Lawrence Chu
9th May 2003, 12:16 AM
The Black Pack started by Madsman; this part by David Schwager.
I'll be posting more chapters from this fic in the next couple of weeks. If
you'd rather read the rest of it now now NOW, come on down to
http://www.improfanfic.com/ for this and MORE!
But that's not all, folks: if you like the story, you can add your own two
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Contribute to the insanity! Or just get that warm fuzzy feeling of having
written something.
And without further ado: Chapter two of The Black Pack!
***
News spreads.
It's only natural, of course. The proverbial rumor mill is the oldest
and most venerated source of information. No matter how hard people
try, it will never be shut down completely. The more important
something is the more people want to know it, and the harder you clamp
down the more pressure builds up, until even the tinniest cracks can
let loose a flood of knowledge.
Four words.
They spread across the underworld like wildfire despite efforts to the
contrary. Of course, the rank-and-file were kept in the dark; this
knowledge remained only in the hands of the powerful. The people who
controlled people who controlled people: the elite of society's
underbelly.
Five syllables.
It wouldn't be long before they really started flying. Two, maybe
three weeks tops. Then every two-bit gangster worth his bullets would
know of them. You wouldn't be able to walk a block without hearing a
whispered rendition of someone's fanciful theory. What is this
knowledge that would soon hold the minds of every criminal worth the
name in its grip?
"The Demon is loose."
"I'M being MUGGED?"
The tone of that voice was hard to nail down. Incredulity was
certainly dominating, but there was a strange mix of I-can't-believe-
this-is-happening-to-me and ho-does-he-think-he-is in there too. It
was almost, but not quite, the voice of a very rich and conceited man
being asked by a dirty beggar to not only give a few dollars, but also
a nice mansion and guaranteed income.
Being the kind of mugger he was (i.e., not a very good one), the mugger
(who shall, from now on, be named "The Mugger," which should give you a
good idea of his life expectancy) didn't even try to figure out what
kind of voice it was.
"Yeah, and since you're seemin' to not know how this be workin', I'll
'xplain it to ya nice'n slow. Me an' my gun an' my two friends here,
we be wantin' your money. So's you give it up, and you don't get hurt,
see?" The two friends behind him, both looking rather long on muscle
and short on brain, agreed with their leader amidst some laughter.
"I'm being MUGGED!" This time, the voice included a healthy amount of
is-this-guy-serious and what-an-idiot as well. Both went completely
unnoticed.
"Yeah, we 'stablished that already. Now drop ya groceries and reach
deep down in'na that nice black trench coat and bring out ya wallet."
"YOU'RE mugging ME? MUGGING me! Who the hell are you?"
As we have already shown, The Mugger wasn't quite bright enough to pick
up that this line was not uttered in quaking terror like it was
supposed to be. Still, at this point, it really wouldn't have mattered
even if he did get a clue.
"Ha! I'm the Black Demon, y'hear? You evah get mo' money to lose,
c'mon back an' I'll take it from ya again."
The trench coat clad man carefully put both of his brown grocery bags
onto the ground and stepped forward with a lopsided grin on his face.
"I should really be insulted by this, but all I can really think of is
how much I should be pitying you," he said,
The Mugger looked like he was having trouble keeping the vein in his
head from bursting his scalp open. "WHAT? HOW DARE YOU!" he yelled,
running forward and thrusting his gun at the face of this strangely
calm man. "YOU'D BEST APPOLOG- AHHHHH!"
He abruptly cut off as the mugging "victim" reached up with his right
hand to grab The Mugger's wrist, pulling the gun and hand that
contained it towards The Mugger's left side, away from the threatened
man's face. Simultaneously, the man reached up with his left hand and
broke The Mugger's gun arm with a strike at his elbow. Almost before
the mugger had a chance to scream (thankfully he wasn't fighting
seriously, otherwise he would think his skills had dulled. Really,
giving the opponent time to scream? How slow!), the man who really
didn't seem about to be mugged anymore slid towards the man who really
didn't seem about to mug someone anymore and knocked him out with an
elbow strike to the head with his left hand. Casually catching the gun
in his right hand, he fired a bullet into each of the remaining
muggers' legs, causing them both to collapse screaming.
Shaking his head, the lone upright man tossed the newly acquired gun
into one of his supply bags to be thrown away later where morons like
this couldn't get a hold of it. Picking them both up, he walked away
from the screams of the two conscious thugs without remorse.
"Feh, what posers," Garrick said.
tHe bLacK pAcK
Day 2: Five Man War
Created by MtB
This part by David Schwager
"So, what now?"
Those three simple words have been enough to throw countless leaders
into dizzying tailspins. Nothing kills the battle fervor of a real,
red-blooded man like having to worry about silly niggling little
details. For every bold leader who stands at the front of the army and
makes stirring speeches about justice and not being afraid to die,
there's someone standing just behind and to the right who worries about
little things like making sure there's enough food to last through the
entire campaign. If there isn't, bad things tend to happen (witness
the invasion of Russia. It doesn't matter which one, they all ended up
pretty much the same way)
Logistics isn't the only problem, either. Making goals is easy, but
there are lots of steps between saying something like "let's invade
Russia" and actually planting your flag in Moscow. Sometimes, having a
really simple goal is worse than a really complex one. For instance:
Goal: kill Remy Forsythe.
