Free Web NovelChapter 42: Ch 41: Lemurian Star Hijack I
Hey guys! I know I took an extra day off, but the traveling and then work took a lot of time.
I’ll make it up for it with double release in a couple of days or a super big Chapter.
Thanks for waiting! Enjoy your chap! Comment a lot! And drop reviews if you can, I absolutely love reading those big, black and long blocks of reviews.
==================
[Chennai, India - 11: 33 AM Local Time ]
He was back in his civilian disguise: the dusty black hoodie, loose trousers, a standard blue medical mask, and dark sunglasses.
It wasn’t the most comfortable outfit for the tropical heat, but it was excellent for staying unrecognized. Not even required saying it, but Anti Surveillance was on.
The city was alive. Even on the outskirts... He even spotted some street food stalls and coconut vendors.
A cow stood chewing lazily by the roadside, utterly unimpressed by the soon-to-be international terrorist passing by.
"Tough crowd," Luke muttered at the cow.
The cow chewed slower. Judgementally.
He trudged down an empty, uneven, muddy lane. He kept his head down, his eyes glued to the GPS navigation on his phone as the little blue dot inched closer to a red pin.
Ahead, the muddy dirt road bled into a dense, overgrown patch of tropical forest. Luke glanced at his screen, the destination was a mere 900 meters away.
’Perfect.’
He swiped his screen, pulling up the T-Stream interface, and tapped the Equip button.
To be honest, a three-piece suit and white jester mask, too, wasn’t exactly ideal for the Chennai climate either, but fashion over function was practically the first rule of international terrorism.
Well, sweat wasn’t a problem for this man, it was his main power after all...
Luke continued his walk through the trees for a short while until the foliage broke, revealing a massive, dilapidated structure. It looked like an abandoned ship garage or a makeshift dry dock.
The metal siding was rusted from years of salty ocean air, and the whole place looked like it hadn’t seen a single piece of legal activity in decades.
It was the perfect spot for a secret mercenary meet-up.
Veritas approached the door and gave the metal door a couple of knocks.
Knock. Knock.
He stood perfectly still and waited. About a minute later, he heard footsteps from the other side.
A small sliding window in the door scraped open. A pair of suspicious eyes peered out.
Veritas raised one gloved hand and gave a cheerful little wave. Fingers wiggling. The painted grin on his mask aimed directly at the peephole.
A muffled voice came from inside—French-accented, spooked, and not at all pleased. "That... that scared me. Merde."
Luke snorted.
The heavy metal door groaned as it was pulled open from the inside.
The man who had opened the door—a tall, slim mercenary clad in dark tactical gear— stepped back and gestured with a jerk of his head.
"Come with me, clown," he muttered, his French accent was thick. "Batroc has already started the briefing."
Veritas trailed behind him, his footsteps echoing softly. "Aw, he started without me? That is kinda cold of him," he whined, shaking his head.
"And Renard, buddy, you have absolutely zero sense of hospitality. I came flying all the way from New York, and you didn’t even ask if I wanted a glass of water. A coconut, maybe? My throat is parched!"
Renard stiffened, hearing his real name and not his mercenary name, but kept walking, choosing the very wise tactic of completely ignoring the masked lunatic trailing behind him.
Veritas knew exactly who Renard was. Antoine Renard, alias Dorand. Thirty-four. Former French Foreign Legion. Engine expert. Five years with Batroc’s crew.
Maria Hill had followed Veritas’s instructions beautifully. He’d asked for the life history of every person who would be on that ship with him, and she’d done exactly that.
She was an incredibly sharp agent, and reading perfectly between the lines was a really simple task for her. Basically, along with the Lemurian Star crew and passengers’ details, she had included the full dossiers of Batroc’s entire crew as well.
’Give that woman a raise.’ Luke thought fondly.
Renard led him down a short, dimly lit hallway and pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a much larger warehouse room.
At the front of the room stood Georges Batroc himself. He was pacing in front of a large corkboard heavily decorated with photos of a massive ship, blueprints of its interior decks, and patrol routes. The ship in the pictures was none other than the Lemurian Star.
Sitting on crates, rusted barrels, and folding chairs were the rest of the crew. The fodders. There were exactly twenty-five of them. But calling them ’fodder’ was just Luke’s personal inside joke; these were top-tier, highly trained mercenaries, and fiercely loyal to Batroc the Leaper.
Batroc was in the middle of a rapid-fire explanation in French, pointing sharply at the blueprints.
Luke found an empty ammo crate right next to a heavily armed, mean-looking merc and quietly took a seat.
He sat up perfectly straight, resting his hands on his knees like a student who had sneaked into a college lecture ten minutes late. He nodded along to Batroc’s French words even though he couldn’t understand shit.
It only took a few seconds for Batroc to notice the glaringly obvious man in a three-piece suit and a white jester mask sitting in the back of the room.
Batroc paused. He gave Veritas a long, evaluating look, sighed softly, and then switched his language, continuing the briefing in heavily accented English.
His men were multilingual, but most Americans weren’t... Batroc knew that much.
"—the primary security checkpoint is here," Batroc continued, now in crisp, French-accented English. "Two guards minimum at all times. Alarm switch is at this point, press it without second thought when encountering a variable."
