Location: The Triskelion, SHIELD HQ – Washington, D.C.
Time: 0600 Hours
The Triskelion never slept.
Even at dawn, its towering structure loomed like a ghost over the Potomac. Inside, reinforced corridors thrummed with energy — soldiers trained, analysts sifted data, and above them all, SHIELD’s most classified protocols unfolded in silence.
Agent Rory Bennett — codename Quake — stepped through the secure blast doors into Briefing Room 6C. The doors hissed closed behind her. Waiting inside, in full uniform, stood Director John Cole.
“Coffee?” he offered without looking up.
“No,” she replied, arms crossed.
Cole tapped the tablet in his hand. A glowing SHIELD logo dissipated into a screen full of images. Namor. Black Manta. The Hand. Black Adam. A red circle over Gotham.
“Six months ago, the world almost ended,” he said.
“And the so-called titans of Earth didn’t show up.”
Quake kept her voice level. “Iron Man did. Batman too. Shazam—”
“And Liberty Force got slaughtered,” Cole snapped.
“Robin’s dead. The Falcon Corps wiped out. And you know what SHIELD got out of it?”
“A crater full of blood and a whole lot of flags at half-mast.”
Rory didn't respond. She remembered the footage. She'd watched it more than once. Black Adam tearing through Vanguard operatives like paper. Falcon Corps torn from the sky.
“I met with Ethan Stark after the dust settled,” Cole continued. “He wants a new Justice League. A new Avengers. Capes, banners, press releases.”
He turned to her, eyes sharp.
“I want killers who know how to follow orders.”
A beat passed. Then another. She met his gaze.
“So why me?”
“Because you're not one of his golden boys. And because despite what your record says, you never stop moving forward.”
The screen shifted. Four profiles appeared. Hers. A familiar face in black. A woman with metal arms. A grinning man in a red-and-black helmet.
THUNDERBOLTS PROTOCOL – ACTIVE
Cole walked over to a side door and opened it. “Come with me.”
**********
Location: Armory Sublevel, Corridor J9
Time: 0610 Hours
Rory walked beside Cole in silence. A part of her already regretted saying yes.
“You’ll meet them all today,” he said. “We’re starting small. Testing team cohesion before deployment.”
“You mean seeing if we kill each other before we get to the field.”
“Exactly.”
He keyed open a door.
Inside stood a woman cleaning a pair of pistols, arms bare, chrome and steel glinting in the low light. Her eyes flicked up instantly.
“Quake,” Cole said. “Meet Soldier One — Sarah Bailey.”
Rory extended a hand. Bailey stared at it a beat before shaking it. Her grip was firm. Too firm.
“You’re SHIELD?” Bailey asked, skeptical.
“I could ask the same,” Rory replied, glancing at her metal limbs.
Bailey didn’t smile. “I used to be Vanguard. Liberty Force.”
That landed.
“You were at Gotham.”
Bailey nodded. “The only one who walked away.”
Cole broke the tension. “She’s second on the roster. You’re in command, Quake — but she’s earned respect. Give it.”
“Understood,” Rory said, though her gut clenched. Soldier One had the eyes of someone still in the rubble.
**********
Location: Training Deck Theta-2
Time: 0620 Hours
The room was massive, reinforced, and lit with dim red training lights. Steel dummies and drone turrets lined the perimeter. One man stood in the center of the mat — tossing a vibranium-lined shield into a wall hard enough to crack the plating.
He caught it on the rebound with practiced ease.
“That’s him?” Bailey asked, unimpressed.
“That’s US Agent,” Cole confirmed. “Jack Davis. Super Soldier. Top of his class at West Point.”
“And a complete pain in the ass,” came Rory’s mutter.
The moment they entered, Jack turned. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a half-smirk always lingering like a bad habit.
“Ladies,” he said, lowering his shield. “We forming a knitting club or a kill squad?”
Bailey stepped forward, aggressive. “You crack jokes like that in the field and we’ll be dragging your corpse back in pieces.”
Jack grinned. “She’s fun.”
Cole raised his voice. “You’ll listen to Quake. She’s lead. You’re here to follow, Jack — not freelance.”
“I follow good leadership, Director.”
He said it with just enough bite to test her.
Quake stepped forward, gaze locked on his.
“Then I guess we’ll see if you’re as good at taking orders as you are at breaking in shields.”
The tension hung heavy. Bailey folded her arms. Jack gave her a slow nod.
“Looks like I found my new favorite fight partner.”
**********
Location: Observation Deck
Time: 0700 Hours
The four stood around a table with tablets displaying data packets and potential assignments. No one spoke much.
