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The mission briefing had been simple.
Intercept the convoy. Retrieve the experimental compound. Don’t blow up half the state.
Unfortunately, nobody had accounted for transportation.
Kevin stood in front of Soldier Boy’s motorcycle, staring at it like it was an apex predator.
“…That’s it?”
Soldier Boy shoved a cigar into the corner of his mouth and frowned. “The fuck were you expecting? A goddamn minivan?”
Kevin looked around hopefully.
“I don’t know… maybe? Something with doors?”
“It’s got two wheels, an engine, and enough horsepower to make your balls crawl into your stomach. That’s all a man needs.”
Kevin swallowed.
“…I don’t think my balls are gonna be the only thing crawling.”
Soldier Boy barked a laugh.
“There we go! Little fish finally grew a sense of humor.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
The motorcycle rumbled to life with a deep, angry growl.
Kevin took one cautious step back.
Soldier Boy looked over his shoulder.
“Get on.”
“…Where?” Deep asked, gesturing towards the bike.
“The bike.”
“No, I mean… where do I hold?”
Soldier Boy sighed dramatically.
“Jesus Christ.”
Kevin gestured helplessly.
“I’ve never ridden one!”
“You sit down.”
“I got that far.”
“You hold on.”
“To what?”
“My waist.”
Kevin froze. “…Your waist?”
“Yeah.”
“…”
“…”
“…Can I hold onto the seat instead?”
“The seat ain’t gonna stop you becoming road pizza.”
Kevin stared.
Soldier Boy stared back.
Finally, it dawned on Deep. “Oh my God…”
“What?”
“I have to hug you.”
Soldier Boy smirked. “Don’t sound so excited.”
“I’m extremely disappointed.”
“Could be worse.”
“How?”
“You could be between my legs.”
Kevin made a face like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “I’m asking questions I don’t want answers to.”
Soldier Boy laughed loud enough to scare birds out of a nearby tree.
“C’mon, sweetheart.”
“I hate when you call me that.”
“I know.”
Kevin reluctantly climbed onto the motorcycle. It was… significantly higher than he’d expected. He wobbled.
Soldier Boy didn’t.
“Feet on the pegs.”
“I don’t know where the pegs are!”
“The little metal bits.”
“I KNOW THEY’RE METAL, BEN!”
After thirty seconds of awkward flailing and nearly falling off twice, Kevin was finally seated.
Now came the problem.
His hands hovered uncertainly.
“…”
Soldier Boy looked back.
“You gonna hold on sometime this century?”
Kevin placed two fingertips on the sides of Soldier Boy’s jacket like he was touching something radioactive.
“…Good?”
“No.” Soldier Boy grabbed Kevin’s wrists and yanked them around his waist. “There.”
Kevin squeaked. “That’s weird!”
“It’s called surviving.”
“I don’t like this.”
“You’ll live.”
“I genuinely don’t think I will.”
Soldier Boy revved the engine.
Kevin immediately tightened his grip.
“Oh, God.”
“There ya go.”
“I don’t want to be here.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“I know.”
“I don’t even like motorcycles.”
“I definitely know.”
The bike launched forward. Kevin screamed. Not yelled. Not shouted. Screamed. Like a smoke detector discovering fire for the first time.
The motorcycle shot down the highway.
Wind slammed into Kevin’s face. His hair immediately lost all structural integrity.
“OhMYGOD!”
Soldier Boy laughed over the engine. "We’re only doing forty!”
“FORTY WHAT?”
“MILES!”
“I DON’T LIKE ANY AMOUNT OF MILES!”
They accelerated.
Water moves in patterns. Currents have rhythm. Tides are predictable.
Kevin's soul evacuated his body.
This is drowning. This is drowning in air.
He squeezed Soldier Boy so hard the older man actually grunted.
His body knew exactly how close to death they were at every second.
"Easy, fish-boy."
Control. Need control. Need to predict the next move.
"I'M TRYING NOT TO BECOME A STATISTIC!"
The bike moved in ways his water-trained instincts couldn't anticipate. No current warned him. No pressure change gave him time to adjust. Just—
Soldier Boy snorted. "You hugging me or trying to milk me?"
