2. Fourteen

Chapter 2

Fourteen

A gent Fourteen was having a night. He no longer had good nights or bad nights. They all blended together at this point. Everything that happened to him rolled off his mind like it was made of a hard, rubbery substance. He could still feel, but what he felt no longer mattered to him, as if it were happening to another person.

Nothing was wrong with his mind, though. No matter what they had done to him, his mind was as agile as ever. It was what made him such an asset to The Company. No morals and a quick mind—how many times had he heard that? Usually, right before a mission they'd have to make him forget.

He rubbed the scar on his left hand absently. One day he'd woken up, and it was just there without any explanation.

There had been something inside him once. He didn't know what, but there was a hole that had been empty for so long that he didn't notice it anymore. Thinking about it made his stomach roll, so he'd stopped that train of thought long ago.

What Agent Fourteen was thinking right now was that his handlers were idiots.

Only they would think of scheduling an assassination with the intended target. They claimed to have wanted a meeting beforehand to get intel, but Fourteen knew the truth. They'd wanted to gloat. Unfortunately for them, it turned out the target wasn't as stupid as Steve and Frank had hoped and had brought snipers of his own.

Fourteen had managed to eliminate the target because he knew how to do his fucking job, unlike the two rapidly cooling meat suits who used to be his handlers. There was still the small matter of being currently pinned down by gunfire behind a trash bin, but it was manageable. He was nothing if not creative.

As he was weighing his options, a small body came barreling toward him, nearly landing in his lap. His knife was at the person's throat before he even considered the action.

"Sorry, I didn't realize this hiding spot was taken." The soft voice was at odds with the situation. Paying no attention to the knife, the person looked around, possibly searching for a less-populated part of the alley.

"Are you with the smugglers?" Fourteen asked slowly, not relaxing his grip on the knife.

"The only thing I'm smuggling right now is me."

There was just enough light for him to see the person crane their neck and survey their surroundings. Fourteen was used to being ignored. It was something he usually cultivated, but, at the moment, he found it irritating.

He was fairly certain the tiny, hooded figure crouched next to him was not part of the mission, just a random child in the wrong place. In his line of work, fairly certain wasn't good enough, but he didn't hold weapons on children. He tucked the knife back into his jacket.

Fourteen gestured with his gun hand to the dead bodies littering the alley. "Go smuggle yourself somewhere else. This is no place for a kid."

The moon came out from behind a cloud, throwing the bloodstained corpses into sharp relief.

Fourteen could tell when the kid's eyes landed on the heap of bodies two yards in front of them because they let out a squeak and hastily scooted backward until they hit the wall next to him. The movement knocked the child's hood free of their head, allowing a shower of long, baby-white hair to cascade past an androgynous face.

"You're right, I should probably go." The kid pulled their hood back up, stuffed their hair inside, and made to stand up, but Fourteen knocked their legs out from under them with the butt of his rifle just in time to keep the kid's head from getting blown off by a flurry of renewed gunfire.

"For fuck's sake! Stay low," Fourteen snapped and returned fire with more gusto than he usually did—children didn't belong on the battlefield regardless of what The Company thought.

"Sorry! Sorry." Sprawled out on the asphalt, the kid struggled to pull themself back to a crouching position.

"This isn't part of the mission. This isn't what I do," he muttered to himself.

"What isn't your job?"

"Keeping people alive." Fourteen's hand gripped his rifle tightly, and he wondered why he had even bothered to knock the kid out of harm's way. If he'd done nothing, they would be dead, and he would be free to complete protocol and present himself for debriefing.

"Oh. That's okay. I wasn't asking you to." The kid made as if to creep off in the opposite direction they had come from.

Again Fourteen stopped them with the butt of his rifle. "Not that way, idiot. That's where the bullets are coming from."

"True," they conceded. "But it's also where my pursuers aren't coming from, so I'm going that way."

In the patchy darkness, Fourteen could see the kid's shoulders shaking, but from their tone of voice, they could have been telling him directions to the post office. They were an odd little thing.

He looked them over, squinting at their bare, most likely battered feet, and he felt something flutter against the icy prison around his soul. He didn't know why he was even considering this. He should just leave them here. On the other hand, they were small enough to fit in his equipment bag. If Fourteen took out the rest of the C4, it was possible he wouldn't notice the difference.

"Do you mind?" The kid poked the gun blocking his way. "I really don't want to involve you in this. It would be better for you if they don't notice you." They'd had to raise their voice to be heard over the increased gunfire peppering the trash bin in front of them. The members of the cartel were getting impatient, and if Fourteen didn't do something soon, they would come to him.

Fourteen threw a grenade in the direction of the gunfire. He waited for the screams to die before he said, "You're worried about me." It was a statement, not a question.

It was a first for him—someone worrying over his welfare. The fluttering grew stronger, but he continued to push it back. Sentiment was useless baggage in a fight, and he'd had it beaten out of him long ago. Every now and then, a whisper of his former self piped up, but he would crush it as soon as it showed up. He had neither the time nor the desire to feel. But that didn't explain why he was planning to go off-book to rescue a helpless civilian.