That was when the door hissed open again.
In stepped a man in a scorched-looking armored suit, half-unzipped. He carried his helmet under one arm and a mug in the other.
“Are we doing introductions?” he asked dryly. “Or is this just a glare-and-stare situation?”
Cole sighed. “Jason Banks. Fire Ant.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” he said, setting the mug on the table. “Who’s in charge? Please say not Captain Flat-top.”
“That’d be me,” Quake answered.
“Ah. The seismic one. Excellent. If the team implodes, we can blame you literally.”
Jack groaned.
“You put this guy on the team?”
“He’s a genius,” Cole said. “And has more destructive capability in his pinky finger than a battalion of tanks. Just... ignore the personality.”
Jason smirked. “Don’t worry. I ignore it too.”
Bailey looked him up and down. “Do you even have combat experience?”
“Sweetheart, I’ve been shrunken down, shot into a terrorist’s bloodstream, and blown up twice in one day. I think I qualify.”
Rory raised both hands. “Enough. We’re not here to like each other. We’re here because the world’s a mess, and no one else is cleaning it up.”
They quieted.
Cole stepped forward.
“This is the team. Thunderbolts Protocol is active. Field deployment will come fast — and violently. Your enemies won’t be aliens or bank robbers. They’ll be former allies. Ghosts. Things governments want buried.”
“Why us?” Bailey asked.
“Because you’re expendable,” Cole said, not sugarcoating it. “And because you don’t need to be Avengers. You just need to win.”
He turned to leave, but paused at the door.
“Training starts now. You’ve got one week before your first assignment.”
The door slid closed behind him.
A long silence.
Fire Ant raised a brow. “So… do we hug now or stab each other?”
Bailey cracked a knuckle.
Jack leaned against the wall and smirked.
Rory exhaled slowly, eyes on the screen, where global hot zones blinked one after the other.
This wasn’t the team she asked for.
But it was the one she had.
And maybe — just maybe — it was the one the world needed.
Thunderbolts: Justice Like Lightning
Moderators: VagueDurin, Nichalus, WoH Coordinators
Dark Lord of the Grill
Posts: 1943
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Location: Searching for a nursing home for Nichalus
Thunderbolts: Justice Like Lightning
"I'd like to nominate Cazzik for the Sexiest Man on Earth 2010." --Balsa
Dark Lord of the Grill
Posts: 1943
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Location: Searching for a nursing home for Nichalus
Re: Thunderbolts: Justice Like Lightning
Location: Training Deck Theta-2, The Triskelion
Time: 1030 Hours
The blast doors sealed behind them with a hydraulic clang.
Red lights strobed overhead. A calm AI voice echoed from above.
“Simulation 03-Delta commencing. Parameters: urban environment, enemy combatants, live-fire-enabled. Safety protocols engaged.”
Steel plating shifted beneath their feet, rearranging into a mock city block — burned-out cars, shattered windows, fire escapes hanging by a bolt. SHIELD tech brought it all to life in seconds. Fog machines vented steam into the alleyways.
Rory Bennett rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck. She stood at the center of the group, staring down the street ahead.
“Standard sweep pattern. Pairs. Stay in comms, watch your six.”
She didn’t bother asking for confirmation. She already knew.
[SIMULATION BEGINS]
A robotic combat drone burst from a rooftop, heavy autocannon spinning.
Quake moved first. Her hand struck the ground — BOOM. A seismic pulse rocketed through the floor, flinging the drone skyward like it had hit a landmine.
Before it could land, US Agent hurled his shield. The impact severed the drone's head midair in a burst of sparks.
“Hell of a pitch,” Fire Ant muttered, ducking behind a mail truck. “What’s the score now, Team USA?”
“One. You’re at zero,” Jack replied, retrieving the shield without breaking stride.
Sarah dashed up the fire escape with uncanny fluidity, her cybernetic arms gripping the rails like a jungle cat. She vaulted across rooftops, twin pistols drawn.
“I’ve got visuals — three drones converging from the east,” she said over comms.
“Don’t engage solo—” Quake started.
Too late. Sarah was already airborne.
Her boots slammed into the first drone like a missile. She spun mid-air, twin batons crackling with energy. Two quick strikes disabled the others before they could lock on.
She landed hard, rolled, and vanished behind a smokestack.
“Target neutralized,” she said calmly.
“Did we all not agree on pairs?” Quake growled.
“I work better alone,” Sarah replied.
Meanwhile, Fire Ant shrank to insect-size and zipped through a vent grille in the building wall. Inside, he found a mock-up of a terrorist cell — target mannequins armed with rubber rifles and heat signatures.