Assets: five skilled but eccentric (people who can, and often do, kill
ten men in as many seconds get the same treatment as rich people as far
as being eccentric goes) fighters, their various armaments, a
reasonably large but hardly unlimited government expense account for
weapons, equipment, rent, and food. Oh, and one lawyer that could be
called in if needed, but probably wouldn't be.
Enemies: pretty much every crime organization. Theoretically, there
might be some willing to ally with the legendary Demon, but it was
unlikely Remy had left such a bold opponent in something other than
rubble.
Clear Problems: to kill Remy, you need to know where he is. This is
important information that is not likely to be found easily. There's
also the matter of having thousands of criminals with orders to kill
your group on sight. You're good, but not that good. Let's not forget
that a good number of those thousands are, most likely, already
involved in actively hunting you down.
Question: "So, what now?"
Answer: .................................................. .....
In Garrick's case, it went: 1) find somewhere to live, 2) eat out
somewhere expensive, 3) find supplies (including ammunition and food),
and 4). None of his allies knew what 4) was yet, but that was part of
his plan. No matter how much his sister pestered him, he refused to
tell.
The reason was that Garrick didn't know what 4) was either, and was
waiting to make something up appropriate later. In case of an
emergency, he could just say that 4) was "everything else," but chances
are some situation would come up where he could look like a better
leader by pretending to have prepared for it. Sure, it was a bit
dirty, but it was an old habit; he didn't get to be the head of
Maccivelli by letting opportunities to improve his image slip by. He
thought that Icy might have caught onto the trick, but as long as she
didn't say anything it didn't matter.
To his surprise, 1) had been incredibly quick and painless. He had
been worried when the real estate agent caught sight of Alexander's
gattling gun, but after quickly sizing them up, the small man had
apparently decided that these particular customers should be made as
happy as possible and brought them to what appeared to be the best
house he could find and offered to rent it to them at a significant
discount. Chances are they would be moving soon, but while it
lasted... well, as Geraldine said, "Whoo, a real stone fireplace! Hey,
another one! Alright, it's experiment time!"
If the syndicate didn't get them, Geraldine would, Garrick reflected
morosely.
The house and two full floors, a small attic, and a basement. There
were plenty of doors, but Garrick wasn't worried, since more than half
of them (and most members of a reasonably armed attacking force) would
be able to make more doors at will (they were renting a house, not a
bunker; some things you just had to accept, and shoddy armor was one of
them). The basement was quite spacious, albeit cold and rather bare,
but it was fairly sturdy and would make a good place to store their
bulkier equipment and a decent place to make a last stand at, having
only one entrance (although, as has been said, more could easily be
made if one had the inclination, otherwise smart people often just
didn't think to do so) and, as Geraldine had brilliantly pointed out,
the washing machine and dryer ("Well, if we're in a siege, it'd be nice
to have clean clothes. Er... and we can maybe drink the water if we
get thirsty?). The attic was small, cramped, and fairly useless even
as a sniper roost (as Icy had said, "Unless the enemy wants to be nice
and courteous and stay on the other side of the road, I can't get a
good shot from these inward-slanting windows. Honestly, weren't the
people who built this thinking even basic fortification? ...Don't
answer that."). The two main floors were fairly unremarkable except
for the stone fireplace on each and the wide staircase that connected
them. The kitchen, dining room, and most of the bedrooms were on the
top floor, but the TV room, garage, study (now turned into Alexander's
computer room) and main door were all on the lower one. In short, it
was an awfully nice house that made Garrick almost sorry that it was
sure to get demolished soon.
Anyway, since 1) was over so quickly, they had decided to split up and
proceed to 3) before doing 2). When Garrick arrived back at their new
home, he found that he was last one back. Alexander was already
plugging away at his new computer (Garrick was sure it was at least
$3000, even though he had specifically told the giant to get something
$2000 or under), and Geraldine was watching him type in amazement. The
Demon had a small chuckle at that. People who hadn't seen him in
action usually thought that Alexander's huge fingers would prevent him
from being able to type, but he had trained himself to hit the center
of each key quickly and precisely, which was really something
considering he had only a few millimeters of space to spare when
depressing a key. The scariest part was that he typed faster and made
fewer typos than people with normal-sized fingers (he claimed it was
because his training gave him greater skill than those who simply type
without actively trying to improve).
Heading upstairs, Garrick glanced into the kitchen, where Richmond was
unpacking the food he and Geraldine had bought. Richmond glanced over
in the Demon's direction and gave him a quick thumbs-up, meaning his
mission to steal all of Geraldine's cigarettes was successful.
Garrick's non-veiled-at-all threats hadn't budged the man, but
mentioning how dangerous cigarettes are to your health and how
Geraldine would be dead before she was forty had gotten her husband to
swear on his life to help her quit. Which, in Garrick's mind,
confirmed him as a nut, since, considering their chosen profession, it
was unlikely that any of them would live for another ten years, let
alone twenty (which is why he hadn't given up on forcing Geraldine OUT
of their chosen profession). Still, he filed away in his mind that
Richmond's biggest weakness was his wife's health, which would have
been a lot more useful if it wasn't one of Garrick's biggest weaknesses
as well. Still, the whole situation did give him a few moments of dark
comedy. Who would have thought that his sister's taste in men was just
as bad as his own taste in women?
