Well Shit‚ Blackjack Actually Follows The Evil Overlord Rule About Putting Important Things In A Safety Deposit Box And It Still Goes Wrong.

Interlude 2A – Blackjack (Summus Proelium)

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Three Years Ago

A black car, indistinguishable from any other similar luxury sedan, pulled around the corner of the parking garage. Ahead, a dozen men stood in the open space near a couple of lonely cars, while the rest of the spots remained empty. Of those men, ten held odd-looking submachine guns and wore what appeared to be white lab coats over dark body armor. Their outfits signified them as members of the so-called Braintrust, the Fell-Gang focused around inventions and super science.

The remaining two men, meanwhile, were even more clearly members of that gang. The first, a taller man (just under seven feet) and rather heavyset, wore a white surgical mask and what looked like medical scrubs with various scalpels and other tools filling the pockets. His white hair was very long, falling to his shoulders. The man beside him was much shorter, standing just a hair over five and a half feet. His own costume consisted of several pieces of what appeared to  be scavenged robot pieces haphazardly stuck to his body, and a helmet that was straight out of an ancient black and white sci fi movie. It looked like a metal ball with a grill around the entire front like a small car radiator and several antenna sticking out of it in every direction.

The pair, who worked together quite often, were known as Leech and Rotwang, respectively. Just in front of them on the ground sat a silver briefcase with a thumbprint scanner. All of the dozen assembled figures watched the dark sedan without moving or speaking.

For a moment, the car remained motionless as well. Then it rolled forward the rest of the way, approaching to within ten feet or so before the engine was shut off. The sole figure within the car watched the group for a brief handful of seconds, before opening the door to get out. This new arrival was also clearly Touched. He wore a pair of perfectly tailored black slacks, dark leather shoes polished to a gleaming shine, a black shirt with a matching bolo tie that had a red gem sitting right at the collar, and a white duster coat that fell to his ankles. His entire head was covered by a black helmet with an attached golden mask in the shape of a face. Finally, the thin gloves he wore matched the gold mask.

“That’s far enough, Blackjack,” Leech spoke up the moment their guest had stepped out of his car. The tall man nodded to one of the nearby troops. “Go scan it.”

It was impossible to see the newcomer’s face, but his body language expressed something resembling amusement, as he gestured to the car once before starting to put his hands in his pockets.

“Hey!” That was Rotwang, the robotics-focused Fell-Touched pointing. “You–you get your hands out where we can see them.”

Head tilting a little, the man known as Blackjack obediently took his hands from his pockets. He showed them, first his palms and then the back of his hands, like a magician proving he had nothing in them just before a trick. Which did nothing to ease the trepidation of the men watching him, for some reason.

By that point, one of the Braintrust troops had picked up a long, tube-like device the length of a rolling pin, with a bright blue light at one end and buttons at the other. He ran it over the car, moving slowly from the front to the back, then up again on the opposite side. He tensed up a bit while passing close to Blackjack, finishing his work and quickly stepping a bit further away before looking to his bosses. “Nothing. No one else in the car.”

“You did say to come alone,” Blackjack idly reminded them, his body language far more relaxed than the openly armed and more numerous group.

“Yeah,” Leech agreed, “we did. But you know, call me crazy, lots of people do, I just don’t see the leader of La Casa actually going anywhere without back-up. You don’t seem that stupid.”

In response, Blackjack simply lifted his head slightly. “We’re here to do business, gentlemen. It’s a simple transaction. Although…” He turned just a bit to look at the case on the ground. “As technologically-apt as your organization is, I would find it surprising if you were to fit what I came for into something that small.”

Quickly, Rotwang blurted, “We’re not ripping you off. Business transaction, like you said.” He pointed at the case, the robot-like gauntlet on his arm glowing blue as the case floated up from the ground and came to him. “Right in here, we’ve got just what you need. Three doses of super soldier serum. They’ll make any trio of people you want as strong, as fast, as good as any Olympic level athlete, as good as the best special forces soldier out there.”

For the first time, a hint of something other than amusement entered Blackjack’s voice. “That is quite impressive. But it’s not what I came for. It’s not what we agreed to.”

“Yeah, we know,” Leech assured him. “You came for Worth. And he’s here. He’ll walk you through whatever you need to make sure you understand how to use that stuff.  But sorry, he can’t go with you. But like my friend here said, we’re not ripping you off. You asked for Worth’s help in producing one super soldier. We’re giving you enough serum to make three, and not charging you any more than you already agreed to. You’re coming out plenty ahead in this deal.”   

