Taskforce Vanguard

It was a typically sunny and hot day in Los Angeles. The smog was not an overwhelming blanket of lung-choking smoke that it could be on certain spring days. The streets were filled with people and the streets filled with cars crawling along the sunbaked concrete. Small pushcart vendors and food trucks lent the area around the 130th Precinct police station a carnival atmosphere. The neighborhood that police precinct was housed in was a lower-middle class multi-cultural area that was populated by first or second generation immigrants. The sounds and smells loaned the entire area the vibrancy of a world market.

Expertly weaving in and out of the crowd on a powered single wheeled Segway, a smiling young Japanese man moved through the neighborhood. His aviator sunglasses reflected the eclectic faces that made up the street. Kicking the Segway into neutral, Ichiro Matsumo paused buy an ice cream truck. Balancing on the wheel with no effort, Ichiro paid for a huge cone filled with mango ice cream. Ichiro lingered on the street, still balancing expertly on the single wheel of his transport. Eating his ice cream, he chatted idly with a pair of street vendors that had set up nearby. The women were from Ecuador and Hong Kong respectively and were outgoing and laughing as they cooked their specialty dishes.

Ichiro glanced at his watch and made a small face; he was going to be late for his first interview at the precinct. He wasn’t entirely sure about the whole idea of a mutant task force to begin with. But, being an actual member was so beyond what he’d thought he’d be doing that it wasn’t even on the map. Besides, if his grandmother found out he could potentially be in danger, she’d have a heart attack. The idea of actually kicking butt brightened Ichiro’s outlook considerably. Lifting his ice cream cone in a jaunty salute to the ladies, Ichiro kicked his Segway into gear and headed back down the street toward the precinct where he was expected 10 minutes ago.

The 130th was a concrete bunker of a building. It was 4 stories high with massive concrete steps leading up to the first story entry. The only thought given to an aesthetic was the old brick facing on the building. It wasn’t pretty or inviting, but it was practical. Ichiro stopped at the foot of the stair and looked at them speculatively. With a sudden grin, he kicked his uni-cycle into first gear and kick-hopped up to the first of the wide stairs. Rolling down the wide step Ichiro reached the end twisted easily to switch direction, then hopped up to the next stair. He continued on in that manner, easily mounting the 15 stairs of the precinct building. Arriving at the top landing, Ichiro grinned brightly and finally stepped off the single wheeled Segway and picked it up by a foot peg to enter the building.

The front desk was crowded with people and the two desk personnel efficiently directed them to various offices or took reports as needed. When it was finally Ichiro’s turn, the uniformed woman with a rather impressive scowl quirked a pale eyebrow at his perpetual smile. “What can I help you with?” She looked as if she had things she’d rather be doing than deal with civilians and their petty issues.

Ichiro pulled a folded letter from his back pocket and handed it to the woman. “I have an appointment with Captain Hernandez?”

The woman took the letter in a bored manner, but the mention of Captain Hernandez made her eyes snap up to look at Ichiro again. After a more thorough study of the young man in front of her, she then looked down at the letter. “Your appointment was 20 minutes ago.” She shook her head at him. “He won’t like you being late.” She handed the letter back to the young Japanese man, and indicated a bank of elevators to the right of the small lobby. “Sub-basement 2. Hang a left and it’s the 2nd door on the left.” The woman immediately dismissed Ichiro and called to the nervous-looking old woman behind him. “Next.”

Ichiro took the elevator down to the sub-basement level he’d been instructed to and sauntered along the hallway to the office of Captain Hernandez. The whole area was depressing in the extreme. The walls were drably painted cinder block with the most utilitarian overhead lights he’d ever seen. “Man.” He mumbled under his breath. “Does the Crypt Keeper have an office down here too?”

Finding the door he needed, Ichiro entered a large, open room with 6 desks set up along its outer walls and a single enclosed office at the far end. To the left of the door, an area was sectioned off to house some tall file cabinets and a tiny break area. Only two of the desks were occupied. One had a woman in a massive helmet with a very dark shield that hid her face entirely. The other desk was complete overshadowed by a massive man, obviously a mutant who had to top 8 feet tall and probably tipped the scales at 500 pounds. How the hell did he fit in the elevator? Ichiro wondered.

