The Agent Crown Dilemma part 4 (finale)

1970…

Roger Langworthy woke up in a hospital room early in the morning. Looking down, he noticed the bandages wrapped around his torso and when he sat up, the bolts of pain shooting through his body reminded him that he had been shot. Carefully, he moved himself off the bed and walked to the bathroom. Once he turned on the light, he got a look at himself in the mirror. He looked surprisingly good for a man who had been gunned down and likely underwent emergency surgery. His face was smooth and unwrinkled, as if he was still a young cadet. He stared at himself and wondered if he was experiencing the side effects of pain killers. Then the door opened and he peeked outside the bathroom.

The Chief of MI6 was there along with Conner Wilson and a man he didn’t recognize. “Langworthy, you’re up,” the Chief greeted him with a warm handshake, “How, er, are you feeling?”

“Like I’m ten years younger, surprisingly,” he answered, “How’s Sabine? Is she okay?”

The Chief motioned toward Wilson, “You know Conner, of course,” then he pointed to the other man, “But let me introduce Timothy Moore. He’s our latest recruit into the Agent Crown Program.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Langworthy greeted him.

“And you,” Moore shook his hand, “I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“Right, so,… How’s Sabine?,” Langworthy grew concerned.

The Chief’s face fell, “You’ll need to sit down, Langworthy.” Ignoring the request, Langworthy remained standing with a look of dread. The Chief repeated his request, “Please,… Take a seat.”

He did as instructed, “She didn’t make it. Did she?”

“She was shot as well, I’m afraid,” he told him sadly, “We did all we could for her, but she’s gone. I’m so sorry, my boy.”

“No,” Langworthy said softly as he closed his eyes.

“I’ll find Julian Scorn and make him pay for what he’s done, I promise,” Wilson said, “I’ve had my own run-ins with WRATH as you know. I know what to expect.”

“We were meant to grow old together,” Langworthy spoke to no one in particular.

“There’s another matter that should be addressed,” the Chief explained, “Sabine survived long enough to… well, inject you with Scorn’s serum.”

“The one for eternal youth?” Langworthy was reminded of his youthful appearance.

“Yes. Perhaps you’ve felt a bit… different since you woke up? The doctors say that the rejuvenating nature of the serum gave you a much stronger chance of survival. It kept you alive long enough for a police officer to find the two of you and -”

“There was no serum left,” Langworthy interrupted.

“That,… apparently, does not seem to be the case. When the two of you were discovered, it was apparent she died while injecting you with a syringe. The doctors found traces of elements Julian Scorn had been preparing in his South American base.”

“She saved you, Roger,” Wilson told him, “That’s what’s important. She could have used it on herself but she chose you. And I’ll say it again, I’ll make damn sure to find Scorn and bring his entire organization down.”

“It’s my mission,” Langworthy told him sternly.

“We feel it’s best if we give this one to Wilson,” the Chief told him, “There’s a possibility you might be too personally affected.”

Langworthy grit his teeth bitterly, “You think there’s a possibility I might be personally affected. My wife was murdered on our wedding day!”

“You’ll be reinstated once your hiatus is over, I assure-”

“You think I give a shit about being reinstated?” Langworthy got off the bed.

“Langworthy, please listen to reason,” Wilson told him.

“I have some business to attend to,” with that, he left the room.

After leaving the hospital, he made his way to their home. Once there, he opened Sabine’s diary. “I’ve managed to keep a sample of Scorn’s youth serum,” it read, “I know Roger won’t agree to it, but I must ask the question. He’s the only man in my life who cared for me. Who valued me. I want to spend as many years as possible with him and this serum will allow us to live together for many more. I plan to ask him on our wedding night. If he refuses, then I’ll be satisfied with the time we have left. If he agrees, then we’ll have all the time in the world.” Langworthy dropped the diary on the bed and immediately went to a locked box in his basement. There, he gathered a fake passport, a watch, and a gun, then left his home.

The following weeks were busy. He knew that MI6 would be able to track him down eventually, and he hoped he’d find Scorn before they found him. He went to every informant they had across multiple nations, attempting to find the man who killed his wife. When allies weren’t helpful, he went to enemies for information. Sometimes, they told him everything freely. Other times, he resorted to “asking strongly”. Considering the tension of the Cold War, his violent globe-trodding caused no small amount of concern on all sides. Eventually, he traced Scorn to an old mansion in Amsterdam.

Scorn hid himself away in a secret bunker in the mansion, but he could hear the firefight through the walls. Gradually, the sounds of battle grew closer and closer. It reached a point where he could tell Langworthy was just outside the heavy vault door, fighting some of his most skilled men. Then it went quiet. He waited in silence for some confirmation; it was potentially worse than whatever violent act was about to befall him. Soon, he saw sparks and smoke erupting from the vault door. It slowly drew a line up and around, cutting a circle in the thick, metal door before a large chunk fell inside, cutting through the silence. A shadow figure stood in the new entryway. Smoke fell from the figure’s watch like a blow torch that had just been used. In his other hand, he held an automatic weapon. Langworthy stepped through the hole triumphantly and when Scorn tried to fire his pistol, a hail of bullets ripped through his arm.

