A Simple Train Ride - Part 3

John was fuming. Heart beating in his throat. Every muscle in his body ready to tear someone apart.

And yet... Hawk was right.

As the adrenaline slowed, John could see some of the red in Hawk’s hair wasn’t the natural Irish orange. It was darker. Wetter.

"You alright?" John asked, pointing at Hawk’s head.

Hawk blinked, confused for half a second, then reached up and touched the spot. Feeling the deep wet part, he didn’t wince but looked at the blood drip on his hand. He shrugged and whipped it off on his shirt.

"Oh, this?" he said casually. "Yeah, well... got into a little scuffle. Disney fan."

John stared at him. "Disney? The guy in the shirt at the train station!”

“Yeah. At the station. Saw a guy following you. Mickey Mouse shirt, way too close. None of the people who I thought were going to be there showed up. Just a bunch of low level people. Knew

something was up. Couldn't break cover, though. Protocol. Sorry about that."

"It’s fine," John said. "And... thanks."

"No problem," Hawk said nonchalantly. "It’s what I do."

Before John could answer, new movement caught his eye.

More goons at the far end of the car in black tracksuits. Guns out.

John tensed. This wasn’t going to be over anytime soon.

"What’s your name anyway?" John asked quickly, checking his gun.

"My name’s Agent Hawk," Hawk said.

"I know that," John snapped. "I mean, I don’t wanna yell out 'Hawk! Hawk!' like a dumbass in a gunfight. You got a real name?"

"None of your business. It’s not necessary for you to know that for the mission."

John rolled his eyes. “What a stickler…” John muttered under his breath.

No time to argue. The goons entered the car, spotted their fallen buddies, and started yelling, pointing, shouting orders.

"We should move." said Hawk.

"Couldn’t agree more."

Then—

One of the goons grabbed a woman. Yanked her up and pointed a gun to her head. It made no sense, but he guessed he was asking her what happened.

"Hey!" John shouted. "Let her go!"

The others snapped their heads to them. They charged straight at John and Hawk.

Hawk grabbed John by the shoulder, yanking him back. "We gotta go. Now!"

John slapped his hand away. "We can’t just leave her!"

"She is not the mission!"

"Screw the mission," John said, "It's already a bust."

John sprinted towards them. Hawk sucked his teeth and followed behind. He'd fought these types of guys way too many times before. His brother liked to work with street guys who’s fighting just came from random street brawls. Their moves were basic but they used their strength and speed to make up for it.

Two of them came after Hawk and one came directly to John.

FOCUS buzzed in his mind.

<<<>>>

[Talent: Underworld Legacy increases skill 3: Combat when encountering familiar hostiles]
[Combat Skill: Synchronizing for temp Upgrade]
[Combat Skill Level: 1 ➔ 3]

<<<>>>

Suddenly the world changed.

John charged forward. The chaos of the car slowed. Every detail sharpened. His brain caught fire with speed.

It wasn’t just faster reaction time anymore.

It was a premonition.

The first goon raised his right fist for a wild haymaker.

FOCUS projected a red hologram overlay across the guy’s arm. It gave all the angles for the arm to swing. It highlighted its intended path. John moved before the punch even started, bringing his left arm up and blocking cleanly.

The goon reeled, surprised.

FOCUS highlighted the next attack. The man’s left hand came in low.

John parried it with brutal efficiency.

<<<>>>

[Underworld Legacy: Criminal Experience Detected]
[Analyzing opponent body language…]

<<<>>>

A new highlight flashed around the goon’s shin and ankle.

<<<>>>

[Concealed Weapon Likely Detected.]

[Recommendation: Disable lower body target.]

<<<>>>

John immediately stomped down hard on the side of the goon’s ankle.

CRACK!

Another gun clattered free onto the floor, sliding under a nearby seat.

The goon screamed as the holster was ripped clean off his body with the force of the kick.

