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🐙
Jack had been laying low since SHIELD fell, doing odd jobs and avoiding anyone who might have looked through the Widow’s infodump.
For one thing, it just made good tactical sense. Hydra was collapsing from the inside thanks to those underground SHIELD cells. Heads were being cut off too fast for the new ones to properly grow in; Garret, Strucker, even old Whitehall had gone down. According to the secret channels that were still active, there was a lot of movement right now around some crazy kid named Ward. Definitely best to wait out the storm and see where Hydra ended up before he jumped back into the fray.
But beyond that, Jack had lost a lot of drive since the Triskelion. Not that he had ever been a ‘true believer’ in all honesty. Hydra was just the family business; he was born into it. It was something else for Brock, though. Hydra had found Brock at a low point in his life, given him purpose, passion. And then it left him to die under a building while everyone rushed to take down the Hub or the Ice Cube or the whatever.
The strangest thing of all was that, over a year after Brock had died, it seemed that he was still around the apartment at times. One morning, as Jack was cooking breakfast and listening to the news radio, he could swear he heard Brock making comments from the other room. That evening as Jack was lying on the couch, he was sure he felt the tingly sensation of fingers combing through his hair.
Maybe he was hallucinating. Hydra didn’t exactly emphasize grief counseling, and he had pretty much bottled up his feelings after the deaths of his parents and brother. It could all just be the result of wishful thinking. After all, who would want to hang around this crapsack of a world any longer than necessary, especially in a state where you could barely interact with anyone?
Well, Brock would, come to think of it. He was the definition of unfinished business. He’d dig his heels into the land of the living, determined to get his revenge on those who had left him to die, absolutely.
One night after an unusually realistic dream made Jack yell himself awake, he decided that he had to know for sure. Of course, it’s a lot easier said than done. Sure, there was tech you could use to communicate with ghosts, but it was impossible to get. The best-known system was in Stark tower; there were videos online of the ghost of the Starks’ old butler talking to people. But trying to get his hands on that would be as dumb as that guy who tried to steal the Iron Man suit. Or the other guy who tried to steal the Iron Man suit. Or the other one.
Then next week, a call went out on the Hydra channel. Mitchell Carson was looking for backup for a pickup at Pym Tech. Jack almost ignored it until he thought— Pym and his daughter are vampires. Not ‘officially’ but just look at them. It’s the best kept not-secret. And undead can communicate with undead…
He began formulating a plan. It was a huge risk, and might not even work, but what did he have left to lose?
He responded to the call and within seconds a date and coordinates came up.
🐜
Hope put down her fork for the third time in the meal. Hank sighed preemptively.
“So, when this guy screws up, what next? Cross will know we’ve been plotting against him. We won’t have a second chance”
Scott kept his head down, staring at the tomato sauce on his plate like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, even as Hope was glaring right at him.
“He won’t invite us back in, we’ll be at a major disadvantage.”
“We’re already at a disadvantage, Hope. Cross is going to use every trick in the book to weaken our power. It’s all the more reason to have Scott at the helm of this operation.”
Their power? Scott wondered.
“I’m only half vampire, Dad! I’m not as weak as you!”
“For the last time, you’re not going in there alone!”
Scott broke the tension, piping up, “so, it’s true what they say, you guys really are vampires? Huh, I guess that explains why the spaghetti tasted off. And that funky red wine you didn’t offer me...”
“Incredible observation.” Hope says flatly, with her sardonic expression pointed more toward Hank than Scott.
Hank just sighed and took another sip of his drink. Scott brought his empty plate to the sink, mentally cursing himself for taking Luis up on that tip.
“When he fails, I’m going to drain him for a power boost and kill Cross myself.” Hope muttered
“Hope…”
🐙
“Grab those particles, come on!”
Jack scooped up the yellow vial from the floor and followed Carson out the hole in the big glass wall. The evening might have gone south for Carson and Cross, but Jack still had one more last-ditch idea.
