For Those Who Care

Streaks of blood muddled with patches of soil and gravel stuck to Justin's face like worn-out bandages. He could feel specks of grime getting trapped beneath the blood before it dried up, and it stung like hell. His knees ached where they'd met the asphalt, and every breath pulled tight across his ribs like something in there wasn't sitting right. He coughed up some dirt, checked his hands. They were still shaking.

He just couldn’t understand how this went so wrong. He had his eyes on the road and his hands steady on the wheel. They were on the right track, everything was in order… and he kept his mouth shut and stayed out of the way until he was needed, exactly how he was told. So how could it have possibly gone wrong?

This was the destination at least—something he might've pat himself on the back for if he didn't feel like such a failure. Designated spot or not, he shouldn't be here. He didn't belong in any of this; not the uniform, the rank, the constant violence and secrecy. None of it. He recalled how his lieutenant had challenged him. He’d asked if he was really up for the task, the one he'd been assigned to against his will.

‘Of course not, you idiot!’ He should’ve said. But despite the circumstances, the prospect of proving something, of being capable rather than just a coward, had been too tantalizing to pass up. So he'd decided he would do it whether he was being forced to or not.

"That asshole, sending us all the way out here just to get killed," he hissed through his teeth. His shoulder was dislocated, his head throbbed, and the vessel carrying the chemicals was a bust. To hell with the mission. He just didn't want his comrades' blood on his hands. He wanted to go home with most of his sanity still intact.

He stopped mulling when he realized he was about to walk straight into the entrance of the venue. Fear wrapped around his ankles, but it was already too late… Someone had noticed him. He figured he'd be a target. At the very least, he’d look suspicious dressed like this, but he couldn't bring himself to reach for that damned handgun.

By now it was probably burning to a crisp in the jeep along with the rest of their supplies. He silently cursed himself for that. He should’ve just blown his head off right then and there, but there was no time to look back on it now. He ducked behind a bush, hoping the woman would mistake him for an unusually large rat or something as stupid as that sounded. She kept walking toward him anyway. Of course she did.

He held his breath. A syringe in one hand, the other dangling lifelessly at his side, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Carmon had shifted her stance, her eyes narrowing. "I heard that. You're not very quiet." She said, taking another step forward.

Trying to play hide and seek with this Lieutenant isn't easy. She's trained to sniff enemies out like a search hound. But the dim lit area? It wasn't helpful to her. Just beneficial to the person in hiding.

Her heels click softly again as she comes to a standstill in front of the bush. She gazes down at it, her brows furrowing. "You need a bath." She said then, completely changing the subject. "We could arrange that."

It was a poor attempt to try and lure the person out. If they were innocent and just scared, she knows they'd make an appearance. If not? Well . . . This could get messy.

Justin clutched the syringe with a feverish jerk, fingers wrapping tightly around it with a strength he didn't know he had. His shoulders went slack as he looked straight up, feeling his soul damn near leave his body.

All he could do was pray they wouldn't come any closer. His head slipped back for just a moment in utter disbelief at this woman's stubbornness. He watched blood being spilt more times than he could stomach. He wasn't sure he could handle being the one to draw it. He groaned at the thought, the vacant look in his eyes vanishing the second he opened his mouth to speak.

"Please, my friends need help. They're badly hurt and I don't know what to do," he said, his voice barely holding together.

The plea was all she needed. She stepped closer, her hands reaching for her radio that she already knows won't work.

"What team are you on?" She asked, hoping he won't be an enemy.

She doesn't have a medkit, but she's trained enough in the medical field to do something. She's not Hope, by all means, but she's watched to understand.

"Do you know the coordinates? Are they even here?" She pressed further. She crouched in front of the bush. She almost fell from the heels, but somehow, she managed to keep her balance.

She glanced over her shoulder, looking at Dakota's back. He was still talking to that man. She'd have to get his attention soon enough. But not now. Now, her focus is on whoever this kid is.

"Team?" The word hit him like a slap. Why does it matter so much? Why does any of this matter—the sides, the mission, the blood? All Justin could see was that everyone was at each other's throats, and now he was being forced to pick a side.

"We—they're just down the road. Please, hurry." He squeezed the syringe harder, his expression darkening as anger began to edge out the fear. The words weren't a lie, but they weren't sincere either. His trembling hand was already more willing than him to do something he knew he'd regret for the rest of his life, and yet here he was trying to lure her closer.

