Supermaxx

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

Going to continue my fan fiction era after Thanksgiving week is over and everyone shuffles out of the house

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

_{PUNISHER: WAR JOURNAL}

CHAPTER #6: Reckoning: Part 2

---

_{New York-Presbyterian Hospital, Brooklyn ♦ New York City}

Surely goodness and mercy will follow me
All the days of my life
And I will dwell on this earth
Forevermore

I woke up two days later in NYP with a splitting headache. Nauseous was too mild a word to describe it. I felt like a steaming deer carcass left to cook on the asphalt for two weeks. When I tried to sit up my restraints clanked against the gurney, and my head started to swim. Whatever constituted a brain inside that thick skull of mine wasn't doing too hot. It sloshed around against the walls. Made me lurch. Bile spewed out of my throat and onto the bed sheets.

The door opened. A nurse came running in. Outside, I saw a pair of uniforms on other side of the doorway, looking bored as shit. Of course there were guards. I'd be insulted if there weren't.

"Careful there, pal." The nurse waved an assuaging hand at me. He looked a head taller than me and near as broad. Didn't take a genius to know why they'd picked him. Had a good smile, though. "You're only a few hours out of surgery. I'm surprised you're even awake."

The nurse pulled away my vomit-soaked sheets and handed me a trio of pink pills. Oh, I had a free hand. Didn't even notice. I used it to pop the smarties and laid back in bed.

"Thanks, doc." I muttered.

He strode to the side of my bed covered in screens and gadgets I couldn't make heads nor tails of. "I'm just the nurse. Your doctor tonight is...Let me check the chart."

I waved him off. S'alright. My mistake. Force of habit."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Guy who gives you candy and patches you up is always doc. Even if he only got twenty-five weeks of training."

The nurse set my chart down and crossed his arms beside my bed. "Sounds a heck of lot like the Army. Did you serve?"

I laughed, trying not to be insulted. Did I look like one of those knuckledragging grunts? Jesus. "Nah. The Corps was my poison."

"Well...thanks. Y'know, for-"

"You finish that sentence n' I'm feedin' you your teeth."

The guy looked spooked for a second before I flashed him a grin. Wasn't sure it would help, though. My wife used to say my smile could skin a cat. It looked wrong. Like I taught my face to mimic happiness instead of feeling it. Somehow, though, it fooled my nurse. He relaxed and went back to work, tapping away on his computer.

"I get it. My brother used to serve, too." He said. "He hated the thank you givers and well wishers."

"Anybody who went over there for thank yous is an asshole."

He snorted out a laugh. "Hear that. Why did you go, though? If you don't mind me asking."

I didn't say anything for a long while. Let the question ruminate in my swamp of a mind. Its putrid waters bubbled up images of people jumping from smoking towers. In its stagnate surface, I saw myself on the tarmac, lumpy head freshly shaved. Didn't want the barbers at basic giving me a bad cut so I decided to fuck my own head up. Around me, other marines hugged their parents or kissed their girlfriends for the last time. I stood alone. In one hand I held a duffel. The other, a blocky flip phone.

I didn't just remember standing there. I was there. October 4, 2001. I was at Stewart International waiting for my flight to Parris Island. I dressed that morning for the chill of fall. My dumbass should've looked at the weather report, though, because it was over eighty degrees out and I was sweating my ass off.

The phone vibrated in my fist. My eyes stung with sweat and tears too much to see the screen. While I tried with pathetic desperation to clear my vision with the back of my sleeve, the phone just kept vibrating. Why wouldn't she just call me? I hated texting. My thumbs were too big and I kept forgetting to press the button enough to get to the next letter.

When I could finally see again, the tarmac was gone.

I tasted dust on my tongue. Felt sand cling to my cheeks, coagulated and crimson. My eyes were open. I saw a road stretching to the horizon. Burnt out husks of cars surrounded me. They ran as far up and down the road as I could see in either direction. I watched a man climb out of the remnants of a tank just to my left, engulfed in flame. He looked like a demon crawling his way out of hell. He held out a blackened hand toward me. Screaming, crying out in Arabic, he stared at me, pleading.

"Sir?" The nurse asked.

"I, uh..." I coughed, violently. Could feel the bile building up in my throat again. Fighting its way up to the surface. I swallowed hard, and shivered at its foul taste. My mouth tasted like battery acid as I forced myself to speak, one word at a time. "I wanted to travel. See the world."