After a very brief pause, the La Casa leader exhaled. “When one comes to an agreement, it is best to stick to that. I didn’t come for three doses of a super soldier serum. I came for Dr. Worthy himself. He and I agreed to the terms of his temporary employment by me. Not for some of his medicine, for the man himself. He will be coming with me. That is what was arranged.”

“Now, see, you’re not listening.” Leech shook his head. “That’s okay. We’ll work this out. Worth!” Raising his voice, he looked over to one of the nearby cars until another man emerged. This one wore no costume, though he was indeed Touched. A personal preference. He was an older man, his head mostly bald with some remaining gray hair. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans.

“Dr. Worthy,” Blackjack greeted the man. “I’m told there’s been some discrepancy in our deal.”

“Ah, well, that is…” Worthy winced a little, glancing to Leech and Rotwang before looking back to the La Casa leader. “My apologies. It seems I may have agreed to your request too hastily. My… work demands that I stay with my current organization. I simply cannot spare the time for a one-on-one situation with you. But, ahh, as they said, the vials in that case will provide everything you’re looking for. Three times what you were looking for, in fact. You wanted me to help you enhance one person. That briefcase will allow you to enhance three.”

Examining his gold-gloved hands for a moment, Blackjack was quiet. The assembled group of Braintrust Touched and troops looked uncertainly to one another until the man finally spoke. “Our arrangement will be fulfilled as originally stated. You will come with me, I will compensate you for your time, and then you will be released to travel wherever you would like to go with your quite substantial payment.” He spoke matter-of-factly, leaving no room for doubt.

Even as he finished speaking, the ten assembled troops all snapped their guns up into position, aiming at him. At the same time, Rotwang pointed at him with his metal gauntlets, which hummed with energy. And Leech took a step back behind his companion, a scalpel appearing in his hand. “Now, now,” the tall scientist announced, “we can all walk out of this without losing anything. You take the case with the serums, we take the money, everyone’s happy…ish. This doesn’t have to get ugly. But if it does, you are at a disadvantage.”

“So it would seem,” the other man replied vaguely, his attention seemingly focused on the case before he lifted his head to slowly look along the line of weapons pointed at him. “But looks can be deceiving.”

“Now don’t you go starting anything,” Leech snapped, clearly trying to sound more confident than he felt. “We outnumber and outgun you. But we don’t want to start a war with La Casa.”

Rather than reply, Blackjack allowed his gaze to sweep over the group once more. Eyes hidden behind his golden mask, he focused on his Touched-gift, his power.

Some Touched out there had what they called a danger-sense. Blackjack, on the other hand, had an opportunity-sense. It would tell him when there was something he could do to achieve his immediate goals, allowing him to pull knowledge seemingly out of nowhere, so long as that knowledge related to his goal at the time. It wasn’t perfect or all-knowing, but it was pretty damn helpful. Such as now, as he looked toward one of the armed men.

Hates being some random thug for a bunch of geeks and nerds, his power informed him. Thinks they’re stupid, but needs the money because he has a family to support and no one will hire him.

His gaze moved on, sweeping a bit further before slowing as it found one of the guns another man was holding.

Hasn’t been maintained properly. Will fatally misfire the next time the trigger is pulled.

Clearing his throat, the man finally spoke up after that long silence. “Three hundred thousand dollars, and permanent employment within my organization.”

“Um.” With a frown, Worthy shook his head. “It’s not the money, I assure you. And even if it was, three hundred thousand is substantially less than we originally–”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Blackjack informed him. He lifted his gaze once more, looking straight at the first man his power had informed him of. Despite the mask covering his face, their gazes locked. The man understood. He knew.

He moved, quickly jerking his weapon over and shoving it up against the back of Leech’s neck (though as tall as the other man was, he had to lean up to do it). “Nobody move!”

That, of course, prompted every other person to whirl that way, weapons moving off of the La Casa leader to point at their own man.

“You… idiot,” the tall man snarled. “Do you really think we’d give you guns that would work if they were pointed at one of us?”

“No,” his Benedict Arnold retorted. “And I don’t trust this Star Wars shit anyway. That’s why–” With his other hand, he produced a pistol from the inside of his lab coat, using that to point at the man’s head instead. “– I like bringing my own. Now nobody fucking move!”

“You can’t possibly think you’ll get away with this,” Rotwang snapped, torn between looking at Blackjack and looking at the traitorous henchman. “You’re really gonna trust that psycho to pay you?”

“That’s the thing,” the armed man retorted without taking his pistol away from being pointed at Leech’s neck, “This guy doesn’t lie. He makes a deal, he keeps it. That’s the reputation he’s got. He promises something, he’s gonna get it for ya. And call me crazy, but I see more opportunity for advancement in his organization than with a bunch of psychos who call themselves geniuses but are too stupid to just take a government research contract and make millions.”  