“Ooooh, it’s my favorite level — the paranoia chamber,” he whispered.
He re-enlarged behind them, palm flames already lit.
“Surprise, suckers.”
FOOOOM. The burst of fire engulfed the targets in seconds. The walls were blackened, and the sprinkler system hissed to life above him.
“You’re supposed to neutralize targets, not barbeque the whole floor,” Quake snapped over comms.
“Collateral damage builds character,” he shot back, stepping over a smoldering mannequin.
Suddenly, from the far side of the block, a heavily-armored mech drone stomped into view. It was twice the height of a man, armed with rotary cannons and anti-personnel missiles.
“Big ugly incoming,” Jack said. “I got it.”
“Wait—” Quake tried, but he was already moving.
US Agent ran straight down the middle of the street, shield up. The mech locked on — BRRRRRRRT — bullets pinged off his shield like rain.
He leapt, launched off a flipped car, and slammed the shield into the mech’s chest plate.
It barely flinched.
“Huh,” Jack said, now upside down and hanging off the mech’s arm. “That usually works.”
The mech grabbed him and hurled him through the second-story window of a nearby building.
Sarah cursed and moved to flank.
Quake had had enough.
She threw both hands down and unleashed a focused shockwave. The earth beneath the mech buckled. It staggered as cracks split up its legs.
Sarah closed the gap, used the distraction to vault off a fire escape, and drove both batons into its sensor array.
The mech sparked violently before collapsing.
Jack reemerged, limping, brushing glass from his jacket.
“Thanks for the assist,” he muttered.
“Maybe next time you listen to the plan,” Rory snapped.
“Maybe next time there is one.”
They regrouped at the simulated town square.
Scorched debris littered the street. Simulated smoke drifted over mannequins and broken props.
Everyone was breathing hard. Even Fire Ant, who’d mostly been giggling during the chaos.
“You call that teamwork?” Rory barked. “We were all over the damn map.”
“I took out my sector,” Sarah replied.
“So did I,” Jack added.
“I toasted mine,” Fire Ant offered with a wink.
Quake paced in front of them, seething.
“You’re not here because you’re strong. You’re here because you’re broken. Dangerous. Unreliable.”
“Careful,” Jack said coldly. “That the kind of pep talk that gets a leader replaced.”
Sarah’s eyes flicked to Quake, but she stayed silent.
Fire Ant leaned against a wall, arms crossed. “I think she’s saying we suck. But like, in a motivational way.”
“You’re not a strike team,” Rory continued, ignoring them. “Not yet. Right now, you're a bunch of weapons pointed in different directions. And until that changes, people will die.”
“We’re Thunderbolts,” Sarah said quietly. “Not Avengers.”
“Then start acting like it,” Quake said.
The simulation ended. The buildings vanished. The red lights dimmed.
A soft female voice spoke overhead.
“Simulation failed. Team cohesion rating: 39%.”
Fire Ant raised his mug — where had that come from?
“New high score, gang.”
**********
Location: Training Locker Room, Adjacent to Deck Theta-2
Time: 1100 Hours
Rory sat on the bench, wiping sweat from her brow. Jack stood by the lockers, silently adjusting his uniform.
Sarah sat opposite her, eyes downcast. Fire Ant was sprawled on the floor with a datapad, ignoring them all.
No one spoke for a while.
Then Jack muttered, “You’re right, by the way. We’re not a team.”
Rory looked up. “But?”
“But we’ve all seen what happens when we don’t have one.”
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The image of Liberty Force torn apart by Black Adam lingered in all their minds.
Sarah finally spoke. “Maybe we don’t need to be perfect. We just need to be better than what’s coming.”
Rory stood.
“Then we keep training. Harder. Smarter. Because the next fight won’t be simulated.”
Fire Ant looked up from his pad.
“Cool. I’ll bring real explosives next time.”
They all groaned in unison — maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit more in sync.
Time: 1030 Hours
The blast doors sealed behind them with a hydraulic clang.
Red lights strobed overhead. A calm AI voice echoed from above.
“Simulation 03-Delta commencing. Parameters: urban environment, enemy combatants, live-fire-enabled. Safety protocols engaged.”
Steel plating shifted beneath their feet, rearranging into a mock city block — burned-out cars, shattered windows, fire escapes hanging by a bolt. SHIELD tech brought it all to life in seconds. Fog machines vented steam into the alleyways.
Rory Bennett rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck. She stood at the center of the group, staring down the street ahead.
“Standard sweep pattern. Pairs. Stay in comms, watch your six.”