He laughed, finished up his work and left the room. I watched him share an odd look with one of the cops outside the door, then the two of them walked down the hall together. Didn't know what to make of it at the time, pumped full of drugs and bad memories. But I should've clocked something was off if I had any sense left.

I slept, though. Too sick and tired to do much else. Not that there was much to do. They had me chained up to a bed and under guard day and night. I was trapped, and the Devil would stop by soon enough.

---

_Later

I've slept light my whole life. Can't tell you why. Even a board creaking on the opposite side of the house could wake me up, as Frank Jr learned when he tried to sneak out a bowl of ice cream past his bedtime. Whoever opened my door tried to do so quietly. Almost succeeded, too. But I heard it click shut behind them, and my eyes shot open. It was dark. Too dark to see anything but a shadow creeping toward me. I hoped that meant they couldn't see me, either.

I kept my breathing steady, as if I'd never awoken. Waited for that dark thing to creep up beside my bed. It stopped. The shadow held something in its hand. It reached it toward my arm. The shackled one, where the PICC line was attached.

Wait for it. Wait for the figure to start inserting the needle into the line. They'd feel most safe, then. The comfort of a job nearly done. Then strike.

I grabbed their wrist with my free hand and dragged them onto the bed beside me. Lock their legs in place with mine and get their arm under my armpit. Even with my other hand tied to the gurney, I can still reach my hands together enough to lock the choke.

"Here's how this works. I'm gonna loosen up so you can answer my questions. If you talk above a whisper or try to call out, I'm gonna kill you. Understand?"

I loosed my grip enough for him to nod. Now that our faces were practically smashed together, I recognized him. The nurse.

"Do you work for the Costa family?"

"No." he whispered. "No, I work for the hospital. I'm just a-"

I squeezed. "Don't lie to me. Its a waste of oxygen, and you don't have much left. Now, answer me. Honestly this time."

"I didn't- okay, listen. M-money's been tight, man. I got a kid on the way, and- and I'm up to my nose in debt. Some guy in a suit handed me two hundred K and a needle and told me to put it in your arm. Said I'd get another two hundred afterward. I'm sorry, okay? I- I didn't know what was in it, or I-"

"Bullshit."

"Please don't kill me-"

"What'd the suit look like?"

"W-what-"

"The guy who gave you the money. What the hell did he look like?"

"Uh, ah, h-hispanic, I think. Dark hair, goatee. Maybe six feet tall, two hundred pounds. Maybe. And his suit was red. Red suit, blue shirt, no tie."

"He in the building?"

The nurse nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. Told me to meet him in the, ah, the lobby."

I thanked him for his honesty and broke his neck.

Said, I walk beside the still waters
And they restore my soul
But I can't walk on the path of the right
Because I'm wrong

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

Apologies for the delay, folks, but we're back. Decided to stop obsessing over making sure my next Flash post is perfect and just put up what I have. Its shorter than I'd like, but it gets the idea across. Hope to get back to more consistent activity. Punisher's up next.

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

_{THE FLASH: New World}

CHAPTER #2: Home

---

_{Various ♦ The Twin Cities}

Red and gold lightning flashed over Central City. The world stood still around Wally West. Flocks of birds froze in the air. He navigated through a crowd of people celebrating the KC Salamander's first win of the season; grabbed a dachshund chasing a dropped hot dog out of the street. Weaving in and out of traffic, he moved through Danville, Windsor Heights, and Westminster- a forty-three minute drive covered in the blink of an eye.

The Gem City Bridge connected Central City to its twin, Keystone: Gem of the Midwest. Industrial heartland of America. Home.

The last time Wally ran down its winding streets, it was a smoldering ruin. The sky filled with black smoke and packs of parademons. Those monsters would swoop down into windows to tear children from the arms of their fathers to carry them away. Wally saved as many as he could. He remembered running as fast as he could through the twin cities. Remembered smashing a hundred parademons to pieces with his bare hands. Wally had pushed himself to fight as long as he could. Pushed himself to keep going, to save just one more soul. He remembered the moment his body failed him. He collapsed, skidded down main street for over a thousand feet before he hit something solid enough to stop him. He'd torn his ACL on both legs.

His knees ached with a phantom pain at the memory.

When he looked up and saw the golden light of the morning break through the clouds, it felt surreal. Like a beautiful dream he could wake up from at any moment.