Before John could follow up, Agent Hawk blurred appeared behind him wielding a dinner plate like a weapon and smashed it across the goon's face.

Ceramic shards exploded everywhere in his face. The goon fell hard.

John and Hawk landed side by side, both breathing hard, hands up.

"Fine," Hawk grunted, wiping blood off his lip. "If we’re gonna do this... let’s finish it fast."

"No, I was planning to go all day," said John.

No time to rest.

Another goon charged at them.

John ducked low, but still took a hard punch to the gut. The air left his lungs in a grunt.

Hawk swung at the thug with a brutal cross-hook, catching him clean in the jaw.

The next guy was bigger. Much bigger.

The giant thug tanked the punch like it was nothing. No reaction. No grunt.

Then he grabbed Hawk by the face—one massive ogre sized hand engulfing it—and hurled him across the train car like a sack of laundry.

"Ahhh—!" Hawk yelled midair before slamming into a cowering civilian.

John turned, but the giant was already there, swinging down in a hammering arc.

John dodged sideways. His FOCUS highlighted the path of the blow in bright red lines. He threw a punch straight at the thug’s elbow joint.

WHAM!

Pain shot through John’s fist.

Damn, that stings!

The FOCUS had boosted his speed, not his strength. He might have been faster, but hitting this mountain of a man was like punching concrete.

The goon laughed and swung again.

This time he caught John clean across the chest, slamming him back into the window hard enough to rattle the frame.

Glass cracked. John’s head whiplashed.

The thug pressed a forearm across John's neck, pinning him, and pulled a knife.

"I’m gonna carve you up nice and pretty," the thug hissed.

“Why do people say that?” John asked through a stiff throat, “It’s so weird.”

The knife inched closer.

John caught the man's wrist with both hands, holding him back but his grip was slipping fast.

Too strong. Too heavy.

<<<>>>

[Weakness Detected: Nose, Dominant Hand.]

<<<>>>

John twisted sharply to the left, angling the thug’s hand, and then snapped his forehead forward in a savage headbutt.

CRUNCH!

The goon staggered, blood pouring from his smashed nose, howling in agony.

John coiled and jumped, planting both feet square into the thug’s chest.

The giant flew backward like a wrecking ball, crashing into another window with a heavy crack!

John hit the ground hard, rolling to his knees.

At the far end of the car, the last thug, the one still holding the hostage, yanked his pistol into her temple.

John grabbed the nearest plate, instincts firing.

FOCUS snapped a highlight around the goon's forehead.

<<<>>>

[Target Locked]

<<<>>>

John twisted his body, ready to whip the plate like a frisbee.

SMASH!

Pain exploded in his hand.

The big thug, bloody but not done, had stomped down hard on John’s hand.

"Aaagh!" John shouted, agony ripping up his arm.

The thug yanked him off the ground and hurled him straight up into the roof of the car.

John’s back hit hard on the whole ceiling. Firecrackers went off in his spine before he collapsed, slamming down into an empty seat in a heap.

Lights danced in his vision. Everything blurred.

Then Agent Hawk appeared out of nowhere, leaping onto the giant’s back, locking an arm around his throat.

"Go!" Hawk barked, straining. "I’ve got this guy!"

The giant staggered, slamming Hawk against the walls, trying to throw him off, roaring in frustration. John gritted his teeth, forcing his battered body to move.

He sprinted for the last goon with the hostage.

The man turned, eyes wide.

Gun still pointed at the woman's head. The gunman pressed the barrel into the woman’s face.

"Don’t fucking move," he snarled. "I'll blow her head off, swear to God."

John froze, but not because he was scared.

Because he knew exactly what was coming.

He could see it in the thug’s eyes—the twitchy nerves, the way he leaned in. It wasn’t a threat. It was a guarantee. A fake-out routine his family’s low-level soldiers used all the time. They would take a hostage, get you to drop your weapon and then shoot you and the defenceless witness.

He was going to pull that trigger no matter what.

