Centurion Six #2: The Devil and the Agent from the FBI (Part 1)

Our Story So Far:

Last night, Captains Blaine “Centurion Six” Winters and Jacob “Zulu” Mbeke of the New York State National Guard Enhanced Forces Division (E.F.D.) were called out by the NYPD to consult on a multiple homicide in the south Bronx.  The case seemed like routine “skrag” gang violence until our heroes stumbled upon evidence that implicated a former teammate in the murders—ultra-human drug addict Jason King.  However, before Blaine and his team could begin to investigate, they were attacked by a killer cyborg robot-monkey mounting a highly advanced stealth/security system and a small-caliber machine pistol.  In the ensuing firefight, a police officer was killed, the crime scene burned to the ground, and the cyborg robot-monkey got away.

Fortunately, Blaine managed to subdue Jason King with the help of teenaged ultra-human club girl Rebecca Rodriguez, daughter of Colonel Joachim “El Aguilá” Rodriguez, following a brutal fight just outside of Central Park.

Note: To read the story from the beginning, click the Centurion Six keyword down below the post.

* * *

Danny Delaney sat next to the bed where Jason King lay unconscious.  He’d brought one of his textbooks with him, but Jason was in bad shape, and it was tough to concentrate.  Jason had gone up against Blaine Winters and Rebecca Rodriguez both—a monumentally stupid move.  He’d come out of the fight with a skull fracture and three fractured cervical vertebrae, and on top of that, the E.F.D.’s docs thought that he might be going through the initial phases of withdrawal now that they’d leached the last traces of Amphetamine Methyl-Phencyclidine, also known as AMP, out of his system.  Why he’d been using a dangerous and highly addictive battle drug like AMP in the first place—apparently with some consistency for the better part of a week—was just one more mystery in a night that was already chock full of them.  Unfortunately, Jason was in no position to give anyone any answers.  What with the fight and the skull fracture, the E.F.D.’s docs had decided to put Jason into an induced coma. 

Compared to that, Corporate Contract Law wasn’t holding Danny’s attention very well.

Danny sighed, stared at his friend’s face, and knew himself to be the only person in the building who didn’t see Jason as a monster.  Even here.  Even in the E.F.D.’s very own headquarters.  Jason had a reptile’s skin, elongated facial features, and feral fangs and claws.  It was a decidedly non-human look.  Not so much ultra-human as anti-human.

Danny knew the feeling.

“You can’t go up against guys like Blaine and Rebecca, Jason,” Danny said.  “You knew that.  Hell, you’re the one that taught that to me.”  Danny shook his head.  “What the Hell were you thinking?”

Danny looked down to where his hand held the rail on Jason’s bed.  His own claws weren’t functional like Jason’s were.  Jason’s would rip through bone like it was paper-mache; Danny’s were basically just decorative—sharpened fingertips to match his red skin and devil’s horns.  Had God not also given Danny bat-wings and the gift of flight, Danny wondered if he might not have put a gun in his own mouth back when he was in high school.  Flying and having friendships with other extreme ultra-humans like Jason were the only things that had kept Danny going during the really bad times.  Danny shuddered to think of what it would have been like to meet normal-looking guys like Blaine Winters without having had others like himself—like Jason King—around to keep him grounded.

“He’s gonna be alright, y’know.”

Danny looked up, saw Blaine standing there.  He hadn’t heard the door open.

Wonderful.  Cue Mr. Perfect to spin me some bullshit. 

Danny packed the thought away, let military bearing drop down around him like a mask, and stood up.  “I know, sir.”

“The docs say that his regenerative processes have already kicked into overdrive.  He ought to be awake by the end of the week at the very latest.  And then we’ll find out what’s going on.  We’ll—“

 “I know all that, sir.  It doesn’t stop me worrying, but… Look, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I just stopped by to see how he was doing.  But I’ve got some real work to do, too.”

Blaine nodded.  “Right.  Well, don’t forget the briefing, Danny.  It’s at ten-hundred hours, and the Colonel’s expecting all of us to be there.  Don’t be late.  He’s been in a mood, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Yessir,” Danny replied.  Privately, he couldn’t help hoping that Blaine would catch Hell for the way that things had gone down last night.  He knew it wouldn’t change anything, but that didn’t change how he felt.  He kept that packed inside, however.  All he said was, “I won’t be late, sir.  I promise.”

* * *

FBI Agent Nora Mahoney followed El Aguilá through the halls of the E.F.D.’s medical wing trying hard to fight down a feeling of unreality. 

No, she reminded herself, that’s not his name.  His name is Rodriguez, Colonel Joachim Rodriguez.  And you can’t forget that because it’s practically the first thing that he told you. “Please, call me ‘Colonel,’” he said.  “I hate it when people who know call me El Aguila.  It makes me feel like they’d rather know the legend than the man.  I’d like to think I’m more than just a bunch of stories you saw on TV one time.”

  Still, it was bizarre.  Nora had admired El Aguilá ever since she was a kid.  Everyone had.  He’d become a national hero way back in the Seventies, during the Great New York Riots.  And then there was that time he took on Doctor Destructo and The Ice Queen—the Radical Robot Rampage through Harlem.  That’d been back in Eighty-Six.  Nora had skipped school to watch it, hadn’t turned the TV off for three whole days.  And then there was that time when the Super-Socialist Society had attacked Wall Street…

Damn it, Nor thought.  That’s not what he wants.  And it’s not what you need for your career. 

The Colonel was a man, an officer in the U.S. Army, and a professional.  Moreover, Nora was herself a full agent of the FBI and not some stupid, starry-eyed kid.  Not anymore.  And the fact was, the Colonel had treated Nora with the utmost courtesy and respect from the get-go.  The least she could do in return was to try to see him as he really was and not as some stupid symbol of American freedom or whatever.  All that symbolic stuff obviously drove the man crazy.

And yet… El Aguilá! 

The one and only Eagle.  And no one called him that.  Apparently all those old, goofy nicknames were just for the press or for when the team was talking to each other on the radio anymore.  Nora had no idea what to make of that.

“… so we brought the suspect in last night,” the Colonel was saying, “on a backboard, as I’m sure you can imagine.  But that still leaves the problem of where the AMP came from.  And then, too, there’re the murders in the Bronx—the initial cause of the investigation.  My people aren’t trained to deal with any of that.  That’s why we need you.”

“Of course, Colonel,” Nora said automatically.  She’d been working homicide for three years, and this case represented a big opportunity.  “I’ll be more than happy to help out in any way I…” 

Nora’s voice trailed off when the door in front of them opened, and Satan himself stepped out into the hallway.

“Good morning, Danny,” the Colonel said.  “How’s Jason?”

The devil didn’t answer.  Instead, he starred at Nora, and despite herself, Nora starred right back.  A beat passed, and she felt her feet take a tiny step backwards.  Oh dear God, she thought, what have I gotten myself into?