Wally took his time soaking it in. He watched two old men play chess in the park. Followed a fat cat as it struggled to hunt a squirrel. Stood in a crowd of gawkers as a stranger proposed at his favorite diner.

'Its all so...normal. Like the apocalypse never happened.'

None of it made any sense. Had they beaten Darkseid? Sent his armies of darkness packing and rebuilt? No. That was impossible. Wally searched the length and breadth of the Twin Cities and hadn't seen any sign of reconstruction. Everything was just fine again. Like God had snapped His fingers and set everything back to the way it ought to be.

THOOM.

A sonic boom shook the newspaper stand. Everything from The Daily Planet to Variety went flying with the explosive force of Wally West's arrival. Oops. He grabbed every displaced magazine, newspaper and brochure, carefully setting it back where it once was.

The heavyset man behind the counter stared at Wally with eyes the size of dinner plates under his bushy eyebrows. "W-whatdafuck? D'ya see that?"

"See what?" Wally grinned up at him, hoping his dimples and freckles would convince the guy of his innocence.

It took a few seconds for him to get his bearings. "I- I swear'ta Gawd everything just..." He blinked, and it was only then he noticed Wally for the first time. "What in the Sam hill're you wearin'?"

The two of them looked down at Wally's clothes at the same time. He'd almost forgotten he was still in the spandex. Guess he slept in it. Oops.

That...meant Barry saw him in...crap. Problem for later.

"Cosplay convention in town." He lied, stumbling over his words as his brain moved faster than his mouth."Say, pal, you got a copy of yesterday's paper you haven't thrown out yet?"

The stand man gave a slow nod and started rummaging through a pile of discarded papers near his feet. When he came back up, he had a copy of Central City Picture News in his fist. "Yeah, yeah. Kid who's s'posed'ta take the unsold CCPNs hasn't come by yet. Lazy shit. But uh, I ain't s'posed'ta sell these-"

"Can I just have it then?" He batted his eyelashes like a hussy. "I mean, if you're going to trash it anyway..."

The guy shook his head. "'Fraid that ain't how it works, kiddo."

"Hey, I get it." Wally shrugged, turning to leave. "See ya around."

Once he was half a block away, another sonic boom shook the street. The newsstand once again suffered a freak explosion of flying magazines. How strange!

Wally held up yesterday's Picture News. The date and year were on the nose, so time travel was out. The contents were where the real oddities began.

Trolls attacked New York. An alien on a motorbike was spotted over Metropolis. Revolution in Genosha. Not a single mention of the end of the world. He recognized names in several of the articles, but they were in contexts utterly former to him. Like Thor. Thor was on the front page, standing amidst those heroes that protected New York City.

"Why is he a teenager?!" Wally blurted aloud. A passing couple gave him an odd look as he sheepishly hurried down the street, still pouring over his newspaper for any answers. All he found were more questions.

He stopped outside of a bakery. The smell of freshly made bread floated out of it every time a customer passed through the door. A little bell hung over it chimed each time, too. It was a joyful little noise. There was a small outdoor sitting area just outside. Wally took a seat under its awning, and dropped the newspaper on the table.

Wandering around Keystone wasn't getting him anywhere. He needed help. Someone smart that could tell him why reality was all topsy-turvy, like Reed Richards. Or Batman.

Wally stopped. He looked up, and watched the sun rise between a pair of skyscrapers on either side of the Missouri River. The light reflected off the windows, sparkling like gold. People passed by all around him. They were headed to work, to breakfast, to pick up their grandma at the airport.

'Maybe answers can wait.' He thought. 'Maybe...maybe I'll go to school.'

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

Interesting to see Punisher's actions have consequences.

@Cyrania

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

_{PUNISHER: WAR JOURNAL}

CHAPTER #5: Reckoning

---

_{Interstate 278 ♦ New York City}

I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death
and I fear no evil
Because I'm blind to it all

I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. Since I started documenting my little war, I've learned I made more than I thought. October 16th stands out, however. That day I stood on the precipice. Blindfolded, I couldn't see rocks waiting for me below. I didn't know I stepped off the edge until felt gravity pulling me down, down, down.

The machine gun on my shoulder played an all too familiar song as I hold down the trigger. Its tune brings me back to the rain soaked jungles of Sin-Cong. Monk loved this song. When he played it, all the bastards started to dance. They danced until they dropped. I didn't have his special touch. Couldn't work the instrument the same way he did.

