Chapter 3
Chapter 3
It was strange, the change in the world now that half of the world’s population was gone. The air seemed more crisp and the sky darker, allowing the stars to appear more brightly over the city. Neither of which bothered Clint Barton as he sat overlooking the docks from his chosen vantage point. Instead of donning his Hawkeye gear he had outfitted himself in one of his old SHIELD uniforms. All black. The best guise to wear when one needed to be a ghost. No one could know what he was up to. No one could connect what was about to happen back to the Avengers. The last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him and have word travel back to the compound about what he was doing. Natasha wouldn’t understand. She would drag him back and ask for more patience, but that was the problem – he couldn’t do it anymore. The sniper who had years and years of patience, waiting for the right shot, couldn’t wait anymore. He needed to do something, lest he sit back in his room and have his days and nights plagued with the images of his lost family. All because he hadn’t been there with the Avengers and tried to stop this Thanos from snapping away the world. With nothing but guilt and anger in his heart, Clint needed to find a way to direct it at something. Helping people? Keeping what remained of their families safe from the scum that seemed to be lucky enough to survive the Blip? It may not bring his family back but it would maybe help him sleep better at night.
Clint watched through the scope as two men exited the building with their cigarettes lit. They were talking about something on their routine smoke break. It wasn’t their first one Clint had witnessed but it would certainly be their last. He was pretty sure these guys had a worse smoking habit than his father when he was growing up. But at least their habit was frequent enough and routine enough to help Clint in his endeavor. Why? It gave him the perfect opening to get in.
He stood up, bow drawn and let the two arrows fly in a quick, deadly rhythm that easily felled the two men before their could take another drag. Clint now had his timer set. He had approximately fifteen minutes before someone inside would notice that they hadn’t returned.
Clint only needed five.
He stuck to the shadows, collapsing his bow and stuffing it away in his quiver. He need to keep his hands free for what was going to be either a close-quarters fight or a jailbreak and run. Once inside he heard some chatter in the back of the building and made his way towards it, using the stacked boxes for cover. When he finally got to the source, he felt his body go still and his blood boil.
Having spent years as a SHIELD agent, Clint had seen some terrible things. The depravity of humanity was never lost on him. Hell, as an Avenger he had seen the hopelessness in people’s eyes until the Avengers had arrived. But now, what he was witnessing, made him sick to his stomach. Men, who he could only assume were part of the Diamondbacks, were laughing as they tormented several young girls who were scattered in what Clint could only assume were large dog kennels. The guys flung trash and empty beer bottles at them, enjoying the way they cried and screamed in fear. Clint spotted the girl from the photo, holding another girl who was maybe eight years old. His blood was already past its boiling point as he gripped his knife. Sure, he could strike them from the shadows with his bow, make it quick and easy, but there was something primal raging to come out. The need to make them suffer and see the fear in their eyes as they realized that they were no longer the hunters.
Clint knew what he had to do.
It didn’t take him long to find the generator. With a quick cut of his knife, the lights went out. Screams echoed in the building from the girls as everything was cast into darkness, only faintly lit by the glow of the stars and the moon through the skylights. One man ordered the others to fan out and search for what caused the power outage. Clint didn’t need super hearing to hear the nervousness in his voice or the shuffling of their feet as they moved through the building.
Now was the time to make his move.
Clint lied in wait, watching the group split up. He adjusted his grip on his knife as he slunk back into a corner. One was coming straight towards him and he just needed to wait until he had the perfect opening. The guy didn’t even know what happened, even as Clint sprung on him and dug his knife fully into his neck. Clint eased the body to the floor, watching as the man gasped for breath until he was completely limp. Knife back in his hand he slid it into its sheath before grabbing a few arrowheads. Two were heading this way and when they rounded the corner, Clint let the heads fly. They struck the men in the eyes and, on reflex, one squeezed the trigger on his gun. There was no point in hiding now. The others would have heard and would be coming running.
Good.
Their footsteps were louder as they began to run towards the sound of the shot. Instead of getting to higher ground and using his bow to keep distance, Clint ran towards the sounds. His knife was back in his hand and when he spotted the first shadow, he threw the knife. It hit the man dead in the chest and he fell but Clint didn’t wait to see if he was dead or not. He was already grabbing his bow and snapping it into a staff purely for defense. Another came from his left and Clint swung, knocking the gun out of his hand and opening up his body for Clint to stab a shock arrow into his chest. The volts of the electricity lit him up and brightened the room to show the last three men coming directly for him.
Clint put his staff aside and pulled the grappling hook arrowhead and pulled it out so he had the cord before running at the man in the center. With a jump and a twist he garroted the man with the cord, using him as cover while the other two shot at him. The guy went limp when the bullets hit his body but Clint kept him upright until he got close to one. He flung the body at the guy, knocking him off balance before grabbing the gun and firing two into the chest. Without wasting a second he turned and fired one in the head at the remaining man.
Clint put the gun down and retrieved his gear, taking a moment to breath. He may be old but he was still deadly.
A gunshot rang out.
Clint grabbed his arm.
The man with the shock arrow was apparently still breathing and had pulled the gun out, but in his weakened state had only managed to graze Clint’s arm. Realizing he had missed he was starting to scramble backwards but Clint pounced, knife in hand. His boot fell on the man’s chest, stopping him from going anywhere and digging the arrowhead further into his skin. The yells of pain actually made Clint smile a bit, which should have worried him but he was too focused on making them pay for what they were doing to these girls. And as he stared down at him, Clint grew angrier. How was this fair? How was it fair that good people were gone yet scum like this were allowed to exist? Why did he lose everything but this waste of oxygen hadn’t? He should have been blipped out of existence. Laura and his kids should still be here. None of it made sense. It made him angrier and angrier and with a guttural cry Clint threw the knife right between the man’s eyes, finally silencing him once and for all.
After that final kill Clint barely recalled what had transpired. He knew he had freed the girls and told them to go home. He recalled grabbing his gear so no one could link him to this. But it wasn’t until he left the building and he saw Natasha standing there did he finally leave his thoughts. “Clint….”
But he didn’t say anything. He just walked past her towards his bike. He half expected Natasha to grab his arm to stop him and get him to talk, but she didn’t. And he was glad because he didn’t want to talk.
He couldn’t tell her what he wanted.
Clint knew what he wanted and if Natasha knew, she would try to stop him.
TBC…