A jolt of pain shot through his fractured shoulder as his whole arm went rigid, and he swallowed the urge to tear his own hair out. He just wanted someone to take him at his word. But you didn't get that luxury when the first thing out of someone's mouth was what team you were on.

Her eyes narrow. "I'll help when I know if you're an enemy or not. One name, that's it." She wasn't trying to make him pick a side, she was trying to decide whether it's right to help or not.

Carmon's morals are strong. It took her years before she trusted The Delta Unit. And now that they're family, she won't be the reason she loses another squad. Not like last time.

She toys with her radio, flipping through different channels. Each one was static. She just needs a way to contact HQ... Just one connection, that's all she needs. She looks back over her shoulder again to Dakota, who is still locked in conversation... She could use him about now.

She turns back to the bush, slowly lowering herself to her knees. "None of us have to die today, ja? I won't kill you if you aren't on my side, I promise it." It's half a lie. She'd definitely be reporting this to Khailen, but she will let him go.

She stares into the dark, debating on pushed the branches of the bush to the side, but her gut says otherwise. Something is wrong. So she stays cautious. She won't approach. Not yet.

Alexander nodded slowly, reading between the lines when he wasn't sure if he was meant to.

'Saving the day,' huh? So was that what she was up to right now?

"Why don't you go to her," he said, patting Ramirez's arm. "It sounds like she completes you."

And if he didn't want Alexander's help, then he sure as hell ought to help his own teammate.

Dakota had smiled brighter, looking at the man. Then he took the hint and looked over his shoulder to Carmon. Then his smile slowly falters.

His brows furrow and he leans forward, observing her. "What is she . . ." He mumbled under his breath.

This man may be a good soldier, but he's extremely dense. Even when the woman settled onto her knee's, he didn't move. Eventually, he slowly stood. Carmon never gets on her knee's, not even when she was injured. Dakota can count the amount of times he's caught the woman lowering herself to another's level on one hand (twice).

He turned back to Alexander, smiling once again, but now it's nervous. "I'm afraid you're right, I should return to her side. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to check on my wife."

Then he spun around before Alexander could respond and he made his way to the exit. Whatever Carmon was up to, it was either going to end in bloodshed, or a new ally. Dakota would prefer to be behind her when she goes rogue . . .

Justin knew there was no winning here. He should've just answered the woman's question being the coward that he was. He'd already jumped to the conclusion that he was going to die. But still, he chose to cling to his pathetic life so adamantly.

At this point, he was causing his own unnecessary turmoil, making this whole situation far more stressful than it actually was. All the while leaving her uncertain of whether or not he could be trusted. Why couldn't he just answer? Why was he acting like a complete idiot?

If only he'd performed better in school instead of hiding away in his room, burying his face in hundreds of thousands of pages, his father wouldn't have punished him and he wouldn't have found himself in this mess.

"Forget it!" He pivoted around on the hand of his dislocated shoulder, pulling the rest of his body out from behind the rosebush. It was a stupid move in hindsight but he knew he had to be quick, so he lurched to his full height, syringe in hand, and swiped at her with all the strength he could muster.

She was quicker, bending herself back. She winced at the strain on her legs, and she tossed her radio to the side. She reached for where her utility belt usually is, only to find that it still isn't there.

She curses, trying to move, only to find another attack being swung. She reached with her dominant hand, gripping the wrist that wielded the weapon. Her grip was tight and efficient, keeping him from making any form of blow to her.

"What the hell!" She shouted, panic briefly making an appearance in her eyes. Typically, she's not scared. But she's unarmed. This is an unfair fight.

Dakota came in quickly, thankfully, raising a pistol up. One that must've been hidden in his suit. "Drop it! Let her go!" He shouted, his stance strong. He flicks the safety of the weapon off. "You should've paid more attention to who you're attacking. Drop the weapon and step back. Hands where I can see them."

They'd have to be careful. Making a scene here is something they don't want to do. Not with all these important people...

From the instant that he’d struck, Justin's body's intentions were not his own. His hand strained forward still, but with the woman grabbing his wrist it was pointless—not that it mattered much in his current state. Even the word 'pointless' itself had lost all meaning. His conscience was a scribbled mess of adrenaline-induced thoughts, his wide, vacant eyes blind to what was really happening right in front of him.

When the adrenaline finally settled, Justin was horrified to see the syringe was just inches away from her eye, and everything that blurred together beyond recognition became painfully clear once again. His eyes darted to the man standing a few feet away behind her.

