NOVEL WEB Chapter 17: Chapter 17
Shameless Note from a Shameless Author 😎
Hey, hey! 🙌
This is the last chapter I had in reserve, so we're at the limit! 😅 I'm hoping to find some time to write tomorrow, and with any luck, I'll get back into the groove! I'm feeling really motivated, and we're finally jumping into the arc I've been waiting for, Tombstone. 🎯✨
So, be patient, because this arc is going to be awesome. No spoilers, but trust me, what's coming will be epic. 😏💥
The story is finally moving forward, and so am I! 😎 If you're enjoying it, I'd love to read your comments and reviews! 📝 They really keep me going. And if your heart desires, some power stones are always appreciated. 😅
Thanks for your patience and all the support, I'll be back with more soon! 🙏
— With love, your writer who's catching up. 😉
---
Clint watched as the cadets surged forward at his whistle, his trained eye picking out the subtle differences in their movements. A month had transformed these raw recruits into something closer to real agents, and nowhere was that more evident than in their approach to the tilted wall.
Ward hit it first, scaling the surface with practiced efficiency. His movements were textbook perfect - no wasted energy, each handhold carefully chosen. But it was Eagle who caught Clint's attention. The usually drowsy cadet had come alive, studying the wind patterns from the turbines with remarkable speed before beginning his ascent. Where others fought against the gusts, Eagle used them, timing his movements between bursts with an almost artistic precision.
"Smart kid," Clint muttered, making a mental note. Eagle's strategic thinking could make him invaluable for tactical operations.
Jackson and Maverick worked in tandem, having developed an unconscious rhythm over the past month. They called out wind patterns to each other, their teamwork a far cry from their earlier solo attempts. But it was Maximus who showed the most dramatic improvement. Gone was the street rat who had struggled to reach the halfway point. Now he moved with purpose, mimicking Ward's efficiency while incorporating Eagle's wind-reading technique.
"They're actually working together," Natasha commented, appearing silently beside him. "Even if they don't realize it."
Clint nodded as the cadets reached the platform network. "That room assignment wasn't an accident."
Ward led the pack through the suspended obstacles, but Eagle was closing the gap. The usually lethargic cadet moved like liquid through the swinging platforms, his movements so smooth it almost looked easy. Jackson and Maverick weren't far behind, with Maximus keeping pace - a stark contrast to his exhausted flailing from a month ago.
"Look at Jones," Clint pointed out. "Kid's finally learned to conserve his energy."
The weighted vest portion revealed the true extent of their growth. Ward maintained his lead, his breathing controlled even under the crushing weight. But it was Eagle who made the most impressive showing, his calculated pace allowing him to overtake several others who had started strong but were now flagging.
Jackson and Maverick pushed each other forward, their competitive spirit driving them to maintain their position near the front. And Maximus, who had once collapsed under the vest's weight, kept steady. He wasn't the fastest, but he was holding his own - a testament to four weeks of relentless training.
As they crossed the finish line, Clint couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. Ward finished first, as expected, followed by a surprisingly energetic Eagle. Jackson claimed third, with Maverick close behind and Maximus rounding out the top five. The rest of the cadets trailed significantly behind.
"Grant," Clint called out as the cadets caught their breath. "A word."
Ward approached, his composure already restored despite the grueling course.
"Agent Coulson speaks highly of you," Clint said, studying the young man's reaction. "Says you've shown interest in more advanced operations."
"Yes, sir." Ward's response was measured, professional.
"We're considering you for early graduation. Your performance today confirmed what we already suspected - you're ready for field work."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Ward's face before vanishing behind his usual mask of discipline. "Thank you, sir."
As Ward rejoined the others, Clint watched the five roommates interact. They had become something of a unit, pushing each other to excel. Even now, Maverick was teasing Eagle about his sudden burst of energy while Jackson congratulated Maximus on his improvement. Ward stood slightly apart, but his presence was integral to their dynamic.
"They're going to be a handful," Natasha observed with a slight smirk.
"They already are," Clint replied, but he couldn't keep the approval from his voice. These cadets had surpassed his expectations, especially as a group. Now he just had to make sure they survived the rest of their training.
---
POV Max
Maximus dropped into the dining room chair, his muscles burning from the circuit but a proud grin spread across his face. Eagle practically melted into the seat beside him, assuming his signature half-asleep position. The dining hall buzzed with the usual lunchtime chaos, but their corner felt like a hard-earned sanctuary after the morning's brutal training.
"Well, well," Maverick smirked from across the table, "look who actually made it to lunch without passing out this time."
Jackson chuckled, setting down his tray loaded with enough food to feed three people. "Kid's grown a lot this month. Almost keeping up with us now." He emphasized the 'almost' with a playful wink.
"Wake me up when he actually beats someone," Eagle mumbled, eyes closed but somehow still managing to shovel food into his mouth.