She didn’t bother asking for confirmation. She already knew.
[SIMULATION BEGINS]
A robotic combat drone burst from a rooftop, heavy autocannon spinning.
Quake moved first. Her hand struck the ground — BOOM. A seismic pulse rocketed through the floor, flinging the drone skyward like it had hit a landmine.
Before it could land, US Agent hurled his shield. The impact severed the drone's head midair in a burst of sparks.
“Hell of a pitch,” Fire Ant muttered, ducking behind a mail truck. “What’s the score now, Team USA?”
“One. You’re at zero,” Jack replied, retrieving the shield without breaking stride.
Sarah dashed up the fire escape with uncanny fluidity, her cybernetic arms gripping the rails like a jungle cat. She vaulted across rooftops, twin pistols drawn.
“I’ve got visuals — three drones converging from the east,” she said over comms.
“Don’t engage solo—” Quake started.
Too late. Sarah was already airborne.
Her boots slammed into the first drone like a missile. She spun mid-air, twin batons crackling with energy. Two quick strikes disabled the others before they could lock on.
She landed hard, rolled, and vanished behind a smokestack.
“Target neutralized,” she said calmly.
“Did we all not agree on pairs?” Quake growled.
“I work better alone,” Sarah replied.
Meanwhile, Fire Ant shrank to insect-size and zipped through a vent grille in the building wall. Inside, he found a mock-up of a terrorist cell — target mannequins armed with rubber rifles and heat signatures.
“Ooooh, it’s my favorite level — the paranoia chamber,” he whispered.
He re-enlarged behind them, palm flames already lit.
“Surprise, suckers.”
FOOOOM. The burst of fire engulfed the targets in seconds. The walls were blackened, and the sprinkler system hissed to life above him.
“You’re supposed to neutralize targets, not barbeque the whole floor,” Quake snapped over comms.
“Collateral damage builds character,” he shot back, stepping over a smoldering mannequin.
Suddenly, from the far side of the block, a heavily-armored mech drone stomped into view. It was twice the height of a man, armed with rotary cannons and anti-personnel missiles.
“Big ugly incoming,” Jack said. “I got it.”
“Wait—” Quake tried, but he was already moving.
US Agent ran straight down the middle of the street, shield up. The mech locked on — BRRRRRRRT — bullets pinged off his shield like rain.
He leapt, launched off a flipped car, and slammed the shield into the mech’s chest plate.
It barely flinched.
“Huh,” Jack said, now upside down and hanging off the mech’s arm. “That usually works.”
The mech grabbed him and hurled him through the second-story window of a nearby building.
Sarah cursed and moved to flank.
Quake had had enough.
She threw both hands down and unleashed a focused shockwave. The earth beneath the mech buckled. It staggered as cracks split up its legs.
Sarah closed the gap, used the distraction to vault off a fire escape, and drove both batons into its sensor array.
The mech sparked violently before collapsing.
Jack reemerged, limping, brushing glass from his jacket.
“Thanks for the assist,” he muttered.
“Maybe next time you listen to the plan,” Rory snapped.
“Maybe next time there is one.”
They regrouped at the simulated town square.
Scorched debris littered the street. Simulated smoke drifted over mannequins and broken props.
Everyone was breathing hard. Even Fire Ant, who’d mostly been giggling during the chaos.
“You call that teamwork?” Rory barked. “We were all over the damn map.”
“I took out my sector,” Sarah replied.
“So did I,” Jack added.
“I toasted mine,” Fire Ant offered with a wink.
Quake paced in front of them, seething.
“You’re not here because you’re strong. You’re here because you’re broken. Dangerous. Unreliable.”
“Careful,” Jack said coldly. “That the kind of pep talk that gets a leader replaced.”
Sarah’s eyes flicked to Quake, but she stayed silent.
Fire Ant leaned against a wall, arms crossed. “I think she’s saying we suck. But like, in a motivational way.”
“You’re not a strike team,” Rory continued, ignoring them. “Not yet. Right now, you're a bunch of weapons pointed in different directions. And until that changes, people will die.”
“We’re Thunderbolts,” Sarah said quietly. “Not Avengers.”
“Then start acting like it,” Quake said.
The simulation ended. The buildings vanished. The red lights dimmed.
A soft female voice spoke overhead.
“Simulation failed. Team cohesion rating: 39%.”
Fire Ant raised his mug — where had that come from?
“New high score, gang.”
**********
Location: Training Locker Room, Adjacent to Deck Theta-2
Time: 1100 Hours
Rory sat on the bench, wiping sweat from her brow. Jack stood by the lockers, silently adjusting his uniform.
