Chapter 1

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Australian slang:

Offsider: an assistant, helper

Spit the dummy: Get very upset at something

Bloke: Man, guy

Built like a brick shit house: Big, strong guy

Slade Wilson was in a lot of trouble.

After being shot and presumed dead on Lian Yu, barely alive, he'd been captured by the Australian Government, and smuggled off the island. After a period of recuperation in which he'd been mostly isolated, he was damned as having betrayed his country by joining the ranks of Edward Fyers. He'd been interviewed relentlessly for months before being threatened and eventually brutally tortured.

Confused, and driven half mad at their continued accusations, he'd pronounced his innocence over and over, not understanding why his explanations were falling on deaf ears. Then one day, in the midst of a particularly vicious interrogation, the operative responsible for questioning him had slipped up, giving him some insight into the reasons for his captivity and everything had fallen into place.

Bill Wintergreen had been clever. Despite being the one to betray his nation, he'd framed Slade, making it look as though he'd been the mastermind, forcing Bill to help him and Fyers if he wanted to stay alive. What made matters worse, Slade had killed Bill when he'd found out about his friend's betrayal, but now, his claims that the former agent had been the dirty operative were rejected in favour of the supposed evidence which indicated that he'd murdered his partner to ensure his silence. Nothing he said seemed to make any difference at all. They thought him guilty and faced with the false trail left behind by Bill, no one would even give him a hearing. Instead of being labelled a traitor, Bill was hailed as a hero who'd died in service to the Australian Secret Intelligence Services.

For the past four years Slade had been kept in a secure ASIS location somewhere on American soil. The only reason they'd kept him alive was because they believed he was in possession of information that would help them determine what Fyers end game had been. Since Slade knew nothing about it, they were at an impasse.

However, five days before during a routine change of guard, his ex-handler, and only remaining ally, had created a diversion, allowing Slade to escape into what he'd later realised was a wilderness somewhere in the San Francisco Bay area. Armed only with a compass and a map, he was guided to a location where some supplies had been stashed. Once there, he'd laid low for a few days, wanting to make sure that the search for him had widened considerably before attempting to move on. Free for the first time in years, he'd hardly had a moment to revel in the sentiment before having to figure out what his new strategy would be in order to ensure his survival.

So while he plotted and planned, he'd tended to his wounds; various cuts and bruises on his face, chest and arms. He'd also given himself a basic haircut and shaved the scraggly hair from his face. It had been such a long time since he'd experienced the simple amenities that the feeling was almost completely foreign.

He'd wanted to kill each and every one of those operatives standing guard over him, jeering and taunting him daily with all manner of humiliating statements. It had taken every ounce of his will and superior training to remain focussed on what needed to be done, waiting for the moment when he'd have his chance. He wasn't stupid either. He knew that if he succumbed to his desire to send them all to an early grave, he'd significantly reduce his chances of ever clearing his name.

After staying off the radar for three days, he'd erased all traces of his temporary hideout in a small cave shrouded from sight by a dense thicket of bushes, collected the gear left for his use and started the hike that would take him out of the wilds. With a change of clothes designed to disguise him further, he'd blended in fairly well with his surroundings.

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