oven.

I viewed him as he blindly reached back for the first tin soldier, to then less-than-carefully drop it into a frying pan. The pan sizzled as the tin had begun to melt.

"No!" I gasped, hurried up to him and viewed the sad figurine, as it turned into a puddle. "What are you doing?"

I turned around to stare at the others. Both Fisher and Hyun-Soo were fine. They were seated uncomfortably close to one another in the couch, and Fisher was nervously fiddling with his finger nails.

Ashanti, even though a part of me had silently wished for her to melt together with the figurine, was also perfectly fine.

"We're not melting..." I mumbled. "We're connected to the tin soldiers, yet we're not melting."

That would have been an awful way to go. I grimaced at the thought of melting into a puddle of goo on Adam's floor.

"Your contracts are over, are they not?" M seemed irritated by my cluelessness. "Melting these will not affect you, but it will rid of your last connection to Mark."

Another thing checked off on our to-do list. I wondered why I was even on this team (or any of us for that matter) as M seemed to be taking care of everything himself.

Maybe the rest of us could go home, and await the glorious day that Johnson would be sent away to jail.

"I'm not putting him in jail, My naïve little Nitwit." M mumbled, as he reached out for the second figurine and popped it into the pan.

I was apparently doomed to be but an open page to this man; no matter what I was thinking he seemed to know of my every wonder.

Adam stopped behind us to place Ashanti's weapon back to the kitchen counter where it belonged. But not in its stand, mind you - right next to the last standing tin soldier; its pointy front aiming directly to where M was now blindly fumbling for his next victim-to-be-melted.

M twitched and let out a slight grunt as the knife had pierced the tip of his finger.

"Oh no," Adam gasped, "so sorry, let me help you."

He reached out for M's harmed hand but the latter immediately pulled it out of reach. A dark red drop of blood had begun to soak through the white glove. M's gaze stopped at Adam; he appeared to be pondering on whether one could melt a detective in a frying pan.

"Here," I hurriedly dug through the kitchen drawer to grab a band aid, "let me help you."

My enthusiasm to help was not so much out of pity, but rather from a wish to stop him - stop him from going through with his plans of molding a brand new figurine for Johnson's collection. The Detective Edition.

M declined my help, pulled away and pushed past me to get to the sink. He threw his glove to the side and washed his wound under the running water.

I leant against the counter as I held forth the band aid. With a quick inclined smile I offered him to take it. He was utterly careful not to touch anything with his bare hand; Had I not known better I would have placed my bets on a germ phobia, but he was in fact the untraceable murderer who carried no name - one mistake and his identity would have been out there for everyone to see.

He pulled the band aid away from me and attached it to his finger after closing the tap with his gloved hand. His gaze then flickered restlessly from side to side as he had come to realize his mistake of letting his other glove go.