Bullet Catchers

Chapter 10

Bullet Catchers

Ten

Pluto sighed; he was bored. So, so damn bored. It had been nearly a solid week since his brush with death, and thus a solid week of nothing. Everyone kept a close eye on him so it wasn't as though he could go cause a ruckus down at the bar. Of course missions were not allowed. Sitting around all day watching Arai tinkering with s**t wasn't exactly thrilling, either. As he watched his comrades come and go to do quick drops or make deals, he suffered through the most painful and exhausting week of his short life. Even a god-awful job like escorting Moses to the Circuit meeting sounded better than lazing about the compound.

Somehow, he found himself hanging around the resident mechanic they called "Monkey." Don't ask Pluto where the nickname came from – he didn't have a clue. He'd always assumed it was short for the term "grease monkey" but he'd heard various stories to prove otherwise. It wasn't a racial term. At least, he didn't think so. He'd only ever heard that term used for people that weren't Caucasian, and while Monkey was a more olive tone than Pluto, he certainly was never called anything other than "white."

Despite his curiosity he never asked and never planned to. Really, he didn't care much for the guy. If anything, he considered him kind of useless. What exactly did Monkey do, anyway? He never had to go out and shoot people or risk the chance of getting shot himself. All he did was nap or run his little greenhouse garden when there wasn't work to do. To top it off, he got paid bundles more than any of the other Bullet Catchers.

Monkey did have a stricter doctrine of rules, however. For instance, while Moses couldn't care less if the others were sober or not during missions, Monkey was expected to remain sober at all times, except for designated "vacation" days he'd get every so often. The others would get relatively advanced notice before being sent someplace; Monkey never knew when he'd be in the shop or for how long. This wasn't counting the rare times that Moses would accept contracts to repair vehicles, despite only have one mechanic on his team.

The only reason Pluto even wandered out to Monkey's shop was because there was seriously nothing else for him to do. Growing up having to fight to survive meant a comfy lifestyle was something he'd never be able to enjoy. The shop barely provided any distraction. Monkey didn't talk to him and focused on the mundane job of changing oil for a truck, so Pluto attempted to find entertainment in the various tools and random junk that was piled up. Pluto had no idea what the majority of the tools were even used for or why anyone would need so many.

With one arm still useless, Pluto was a bit of a bumbling i***t shifting through things. Picking up one particular tool proved to be foolish, as he wasn't ready for the weight and dropped it. For a moment both he and Monkey remained motionless; Monkey shifted his eyes to see what dropped and saw a drill on the ground. Uninterested, his eyes turned back to the task at hand. Pluto awkwardly attempted to pick the tool up and place it back where he'd found it.

A beep reached Pluto's ears and he moved toward the noise. Situated on a desk in the far corner of the shop was an old school fax machine. Littered on the ground next to it where a dozen or more paper flyers. Each one held a bold headline of "WANTED." As the newest arrival printed, he picked one of the older ones up. There was no stopping the chuckle that escaped his lips. The yellowed paper had grease stains and tattered edges. In the middle was a faded picture of a Russian assassin that they collected the bounty on ages ago. Pluto had fond memories of listening to the self-proclaimed "badass" squeal in fear when they put a gun to the bastard's head.

The paper was discarded and he went to grab the fresh notice. He halted when the sound of Monkey's cellphone overshadowed the final beep of the fax machine. Only Moses had Monkey's number, and he only called during emergencies.

The ring ended as Monkey answered while still underneath the vehicle. "Yeah," he greeted. "Wha – f**k! s**t!"

Pluto heard the sound of Monkey's head crash against the underbelly of the truck as he shot up. In a flash Monkey was out from under the truck, his hand covering the gash in his forehead. As the blood seeped through his fingers the panic began to set in. It was impossible for Pluto to stop the sensation of dread from taking over his body as he watched Monkey pace and tense up with every second passed.

Whatever efforts Pluto put into calming his steadily increasing heartbeat were for naught. A single gunshot from the house made his body cease all functions. An abrupt round of fresh shots echoed down the road and suddenly his heartbeat, breathing, and nerves went into overdrive.

Monkey wasn't waiting around; he booked it out of the shop and disappeared around the corner. Pluto frantically began another sweep of the shop, his eyes checking each tool to see if it was secretly a gun. Of course Monkey didn't have the space for weapons. All of Pluto's collection currently rested in the house – the house that sounded like it was being attacked from all sides. Running away appeared to be the only option.