She was dead the second she was in his hands. He needed a brief moment of his attention. John grabbed a piece of clothing that had fallen on the floor and tossed it into the air. It caught the goon’s eye for just long enough for John to pull out his gun.

John aimed and squeezed the trigger.

POW!

The bullet tore into the thug’s neck , snapping him sideways. His body crumpled like a dropped marionette.

John was already moving, sprinting to the hostage.

"You okay?" he asked.

The woman sobbed but nodded, pointing frantically to the side. "My family," she gasped. Her accent was thick and British. "Please—my kids!"

John spotted them huddled together. A man clutching two small children, wide-eyed and terrified. John grabbed her hand, pulled her to her feet, and shoved open the rear door.

"Move it! Go!" he yelled.

They bolted. The husband scooped the kids up, sprinting through the car. The woman followed, barely keeping pace. "Thank you! I won’t forget this! If you’re ever in Ireland, I’ll buy you a beer!" the man shouted back as they disappeared into the next train car.

John stood there for half a second, breathing hard.

Something stirred in his chest—something dangerous.

Pride. Satisfaction.

The rush. The rush of diving head first into a life or death situation and coming out on top. He hadn’t done it in so long.

It felt... good. If he was honest he missed it all. The smell of gunpowder, the blood in his mouth, the conquering of an enemy. It felt like home. Reminded him of when he still loved coming from a mafia family.

And that scared him more than anything. That’s why he had been trying to run. But now that he had been pushed to this, he wondered if the genie would go back in the bottle.

Then-

WHAM!

Something slammed into John’s back like a wrecking ball, knocking him sprawling.

To be more accurate, it was Agent Hawk. His full body collided into John's spine as they both crashed to the floor like pins.

John rolled onto his back.

Above him was the giant goon.

Still standing. Still grinning.

A dinner fork was jammed into his eye socket, blood leaking down his cheek, but somehow—he was still coming.

John groaned. "You couldn’t fully blind him?"

"Not really the time for jokes," said Hawk, staggering to his feet.

The goon ripped the fork out of his eye with a wet squelch, laughing low and dark.

He cracked his knuckles. His smile widened.

This guy wasn’t just tough.

He was insane.

"You got bullets?" Hawk hissed.

"I think so," John said.

"You think? Or you know?"

"Let’s find out."

He raised his gun.

Click.

Empty.

"Yep," John muttered. "That's out."

Hawk grunted. "Alright. You carry yourself pretty well for a desk jockey. You know anything about a two-on-one?"

"You mean jumping somebody?" John said, wiping blood off his mouth.

"Exactly."

John cracked his neck. "Yeah, that I can do."

"I’ll go high," John said.

"I’ll go low."

They moved at once.

John sprinted forward, veering off to the side and leaping off a seat.

He tackled the big thug from above, slamming into his shoulders hard.

The goon stumbled backward, roaring.

Hawk dove low, wrapping up the thug’s legs.

The goon, enraged, grabbed John by the throat, both hands squeezing with brutal strength.

John gasped, his windpipe crushed in a hydraulic press of flesh and bone.

His vision blurred. Black spots flickered at the edges.

John punched him. Once. Twice. A third time.

No good. The monster didn’t even flinch.

Hawk was clinging to the legs, stopping him from moving, but he wasn’t stopping the grip.

Then something deep inside John snapped loose.

A savage, primal instinct.

John cupped his hands and slammed his palms into the thug’s already broken nose, crunching the cartilage further.

The goon grunted, grip loosening slightly.

It was enough to give him a deep breath.

John shoved two fingers straight into the thug’s eyes—deep.

The thug howled in agony and finally released him. John rolled off him, coughing, chest heaving.

Hawk didn’t miss the opportunity and was quick to let go of his legs. He jumped and elbow dropped on his neck.

As the goon wrapped his hands around his newly broken windpipe, Hawk pulled a fresh magazine from his jacket, slammed it into his pistol, and fired twice.