Scorn fell on the floor and Langworthy stood over him, rifle still firmly in hand. “No words, Agent Crown?,” Scorn taunted painfully, “Where’s that famous wit? Give me one last pathetic one-liner. Tell a joke. I might as well go out with a laugh.” Langworthy said nothing. And while there were no longer any bullets, he opted to raise the rifle over his head and bring the butt down. Scorn fell back with blood dripping from his temple. Langworthy repeated the action and continued to do so long after Scorn was dead. Once satisfied, he dropped the wet rifle on the floor and took his leave.

Outside the mansion, Langworthy noticed a familiar Aston Martin pulling up. Wilson stepped out of his car with a drawn pistol. From the passenger seat, Timothy Moore also emerged with a pistol in hand.

“They’ve sent the both of you after me?” Langworthy said with a subtle smile, “I’m flattered.”

Wilson looked past him at the mansion and the dead guards on the lawn, “Langworthy, what’ve you done?”

“I’m sure it’s bloody obvious,” he responded.

Moore shook his head, “We wanted to get here before you followed through with your plan.”

“You’re a bit late, then.”

“Don’t be so coy,” Wilson snapped, “You know bloody well this revenge plot has gotten the attention of every intelligence agency in the Western Hemisphere. There are a lot of men in London doing damage control right now.”

“You think I care about politics at this point?”

“I hope you at least care about starting a war!”

“I’ve no interest in debating either one of you,” Langworthy raised his hands in surrender, “Do what you came to do.”

Langworthy was put on trial by a military tribunal that sentenced him to 30 years in a government facility for going rogue. As the tribunal put it, he could have received a far worse punishment, but his service as Agent Crown was taken into consideration. How ironic, he thought, that if he had killed Scorn in an officially sanctioned mission, he’d have been given a medal. He knew their biggest concern was the British intelligence community losing face. It was especially egregious that it was a Crown who did it. What’s worse, Langworthy knew no one in MI6 cared about his wife or how her death affected him. They only wanted an attack dog and now that he was disobedient, he had to be put down.

Over the course of the next three decades, he was mostly in solitary confinement, not even knowing where his wife was buried. His only company was rage and instability. Luckily for him, Sabine’s serum slowed his aging and kept him healthy so, when he finally served his time, he was physically in his 30s. He made sure to grovel at his probation herring and plead for forgiveness. Once he promised not to release any state secrets, they were fine letting him go. With the Cold War long over, his former superiors long-dead, and the identities of the other Crowns declassified, the government didn’t care enough about him to be concerned. This time, his revenge would be on the remaining Crowns as they were the only ones alive tangibly connected to his incarceration. It was a program that destroyed his life and while he knew killing those men wouldn’t bring him peace, it’d send a message to the British government.

Sean Pierce was the last of the targets, the former Agent Crown who went on to be the director of the IMD. Langworthy had been reluctant to go after him directly due his connection to a metahuman paramilitary group, but after Pierce stepped down, he saw his opportunity. He still had a home in Manchester that he was presumably living in. Langworthy had little trouble disabling the alarm system and entering the home, just as he had done to Craig Ellis and Conner Wilson.

Ellis nearly caught him and Timothy Moore made an attempt at trapping him, so he expected some sort of retaliation from Pierce. When he climbed the stairs to the living room and saw a figure sitting in the shadows, he paused. The figure sat with his back turned to a large window displaying a view of the night sky. “I thought stepping down from the IMD might bring you to me faster,” Sean Pierce’s voice carried itself out of the darkness, “I admit, I’m not sure who you are, but it was safe to assume you were hesitant to come after me since I had a team of metahumans at my disposal. Once they were out of the picture, you came running.” Pierce reached over to the lamp on the end table, “Now, let’s see who you are.” The light turned on and Pierce could clearly see Langworthy at the top of the stairs.

“Roger Langworthy,” Pierce took a sip of the scotch on the table, “Bloody hell. The rumors were true about you after all. Haven’t aged since your wedding night, I imagine.”

“Nice to meet you, Director Pierce,” Langworthy corrected himself, “Sorry. Mr. Pierce.”

“I assume this is about your wife?”

“You assume correctly.”

“Would it help if I told you I always felt they handled the situation appallingly?”

“It would’ve helped to know that in 1970.”

“I was 10.”

“Fair play. I suppose it matters very little, after all.”

“Considering how quickly you came after me, can I also safely assume you haven’t gone after Moore, yet?”