Maximus laughed, the sound surprising even himself. A month ago, their teasing would have stung, but now it felt like belonging. He grabbed an apple from his tray, studying it thoughtfully before voicing something that had been nagging at him.
"Hey, anyone notice Ward never eats with us?" He glanced around the crowded hall. "Does he even eat lunch?"
Jackson's expression turned contemplative. "Come to think of it, we barely see him during free periods either. Guy's like a ghost."
"Maybe he's actually a Terminator," Maverick suggested, waggling his eyebrows. "You know, recharging his batteries in some secret lab."
"Too much effort," Eagle mumbled into his arms. "Even for a robot."
The conversation drifted to their shared experiences over the past month - the brutal training sessions, the late-night strategy discussions, the times they'd covered for each other during particularly rough days. It felt strange to Maximus, having people he could actually count on.
"Speaking of robots," Jackson leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "you guys hear what's happening out there? Word is there's some kind of high-tech flying suit fighting terrorists in Afghanistan."
Maverick snorted. "Right, and I'm Captain America's long-lost son. Come on, Jackson, you're not actually buying that sci-fi nonsense?"
"I don't know," Maximus interjected, thinking about all he'd seen since joining S.H.I.E.L.D. "After everything here, a flying robot doesn't seem that far-fetched."
He glanced at Eagle, trying to gauge his reaction, but couldn't tell if the other cadet was deep in thought or simply asleep. After weeks together, Maximus still couldn't read him half the time.
"Fury's been restless lately," Jackson added thoughtfully. "Some cadets overheard him arguing with Coulson about something classified. Might be connected."
"Well, whatever it is-" Maverick started, but Clint's voice cut through their conversation.
"Time's up, ladies!" Their instructor stood at the dining hall entrance. "Weight room, five minutes. And yes, Eagle, that means you too."
Everyone groaned, pushing back from the table. Jackson immediately grabbed Eagle's collar as the drowsy cadet tried to slink away.
"Oh no, you don't," Jackson grinned, hauling Eagle to his feet. "You've ducked out of weight training three times this week. Not happening today."
"But my pillow misses me," Eagle protested weakly, though he allowed himself to be steered toward the exit.
As they headed to the weight room, Maximus felt that familiar mix of dread and anticipation. Another brutal session awaited them, but somehow, with this oddball group around him, even the worst training days didn't seem so bad anymore. Though he couldn't help wondering about Ward, and what their mysterious roommate did during these quiet moments when the rest of them came together.
"Stop thinking so loud," Eagle muttered as they walked. "It's disturbing my nap."
Maximus grinned, shaking his head. Some things, at least, never changed.
---
POV Tombstone
Meanwhile, in a place far beyond the base, a figure moved with caution, searching for something that would change the course of events.
"Nothing?" Tombstone's voice cut through the stale air of his underground office, each word sharp as a blade. The space, nestled beneath an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn's industrial district, matched its owner's imposing presence. Concrete walls adorned with expensive art created an unsettling contrast between refinement and raw power, while dim lighting cast long shadows across the polished mahogany desk.
Tombstone himself sat rigid in his leather chair, his ash-gray skin and filed teeth giving him an almost mythical appearance. His pristine white suit seemed to glow in the low light, a stark contrast to the darkness of his surroundings and the violence in his eyes.
The two hulking guards shifted uncomfortably under their boss's piercing gaze. The one on the left, Marcus, cleared his throat. "We've checked all his old spots, boss. The abandoned building on 43rd, the warehouse district, even that rundown apartment complex in Queens where he used to scout."
"And?" Tombstone's fingers drummed against his desk, each tap echoing like a countdown.
"Nothing," the second guard, Torres, admitted. "It's like Shadow vanished into thin air. We know he was working with that Lang guy before the VistaCorp job, but Lang's locked up now, and nobody's talking."
Tombstone rose from his chair, his movement fluid despite his massive frame. He walked to the wall-length aquarium that dominated one side of the office, watching as exotic fish darted between artificial coral. "Tell me about the two we caught. The ones from his last job."
Marcus consulted a small notebook. "They're not much help. Say the kid never took off his mask, never used any name except 'Shadow.' Both agree he was young though, maybe late teens. Skilled at parkour, good with locks, but green in a lot of ways."
"Green," Tombstone repeated, tasting the word. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the aquarium, watching a lionfish stalk its prey. "Yes, that's exactly what he was. An unpolished gem."
He turned back to face his men, his expression darkening. "Do you know what I saw when that kid first walked into my territory? Potential. Raw, untapped potential. Every time he brought me stolen goods, I could see it. The way he moved, the way he thought... he wasn't just another street rat. He was something special."
Torres shifted his weight, confused. "But boss, if he was that good, why'd you always lowball him on payment?"