"Here." Fourteen threw his equipment bag at the kid, and it knocked them against the wall. The muffled curse the kid let out was more masculine than Fourteen was expecting. Were they a him?

They struggled under the weight of the bag as it threatened to put them on their ass. Enormous eyes peeked over the bag in hurt surprise. "What was that for?"

"You carry that, so I can keep my hands free. When I say run, you run back the way you came. I'll cover us." Fourteen hefted his rifle.

"I already told you?—"

"Run!" Fourteen rose, grabbed a handful of the kid's hoodie, and yanked them to their feet. When the kid didn't respond, he flung them back down the alley and then pressed the detonator in his pocket.

The abandoned warehouse exploded, showering everything in flaming debris. It should be all the distraction he would need to retrieve what he needed and shepherd the kid to safety. Then he would ditch them at the nearest bus station.

Fourteen darted out to the bodies of his handlers and rifled through Steve's pockets until he found what he was looking for. When he turned and saw the kid standing where he left them, he growled, "Move!"

The kid took off like a frightened—if overburdened—bunny in the proper direction, but Fourteen had to keep shoving at the bag slung over their shoulder to keep them moving. At one point he considered hoisting the kid and the bag over his shoulder, but when they turned onto the next street they found a renewed interest in running. The kid was still going too slow for Fourteen's liking, though.

Fourteen pulled the bag out of the kid's arms so it wouldn't weigh them down, and he ran down the sidewalk with them side by side, their pace matching, all hesitance gone. Fourteen thought he might have to help them, considering the state of the kid's feet, but they kept up.

Fourteen was glad he didn't have to carry them. He hated touching people. Random touches always felt like such a violation to him, and it was his one small rebellion against The Company. They controlled all aspects of his life, but he chose when and how he was touched. It was common knowledge in Storage that the last person to clap him on the back had gotten their arm broken in three places.

Fourteen waited until the kid began to stagger and gasp before he searched for a suitable hiding spot to allow them to catch their breath. When he spotted a partially burned-out building tucked in between the shadows of two larger buildings, he said, "This way."

After making a quick circuit of the old two-story house, he decided to set up their rest stop inside the boarded-up porch. He chose it because it had enough broken boards in it for him to see out of, but it was too dark for anyone to see into—well, anyone but him. His enhancements gave him a leg up in the senses department.

Which was handy. Fourteen's enhanced vision let him know the whole place was so shabby and cluttered that, if anyone tried to sneak in through the back, he was sure to hear them long before they got close—if the house didn't fall in on them all first, that is.

He pried a board away from the screen door, dislodging a tattered sign announcing the building was scheduled for demolition, and ushered the kid inside. After one final look around to make sure they weren't being tailed, he followed them into the dim interior of the porch.

A squatter must have called the porch home at some point—it was filled with old garbage and the occasional skittering creature. The kid didn't complain about their accommodations, nor did they look around for a comfortable—or even less disgusting—place to sit. Instead, they collapsed to the floor, shaking with exhaustion.

How long had the kid been running before they found Fourteen? Together, they'd run a fair distance, but they were acting like they'd just finished a marathon. He couldn't make out much in the scant light, but what Fourteen had seen of the kid so far made him think they were underfed.

They were probably a runaway. The sooner he got them back to their family the better.

"Listen, kid. I'm sorry you got caught up in that mess back there, but I think the worst of it is behind us. I'll let you rest for a few more minutes, and then I'll get you to a bus stop. Get you a ticket back to your folks so they can take care of you." It didn't sound right as he said it, but there was nothing more for Fourteen to do here. He was way out of his element, and he wasn't a nanny.

The kid let out a harsh laugh that was completely at odds with their small body, and Fourteen had a strong feeling they were likely to be a he. "Sure, they'll take care of me. They'll take care of me so well that no one will ever hear from me again." They shifted in the garbage and pulled a tin can out from under their backside, trying to get more comfortable. "I appreciate what you've done, but we should part ways here. You need to get out of here before they find us."

"You don't need to worry about the cartel. Most of them were killed in the explosion, and the rest are probably more interested in vanishing before the police show up than they are in finding us."

The odd look on the kid's face made Fourteen think he was missing crucial intel on his current situation. He realized he hadn't been listening to the kid up to now because he'd been so fixated on getting them to safety. What had they been running from?

"I'm not worried about your enemies," The kid said. "Whoever they are, they have nothing on my family." They propped their elbows on delicate knees and cradled their head by fisting handfuls of hair on either side. "Listen, you really need to get out of here, mister. So do I, for that matter, but we need to go in opposite directions. It won't take them long to find me, even though your explosion was a really good distraction. Thanks for that, by the way."

The fluttering Fourteen felt in his chest earlier was getting stronger. Before, it had been like a butterfly. Now it was more like a large bird beating its wings against a cage, but instead of trying to get out, it was trying to get in. "Kid—" he began.

"I'm not a kid," they interrupted. "According to society, I've been a man for more than a year."

Well. That answered that question.

"Sure, kid. Whoever is after you hasn't met someone like me. I'm not exactly off the clock right now, but I can give you a hand for long enough to get you somewhere safe. Where do you want to go?"