“We lost the helicopter,” Carson called over his shoulder, as they made it out the building, “but I can call for an extraction once we’re far enough.”
They hurried deeper into the forest, the alarms and screaming becoming fainter behind them. Jack hung back a bit, to keep Carson in front of him. Running at old-man speed was so awkward.
There was a loud cracking, and someone yelling about a tank. Jack kept his eyes forward and his hand ready to grab his weapon. Then there was a huge crunch. They both looked back.
The whole building was gone.
Jack remembered the two knocked out Hydra agents they had left behind. Before, he would not have thought much about their eventual fate. It’s what they sign up for, isn’t it? But now he was seeing Brock’s face on them. These guys gave their life to Hydra and for what? Some particles? Even worse than that--
*Bang*
Nothing at all.
Carson’s body dropped and Jack put away his gun. The shadow that had been following in the sky above them slowed and began to come down.
Jack held his expression steady, put his hand in his pocket and prepared his spiel.
The creature transformed in midair, becoming a dark-haired woman who strode intensely toward him.
Before she could speak, Jack held out the vial. “Here”
She glared. “You’re not thinking you can bargain with me, are you? You Hydra goons are pretty stupid.”
“Not bargaining,” Jack said, and placed the vial on the ground in front of him. “And not Hydra. Not anymore.” He stepped back; hands open. “I just came to ask you a question. I need a translator…”
She scooped up the vial. “I don’t care about your life story.”
With superhuman force, she grabbed his arms and pinned him against the nearest tree. Jack realized what she was about to do.
Her eyes glowed red, and her fangs extended, pushing past her lips, and giving her face a monstrous look. Her nails dug into his skin as her grip tightened.
“Whatever you are, a sleeper, a double agent, looking for a buck, or after some noble cause.” She ran her tongue along his collarbone. It was rough, like a cat’s, and it made his skin tingle. “I’ve reached my limit of sob stories this week. And it’s been so long since I had a live meal.”
His neck was numb now. He stopped squirming, resigned to his fate.
“And with such a sweet, warm bag of blood in my guest room for days that I couldn’t touch?” she whispered, no longer talking to Jack, fully lost in her hunger for blood.
She opened her mouth, wider than a human should be able to, and Jack looked away from the pearly fangs. She bit down and the numbness was overridden by the most intense pain, like being hit on the neck with an axe. He blacked out immediately.
When Jack woke up, he wasn’t in pain anymore.
In fact, he didn’t feel anything, he had no heartbeat, no breathing, no pulse, his whole body felt like when his leg falls asleep, but everywhere. He thought he was dead, but the afterlife probably doesn’t look exactly like the muddy clearing he had just been running through.
And he was hungry. Not a real hunger, he didn’t feel his guts, but a craving, like when he was tired and really wanted some coffee.
Jack was a vampire now. But how? The woman was clearly planning to drink him dry, what happened?
He sat up and looked around. The forest was quiet, save for some squealing, like a rat caught in a trap. Jack peered upwards to see the bat flapping away and—
“Brock?”
“Jack!” The spectral face of his lover broke into a smile. “You can see me!” And quickly shifted to a frown. “That means you’re dead. Sorry, I wasn’t fast enough…”
Jack sprung to his feet. He reached out to embrace Brock, his newly pale hands phasing through Brock’s translucent form, yet he still felt him somehow. They had both changed, but they were back together. “No, it’s alright. We’ll be alright.”
🐜
Hope closed the door of the drawing room, leaving Hank alone to recuperate. She looked different, Scott thought, something about her whole face just looked brighter. She slipped her hand in his, and he noticed how much warmer it was than before. Given what he had seen at this house over the past few days, the relative normalcy was a little disturbing.
Hope lifted her head and gave Scott a small kiss on the lips. “Thank you.” She smiled, displaying those unsettlingly sharp teeth again. Any sane man would say goodbye, walk out of the house and never come back. But when had Scott Lang ever played it safe?
Fin