Fighting Four: First Fight, Part One

The Team

"General! General Smith!"
The messenger sprinted down the corridor, his army uniform stretching to match his hurried composure as his boots pounded on the floor, papers almost flying out of his hand. He was a young man in his late 20's, but he was clean as a whistle, with a shaven face, a haircut that looked freshly trimmed, as if he were about to be sent onto active duty. However, there were other, more pressing matters to attend to, and this was an urgent situation. And with this severe of a crisis at hand, it was only fitting that the General had to know of the situation.
"General Smith!"
The messenger, grasping the door handle in a state of sheer panic, threw the door open, barely holding his breath. The General, sitting down at a conference table, was rather startled by the outburst, but this was a private conversation; the room was not in use at the moment, and the General returned to his contemplative state almost instantly.
"General, sir, there's a new demand."
The General, now fully accepting the other presence in the room, started to open his eyes and adjust the cap as the leather brim scratched his bald head. A man in his 50's, he was cautious, though presumptive when he needed to be. He had seen wars begin and end, and he understood that whatever was this urgent would not need to be ignored. He started to speak:
"What is it this time, Corporal?"
            "Ten billion, sir, or else he attacks New York."
Hearing this, the General's eyes flew wide open in shock. The source of these ransom notes was not new to him, for he had been dealing with this caliber of threat for some time without the public causing an uproar over the situation. However, the attackers had increased their ransom time and time again, and they had been paid time and time again. He knew very well to take them seriously; they had sent him a photo of their blast site as a threatening joke, and the destruction would have been comparable to a nuclear blast. However, the effects on the American public would no doubt be disastrous, so pay the ransom they did, time and time again. His main issue, however, was that he knew he would have to stop this pattern before things scaled to a size that he would not be able to handle.
The General, starting to show his anxiety of the situation, cleared his throat and replied, "Another one so soon? We barely paid off his last one on time, and he was threatening Los Angeles. No doubt that maniac will set his sights on the White House, and who knows if we'll be able to stop him there." Covering his face, he feared the worst; if the public would find out, they would go into an uproar, and this would throw the country in shambles. He had tried sending people to discover the identity of the mysterious attackers, but those that tried searching for them and weren't killed in action would simply end up finding false leads or innocent civilians, always ending back up where they started.
Nervous, the messenger asked the old General, "Sir, what are we going to do? We can't just keep giving him money..." Normally, a mere Corporal would never know of this extreme situation, but he was the General's secretary, and he had seen the ransom notes fly in from the very beginning. Not to mention, those that heard of this threat beforehand realized that he might slip and spill the news to the public if he was found, so he was kept in the loop, provided that he was under secrecy for the sake of the country.
The General took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to think. If he sent in more men, he would no doubt be discovered by the enemy, so that wouldn't be an option. And if the individuals themselves were simple Average Joes, that would only raise more questions. However...
"Corporal, if we are going to stop these individuals, we will need a team of civilians highly trained in their specific trade or craft. If we bring in soldiers, the enemy will easily see us coming, but if we bring in simple Average Joes, we'll be sending them on a death mission, and the public will surely discover what the situation is. If we play our cards right, Corporal, this team is going to track these jerks, take them down, and end this nightmare once and for all!"
The General stood up from his chair, his eyes filled with a fiery excitement that can only be described as pure hope and belief, as he strolled over to a map of the States they had hung up to track the attackers' threat locations, littered with pins marking paid-off ransom notes and the targets that were connected. He took a scan of the map, taking in the country, judging of some locations where some individuals could be scattered and turned back to the Corporal on the other side of the room. "Pack your bags, Corporal, we'll be leaving to recruit soon...we have a team to make, and a country to save!"