Pluto made it one step out of the shop before a beat up truck skidded to a halt mere inches from his face. After flinching from the fear of impact, Pluto opened his eyes to see a pale-faced and sweating Monkey glaring daggers at him.

"Get in!" the mechanic commanded.

Pluto had managed to open the door before the thundering pops of gunfire were overtaken by the ping of bullets ricocheting off, around, and in the truck that Monkey was driving. Somehow, the only bullet to find its mark merely scratched the mechanic in the leg. When the attack ceased for a brief moment, Pluto scrambled inside. Monkey didn't even wait for the door to slam shut before he sped off.

"What the hell?! What's going on?!" Pluto screamed. His body was instinctively sinking into the upholstery of the truck's bench seat. He didn't expect an answer and there was no chance for him to get one. Another hail of bullets struck the truck from the direction they were driving. Monkey didn't even attempt to dodge them as glass shattered and rained down inside the cab. Pluto was nearly on the floorboard. He popped up just in time to see their attackers and Monkey drove them straight through the herd of enemy. The "A" emblem stitched into the fatigues screamed "Atlantis."

"What the hell?! Atlantis!" he shouted more to himself than anyone else. Why would they be attacking now of all times? Had the little spat the two groups had at the Dive sent the remaining group into a tizzy? He had to call Dingo and figured out where the freakin' hell he was and get the team together ASAP.

Shaking hands reached into his shirt pocket to pull out his cellphone. Unable to control his motor function, his hands fumbled the cellphone and dropped it. As it clanked against the floorboards he reached down to grab it.

He never even heard the gunshots, he just felt the glass of the back window hit his head and neck. His arms moved without thought, and even the broken one moved effortlessly in an attempt to cover his head from any more damage. A harsh jolt of the vehicle sent his body flying forward and he smashed his face against the bottom of the dashboard. The hiss of Monkey next to him meant something bad had happened - something probably really bad.

Hesitantly he looked to his comrade to find Monkey clenching his side. The oil and greased up shirt had a tint of red. When Monkey moved his hand to shift gears, revealed to Pluto was a deeper gash than the first, as a bullet had managed to snip Monkey's torso.

"I f*****g hate you so much, Jan."

"I hate you too, Abe!"

Pluto never called anyone by their real name, but he hated being called by his birth name. It was an insult to him; that was a name forced upon him, a name that represented a dead country and a dead past. In his mind, the only way to insult him was to call him "Jan," thus the best way to return the insult was either kill them or call them by their given name, too.

Monkey never said anything back; he just focused on driving. That worked great for Pluto as he finally retrieved his cellphone. The beat up relic was flipped open, revealing the keypad. Then… he forgot. Pluto forgot who he was going to call and why. All he could focus on was the sound of his own breathing, the sudden ache that gnawed at his broken arm, and the quiet curses of the man next to him. The red smear on the grey dashboard in front of him was from his lip and nose, both of which ruptured when his face made contact. He couldn't take his eyes off of it.

"Hold on!"

There was no time for Pluto to heed the order. Monkey yanked harshly on the wheel. Suddenly Pluto felt his entire world tip. The calming apathy that had gripped him but a few seconds earlier was gone. In its place a frantic uprising of adrenaline sent his heart into his throat. Instinctively his body braced for impact and his eyes clenched themselves shut to avoid the nausea that threatened to take over.

In what felt like minutes but was truly mere seconds, the weightless feeling in his gut was replaced when he felt a hardy jolt rock his entire body.

Nothing moved. Nothing happened. Slowly, the still panic-stricken Pluto opened his eyes. Blurred lines came into focus. Before him was the exact same dashboard as before, the very same drops of blood from his own face peppered across it.

"Holy hell," he breathed out. Danger was still right outside his window but for that moment he was just thankful his remains weren't splattered across the roadway.

The tranquil moment was ruined when the crackling sound of gunfire made his ears rattle. After ducking and flinching, he looked out the passenger window to find that cavalry had arrived. Yelling at him to do something was Tank. He couldn't hear over the unbearable ring that temporarily deafened him. Annoyed with his lack of response, Tank ripped the beaten and hole-ridden door open and dragged Pluto along with her.

