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Suddenly Memories: SpiderWolve
By Dac
The diner bustled with all the usual noises of a Saturday morning. SpiderWolve scratched at his scalp and pulled his hat back down, peering over his Coke out the window onto the street. The blank grey building across the street looked unimpressive, if large. Just two stories and a whole block of dull grey slate. SpiderWolve took another bite of his waffle and tapped his earpiece.
“SpiderWolve, checking in,” he muttered.
“Reading you loud and clear, Spider,” said Pete’s voice. “How’s the food?”
“My waffle tastes like seal farts and my Coke has too much ice,” grumbled SpiderWolve.
“Good to know.”
“I should be in there,” said SpiderWolve. “How did I get this detail again?”
“Don’t worry about it, man,” replied Pete. “I can’t argue with Jessibelle’s logic. If I get killed, you’re the only one who can pull the rest out.”
“Jessibelle thinks I can barely fit half a midget through my largest portal,” groused SpiderWolve. “I’ve moved our entire group from place to place without trouble before. Hell, I transported our entire group here this morning, and she still just keeps me sidelined. It’s bullshit.”
He heard Pete sigh wearily.
“Don’t do that to me,” said SpiderWolve. “You know I can do it. I’m sick of always being on the sidelines for stuff like this.”
“Spider, this is Poet,” came a new voice. “Quit your bitching. You sound like a little bitch with a skinned knee.”
SpiderWolve slumped in his seat and took another bite of his waffle. He blanched, still barely able to believe he actually paid for it. It was the very taste of disappointment and impotence: chewy, greasy and unfulfilling.
“Pete, you ready? Eagle, Drums and I are going in the service entrance in two minutes,” Poet went on. “Are you and Syrix ready with the distraction?”
“Just say the word, Jedi,” Pete confirmed. SpiderWolve heard a lot of angry noises in the background. “Well, I’m ready. Syrix won’t shut up.”
SpiderWolve bit down a chuckle. As bad as his job of sitting around doing nothing was, he had to admit that it was better than Syrix’s: being teleported into the sky and dropped to the street below. The distraction would hopefully provide enough cover for Poet, Drums and EagleMan to slip in the back – Drums to get them in, Poet and EagleMan to do all the damage. Meanwhile, Pete would teleport in to join them in case they needed to make a faster exit than Drums could allow, and SpiderWolve was the back-up in case that failed. A back-up for the back-up, he thought bitterly.
These missions all tended to go like that. As much as Spider tried to get better roles, he kept being relegated to the sidelines and he was beginning to chafe. All he had was the option to sit and hide, keep an eye on the street, and try not to blow their cover. He had no idea why Jessibelle always insisted on that, nor why Poet went along with her idea. He couldn’t do anything about it, either. If he ever voiced his concerns, Poet would just brush him off. The others weren’t largely interested in what he had to say, and only Pete offered any real sympathy. In the end, SpiderWolve always found himself on the losing side, and thus, the boring job. The initial jokes about eating so much junk food had long since grown stale.
“He’s swearing now,” said Pete. “He wants to get this over with.”
“OK,” said Poet. “Get ready, Pete. Jump and drop when I say, then some down to us.”
“Say when,” said Pete.
“You guys are really fucking boring on the radio, you know that?” came Drums’s voice. “I mean really boring. Like celebrity sex tape boring.”
SpiderWolve snorted a laugh and quickly drained a bit more of his Coke, waiting for Poet’s response with draining interest. He leaned back in his booth and waited.
“Now, Pete!”
SpiderWolve lifted his eyes to the sky and watched as a figure tumbled out of it, flailing and yelling as he slammed into the street. Tyres squealed and horns blared. Several people outside screamed. Most of the people inside the diner stared out the window, trying to work out what was going on. SpiderWolve pretended to be as concerned and interested as the next morning, but his fist clenched instinctively. People screaming usually meant he should be doing something.
“Spider, what’s the street like?”
“Lots of people are running around staring, and there’s a lot of yelling,” reported Spider. “Usual things. Cries for help, asking if he’s OK, obvious stuff like that.”
“Think an ambulance has been called yet?”
“If it hasn’t yet, it will have been in a few seconds.”