Heading around the corner, Garrick dumped his big bags of bullets on
the dining room table, where the testament to his taste in women was
already unloading her bags, which also contained various types of
ammunition. "I'm surprised you got back after I did," Icy said.
"Yeah, well, I got held up. Some jokers tried to mug me. HEY," he
yelled to the house as a whole, "ANYONE WANT A CRAPPY HANDGUN?"
"OH, ME ME ME ME!" yelled back Geraldine from the lower floor.
"Wait, someone tried to MUG you?" Icy paused in confusion. "THEY
tried to mug YOU?"
"Yeah, that was more or less my reaction too. DAMNIT SIS, WHAT HAVE I
TOLD YOU ABOUT USING HANDGUNS? I had to leave them alive too, because
I wasn't sure if they're considered civilian casualties. Are they?"
"I KNOW, I KNOW," echoed back the demolitions expert. "IF I HAVE TO
USE ONE, MAKE IT A GOOD ONE. BUT I DON'T WANT TO USE IT, I JUST WANT
TO EXPERIMENT ON WAYS TO BLOW IT UP."
"OH, WELL THEN THAT'S OKAY. Well, Icy?"
The sniper seemed lost in thought. "I... really don't know. I think
if they attack you, they're fair game, but if you leave a swath of
destruction all the way through the inner city, that's not going to be
looked upon well."
"Alright, gotcha. I can kill those who attack me within reason."
Garrick made a face. "Gah, I hate 'within reason.'"
"I'm sure you do, Demon, sir," said Richmond from the other side of the
room. If Garrick had less self control, he would have jumped in
surprise: either his hearing had been dulled by prison or their blade
expert was quieter than when they last met. "Now that we're all here
and I'm finished unpacking the spoilables, how about that nice dinner?
I know a few good places here, unless they've been demolished or bought
out or otherwise changed in the past few years."
"Sounds great," said Garrick. "I guess we'll just trust your judgment
on this one."
"My thanks, Demon, sir," Richmond said as he ghosted away.
Garrick paused, listening. Even when trying, he couldn't hear
footsteps. Moving to the doorway, he looked down the hall and saw his
target walking silently down the stairs. Moving back inside, he looked
at Icy. "Did you hear-"
"No," she replied.
"I mean, sure, he's walking on a carpet, but still, we should've-"
"Guess not."
Dinner was GOOD.
Garrick had been greatly looking forward to his first non-prison meal
in five years, which is why he had insisted on going somewhere fancy
for it. As you might imagine, the three of his companions who had also
been incarcerated shared the Demon's great hunger (this is quite
possibly the only time the Demon's great hunger actually refers to
food). By unanimous consent, they had ordered ten dishes and passed
them around in the table, constantly recommending various foods to each
other (if they hadn't been dropping over half a grand on this meal, a
waiter would have politely complained a bit about the noise). Somehow,
all ten dishes were completely eaten, along with all fifteen deserts
they ordered afterwards (as you might imagine, Alexander played a large
part in both feats). Appetites satiated, Garrick uttered the words of
any great businessman upon handing the waiter his credit card.
"Thank god for expense accounts."
"Hey! I have a great idea!" enthused Geraldine. They were about
halfway back home, and the walk was reminding Garrick to add 5) rent a
car to their list of things to do. "When you take the Maccivelli
Syndicate back, we can have a meal like this every night, right?"
Garrick thought about it. The idea certainly did have merit, and his
stay in prison had helped him cultivate a much greater desire to use
his wealth for personal enjoyment while he had it. "Eh, sure, that is
a good idea. Whenever we're not hiding or something, we can go eat out
like this. We won't have to ration it out of fear of a revoked expense
account, that's for sure."
"Eh? Why would we be in hiding?" asked Geraldine.
The other four looked away as if she had said something silly and
embarrassing. Alexander finally took it upon himself to say something.
"Well, y'know... from the guvs and all."
"But they let bro out, right? Why'd they want to go after him again?"
"This is why I didn't want my sister along, y'know," said Garrick in
what would almost be a whiny voice. "There's a reason she only had
petty crimes up till now."
"Hey, what does it matter if my crimes look good?" said Geraldine in
what was definitely a whiny voice.
"Gah!" screamed the Demon. "Petty, not pretty! Petty, as in small
time! Not important! Look, let me give you the facts of life: the
guvs want me dead only slightly less so than they want Remy dead. The
second his heart stops beating, they're gonna come after me in full
force with tanks and jets and shit precisely BECAUSE they let me go!
They don't want anyone the public to know I'm loose, because that would
mean the public would know they let me loose! That would be very, very
bad for their image, and would spark all sorts of tribunals and court
martials and shit that would leave the people who planned this back
where I started this, by which I mean IN JAIL. The four of us are
gonna be on the run half the time, and even with the Syndicates power
behind us, we'll have plenty of trouble. There, now, any more
questions?"
His younger sister was practically cowering against the wall in terror
at the Demon's long rant. Timidly, she raised one hand. "Uh... just
one... why did you say 'the four of us?' Because I'm fairly sure I
count five..."
Oops, thought Garrick. "Oh, I thought I did say five."
