Unabashed Spoiler Hound & Fanfic writer

Reveling in the fickle nature of fangirlishness

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Secret Identity Part 1/5
A completely, fanciful story without any logic whatsoever so fair warning to suspend your disbelief and just let your imagination take over. It came as inspiration from watching too many Man of Steel interviews.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Chaos

Chapter 1:

“No, no,” Casey protested. “I’m not playing into his ego.”

“Well, if you think about it, it really makes sense,” Michael interjected.

“No, Michael, it’s the opposite of making sense!” Casey insisted.

“Really? The constant banter? The poetry recitations? The encyclopedic knowledge of all things mundane and inane? Even you have to admit that some of them have really saved our asses -”

“I don't have to admit anything! All that proves is that he’s an idiot!” Casey insisted again. “It doesn’t mean he’s...he’s...”

“What?” Michael challenged.

“I can’t even bring myself to say it,” Casey said, dejected.

“A superhero?” Rick teased as he joined the conversation, a wide and broad smile on his face. "With legitimate super powers?"

“Superheroes don’t exist. They’re myths!”

“And someone called a ‘human weapon’ does?” Rick baited.

“Yes, because if there was such a thing as a superhero I’d be -”

“Wow. You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?” Rick argued.

“If we’re going to argue for Billy getting superhero status based on his ability to blather endlessly about absolutely nothing then, yes, I believe I qualify since I have subdued more than my share of combatants based on abilities that fit the bill WAY better than Billy’s 'talents'.”

“At best being cast as the human weapon is really just a title, isn’t it? A moniker as it were, a mantle to place your homicidal proclivities upon,” a voice with a Scottish accent piped in from behind Casey.

“I’ve pulled your ass out of the fire more times than my intelligence can fathom!”

“Perhaps on a physical level yes, but you have to admit that when it comes to the cleverness factor, I have you beat,” Billy said. "You haven't a clever bone in your entire body."

"It doesn't make you a superhero," Casey said.

"I may not possess x-ray vision or fly like our beloved Superman, but I think that talking down a terrorist purely from reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy is rather impressive, if I do say so myself. "

"Pffft...you just got lucky," Casey scoffed.

"I don't know," Rick said, sarcastically sounding dutifully impressed. "The terrorist almost became weepy from remembering his college years studying Shakespeare. It was his favorite play."

"Billy read the soliloquy! You don't need to be a Shakespeare scholar to recognize that and besides, he probably wanted to off himself hearing Billy drone on and on -"

"I'm right here, you know," Billy lightly protested. "I think you're just jealous and it doesn't become you, I must say."

"Jealous? Hardly," Casey said with a disparaging tone.

"Still, it worked. He talked the guy down from killing us," Michael said.

"Like I said, he was lucky," Casey insisted.

"Maybe a costume is in order? One worthy of my skills? A cape, perhaps? At the very least, I think I should get a right proper moniker befitting my powers."

Casey rolled his eyes.

"Now, you see what you've done? He's going to be insufferable until he comes up with a name-" Casey said almost more dejected than angry; they were warring for dominance.

"Oh, I'll come up with something, don't you worry about that, mate."

"I'm going to the gym. I really need to hit something and if I stay long enough, my fist will find your face."

"What? You're not going to help?" Billy asked feigning insult. “You wound me, sir.”

"I’ll do more than wound you all right. I'd rather be tortured than help you find a name."

Casey bolted off and the others had wide grins, trying to contain their laughter until he left.

"You do realize we are going to pay for this," Michael pointed out.

"We are right bastards, aren't we?" Billy said with a grin. "Most assuredly Casey will have his revenge. It's part of the fabric that is his own superpower. Likely it will be I who will be suffering the full force of his wrath, but I have to admit that it will have been worth it."


Casey's cover had been blown sky high. If it were just about him, he'd be implementing his own brand of damage control, but the confrontation had been deliberately made in a public place, full of innocent bystanders. Even the great Human Weapon couldn't take down two assassins in a crowded courtyard. Too many variables. Too many opportunities for hostages and injuring others in the wake of a fistfight and that's if they chose to engage him in that way. It was just as easy to shoot him outright and not worry about whom else got caught in the crossfire. He knew what was coming next. They would lead him to a quieter location, not necessarily without spectators, keeping themselves embedded with the crowds to keep him cowed as well as at gunpoint then shank him efficiently for a swift and relatively soundless end with time to walk away calmly without garnering any suspicions.