“And the traffic?”
“Not moving.”
“OK. Their service vehicle will have been caught. We’re going to sneak up to the service entry and phase from there in five seconds.”
“Have fun,” sneered SpiderWolve. He covered his headset and swore under his breath. Taking another bite of his waffle, he watched as the crowd milled around outside. Most of his fellow diner patrons, the ones who hadn’t abandoned their food, did likewise, peering out the windows. Eventually the crowd on the road drifted apart, enough for the cars to nose their way through and around Syrix’s prone form. An ambulance arrived ten minutes later, halting the traffic again. The paramedics gathered Syrix onto a stretcher and drove away, heading back for the hospital.
“He’s in the ambulance,” said SpiderWolve. “Baraxis and Ren know where to go, right?”
“They better,” said Poet. “Just keep an eye on the street. Let us know if their activity increases. Until then, radio silent, OK?”
“It’s radio silence, man,” corrected SpiderWolve.
“I don’t care.”
SpiderWolve sat forward in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The plan was to do sufficient damage to inside of the facility and be out in ten to fifteen minutes. They’d be the longest minutes of his life. The building in question was an underground weapons storage masquerading as a law firm. It was, according to the Outcast intelligence, one of the Leader’s biggest weapons storage facility, located in the middle of a city to allow for quicker access. This meant tighter security, and also a trickier target to demolish as any collateral damage could include civilian casualties. Data had to be aware of that fact, SpiderWolve thought. Knowing him, it was probably one of the main reasons he’d set it up. He took another sip of his drink.
“Everybody be cool, this is a robbery!”
SpiderWolve blinked, only half comprehending what he had just heard. Slowly he turned, wondering if someone was re-enacting Pulp Fiction. Bizarrely, someone was, and he meant business.
A man at the door locked it, holding a Desert Eagle and wearing jeans and a loose shirt, and stepped lithely into the cafe. He swung his gun swiftly this way and that, making sure he could see everyone. Most people had flinched and had slipped under their tables. SpiderWolve and a few others stared blankly at him. One person made a dash for the exit, but the man swung around and caught them with a right hook, sending them crashing to the floor. He swung the gun around and pointed it at the unlucky customer.
“Back in your seat,” he growled. “I said be cool.”
The poor sap on the ground groaned and crawled back to his table. The other customers had all recoiled at the collision, and now only SpiderWolve seemed more confused than afraid. The man seemed not to notice him over in the corner.
“Anyone else want to try something else like that,” snapped the man. “And I’ll murder people. I’m good at that. Mainly because I’m indiscriminate. If anyone moves, they might die, or other people might die, or both. If that’s what you want, then by all means, try and run at me, or at the exit or the bathroom.”
He held out his arms as though daring anyone to try. No one moved. A few more people seemed to recoil, and others shrank further into their seats. SpiderWolve leaned back, wondering what best to do, when suddenly his radio crackled.
“Shit,” said Poet. “Spider, stand by. They called in back-up down here, this could get messy. You got our back?”
“Uh...” mumbled SpiderWolve. “We have a slight problem.”
“What’d you say?” asked Poet. “I didn’t catch that.”
“There’s a guy with a gun up here,” said SpiderWolve.
“Say what? A security guard? Did you get made?”
“No, a guy’s holding up the diner.”
The man strode broadly between the tables and booths, keeping his gun at the ready and his finger on the trigger. He began issuing demands in a brisk commanding voice, making sure to wave his gun in the face of anyone who looked like they might cause him trouble.
“Everyone get your wallets and your phones out,” he ordered. “I’m coming around with my bag and you are going to toss your wallets into my bag. Anyone who does not takes a bullet to the leg. If they still refuse, they take another bullet to the head. Keep your phones where I can see them, I don’t want anyone trying to call the cops on me. If I hear sirens, I start shooting. I don’t want that, and you don’t want that, but that’s what’ll happen if it needs to.”
People began reaching for their wallets, pulling them out and holding them with their phones above their heads. People who were under their tables stayed there, with their arms poking out above them. The man started from the back of the room and began walking around with his backpack, pausing only for people to throw their wallets and phones into it. He gave them all cold looks as he walked up the aisle.