Quick to follow up on any advantage she had, she continued her line of
questioning. "No, you said four. Didn't he, guys?" Looking around at
the others for confirmation, she saw her husband and Alexander was not
to meet her eyes and giving various non-committal noises, while Icy
started away and into space... well, icily. "Hey, what's wrong?"
Garrick, quick as always to recover his composure from his slip-up,
replied. "It's because I'm going to send you back home once we finish
this, so it'll only be the four of us remaining. Now c'mon, let's go
home."
"Oh no you don't, not that easily! You can't fool me that easily bro.
Why would you let me chase after Remy but kick me out when the guvs
come? Hurry up and come clean!"
Icy sighed, and began walking again. "What he means," she said, "is
that the second Remy drops, your brother intends to drop me as well."
"Whu-whu-WHAT? BIG BROTHER! Is that true? HEY! Don't just walk away
from me!" she yelled at his silently retreating form. "Come back here-
"
Geraldine started to run after her brother, but was stopped by a
gigantic hand placing itself on her shoulder. "Girl, chill," said
Alexander. "It's their business."
"But... but... she's his girlfriend..." Geraldine thought about it for
a few seconds. "Well, kinda his girlfriend anyway."
"Exactly," said Richmond quietly. "She's his girlfriend, and she
betrayed him. He lost everything he had, including most of his friends
to her betrayal. He has to kill her, for himself and them. That's
just how things work."
"What about her then, huh? Why's she so accepting of it?"
Her husband put his hand to his chin as if thinking. "I guess it's
like she said: she has her reasons."
"I think it's a truce, just like with the guvs," said Alexander. "They
both know they'll backstab each other in the end, but the only path
they have is just to go for it and hope they end up on top."
Geraldine looked at the two men. "That's... awfully cold, isn't it?"
Alexander shrugged. "It's the way of the underworld. Most of us
aren't really friendly folks."
"Hmph. I think you've got it all wrong," said Geraldine as she spun
around and resumed walking. "I think she's soooooooo in love with him
that she wants to be together with him even if the only way to do it is
to have him kill her."
The two remaining men stood there until the Demon's sister was out of
sight. Finally, Alexander spoke. "Nice girl you got there. Crazy as
hell, but nice."
"Of course," replied Richmond, "they say much the same thing of me,
only without the 'nice.' I guess we're a perfect couple, hmm? Now,
run along back to the house. I'm afraid I've got a bit of business to
finish off before I return."
"Oh? Wazzat?" asked Alexander.
"Nothing much," the blade master said with a smile. "I just need to
kill the talentless amateur who's been following us even since we left
the restaurant."
Much later that night, after respective tempers were cooled, the five
gathered for what was know officially known as 4) a group strategy and
planning meeting (when asked why he had kept it a secret, Garrick
replied that it was "because you can only plan long term strategies
then your short term needs are met." Icy had giggled. Damn her, she
HAD figured it out, thought Garrick).
Garrick looked around at the gathering. All five were sitting at a
good sized round table that was one of the only pieces of furniture the
house had come with. To Garrick's right was Icy and to his left was
Alexander. On the other side of the table, Richmond and Geraldine were
sitting far too close together for Garrick's comfort, but he decided
not to bring that up. They were in some sort of downstairs lounge next
to Alexander's computer room. It was a little bare, but serviceable.
"Okay," began the Garrick, "first order of business. Richmond,
considering you were so late back to the house, I assume you took care
of the guy tailing us?"
"Yes sir, Demon sir," replied Richmond lazily. "I even left a little
message on his recording device for Mr. Forscythe to find." He leaned
forward a bit and made a slightly disapproving face. "You shouldn't
have let your temper get in your way, sir, or you would have gotten rid
of him yourself."
"Yeah, whatever," Garrick said as he dismissed the criticism with a
wave of his hand. "Now, second order of business-"
"Wait, we were being FOLLOWED?" asked Geraldine frantically.
Garrick sighed and put his face in his hand. "Second order of
business, I propose that Geraldine is banned from speaking again during
strategy meetings. All in favor?" He raised his hand and looked
around at four cold glares (one of which was positively Icy) and no
hands. "Fine, fine, the nays have it. Okay then, onto our third order
of business. Any of you have any suggestions?" As Geraldine began to
speak, Garrick cut her off. "And if anyone says something along the
lines of 'we should blow Remy to pieces,' please keep your wisdom to
yourself."
His sister looked at him with a hurt look. "I'm not THAT clueless,
bro. I was gonna suggest that we infiltrate the syndicate. I'm sure
they're looking for new members, seeing as how they're about to face
off against you."
"That's the stupidest-"
"Demon!" interrupted Alexander.
Garrick sighed. "Alright, so it's not that bad an idea. But
unfortunately, all of us except you are far too well known to attempt
it, and you're not suited for stealth missions OR for infiltrating the
mob. Especially alone. Anyone else?"
"Alexander, of course," said Alice softly.
"Already on it," the giant said. "I don't think I'll have get much
tho'. This Forcythe guy don' seem like the kind to make this easy on
us. I doubt his location is online in any way, and if it's not online,
I can't get it. I'm good, but I'm not God."
"So Alexander's out." Garrick looked around. "Anyone else?"
"The same way I got to you, Demon, sir." Richmond smiled broadly at
the reaction his words caused.
"And... that... would be?" said the Demon in his best intimidation
voice. It didn't work very well.