Played a hell of a cover, though.

"Come on!"

I put five hundred rounds down in a creeping arc across the line of cars they hid behind. They made for poor cover against heavy weapons fire. Rounds cut through door frames and glass like a knife through butter and into the meat cowering behind it.

Return fire spat back sporadically. Rifle rounds pinged off the van just behind me. Machine pistols chattered. Sparks and dust sprang up across the asphalt. These gangsters couldn't hit the broad side of a fucking barn. Most of them were just blind firing from behind cover. "That all you got?!" I taunted, hoping I could bait them into sticking their heads up.

Roaring gunfire may have played the chorus, but screeching tires and honking horns soon overwhelmed it. A chaotic cacophony of noise filled the air. I watched an SUV careen out of control as the driver spotted the gunfight too late and slammed on their breaks. The vehicle spun, then rolled, flipping three times before it crashed through the divider and flew into oncoming traffic.

Catastrophe struck. A panicking old man behind the wheel of his classic car failed to dodge the SUV. He slammed into it at full speed. The front of his car crunched against the side, turning both vehicles into a mess of sheered metal. A third car swerved to avoid the crash only to get smashed from behind by a fourth.

The woman behind the wheel of the SUV had blood flooding down her forehead. She was alive, Thank God. Alive enough to reach into the back seat to check on the two people there. Not adults. Too small to be adults. 'Shit, shit, shit,' was all that ran through my head. Didn't mean for this to happen.

Not everyone else was as lucky as her, however. The old man slumped against his airbag. He hadn't moved since the impact.

People wailed. Whether they were among the wounded or just frightened bystanders, I couldn't tell. Their cries matched the pitch of approaching sirens. Distant, but soon to close. Out of the corner of my eye I watched two people stop behind the pileup. The drivers jumped out their cars and ran toward the accident. Brave bystanders worked together to pry the back door of the old man's car open to drag him out. One of them started chest compressions.

The old man's name was Charles Martins. His friends called him Chuck. He was a retired firefighter out of station house ten. A captain, and a decorated one. His firehouse was right across from the World Trade Center. When I was just a teenage brat watching 9/11 on TV, Chuck had strapped on his gear and ran into the fray to save people. Twenty years later, he's on his way back home from a late night out when his whole world ended.

I only learned his name a week later when it cropped up in the obituaries. His was one of sixteen other faces. All killed in the 'Staten Island Expressway Massacre.'

I stopped shooting. Stopped and just stared— jaw flapping in the wind. I wish I could tell you what I was thinking then. Wish I could say that, somewhere in my gut, I knew I ought to help them. Knew that I could. That I owed it to 'em. I started this, after all. I had a thousand chances to back off before it got this bad.

Micro screamed in my ear. I heard the anger in his voice. The terror laced pleas for me to do something. But the words slipped by, drowned out by an incessant ringing. That was my fault. I should have worn better ear protection.

Before I took my first step, I felt a stinging pain in my chest. Cracked a rib, maybe two. I looked down to see three rounds lodged in my vest. Bad spread. If the shooter'd been disciplined with their placement, it might've cracked my ceramic plate. I locked eyes with the shooter. Some young gun with slicked back hair and too much aftershave shot me. He froze where he stood, pistol extended, like he wasn't sure what to do after he hit me. I blew his head off before he could come to his senses.

And my mind
And my gun
They comfort me

No one shot back at me after that. They'd all learned from their dead friend's mistake. Didn't stop me from shooting, though. I started forward. The kick from Monk's gun reverberated from my shoulder down into my chest. My march was slow, unsteady. The wound in my leg shrieked in protest. I ignored it best as I could. The sheer force of my barking weapon would've knocked me on my ass if I didn't have a strong base.

I swung left, sweeping around the side of their cover. I finally saw them. Only a handful of gangsters still clung to life, more concerned with protecting their heads than shooting back at me. Four men died in as many seconds, all poked full of holes.

Had to admit, the Costa soldiers dressed well: fitted suits, ties, and shoes polished to a shine. They put an effort into looking respectable. Acted a certain way, too. Called you sir when they threatened you. Made all sorts of apologetic noises when it came to wives and children.

The Costas came from the old world, where men still lived by a code. They weren't a gang- they were a business. A family business. Not 'thugs.'

