Post by Rift on Jul 6, 2021 10:19:35 GMT -7
Somewhere in Georgia...
John Walker sat watchiing an old television set, his jaw clenching ever tighter with each passing moment. He had been trying to distract himself from his worries, hoping to lose himself within an old western he'd been fond of as a kid, when suddenly a special report interrupted the program. The scene was one that was all too familiar. Destruction. Death. Fleeing civilians. All the things that drove him to continue donning the uniform and shield of the US Agent despite his fellow costumed adventurers being less than enthusiastic about his involvement in battling evil. It wasn't long before Walker muted the TV, unable to listen to the reporter for a second longer.
A transport carrying something dangerous had been attacked by superhuman criminals. Nobody knew what was being moved or who had struck the convoy, but John knew it didn't really matter. It was New York yet again.
"Because of course it is. The Big Rotten Apple only has the highest number of so-called superheros in the world but they can't ever do anything until after disaster has struck!" He snapped.
Truth was he knew a good number of costumed men and women who would likely respond to the scene. They were good people mostly. Even Clint Barton, the moronic circus clown that he was, had his heart in the right place, but to Walker's mind that was precisely the problem.
"Cue the feelings crowd," he muttered. "They'll feel all the things. Empathy for the victims, anger for the tights wearing lunatics responsible, and terrible over the treatment said criminals will receive if they manage to find them before they threaten a city, blow a hole in the space time continuum, or collect all the semi-mystical bling needed to wiggle their nose and wipe out mankind. Oh and they'll feel blind rage towards anyone who suggests it was avoidable if they just put these monsters down or at the very least didn't let them back out of the prisons taxpayers paid for!"
Crushing the plastic water bottle he'd been holding, he sighed.
Not that the fifty guys a week that end up spinning web and climbing walls need to be like Castle. I worked with him before and we don't need civilians in pajamas becoming executioners, but government sanctioned agents should be allowed to rid us of a couple of these Goblins, super powered furries, and wouldbe kingpins. And bring back and use the death penalty, see how many jerks want to dress up like zoo creatures and hold a city hostage after their pals get the firing squad, he thought.
Tossing the bottle into thetrash he couldn't help but laugh.
"Half these fools will take more issue with me putting that in regular rather than recycling than they will the damage this psycho causes with whatever he stole. Like that idiot Daredevil. He could show up to interfere with me doing my job to stop Nuke, but can't bother with this actual crime? Is he too busy praising the devil or does this not bother him due to being outside the kitchen?"
Glancing back at the screen he saw War Machine arrive atthe scene. Rhodes may not have been Walker's biggest fan but the man at least had the right idea and the authority to deal with the evil SOB's as they should be dealt with. They'd worked together before and the man behind the armor was a good guy.
Hopefully his hands aren't tied by politics; Stark's or the President's.
It was then the phone rang, startling Walker from his thoughts. Picking it up he smiled as he listened to the voice on the other end. After months of being sidelined Uncle Sam finally needed US Agent once again.
John Walker sat watchiing an old television set, his jaw clenching ever tighter with each passing moment. He had been trying to distract himself from his worries, hoping to lose himself within an old western he'd been fond of as a kid, when suddenly a special report interrupted the program. The scene was one that was all too familiar. Destruction. Death. Fleeing civilians. All the things that drove him to continue donning the uniform and shield of the US Agent despite his fellow costumed adventurers being less than enthusiastic about his involvement in battling evil. It wasn't long before Walker muted the TV, unable to listen to the reporter for a second longer.
A transport carrying something dangerous had been attacked by superhuman criminals. Nobody knew what was being moved or who had struck the convoy, but John knew it didn't really matter. It was New York yet again.
"Because of course it is. The Big Rotten Apple only has the highest number of so-called superheros in the world but they can't ever do anything until after disaster has struck!" He snapped.
Truth was he knew a good number of costumed men and women who would likely respond to the scene. They were good people mostly. Even Clint Barton, the moronic circus clown that he was, had his heart in the right place, but to Walker's mind that was precisely the problem.
"Cue the feelings crowd," he muttered. "They'll feel all the things. Empathy for the victims, anger for the tights wearing lunatics responsible, and terrible over the treatment said criminals will receive if they manage to find them before they threaten a city, blow a hole in the space time continuum, or collect all the semi-mystical bling needed to wiggle their nose and wipe out mankind. Oh and they'll feel blind rage towards anyone who suggests it was avoidable if they just put these monsters down or at the very least didn't let them back out of the prisons taxpayers paid for!"
Crushing the plastic water bottle he'd been holding, he sighed.
Not that the fifty guys a week that end up spinning web and climbing walls need to be like Castle. I worked with him before and we don't need civilians in pajamas becoming executioners, but government sanctioned agents should be allowed to rid us of a couple of these Goblins, super powered furries, and wouldbe kingpins. And bring back and use the death penalty, see how many jerks want to dress up like zoo creatures and hold a city hostage after their pals get the firing squad, he thought.
Tossing the bottle into thetrash he couldn't help but laugh.
"Half these fools will take more issue with me putting that in regular rather than recycling than they will the damage this psycho causes with whatever he stole. Like that idiot Daredevil. He could show up to interfere with me doing my job to stop Nuke, but can't bother with this actual crime? Is he too busy praising the devil or does this not bother him due to being outside the kitchen?"
Glancing back at the screen he saw War Machine arrive atthe scene. Rhodes may not have been Walker's biggest fan but the man at least had the right idea and the authority to deal with the evil SOB's as they should be dealt with. They'd worked together before and the man behind the armor was a good guy.
Hopefully his hands aren't tied by politics; Stark's or the President's.
It was then the phone rang, startling Walker from his thoughts. Picking it up he smiled as he listened to the voice on the other end. After months of being sidelined Uncle Sam finally needed US Agent once again.