Richmond's smile became lazy again as he explained. "You can't run a
business like the syndicate in isolation, no matter how good you are.
You talk to people, they talk to more people, and so on and so on down
like the roots of a tree. One leader with many Lieutenants, each with
hundreds of men and officers..."
"We're all well aware of basic organization," said Icy as he trailed
off.
"Yeah, even my sister knows this," said Garrick before being glared at
by all four. "Sorry, sorry. Get on with it, Richie."
"Certain, Demon, sir," said Richmond without even a trace of the
irritation Garrick hoped to cause with that nickname. "Simply put, the
easiest way to get to the top is being climbing the chain of command.
You take a random thug, find out who and where he gets his orders from.
Then you find that person, and find out who and where he gets his
orders from. So on and so on. If you go up long enough, you'll make
it to the top without fail."
"It's... a bit simple," said Garrick.
"The best plans are," replied Richmond easily.
"It'll be long and boring, and if we accidentally kill one of our links
we'll have to start all over."
"There aren't that many layers of organization in the Syndicate,"
pointed out Icy reasonably. "Most of the top lieutenants should know
something, and besides, do you have any better ideas?"
Once again, Garrick sighed. "No, I guess not. Well, barring further
suggestions, we'll move onto our fourth order of business, namely, why
furniture is generally too expensive to waste our money on when we can
make do with things like sleeping bags instead of beds. No, Geraldine,
I don't want to hear it..."
"And so, Mr. Forscythe, sir, I'd appreciate it if you don't order any
more men to tail us," said Richmond, grinning his usual sly smile from
the large television that was currently playing back the last (and
only, since the rest of the tape had been erased) recording of an
extremely ill-fated spy. "Or at the very least use someone with a bare
modicum of skill; really, if this one had been any less competent, even
Alexander or my cute wife would have heard him. If you want to find
our place of residence, I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more
cunning than this. Goodbye for now, but I'm sure we'll see each other
again. After all, I doubt you're careless enough to let me kill you
from the shadows."
Remy Forscythe laughed at the recording. Then he turned to his most
trusted (or, more accurately, "least negatively trusted") Lieutenant,
who had been recently drafted to work directly under Remy as his aide.
"I want you to give Lieutenant Dougall the order to exterminate the
five Black Pack members by any means necessary." The name had been a
spur-of-the-moment idea, but somehow it had stuck due to its
appropriateness. "Make it clear that if he doesn't succeed, he should
consider saving himself the trouble and making his own pair of cement
shoes. Oh, and give him what basic info we have about their
abilities."
The Lieutenant paused to consider this information before speaking.
"Sir, with all due respect, Lieutenant Dougall is an incompetent. His
men are incompetents. The rest of us Lieutenants use him as a dumping
ground for our useless men, and if by chance he recruits someone
talented, we steal him away. In short, sir, the Black Pack will eat
him alive."
Remy smiled and laughed gently. "I'm glad I chose to promote you; I
doubt any of the others would have been that honest with me. But
you're exactly right: Dougall is useless and the Black Pack will tear
him apart. However, that is exactly my purpose." He leaned forward
and widened his friendly smile, like he was talking about how great his
lawn was coming in. "In my organization, the only dumping ground for
incompetents will be the morgue."
"Yes, sir," said the Lieutenant obediently. He understood the plan
now: use the Pack to purge the organization of a disliked element while
at the same time wearing them down to the point where a better able
group would have an easy time destroying them. It was an excellent
plan, since five men, no matter how skilled, were only five men.
Right?
The Lieutenant did his best to block the legends of the Demon out of
his mind. The stories just had to be exaggerated. Of course there was
evidence that many of them had at least some basis in reality, but no
single human could possibly do that kind of damage.
Right?
Lieutenant Dougall smiled a toothy grin as he received his orders.
After all, rarely did such a glorious opportunity come to him.
Destroying the Demon would win him great favor with the new boss, and
it would be hard for even a brainless two-year old to screw this up.
Sure, everyone had heard stories about the "Demon," but who in their
right mind would believe such garbage? They were obviously just myths
the former leader had created to enhance his image and strike fear into
his enemies. Well, Dougall was one smart cookie, and he wasn't going
to fall for it.
Of course, most of those who had known the Demon personally were killed
during the upheaval after his imprisonment, so there wasn't much first-
hand information either way. But still... no, forget it, it's
impossible.
Right?
Right.
First he would need to find them. That shouldn't be too hard, as he
already had their general location. All he needed now was to find them
specifically. Well, Dougall was one smart cookie, and he had someone
just perfect for that job. Specially imported just for this reason,
you could say. He would surely be able to find them and somehow relay
that information back to the hit squad (indeed, although Dougall had no
way of knowing it, his agent would perform those duties to the letter,
although not in a way either might have imagined).
As for the hit squad, thirty gunmen should be more than enough. They
wouldn't even all need machine guns. Even if half of them only had
handguns, it wouldn't matter.
Well, maybe they SHOULD all have machine guns.
Y'know, just to be on the safe side.