“Spider! You there?”
“I’m busy,” hissed SpiderWolve.
“Busy? Drop that motherfucker into fucking Europe or something!”
“I’ll blow my cover,” said SpiderWolve quietly through gritted teeth. He kept his voice as low as he could so the man couldn’t hear him, but loud enough so that Poet could still hear him. As it was, neither seemed like a great option.
“Our cover’s blown!” yelled Poet. “Come on, we’re trying to pull back to the room we showed you on the blueprint, we need evac.”
“Can’t talk now,” whispered SpiderWolve. He heard the man approaching from behind him. He clenched his fists as the footsteps came closer and he turned in his seat to look at the man coming up. The man was eyeing him closely. The gun was trained on him.
“Wallet and phone,” said the man.
SpiderWolve looked at the gun, then back at the man, feigning disinterest. “I don’t have a phone,” he said dully.
The man looked curious. He leaned in closer, bringing the barrel up to SpiderWolve’s head.
“Wallet. And. Phone,” he said again.
SpiderWolve turned away from him and took another bite of his waffle, keeping his breathing steady and his face straight. He could feel the man’s astonishment, as well as the terror of the other customers as they watched. SpiderWolve peered out the window. He could probably place a portal under the man’s feet and drop him out of the sky, but with everyone watching he may as well paint his name on the tallest tower in the city for Data to see.
“Spider, we’re in the room and Pete is hurt bad. We need evac! Let’s go!”
SpiderWolve fought the urge to respond and simply sipped his drink. The man tapped him on the shoulder in irritation.
“Hey, buddy,” hissed the man. “Wallet and phone. I won’t ask again.”
“You haven’t asked anything,” said SpiderWolve. “Since you walked in the door, nothing you’ve said has been a question. You’ve just been telling us what to do.”
The man gaped. “The hell did you just say?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?!” demanded Poet on the other end of the line. “Get us out of here!”
“I said, since you came in here, all you’ve done is point your gun at people and make demands like a two-year-old that wants a lolly,” said SpiderWolve. “Asking questions usually means politeness, and you’re not being polite.”
The man straightened up and pointed his gun just as the restaurant manager appeared from behind the bar.
“Stop giving him lip, you’ll get us all killed!” he yelled.
“Shut up, you spineless bastard,” snapped SpiderWolve. “Since I’ve been here you’ve given me the worst junk food I’ve ever had and let this ass order you around like a sheepdog. If you’re not going to do anything, then be quiet.”
The man arched an eyebrow. The manager sank beneath the bar, cowed, with only his eyes visible.
“Spider, it sounds like you’re having a hell of a time up there but we are going to die down here if you don’t wrap it up and come help!”
“I am trying to help you and will do so if you just give me a minute,” SpiderWolve said in the manager’s direction. The manager looked confused.
“We don’t have a minute!” yelled Poet.
“That’s a noble sentiment,” said the man, wearing a small grin. “You have guts, I’ll give you that. But you also have a wallet, and I want it. So hand it over.”
“Do you speak entirely in clichés or something?” asked SpiderWolve. “You sound like a white mugger in a blaxploitation film.”
The man’s grin vanished and he raised the gun, watching SpiderWolve icily.
“People listen to me when I talk like that,” he growled. “It gets the job done. What’s your excuse?”
“You caught me at a bad time,” grunted SpiderWolve. “Now look. I don’t have time for this shit. I need to get out of here and help my friends. Put down the bag and walk away or this will get messy.”
The man seemed unable to work out if he was joking or not. He swayed the gun back and forth, staring at SpiderWolve as though he’d never seen anything so curious and intriguing.
“Please tell me you’re going somewhere with that,” said Poet. “We don’t have much time! EagleMan’s down and Drums is getting exhausted phasing through all these bullets!”
“Adorable,” said the man. “You think you have some control of this situation. I hate to break it to you, but you don’t. I have a gun. I can see both your hands, and neither of them has a gun. So tell me, exactly what is it you have that will make this situation so messy?”
“You have a gun,” responded SpiderWolve, sipping his drink. “But you haven’t fired it. Do you even have any bullets?”