Before h could introduce himself, the woman spoke, “You’re late, Mr. Matsumo.” The woman turned toward him. “And no, I am not Captain Hernandez.” She added just as Ichiro opened his mouth to speak. He snapped his jaw shut again. The woman pointed toward the enclosed office. “Back there. Knock first.” As he passed her, she chuckled at his quizzical expression, “Why yes, I can read your mind.”

He caught a huge grin on the giant’s face as he walked past him to the back office. It hadn’t been much of a welcome, Ichiro noted. Taking the woman’s advice, Ichiro knocked lightly and entered the office. “Captain Hernandez?” He inquired. Ichiro got only the briefest glimpse of the man behind the desk, short, wiry with corded forearms sticking out below his rolled up uniform sleeves and a thoroughly chewed stub of a cigar clamped in the man’s thin lips. The man stood sharply and threw a large brass trophy right at Ichiro’s head. “Catch!” He yelled abruptly.

Pure instinct made Ichiro’s hand shoot up and he caught the trophy with a sharp PANG when it hit his hand mere centimeters from his nose. He then slipped to the right of the door, prepared for another attack. None came. Hernandez stood there with dark, glinting eyes and studied the man across the office from him. “Hnh.” He grunted. “You’re as fast as they said.” The banty rooster of a Mexican held out his hand, “Give it back. Then sit down. You’re late.”

Ichiro just stared at the man for a second before he cautiously handed the trophy to him. “Uh…do you always punish people that are late like that?”

“Nope. Usually let Marie handle that sort of thing.” Hernandez answered cryptically. “You I was testing. I don’t trust reports from norms. They generally exaggerate a mutant’s abilities.” He watched Ichiro slide into the hard wooden chair across from him before sitting down himself. “So.” Hernandez started as he leaned forward with his forearms leaning on the desk top while he glared at Ichiro. “Why’re you here? And not the invite letter. Why are you really here? To kick ass?”

Jason brought his car to a stop in the police station’s parking lot, putting it in park before retrieving the keys from the ignition. He was late; his superiors had naturally chosen to throw in a few details at the last minute. He sighed, grabbing his wallet to flip it open and stare at the FBI badge and ID card that was inside. Real badge, real ID. Written on the latter, however, was a fake name for a fake person. There was no “Special Agent Daniel Matlock”. That was a fabrication.

Jason felt like a fake, too – he was no cop. He had been a Marine, once; then he was an Operator; and finally, a spy. But months ago he’d been tapped for a “special assignment”. He was told that the LAPD was creating a task force staffed by metahumans. The CIA wanted a man there to observe and assess the possibility of a using mutants in future foreign intelligence operations. The FBI balked at the idea of the Agency interfering with a domestic law enforcement agency, however.

Despite this, the FBI didn’t want to send one of their distinguished Agents to the task force. There was a very real possibility that the entire thing would go up in flames – everyone knew it wasn’t exactly the most popular move for the LAPD. The two federal agencies managed to make an agreement; the CIA loaned Redfield out to the FBI. The Bureau railroaded him through the Academy for good measure before supplying with all the credentials. He would operate with the task force under their authority for the time being. If the thing tanked, the Bureau could wash their hands of him.

The whole thing made Jace’s head spin, but if he wasn’t used to being used as bureaucratic pawn, he would have committed suicide long ago. He slid the wallet into the pocket of his slacks before climbing out, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Redfield made his way into the precinct, passing through the lobby. He tried to assert an air of casual confidence as he moved with purposeful strides, neither shying away from nor forcing eye contact as he passed several blue-clad officers. As he approached the front desk, the receptionist spoke without looking up from her computer.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes ma’am, I’m here to see Captain Hernandez,” he replied.

The receptionist frowned, looking up to see that the man in front of her was displaying an FBI badge.