After the meeting, their little group had broken up to do whatever they
wanted. Icy tinkered with her rifle, Alexander tinkered with his
computer, Richmond tinkered with his blades, and Geraldine tinkered
with her explosives. For his part, Garrick had found Bonnie and Clyde
in disturbingly good condition. It was disturbing because someone had
to have kept them in a condition that good, which would have meant
regular cleaning even if they hadn't been used, and Garrick didn't want
to think about who had been doing it (Icy, most likely) because that
would mean thinking about WHY she- er, THEY had done it. Instead, he
thought about Geraldine and how to send her back home to her parents
and college and boredom and away from getting a bullet through her
brain and that crazy husband of hers. This line of thought was
hampered by his being able to hear Alice's familiar rifle tinkering
(she was having some trouble with her sight attachment again; from the
sound of it, her infrared scope was still refusing to slide in easily
and NO NO NO think about Geraldine). During his five years of
incarceration, Garrick had only thought about one thing: kis-KILLING
Alice "Icy" Rogers. Killing her for betraying him. Killing her for
sending his friends to hell and him to the next best thing. He would
NOT allow himself to forgive her.
So, while trying to figure out how to get his sister to leave and
trying to avoid figuring out exactly what his relationship with Icy
was, Garrick quickly tired his mind out. Opting to have his body join
his mind, he went down to the basement to work out his prison-atrophied
muscles a bit. Since there wasn't any proper equipment there, he had
to improvise with what he could find (using chairs instead of lifting
weights, stick a box of bullets on his back when doing pushups, etc.).
Luckily for him, he hadn't lost as much muscle as he feared, but he
would definitely need to work harder to get back up to top shape.
Finally tired out, he went back upstairs and to bed. He made a special
point to not look at Alice's room, or even check her location. He did,
however, check his sister's room, which he refused to think of as
Richmond's room in any way, just to make sure that there were still two
sleeping bags there. While he didn't realistically expect them both to
be used, the only thing keeping his sanity intact at the moment was the
thin illusion that they might be (at least that was what he had told
them, and he was only exaggerating slightly).
"Rise and shine bro!" cried Geraldine as she roused her only sibling
from slumber. "It's breakfast time! C'mon and wake up or you don't
eat!"
"Yeah yeah, whatever," mumbled Garrick as he got to his feet. "Gimmie
a minute to dress and I'll be right out."
Meanwhile, his sister started at him in slack-jawed amazement. "Bro...
since when can you get up like that? It used to take me half an hour
to roust you!"
"I wake up easy now," said the Demon. "In my world, you either wake up
fast or you don't wake up at all."
"But why... oh, right, you get killed in your sleep. Alright, message
received, just get out there." Geraldine smiled as she left. Finally,
irrefutable proof that the criminal world wasn't entirely without
merit! It had made her brother a light sleeper! Was their mom ever
going to be disappointed when she found out.
Garrick received his first nasty shock of the day the second he walked
into the kitchen expecting breakfast. For one thing, no one but him
and his sister was there. For another thing, the only food was in a
decidedly unprepared state. Years of experience in deadly underworld
plotting leapt to his aid, instantly connecting dozens of points of
information into a clear picture of the scheme laid against him.
"No way!" he said vehemently. "There is no way I'm helping you cook
breakfast!"
"Oh, but you're the only one here whose cooking I can trust to not
poison us!"
"I am a criminal boss! I do not 'cook.'"
"But if you don't help, then you and Alexander won't eat."
Garrick paused, struck in an unexpected weak area. "...What?" he said
intelligently.
"You heard me! If you don't help, then I won't give you or Alexander
any food!" She smiled at him, confident in her victory.
"Fine, go ahead," spoke the Demon, confident that she was bluffing.
While she might see fit to deprive him off foodstuffs, she would never
go so far as to exclude another for his misdeed. Since she was
bluffing on that, her entire position would crumble once she gave in.
"Okay, less work for me," she said as she began cooking.
The Demon looked on, slightly less sure but still confident in his
judgment.
Then his stomach growled.
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" guffawed Alexander. "Who would'a thunk it,
huh?"
"Yeah, laugh it up big guy," growled Garrick.
"I mean, it's a damn classic!" continued Alexander between fits of
laughter. "Whadda we call ya now? The Cooking Demon? The Demon With
Spatulas?"
"See if I ever do you a favor again," grumbled Garrick from his
position over the eggs.
"How about the Demon Chef?" suggested Richmond.
"The Frying Demon," added Icy.
Garrick glared flaming death at his sister. "I hate you," he said
simply, before turning and flipping a load of pancakes off the griddle.
"Yeah, yeah," she replied in that special way only siblings can.
"Okay, the hash browns are done. I'm gonna go dig out the salt and
syrup and stuff."
"Whatever. I still hate you." It wasn't that his voice was un-
intimidating. It's just...
"Y'know Demon, you'd be more intimidatin' if you weren' spoonin' out
pancake batter."
Thanks, Alexander. I couldn't put it better myself.
"Damnit! This is exactly why I didn't want- oh, whoops," he stopped
for a second to turn off the flame under the eggs and reach for a
platter. "Wait, what am I doing? Si- Geraldine, get back here! I
refuse to do this anymore!"
"Oh, I dunno, Demon, sir. You seem to be doing pretty well," observed
Richmond. "Oh, but you might want to flip those pancakes again."
"Nah, they need another thirty seconds at least- damnit, stop that! I
refuse to do this! I am a skilled criminal mastermind, not a damn
short order cook." Garrick's declaration was somewhat lessened by the
fact that he had to turn around to flip the pancakes ten seconds later.