“It’s funny you should mention him. I was, indeed, on my way to eliminate you as my main threat, but I’m afraid Moore sat in the wrong cockpit. We’re all that’s left of Agent Crown.”

“Bastard,” Pierce glared at him.

“Aren’t we all?”

“I know you didn’t come here for a chat, so what’s keeping you from eliminating your final target?”

“The fact that you’re sitting calmly in that chair with the illusion you’re unarmed.”

“What if I am?”

“I know better than to rush into whatever trap you’ve placed in this room. We were initiated in the same program, were we not?”

“Yes, you know me very well. You’ve spent years learning everything you could about us, haven’t you, Langworthy? Knowing how we think, what we have at our disposal. When the time came, you could easily track us down and have your revenge. You could’ve let it go once you left prison, you know.”

“No, I couldn’t. Not after what they did to me.”

“The men responsible for your imprisonment died a long time ago.”

“I know. And because of that, I have to destroy the Crown. It’s all I have left.”

“Are you really so bloodthirsty?”

“I was made this way. And so were you.”

“Is that so?”

“You know what it means to be an agent. When it comes down to it, Pierce, beneath all the cheeky one-liners, the lavishness, the silly gadgets, beneath the patriotism, the flashy cars, the women, the daring adventures… when you get past the veneer of Agent Crown,… we’re all just killers. We’re cold-hearted bastards that took more lives than we can remember and all for the glory of the British Empire, God save the Queen! So long as we gave the public a wink and a smile, they forgave our sins. Oh, and do you know something interesting that I’ve noticed? All the Crowns have died alone. Not even MI6 have much interest in protecting or even mourning their former golden-boys. They got what they needed from you lot already. So you see, Pierce, all that heroism was for naught.”

“It’s a bit cynical, but there may be some truth to it.”

“Some truth? Come now, Pierce. Have you still not made the realization? Tell me, what was Rex Robinson like?”

“What?”

“He was the one to initially propose the IMD, so I know you worked with him. You admired him, didn’t you? The masculine American hero, flashing a perfect smile while fighting for truth and justice. But now, you resent him for being less than what you thought he was. And that resentment has led you to have mistrust for all metahumans, even your own Badges. The real truth of the matter is that you see yourself in old Rex. A hero to the masses, but inside, a twisted madman. Just like us.”

“I suppose there might be some truth in that as well, but I hope you realize you’ve turned into the same monologging bore that men like us used to bring down on a regular basis. Do you realize how long you’ve been blabbering? You sound like Julian Scorn.”

“I suppose, but honestly, what difference does it make at this point?”

“I’d say a difference of about two minutes.”

The window behind Pierce suddenly became illuminated by the Cloudburst. The ship’s floodlight briefly blinded Langworthy and in his panic, he produced his pistol. The window shattered and Dafne Mansoor flew across the room before slamming her forearm into his throat. He was hurled down the stairs and landed unconsciously in the foyer.

“We got your alert,” Mansoor told Pierce.

He gave her a wink, “Of course you did.”

Later, police officers took Langworthy away in the back of a squad car. The Badges stood outside Pierce’s home with the Cloudburst hovering overhead.

“I think I speak for all of us,” Lowana Jones began, “When I say that you could’ve filled us in on your plan from the beginning.”

“I didn’t know who was following me or what conversations they were listening to,” Pierce explained, “I had to give the impression of distancing myself from you lot and quitting the IMD so the assassin would make his play. I had to wait until the last possible moment to send a security alert to you.”

“You could’ve been killed, Director.”

“It was his choice,” Jill Frakes told the team, “He played it the way he saw fit.”

“Wish it could’ve gone differently,” Dave Bronson chimed in, “I’ll go on record saying I’m not a fan of leaving us in the dark like this.”

“I understand this widens the rift between us,” Pierce admitted, “But, unfortunately,… it’s what’s kept me alive all these years.”

Days later, Pierce attended the memorial service for the remaining three Crowns who lost their lives: Wilson, Ellis, and Moore. Mansoor was once again in attendance. A few kind words were spoken by a minister and the small crowd that had gathered shuffled quietly outside once it was over. As Pierce and Mansoor made their way to a waiting car, she began to speak quietly.

“This subterfuge can’t continue in a healthy organization,” she told Pierce, “I know you’ve been experiencing some trust issues, but they need to know you’ll be honest with them.”

“I’m as honest as I need to be.”

Mansoor stopped once she reached the car, “I’m not comfortable spying on the Commission anymore. My feelings have been compromised and seeing what’s been happening to the Badges since I’ve been gone is a lot to deal with.”

“It’s never easy but ensuring public safety is sometimes messy business.”

“Does it have to be?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he gave her another pat on the shoulder, “I know I must sound like an old bastard, and I probably am, but very soon, you’ll see my side on things.”

He got into the car and Mansoor silently watched him drive away.

Next: The Commission vs The Badges