Sarah sat opposite her, eyes downcast. Fire Ant was sprawled on the floor with a datapad, ignoring them all.
No one spoke for a while.
Then Jack muttered, “You’re right, by the way. We’re not a team.”
Rory looked up. “But?”
“But we’ve all seen what happens when we don’t have one.”
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The image of Liberty Force torn apart by Black Adam lingered in all their minds.
Sarah finally spoke. “Maybe we don’t need to be perfect. We just need to be better than what’s coming.”
Rory stood.
“Then we keep training. Harder. Smarter. Because the next fight won’t be simulated.”
Fire Ant looked up from his pad.
“Cool. I’ll bring real explosives next time.”
They all groaned in unison — maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit more in sync.
"I'd like to nominate Cazzik for the Sexiest Man on Earth 2010." --Balsa
Dark Lord of the Grill
Posts: 1943
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Location: Searching for a nursing home for Nichalus
Re: Thunderbolts: Justice Like Lightning
Location: Barracks Wing, The Triskelion
Time: 2230 Hours
The Triskelion was quiet now.
Lights dimmed. Corridors cleared. Outside, the Potomac lapped against the sea walls, indifferent to the wars being planned within.
Inside the Thunderbolts’ barracks, Rory Bennett sat alone on the edge of a steel bench, cup of reheated stim-coffee cooling between her hands. A mission screen scrolled across the wall in the background, red pulses marking global hotspots — none urgent, but all volatile.
She didn’t look up when Sarah walked in.
The soft hiss of the door and the click of combat boots on tile were all the warning she needed.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Rory asked.
Sarah shook her head, then crossed the room. Her hair was damp from the shower, but her face was sharp, wide awake in a way Rory recognized: the kind of alertness that came when the body was tired, but the ghosts were louder.
She sat opposite without asking, arms resting on her knees, cybernetics still scuffed from earlier training.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
Then Sarah spoke. Quiet. Measured.
“Shield Maiden died in my arms.”
Rory’s eyes met hers, calm but alert.
“She survived the initial strike. Her whole body was burnt from redirecting a lightning blast — not her own. She held the line so I could get Star Power airborne.”
She looked down.
“But her heart gave out in the med-evac. She was twenty-six.”
Rory stayed silent.
“Recurve was pinned under debris. Red Bird tried to cover him. That got them both vaporized when the blast hit. I never even found Recurve’s mask.”
The words were hard, but practiced. Filed down to something she could say without breaking. Almost.
“Voltage… tried to overload Black Adam with raw current. She got one good hit in before he punched through her chest.”
A breath. Not shaky — steady. Too steady.
“And Star Power…”
That’s where her voice caught.
Rory’s jaw clenched softly.
Sarah leaned back, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple.
“She was just a kid. Nineteen. Strongest one of us by a mile. Could’ve gone toe-to-toe with Captain Marvel if she had more training.”
“She didn’t run,” Rory said quietly.
“No. She charged him. Screaming. Eyes full of fire.”
Sarah’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“He tore her in half.”
Silence.
The kind that presses in from all sides.
“I was her commanding officer,” Sarah said. “I led them into that city. I watched them die. And I walked out.”
“You walked out because someone had to,” Rory said, evenly. “They trusted you to carry their legacy.”
“They trusted me to bring them home.”
“And now you bring their memory into every fight. That’s not failure. That’s leadership.”
Sarah stood abruptly and walked a few feet away, as if distance could loosen the pressure behind her ribs. She stood with her back to Rory, arms crossed, gaze on the mission screen.
“You know why I don’t talk about them?”
Rory didn’t answer.
“Because if I say their names too much, it feels like I’m trying to keep them alive. And I can’t. They’re gone. Just… gone.”
She exhaled — slow, controlled.
Rory stood, not moving closer, just matching her posture.
“You think I don’t carry names too? You think I haven’t made calls that buried friends?”
Sarah turned her head just slightly.
“But you didn’t bury your whole team.”
Rory paused.
“No,” she admitted. “But I buried a whole city once.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed, just faintly.
“I lost control in a quake zone. Collapsed a hillside onto a village trying to evacuate. Didn’t matter that it was the enemy’s fault. No one remembers who fired the missile. They just remember who cracked the ground.”
The two women stood in that silence, old scars laid bare in the blue wash of the monitor’s glow.
“We’re not built for clean legacies,” Rory said. “We’re built to do the job no one else will. And we’re still here.”
Sarah finally looked over.
“You ever worry that’s not enough?”
“Every day,” Rory replied. “But I keep showing up anyway. Because I won’t let their deaths be the last thing they gave the world.”