Fourteen had no idea where this was coming from. He wasn't this chatty, and he never took on side projects. He worked the job and got paid. Unless he had wounds that needed time to heal, he would move on to the next mission.

He liked to keep busy, anything to keep him out of Storage. This situation was new to him, and he didn't like new. It shouldn't be difficult, though—there wasn't much chance a kid could be in enough trouble to tax his skills.

The real challenge would be going dark on The Company for a few hours. They were going to want to debrief him soon.

A jagged, broken space in his mind flared to life, reminding him exactly what it felt like to have The Company unhappy with him. Rather than heed the warning, he allowed the desensitization training he'd received to force the space to vanish.

He could take whatever they came up with. Whatever The Company did wouldn't actually damage him. The services he rendered to The Company were valuable enough that they wouldn't want to keep him off active duty. No, the worst thing they would do to him would be to send him in for retraining.

Fourteen managed to contain the shudder that tried to ripple through him at the thought.

"I know you want to help, and I appreciate it. It's super nice of you, but really, you need to go." The boy stood up slowly, as if testing his legs. Fourteen assumed they held firm since he didn't fall back down. "It's been nice meeting you under the circumstances."

Nice? Fourteen watched the kid make his way off the porch, not offering to help when his hair snagged on a nail. Instead, Fourteen observed quietly as he fought his way free and stumbled down the steps into the night. Fourteen didn't do nice; he didn't know what nice was.

He gave the boy sixty seconds and followed him.

The boy continued in the direction they had been running, but instead of choosing deserted streets as an amateur might, he chose streets with people on them. He did his best to stick to populated areas, but eventually, he trudged down a dark street with no signs of life, his heavy steps showing his reluctance. He moved with extreme caution, forcing Fourteen to stay well behind him to remain unseen.

If Fourteen had been closer, he might have mistaken what happened for an explosion, but, from a distance, it was obvious to him that it was something completely outside his expertise.

It was as if all the shadows had peeled away from between two buildings and jumped at the boy. He sensed it at the last minute and hit the ground rolling, landing between two parked cars. When the shadows hit the wall next to where he had been walking, the brick exploded and dust billowed out, covering the street and bringing visibility down to nothing.

Fourteen darted into the cloud and aimed for the cars the boy had tucked himself between. On a whim, he went around to the other side of the cars and found the boy crawling on his hands and knees, directionless and coughing hard enough to break a rib.

He bent over the boy, ready to scoop him up and run, when he saw a hole appear in midair. It floated toward them slowly, its edges shimmering in the dust and gloom. In its center, he could just make out something resembling a glowing ball, but instead of creating light, the ball seemed to be stealing it from its surroundings. When its antiglow intensified, he instinctively jumped between the boy and the mysterious hole, taking the blast himself.

A crackling distortion streaked through the air, flowing around and over him, but it hovered several feet away from his body. Then, as though it had decided to give up, it swirled up and away, dissipating into nothingness.

The boy behind Fourteen was still gasping and choking, but he managed a strangled, "What . . . are you doing?" and something that sounded like, "Get out of here?—"

He gave the boy a dirty look he probably couldn't see and glanced back at the hole and its glorified raver toy. He couldn't tell if the attack had done what it was supposed to do or not, but he didn't plan to see what would happen if he got hit with it again. He pulled out his SIG P220, fired six shots at the center of the hole, and heard a very human yelp of pain. The hole closed abruptly with a sharp shriek reminiscent of metal on metal.

Silence fell around him, and the senses that had gotten him through many dangerous missions told him he and the boy were alone. Only two heartbeats sounded on the dark street, so they were probably safe.

Though after what he had just seen, anything was possible. And relying on probably safe tended to get people killed. He needed to question the boy somewhere less exposed to find out what the hell Fourteen had gotten himself into.

The boy was slowly pulling himself up, using the car beside him as leverage. "I don't know if it was just him, but if it was, you've bought us a little time. Let's go." He turned and made it two steps before collapsing like a broken puppet. As shaky as the kid had been, it came as no surprise to Fourteen that he'd reached the end of his resources.

Steeling himself, he reached down to check the boy's pulse. When skin brushed skin, he was engulfed with the sense-memory of sunshine on clean cotton. It made him think of bright, blue skies and wispy clouds. Made him think of… Mom?

Before he could cling to the forgotten memory, he was swept into another memory. He was high in the air and felt like he was flying. His small hand reached forward to steady himself, and it met his father's head. Together they ran down a hill at breakneck speed, but instead of being afraid, Fourteen felt safe and confident. As long as his father was around, nothing bad could happen to him. They were a team.

Peace stole over Fourteen's body, temporarily rendering him insensate to the outside world.

If an attack came now, he would be defenseless, but in that moment, he didn't care. Walls that had taken years to forge through unbearable pain and anger had vanished. More suffering than most people saw in a lifetime had gone into building his barriers. And now they were gone.

He snatched his hand away from the boy's skin, and the sensation disappeared. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the boy's cheek. It felt like his entire body had been plunged into warm sunshine after being cold for far too long.

It burned.

He wanted more.

Who was this boy?