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Bang! Clink...Bang! Clink...Bang! Clink...the sharpshooter steadied himself, done with his round for the time being. This had been only target practice, but it made no difference to him, as the results were the same. He hadn't improved, but he didn't need to; all three of his bullets went through the bullseye, in a space about as small as a dime, even though the bullet holes themselves were almost as big as one. He took pride in his aim, but he did not boast about it; he could probably win at the Olympics if he wanted to, but he wasn't much for attention. He was a lanky man, a little tall and skinny, but healthy. In his old army clothes, he would have looked like he was going to be sent somewhere, but he wasn't actively deployed, and so he still would be able to act if he needed to. He stood up, gathered his bullet shells, and started to leave the grounds. They closed for the day in a few minutes, so it was time to leave; besides, his squadron would be wondering where he was if he would be late for the nightly roll-call.
"You have a heck of an aim, don't you soldier?"
The man looked up, wondering who this unknown voice belonged to. There were two men standing in front of him, clad in army uniform similar to his own, but they were older and seemed to be more serious than the usual people who hung around the range. These weren't ordinary men; for all he knew, these were from outside the camp...these were government officials, for sure.
"No sir, just practiced," the man replied cautiously.
He didn't want to give too much away, for fear that those with him would learn too much of him. He had nothing dangerous to hide, but he was better when he was alone in moments like these, and he wasn't a fan of people poking through his business in moments like this. However, practiced to him was a mere understatement, as he had been trained as a bit of an eye for quite some time. Growing up as an outsider looking in, he had become observant of the little details, and when he joined the army on a whim, he found he had a knack for long-distance fire, as he was better from a distance. He was calculated, able to make quick adjustments on a whim, but a perfectionist, so he took each and every moment seriously, both on and off the field.
"What's your name, soldier?"
"Marco Ramirez, sir, but my squadmates call me Mark."
The older of the two men smiled. "Mark, I've got a special mission for a special team, and I'm going to need a sharpshooter with an eye like yours. You've got the skill to match anyone out there, and it's why we could use someone with your skills...that is, if you're up for it."
"And may I ask who's making the offer for this?"
The younger of the two men chimed in: "This is General Smith, of the US Army. I think you've been here long enough to understand the weight of that title..."
Marco stammered, "Sir, well, I-I...," then gulped, and took a deep breath, and continued. "With all due respect, sir, I have a commitment to my squad mates here. I wouldn't feel easy about going without making sure they're without me." Marco was a tad protective, but he knew they could take care of themselves. They trained him in one or two things for the outside world, but he wouldn't be ready to leave them on while they were on active duty, or an eventual deployment into enemy lines.
The General sighed, and looked at Marco with a flare in his eyes similar to an interrogation, with a tad of sincere sorrow, something that was out of Marco's grasp. "Marco, we made sure to talk to your squad mates and your commanding officer, and they all approved of you taking this mission as well. They'd be more than willing to take the mission themselves if we need people of their talents, and you realize that they'd be supporting on this mission, even if it's from the sidelines back here. So, you still not interested...?"
Marco thought about it for a minute, then looked back at the two men with a fiery determination in his eyes, one that wasn't there previously. "Sir, I'll be more than willing to accept this mission. The point of a soldier is to serve their country, and that's what I signed up to do."
The General laughed, put a hand on Marco's shoulder, and started to walk away from the range with Marco in hand. "Marco, we'll give you a couple of days to get whatever you need together, and we'll handle all of the paperwork on our end. Don't you worry about the rest of it, we'll come by to pick you up when needs be. You're going to be in good hands, and with any luck, you're going to help save this country..."
•          •          •
"Are you sure they're here, sir?" the colonel asked General Smith. "For someone of who the profile says,  I don't think they would live in something like this."
The door to the house was wooden and peaceful, with the house being a somewhat modest house, despite being surrounded by ones that were much bigger in size and nature, almost like it was trying to appear smaller by its own will.
As soon as the General was about to open the door, a woman of smaller stature opened the door, and responded with a mere "May I help you?" She was a small woman, a few inches under the size of the two men at the door, yet her choice of clothing was an interesting pick; it was a style not completely formal, but not completely casual as well, as if she was prepared to go anywhere at any given moment in time.
"Excuse me, Miss, but we're looking for Doctor Lee. We were told that they may live at this address. Do you know where they are, by any chance?"