A long pause.
Then Sarah nodded — once. Firm.
“Star Power wanted to be a hero,” she said softly. “She worshipped the Avengers. I never had the heart to tell her they weren’t coming back.”
“Then maybe we give the world something else,” Rory said. “Something harder. Meaner. Real.”
“Thunderbolts,” Sarah muttered.
“Justice like lightning,” Rory finished.
Sarah gave a faint smirk. “Still sounds like a threat.”
“Good,” Rory said. “Let the bastards be afraid.”
They stood side by side for a few seconds longer before Sarah finally turned to go.
“Try to get some sleep,” Rory said behind her.
“No promises.”
The door hissed open. Then closed.
Rory looked back at the screen. One of the red markers blinked on and off.
Somewhere out there, another fire was starting.
She took a breath. Just one.
And stayed standing.
Time: 2230 Hours
The Triskelion was quiet now.
Lights dimmed. Corridors cleared. Outside, the Potomac lapped against the sea walls, indifferent to the wars being planned within.
Inside the Thunderbolts’ barracks, Rory Bennett sat alone on the edge of a steel bench, cup of reheated stim-coffee cooling between her hands. A mission screen scrolled across the wall in the background, red pulses marking global hotspots — none urgent, but all volatile.
She didn’t look up when Sarah walked in.
The soft hiss of the door and the click of combat boots on tile were all the warning she needed.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Rory asked.
Sarah shook her head, then crossed the room. Her hair was damp from the shower, but her face was sharp, wide awake in a way Rory recognized: the kind of alertness that came when the body was tired, but the ghosts were louder.
She sat opposite without asking, arms resting on her knees, cybernetics still scuffed from earlier training.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
Then Sarah spoke. Quiet. Measured.
“Shield Maiden died in my arms.”
Rory’s eyes met hers, calm but alert.
“She survived the initial strike. Her whole body was burnt from redirecting a lightning blast — not her own. She held the line so I could get Star Power airborne.”
She looked down.
“But her heart gave out in the med-evac. She was twenty-six.”
Rory stayed silent.
“Recurve was pinned under debris. Red Bird tried to cover him. That got them both vaporized when the blast hit. I never even found Recurve’s mask.”
The words were hard, but practiced. Filed down to something she could say without breaking. Almost.
“Voltage… tried to overload Black Adam with raw current. She got one good hit in before he punched through her chest.”
A breath. Not shaky — steady. Too steady.
“And Star Power…”
That’s where her voice caught.
Rory’s jaw clenched softly.
Sarah leaned back, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple.
“She was just a kid. Nineteen. Strongest one of us by a mile. Could’ve gone toe-to-toe with Captain Marvel if she had more training.”
“She didn’t run,” Rory said quietly.
“No. She charged him. Screaming. Eyes full of fire.”
Sarah’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“He tore her in half.”
Silence.
The kind that presses in from all sides.
“I was her commanding officer,” Sarah said. “I led them into that city. I watched them die. And I walked out.”
“You walked out because someone had to,” Rory said, evenly. “They trusted you to carry their legacy.”
“They trusted me to bring them home.”
“And now you bring their memory into every fight. That’s not failure. That’s leadership.”
Sarah stood abruptly and walked a few feet away, as if distance could loosen the pressure behind her ribs. She stood with her back to Rory, arms crossed, gaze on the mission screen.
“You know why I don’t talk about them?”
Rory didn’t answer.
“Because if I say their names too much, it feels like I’m trying to keep them alive. And I can’t. They’re gone. Just… gone.”
She exhaled — slow, controlled.
Rory stood, not moving closer, just matching her posture.
“You think I don’t carry names too? You think I haven’t made calls that buried friends?”
Sarah turned her head just slightly.
“But you didn’t bury your whole team.”
Rory paused.
“No,” she admitted. “But I buried a whole city once.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed, just faintly.
“I lost control in a quake zone. Collapsed a hillside onto a village trying to evacuate. Didn’t matter that it was the enemy’s fault. No one remembers who fired the missile. They just remember who cracked the ground.”
The two women stood in that silence, old scars laid bare in the blue wash of the monitor’s glow.
“We’re not built for clean legacies,” Rory said. “We’re built to do the job no one else will. And we’re still here.”
Sarah finally looked over.
“You ever worry that’s not enough?”
“Every day,” Rory replied. “But I keep showing up anyway. Because I won’t let their deaths be the last thing they gave the world.”
A long pause.
Then Sarah nodded — once. Firm.
