The Backup

2014

Peter woke up to his papa's hand wrapped around an agent's throat, lifting them off the ground. Sleep-blurred vision had long been conditioned out of him, so he always woke up alert and ready to go.

In that moment, Peter was thankful for that. He immediately threw himself off the cot, grappling at the metal arm. He hung from it, trying to pull it away from the agent. "Papa, no! This isn't a mission, let him go!"

The Soldier didn't reply, just deepened his glare and squeezed the throat even harder.

"I'm begging you, let him go! Be better than them!" he insisted. He swung his legs up and attempted to throw himself back down, pulling desperately on the arm. His feet stuck down on the floor, and he used that leverage to ground him as he pulled even harder. "Please! Don't do it for them, do it for me!"

The agent dropped to the floor, coughing up a lung. Peter began to relax, his hands slipping down along his papa's arm to clasp his metal fingers.

"It's okay." He tensed when another agent grabbed his shoulders, trying to pull him back. Were they going after him? Taking a deep breath, he convinced himself to remain calm, for his papa's sake. "Yeah. It's okay. It'll be fine." He let the agents pull him from the room and bolt the door behind them. He winced when he heard metal on metal, arm against door, followed by a feral shout.

Peter stayed silent, remaining still as the agent holding his arm used his radio to call in backup. "The Asset is erratic. What would you like us to do?"

The radio made a static, buzzing sound, and Peter willed himself not to make a face. "Tase him. Get him unconscious. We need to ship them out in two hours."

Ship them out? Peter's heart tightened. What does that mean for us? For me?

"Yes, sir." The agent slipped the radio into his belt, turning the four others. "More are coming--wait for them to open the door. I'll be back soon." He hauled Peter away, pushing him in front of him. "Stay quiet, if you know what's best for you. We wouldn't want a little one like you to be seated in the chair, now would we?"

Peter fastened his lips together. He knew what the chair meant.

He was led to a room he had never been in before. A man in a long white coat waited inside, sitting on a stool beside a large, confining chair.

"Sit."

Peter did as ordered, taking his instructed place.

"We are making you into a real spider." The man showed Peter two metal cuffs before setting them in his lap. "Put them on so the button is in your palm."

Peter picked one up, studying it as he moved to put it on. The part that would sit below the heel of his hand was thick, seemingly hollow, an antennae-like part sticking out, a button on the end of it. Below the button, there was an opening that led through the long metal piece to the main part of the cuff.

He pushed it on over his hand, contorting his hand to fit it over his knuckles.

"We made it adjustable," the technician added. He picked up the other one, and unclipped the thinner section of the cuff. He held it back out to the Backup.

Peter nodded his head in understanding. He took the cuff from his outstretched hand, putting it in place around his wrist before setting his forearm down along his thigh, pinning the cuff so he could clip it back in place.

"Press the button."

Again, he did as told. He held one hand out, using the other to press down on the button. White webbing slung out from the device, sticking to the back of the door.

Peter couldn't help the grin that spread to his face. He hated what they made him do, but he had to admit. This was pretty cool.

"See? Real spider."

He nodded in agreement. "Real spider, definitely."

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Peter bit down on his tongue and focused on the fact that his boot laces were tied too tight. He couldn't look at him. He couldn't speak to him.

He wasn't his father.

Peter kept his gun propped between his legs. The end of the barrel was against the floor, the stock in his hands, his knees and feet holding the gun steady. Meanwhile, the Soldier held his own at the ready - metal hand around the fore-end, the stock tucked under his arm for the time being, his other hand resting casually above the trigger.

Peter hadn't been briefed. He had been shoved into a van what seemed to be days ago, one that was entirely void of windows despite the windshield. A wall separated the two assassins from the front seats. Peter had no clue where he was or what he was supposed to do. He had half the mind to ask the stone-cold Soldier beside him, but the other part of him knew better. That he wouldn't reply even if he tried to provoke a conversation.

Feeling like his blood was vibrating, his patience finally burned out. He turned his head to the Soldier, trying to plan his words. "Mister? Soldier?"

The Asset turned his head slightly, acknowledging him.

"What exactly are we doing out here?"

He turned away, returning to his previous position. "Invade, then clean up the edges."