When they broke in your door, dragged your family from their beds and beat you bloody, it wasn't personal. When they blew open your wife's face and dumped her corpse into the bay, they didn't mean anything by it. They'd do it to anybody if it meant they got paid.

Two survivors threw their guns down. One of them was Rico Colicos, his gelled beard still tidy as could be. "Wait! Wait! Don't shoot, Jesus-"

He choked on his words when I sprayed the other man down until it ate the last round on the ammunition belt. His body hit asphalt. Spilled blood and oil gathered in a pool under him, staining that precious suit of his.

Credit to him, Rico wasn't as dumb as he looked. He charged me the second my gun clicked. A butterfly knife flashed in his hand from nowhere, blade gleaming in the headlights. I threw the LMG at him. When he brought his arms up to block it, I stepped forward, planting a teep into his stomach. I heard the breath leave his lungs as his back hit the road.

"Bastard!" He came up swinging his knife wildly ahead of him. One pass, a second, then I found the pattern and reached forward. Snatched his wrist in my hand and snapped it like a twig. Rico's screams were music to my ears. Lifting him by his broken wrist, I dragged him to his feet. His eyes were bloodshot. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him conscious.

"You still awake, Rico?" I snarled. The hate tasted like hot bile in my mouth. "Good. I want you to feel this."

I took him by the hair so I could shove his face through his car's window. He kept screaming, even as I dragged his face through the shattered glass on the bottom of the window. Kept screaming while I threw him to the ground. I stomped on his windpipe, felt it collapse under my heel, and only then did his voice die.

The sirens grew louder. Much as I wanted to give every kill a personal touch, I knew I was running out of time. Pain raked my body but I pushed on regardless. Stalked up to Bruno's limousine. The doors were still locked despite the dozens of impacts denting its armored doors and cracking the glass.

"Think you can hide in there, Bruno?" I grabbed a block of putty from a pouch on my belt. Palming it, I slapped the material onto the rear door's handle. The detonator and fuse were kept in a separate pouch so I didn't accidentally light myself up. Had to stick one side of fuse into the detonator and the other half into the putty. Just as I started stepping back to get clear, I heard a door on the opposite side of the limo pop open.

"Goddamn psycho!" Big Bumpy Gazzera yelled. "Come on, boss. We gotta move."

Oh no. No you don't. I'd come too far to let them slip between my fingers now. I dropped the detonator as I limped after them. Heaved my weight up onto the back of the limo so I could slide across.

Bruno, Gazzera, and two more bodyguards had their backs to me. They were running. I lifted my pistol. The first shot took off the slowest man's ear. I corrected my aim to the right, planting the second into his brain stem. The rest them got low, splitting up. They all darted behind different cars. Weaved through them, back and forth, to obscure my aim. I nearly popped off a shot through a windshield, but something made me hesitate. The old man. I remembered Chuck, and I relented.

Flashing lights appeared on the other side of the expressway. The sirens were overwhelming now. Even heard the whirring of helicopter blades. A veritable army of cops must've been headed my way.

"Micro, I need these cops off my ass. Anything you can do?"

The radio crackled. No one answered me. I could hear more sirens coming up from behind me.

I tapped my earbud to reset the line. "Micro? You hear me, asshole?"

Nothing. The helicopter circled overhead. A light brighter than the goddamn sun lit me up. A pair of armored BearCats swung around either side of me. The NYPD's Apprehension Tactical Team flooded out, carbines and shotguns trained on me. Blinking through the blinding light, I tried to spot Bruno through the mob. I had no idea if he'd slipped past the cops or not.

"Hands! Hands!"

"Drop the fucking gun!"

"On your knees!"

My gun hit the asphalt. I kicked it away. Under threat of being shot to pieces, I interlaced my fingers behind my head as I dropped to my knees.

Because I know
I'll kill my enemies
When they come

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Supermaxx>
You're from the Midwest, Maxx. Know your culture.

@mickilennial

Rural Kansans have believed they're southern since forever. This has notably caused no problems, ever

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

You'd think that combination would appeal to an American.

You put gravy on biscuits after all.

@Lord Wraith

biscuits and gravy are a CLASSIC. how dare you

<Snipped quote by Cyrania>


<Snipped quote by Lord Wraith>
Southerners are weird. I do not condone their kind. They make sugar water and call it tea.

@mickilennial

the slander continues...