Speaking calmly, Blackjack announced, “Now then. Dr. Worthy. If you would please get in the car. And if anyone tries to stop you, my new friend here, Mr…”

“Sorn,” the turncoat supplied. “Elarc Sorn.”

“Sorn,” Blackjack repeated with a nod. “Mr. Sorn here will complete a science experiment of his own, in determining how many bullets can occupy the same space as the good Dr. Leech’s skull.”

Slowly, Worthy did as he was told, moving over to the car before stepping down into the front passenger seat. The entire time, the assembled goons bristled, torn between trying to stop it from happening, and the much more important duty of keeping their employer alive. They also, as he had silently predicted, spread out a bit to surround the car.

Once Worthy was seated in the vehicle, Blackjack addressed Sorn again. “Your turn. You and your tall former employer there have a seat in the back.”

“Now you just hold on with that,” Rotwang snapped. “If you think we’re just gonna let you walk away with my partner, you’ve got another thing coming. Maybe we don’t want to start a war with La Casa, but you sure as hell don’t want a war with the Braintrust either. If the others find out you’ve taken one of our own, you’re gonna have every last one of us coming after you.”

“A horde of utterly unhinged mad scientists and their parade of experiments does not sound like a picnic, no,” the La Casa leader agreed. “Happily, it will not come to that. I’ve no intention of harming Dr. Leech, or taking him any further than the exit of this garage. So long as each of you wait here until he returns.”

Letting that sit for just a brief moment to allow the group to believe it was the only choice on the table and see how unsavory it was, he then added something better for them. “Of course, if you’d like a bit more assurance, perhaps your man there can come with. There is room for three in the back, after all. If you squeeze.”

As expected, Leech preferred that option. The man was far more a doctor than a fighter, even if he was a villainous one. Having a trained and armed guard along as well made him more comfortable with the idea.

Considering the man who was holding a gun on him had also been one of those same trained and armed guards mere moments earlier, perhaps he had yet to truly think that through.

Regardless, the trio moved to the car and slowly, carefully got in while everyone pointed guns at each other. Through it all, Blackjack waited calmly. As the doors closed, he let his gaze sweep over the assembled group of tense, angry faces. In full view of their stares, he took a few steps forward, bending to take up the case from the ground.

“We’ll consider this a bonus to compensate for the hiccups in this transaction.” Straightening, case in one hand, he added, “You’ll find the agreed-upon payment in the trunk of the yellow Toyota there.”

“What–huh?” Turning a bit to look at the car in question behind them, Rotwang shook his head. “How could you possibly have the money waiting here? That car’s been there since we arrived, and we didn’t tell you where the meeting would be until we made it. There’s no way you could have known where to leave the money. You’re making that up.”

Head tilting, Blackjack simply asked, “Am I?”

Staring at him for a moment, the armor-clad man finally waved for one of the men to go check. The guard did so, finding the trunk already popped. As he pulled the door open, the man tugged a black duffle bag from within, unzipped it, and whistled. “Cash, boss. Lots of cash. Looks like all of it.”

How?” Rotwang demanded in disbelief. “How the hell could you know what the meeting point would be before we did, when we set it?”

His smile hidden behind the gold mask, yet fully audible in his voice, Blackjack replied, “Perhaps you should look into being less predictable. It will serve you well in the long run.”

There was no way, of course, that he would spoil the effect by revealing that he’d simply identified two dozen of the most likely places for this sort of meeting to take place, based on territory close to the edge of what Braintrust called their own. All he had to do was look for secluded, protected areas away from prying eyes that could be quickly and temporarily secured, and then have his men deposit identical bags of cash at each one ahead of time. As soon as this one had been identified as the proper location, the others had been quietly retrieved.

It was a bit of work for what amounted to theatrics. But making your potential opponents believe that you could predict their actions with that level was often worth it. Especially if it made them start second-guessing themselves, or wondering if there were (more) traitors in their midst.

That and it was fun seeing the looks on their faces.

Quietly wishing them all a good day, and promising once again to release Leech at the exit to the garage, he moved to take the driver’s seat once more. “Now then, gentlemen. Shall we conclude this?” With those words, he started the car, slowly reversing past the guards before turning and heading for the ramp once more.

“The rest of the Trust isn’t going to be happy about you taking Worth away,” Leech informed him. “He has incredibly sensitive and important work he still needs to do.”

“He will be back eventually,” Blackjack absently assured him. “When he’s done with his new work.” He parked at the exit then, the dark street ahead of them. “I believe this is the stop for you and your escort.”