The woman, listening with eyes half-open, quickly countered, "Who's asking?" The younger of the two men, trying to keep pace, simply replied, "General Smith of the US Army!", at which point the woman at the door stepped back, swung the door a little further open, and said, "Come in". She had a look of boredom on her face, as if she had known they were coming from the beginning. She could be hiding something right in front of them, and the two men wouldn't know any better. Granted, the woman had morals, but there was no guarantee that she had lowered her guard for the two visitors.
As the two men and the woman from the door sat down in the living room, the woman continued, "I'm Doctor Lee. My birth name is Vanessa, but I go by Doc to my coworkers and friends in a pinch. From you both coming from the Army, I can tell that I'm going to be needed or something like that...so you want to fill me in on something that I can't already tell?"
The General, a little shocked by her keen senses, cleared his throat and started, "Ms. Lee, we are going around recruiting a special force team, and given your reputation, we were hoping to recruit you."
"But in case you haven't noticed, General, I'm not a soldier."
"We know, Ms. Lee. In fact, that's why we came to you specifically. You're one of the best in the field of medicine this side of the globe, especially in terms of handling emergency trauma and crisis reaction. Frankly, you're one of the best there is."
The colonel, looking around the room, started to notice plaques from multiple high medical universities in multiple fields, and started to notice, "From what the plaques around the room say, you've gone to medical school multiple times, all in different fields. You know a lot about the body, don't you?" Vanessa, closing her eyes for just a moment, pondering, and tells the two men: "My parents threw me into the medical field at the very beginning...however, this was before everyone realized how good I apparently was. I tried to find a new aspect to challenge me, but nothing's really up to the task. In terms of myself, I like to learn, especially about the human body, and when I can, a little of the soul."
The General then sticks out his hand, and starts bargaining, "Chances are, if you join us, you might meet some people that might actually rise to the occasion. There'll always be new things to learn out there, and in this area of actions, you'll find something new, waiting for you. Does that change things up a little?" And at that point, after closing her eyes for one more second, Vanessa simply responded, "Hm.......I'm in."
                                  
•          •          •
"1...2...3..." The man stood up, fixing his gloves, and shrugging his shoulders. In this ring, they weren't trying to kill you; granted, it was an underground fighting ring, but if you were dead, you couldn't make any more money, and nobody wanted that. However, that would only happen if you were a terrible fighter, and if you were somewhat decent, you'd always walk away with a little more money in your pocket...if only to put that money back into the pockets of those you owe.
The two men in uniform on the side of the ring were not used to the ceremonies here. However, they wouldn't be forced out against their own will; there was a policy of "Don't ask, don't tell" at the ring, and any fights if that caliber could only draw attention to the entire operation. So there two men were left alone, as they were pondering about the location of the man they were searching for. "Rumor has it, he's down in the fighting ring...according to his history, he's been in some debt, so no wonder they're stuck in this." As the two fighters dragged each other against the ropes, the older of the two men outside the ring tapped on the shoulder of a simple onlooker, and asked, "Do you know where we can find Jo-", at which the onlooker simply pointed not at the man on top, but the shorter man against the ropes, slowly getting pummeled by the larger of the two men, almost through the ropes themselves and into the crowd below.
However, just when it looked like the smaller of the two men was about to go down, he pivots on his left, rolls alongside one of the larger two men's jabs, and delivers a strong uppercut that had the power of his whole body with the swing. With that, the smaller of the two men slowly started pushing himself away from the ropes, taking the bigger man one step at a time towards his back against the wall, and proceeded to deliver quick blows all over the other fighter's body. After one large hit to the stomach, the larger of the two fighters started to bend down in reaction, at which he was swept straight off of his feet with another crushing uppercut to the man's chin, knocking him down for the count. However, it was clear the fallen foe would not leave on his own feet, so the round was over, the fighter dragged out for safety, and the winner declared to the one left standing.
As the victor stepped out of the ring, the two visitors approached him, aware of the energy in the room as the next fight was readied in the background. The older of the two men spoke: "You're John Seltston, yes?" The fighter, still a little beaten and out of breath, did a faint salute to the two visitors, and half-bowed, half-fell flat, going "In the flesh." He was a man of normal height, but his hair was standing straight on end, giving it a straight spiked look that would fool others into thinking he may have been taller on first glance. He was lean, with the build of a track star that was still in his prime; not too muscular, but not overweight, by any means.
