Years before

Around the same year that Michael had retired from his time in the Army, he was doing some contract work to facilitate security operations. More specifically, he was aiding in personal protection. During the period known as the Time of Secrecy, when Michael was the only enhanced individual that was known to exist, he had to prevent himself from being put in any situation that would cause him to be forced to show his abilities in public. This meant that he could not stand next to a VIP and perform physical interventions. Instead, he had to be a stalking shadow and intercept enemies without drawing attention to himself.

He wore a radio with an earpiece, with a dark gray suit. He wore black boots, and his belt was a reinforced leather belt with nearly a duty belt worth of items on it. A Glock 17 sat in a kydex holster, equipped with a flashlight and a dot sight. He wore two spare magazines, which was pretty normal. Next to the gun was a fixed karambit blade with three and a half inches of edge. Behind the spare pistol mags on his non dominant hip was a 30 round Pmag with ammo for a shortened M4 that waited for him in a bag in a staged point at the venue. The rifle had a nine inch barrel, but with the silencer adding seven inches back to the length, it was effectively a 16 inch barrel. This meant that he could not just wear it on his back since he had to look unimportant.

Michael was ordered to roam around and seek out threats. He was also on hand to lend support in the event that something catastrophic took place. He had a diplomat who was visiting a work office to interview someone about matters that meant nothing to Michael. Your business is yours, he thought to himself, I’ll just keep you safe while you do it.

However, he had a secondary objective. There was a woman he needed to keep occasional tabs on. Nobody could state what she was or why she mattered, but it was something to do while roaming around. Fair enough. The woman had blonde hair, a heavily endowed chest and seemingly athletic legs in a blue dress. She seemed to be well aware of her figure as she dressed to display. Her hair was tied in dual pigtails, her front was low cut and her waistline was slimmed with a waistband under her dress. This made her very easy to keep track of, though her demeanor and personality didn’t seem like someone who conducted any kind of business that would make her a target. She walked and talked politely, she didn’t lean herself at anyone in particular, she didn’t partake in the alcohol available, and she didn’t hold anyone's hand. Not a wife or girlfriend of anybody?

She was not the VIP, and he saw no reason why his handler cared so much about this woman. The diplomat had white pants and a black jacket with a yellow tie. This man apparently hadn’t been told that it’s okay for all three pieces to match, but this made him easier to identify. He was also the only one surrounded by big men in black suits with MP7’s hanging off their arms. He would glance over to the woman occasionally, but he mainly focused on the VIP and the areas around the building where intruders might slip into the building. The outside of the building didn’t have outward security since the people running things didn’t want to give away to any observers that there were things inside worth taking an interest in.

Michael made rounds, though Bernard hadn’t given him a detailed route. This was ideal because it meant that his movements wouldn’t become predictable. Being paid to roam around a building with a gun and maybe shoot people, most people dreamed of such assignments. Things stirred in Michaels mind however, because something felt not right about something that he couldn’t quite figure out.

“Heya bud,” a voice crackled through his earpiece, “time for your radio check.”

Michael said nothing.

“Heya, buddy,” the voice spoke again after a moment of no reply.

Michael moved to an isolated room and spoke into the mic fitted in his wrist. “Last calling station,” he said quietly, “Nobody on this freq goes by the callsign Bud-Dee, over.”

A moment went by before the voice replied. “I’m not calling you that name,” the man on the other end spoke. “Your self appointed name is stupid and I won’t play along with it.”

Glaring at literally nothing, Michael replied. “I guess you’ll never know if my radio works or if I’m paying attention.”

“Ess solver, you there?” the voice responded.

“I don’t understand you,” Michael snapped, “don’t make me lecture you about radio etiquette!”

“Why won’t you cooperate with me and just admit that things are okay?” the voice said.

Michael waited. This time he gave no reply. He began walking downstairs to a booth where a man waited for a radio reply that wasn’t coming. He found Bernard and glared him down, knife-handing in his direction, his hand held at eye level to indicate that he was genuinely pissed off.

“Michael, please,” Bernard said nervously, “I don’t wanna cuss on a radio.”

“I didn’t come as far as I have,” Michael barked through his teeth, “to have some unserving little fuck mouth off at me and rectal-dive the shit out of a radio check that you’re not even meant to initiate!”

“Hey!” Bernard barked back, “I tell YOU what to do!” he tried with failing effort to establish dominance he never had.

Michael stepped within an inch of Bernards face. “Handler,” he growled, “Not commander. Got it?” Michael waited for him to reply. His teeth gritted harder, his hard exhale through his nose pressured the room with tension, even the young booth operator who stood watching the exchange trembled. Michael noticed.

Bernard swallowed and began to speak, “I’m a human be-”

“Barely,” Michael barked in interruption. “I’m due for my radio check in seven minutes. Don’t use that computer clock to determine time, that thing is off by forty seven minutes.” Michael turned to leave the room, pausing to look at the young guard. “You ever do a radio check before?”

The guard nodded, “I dunno if you would have liked it though,” he replied nervously.

Michael grinned, “in six and a half minutes you’ll hear what it’s supposed to sound like.” He walked back to his route quickly, finding his way to a room he hadn’t been in. He looked at his watch. Having taken his time, he was down to five seconds. Those seconds elapsed.

Michael keyed his radio. “Bunnyboy, shit-solver,” he spoke with cynical confidence in his voice, “radio check, over?”

A moment went by before Bernard responded. “Shit-solver, Bunnyman, loud and clear, over and out.”

Michael scrunched his face from the cringiness of that transmission. He was ready to go toss someone through a window but he knew that would distract him from doing his job. He turned to resume his walk when she appeared in his path. The woman in the blue dress approached him with a soft smile.