"Do you not know anything else?" Peter pressed further, trying to keep the emotion in his voice under control. He wanted his papa, not the dead cast that was left behind.

"Khabarovsk."

It felt like hours had passed between hearing the city's name and the back doors opening. Light flooded the back of the van, outlining the weapons and the two bodies.

Peter was mesmerized by the world behind the agents' backs. His eyes locked in on what he had heard to be the sky. It was cold and muted, not the vast expanse of bright blue that his papa had told him about. He had always thought that the outside world was going to be for him what fairytales were for other kids. Stories to hold on to, that frame your childhood and enrich your mind, but the contents were never to be seen.

"Backup! Look alive!"

Peter pushed himself up and followed the Soldier, hopping out the back of the van. He never looked away from the backdrop, now finally able to take it all in. The field was covered in a blanket of white. Flakes of snow - he had only heard about snow once - fell from the blue-grey sky, moving to join their friends on the ground. Peter turned around, looking over the other side of the van, and, completely caught up in the moment, gasped.

What else could have been the sun?

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It was now dark, the sky having turned a deep blue above the city lights, and all Peter could think about besides the blood under his gloves was that he desperately wanted to see the stars before returning to base. He couldn't get the dream of his papa pointing out constellations, but he could at least see them. He needed to see them.

"Run into the girl. Offer to buy her something at a stand across the street. Just keep her away from the scene." One of the handling agents fixed the collar of his coat. Peter had never had a coat before. It was warm and dry, and smelled like things he had never smelled before. It didn't smell like blood and death, and those were the only things that really mattered to him. "If you don't do your job, the Asset can't do his. Understand?"

The Soldier stayed still as a handler wrapped a wine-purple scarf around his neck, covering the bottom half of his face just as the normal mask would. The scarf tumbled down his chest, over the long auburn coat he had been given.

Peter forced himself to avert his eyes from the undercover clothing his papa wore. The coat hid everything deadly about him. The leather, the buckles and straps, the rifle strapped to his right hip and the emergency knives sheathed along his legs.

Peter felt strange in the unfamiliar clothing he had been given to change into. He had never worn this much at once. He felt like he was wasting it. Like it should have gone to someone else, someone who deserved it more than him. What did he deserve? He was a killer with the blood still under his gloves. He didn't even deserve having his papa.

The handler pulled Peter's scarf up over his nose before saying, "You're ready. Now walk."

The Soldier slung his concealed metal arm over Peter's shoulders, pulling him close as he moved to walk down the street. Peter followed suit, attempting to remember that, despite the lack of memory and emotion, he was still in his papa's embrace.

Peter barely knew what was going on, but he knew enough to gather the entirety of the mission. He was distracting someone who could easily get in the way, while the Soldier found a high up place in the shadows to shoot someone down.

They walked around the city for what felt to be only a few minutes. Peter was absolutely enamored by the world around him. The people, the buildings, the lights, everything. It was all beautiful, more than he had ever been able to imagine. The soldier squeezing his shoulder was what tore him from his trance. "The purple coat. That's who you go to."

Peter nodded his head, focusing in on the scene. From what he could see, especially when the girl turned her head, she was pretty. He had never had the privilege to look at something pretty. She walked beside an older, taller man, loyally staying by his side.

The Soldier pulled him closer for a few moments, craning his neck down to put his mouth just above Peter's ear. "Don't fail, Backup." He let him go when Peter internally flinched, the two of them parting ways.

Peter continued walking forward, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was trying to figure out how to do this. He couldn't just run into her head-on. He'd lower his head, so he couldn't have seen her very well. Run his shoulder into hers. He could try to catch her if she fell too hard, but he couldn't succeed because then the performance could be perceived as planned.

He took a few minutes to subtly catch up with her. He walked just to her left, his shoulder overlapping with hers when the two were watched from behind. He quickened his pace again, coming up behind her. He stepped on the ankle of her boot before their shoulders knocked together. The two both yelped, and Peter tried to catch her. She flailed as she went down, which he hadn't quite expected her to do, and her glove came off in his hand. The man turned around at the commotion, glaring at Peter.

Peter pulled down his scarf, showing his face. He had learned that showing your face gained trust. Why would a killer show their face to the public, if they didn't want to be found? He exclaimed, acting quick, "I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going." He held his hand out for her to take. "Are you okay, miss?"