BANG! BANG!

The giant went limp and collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud.

John stood there, staring down at his blood-soaked shoes.

It wasn’t the death that shook him.

He’d seen bodies before. He’d caused plenty.

It was the feeling twisting in his chest.

Adrenaline. Fire. Thrill.

For the first time in a long time, John felt alive.

Agent Hawk jogged up and clapped John on the shoulder.

"Good takedown," Hawk said, voice low and steady. "Now let’s get the hell outta here."

"Yeah," John muttered, adrenaline still buzzing through his veins.

They sprinted toward the front of the train.

"Where exactly are we going?" John asked.

"Engine room," Hawk said while keeping a look out for any more surprises. "Once we lock it down, we can ride it out till the next station. Safe and sealed."

"Smart."

They crashed into the next car and thankfully, it was not another dining area. Just rows of empty seats. Civilian passengers long gone. Evacuated or hiding.

For the first time in what felt like hours, they slowed to catch a breath.

John wiped blood and sweat off his forehead.

"I don't get it," said Hawk, “This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"I did everything right. The plan, the contacts... and somehow it still blew up in our faces."

John snorted. "Yeah, I might know why."

Hawk looked at him sharply.

"There’s this woman," John said. "Name’s Mango. She’s trying to kill me. And... she tipped them off."

Hawk starred in deadpan shock. "You’re shitting me."

"I wish. She was supposed to be dead."

"Yeah, funny thing about that. Unless you see the corpse, they usually aren't. Field Rule #3: If you don’t watch the life drain out of their eyes, assume they'll come back to bite you."

"Noted," John said grimly. “What’s the first two?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you when we survive this train.”

They kept moving, weaving between seats.

"How’d you even know what the hit squad would look like?" John asked.

"My talent," Hawk said casually.

"Talent? What talent?"

"My FOCUS," Hawk said. "Talent: Total Recall."

John raised an eyebrow. "Meaning...?"

"I remember everything," Hawk said with a smirk. "Names, faces, movements, data. Perfect memory. Once seen, never forgotten. I know what his posey looks like, I just didn’t know which one was the leader. I also don’t know all of their names just yet."

"Remind me never to tell you my social security number."

"I’ll try and remember that."

Before John could shoot back, the train car exploded with fresh gunfire.

BRRRRRRRRRT!

Rounds ripped through the walls. Windows shattered.

Both men hit the floor instantly, rolling for cover.

"It’s that goddamn helicopter again!" Hawk yelled over the chaos.

"They're here for me," John shouted back. "And maybe for Mango too."

"Who’s Mango?!" Hawk barked.

"She’s working for my brother," John yelled, keeping his head low. "She was hired to kill me!"

"Your family needs serious counseling!”

John peeked up, heart racing.

The chopper hovered outside, gunner unloading bursts straight into the train.

"I might have an idea," Hawk shouted. "But I need a distraction!"

John's brain fired fast with different possibilities. Then one stuck.

"They're focused on me, right? I’ll distract them and you go do what you need!"

"You’re not a field agent! You’re supposed to point and hide, not get Swiss-cheesed!"

"Yeah, well, it’s a little late for protocols."

He thought fast—as fast as you can while bullets tear the world apart. Hawk gritted his teeth, nodded. "Buy me three minutes."

"You better not die! I'm putting my life in your hands."

"Right back at cha," Hawk said.

The gunfire paused. Small break.

John took the opportunity and bolted up and sprinted across the car.

The second he pushed through the next door, bullets tore into the frame around him.

He flung himself sideways, crashing into the wall and ended up hanging half-out the open side of the train.

Great, John thought. Hanging off the damn train again. FOCUS! Any suggestions?

<<<>>>

[You currently have no gadgets capable of neutralizing an airborne assault vehicle.]

[You currently possess no active skills or talents that can directly counter a helicopter.]

