Point and Shoot

October 18, 2018:

Three weeks after he fell through a portal, Michael Carter falls back out. It's either luck or fate he comes across someone who knows him.

East Harlem

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\ None.]


Fade In…

It's been three weeks since Michael Carter stepped backward on the Brooklyn Bridge and fell into another dimension. To him, it's only felt like a few hours, but demon dimensions are funny places. The side street in Harlem is home to a great butcher shop, and apparently also, dimensional portals.

One opens with a sputter of electricity and a finger of energy across the sky. A figure tumbles out, controls the roll and somehow manages to land, crouched, dusty, and smelling of brimstone. He's in full body armor and holding a semiautomatic. There are SHIELD patches on his shoulders and a wild look in his eyes.

*

Walking along, calmly smoking a cigarette and holding a paper grocery bag with imported cheese and fresh bread in it, some good meat…with one arm. Dressed simply, pair of dark jeans….light grey sweater and a black leather coat, his hair pulled back in a loose man bun, his backpack/satchel slung over a shoulder as he saunters along, cigarette dangling from his lips.

Then….all of a sudden….there is a portal and a figure falls out and he stumbles back a few few, Emery shielding his eyes from the brightness of the electricity before he blinks a few times.

*

The figure's movements are very much that of a soldier. There's a sweeping gaze around the area, weapon up. The radio on his shoulder crackles and pops, and a voice half enters. That's when he does something rather strange. He tugs off the radio and cracks it under his heel until the radio sparks and whines into silence. And then he starts to move, away from Emery and down the street, weapon up.

*

Emery blinks several times, taking a deep breath as he kneels down to set down the paper bag as he studies that figure…that familiar shape. When the figure turns around he activates his ass oggling identification system and his lips part as he raises his voice. "Oi! Soldier boyo. Are ye okay?" His hand goes to the small of his back to rest lightly against the weapon hosltered there.

*

There's the threatening sound of a weapon being loaded for bear as Michael swings it back around to point squarely at Emery. Michael moves forward into a slice of light that illuminates part of his face. His eyes are at once wild and also focused, and tinged with something.

"Emmett?" he says, having forgotten, it seems, the correction he was given the last time they met.

*

"Fuck…" Emery swears softly when his identification system proves to be failproof again and he has already drawn his weapon, the glock to aim in return at Michael, just in case when he hears the weapon loaded to bear. He does not even correct him as he lets the cigarette fall from between his lips. "Aye Angel Eyes, Its me….darlin' can ye lower your weapon? Let me know what you are fightin'? Easy now…"

*

"The streets are full of…creatures." Michael is not usually someone to hesitate, and he tends to be smooth and confident even in difficult situations. But something about him just seems a little off. For one, his finger is itching a little too close to that trigger. The barrel dips slightly at the other man's words, but with his reflexes, that doesn't mean much.

*

"Yep. Everything is fucking apocalyptic luv, but I need ye to tell me that ye recognize me as a friendly. Did ye need backup?" Emery replies softly as he keeps his eyes on that weapon, tongue darting to swipe over his bottom lip. His own weapon has lowered just a tad.

*

Kill anyone who tries to stop you.

The words of the dark woman ring in Michael's ears. He is trained to resist psychic intrusion, coercion, torture. But his training did not cover resisting the geas of a demon queen.

His facial muscles tic, his pupils dialate. He huffs once, then lifts the barrel and pulls the trigger. The bullet has barely left the barrel before he's darting. And fortunately for Emery - considering the spy has enhanced reflexes a cybernetic eye that helps with aiming - he aimed at the air above the Irishman's head.

The curse lain upon him doesn't seem to know which way to push him when someone presents an uncertain threat to his singleminded mission. It allows him a moment of fight.

*

That shot goes off over his head and Emery's shoulder drops as the world around him slows down and his mind does the math needed to spin around and fire off four shots, he had already marked where he would aim as Michael darts past. Both elbows and both knees before he swears softly and calls out. "Michael! For fucks sake…" And he darts after the man.

*

Two of the shots find their targets, but it doesn't seem to make a difference. Michael keeps moving and there's no blood dappling the ground. He's fast, faster than he should be, especially weighed down with the gear as he is.

He rounds the corner at a dead run, but he spins around just after disappeaering from view. He's aiming to clock Emery in the jaw with the butt of the rifle with enough force to knock him backwards.

*

Emery slows to a stop when he loses sight of Michael, he is not using his enhanced speed as much as he is trying to let years of training seep back in as he tracks his prey and he takes a deep breath to turn that corner, preemptively turning it at a crouch, before he looks up and swears at seeing the butt of the gun and is just really trying to take the blow so he can tackle his old friend.

*

The brunt of the blow is carefully considered. Michael has enough strength to easily jam the nasal cavity up into the skull of an ordinary man. But it's more meant to incapacitate rather than seriously injure. He swings the rifle around and points it at Emery's head, his eyes wilder now and unfocused. Cold sweat snakes down his face. "Stay out of my way. I have orders."

*

Emery will have a hella bruise but he is just staring at Michael rather intently before he just slowly kneels down to place his hands on his head, after setting his pistol down on the ground. "Alright, but you and me aye? We have always had a bit of fun before orders right? Biscuits and jam? Can ye tell me what your orders are?"

*

Michael's body posture is powerful and steady. There's not a thing that could be corrected by any expert in the world about his stance or the way he holds his weapon. But that's all muscle memory. The cracks show in his expression. The conflict. The subtle war. "To kill anyone who gets in my way. Are you in my way?" He asks that as a real question rather than a threat. Is he? He doesn't know.

*

Emery shakes his head. "Those are your standing orders, what is your mission soldier?" He lets that voice slip from Irish to British officer smoothly as he keeps his hands up. "Not in your way, never in your way. Just want to help however I can. Rememebr my unit is here to support your own…"

*

"I'm not having war flashbacks. For fuck's sake. I know where I am." Some of the real Michael comes out in that dry British irritation. "Though I suppose you can be forgiven for thinking otherwise." He keeps the weapon pointed squarely at Emery's chest. "I'm going to go, because I'd rather not kill you. If you follow me, I may not have a choice. Do you understand?" Funny, he doesn't sound like he totally understands it. He backs up slowly.

*

Emery just quirks an eyebrow slowly at the response. "Well the excuse the fuck outta me for not knowing what the fresh hell is going on." He drawls softly before taking a deep breath. "I am going to find ye. Do ye understand, if I let ye go tonight..ai am going to find ye…I am not going to lose ye again to the insanity of war.

*

The chuckle is dry and perhaps disconcerting. "I've never been saved from the insanity of war. The war just keeps changing shape." As Michael starts to act more like himself, the curse works its way deeper, as if it's physically pulling his attention away from Emery and on to his commanded task.

He shakes his head once and his hand flexes in a movement that is threatening when he doesn't mean it to be. "Stay back. I don't think you understand how good I am with this." He's close enough to show holes in his clothing at the elbow and knee, right where the bullets hit. And yet, there is no blood and he doesn't seem to be injured in any way.

Slowly, he backs away.

*

Emery hmms softly as he takes stock of the situation and nods slowly. "We are always at war. But I will not lose ye again." He promises softly before nodding slowly and then offering carefully. "I will find you." He lets his eyes glow slightly, for a brief moment.

*

It takes all of Michael's willpower to not let the curse define Emery as a threat against his mission. He actually starts to squeeze before he forces himself to back off. He walks backwards for a few steps, weapon up and pointed squarely at the other. And then, without ever turning his back on the Irishman, he disappears around the corner.

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