The younger of the two men chimed in, "This is General Smith of the US Army, and I'm his assistant, Colonel Gutierrez. We were hoping to recruit you for a special forces team." John laughed, and responded somewhat slyly, "In case you haven't noticed, I've got debts to pay. Heck, that's probably why all of us are here. And as you can see, I'm no Army child, so you might as well look elsewhere." However, without losing a single beat, the General then replied, "Doing this will help you with those debts. Not to mention, you trained to be an Olympian back in the day. Heck, you're still in decent shape due to this fighting ring, and from the looks of it, you work pretty dang well in hand-to-hand fighting." The casual smile then faded from the beaten fighter, as he strongly reassured, "You still can't make me."
The General then started to fish a coin from his pocket, and stated out loud, "How about a bet then? We flip, and if you're right, we pay off your debts. You're wrong, you join this team of ours." The General, award of the crowd that was originally was there for the match, had started to reform around this trio of men, the bruised battler and the two visitors from somewhere else. John smirks, said a simple "Deal......I'll call heads", as the General fished out an ordinary quarter from his pocket. The coin was thrown up, flipping in the air time and time again, until the quarter landed on the ground, as clear as can be: the results was tails. John, starting to be a little nervous, started to cry out, "You won, but you still can't make me!" As he was about to start leaving the crowd, the general used the crowd to his advantage: using a booming voice that could be heard from around the entire room, he cried out, "You hear that, everyone? This guy doesn't want to pay off his debt!"
The room erupted into laughter, as those in the room were either in debt themselves, or collecting from another of the people in the room, and they knew very well that all debts were to be paid, if not with their own lives. As the room finally started to die down, those in the crowd started to close in around the man trying to flee, and the man being closed in on, trying to save what title of him that was in a state of decency, yelled out, "Okay, fine, I'll join the stupid team of yours..." The general, pleaded with the situation, took a step towards the man, telling him clearly: "That's a good call, John. Now, if you don't show up, you'll have to deal with it, but based on the people here right now, they're probably going to give you worse than whatever we have, so I recommend you just come with us!"
•          •          •
The repair shop was a small one, with some music in the background for those working, and an open garage for three to pull into, so the workers could do their job. The sign "Rikto Repair" hung on the roof, but it wasn't anything fancy; it had the appearance of being simply painted on, almost as if to make it seem less than it could be. The two men didn't need a repair; their car had been running smoothly for the last few months, and it was maintained regularly to avoid breaking down on the side of the road. No, they had simply pulled over, as they would to any rest stop, but they were searching for people.
"From what rumors float around here and there, there is supposedly a prodigy of a mechanic in here. The folks around here call him Brute based on his physical appearance, but he's apparently a decent guy, assuming he's not hiding behind something mechanical." As the two walk inside, the musty air of metal, rubber and asphalt lingers about the shop, as they approach a little bell on top of the front desk. With a little ring, a man walks out to greet the two, asking a simple "Welcome to Rikto Repair, what can we do for you?" The General beckoned to the car they drove in on, noting, "We were driving down the road, and the Check Engine Light came on. We had to pull over and get it checked out, or we might break down on the side of the road. Think you can take a look and see what's up?"
The man at the front desk gives a subtle nod, asks for the keys, and beckons to the chairs on the opposite side of the lobby. The two men walk over, and the two men start killing some time. The general pulled out his notes on the plausible locations, noting how which locations could and couldn't be important, while the other was making a list of the people they had recruited for their special mission. They had barely gotten started until:
"My guys looked at your car, and there wasn't even a scratch on anything. Heck, it's like your car was bought earlier today, as they were saying! Either one of us is crazy, or you're not here for a repair..." And as the man behind the front desk slowly started to reach behind the desk, no doubt for a firearm, he asked the two, "...so you want to tell me what's going on?" It was at that moment that the colonel almost spurted out, "We don't mean any harm. We're just looking for a guy called Brute."