Icy stared at him, trying desperately not to show just how much she
wanted to laugh. "I really don't know what's funnier, Garrick. You
cooking, or the fact that you seem so good at it."
"It wasn't my idea," he grumbled as he finished flipping the pancakes
and moved the platter with the other finished pancakes closer.
"Oh? Whose was it?" asked Icy.
"Our mom, of course," said Geraldine from the doorway. "Hey, honey,
get over here and help me with some of this stuff. Oh, and remind me
to never buy the bulk syrup canisters ever again."
"Of course, dearest," said Richmond as he glided to help his wife with
her burden. "So, your mother taught the good Demon how to cook?"
"Yep, him and me. She insisted that she wouldn't raise a child who
couldn't cook for themselves."
"Sis..." intoned Garrick in warning.
"Oh, relax, it's not like she's here. Anyway, you'd be surprised;
bro's actually a pretty good cook. You should try the pasta sauce he
makes-"
"SIS!" yelled Garrick.
"Geeze, what's UP with you?" wondered Geraldine. "You've been in a
total snit ever since I made you help out with the food. I know you
never exactly loved to cook, but you never minded it that much."
"It's because of his image," explained Icy offhandedly. "'Merciless
killer of hundreds' and 'makes a mean pasta sauce' don't mix well. I
don't know why he cares so much now though, since we're all friends."
She paused and thought about that for a second. "Well, almost friends.
Close enough for mob work, anyway."
"Yeah," said Alexander, "we're all friends here. Besides, now I know
wha' ta' getcha for Christmas." He paused as if thinking deeply.
"Although I don't know where I'd find a black apron aroun' here..."
"I hate you all," mumbled Garrick.
After breakfast it was time for work, which consisted of walking around
the most populated parts of the city with, as an exceptionally
irritated Garrick put it, "All you fucking jokers in full battle gear.
That ugly ass pink getup of yours, sis, that ludicrously oversized gun
of yours, AL (knowing full well how much Alexander hated that
contraction), and that snowwoman costume of yours, Alice. Oh yeah, and
try to act as much like the prancing idiot you are, Richmond. Yeah, of
course hide your gatling gun Alexander! I dunno, put a tarp over it or
something. We're trying to attract the bad guys, not a fucking swat
team." The idea was to attract as much attention as possible, in the
probably hope of drawing some of their targets to them. If it looked
like it wasn't working, they'd try raiding some of the old hideouts,
but they doubted they would have much success; the syndicate didn't
usually keep any hideouts active for more than three years, since at
that point too many people tended to know about them and they weren't
exactly safe anymore.
So, they walked down the biggest, most crowded streets they could,
talking loudly and drawing more attention than any of them were
particularly comfortable with. Now if only someone looking for them
would actually find them...
Several blocks away, thirty men with machine guns waited for their
scout to give them a signal.
Sasuke glided from hiding place to hiding place, stalking his prey.
Soon, very soon, he would use his small pocket radio to call in the
rest of the squad, but for now his years of ninjitsu training rendered
him undetectable.
Sure, he was a third generation US citizen and would be hard pressed to
tell the difference between a Japanese, Chinese, and Korean man. Sure,
he hadn't really had a 'master' during any of his hard years of
training, unless you counted his many ninja videos, both animated and
live action. Sure, he had never actually been to Japan, and had only
picked up a few words of Japanese here and there through watching
imported videos. But he was confident that, if you traced back his
lineage far enough, you would find many proud ninjas hiding in his
family tree, much as he was today in a far more literal tree. Truly,
the blood of his ancestors ran strong in him!
Sasuke waited motionless in his tree for the group to pass beyond
earshot. He would finish the mission objectives perfectly! He had
already found them, and soon he would give the attack squad the signal
to, um, attack! He would succeed and show everyone exactly what he was
made of! He was invisible like a shadow. He was quiet like a ghost.
He was silent like greased monkey. He was-
"Hey, is there someone in that tree up there?" asked Geraldine
curiously.
-in deep shit, realized Sasuke as terror took hold.
In a somewhat cruel, yet not entirely undeserved, joke of fate on the
poor Sasuke, every thought he had during this, his first real mission,
was true, although not exactly in the way he had hoped. For instance,
while there were many ninjas within his family tree, most of them had
been quite well known during their lives. Indeed, Sasuke was hiding in
his literal tree with about the same degree of concealment. And while
it is true that the blood of his ancestors ran strong in him, Sasuke
would have been surprised to learn that many of his ancestors had been
tragically killed in their first missions. He would show everyone who
saw him exactly what he was made of (red, mostly). He was as invisible
as a shadow at 10:30 in the morning on a brilliantly sunny day. He was
as quiet as the kind of ghost that wakes you up at midnight to chat
about forging chains in life and likes to moan and rattle his copious
examples. He was, indeed, as silent as a monkey who had suddenly been
coated with a thick layer of greasy sludge.
And most of all, he was in extremely deep shit. In fact, it would not
be inaccurate to say that it had no bottom.
"Yes, sis, that would be the grossly pathetic scout for some attack
squad or other," said Garrick in his most condescending voice. "He
would be why we circled around this small area again, hoping he would
look five feet past his nose and see us this time."