The man pressed the gun against SpiderWolve’s temple. SpiderWolve took another bite of his waffle, unperturbed.
“You tell me.”
There was a loud bang as the man pulled the trigger. The gun bucked in his hand, but he held his grip. There were a lot of screams as people flinched and sank further beneath their table. SpiderWolve, however, continued chewing as though nothing had happened. Secretly, he sighed in relief that it had worked. Moreover, no one seemed to have notice a tile on the other side of the room splinter where the bullet had landed.
“What the fuck?! Spider! Talk to me! What just happened?!”
“Looks like your gun isn’t working,” said SpiderWolve calmly.
The man stared at his gun in shocked fury, then back at SpiderWolve. In a single swift movement he tossed his gun to his other hand and swung his right fist at SpiderWolve’s face. There was a thud as his fist collided with his own face, and then SpiderWolve leapt on him, wresting the gun from his grasp and furiously beating him. The man shoved him brutally and SpiderWolve fell backwards, but he kept his grip on the gun. Everyone in the room saw him clutching it, and as though they had all been unpaused, every patron within seven metres leapt from their seats and descended upon the man. Several of them pinned him down while a few more attempted to cave his face in.
Eventually they relented as several of them deemed him too badly beaten to fight back. His backpack was raided, and all the items within returned to their owners. It wasn’t for several minutes before someone thought to look for SpiderWolve, but as everyone in the cafe looked around, they realised he was gone.
SpiderWolve darted into the toilets and leapt through a portal. Instantly, he appeared in a darkened corridor, scarcely a few metres behind a group of foot soldiers firing weapons he’d never seen before towards a doorway. He heard familiar voices yelling out from through the doorway, and groaned. He rolled his eyes and raised the Desert Eagle, shooting each of the soldiers in the back of their legs with the seven shots remaining. The soldiers collapsed and turned to face him, when suddenly they all found themselves falling out of the sky and landing on the roof of their own building.
“I have had enough of this shit!” snarled SpiderWolve. He stormed up the corridor to where a baffled Poet and Drums were crouched behind a crate, with an unconscious EagleMan and concussed-looking Pete behind them. Drums was pale and spattered with blood, while Poet’s nose was bleeding alarmingly. Both looked utterly astonished to see SpiderWolve, much less the uncharacteristic expression of bloody murder on his face.
“What the hell happened?” asked Poet.
“Leaving me behind is what happened!” roared SpiderWolve. “I’m saying this once: from now on, I’m coming with you on these missions instead of being left out in the wild. I don’t care what you or Jessibelle say, I am done with hanging back!”
Poet gaped incoherently, but SpiderWolve didn’t wait for a response. A portal flared to life beside him and he stalked towards it.
“I should just leave you here, maybe that would show you,” he grumbled.
Drums stood up, beginning to look furious himself.
“Now hold on a damn minute,” he snapped. “We’ve been fighting for our lives down here, you selfish bastard-”
SpiderWolve spun around and slapped him across the face. Drums recoiled in stunned shock, his face the purest image of astonishment, while Poet continued gaping like a child.
“You have been doing the mission!” bellowed SpiderWolve. “You have been doing what we are supposed to do! Yeah, you almost got killed, but so did I, and the difference is, you almost got killed in the line of duty, or whatever the hell you want to call it! Me, I got held up by a Pulp Fiction reject in a fucking diner at gunpoint, and as if that wasn’t enough, I had you guys in my ear telling me to ignore the gun pressed against my head so I could come and help you! Well I helped! You’re welcome! Now are you coming back to base, or will I close this behind me?”
Without waiting for an answer, he stormed through the portal, swearing indistinctly but loudly. Drums and Poet stared at each other.
“The hell’s wrong with him?” asked Drums incredulously.
“I dunno,” said Poet. “But he is going to unleash on Jessibelle if we don’t get after him.”
They hurriedly gathered up their injured comrades and followed SpiderWolve through the portal. There was a hiss as the portal sealed behind them, leaving behind the wreckage of a thoroughly-destroyed storage facility. Something clattered to the ground, echoing dimly in the darkened space, and then the facility was silent.
6/17/2011 8:49:11 AM
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