At that moment, the man behind the desk lowered his guard, dropping his shoulders and stopped reaching downward. His face contorted to part shock, part confusion, as this was a result he both had and had not seen coming. Then, with a mixture of nervousness and relief, he let out a bit of a laugh, saying, "You mean my son Brandon? He's the one who looked over that toy of yours. He's like the local handyman around here. What kind of job you need him for?" The General, thankful that things hadn't escalated, threw back, "We need an everyman who's good with machines. Thankfully, your son felt like the perfect fit for our job." And with one more nod, the man behind the desk let out a whistle, Brandon walked out, and he was a rather large man, with the build of a football player in their prime, but with a face that looked as if he was scared to step on anything.
His father put his hand on his shoulder, somewhat joking, "He's the best mechanic this side of the county, and that sort of thing runs in the family...I like to say he got it from his mom and his dear ol' Dad here." And as they both turn to face the two men from elsewhere, the father continues, "Who's this job for, anyway?" The General, hoping to sneak in before another outburst could be made by his younger comrade, he choked in, "This project is classified information, but it is beneficial to the Ü.S. Army." With that single statement, the father's eyes opened wide, almost shouting, "The ARMY!?" He grabbed his son by both shoulders, looked him straight in the eyes, and told him, "Son, you take this job, and you'll be a hometown hero; everyone will be so proud of our little Brandon. You have to take this job..."
Brandon hadn't talked throughout the entirety of the conversation, but all of a sudden he muttered a simple "...okay..." for fear of being rude to the guests. However, his father quickly jumped in, "Don't you two worry. My son here may be shy, but when push comes to shove, he's able to pull his weight and more when it counts!" And at that, he turned to face his son again, with "Brandon, you'll be fine. Don't you worry about us at home, you just worry about this new job of yours!" And as the two men outsiders started to walk out, the general told them, "We'll be sending you the details in a few days, and that should be enough time to prepare your things. Mr. Rikto, you're going to be very proud of your son!"
•          •          •
"I'm sorry, sir, but I think we don't have any more time." The car was zooming down the long, empty highway, with little to no cars in sight. And although it was peaceful outside the car, this could not be said for the travelers inside of the car, as the vehicle sped down the road.
"I realize that, Corporal, but in case you haven't noticed, our team in underprepared. They have no training outside their own field, and no disciplinary training other than the soldier, Ramirez!
"But, sir, in case you haven't noticed, we don't have the ransom payoff as well. We'd be losing a major population from New York, and that would be even worse than these four that we have currently assembled!"
The General gripped the steering wheel, his hands starting to pale from squeezing too hard on the wheel, as he started to become more and more infuriated. This was a no-win situation, as far as things looked; he either sent some average men to die, or the country if not the world would discover the secret terror they had been fighting, and this would no doubt send the country into a mass panic over this hidden enemy. "You realize that I'm simply trying to save as many individuals as I can, Corporal. We've got to do something!"
The Corporal, with a pleading look in his eyes, turned in the passenger's seat to face the General, and pleaded, "Then we have to help and support these people as much as we can. With any luck, we can play our cards right and come out unscathed when all is said and done." With a deep breath, he continued, "You've got to have faith in them, General. We didn't pick them for no reason, and their skill at their craft is a force to be reckoned with."
The General, however, was starting to become unconvinced. "I just don't think that they, and to some degree we, are prepared for this. Think about it: we've got a perfectionist of a sniper, a knowledge-obsessed Doctor, a socially awkward mechanic, and an athlete who's seen a lot of better days. What makes you think we'll be able to do anything at all?"
"Then we will help them get ready. We can try and prep them during the briefing, and train them in the little time we have. If we just believe that this can work, they may actually have more talent than we all realize."
The General, physically stressed by the ordeal, took a deep sigh, and said: "Corporal, they had better, because if they don't, we will have to face this from multiple angles, and in case you haven't noticed, we're out of time, and out of ideas." And as the car roared down toward its destination, the General simply stated, "For everyone's sake, this better had work......"