Casey had never expected to be caught so off his game. If he were to be honest, he had to admit that he had been well played.

He knew that Michael, Billy and Rick had heard his warning signal -- a word they had all agreed on-- and were on their way, but Michael and Rick were on the other side of the mall, too far to get a visual on where Valdez and two of his bodyguards were leading him to get there in time and Billy, they were last with him so for all Casey knew they had made Billy first and he could be lying already dead somewhere. Casey sometimes hated that he could be so coldly logical in his calculations. It made delusion harder.

"Move quietly, yes? Or else we kill an innocent. Clear?" Valdez threatened.

"Crystal." Casey said with venom in his voice.

Still, he kept looking for opportunities. He wouldn't stop looking until he felt there was nothing more he could do.

Suddenly, he felt a jostle and a bump. At first, he thought it was just someone who had been texting and not watching where they were going, but then the head tilted up slightly, enough for him to catch a familiar sly grin as well as an impish wink.


Billy quickly nodded a signal to Casey, telling him that he would soon be able to exact his revenge on his kidnappers. He then turned his attention to one of the bodyguards: The one who had his gun on Casey. Billy turned away from Casey. He tapped the bodyguard on the opposite shoulder, making him turn his body away from the line of sight of where Billy was.

“Pardon me, mate, but I fear that you have unfortunately chosen to ally yourself to the dark side and we superheroes just can’t abide by that at all. Not at all,” Billy said as he tsked in derision.

The man turned abruptly and gave Billy a quizzical expression, as if confused for a second. It was just the delay in reaction that Billy needed. He grasped the man’s gun hand, pulled back his wrist, wrenching it so quickly and with such ferocity that the man didn’t have any time to recover. The gun slipped out of his hand as if it were greased. Billy deftly caught it before it fell. He then punched the man so hard to the jaw, swinging his arm in a wide arc giving it maximum force that the man lost his balance and went down unconscious before hitting the ground. Casey took the opportunity to wail on the other bodyguard. The man dropped his gun, helpless to fight back against Casey's assault. Once he had been subdued, he clocked Valdez with minimal effort. The pent up rage and adrenaline fueled the punches.

There were gasps from the crowd as some dispersed to get out of harm's way and others gathered to watch the fight.

Billy saw that Casey had things well in hand with his own captor and had decided to address the crowd.

“No need to panic there, folks. We are Federal agents apprehending heinous criminals, bringing them to face proper justice. Go about your business with the knowledge that we have things well in hand,” Billy proclaimed sounding like an announcer at a circus performance.

There was applause and Casey watched Billy smile and take a small bow.

Casey just glared.

Michael and Rick heard and saw the commotion and quickly joined them. They had just caught the bow and couldn’t help but smile.

“Billy came to the rescue?” Rick teased as he gave Casey a look.

“I had a plan,” Casey said defensively.

“Oh, come on, the least you can do is admit that I saved your bloody life,” Billy commented.

“I was thinking about keeping the crowd safe first,” Casey explained weakly.

“Right you are, a civilian’s safety must be paramount,” Billy said as he returned his own glare. “In a pig’s eye.”

Michael and Rick laughed as Casey straightened and shared his glare towards each of them.

"We've called in a cleanup crew,” Rick interjected. “They should be here soon.”

They would continue to maintain surveillance and security both for the integrity of the capture, but also for the safety of the bystanders until the cleanup crew got there, to take the men away for processing. Billy knew Casey would relish another confrontation so he was almost daring one of them to emerge from unconsciousness.

Billy made a visual sweep of the area. Valdez had a long reach as well as a wealth of compatriots who were committed to his cause and bidding. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that a trap was still in play, that Casey wasn't just the one intended target for revelation. Just before they had blown Casey’s cover, they had met with Billy. It had felt off to him, but he couldn’t pinpoint the reason, it was just well honed instincts. Why did Casey’s cover become compromised and not his? And if he had been compromised, why hadn’t they marked him for execution like that had done with Casey? It didn’t make sense. None of it fit. Most importantly, why did Valdez leave himself so vulnerable if he suspected that CIA agents were playing him? The incongruities plagued Billy’s need for explanations.

