Though many will beg to differ, a job is a job. Sometimes, as long as it brings food to the table, it's decent work.
It doesn't matter that your transport holds questionable goods. Because if you don't know what it is, are you even guilty?
Who does it hurt if you work for a shady boss with blood on his hands if you don't have blood on yours?
Money is money, and desperate people don't bother asking questions.
~*~*~*~
"Hurry up dammit, we don't have all day." A gruff voice shouts.
A slender man dressed in all grey chuckles softly, "Yeah yeah, don't get your panties in a twist, Tim-Tim."
The man, presumably Tim, blows a puff of smoke from his cigarette and scowls. "Unlike some people, I'm serious about this job. So stop clucking like a chicken and start lifting!"
The man wearing all grey smirks to himself in response while loading boxes into what looks like a food truck repurposed into an armored carrier. With an old grocers logo still printed and pealing on the side. Likely for cover.
A hidden figure positioned behind crates quietly studies the two bickering men. Tilting its head to the side, it carefully analyzes the thug's faces.
Tim -Timothy Chalay- a hardened thug, of age thirty-two. With no distinguishable features besides a crooked nose and an ugly scowl.
From a distance of nearly a hundred feet, the figure can barely make out the beadiness of the man's eyes, so much like a familiar pig.
The other man, who could only be Austin Farray, at the age of twenty-something, began to argue with Tim in hushed tones. Underneath his baseball cap, golden blonde hair spilled out. Spiking in every direction and matted with sweat.
With a flustered huff, the thug, Austin, started to yell louder. "-no see, we agreed there'd be no people around!" He pointed an accusing finger at the other man and whispered something inaudibly.
The figure glowered in irritation. Why couldn't the thugs keep shouting? He needed to hear what they were saying.
"I told you bub. I don't care if you're a monk with a vow of peace. This part is essential. Now, if you-"
Both men freeze, the larger man's hand flies to his belt as the slender man reaches for a metal bat, the soft crack of wood echoing throughout the parking garage.
The figure freezes in panic. Crouched low to the ground, and still as a statue. Breath sharply halting as he hears a click on a gun, safety turned off.
Now or never.
Silent as a shadow, the figure slinks closer towards the panicked thugs. If he had to lose the chance to listen in secret, he might as well still keep the element of surprise.
They might know someone uninvited was near, but they couldn't possibly know where.
"Why didn't you agree to bring backup?" The startled blonde whisper-shouted.
"Oh, let me guess, its-" Before the younger thug could conclude his accusation, something thick and dense met bone. And the blonde crumpled to the floor with a thud.
"Shit," the bigger man mumbles, backing slowly towards the truck.
Something told the figure that throwing a pipe wouldn't work with the second thug, instead opting to exit the cover of shadows and confront the thug face to face. Thankfully he had something that worked faster than a gun.
Magic.
As he stepped into the dim lights, the other man froze.
"You-You're that guy, that thing!" Spat the thug accusingly, voice shaking with fear.
Tim raised his right hand, which trembled furiously. "I know who you are! Back- back off, or I'll shoot you dead!"
The figure stalked towards the man, forcing his leg to comply -a limp wouldn't be intimidating- gazing the other right in the eyes as he moved. Not that the thug could tell, his mask hid his eyes entirely.
"I'm not joking I'll, I'll shoot you- you fucking-" The man's speech wavered, unfinished. Stopped by a red light that bolted from the figure's hand, colliding brutally into the older man's body, knocking him down to the floor with a sickening crack.
Swiping a hand across his neck, Harry sighed morosely. Sometimes he couldn't help but feel like this entire idea might've been a mistake. Every strike was draining, and Harry might not display evident guilt in torturing criminals. But it wasn't exactly something he relished.
For just a moment, he stood over the oaf-ish thug, watching the man's chest rise and fall slowly. As if he might've been peacefully sleeping on the cement, rather than knocked out.
Pulling cord-like rope from his hoodie pocket, Harry ground his teeth and clamped his jaw shut tight. "This'll be fun," He murmurs into the silence.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry paced back and forth inside the small truck; it felt like hours had passed since he'd knocked out the two lone thugs, never had it taken this long for one to move.
After what seemed like forever, the skinnier man stirred. So scarcely, Harry almost missed it.
Almost.
Like a startled cat, he sprung into action. Drawing an old crooked knife from his pocket and advancing on the blonde thug as a cornered beast on the prowl.
The man, Austin, lifted his head slowly and groggily blinked, looking no older than eighteen in his bewilderment. And for a second, Harry hesitated. Was this really what he wanted? Did he want to hurt some barely older than him, only to go back to a place he wasn't welcome?
No, he couldn't stop. There were, were- was someone who needed him to come back. He had a job to do, and a monster to kill.
Slowly, Harry approached the tied man, flipping the knife around to hold like a dagger as he moved. The blonde thug seemed to follow Harry's every move, his eyes wide, a looking glass into the very soul. Showing nothing but confusion and so much fear, it made Harry cringe.
He needed to do this; it's not like he wanted to harm people, right?
"Please, I'm begging you, please!" The man was beginning to sob now, tears streaming down his face.
"I'm begging you!" He choked out.
It would only go faster this way. That was the only way to look at it; otherwise, Harry suspected he might vomit.
Swallowing thickly, he began to deliver the sentence he'd uttered many times before. So much so it was solely automatic now.
"Tell me everything you know about Shield."
The words came out flatly, like a recorded tape, scraping their way out of Harry's throat with considerable reluctance.