Somewhat flustered, she quickly replied, “Oh, of course, sir.” She supplied him with directions. Redfield promptly thanked her before making his way toward Sub-Basement 2. As he made his way through the dreary bowels of the precinct, he raised an eyebrow at his surroundings: exposed pipes, cobwebs, ancient stains. Maybe the LAPD simply didn’t have the rooms to spare… but he somewhat doubted that. This task force was the department’s newest red-headed stepchild if he had to guess.

Jason reached the designated door, taking a deep breath before entering. He half-expected the door to stick or at least creak loudly, but it swung open without a hitch to reveal a surprisingly large room filled with desks, filing cabinets – the normal furnishings of an office.

But it wasn’t the furnishings that caught Redfield’s attention – first was the hulking behemoth of a man who stood, arms crossed, near a far desk. He smiled, looking the newcomer up and down. Jace was less than comforted by the smile. The former Marine was well-built, standing at six foot four and weighing over 250 pounds. But compared to the mutant in front of him, he may as well have been a toddler. He had read up on Goliath’s file, but it couldn’t quite prepare him for seeing the man face-to-face.

Redfield nodded to him somewhat tentatively before taking notice of the woman to his left, sitting calmly at a desk. Jason did his best to maintain his composure upon seeing her helmeted form. He knew full well what she was capable of and that meant she knew who he was – who he really was. He’d been assured that it wouldn’t be an issue thanks to her discretion, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t nag at the back of his mind.

Marie said nothing to him, or he to her. Instead, the Agent simply walked slowly toward the door leading to an adjoining office past Goliath. He cocked his thumb toward the door inquisitively. The large man simply nodded, gesturing with his head toward the office. Jason knocked twice.

“Come in,” a male voice called out from the inside.

Redfield entered, taking in the small office as well as the two men inside. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who was late. A Hispanic man, Captain Hernandez, stood behind his desk, arms crossed. Another of Asian descent sat quietly, almost bewildered, in the chair in front of him.

The Captain was eyeing Jason critically, jaws clenched.

Jason went on the offensive, approaching his desk. “Captain Hernandez? Special Agent Daniel Matlock, FBI. It’s a pleasure.” Redfield held out one hand.

The officer glanced briefly at the hand before his eyes flicked back to Redfield’s face. After what seemed like an eternity, he grasped Jace’s hand and pumped twice before releasing him, as if his very skin was toxic.

“Alright, everything’s cleaned up. I gotta get going.”

“Good luck, kid.”

“Thanks, Mac.” Damian managed a smile as he took in the outstretched hand in front of him before reaching out to shake it. ‘Here it comes-’ Predictable as always, the larger man pumped his arm up and down once, then used that momentum to drag Damian forward into a hug. The action had taken him by surprise when the head of the stocking department had first done it, but over the past few months it had become a ritual goodbye that Mac insisted on giving, especially once the man discovered that Damian’s aversion towards it re-developed if he didn't do it for a while.

Once released, Damian took a step back to collect his messenger bag, and minutes later he was out the door. He didn't look back. Oh, the job hadn't been an awful one or anything, but there was only so much joy you could feel restocking shelves and ringing up items for people you’re never going to see again. Or, if you did, it was so rare that it was like only seeing them once anyway.

This job was hopefully going to be more exciting. He had ended up thinking long and hard about the offer that the police threw his way a few months ago, even though he had dismissed it at first. The idea had seemed ludicrous. Him, a police officer? But the idea had been sprung, and here he was, off to his first interview.

Speaking of which, what time had he been told to report, again? A brief moment of thought on the matter left Damian shrugging and fishing into his pocket for the piece of paper he had stashed there for this very question. A glance first at the paper and then at the watch on his wrist proved he had some time, but when he factored in the unreliable timetable of public transportation, who knew how much time he’d actually have?

His pause had disrupted the traffic of pedestrians around him. He ignored the low grumbling as people swerved out of the way, taking the extra moment to put the paper back in his pocket before starting into a brisk walk down the sidewalk.