Instinct about the various facets of the job as well as trusting one’s own probing, suspicious mind seeking logic to illogical situations came with training certainly, but Billy also believed that a person had to innately possess a kind of sixth sense for the work. Training could only go so far. Training could instruct you on what to look for, teach you to be alert about specifics, but in the end, how an agent processed every nuance of a situation, no matter how improbable, was what separated an average person from one honed into something almost supernatural in the fabric of the craft. The men of the ODS had their own unique, finely tuned “radar systems”. Billy had always been particularly susceptible and talented in reading as well as anticipating people’s motivations and by proxy the potential actions of the person he was analyzing.

Even though Valdez and his men had given no indications that his cover had been blown as well, Billy had picked up a non-specific tell that had raised his hackles. It was what had compelled him to tail them to the heavily populated mall. He had alerted Casey, but because of the strategically maneuvered location, Casey was helpless to do anything about it.

As Billy continued to scan the area, he felt that same eerily familiar blip in his radar. Again, non-specific, but he had learned not to ignore those blips, actionable or not. Something felt off. It was if there was a buildup of static electricity, primed for the perfectly timed spark to set off an explosive. Billy always felt frustration when this kind of “itch” rubbed him the wrong way like a wool sweater. It was why he was more of a vest man.

Michael watched Billy with apt interest. He knew he was analyzing the scene, perhaps even deconstructing it and could only wait for the anticipated assessment he knew was sure to come. He had learned over the years that disturbing a process whether it was a random thought or a developing analysis, his own included, was never a good idea. Once a train like that was derailed, there was no putting it back on the tracks, not until it was long past useful. So Michael watched and waited. There was something about Billy’s expression, his posture that gave him a sense of wariness. He was in tune with his men. There was a trust that may have taken awhile to fully form and develop, after all, Billy wasn’t wrong when he told Rick that he was a paranoid bastard, but once fully established, it was never questioned and to Michael’s mind, he could never conceive of a situation where that trust would be summarily dismissed, let alone retracted.

Of course, there are always exceptions and anomalies like Carson. Michael could only rationalize that loss by attributing it to a protracted imprisonment changing the very essence of the man he once knew and for whom he had once placed his unwavering trust. Michael was good at rationalizing. He had rationalized his divorce from Fay.

He trusted the company of these men, their instincts in sync with his own so as he observed Billy clearly trusting his own gut and trying to fit intuition with hard evidence, he felt the same irritating incongruities that Billy was feeling. Billy was just better at following that trail and Michael let him.

As Billy turned his whole body in a circle, letting his gaze take in the skyline, scanning each building with as much scrutiny as he could given how overarching his surveillance goal was, that tickle, that “sixth sense” of his kept gnawing at him.

Something felt wrong to Billy and it was evolving into something dangerously wrong the longer they lingered.

It was then that Billy spied a glint, a flash in the distance, something that someone else would have dismissed as sunlight catching a glass window, but not Billy. He instantly knew that it wasn’t just sunlight. He knew what was going to happen next. He couldn’t tell angle, distance or intended target, but he knew the flash of a sniper’s scope when he saw it.

“Sniper! Everyone down!” He yelled.

At that moment, multiple shots rang out, dispersing the crowd into a screaming flurry of escape patterns. At first the shots seemed random, not hitting anything. Michael tried to observe, but all he could see from his vantage point was hurried feet as he ducked and dodged aimlessly, realizing that escaping a well-targeted sniper's bullet was pointless, but the flight mechanism automatic. Casey, also, was caught off guard, his instinct was to check on the downed bodyguards, but he was then suddenly broadsided by what felt more like a tackle from behind. The momentum was too strong to counteract and gravity pulled him down to the ground, hitting it with a force that bracing with his hands couldn’t cushion.

The shots continued for a few more seconds, but then stopped as suddenly as they had began. The men were left abandoned, sprawled on the ground as spectators, shoppers and others cleared the area around them, running to some kind of safe haven.

Michael was the first to tentatively rise from the ground. He quickly surveyed the situation and then spit out a curse. Though Valdez’s bodyguards were still prostrate on the ground, Valdez was nowhere to be found, lost in the scurrying crowds.

It had been a diversion.

His indignation was short-lived though because when he continued his visual assessment, first determining that Rick was fine as he stood up as well, his gaze then spied and rested at Billy’s body draped over Casey, looking as if he had tackled him. Rick then caught the same view.

“Get off me!” Casey protested, but Billy didn’t move right away, instead he groaned.

Michael noticed a red stain underneath Casey’s mid to lower back, spreading quickly across the area. He went over quickly to Billy’s side.

“Wait, Casey, don’t move. Billy’s been hit.”