He hated doing this. It made him feel tainted and filthy. As if he was no better than those who'd broken his mind. Now nothing but a fragmented mirror in a void of hazy memories.
"PLEAS-" The pleadings cut off abruptly.
The damp space of the vehicle bed sat noiselessly for a few fragile moments before a scream shattered the quiet. Akin to nails on a chalkboard to Harry's delicate hearing, causing him to lurch back several inches and remove the knife from the blondes cheek.
Blood began to slip lazily from the blondes cheek, falling from his jaw onto the wooden flooring with a soft plink.
"God, please, I'm begging you! What do you want, money? I- I, I'll give it to you, just please, let me go." Tears once again slid, -mixing with blood- rolling down from his red-rimmed eyes, which displayed pure, frenzied terror.
"Tell me about Shield." Harry ground out coldly.
It hurt, to do this to another person, after what he went through. But he needed to get- home. And that meant his primary goal was seeking out who held so keen on hunting him in this place.
"I- I don't know! I swear. I don't know anything, please..." But the begging fell on deaf ears.
With a precision that only comes with a -certain- kind of practice, Harry pressed the knife into the stretch of skin just above the man's eye. A sensitive area that Harry recognized all too thoroughly.
"Ple- AAaagh!" Another scream tore through the musty space, and the pool of blood began to grow faster. It hurt like Hell -this Harry knew well- but it wouldn't leave lasting damage.
"Fisk," The man mumbled, words mixing with the blood dripping into his open mouth.
Harry stopped. Fisk? How was a name like that supposed to help him find out about Shield?
He stood still, contemplative.
Fisk, the name sounded so familiar, though he couldn't seem to place his finger on it. The answer, just beyond his reach.
Fed up with waiting, Harry lifted the knife to the man's right eye, where blood already openly fled. "I asked you about Shield, not. Fisk." He stated numbly.
The man was practically shaking with fear, and he seemed to ponder something, fully exposed to Harry's searching eyes. Granted, the man didn't bother to guard his expression at all.
He appeared to reach a conclusion and began to open his mouth to speak, right as the other figure sitting towards the front of the vehicle stirred slightly.
The blonde paused and turned, wide-eyed with fear, unmistakable hope shining in his sky-blue eyes. As if the other thug -Tim- could somehow save him. Momentarily Harry stared into the eyes of the blonde man, transfixed. Those blue eyes felt so familiar.
And just like a light turned off, the hope in Austin's eyes died out when he realized his partner wouldn't be getting up.
Harry continued to stand still as a tree, stomach roiling, for the blonde to speak. He felt horrible and unclean as if his very soul was tainted. This man seemed innocent. Maybe he wasn't lying about being clueless. He acted just like a kid, just like how he had when-
"Wilson Fisk," Came an almost inaudible response. Spoken so softly that Harry nearly had to strain his ears to hear.
"I- I know who you are..." The blonde said carefully, looking straight up at Harry's mask as if waiting for approval to continue.
Harry stared at the man in slight confusion -still feeling ready to hurl- what did he mean by that?
"How?" Harry retorted bluntly. Maybe he worked for Shield? No. That couldn't be it.
"Everyone in the East-side of New York knows about- about you. About your- the attacks." Replied the blonde quietly, eyes trained on the bloody flooring.
Attacks? He'd tortured a few thugs here and there. Surely, he could admit to that. -Albeit unproudly- But for so many people to be speaking about him. -All though indirectly- that was beyond much. And not in a complimentary way, if the people he was currently hunting down became aware of his actions. A couple of thugs gossiping about him would become the least of his worries.
Clearing his head of thoughts, Harry steadied his voice. The information given was related, but not why he came here. "Tell me what this has to do with Shield?" He urged pointedly, forcing a switch in the topic of conversation.
"If anyone knows about this- Shield, you're looking for, it's him." The blonde replied, voice shaking. And almost instantly, a look of pure fear returned to his eyes, and he seemed to freeze for a moment.
"But- don't- say anything about me. God, I'm not supposed to tell you! Fuck, don't say anything!"
Harry paused. What caused this sudden shift?
"Please, I swear, kill me if you need, but don't tell him it was me! God, he'd go after Meg." Austin continued desparingly.
Who was this Wilson Fisk, the name sounded familiar and foreboding, but to be feared so much? Maybe he was related to Shield.
Wiping the blood off his -borrowed- knife, Harry stuffed it back into it's designated pocket and turned to exit the back of the truck.
Hand on the door, he remembered something important and turned back around to face the blonde thug.
"How do I find him. This Wilson Fisk person?" He asked plainly.
The blonde stared at Harry, confusion glaringly apparent.
"You don't..? He's all over the news; people are calling him a 'savior' of Hell's Kitchen." Austin replied dumbly, still dazed about the sudden show of civility by his captor.
Harry nodded his head sharply and brushed a hand over the blonde's forehead, making a small red bolt that flees his finger and collides with the thug's skull, effectively knocking him out. Before untying both men and exiting the truck-back.
After stepping out of the vehicle, his stoic facade drops instantly. And an overwhelming urge to empty his stomach hits him suddenly.
He could tell he didn't have much time to move, and he didn't want to leave any evidence behind. So he slowly limped over to an ancient pile of boxes a bit away from the truck while clutching his roiling stomach.
Barely having time to hunch forward, Harry lost the battle against his raging abdomen. Losing his meager lunch all over the cold cement.
Wiping spittle remains from his mouth. Harry rose carefully and began the long trek back to find a home. Limping and sick for all it was worth.
He felt so unclean.
But he wasn't done.
Word Count - 2,201
~ LordOfLimbo