Kevin made a horrified noise. "I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!" His fingers dug deeper into Soldier Boy's waist. Anchor. Need an anchor. The older man was the only solid thing in a world of chaos and wind and—
A truck thundered past in the opposite direction.
The gust of wind made Kevin instinctively bury his face against Soldier Boy's back.
Drowning. Drowning. Drowning.
"I SAW MY LIFE FLASH BEFORE MY EYES!"
"You've only been alive thirty-something years."
Every second of it. Every moment. Every near-death experience in the ocean suddenly seems quaint because at least the ocean follows rules.
"IT WAS A VERY DETAILED FLASH!"
Soldier Boy laughed so hard the bike wobbled.
Kevin screamed louder.
No. No no no no—
"STOP LAUGHING!"
"I CAN'T!"
"YOU'RE MAKING IT WORSE!"
"I'M HAVING THE TIME OF MY FUCKIN' LIFE!"
Of course he is. He's not designed for water. He doesn't need rhythm or predictability. He just needs chaos and speed and—
Another acceleration.
This is worse than drowning. At least drowning makes sense.
Twenty minutes later…
Kevin had reached a fascinating new stage of panic.
He had stopped screaming.
This wasn’t because he’d calmed down. His vocal cords had simply surrendered.
Every time Soldier Boy leaned into a corner—
Kevin leaned with him.
Every bump—
Kevin flinched.
Every acceleration—
He became one with Soldier Boy’s spine.
Eventually, Soldier Boy glanced back at a red light. “Damn.”
“What?”
"You're really glued to me."
“I am not.”
“You got a stronger grip than half the women I knew in the seventies.”
Kevin immediately loosened his arms. “…Sorry.”
The light turned green.
Soldier Boy dumped the clutch.
Kevin grabbed him again.
“Told ya.”
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!”
“Sure.”
“I’m fighting for my life!”
“Feels kinda nice.”
Kevin groaned into his back. “I hate you.”
“I know.”
“I really hate you.”
“I know.”
“You smell like gasoline.”
“Women love it.”
“They absolutely do not.”
“They did in ’84.”
“That’s because everyone smelled like gasoline in the eighties.”
“Fair point.”
They reached the abandoned warehouse where the convoy had stopped. Soldier Boy killed the engine. Silence.
Kevin remained frozen.
“…Kevin.”
Nothing.
“Fish.”
Still nothing.
“You can let go.”
Kevin blinked. “Oh.”
His arms slowly unwrapped. He climbed off the motorcycle. His legs immediately gave up. He collapsed onto the pavement like an exhausted newborn deer.
Soldier Boy looked down at him. "You done?"
Kevin couldn't answer. His vocal cords had been completely destroyed, what came out was barely a rasp, a sound like gravel being dragged across concrete. He tried again. Nothing but a hoarse wheeze. His hands were still shaking. Not trembling. Shaking. His fingers were locked in permanent claws, white-knuckled and vibrating with residual adrenaline. He stared at them like they belonged to someone else.
"I've met sharks," he rasped out, his voice barely recognisable.
His entire body was still vibrating. Every muscle fibre seemed to be firing independently; his nervous system was completely overloaded from twenty minutes of sensory chaos. His legs wouldn't stop twitching against the pavement.
"…Yeah?"
"I've been attacked by a giant squid."
His hands shook so badly he could barely keep them on the ground. The adrenaline was still flooding his system, his water-attuned physiology still convinced they were in mortal danger.
"Uh-huh."
"I've nearly drowned." Kevin's breathing was ragged, shallow. His chest heaved like he'd just surfaced from a deep dive. Sweat dripped down his temples despite the cool evening air.
"Mhm."
"I have fought homicidal superheroes."
His voice cracked on the last word. He swallowed hard, trying to get moisture back into his throat. Nothing. Just raw, abraded tissue from screaming. Kevin slowly turned his head, the movement jerky and uncoordinated.
"That…" He pointed weakly at the motorcycle, his arm still trembling. "…was the most terrifying experience of my entire life."
Soldier Boy lit another cigar, watching Kevin with obvious amusement.
