UNKNOWN GUEST

#26 First Assignment

He shook his head with a laugh. "Okay. Just don't die."

I flashed him a confident smile. "I'll try."

With that, I slid into the car, the engine roared to life, and I drove off into the night.

I parked the car in the dark, desolate field, the only illumination coming from the sporadic flashes of headlights from passing vehicles. The place seemed eerily quiet, and I couldn't see anyone around. Just as I was starting to think I might be in the wrong spot, a sudden burst of light from five, no, eight cars flashed on, momentarily blinding me.

Oh, uncle Clint, you were so wrong.

Out of the cars emerged around 26 men, their faces illuminated by the headlights in a ghostly glow. This was a lot more than the 10-15 Uncle Clint had warned me about. I felt a chill run down my spine, but I forced myself to stay calm. This was the situation I had to deal with.

I stepped out of the car, trying to steady my nerves. Two men walked towards me from the group. One of them had a thick mustache that twitched as he spoke. "You're Frank?"

I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yes. I'm here on my boss's orders."

The two men exchanged glances and then turned back to their group, shouting, "It's him!"

The other man extended his hand, looking at me expectantly. "Money."

I gave him a smirk, not about to give in easily. "Package."

The man's face soured. "Money first."

I shook my head, holding my ground. "I've never paid first and bought goods later at any store. Package first. I need to inspect it before handing over any money."

The mustached guy's expression hardened, but he turned around and walked back towards the group. I watched as he approached their cars, presumably to get the package and inform his men of the change in plans. 

I strained to hear the murmurs of the group, hoping to catch any useful information. A gruff voice carried over the crowd. "Bring me his head, money later."

That wasn't ideal, but it was something I'd half-expected. I knew that running would only make things worse; they'd hunt me down and likely kill me. Staying calm was the best strategy.

I took a deep breath and walked towards the group, trying to keep my nerves in check. As I approached, the crowd of 26 men parted to reveal a single figure leaning casually against the bonnet of a car. He had a cigar in his hand, looking every bit the part of a relaxed yet intimidating leader.

My eyes scanned the group. No one was holding any weapons, which meant they were stashed away in their cars. First priority—keep them from getting to their weapons.

I fixed my gaze on the man in charge, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. "My boss doesn't want any trouble. You proposed to send only one man, and here I am. You've got all these people ordered to bring my head, and yet here I am, honoring my boss's word. Hand over the package, take the money. A simple, ideal deal."

I stepped closer, noticing that the cigar in his hand had gone out. Without hesitation, I took the cigar from his fingers and placed it back in his mouth. The surprise on his face was palpable. He watched me, bewildered, as I pulled out the lighter from my pocket.

"We don't want to make this ugly," I said calmly.

But the lighter wasn't what it seemed. In a split second, I pressed the tip of the lighter against his neck. The small device wasn't a lighter at all; it was an anesthesia dose disguised as one. The tip contained a powerful sedative that could put someone to sleep for 72 hours. It was also a signal to uncle Clint to get the back ups ready. 

As soon as the leader's body slumped against the car, his men's shock turned into fury. They swarmed around me, their faces twisted with anger.

"What did you do?!" one of them yelled.

I held the leader's head firmly in my hand, glaring at them with steely determination. "Move an inch and I'll twist his head in 360 degrees."

They froze, their rage palpable but tempered by the threat. The crowd closed in, surrounding me and making me feel like I was trapped in a human cage. Tension crackled in the air, and then, without warning, four or five men lunged at me.

I let go of the leader and sprang into action. Dodging a flurry of fists, I blocked punches with quick, practiced movements. I shoved a few heads against the car windows, their pained grunts merging with the cacophony of the scuffle. Another group of men rushed at me, but I was faster. I jumped onto their thighs, using my elbows to slam their heads back and then delivering a swift kick to one's neck.

 I wrapped my legs around one man's neck, flipping him over and sending him crashing to the ground. A ghost punch to another's gut sent him sprawling, while I dodged a knife thrust and delivered a well-placed kick between another's legs. My foot connected with his face in a high kick, and I twisted the arms of a few more, their anguished cries filling the night air.

The fight was draining. Each movement felt heavier, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Just when it seemed like I might have to face down a few more, the remaining men dashed toward their cars, seeking weapons. The night was filled with the roar of approaching helicopters and the screech of giant vehicles speeding across the field.

The men's panic was immediate. They scattered, shouting, "It's SHIELD!!" Their voices mixed with the whirring blades of the helicopters as they descended. I collapsed onto the ground, surrounded by the remnants of the fight—men with broken bones or knocked out cold.

The helicopters touched down, their rotors stirring up dust and debris. Maria Hill and Uncle Clint sprinted towards me, their expressions a mix of concern and relief. As they reached me, the noise of the helicopters and the distant shouts of the fleeing men began to fade, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.

Uncle Clint crouched beside me, his face a mix of approval and worry. "You okay, kid?" he asked, his voice urgent but softened by concern.

Maria Hill was already on her comms, coordinating with the rest of the team. "We've got this under control. You did well."

I managed a tired nod, catching my breath. Despite the exhaustion and the bruises, I felt a flicker of pride. Backup had arrived in the nick of time, and the mission—though grueling—had been a success.