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

_{PUNISHER: WAR JOURNAL}

CHAPTER #4: Casualties

---

_{Su Tinh Lang Valley - War Zone F ♦ Sin-Cong}

^{Mourn your dead land of the free!
If you want to be a hero follow me
Mourn your dead land of the free!
If you want to be a hero follow me}

The plan was to ride straight into contested territory, pretending we were a bunch of vegetable crates in the back of a farmer's truck. Vân had all the valid papers for an innocent bystander. The PRA let hundreds of people pass their blockades without a second look: this was their country, after all, and -no matter what congress said- their movement held the hearts and minds of the common folk. They shouldn't have given him a second look.

But they did. Now Vân's body rotted in a shallow grave. Hoyle had insisted we didn't just leave him on the road with the rest of the dead. Felt wrong. I didn't want to waste time. Our operation window was short- made even shorter by our lack of wheels.

Curtis gave me the look, though. That one he always put on whenever I said something utterly batshit. I knew to trust that look, and relented. Didn't need the squad turning on me so far outside the wire because I didn't have a goddamn heart. Not sure what burying him did for Vân, though. We already let him die. Couldn't take anything more from him than that.

I led the fire team into the jungle. Captain goes first so the men can see his confidence. Standard operating procedure for the Corps. The yellow bellied officers that shoved their men forward first never lasted long in Siangcong. They tended to become 'combat casualties' while they slept in their bunks, if you get my meaning.

I don't know how I missed the tripwire. Maybe I distracted myself thinking about the ambush. Maybe I just got unlucky. Either way, I was five steps ahead of Monk when his shin caught a line and he fucking exploded. Grenade pin tied to a fishhook: primitive, but effective. My best gunner rained down from the canopy in wet chunks. Stephen screamed. His head was probably ringing just as bad as mine; he'd been just a few steps behind Monk, after all. I told him to. Told him that was the safest place he could be.

Instinct taught me to drop to one knee and scan the tree line for rifles.

"Hold!" I shouted over the ringing in my ears, holding up a hand to signal the same. The rest of the team fell into cover positions.

"Oh shit! Shit!" Diesel's terrified screaming morphed into manic laughter. "Ahahahaaa what the hell, dude?! Why are there mines here?"

"Don't move." Hoyle warned. "You know the drill. One bomb means a whole lot more."

"I thought this was s'posed to be clear!" Diesel continued to laugh. "Damn, dude, I told ya'll we can't trust CIA intel for shit. Knew it. Knew those spooks were dirty."

"What are you talking about, Diesel?"

"Told you! The CIA is fuckin' subvertin' our fuckin' democracy, man. Director's a communist. I knew it!"

"Jesus Christ." Goodwin choked. "Jesus Christ, help me."

"Will you shut the hell up for two goddamn seconds?" I barked over my shoulder. This was not the time for Diesel's bullshit. Not with Monk lying in pieces and the threat of death underfoot. "Monk was carrying the sweeper gear. Where's his pack?"

Hoyle sighed, loudly. "Oh his back."

"And where's his back?" I yelled.

After a beat, Curtis spoke to the kid in as calming and reassuring voice as he could muster, given the circumstance: "Corporal Goodwin. Can you reach the backpack?"

"No, no, I can't- I- oh God, look at him-"

"Take a breath, corporal. I need you to stay calm, alright? We need to get the GPR out of Monk's backpack. We have to make sure there aren't more explosives. You're the only one who can reach it without moving."

"Thought he hit a tripwire?" Diesel snorted. "What's the GPR gonna do? Its not in the ground, dude. Its above the ground."

I sucked air in through my teeth. "If you don't shut your mouth in the next two seconds, Dubois, I'm going to turn around and shoot you in the head. Understood?"

"Uh, yes, sir."

Stephen Goodwin started sobbing. I couldn't see what the hell was happening without dropping my sight lines on the jungle, and I wasn't about to break protocol. I just held my breath, hoping that Hoyle could get Goodwin's shit together long enough to get us out of this mess.

Most of the time traps were left behind to grab isolated causalities. Other times, though, they were a precursor to an ambush. We were stuck. Standing like a bunch of erect dicks in an open field. Pinned in by the possibility of more explosives waiting to send us to hell underfoot. Any moment, a barking machine gun could shred me and my squad to pieces, and there wasn't a damned thing we could do about it.