Kevin lay on the pavement for another three minutes, just breathing. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. Trying to get his nervous system to recognise that they weren't moving anymore. That the chaos had stopped.
His hands gradually stopped shaking. Mostly.
His legs stopped twitching. Eventually.
His breathing slowed from panicked gasps to something approaching normal.
It took him five full minutes before he could sit up without his vision swimming.
"Pussy," Soldier Boy said, smoke curling from his cigar.
Kevin nodded without even arguing. "Absolutely."
He managed to get to his feet, swaying slightly. His legs felt like they'd been replaced with wet noodles, but they held. Barely.
A beat passed. Then Soldier Boy kicked the bike's stand up. "Mission first."
Kevin nodded, still unable to speak above a whisper.
They moved toward the warehouse.
The convoy guards spotted them before they made it ten feet.
Three of them emerged from the loading dock, weapons raised. Professional. Military bearing. This wasn't some random security detail, these were trained operatives.
"Stand down!" one of them shouted.
Soldier Boy didn't break stride.
Kevin's body, still flooded with adrenaline, made the transition instantly. The panic that had consumed him on the motorcycle evaporated, replaced by something cold and tactical. His physiology, designed for combat in hostile environments, kicked into overdrive.
The first guard fired a warning shot.
Soldier Boy moved like he'd been waiting for it; explosive, efficient, brutal. He crossed the distance in three strides and drove his fist through the guard's chest plate. The man went down hard.
Kevin was already moving.
He couldn’t use any of his useful powers. There wasn’t any water or marine life, and he didn’t do anything distinctly Deep. He just moved with the precision of someone who'd trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat. His strength was a tool, nothing more.
The second guard swung a rifle like a club. Kevin sidestepped, grabbed the barrel, and yanked it away. The man held on too long; Kevin's enhanced strength made the decision for him. The rifle snapped. The guard went flying backwards into a concrete pillar.
The third guard was already running.
Soldier Boy caught him before he made it five feet, slammed him against the warehouse wall hard enough to crack the concrete. The man slumped.
It was over in forty seconds.
Kevin's breathing was controlled. His movements had been economical, tactical. No wasted motion. No flashy displays of power. Just a trained Supe doing his job.
Soldier Boy looked at him with genuine surprise. "Well, shit."
Kevin was already moving toward the loading dock, his body operating on pure muscle memory and combat training. He cleared the interior in under a minute—two more guards, both neutralised with brutal efficiency. No powers. Just strength and technique.
The compound was exactly where the briefing said it would be. Sealed container, military-grade locks. Kevin grabbed it, secured it, and was back outside in ninety seconds.
Soldier Boy was lighting another cigar, looking at Kevin with something between respect and confusion.
They moved back to the motorcycle.
Kevin secured the compound to the bike's frame. His hands had stopped shaking. His voice was still destroyed, but his body was operating at peak performance.
Soldier Boy watched him work. "That was—"
"Unnecessary," Kevin rasped, cutting him off. His voice was barely a whisper, shredded from screaming. "The ride, this whole thing, was completely unnecessary."
He stepped back, surveying his work with bitter intensity.
"We could've taken a car."
"..."
"Any car."
He looked at the motorcycle like it had personally offended him.
"There wasn't a mission reason. There wasn't any reason. You just wanted to watch me panic for twenty minutes."
His shredded voice cracked.
"I didn't need to go through that."
Kevin groaned.
“…Can we steal one of the convoy’s SUVs?”
“Nah.”
“…Why not?”
“‘We’re riding back.”
Kevin’s face went completely blank. “No.”
“Yep.”
“No.”
Soldier Boy grinned. “You’ll be fine.”
Kevin looked toward the warehouse. Then toward the endless road they’d come from. Then back at Soldier Boy. “…You know what?”
“What?”
“I’m gonna let the bad guys keep the compound.”
“The fuck?”
“I’m willing to lose the mission.”
Soldier Boy laughed loud enough for it to echo across the empty lot. “C’mon, sweetheart.”
Kevin sighed the sigh of a man abandoned by both fate and common sense, and followed anyway.