She giggled at the name, accepting the hand he held down for her. He pulled her up to her feet, holding his arms out to her in case she was unsteady. "I'm fine. Thank you for helping me up." She wiped the snow off her coat, which was now stained brown from the slush that had been on the street. She frowned at the dark blotch, obviously not pleased by it.

"Can I buy something for you?" he offered, holding out her glove. "As an apology for bumping into you and ruining your coat."

The girl turned to the man who was looking at the scene, his face sheltered. "Is that okay?"

The man studied Peter for a few moments before saying, strictly, "Only spend a few minutes. I'll wait right here."

"Thank you, Papa! We'll be back!" She took Peter's hand and shoved the glove into her coat pocket, running across the street toward the stands that stood alight at the end of the block. As he kept in pace with her, their hands connected, what she had said settled in.

Papa.

They were killing her father.

"What is your name?" the girl asked, looking into his eyes.

He didn't miss a beat. "Peter. And yours?"

"Elina."

He plastered a smile on his face. He and his papa often stayed up when they weren't on missions. He would teach him languages, how to control expressions. "You have a beautiful name, Elina."

Red immediately pooled on her cheeks and she looked away, smiling shyly. "I...Thank you, Peter."

Peter pulled her to a stop beside a flower vendor. He said, to grab the vendor's attention, "Hello!"

The man inside turned around. He smiled sweetly at the two young teenagers "What can I do for you, boy? Flower for the girl?"

He chuckled. "Read my mind."

"How about this one?" He pulled out a blue flower that Peter didn't know the name of, of which was held in a clear, crinkly wrapper. "Amaryllis. The blue matches her eyes."

Peter smiled when the girl put her face in her hands, attempting to cover the blush. "How much, sir?"

"Just two rubles."

Peter pulled the coins from his pocket, holding them out to the vendor. The man took them, holding the flower out to Peter. "Thank you, sir." He grabbed the girl's hand again, quickly pulling her back the way they came. He bowed extravagantly, holding out the flower. "For you."

She giggled at his flourish, but accepted the blue amaryllis. "Thank you. You're too sweet." She leaned toward him, pressing her lips to his cheek.

He had no idea what that meant, but he knew it was important. His heart swelled and he felt an unfamiliar heat rush to his face. But the feeling was small compared to the dread that was heavy in his bones. How could he do this? What if he was her, and people were conspiring to kill his own father? He'd be wrecked.

"Come on, let's run back. Your papa's waiting."

She groaned playfully, but she and Peter ran back down the street. She was running to meet her father's demand, but Peter was trying to outrun a gunshot.

The two teenagers slowed to a stop beside the man. Elina said again, "Thank you, Peter. Really."

"It was the least I cou -" The gunshot rang. Elina screamed, jumping into Peter, who was closest to her.

Peter heard the man grunt in pain. He looked up in time to watch him collapse onto the snow-and-slush covered ground, the bloody bullet hole placed just above his ear.

His own heartbeat drowned out Elina's screaming and crying.

He couldn't save him.

He ruined her life.

What was the point?

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Peter shrieked, shaking from pain and exhaustion. The Soldier looked down at him with dead eyes, his hand heavy on the handle of the knife that he had pushed through Peter's shoulder.

"You jeopardized the mission!" The Superior's voice boomed with his anger. It was times like this where Peter was able to at least slightly understand why his father let this man own him.

He hiccupped, his breath repeatedly hitching in his throat. The knife was pulled from his shoulder, and he grunted in response.

"The mission could have been ruined."

"But it wasn't!" he shouted back, not able to stifle the reply. The metal fist connected with his stomach, the force causing him to double over. Blood dripped over his bottom lip, spilled down his chest from the wound on his shoulder. He said, not thinking, "The mission was still completed. Nothing went wrong. I did what you asked, but I couldn't keep her away from him for very long."

"Backup. You knew your mission. It was easy. Keep her away from the scene."

Peter was silent. Metal pounded into his face. Blood spattered the cement below him, and he could already feel his cheek and eye swelling.

How much longer was this going to go on?

"You're training all day for the next week, before you're being sent out again. Get in the right mind, or we will put the right mind in you."

Peter bowed his head, never having felt more empty. "Yes, sir."