“Star Power wanted to be a hero,” she said softly. “She worshipped the Avengers. I never had the heart to tell her they weren’t coming back.”
“Then maybe we give the world something else,” Rory said. “Something harder. Meaner. Real.”
“Thunderbolts,” Sarah muttered.
“Justice like lightning,” Rory finished.
Sarah gave a faint smirk. “Still sounds like a threat.”
“Good,” Rory said. “Let the bastards be afraid.”
They stood side by side for a few seconds longer before Sarah finally turned to go.
“Try to get some sleep,” Rory said behind her.
“No promises.”
The door hissed open. Then closed.
Rory looked back at the screen. One of the red markers blinked on and off.
Somewhere out there, another fire was starting.
She took a breath. Just one.
And stayed standing.
"I'd like to nominate Cazzik for the Sexiest Man on Earth 2010." --Balsa
Dark Lord of the Grill
Posts: 1943
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Location: Searching for a nursing home for Nichalus
Re: Thunderbolts: Justice Like Lightning
Location: Armory Sublevel, The Triskelion
Time: 1000 Hours
US Agent stood alone in the SHIELD weapons bay, adjusting the fit of his tactical vest in the mirror.
The black-and-red uniform was pristine. His shield, freshly polished, rested against the wall nearby. Every strap was tight. Every seam precise. His reflection was exactly what it needed to be: controlled, armored, lethal.
Then Fire Ant walked in.
Wearing a hoodie with Tony Stark’s face on it and sipping a smoothie.
“Morning, Captain Punishment,” Jason Banks said cheerfully. “Looking particularly fascist today.”
Jack didn’t turn.
“You’re late.”
“I’m whimsical,” Jason replied. “Timelines fear me.”
He flopped into a rolling chair near the weapons bench and immediately started poking at the settings on a pulse rifle.
Jack walked over, grabbed the rifle out of his hands, and locked it back in the rack.
“You don’t touch gear you didn’t calibrate.”
“I’m a scientist, Jack. Calibrating things is literally foreplay for me.”
Jack gave him a long, unimpressed stare.
Jason leaned back in the chair, putting his feet up.
“You know, for a guy with no powers, you sure have the confidence of someone who punches God before breakfast.”
“I don’t need powers.”
“No, just a shield and a superiority complex.”
Jack crossed his arms.
“You know what your problem is?”
“Please,” Jason said, sipping his drink. “I’m dying to know.”
“You think this is all a game. Costumes, catchphrases. You treat the field like a science fair. But out there? One mistake gets people killed.”
Jason dropped the smile for a fraction of a second.
“I know that.”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
Jason stood, walked over to the counter, and set his drink down. His voice dropped, just slightly.
“I know what happens when things go sideways. You think I’m not aware of how many people I’ve buried? Just because I don’t wear it on my face like a grimdark anime doesn’t mean it’s not in here.”
He tapped his chest.
Silence.
Then Jason shrugged.
“But hey, grief with a side of sarcasm is still grief.”
Jack looked at him for a long moment. Then, to his own surprise, nodded.
“That... wasn’t entirely idiotic.”
“High praise,” Jason said. “Want to get matching tattoos to commemorate this moment?”
“No.”
“Shields and particles? Yin and yang?”
Jack picked up his shield.
“I’m going to the range.”
“Want company?”
Jack looked over his shoulder.
“Can you shoot without blowing the wall off?”
“Eighty-five percent success rate.”
“...Fine.”
Jason grinned, grabbed a sidearm, and followed.
**********
Location: Indoor Live-Fire Range
Time: 1020 Hours
The two stood in adjacent lanes. Jack set up a series of reinforced kinetic dummies. Jason dialed in a set of reactive holograms with variable movement.
“So what’s your trick?” Jason asked, sliding on goggles. “Do you see trajectories in your head, or are you just insanely good at throwing things like a... very angry frisbee coach?”
Jack didn’t answer. He just hurled the shield.
It ricocheted off three targets, bounced off the far wall, and rebounded perfectly into his hand.
“...Okay,” Jason muttered. “Definitely the frisbee thing.”
He took aim with the SHIELD-issued pistol and fired in bursts — center mass, headshot, kneecap — then tossed a small device downrange.
It exploded in a controlled pulse of fire.
“Boom,” he said cheerfully.
Jack gave a tight nod. “You’re not bad.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Jason holstered the pistol and stepped back.
“You know,” he said, “I used to think all you super soldiers were just frozen meatheads with square jaws and daddy issues.”
“And now?”
“Well... jury’s still out. But at least you’ve got decent aim.”
Jack smirked — just slightly.
“You’re still annoying.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
The range alarm buzzed. Time was up.