For a moment, it looked as though Leech was about to say something else. But he seemed to think better, opening his door and extracting himself. His bodyguard followed, standing there with the door open.

“We’ll keep the arrangement,” Leech informed him, as though he had a choice. “Fine. But you know what wasn’t part of the arrangement? Turning one of our own men into a traitor.”

He nodded to the guard beside him, who smirked, lifted his energy-weapon to point at Sorn in the backseat, and pulled the trigger.

The gun promptly exploded in his hand. Because of course Blackjack had ensured that the man who came to escort Leech was the one with the gun that was about to critically misfire. The resulting explosion was small, but it burned both the guard, and Leech beside him. They stumbled back, half-falling.

Blackjack, meanwhile, hit the gas and pulled away with his hired scientist and new employee. “That, I predict, will not go over well back at your base.”

*****

 

A short time later, Worthy stood with Blackjack in what looked like a hospital room, though it was actually deep in the heart of a safe house. Sorn was being briefed by one of the La Casa lieutenants on exactly what would be expected of him as a member of the organization.

“I don’t understand,” the scientist started. “Why are we here? Who’s the… the girl?” He nodded to the small figure lying in the bed, her body filled with tubes as machines beeped steadily through their work of keeping her alive. The tiny, pale girl with light brown hair was dwarfed by all the medical equipment, and couldn’t have been older than five or six.

“This, Dr. Worthy,” Blackjack informed him, “is your patient. My daughter, Melissa. I didn’t hire you to create another soldier for me. I hired you to save my daughter’s life. Her… condition is critical. She has an advanced case of–”

“Rot Bone,” Worthy finished for him, his voice breathless. “She’s suffering from Rot Bone, isn’t she? The worst case I’ve seen in a still-living patient, I would guess.”

There were other names for it, but Rot Bone, as it was most commonly known, was a disease that had been created by a Fell-Touched who went by the same name. There was no known cure, and once infected, the disease essentially did as advertised. It caused the bones within a person’s body to (some more slowly than others) rot away and disintegrate, turning to a poison that gradually killed them.

Rot Bone, the disease creator himself, had already long-since been thrown into the inescapable Breakwater prison. If not, Blackjack would have taken the man apart and made him beg for the honor of saving Melissa’s life. But he was unreachable, making Dr. Worthy the next best candidate.

“Your best work is in enhancing the human body, making one more powerful, stronger, better,” Blackjack reminded the man. “I need you to do that for my daughter. I need you to make her strong enough to survive this. Enhance her.

“Do this, and I will make certain you never lack for anything for the rest of your life.”

*******

Two and a half years later/six months ago.

 

“You’re dying.”

The simple words came from Blackjack, as he sat at a hospital bed, watching the man lying within it. A man who was far more at home on the other side of the bed.

“Yes,” Samuel Worthy confirmed quietly before coughing. “Afraid you can’t hide from the devil forever. We had some fun times though, didn’t we, old friend?” He gave a weak smile, his exposed face pale and drawn. “I had a good run. Gotta say, didn’t expect to spend so long on this one project. Didn’t expect to stay with you through all this.”

Slowly, Blackjack reached up, taking his golden mask down to reveal his own face. He had often been told that he looked like George Clooney in his first days of playing Danny Ocean. Now, however, his expression was far more lost than that famous leading man of such charisma and charm. “I didn’t expect it either, my friend. You saved Melissa’s life. She’s okay now, thanks to you. If I could do anything for you–”

“Don’t,” Worthy interrupted, shaking his head. “I’m done. I’ve done enough with my life. You though… you take care of that girl. She’s a good kid. Deserves every chance she’s got. Took a long time, but these last few treatments should finish stabilizing her.”

“Last few treatments,” Blackjack… or as his family knew him, Eric Abbot, echoed.

“You remember what I said?” Worthy asked while reaching out to grasp his hand weakly. “One syringe per month, every month for the next year. Do that, finish her treatment, and she’ll be okay. The enhancements we’ve done, she’s beaten the disease. But if we don’t stabilize them properly, they’ll fall apart again.”

“One syringe per month for twelve months,” Eric confirmed. “I understand. Thank you. You–what you’ve done for my family… what you mean to Melissa…”

“Just keep that kid safe,” Worthy insisted, before suddenly coughing violently. That went on for a minute, until the man was left lying weak and exhausted, his eyes barely open. “I’m sorry… there’s not time to make more. Twelve… that should be enough. Make sure the… the syringes are kept in a safe place. You… have a safe place, right?”

Taking his friend’s hand and squeezing a little, Eric nodded. “Yes. Don’t worry about that. We’ll keep the syringes safe. I know just where to put them.

“La Casa owns a bank. They can go in a safe deposit box there.”

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