It pissed me off.

We got lucky. Nobody stopped to shoot us. Hoyle talked Goodwin through prying the backpack off Monk's corpse. He dug out their explosive detection gear and threw it back to Diesel. Slowly but surely, he combed the area for mines hidden beneath the earth.

Tripwires were different. They were my job, and I needed a specialized tool to find them: a nylon cord wrapped around a stick. I held it out in front of me and took a walk down the path. Any time the cord brushed on something, I stopped to check for a wire. I found two more wires before circling back.

While we cleared the area, Hoyle rushed over to Goodwin to check him for injuries. Stephen stood stock still while the corpsman patted down his arms, legs, torso and groin for shrapnel. Just because the kid wasn't screaming in pain didn't mean he was fine. Shock was a damn powerful drug. I'd seen more than one soldier just drop in the middle of a firefight. Turned out they'd taken a fatal minutes ago. Didn't even realize they were dead men walking.

"You're good." Hoyle patted Stephen's cheek. "Right? You good?"

Goodwin stared at Hoyle for over five seconds before he finally nodded. Curt knew better than to let that go. He smiled at Stephen, slapped his ass and then made his way over to me.

"Goodwin's cracking, Frank." He whispered.

"He's a recon marine, not some FNG. He'll make it." Even as the words left my mouth I didn't believe them. I wasn't blind. I just didn't like what I saw.

"His head isn't in the fight anymore. He needs to go home. Its all he can think about."

I shook my head. "Primary extraction point is fifteen miles south. We're not even a mile away from the target. Doesn't make sense to go back now."

"I know." Curt grabbed my shoulder. "But-"

If we take the time to escort him out of the valley then our window closes. The chopper crew dies if they're lucky. If-"

"Frank, I know. Listen-"

"-and if they're not then they end up in a goddamn torture camp. You good with that?"

Hoyle tightened his grip on my shoulder until it stung. There was that look in his eyes again.

I felt in my guts that I was right. Our unit's commander was breathing down my neck to get those fly boys home. The war in Sin-cong was...unpopular, to put it lightly. Every time I turned the TV on back at base, all I saw were protestors gorging the streets. Or news that yet another National Republic official had been found embezzling funds across the wire. The same damned government we were propping up was working against us.

The enemy knew just how bad things were, too. They did everything they could to let the American people know how utterly and completely fucked things were here. No doubt their propaganda minister was already itching to send pictures of American pilots strung up in a torture camp to every major paper in the States. Washington was a pressure cooker. This could be the last thing it needed to set shit off.

If I screwed up this op, I could kiss my career goodbye.

Against my own judgement, I decided to hear Hoyle out.

"Goodwin isn't going to make it through another engagement." Curt whispered the truth, flat out. "He gets shot at again and he'll run. Or worse, panic and shoot one of us in the back. Its no good for any of us."

I bit back the string of curses I wanted to throw in doc's face before I finally relented. "Alright. I...I got an idea."

"What is it?"

"I'll stick Goodwin with second element. He can sit pretty in the IFV until the hard part's done." It wasn't ideal. I loathed to move our hammer out of position. If the enemy saw them rolling through the jungle before it was time to strike then we'd lose the element of surprise. Still, Hoyle had a point. This was the only way.

Curtis nodded his approval. I waved him off so I could make the call to the other half of the MSOT. "Frogger-2, Frogger-Actual, how do you read me?"

A second later, a familiar, charming twang came buzzing through the line. "Readin' you loud n' clear, Franky boy. What's the sitch?"

No comms discipline. Typical. A guy fights his whole career to become a big damned operator and suddenly forgets how to use a radio. No, he didn't forget. Not my lieutenant. He just thought he was too talented to follow the rules. "Rendezvous at point Juliett 1-2-4."

"Want us to bring the car around, boss?"

Hoyle rolled his eyes at me as I fought not to chuck my radio into the nearest tree. "Yes, Billy, I want you to 'bring the car around.' I need to transfer Frogger-4 to your element. Make room for a casualty."

"Oh." Billy's smile audibly died on the other end. "Who is it?"

"Frogger-3's down. We'll have him bagged before you get here."

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Roman>

At one time I made these post summaries and this spreadsheet, but admittedly working on them did slow my pace reading the IC by a lot.

@DocTachyon

It was super helpful, though! I remember going back through the spreadsheet a few times to check what characters were claimed.