He glanced left and right as he walked, a casual habit that he had found no inclination to break yet. A few things caught his eye here and there, but his attention only ended up focusing briefly before moving on. The flicker of red in front of him caused him to pause again, this time to wait for the WALK sign to flash so he could cross the street. While playing ‘Frogger’ was something he did often to make it to work on time, today he didn't feel inclined to test fate. While he waited, his gaze drifted across the street, specifically at two women: one middle-aged, the second older. Probably a mother and daughter out on a shopping adventure, probably for some time given the slouching posture of the elder woman and the frequency that the younger kept looking her way. As he watched, the younger took one of the small bags that the elder way carrying and then guided her to a nearby bench. Interest waning, he began to turn away, though he couldn't help but notice the small, colorful box that came out of the bag.

The WALK light flashed, and he started across the street. ‘Hmm. Something from that fancy new cupcake place down the street. I’ve been meaning to try it out...’ he mused, the image of the box remaining in his thoughts for a moment even as the features of the woman holding it began to fade away.

The lazy drifting paused again as he focused in on one of the newer buildings on the street, a small colorful shop with an elaborate sign in the shape of a cupcake. Chocolate icing, his favorite. ‘I definitely have to try that place out sometime.’ The thought popped into his head as he stared at the building. But, no, he had things to do today. With a sigh, he continued past the building to the corner of the street, just in time to see the bus pulling up to the stop a short ways down the road. His pace quickened, and he managed to swing on to the steps of the bus just as the doors began to close.

The paper came out once again as he stepped off the bus, taking in the sights of the area. It was a different setting than the supermarket, but the milling of the people were the same. At least here, he didn’t have to bother with idle chatter or ringing up groceries. The police center itself was a few blocks down from the bus stop - a doable walk for sure. He found himself taking a mental note of the time it took to get from one place to the next. Seven minutes, with traffic. He figured he could get it down to four if he rushed, three if he made all the lights.

He made quick work of the stairs leading into the building and soon found himself inside the crowded front lobby. Making a face, he added himself to the line of people waiting for entry. ‘The only good thing about this is I’ll never have to do it again,’ he mused, glancing around idly. If he passed the interview, hopefully he’d have an ID of sorts and be able to bypass this area altogether. And if he didn’t...then he still wouldn’t have to deal with it, because he wouldn’t be back.

At least the line moved quickly. Soon enough he was face to face with the receptionist, and he managed to put on a smile. “Damian Eberhard, ma’am. I’m here to see Captain Hernandez,” he said in response to her inquiry as to his visit.

“My, the man’s popular today,” she commented as she checked his ID, then handed it back along with his visitor’s pass. He let the comment pass without response, listening as she directed him towards the elevators past security. It seemed like an awfully long list of directions to make it to the offices. Where were they stationed, in the basement?

Oh, no, better. The sub-basement. So much for hoping to work his way up to a window by his desk. Still, he couldn't help but look forward to the interview, and he quickened his pace. He was going to be early anyway, a few extra minutes wasn't going to hurt.

He soon found himself walking into a room filled with desks, empty as they were. ...Well, no, they weren't all empty. The first person he noticed was a massive man seated in the far corner desk. Despite the man’s overwhelming stature, Damian felt only a sense of cheerfulness from the man’s expression. No conversation was exchanged, but he at least managed a smile back before taking in the other person in the room: a woman with a strange sort of helmet covering her face. Admittedly, he couldn’t help but stare, but to her credit the woman stared right back at him.

He hesitated as a familiarly strange sensation crept up from the small of his back. Glancing around the room, taking in nothing in particular, he unconsciously rolled his shoulder back as if trying to shake it off. The hulk of a man was humming away at his desk, so clearly he hadn’t noticed anything...Damian managed a glance at the woman again. She was still staring - or at least, he thought she might have been, but with the helmet covering her eyes he couldn't certain - but the feeling didn't come a second time.

Then again, it never did. ‘Come on, Damian, you've got an interview to occupy yourself with,’ he told himself, deciding to blow the feeling off as he usually did, then turned his attention to the room past the rows of desks.