In his confusion, the man's shouting sounded like word salad, but he dropped the syringe when he saw that he was aiming a gun right at him. He couldn’t muster the strength to put his hands up, instead folding to the ground while he coughed and wheezed like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

The moment the man was no longer on top of her, she scrambled back. Dakota's hands tucked the gun away, then reached down to lift her up off the ground.

It was strange, seeing Carmon off guard and shaken. Then again, she's not used to being in those positions... Not since...

Dakota threw his arm over her shoulders, squeezing her close to his chest. "I got you," is what he muttered into her ear. She decided to hide her face, turning to tuck herself against him further.

Dakota looked down at the kid, his gaze sharp. His voice was low and rough, almost like gravel. "Who are you, and what do you want? That was a very reckless and idiotic move. I suggest answering unless you want a chase to start."

"I'm not—" Justin's voice cracked on the word. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, swallowed hard, and tried again.

"My friends... there were two of them. They're hurt." He kept his eyes low, fixed somewhere on the ground between his hands. "I just need some... things, a-and I'll be on my way..."

Pain exploded down Justin's shoulder and he recoiled. He let his arm collapse underneath him yet somehow he surprised himself, and his chin hit the ground with a dull smack. In somewhat of a drunken stupor, he cursed twice, gripping his chin, but seeing the man glaring down at him he climbed back onto his knees, gingerly raising his hand while he managed to slur together the words "just... don't shoot."

Well, wasn't this a show? Fortunately, none of it was painfully in view if no one was looking outside, but good grief was it obvious when he glanced at it. It was time to create a distraction, for everyone's sake.

"Can we dim the lights?" he murmured into his ear piece. "I'm getting an awful headache."

As he finished off his drink, Raya droned back to him, unimpressed. "Suit yourself." And the lights flickered, causing everyone to look up.

Several people remarked about the absence of a winter storm, or the possibility of one incoming. Perhaps one was on the other side of the mountain, knocking out the power lines. Or maybe someone snipped them. Varying levels of concern and paranoia rose in the party's murmurings until the lights flickered again, and went out completely.

Yes, it was day -- and the sunlight poured through. But the sun was setting, and they were losing light. The disturbance of lost power at least drew everyone's attention away from the direction Ramirez left and towards the porch on the opposite side of the building, where people sought light.

Security was already moving to different entrances, and they'd be down by the power room in seconds, to bring it back on. By then, Raya would be out of the building -- since the place would be crawling with security searching for the source. That left Alexander on his own for a bit, but he knew how to manage that.

"Have fun being nosy," Raya sighed in his ear. Her tone was telling: as she clearly anticipated things to escalate quickly.

That wasn't really the plan -- but the plan devolved the moment another agent cried out to him for help, however convoluted it was.

Alexander joined in the worried fray and walked towards the restrooms and exit where Ramirez and his "wife" disappeared. There, metal steps led down the side of the building to the ground floor, and the wind picked up, harsh and whistling.

Around the corner, down the driveway, he saw the couple facing a wounded man who looked like he'd survived a crash on the side of the hill. The steep drive up was brutal, but he could only assume many more things went wrong before that.

Backing against the side of the building, Alexander pulled out his gun and watched them, ready to cover. With his eyepiece, he zoomed in on the wounded man's face, trying to read his body language and expression.

Hm. The distress and the pain was real, but something could be hiding behind it.

He turned off the gun's safety.

Carmon had spotted Alexander from her turned position, but she made no comment on it. Just observed, then tucked herself in further. Dakota did the talking.

"That doesn't help your cause." Dakota said, taking a few steps back, effectively dragging Carmon with. "You could be working for Hade's. Or even Izorke." Both teams are cruel enemy lines. One resorts to chemical madness, the other prefers acts of insane violence. Neither are welcomed.

"You wear no insignia, you have no tag. But you attacked my wife, even when she was going to offer help. Where does that put you?" He followed quickly.

His words held true, and while Dakota wanted to help the man, if Carmon was backing away, then there was nothing more he could do.

Carmon was the best they had on their squad, and if she's saying no? Well . . .

Carmon shifted in his arms, her hands trailing into his coat. "If he runs. . . Chase." She mumbled to him. Her eyes narrowed, dark and cold; so shockingly blue in the setting light. "He could have intel. He could have answers."

Dakota only nodded. Carmon glanced back over at where she had seen Alexander, but she doesn't catch sight of him again. She blinks. Then turns away. It's only a matter of time.