<<<>>>

Fantastic, so basically you're useless right now.

<<<>>>

[Correct.]

<<<>>>

‘Greatest weapon’ my ass!

John yanked himself up hard, muscles screaming, and threw himself onto the top of the train.

The helicopter rose alongside him, blades slicing the air. The gunner was fumbling, trying to reload the semi-auto mounted on the side.

John sprinted along the roof.

If I’m lucky, I can make it to the next car before they reload.

He kept his head low, legs pumping. If he kept moving they would have to focus on trying to catch up with him.

The train veered closer to a cliffside.

No more grass. No more rocks.

Now it was a thousand-foot drop into angry, churning waves below.

Then the next thing he knew, he was face down on top of the train. He fell face-first onto the unforgiving metal roof. The impact rattled his jaw, stunned his brain.

"What the hell—" John said, clutching his chin.

He looked back and saw Mango crawling out of an emergency hatch, one hand latched onto his ankle, the other holding a knife.

"You really think you’re getting away from me that easily?!" she screamed over the roar of the wind.

She raised the blade, aiming for his shin.

John jerked his leg back, just barely dodging the stab.

This was the first time in his life where

"No way you’re here right now, messing things up, again! Are you serious?" John barked. "What are you, the Terminator?”

He kicked free, scrambled upright, and took off running again. Mango hauled herself fully onto the roof and chased him without missing a beat.

She flung a knife but the high-speed wind knocked it off course instantly, sending it spinning harmlessly away.

John didn’t need to look back.

He could hear her sneakers thunking hard on the metal, gaining on him.

She was fast. Too fast. He was winded, beaten, and every step felt heavier than the last.

Then—

BRRRRRRRRRRT!

Gunfire raked the top of the train. The helicopter gunner had finished reloading.

John veered, but the bullets weren’t even the biggest threat. Mango dived at him from behind, tackling him to the roof. They rolled hard—fighting, wrestling for control.

"You have to stop!" John growled, trying to push her off.

"I don’t have to do anything!" Mango spat back, fists flying.

Then the train jolted violently over a cracked section of track.

For a split second, they both went airborne.

John slammed back down onto the roof with a THUD.

Mango slipped, lost her grip, and slid toward the edge.

Mango caught the edge of the roof with one hand, hanging on by her fingertips.

Her face changed. Gone was the bloodlust. Gone was the fury.

Now there was only pure, naked fear.

John stirred, pushing himself up.

Every logical thought screamed: Let her fall. She tried to kill you. She deserves it.

Across the gap, the helicopter swung closer. The gunner pointed, shouting something to Mango that John barely caught over the wind.

"You already failed," the gunner yelled. "Peter doesn’t forgive failure!"

The gunner raised the weapon.

Mango’s grip slipped. Whether it was because of sweat or exhaustion, she was having trouble hanging on. A bullet clipped the roof next to her hand and she fell.

Time slowed.

John saw everything in perfect, crystalline detail: the twist of her body, the widening of her eyes, the helplessness. The blades of the helicopter blurred above.

And John dove.

He dove after her, launching himself off the train without a second thought.

Mango’s face twisted in utter confusion.

Why would he jump too?

<<<>>>

[Suggestion: Deploy Grapple Belt.]

<<<>>>

John snagged her arm midair, locking his body straight to absorb the momentum. He looked up. Hit the silver button on his belt.

THWIP.

Grapple hooks shot out, latching onto the undercarriage of the helicopter.

The line snapped taut and suddenly they were swinging, momentum carrying them like a pendulum under the spinning chopper.

For one impossible second, hanging in the wind, they lock eyes with each other.

No hate. No rage. No fear.

Just exhaustion. Frustration. Longing.

Two broken souls crashing into each other. Mango’s face blushed. John’s insides stirred. There was a feeling between them that made this moment last 10 years. 10 long beautiful years where they spent everyday exploring each other’s souls.

Then gravity reclaimed them and they were snapped back into reality.

