Evil Author Day: The Harbinger of Death (SEAL Team)
I only started this one about a week ago, and it'll likely be finished and posted online before the metaphorical ink on this post is dry, but since I have no idea how long it'll take me to finish, I thought I'd give you a sneak-peek. I like the idea of Jason being something of an angel of death, delivering justice to those who really need it. No idea how long the finished story will be, but if I had to guess I'd say 5k words at least. Given my propensity for being wordy, I'd take the over if I were you.
Also, I've cast Colin Firth as Death in this, because it amuses me.
~o~
It happens on a Tuesday.
Not that that information is relevant at all, but this is what sticks with him years later when he thinks back on it.
The shot to his vest takes him by surprise. They'd cleared the building methodically, moving as one through the darkest corners, floor by floor, looking for the terrorist cell their intel told them was using it for a base.
At the crack of the shot, all hell breaks loose. There's shouting and shooting, and when the quiet descends once more, two things are true: all the terrorists are dead and Jason Hayes has been shot. There was a sniper they hadn't accounted for, and the high-powered bullet from his gun had sliced through Jason's vest like a hot knife through butter.
He lays there on the floor, gasping for breath as his vision greys out at the edges. He hears voices calling his name, but they sound far away, abstract and indecipherable from the background noise.
He closes his eyes, laying his head back on the floor. He's not giving up, just resting, he tells himself. Between one breath and the next, the world goes eerily silent. When he opens his eyes, there's bright white light making everything shine and glitter. He's lying in a field of grass, staring up at a bright blue sky with no idea how he got there.
He sits up, and as he does, he realizes that his vest and gun are missing. So are his boots, oddly. He flexes his toes in the grass, reveling in the peace and quiet of this strange place.
Which is when it hits him: he's fine. He's more than fine. He rubs a hand over his chest, staring at it in consternation when it's not bloody like he thinks it should be.
He was shot. Wasn't he?
He gets to his feet and turns in a circle, eyes on the horizon. All he can see is a vast field of grass waving in a gentle breeze. The sky overhead is a bright blue shot through with scudding clouds. They seem to be moving faster than is normal for clouds, he's no cloud expert so what does he know.
"Won't you sit down?"
Jason spins around to find a man dressed in a fine suit standing beside a wing-back chair, a glass of red wine in his hand and an expression on his face that says he totally gets what Jason's going through and is amused by it.
"Who are you?" Jason asks. "What have you done to me? You need to take me back to my unit, because this isn't going to end well for you if you don't."
"Ever the soldier," the man replies in cultured British tones. "Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink?"
Jason shakes his head automatically. "I'm not gonna cooperate until you tell me why you kidnapped me."
"You have not been kidnapped, Mr. Hayes," he says. "You are here at my invitation. I have a unique opportunity for you if you're amenable to discussing it."
"And if I talk to you about this opportunity, you'll let me go?" Jason asks.
"Yes, I will."
Jason weighs his options. Clearly, he's in the middle of nowhere and he has no idea which direction to go to get help, or even if he's in friendly or enemy territory. He loses nothing by talking to this guy, but for just a moment he wonders if he could overpower him and escape. The guy doesn't look like much, so he'd be no problem.
"If you're thinking about trying to escape, please don't," the man says. He takes a sip of his wine, then turns an eyebrow on Jason when he gapes at the guy. "I know you better than you might think. Right this moment, you're thinking you could take me down and escape. Perhaps you could, but where would you go? This whole place is within my realm. No one comes or goes without my say=so."
As if to drive his point home, he waves a negligent hand and they go from a field of grass waving in the breeze to the surface of Mars, complete with a pink sky and miles of dusty red dirt in every direction. He feels an odd urge to hold his breath, even though he's pretty sure that none of this is real.
Jason gapes at the man. "What the actual fuck, man?"
The older man chuckles. "You appeared to require something a bit more dramatic to convince you of my sincerity."
"Right," Jason says. He flops down into the wing chair across from his host.
"There now, that wasn't so hard," he says. "Have a drink and we'll chat."
"Chat?" Jason asks. That seems like an entirely out-of-character word for the man to use, but he's not going to call him on it. Instead, he picks up the beer that seems to have appeared at his elbow. Kudos to his host for knowing his audience, anyway.
"Now that we've settled that," he says. Another wave of his hand and they're right back in the field of grass they'd started out in.