A cruel smile spread across Tombstone's face. "Because that was the plan, you idiot. Every time I underpaid him, his debt to me grew. He knew it, I knew it, but he had nowhere else to go. I was setting him up for a special job - one that would've gone south by design. His debt would've doubled, tripled even. And then another job, and another, each one carefully orchestrated to fail just enough to keep him bound to me without breaking him completely."
Tombstone's fist crashed down on his desk, causing both guards to flinch. "He would've worked for me forever, trapped in an endless cycle of debt. A skilled thief, completely under my control, all for the price of a few botched jobs and some calculated manipulation."
He walked back to his chair, sinking into it with uncharacteristic weariness. "But now? Now he's gone. Months of careful planning, of grooming him for a bigger purpose, wasted. And nobody - nobody - can tell me where he went or why he vanished."
The room fell silent except for the gentle bubbling of the aquarium. Marcus and Torres exchanged nervous glances, neither wanting to be the first to speak.
Finally, Marcus cleared his throat. "We could widen the search, boss. Maybe check some of the-"
"Get out." Tombstone's voice was quiet but carried enough menace to freeze both men in place. "Get out before I decide to take my frustration out on you two instead of that desk."
They didn't need to be told twice. As the door closed behind them, Tombstone turned his chair to face the aquarium again. He watched as the lionfish finally cornered its prey, only to have it slip away at the last moment through a gap in the coral.
"Where are you, Shadow?" he muttered, his reflection distorted in the glass. "What made you disappear right when everything was falling into place?"
The fish continued their endless dance through the water, offering no answers to the crime boss's questions. Somewhere out there, his perfect plan had slipped through his fingers like smoke, leaving him with nothing but questions and a growing sense of unease about what might have happened to his would-be pawn.
A soft knock interrupted Tombstone's brooding. Not the usual heavy-handed pounding of his guards, but something more deliberate, almost elegant. His eyes narrowed as the door opened without his permission.
"I believe we have a mutual interest," the figure said, stepping into the dim light. The man wore an expensive suit that spoke of old money and influence, but something about him set off every warning bell in Tombstone's criminal instincts. He moved with the calculated precision of a predator, each step measured and purposeful.
Tombstone's hand drifted to the gun beneath his desk. "You've got nerve walking in here uninvited."
"I have information about Shadow." The stranger's voice carried a hint of amusement. "Or should I say, Maximus Jones?"
The name hit Tombstone like a physical blow. His fingers tightened around the gun's grip, but he didn't draw it. Not yet. "Go on."
"My organization has been watching him for some time." The man remained standing, hands clasped behind his back. "We know everything about him - his habits, his haunts, even his rather touching devotion to his invalid mother."
"And you're sharing this out of the kindness of your heart?" Tombstone's lip curled, revealing his filed teeth.
The stranger's laugh was cold, empty of any real mirth. "Let's call it a mutually beneficial arrangement. We both want the boy, but for different reasons. You want revenge for his disappearance, while we... well, our interests are more complicated."
"Where is he?"
"Currently? In a location that's quite impossible to reach directly." The man's smile never wavered. "But that's not important. What matters is how we bring him to us."
Tombstone leaned forward, his interest piqued despite his suspicion. "I'm listening."
"Clare Jones. His mother." The stranger produced a manila envelope, sliding it across the desk. "Lives alone in a modest apartment in Queens. Wheelchair-bound, requires constant medication. The boy's sole weakness."
Inside the envelope, Tombstone found detailed surveillance photos, medical records, even utility bills. The level of intelligence was impressive - and disturbing. "You're suggesting we use her as bait."
"Precisely. Take the mother, and the son will come running." The man's eyes gleamed in the aquarium's blue light. "My organization will ensure the message reaches only him, and that no... outside parties interfere with your reunion."
"And what do you get out of this?"
"Let's just say we have plans for young Mr. Jones that will commence once your business with him is concluded." The stranger straightened his already immaculate tie. "Do we have an agreement?"
Tombstone studied the man before him, weighing the offer. Everything about this stranger screamed danger, but the opportunity was too perfect to pass up. "Deal. But if you cross me..."
"Mr. Lincoln," the man cut him off smoothly, "I assure you, double-crossing a man of your reputation would be most... unwise." He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "We'll be in touch with the details."
As the stranger's footsteps faded away, Tombstone pressed the intercom button. "Marcus, Torres - get everyone together. We're having a meeting." His filed teeth gleamed in the dim light as his lips stretched into a predatory grin. "It's time to welcome Shadow - no, Maximus Jones - back to the neighborhood."
He picked up one of the surveillance photos, studying the image of a frail woman in a wheelchair. The boy had been clever, resourceful even. But he'd made one crucial mistake - he'd left something precious behind. Something vulnerable.
Tombstone's laughter echoed through the underground office, mixing with the gentle bubbling of the aquarium where his lionfish continued its endless hunt. Soon, very soon, the prey would have nowhere left to hide.