The helicopter bucked, struggling against the unexpected pull, and John hit the button again, yanking the line back.

They swung in a hard arc, momentum slamming them back toward the train.

THUMP.

John landed first, hard, with Mango collapsing right on top of him.

But this time, she was still.

She didn’t move to kill.

She just lay there, chest heaving, her body pressed into his, staring at him with wide, confused eyes.

"You saved me," Mango whispered, voice barely audible over the roaring wind. "Why?"

John smirked, breathing just as hard. He shook his head.

"Great question," he said, flashing a tired grin. "You don’t seem very good at killing me. Maybe third time’s the charm."

Mango was shocked by his response. Her face became extremely red and her nose wrinkled. John gave a confident smirk.

This could be the near death adrenaline talking, but she’s really hot right now.

The helicopter fought to stabilize, blades chopping the air hard.

It hovered directly above them now, casting a massive shadow over the train.

"You both die!" the gunner screamed, voice echoing across the cliffs.

John tightened his grip around Mango’s waist, both of them half-lying, half-bracing against the train’s battered roof.

No way out.

Nowhere to run.

He reached for his gun.

Mango reached for another knife.

"Hey, idiots!" A voice called out from further up the train.

Everyone—John, Mango, even the gunner—whipped their heads toward the sound.

Standing on top of another train car, about four cars ahead, was Agent Hawk.

And in his hands?

A missile launcher.

Locked. Loaded. Pointed straight at the helicopter.

"I hope this was worth it," Hawk called.

Then—FOOM.

The missile roared out, tearing through the sky.

It slammed directly into the belly of the chopper.

BOOM!

The helicopter exploded into a thousand shards of molten metal.

Fire and debris scattered but because of the train's insane speed, the shredded parts didn’t fall down. They whipped backward into the wind, disappearing like dust into the sky.

All that remained was a giant ball of fire, a wave of heat, and a few fresh holes punched into the train’s roof. Agent Hawk tossed the empty launcher off the side of the train like it was yesterday's trash and sprinted over to them.

He grabbed John’s arm, hauling him up, then yanked Mango to her feet too.

"That was one hell of a plan," John coughed, brushing soot off his jacket.

"Yeah, well," Hawk said, panting. "It’s a rocket launcher. Standard issue these days."

Hawk's eyes locked onto Mango immediately. "And who the hell is this?"

John glanced at Mango, who looked like she was debating whether to punch Hawk or run.

"This is Mango," John said, trying to sound casual.

Hawk’s face twisted. "You mean the woman who's been trying to kill you for the last hour? The one who blew up half the plan?!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," John said, raising his hands. "She’s... not doing that anymore. Right?"

He turned to Mango.

Mango stared at him. Stared at Hawk. Then back at John.

For a long second, no one moved.

The wind whipped around them. The wreckage burned bright behind them.

Finally, Mango sighed, heavy and exhausted. "Can we at least get off this damn train before we talk about it?"

John grinned. "Sounds fair."

Then his head started to buzz. The FOCUS screen popped up in front of him.

<<<>>>

[Mission complete]

[Now showing results…]

<<<>>>

What’s this, thought John.

He looked up and noticed Agent Hawk and Mango were both staring into space. He figured their FOCUS were talking to them too.

<<<>>>

[Failure: Identify and capture “Bailiff”]

[Success: Found Agent Hawk]

[Defeated attack helicopter and several hostiles]

[Reformed Mango: Hostile → Ally]

[Downloading data…]

[Reward: Exp gained]

[Bonus: Combining now possible. You can now use more than one skill at once]

<<<>>>

Interesting, thought John. I thought I was already doing that, but I guess my talent amplifies my skills relating to any underworld activity. What’s the difference with this then?

<<<>>>

[Example: Analyze and combat may result in deciphering fighting style of hostile and determining best style to match]

<<<>>>

Really? If I can do this after one mission, I wonder what else I can do…