"Any particular reason you like this field?" Jason asks.
"It's aesthetically pleasing," the man says. "And you won't have to feel like you need to hold your breath while we talk."
Jason snorts but doesn't otherwise comment.
Also, I've cast Colin Firth as Death in this, because it amuses me.
~o~
It happens on a Tuesday.
Not that that information is relevant at all, but this is what sticks with him years later when he thinks back on it.
The shot to his vest takes him by surprise. They'd cleared the building methodically, moving as one through the darkest corners, floor by floor, looking for the terrorist cell their intel told them was using it for a base.
At the crack of the shot, all hell breaks loose. There's shouting and shooting, and when the quiet descends once more, two things are true: all the terrorists are dead and Jason Hayes has been shot. There was a sniper they hadn't accounted for, and the high-powered bullet from his gun had sliced through Jason's vest like a hot knife through butter.
He lays there on the floor, gasping for breath as his vision greys out at the edges. He hears voices calling his name, but they sound far away, abstract and indecipherable from the background noise.
He closes his eyes, laying his head back on the floor. He's not giving up, just resting, he tells himself. Between one breath and the next, the world goes eerily silent. When he opens his eyes, there's bright white light making everything shine and glitter. He's lying in a field of grass, staring up at a bright blue sky with no idea how he got there.
He sits up, and as he does, he realizes that his vest and gun are missing. So are his boots, oddly. He flexes his toes in the grass, reveling in the peace and quiet of this strange place.
Which is when it hits him: he's fine. He's more than fine. He rubs a hand over his chest, staring at it in consternation when it's not bloody like he thinks it should be.
He was shot. Wasn't he?
He gets to his feet and turns in a circle, eyes on the horizon. All he can see is a vast field of grass waving in a gentle breeze. The sky overhead is a bright blue shot through with scudding clouds. They seem to be moving faster than is normal for clouds, he's no cloud expert so what does he know.
"Won't you sit down?"
Jason spins around to find a man dressed in a fine suit standing beside a wing-back chair, a glass of red wine in his hand and an expression on his face that says he totally gets what Jason's going through and is amused by it.
"Who are you?" Jason asks. "What have you done to me? You need to take me back to my unit, because this isn't going to end well for you if you don't."
"Ever the soldier," the man replies in cultured British tones. "Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink?"
Jason shakes his head automatically. "I'm not gonna cooperate until you tell me why you kidnapped me."
"You have not been kidnapped, Mr. Hayes," he says. "You are here at my invitation. I have a unique opportunity for you if you're amenable to discussing it."
"And if I talk to you about this opportunity, you'll let me go?" Jason asks.
"Yes, I will."
Jason weighs his options. Clearly, he's in the middle of nowhere and he has no idea which direction to go to get help, or even if he's in friendly or enemy territory. He loses nothing by talking to this guy, but for just a moment he wonders if he could overpower him and escape. The guy doesn't look like much, so he'd be no problem.
"If you're thinking about trying to escape, please don't," the man says. He takes a sip of his wine, then turns an eyebrow on Jason when he gapes at the guy. "I know you better than you might think. Right this moment, you're thinking you could take me down and escape. Perhaps you could, but where would you go? This whole place is within my realm. No one comes or goes without my say=so."
As if to drive his point home, he waves a negligent hand and they go from a field of grass waving in the breeze to the surface of Mars, complete with a pink sky and miles of dusty red dirt in every direction. He feels an odd urge to hold his breath, even though he's pretty sure that none of this is real.
Jason gapes at the man. "What the actual fuck, man?"
The older man chuckles. "You appeared to require something a bit more dramatic to convince you of my sincerity."
"Right," Jason says. He flops down into the wing chair across from his host.
"There now, that wasn't so hard," he says. "Have a drink and we'll chat."
"Chat?" Jason asks. That seems like an entirely out-of-character word for the man to use, but he's not going to call him on it. Instead, he picks up the beer that seems to have appeared at his elbow. Kudos to his host for knowing his audience, anyway.
"Now that we've settled that," he says. Another wave of his hand and they're right back in the field of grass they'd started out in.
"Any particular reason you like this field?" Jason asks.
"It's aesthetically pleasing," the man says. "And you won't have to feel like you need to hold your breath while we talk."
Jason snorts but doesn't otherwise comment.