He could see even from outside the office that the room was already occupied. He frowned slightly in confusion, hand fishing into his pocket for the second time for the handwritten note even as the time scribbled on it flashed into his head. Rather than making an obvious show of checking his watch, he instead glanced over at the small digital clock sitting on the desk beside him. Two minutes prior. Not early enough to warrant not walking in. ‘Deal with it. Act like you’re supposed to be there and just walk in.’

He walked in.

There were three men inside the room. The one farthest in stood behind the only desk in the room, a sure sign of higher management. He took in the desk in one quick glance; it was similar to the ones outside, despite having the potential to be a lot fancier. Not entirely surprising, given the state of the rest of the area. What was surprising was that a fuss hadn't been raised to fix that. That could mean a few different things: that the man hadn't had time to make the call yet, that a fix was in the works, or that the man simply didn't care. Damian hoped it was one of the first two, because if it was the third, that didn’t bode well with him. His gaze traveled up to take in the man himself, noticing the clean-kept state of his uniform and the grizzly look of his face. He finally traveled up enough to make eye contact and was caught a bit off guard by the intimidating look on the man’s face.

Off guard, but not intimidated. When you spend eight hours (ten to twelve if doing overtime) dealing with irritated and sometimes angry people who seek to blame all their troubles on you, you develop a bit of a skin to it. Damian maintained the eye contact for a moment before inclining his head in a gesture of respectful hello. “Captain,” he said, the motion covering up his brief attempt to remember the higher management’s name. A name marker on the desk would have been helpful, but alongside the simplicity there was a stark lack of personalization to it, placeholders included.

“You’re early.” The purposeful tone behind the statement confused him for a moment, until Damian took in the glance towards the Japanese man seated in one of the chairs. Given that the second was still standing despite a second chair, that would signal that the Japanese man had gotten there first. Strange, then, to associate such a comment with him...unless, of course, their interviews had been scheduled at different times.

Actually, that’d make a lot more sense.

The Japanese man was wearing a watch, and, given the size of the office, it wasn’t difficult to read the time off it. He watched the second hand tick a few more times before speaking. “I’m on time now,” he then said before noticing the narrowing eyebrows of the captain, adding a quick, “uh, Sir.”

Hernandez crossed his strong arms across his chest and stared at the three men across from him. He didn’t think any of them would give them a hard time, but he’d been wrong before. He chewed his soggy stub of a cigar thoughtfully as he studied the three and nodded. “We’re supposed to have a few more. Dunno if they’re smart for not showing or the other way around.” Everything about the man screamed military drill sergeant; small, tough stature, gruff manner, and absolute confidence and authority.

“Before you two got here, I was asking Mr. Matsumo here why the hell he decided to show up.” He turned his dark-eyed glare toward Ichiro. “Well?” He asked with a challenge.

Put on the spot caught Ichiro off guard, “Uh…I mean…I thought—“

“You’re in it for the press.” Hernandez accused. “Think you’ll look good on TV, do ya?”

“No! It’s not like that at all.” Ichiro defended himself.

“You can’t honestly believe we’re gonna be helping old ladies get cats out of trees now, do you?” Hernandez scoffed. The Captain leaned forward, resting his hands on the top of his desk in an aggressive stance. “Pretty boy like you is going to get bloody. Get out.”

Ichiro blinked in confusion at the terse dismissal. But Hernandez had already moved on to the FBI agent. “And you? What are you doing here? To tear us down? I don’t need the headache.”

Hernandez’ eyes skimmed over to Damian. “Speaking of getting hurt. What made you decide to come in, Mr. Eberhard? Did ya get lost?”

While it seemed that Hernandez was doing his best to kill the Task Force before it even got started, in reality, he was gauging the reasons the applicants had come in and how they reacted to authority. At least in one case he was fairly sure he knew the answer to that question. He looked back across the three who remained in a stunned silence and growled at Ichiro, “Are you still here? I thought I told you to get the hell out?”

Ichiro stood from the chair slowly, still looking quite confused. But he stopped with a frown, “No.” He said softly.

