Inachevé

Ten - Dark Heroes

There are the underdogs and the heroes. There are the criminals and the mercenaries. There are the nobodies and the somebodies. Then there are four young men with the sobriquet, "Dark Heroes."  An unseasoned organization put together by the FBI, the Dark Heroes protected people in situations such as high school shootings, mall and theater massacres, plane hijackings, and any situation similar to those.  The FBI hired the four after their remarkable feat in a shopping center incident. Over two hundred people would've been killed if it hadn't been for them.   

After signing on with the FBI, their lives were changed forever. Whether it made their lives better or worse, they wouldn't trade it in for any other profession or any amount of money.  They didn't care if their fleet was made up of a hot-blooded Texan, a proper Englishman, a benevolent New Jersey boy, and a no-nonsense Welshman.  They were making a difference and saving lives.

This is a story about the misfits in uniforms, the rogues of justice, and the boys in black.

...and they wouldn't want to be remembered any other way.

==

"Do you know the definition of 'feminist?'" came the baritone voice of Vincent Dawn as he tossed a piece of popcorn in the air. He tilted his head back and stuck his tongue out just in time to catch the spongy morsel. He pulled his tongue back in and chewed on the food a bit. He looked around at his studious comrades, who were all concentrating hard on documents or computer monitors. Vincent rolled his crystal blues eyes and kicked himself and his wheelie chair over to his closest friend, Fox. He knew Fox would listen to him, even if he really didn't want to. Vincent nudged Fox's chair and announced a loud, 'Hey' in his ear.

"What is it?" Fox asked in a tired drawl as he raked his hand through his fluffy brown bangs. He tapped the pencil against his chin and went down to write what he had recalled before he was interrupted.

"I said, mate, what is the definition of a feminist?" Vincent repeated in in a less humored manner than when he had first said it.

Fox tossed his pencil aside and rubbed his swollen eyes. "I don't know.  A female activist?"

"Wrong. It's a female that talks more than the average female." Vincent added a cheeky raise of the eyebrow while Fox, finding no humor in it, returned to his paper. A chuckle from another friend broke Vincent's disappointment. "Ah, thank you, Ryder, much appreciated. Glad you enjoyed my moronic joke."

The chuckler looked up at Vincent and replied through his crooked smile, "I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at something funny in the paper." He pressed the inked pages with a finger and stared at Vincent with a face that meant he didn't want to prolong the conversation.

Vincent's brows furrowed and he wheeled himself back over to his desk. Under his breath, he whispered, "What a boring group of hens I've come to know."

"Hey," Ryder called out, looking up from his comic, "if you're going to say something, say it louder for all of us to hear instead of mumbling in the corner!" He followed his patronizing remark with a cocky smile, which he quickly protected behind his paper when Vincent sent a flying pencil at him.

"Enough of this," Vincent grumbled. "I'm going outside for a smoke. Tired of this cramped office space. When do we get our own?" Indeed, the four of them shared an office space built for two. The carpeting was a boring shade of muddy brown with walls, once a bright yellow, were now faded and cracked. There was one poster of a loosely cladded woman, of course, that hung on the side opposite of the main door.

The office supplies were just as scarce as the office itself! The printer was several offices down from theirs, and the bathroom was located on the floor below. Though they worked for the FBI, they were not a priority branch therefore, their financial luxury wasn't very important. The four of them made due, though. When work was completed, Fox and Ryder shared an apartment while Mason and Vincent shared a condominium.