Veritas gasped loudly. He clutched both hands over his heart and leaned entirely too close to the middle-aged mercenary sitting next to him.
"Did you see that? Oh my gawd," Veritas whispered loudly in a dramatic awe. "That is so considerate of him. I think I love him!!!"
The mercenary slowly turned his head, gave the grinning Jester a deeply scornful glare, and then scooted his crate a few inches away. He went right back to ignoring him.
’Tough crowd again,’ Luke thought to himself.
As Batroc finished assigning the squads, detailing the infiltration routes, and establishing the comms silence protocols, Luke had to admit—the man knew his art.
Batroc’s plan to hijack the Lemurian Star was genuinely impeccable. There were no faulty lines of logic, no glaring blind spots, and he had accounted for multiple unexpected variables.
Batroc’s plan would work perfectly right up until the moment a super patriot shows up with a team of insanely skilled STRIKE commandos, and a sexy widow.
’This time, hopefully, the Gwen would be there as well.’
Batroc tapped the picture of the ship with a marker, drawing the room’s total focus.
"Once the ship is secure and the crew is restrained," Batroc announced, with a grin, "Our demand will be simple. One and a half billion dollars."
As Batroc’s confident declaration hung in the air, a slow, obnoxious sound broke the silence.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Veritas stood up from his ammo crate, clapping his gloved hands together.
"Bravo, Batroc! Excellent plan for the initial hijack. Ten out of ten. Truly impeccable," Veritas cheered, casually strolling down the makeshift aisle between the seated mercenaries. "The pacing, the contingencies, the infiltration routes... Chef’s kiss." frёeweɓηovel.coɱ
"But, quick question from the back row: what exactly is my part in all this? And don’t break my fragile heart by saying I’ve been... benched."
"Ah," Batroc drawled, his eyes locking onto the stark white Jester mask. He stood his ground, radiating arrogant confidence. "Veritas, "Veritas, n’est-ce pas? The employers did say you would be joining us. But alas, there simply is no part for you to play, nor is there a share of the profit for you."
Batroc gestured proudly to the room full of armed men. "An operation like this requires absolute trust. These guys have been my comrades for years. These men are hardened soldiers, elite mercenaries. They would lay down their lives for me at a single word. You, on the other hand, are nothing but an amateur American clown."
A few of the mercenaries chuckled darkly.
Veritas nodded thoughtfully, crossing his arms and tapping his chin as he walked towards Batroc. "That’s a really valid point, Georges. I wholly and completely agree. You have a great bond going on here. But please, do not forget what we are actually taking here. It is not just some random commercial freighter or a covert government vessel. It’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s."
Veritas closed the remaining distance, stopping just a few feet away from the Algerian mercenary.
"You really think they are just going to sit around and hand you a billion and a half dollars on a silver platter? No, no, no, no. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t negotiate. And that is because S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t have to. They have technology far surpassing the world we see on the news. Trust me, they’ll be on us before we’ve even taken a breather to count the hostages." freewebnøvel.com
Veritas leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something far more serious than before. "They will send their star-spangled patriot and a team of commandos infinitely more skilled than these so-called ’hardened, trusted’ men of yours."
"Georges..." Veritas reached out and gently placed a hand on Batroc’s shoulder.
Clack-clack-clack-clack!
Instantly, twenty-five high-caliber firearms were raised. Every single barrel in the room clicked off its safety and aimed directly at the Jester’s head.
Veritas let out a long, exaggerated sigh, his shoulders slumping.
And then...
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Twenty-five miniature explosions detonated in perfect synchronization. Each one popped right behind the heads of Batroc’s men—tiny, controlled bursts with just enough concussive force to drop a grown man instantly.
The mercenaries crumpled. All twenty-five of them. Like puppets with their strings cut. Thudding against the concrete floor, completely unconscious and with an unfortunate burnt, bald spot behind their heads.
100% Explosion Quirk mastery... With it came the secondary explosion aspect and it was a beautiful thing.
You see, during the entire duration he’d been sitting there, nodding attentively to Batroc’s brilliant plan, Luke had been busy.
He’d guided beads of his nitroglycerin sweat—tiny, invisible, silent—floating them through the air like minuscule bullets. One by one, he’d stuck them to the back of every single mercenary’s head. Like putting nametags.
And now? Now, the so-called hardened, trusted men were all taking a very unexpected nap.
Veritas turned back to face him fully, and the black smile painted on his jester mask moved. The dark line curled upward at the corners, stretching wider and wider until it became something deeply, fundamentally wrong. The mask was alive. The mask was smiling at him.
The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently. Almost comfortingly, if it wasn’t for the intense heat radiating from his palm.
Batroc’s hardened heart pounded behind his chest, but he kept his face vigilant.
This madman... this situation seemed hopeless.
"To get what you want, Georges. To stand up against SHIELD on an equal or above ground to actually demand something from them, just these trusted men won’t do." Veritas added, "You have to show them hopelessness, and for that you need,"
"My strength."
=================
Thanks for reading!
Support me on Pat reon!
pa t reon.com/c/Marveller
Right now 4 advanced Chapters.