Hernandez’ voice was razor sharp and soft as a whisper, “Excuse me?”

Ichiro gulped, Why was he afraid of this man? “I-I said no. I’m not leaving. And I’m not here because I’m a glory hound.” He licked suddenly dry lips. “Well,sometimes, but not about this. I—“ He looked for some sort of help from the others. “I think we’re needed. I mean, the regular Police can’t handle crimes done by Mutants. It makes people afraid of us. I don’t want them to be afraid.” His face flushed with embarrassment and he fully expected to get bodily thrown from the office.

Hernandez raised a brow at the Japanese youth. He hadn’t thought the kid had it in him. Of course, that little independent streak would have to be quashed if he was going to be of any use at all. Goliath should be able to handle that. He merely grunted at Ichiro. “Siddown.” From Ichiro, he looked at Redfield and Damian. “Well?”

Jason raised one eyebrow at Hernandez, resisting the urge to cross his arms or look in any way affronted. He realized what the man was doing. And there was no doubting that the policeman was quite good at it; for a moment, Redfield felt like he was a recruit back at Parris Island who had somehow managed to incur the Drill Instructor’s wrath.

The gears turned in the Agent’s head as he decided on the best way to go about this. If he came off as trying to placate Hernandez or if acted too submissive, the grizzled old detective would tear him apart. He didn’t abide weakness, that much was clear. Conversely, Jason had little doubt that butting heads with him or trying to pull rank would accomplish much, even if he had the authority to do so, which he didn’t.

Redfield fixed his cool, gray eyes on the man. “Captain, I understand that you’re not exactly thrilled about the Bureau getting involved or my being here. I’m not here to step on any toes or to take over your task force. I’m here to observe and assist in any way I can, that’s it.” Jason’s reasonable tone suddenly gained a vague edge to it. “Besides, this isn’t exactly my first rodeo. I’ve got some experience and resources which you’re damn well going to need if you hope to ever get this operation off the ground.”

Jace regarded Hernandez blankly, carefully watching his face for any reaction before shooting a quick glance at Damian next to him.

‘Did ya get lost?’

If it wasn’t for the fact that Captain Hernandez was already successfully intimidating him – as the man intended, he was sure – Damian would have laughed. Actually, he kind of still wanted to. The very thought of ending up all the way at the center of this labyrinth they called a headquarters because he had ‘gotten lost’ was downright amusing.

But whatever laughter wanted to come out died away as Damian met the cold eyes of the man behind the desk. This was a man who might be willing to take nonsense from someone close to him, but none of the men in this room were anywhere near the level of intimacy required for jokes. Hell, at the rate they were going, Damian wasn’t sure they ever would be.

He took his time in responding to the accusations. It wasn’t like he needed to hurry – after all, the other two seemed just as stunned into silence as he had been. That is, until the Japanese man spoke up – Matsumo, the captain had said. A surname. Good enough. The speech sounded good, saying all the right things about being needed for the sake of all mutants- Huh. Damian wasn’t certain how he felt about the use of ‘us’ in that statement.

He found himself looking around the small room again, continuing to stall as he tried to figure out the best response to give. Why was he here, anyway? His gaze skimmed over filing cabinets, wondering idly how many of them were already filled – likely none completely, though the top one probably had a few papers inside – and it was during the mental evaluation that the second man spoke up. He went on about assets to the team, taking a much less personal route than Matsumo had.

That one sounded much more like something Damian could relate to, and when it was clear the man had finished – Damian caught the quick glance shot his way – it was clear he couldn’t stall much longer if he had any hope of not making a total fool out of himself.

“I may not have the background or experience for this, but the local police saw something in me that led them to recommend I join the force. I believe them. All I can do is prove it to you.” ‘Hopefully I’ll make it through your training and you’ll agree,’ came the unspoken doubt at the end of the determined response. Damian wasn’t sure where it had come from – until that moment, he still hadn’t been sure if he actually was up for being a part of this task force. But, whatever the reason, he suddenly wanted to stay, and it was up to the captain at this point to make that happen.