Casey understood and he laid still. He began to feel wetness permeate through his jacket and onto his shirt beneath. It gave him a chill because to get through all that fabric so quickly meant Billy was bleeding profusely.

Michael and Rick carefully and slowly peeled Billy off of Casey, all the while, Billy hissed, moaned and grunted. Then they saw the huge and growing red stain on Billy’s chest and stomach, the one, there, darker, more drenched through his vest. Casey then turned and got up to see what was happening. The visage froze him.

Billy smiled in pain, his breathing ragged as he uselessly placed his hands over his stomach where the pain was located, trying to staunch the blood flow, but growing weaker with the attempts, his hands, shaking, finally surrendering, letting them to his sides.

“Perhaps...someone like Batman then...no superpowers at all...just a man...with all too human vulnerabilities, aye?”

Billy then groaned again.

"Could have...used his bullet proof armor...right about now."

He then lost consciousness.

Casey's body went rigid from shock and icy dread. He heard Rick frantically call for EMS. He then broke through his semi-shocked state and bent down to assess Billy's injury in the hopes that it wasn't as bad as it had looked.

Michael watched as Casey rushed into action. He knew this was Casey's coping mechanism, busying his mind with actions so emotions had no way in. He was also trained as a field medic. If there was anything that could be done to help Billy, Casey could do it with nothing more than spit and bailing wire under the worst of conditions. If anyone could save Billy or keep him stable, it would be him. Casey first checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one, if weak and thready.

"He's alive," Casey declared with clinical assurance.

"I've called 911. EMS is on the way," Rick said, not particularly to answer Casey's declaration, but to make one of his own. Panic was settling in quickly so it was all he could muster with any kind of coherence.

Casey began unbuttoning Billy's coat. He had to see the wound for himself, hoping to assure himself in the only way he could accept, with facts seen by his own eyes. But Casey was a stoic pragmatist. He knew he was only fooling himself into that thread of hope. He wasn't a hopeful man. He gleaned any sense of positivity from Billy. There was annoyance at Billy's ability to see the world so certain in finding a silver lining in the bleakest of situations, no matter how illogical, but there was also envy because Casey felt incapable of that kind of delusion. Still, at that moment, he was desperately trying to find it in him.

Once the coat was opened, he then went to work on the vest.

"Damn it, Billy," he cursed as his fingers fumbled the buttons, his calm resolve slipping as his grasp was against the slippery, blood coated buttons.

Michael saw the cracks emerging in Casey's seemingly impenetrable center and knowing that words meant nothing to Casey he quietly took over and began unbuttoning the vest for him to assist. Casey allowed him to help and moved away to recapture control. Michael, when he had finished with the vest, didn't bother with working the shirt buttons and in an act of expressing his own helplessness, he ripped the shirt open, buttons flying off in every direction.

"He'll make you pay for that," Casey said, his voice, steady, but soft.

"I'll tell him EMS-" Michael said, but his words were cut off in mid-sentence as his eyes caught the gaping wound just below the rib cage.

Proximity, velocity, even wind speed could determine the accuracy of a sniper's bullet. With the proper skill and perfect conditions, a shooter's bullet could tear a body apart, blow through a skull and scatter grey matter out an exit wound, or kill a person outright. In contrast, any slight variation of those conditions could turn a perfect shot into a haphazard one, causing injury, but not death or miss an intended target entirely. The fact that Billy was still alive was more than just lucky, but if you saw the wound that the bullet had left in its impact to Billy's body, you'd question that luck. Michael and Casey didn't know whether to be relieved or shocked. At the moment, they'd probably say they were feeling both. It was Casey, though, who broke from his horror, taking off his jacket immediately and pressing it against Billy's wound in a desperate attempt to staunch the blood flow. The jolt of pain brought Billy back to consciousness. He arched and meekly tried to jerk away, but the weakness from blood loss and pain was making any attempts at movement meager at best.

"Don't," Billy moaned.

Casey stiffened, a look of guilt on his face, but continuing to press on the wound. Michael caught the conflict.

"Sorry, Billy, but we have to try to slow the bleeding down as much as we can until EMS gets here," Michael explained.

"They're on their way," Rick piped in.

Billy scanned his friends' concerned faces and smiled shakily. His breathing was more choking whispers laced with effort and agony.

"Right, I...I clearly...do not possess the super human pain tolerances of...our human weapon here..." Billy teased.