As they packed up gear, Jason asked, “Hey. That thing you said earlier — about the field not being a game.”
“Yeah?”
“You ever lose anyone?”
Jack’s hands paused for just a moment at the straps.
“Yeah.”
“Friend?”
“Brother.”
Jason nodded, quiet for once.
“Then maybe we’re more alike than I thought.”
“Don’t push it.”
They left the range in silence.
But this time, they didn’t walk apart.
Time: 1000 Hours
US Agent stood alone in the SHIELD weapons bay, adjusting the fit of his tactical vest in the mirror.
The black-and-red uniform was pristine. His shield, freshly polished, rested against the wall nearby. Every strap was tight. Every seam precise. His reflection was exactly what it needed to be: controlled, armored, lethal.
Then Fire Ant walked in.
Wearing a hoodie with Tony Stark’s face on it and sipping a smoothie.
“Morning, Captain Punishment,” Jason Banks said cheerfully. “Looking particularly fascist today.”
Jack didn’t turn.
“You’re late.”
“I’m whimsical,” Jason replied. “Timelines fear me.”
He flopped into a rolling chair near the weapons bench and immediately started poking at the settings on a pulse rifle.
Jack walked over, grabbed the rifle out of his hands, and locked it back in the rack.
“You don’t touch gear you didn’t calibrate.”
“I’m a scientist, Jack. Calibrating things is literally foreplay for me.”
Jack gave him a long, unimpressed stare.
Jason leaned back in the chair, putting his feet up.
“You know, for a guy with no powers, you sure have the confidence of someone who punches God before breakfast.”
“I don’t need powers.”
“No, just a shield and a superiority complex.”
Jack crossed his arms.
“You know what your problem is?”
“Please,” Jason said, sipping his drink. “I’m dying to know.”
“You think this is all a game. Costumes, catchphrases. You treat the field like a science fair. But out there? One mistake gets people killed.”
Jason dropped the smile for a fraction of a second.
“I know that.”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
Jason stood, walked over to the counter, and set his drink down. His voice dropped, just slightly.
“I know what happens when things go sideways. You think I’m not aware of how many people I’ve buried? Just because I don’t wear it on my face like a grimdark anime doesn’t mean it’s not in here.”
He tapped his chest.
Silence.
Then Jason shrugged.
“But hey, grief with a side of sarcasm is still grief.”
Jack looked at him for a long moment. Then, to his own surprise, nodded.
“That... wasn’t entirely idiotic.”
“High praise,” Jason said. “Want to get matching tattoos to commemorate this moment?”
“No.”
“Shields and particles? Yin and yang?”
Jack picked up his shield.
“I’m going to the range.”
“Want company?”
Jack looked over his shoulder.
“Can you shoot without blowing the wall off?”
“Eighty-five percent success rate.”
“...Fine.”
Jason grinned, grabbed a sidearm, and followed.
**********
Location: Indoor Live-Fire Range
Time: 1020 Hours
The two stood in adjacent lanes. Jack set up a series of reinforced kinetic dummies. Jason dialed in a set of reactive holograms with variable movement.
“So what’s your trick?” Jason asked, sliding on goggles. “Do you see trajectories in your head, or are you just insanely good at throwing things like a... very angry frisbee coach?”
Jack didn’t answer. He just hurled the shield.
It ricocheted off three targets, bounced off the far wall, and rebounded perfectly into his hand.
“...Okay,” Jason muttered. “Definitely the frisbee thing.”
He took aim with the SHIELD-issued pistol and fired in bursts — center mass, headshot, kneecap — then tossed a small device downrange.
It exploded in a controlled pulse of fire.
“Boom,” he said cheerfully.
Jack gave a tight nod. “You’re not bad.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Jason holstered the pistol and stepped back.
“You know,” he said, “I used to think all you super soldiers were just frozen meatheads with square jaws and daddy issues.”
“And now?”
“Well... jury’s still out. But at least you’ve got decent aim.”
Jack smirked — just slightly.
“You’re still annoying.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
The range alarm buzzed. Time was up.
As they packed up gear, Jason asked, “Hey. That thing you said earlier — about the field not being a game.”
“Yeah?”
“You ever lose anyone?”
Jack’s hands paused for just a moment at the straps.
“Yeah.”
“Friend?”
“Brother.”
Jason nodded, quiet for once.
“Then maybe we’re more alike than I thought.”
“Don’t push it.”
They left the range in silence.
But this time, they didn’t walk apart.
"I'd like to nominate Cazzik for the Sexiest Man on Earth 2010." --Balsa
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