"… fuckin' cocksuckers…" were the only two words she said that he could hear clearly. Pushed behind her and right into the side of Dingo, Pluto hurried to get himself together. He smacked his face and shook his head, hoping it would somehow open his ear canals so he could hear again. It was unnecessary, but it did provide a helpful mental push.

"What the hell?! What's going on?!" he demanded.

"Shut the f**k up and take this, you piece of s**t!" Dingo shouted back.

Thrusted into Pluto's arms was an ARX160 rifle. The light weight of it upset his damaged arm. The whine he emitted was intentionally loud, although no one heard it over the return fire headed their way. Pluto hadn't even realized they were still being targeted until Dingo shoved him down onto the ground.

He popped his head out of the dirt and yelled over the guns, "Why is Atlantis here?!"

"Because of you!"

Dingo hadn't intended the tone of his voice to make Pluto feel guilty, but it certainly did. Even if Pluto wanted clarification, he wasn't about to ask. More important than the "why" was the "how the hell do we get out of here?!" There shouldn't have been more than four members of Atlantis remaining, but surrounding them there must have been a dozen enemy guns.

Strong arms yanked him back to his feet, but his limbs refused to move. Even the rifle handed to him was dropped; Monkey was quick to retrieve it. Dingo was forced to drag the limp Pluto through enemy fire until they were better positioned behind Monkey's truck. All Pluto could do was cover his ears as the noise overtook all other senses. Concentrating the best his mind would allow, he tried to focus on the sound of Dingo's voice barking orders.

He heard Dingo ask, "Yeah, Hadj, you got Arai?" A peek over at Dingo revealed he was speaking through a headset. "Get 'em and let's get out of here. We gotta save the chief before the fuckers get to him."

The chief? That meant Moses. There was no way in hell Pluto was going to let anyone touch Moses. No matter their reasoning, no one was allowed to mess with Moses. Sure, he considered him a bit of a bore; Moses was never the funniest guy to drink with and he was a terrible wingman. Still, no one had given so much to someone deserving so little; no one had ever taken a kid as downtrodden as Pluto and given him a new chance, a new life, a new country. Moses was… quite like his name, actually.

Monkey was a terrible shot and Pluto recognized this right away. He demanded, "Gimme that!" and tore the rifle out of Monkey's hands. The mechanic didn't dare fight to get it back. Pluto never would have given him a chance. The sights of the rifle were pointed at the dumbass Atlantis members that poked their heads out of hiding. A feathering of the trigger sent a wave of bullets at them. Not a single one hit, and Pluto felt the recoil jar his arm.

Still, he pushed through the pain. His mind was clear. Vision was focused on the silhouettes that popped up and nothing else. The roar of gunfire around him went unheard. He listened only for commander's voice, just the way he'd been trained. Although still shaking, he was able to calm his shocked muscles enough to move without clenching up.

That control over himself lasted until Tank shouted, "f**k 'em up, bitches!" and tossed a flashbang. No one was prepared for it aside from Tank herself. When it detonated, Pluto could hear only one thing above the ringing, and that was Dingo screeching curse words at Tank so loud it forced his voice to crack.

Disorientated, Pluto dropped the rifle and let himself hit the dirt again. All he dared to move was his arm, which he placed over his head to protect himself should anything get near him. He'd had enough concussions over the last month to last a lifetime.

The twirling of his brain eased the moment the whirling wind caused by a helicopter blade sent his hair fluttering. Before he could even glance in its direction Dingo pulled Pluto up and hooked him to a harness. It wasn't attached very well, and Pluto felt his gut get forced into his chest as he was brought up. Almost all of the gunfire from Atlantis shifted directions and focused solely on his dangling body. When the Bullet Catchers returned fire in full force, Atlantis was forced to retreat just long enough for Pluto get to safety.

Hadji helped Pluto get inside in the helicopter and to safety. As the Czech was freed from his harness the heavy breathing returned. Vomit threatened to erupt as the realization he'd nearly died took over. Hadji merely patted Pluto's back and said, "You have more enemies than friends, Pluto."

There was no reason or time for Pluto to respond properly. Hadji still had to get the others out there as quick as possible. Left to himself, Pluto felt an uncontrollable anger slowly eat away and replace the fear that had griped him. It didn't matter the reason why Atlantis was after him or where their new members came from. All of them were going to be dead, he'd see to that himself.