Sanctioned 2

Sanctioned

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Commissioned by Ichypa

Word Count: 1000

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Santiago is vigilante. As far as Unsanctioned went, even back in the shithole I’d come from, they were the sort the powers-that-be turned a blind eye to. Hell, the fact that they had collaborators amongst the locals ought to be the end of it. They went out, girded their loins, and tussled with the miscreants and ne’er-do-wells, so that the rest of the small towns the feds couldn’t reach were safe.

Americans didn’t do things by half-measures, though.

That much should’ve been obvious by how they dealt with Unsanctioned who actually commited crimes.

Always ten-to-one.

Always with licenses to kill. 

Always with masks on and gloves ready to be drenched in blood.

It’s a sight. Dublin once had an Unsanctioned who ruled over it like a king. Giant idiot with the ability to harness electricity. He called himself Zeus. Americans levelled his building, cut the power lines, and sent in fifty masked Sanctioned skidding into the crater to deal with him and his four lieutenants. One’d been turned to pulp, two could barely move, and only he and his right-hand woman was left standing.

The Sanctioned engaged anyway and left nothing behind. The pulp was incinerated. Those two who were fucked by the artillery found themselves saturated by all sorts of ranged attacks. Zeus died early. No power, besides a body that could harness lightning straight from the heavens and redirect it, he got torn apart piecemeal. His right hand tried to surrender, but she’d been an Unsanctioned with a list of kills a meter long. She was a regenerator. Trauma didn’t kill folks like her. Shock did. 

They had to give up on living.

The Sanctioned turned her to pulp and kept her as pulp until she reformed and could barely breathe unassisted.

I remember the sight whenever I wake up in the morning. 

It comes to mind whenever I look into my ward’s mask.

The show of force worked. Most of the rest of the warlords surrendered after hearing about it. As the American’s say, the jig was up. Prison sentences were better than dying. 

That was how things went in most countries that let in US Sanctioned.

It was an absolute shitshow, but most folks take it over another three decades being ruled by warlords.

So, I suppose there’s something to be said about a person who’d keep breaking the law after knowing about that sort of thing.

Santiago was either an idiot or had something reasonable to fight for. 

I prayed it was the latter.

…

He’d chosen a steel mill to hide in. He was either smart, clever, or had someone helpin’ him that was either. Not smart or clever enough to know when to quit, but I desired most earnestly that either he or his possible helper was smart enough to meet with me instead of tryin’ to hole up in a rusted fortress.

“Ma’am, this place is potentially dangerous. Permission to disassemble?” 

“Let me try and talk some sense into ‘em first.” Disassemble was a pretty word for cuttin’ apart the whole mill piece by piece. Walls, machinery, and the poor bloke we’re going after would all be turned into fist-sized cubes. It was fortunate that much power wasn’t allowed without my say-so. “But, stay alert and keep us both safe.”

“Understood. I will protect you, ma’am.”

With the safety net of a walkin’, living’ WMD on my side, I entered the mill. It was abandoned, just like most of America that wasn’t very defensible nor strategic in nature. There were plenty of Sanctioned, but they’d be spread thin if they were sent everywhere. Criminal Unsanctioned were dealt with via overwhelming force, meaning most Sanctioned had to be kept close to one another. Vigilantes got one Sanctioned that was stronger than average, just in case.

And, well, myself.

“There’s signs of someone leaving this place recently, ma’am.” I was aware of that. The main hall of the mill, where factory workers decades ago would’ve walked through to clock in, had been turned into a bedroom. It was insulated, dusted, and it even smelled aired out. Santiago was a tidy man. “May I suggest having drones set up a perimeter?”

Sendin’ out hunter killers to make a perimeter around a steel mill may as well have been a declaration that we intended to kill him.

“No. We’ll keep searching for now.” Holdin’ a leash tightly was only one of my few talents. Back home and a long time ago I’d coordinated Sanctioned in apprehending weaker Unsanctioned, though those weren’t the names we used for either back then. I’d gotten picked up since I brought people back in once piece. That was my job, even if I walking beside more firepower now than I did back then. “Still, remember, keeping us both safe is your top priority. If Santiago attacks us, I want both of us out of this building.”

“Ah, my apologies ma’am. I didn’t even consider this place could be filled with advantages for our target! I won’t make the same mistake again.” Yeah. Go ahead and distrust Unsanctioned more, because of my stupid mouth. Well done, myself. “I will remember your orders, ma’am. I swear.”

“I’ll be speedin’ up our search. Focus on keeping me and yourself above all else. Fighting here is best avoided.” All I can do is hedge up passive orders. I couldn’t tell my Sanctioned to not kill. I was the investigative portion of our team. In combat, with powers flying around, he wouldn’t need to clear with me the usage of his whole arsenal. Making sure retreat comes to mind first, instead of overwhelming firepower, was all I could do to prevent Santiago’s untimely, unfortunate demise. “Make sure to remember that and we’ll have no problems.”

“I will, ma’am. Thank you very much for your trust!”

Dammit.

I heard tell of Sanctioned that were rambunctious and hard to deal with.

I suppose that I should count my blessings that I was granted a good, earnest child to act as my attack dog.

One of the great, grand perks of being on load and an emissary from across the sea, I suppose.