This is the first of The Stories That Weren't ... scenes from my series which weren't included, because they have the wrong POV character (as with this one), wouldn't fit with the tone (I also have a time-travel story written and the Knight Agency is as realistic as is possible for an espionage romp), or just plain have nothing to do with the main characters. Enjoy...

Zachary Brock in

The Rocket Launcher Incident

He definitely had fucked up big time - in more than one way. Brock didn’t struggle much while he was dragged along the neon-lit hallways of the underground hideout. He regretted deeply going in as a scout himself. He was a good leader and good soldier, no question about that, but he’d never been much of a scout. He neither had the build nor the talents for that, which was why he usually asked for Jane for such missions. There was no doubt about it - Jane definitely would not be dragged to her doom at the moment. She’d probably have silently killed a few henchmen already and be on her way to their actual target, securing the approach.

He glanced over his right shoulder and saw the enhanced ambling along behind the group of henchmen who dragged him to their boss. He hated enhanced men - he hated them with an intensity he usually was not capable of. He hated feeling like a little kid in their grip, despite his six-foot-three body. He hated being thrown through the room like a ragdoll, despite being a fully trained soldier. And he knew Jane felt the same way about them. Only - she wouldn’t have been caught by that one. She would have tricked and trapped him. Because, unlike Brock himself, she was good at scouting and at not getting caught. At least she was good at not staying caught. Does it count as getting caught, if you do it on purpose? Probably not.

The hallway opened into a large underground room and a nasty memory of his meeting with the Morrigan flashed through Brock’s mind. That woman had been a nasty piece of work and he had no illusions about his fate, had he been forced to face her on his own. Like I’m now facing that man. No Jane waiting in the shadows to come in and help. I fucked up really, really big there… The henchmen forced him to his knees in front of a throne-like structure which could give the Morrigan’s grand throne room a run for its money. And Brock wasn’t sure whether this self-proclaimed Ice King was any better than the self-proclaimed goddess of war had been.

“We have a visitor, I see.” The man was sitting on the throne with his feet planted far apart and his arms resting on the arm rests - a power pose. “How many more soldiers are waiting outside?”

Brock looked him in the face. “You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you?”

“Not immediately, that would be boring.” A cold smiled twisted the Ice King’s lips.

Another sadist. Jane would like that, but I don’t. “Not even eventually.”

“Ah, a hero … or someone who thinks he is one. I like your type … I like seeing them fall from grace.”

Behind Brock, someone screamed in pure, unadulterated fear. He turned around and saw the enhanced completely freeze up. How did that happen? The only way to freeze them up is the Neit Drug and we soldiers still don’t have that.

As if to answer his question, a black shadow dropped from somewhere overhead and landed gracefully amidst the henchmen. A knife flashed and only seconds later the henchmen were down. Even Brock’s mind wasn’t quick enough to analyse the movements, so he knew who was under that hood. An electric blue energy beam shot past Brock and at the shadow, but it missed by ages. The shadow danced out of its way with ease, then threw the knife. A pained wail and the clatter of something heavy hitting the floor made Brock face the Ice King again, seeing the knife hilt protrude from the man’s right shoulder. That hurts… Heavy steps approached the room, but the shadow didn’t move. A moment later, Brock could see why - his team was entering the throne room through the same hallway he’d been dragged through.

He turned to the shadow who was walking towards him. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not grateful…”

“Well, Steven decided I should go in despite not having been outright asked by you. Sir Leonard requested me being on standby, so I was in the vicinity anyway.”

“What exactly did Steven say?”

Jane took off her hood. “You don’t want to know that, trust me.

“Humour me.”

“His precise words were ‘that moron is going to fuck things up and get himself into deep shit, so go in, clear the way, and drag his sorry ass out of there.’ I kid you not.”

At this, Brock winced. Steven normally isn’t the type for this sort of language. “He’s still vey pissed off, isn’t he?”

She folded her arms in front of her chest. “He’s been banned from the shooting range … once it’s repaired, of course … for half a year, Brock. That is almost on a level with his suit and you know how pissed off he still is about that.”

“Then why did he sent you in so early? Why not let me suffer for a bit? He knows I wouldn’t have divulged any information in a hurry.”

“Luckily, his friendship with you … and mine … surpasses his anger. He’s very much in control of his negative emotions and he holds friendships in high regard because he has few of them.”

“Well, he is right … I did fuck up.”

She rolled her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. Brock, you never, ever, under any circumstances imaginable, tell Steven Quinn not to shoot something. You never, ever, under any circumstances imaginable tell him he’s too old to shoot a rocket launcher on the shooting range. Unless, of course, you want him to shoot a rocket launcher on the shooting range against better wisdom.”

He made a weak attempt to justify himself: “He’s almost seventy … and quite some soldiers have problems controlling that specific launcher.”

“He is the Reaper, Brock. He controls every weapon mankind has come up with or can come up with in the future. And, honestly, I could have fired that thing just as reliably. But I wouldn’t have done that in an enclosed space… Neither would Steven have, hadn’t you been so adamant about his age. And now he’s banned from the range for half a year, all because of you.”

He hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell him about that, once we’re out of here with that idiot.”

He lifted his head. “Well, at least you proved Sir Howard right: the queen can and will take the king.”

She mustered the Ice King, now in the hands of Higgs and Connor, and smirked. “Yes, I’ve proven that point about chess. Come on, Brock, I borrowed a set of keys. Let’s get those cuffs off and you to Steven so you can apologize properly.”