“I’ve noticed you,” she said in a calm friendly voice, “You look my way and say nothing to me. Who are you?”

Michael paused, near frozen, he turned his head slightly to reveal the tell-tale earpiece on the side of his head. He hoped that this would answer her question, but she still looked at him as if she expected a response. Realizing that nonverbal answers weren’t gonna be accepted, he spoke up. “I’m part of the security detail.”

She giggled faintly, stepping a little bit closer to him. “I’m Sarah,” she said quietly, “I own the building.” Sarah put a hand on Michaels elbow and ran her thumb along his bicep. “Did your supervisor ask you to keep an eye on me?”

Michael raised an eyebrow. Outside of work hours, he would gladly let this woman lead him to a closet somewhere to make some intimate irresponsibilities with her. Or, with how out of place all of this felt to him, he’d jerk his arm away from her and storm off to preserve his self respect. He did not perceive himself as a good looking guy, nor did he think that he had any kind of charm about himself whatsoever. He saw himself as the most boring option on the buffet line out of all the big bad dudes roaming around that she could go put moves on. Why the fuck have you taken an interest in me? His paranoid thoughts began rumbling and making internal noises inside his head.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, “you’re the only one who hasn’t looked at me like I’m a fuck-toy.”

Michael slowly took a breath, his calm coming back to him. “I have things to check on.” he said as he moved to step around her and continue on his walk. Gradually increasing his pace, he walked down the hallway as Sarah peeked around the corner and watched him stride away.

An hour went by.

Michael rounded a corner and saw Sarah standing in a man's arms. This wasn’t a hug, because the man held a knife against the back of her head. Michael drew his weapon and aimed for the head of the man who had just begun sinking the knife into her. Michael fired one shot which struck the man's temple. He was dead before he hit the ground, but he wasn’t in time to save the woman.

As Sarah fell to the ground, Michael keyed on the radio, “Second floor, homicide, perp is down.”

Down on the first floor, the meeting with the diplomat was abruptly ended. The security team with him immediately began rushing him to an exit vehicle. Men began grabbing their rifles from hard cases in ready rooms and clearing the rest of the building. The exits and fire escapes were locked down and nobody could get in or out. In under a minute, the building became inescapable.

Michael jumped from the balcony that overlooked the lobby and grabbed a first floor ledge. Making his way to a ready room there, he grabbed his rifle and the chest rig that were staged. Donning the rig and slinging the rifle, he made his way to the surveillance booth on the second floor. On his way he encountered Bernard.

“What’s going on!?” Bernard shouted as he flailed his arms about.

“That blue dress woman got stabbed in the head,” Michael barked back, “got the motherfucker responsible.”

“Sarah’s dead?” Bernard asked. Before Michael replied, he realized something about Bernard's voice. He didn’t seem very concerned that she was dead, but simply seemed to want to hear it again that she was in fact dead.

Are you in some kind of denial? Michael asked in his own mind without actually saying any words. He walked back to the body upstairs and led Bernard to the body.

After a moment of staring uselessly at both bodies, Bernard shrugged. “At least we got our VIP out quick.”

At this point Michael was unable to hold back his suspicions. “How’d that knife get in this building?” he asked with the full intent of accusation. Before anyone could answer, Michael piped up. “Everyone was searched, right?” He began rummaging through the dead killers pockets. He found a concealment configured duty belt that was very close in resemblance to a police officer. There was a Glock 22, spare magazines, handcuffs, a flashlight, and a can of pepper spray. Michael dug deeper in the pockets and found a wallet. In that wallet was a badge and identification papers. He looked closely at the document. Since when do we let the FBI around our shit? That was the thought that began bouncing around in his head. They’re unreliable, easily compromised, perfect pawns.

Michael stood up and held up the ID and badge. He walked down to the lobby where some of the senior members of the security detail were waiting for people to intercept. “Since when do we have the FBI involved?” he asked loudly. “Why is there a Field Agent that we never cleared to be here, lying dead on the floor next to a murdered woman?” he looked around for someone to answer. Most of the reactions were of shock, surprise, and a couple faces of anger.

“We don’t have FBI here,” one of the guards replied.

“Well he got in somehow,” Michael barked, “He sank a knife into a womans neck,” he continued, now at a raging shout, “Why the fuck was I not informed of his presence!?” He turned and threw the badge at Bernard. It hit him in the eyebrow.

Bernard fumbled about as he tried to catch the badge holder. “Are you out of your mind?” he tried asking. “That could have taken out my eye!”

“I could take the entire face if you like,” Michael growled. “You’re the only one here who could have bypassed someone through security.”

Bernard fell silent. Michael had said something that hit his nerve and prevented him from saying something bureaucratic. He stared back at Michael with no words to utter.

“What did you gain from her death?” Michael asked, now standing inches from Bernard.

“She was a liability,” Bernard finally piped up. “She could have learned something, or said something.”

Michaels teeth clenched, his head got slightly dizzy with rage. “You mean to tell me,” he said through a snarl, “that you arranged for Sarah's death,” he grabbed Bernard by the collar of his shirt, “because she was inconvenient?” Before Bernard could open his mouth with a reply, Michael slapped the side of his head hard, causing him to double over and fall to the ground. “You’ll forever be a piece of shit to me,” Michael said in a surprisingly calm voice, “this is my resignation, effective once I’ve stepped a hundred meters away from this building.”

Bernard blabbered incoherently as Michael walked away. None of the security team dared to stand anywhere near his path. Most of the other members gathered around Bernard, looking at him with disapproval.

Michael left the building, left the nameless government task force behind and rode a bus with the equipment in his belt and his permanent pensions. From that point forward, he had decided that he would decide his own assignments, and he would make his own decisions on who was allowed to die around him.