"Just shut up and rest," Casey said, his expression barely holding back his pent up anxiety.

Billy trembled and the men worried he was falling into shock.

"I...I'm...sorry..." Billy said as his body slowly began releasing its tension and started to fall lax. “Not a superhero...after all, aye?”

Casey's posture did the complete opposite. It went rigid, like a string pulled to the limit of its tensile strength.

"No, no, you don't. You don't get to die on me! You hear me? You're not going to die!" he yelled as he checked for a pulse again, barely feeling it under his fingertips. "Where are those EMTs?"

Just as he uttered those words they were approached by rushing medics, arms filled with medical supplies.

Casey found himself riveted in place. He knew he had to get out of their way so that they could help Billy, but his hands holding his jacket against Billy's wound seemed frozen, afraid that once he let go, Billy would bleed out. He knew it was irrational. He was the most rational member of the ODS, but at that moment, he was feeling anything but rational.

Michael watched Casey's uncertainty, a condition he thought the human weapon was incapable of being, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Casey jerked in recognition of the touch then turned to look at Michael.

"Let the EMTs take over, Casey. You've done all you can for Billy."

Casey took in a breath then gave Michael a barely detectable nod as he stood up to give the EMTs clearance.

The hurried actions of the medics working on Billy were both awe inspiring and terrifying. They checked vitals with lightening speed, hooked up a heart monitor and placed an oxygen mask over Billy's nose and mouth.

Casey was the stoic one, the one his team turned to for logic, reason, cold-blooded physical altercation, but he was also a certified field medic. He understood what the EMTs were doing, could read the information they were getting and comprehend what was happening to Billy.

Billy was bleeding out and was likely not going to make it to a hospital. His blood pressure was dropping, his heartbeat erratic, stuttering towards v-tach. Casey knew Billy needed a transfusion just to keep his heart pumping.

"You'll need to do a field transfusion or he's going to die," Casey declared pragmatically to the EMTs.

"Sir, just let us do our job -"

"I'm a certified field medic, I've been in situations you could never imagine and I'm telling you he is bleeding out. If we don't do something right now, he's NOT going to make it to the hospital."

The EMTs fell silent for a second, unable to dispute Casey's assessment.

"You know I'm right. He needs a direct transfusion to get him to the hospital ALIVE! I know how to do it and I'm the same blood type," Casey commanded. "The longer we waste time discussing it, the more useless the transfusion is going to be and my...friend will die. I'm going to do this with or without your help so don't bother arguing. He doesn't have the time for debate."

Michael and Rick watched, riveted by Billy's perilous condition and Casey's focused determination.

"We need to get authorization -" one of the medics started to say.

"Do what you have to, but I'm not waiting. I need your help. You!" Casey said as he pointed to other medic. "Have you ever done a field transfusion?"

"No, I've only read about them in medical books," the medic said nervously.

"First time for everything. Get Billy on the gurney and inside the bus," Casey said as he then turned to Michael and Rick. "I have to do this."

No more words had to be said. Michael and Rick just nodded in agreement, implicit trust in their expressions along with terror.

Once Billy was in the bus, Casey climbed in behind. The doors closed and the ambulance rushed off. Michael told Rick to meet them at the hospital as he still had to wait for Valdez's bodyguard to be taken in custody and that he would catch up. Rick nodded.

A pall of uncertainty palpably draped over them.


Rick arrived shortly after the ambulance had at the hospital. It was empty and the mess of medical supplies like syringes, gauze, and plastic wrapping littering all over the floor of the ambulance projected an intimidating aura that a struggle for life had been waged in it. What made Rick's stomach roil were the copious amounts of blood spilled, pooled and mixed in with the medical debris.

He walked into the ER and spotted Casey looking dazed, an expression that Rick had never seen on the man. That only gave Rick a foreboding that the outcome of battle in the ambulance may have had serious casualties. The metaphor was weighing too heavily on him. He also noticed that Casey had a bandage around his right elbow. Rick guessed that it had something to do with the field transfusion.

He walked up to Casey, fearful of startling the human weapon. A sudden defensive outburst could land Rick in the hospital joining Billy.

"Casey?" Rick said softly as he approached warily. "Are you okay?"

Casey broke out of his distracted state, turned his head to look at Rick. The disheartened expression that met him gave Rick a chill.

"I...I don't know if it was enough."

A sobering admission by the human weapon.

TBC. Thanks for reading


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