"Oh," said a faintly embarrassed Geraldine as she fished around her
pockets. Finally drawing forth a small round object, she tossed it
upwards to the watcher who was now frozen in fear. "Here, catch," she
said.
Numbly, without thinking about it, Sasuke did. He had just enough time
to register that it was a grenade before he didn't register anything
anymore.
It might have made him feel better to know that the grenade was timed
to go off at his exact height, so even if he hadn't caught it the
outcome wouldn't have been any different. But then again, that
knowledge probably wouldn't make any difference either.
Two things happened in rapid succession. First, the entire crowd for
three blocks cleared out of the streets like... well, like some psychos
had just tossed a grenade into the air and blasted a person into little
red bits (the cover-up would talk about a deadly gang shootout that
left both sides dead and would eventually cause the city police budget
to skyrocket, so all's well that ends well for The Man). Second, the
attack squad rounded the corner before Garrick had done more than begin
to chew out his sister. All thirty of them were there, as they had all
heard the explosion and the screams and had put two and two together.
Surprising everyone, they actually got four. For most of Dougall's
men, this was cause for an award in and of itself.
Seeing their targets standing in the open, the thirty men opened fire.
Unfortunately, they weren't quite quick enough.
Alexander took off for one side of the road with surprising speed,
covering ground in long strides, each of which would make many long
jumpers proud. He had his gatling gun in front of him like a tower
shield to protect himself from stray bullets (it might get damaged, but
not as much as he would). As a testament to his speed, he was inside a
nearby building before even a single bullet touched his firearm.
Garrick, meanwhile, was making a break for the other side of the road,
only at a much slower pace since he had taken time to throw his trench
coat over Icy and Geraldine and was forced to run with both of them
under its protection. While Icy was used to this style of travel and
wouldn't have slowed him at all, Geraldine was most certainly not, and
her rhythm clashed with the other two, forcing them to run slower.
Geraldine did try to throw another grenade, but was stopped by her
brother, who had had enough of her throwing explosives around. Knowing
her it would just end up caught in his trench coat anyway. Even with
all the delays, they reached the safety of a building before more than
a few bullets hit the Demon's coat. This was good, since even the
heavy, bulletproof coat had its limits: too much fire (and thirty
machine guns certain qualified as that) would pummel your body like
hammers, breaking bones and bruising muscles. Nevertheless, as long as
he had some shelter, Garrick was not particularly worried about these
enemies. Indeed, as a testament to that unconcern, he had to fight
long and hard to keep from grabbing Alice and giving her another deep
kiss; running with her under his trench coat (even with Geraldine too)
had brought back a lot of old memories that shouldn't have nearly as
much importance to him as they did. Eventually, the battle was won for
him when Alice said simply "Roof," and ran towards the stairs,
presumably to snipe from the top.
Richmond was not with either group. Somehow, during the confusion of
the attack squad's first appearance, he had disappeared. No one had
seen him vanish (not even the enemy they captured), but when they
looked for him, he just wasn't there. With the exception of Geraldine,
none of the Black Pack was particularly worried about him. Not because
they didn't care much (although, with the exception of Geraldine, they
didn't), but because they believed him to be far too skilled to die in
such a way.
Alexander swung his ponderous weapon around to point it at where he
remembered the enemy to be. Revving it, he heard the beautiful (at
least to the people he wasn't aiming at) hum of its cylinders rotating
faster and faster. When they reached maximum speed, he cut loose.
To be honest, a powerful gatling gun like that is less a 'gun' and more
of a 'cannon.' The bullets it spewed tore through the building wall
like wet cardboard and ripped into the enemy squadron like hundreds of
disturbingly large metal pellets going fast enough to tear cement like
wet cardboard (in fact, several injuries were caused not by the bullets
themselves but rather by shards of cement the bullets had sent flying
like shrapnel). Alexander's barrage killed or crippled at least twenty
of the squadron right there, and he probably could have destroyed the
rest too if he hadn't stopped and let the others work. They did need
at least one alive, he reminded himself as he let his guns whine fade
away to be replaced by the moans and screams of pain.
"No damnit, don't use another grenade, it'll just make things more
messy than they already are. Besides, I need to see where I'm
shooting," ordered Garrick as he leaned around the doorway. He used
the natural wall of the door and his trench coat to cover every part of
him with safety except the tip of one gun and his right eye. Looking
at the remaining enemies, he quickly began to pick them off: one, two,
three, four, five, six, seven, all felled with pinpoint accuracy in
about as many seconds.
Then Richmond appeared out of nowhere behind the attack squadron.
Well, that's not true; much like his disappearance, his reappearance
was simply like him walking back onstage after a quick break. No one
saw him appear, but there he was, like you had just turned your head
away and he had walked in while you weren't looking. Except they were
looking, and had been looking quite closely.
Garrick would kill to know how he did that.
With a bit of a chuckle, he dispatched two men in the blink of an eye
and disarmed a third, holding a knife to his neck and drawing a drop of
blood. With a smile and a flick of the wrist, a blade sprouted in the
neck of a wounded man several feet to the left who had been reaching
for his gun.
When Icy reached the top of the building and looked through her scope
at the scene below, she saw twenty-nine dead men and one prisoner.
Garrick stepped out from behind the doorway and looked at the lone man
being held at knife point. The Demon smiled a cold, nasty smile, one
that spoke clearly of great pain that would be soon delivered to
whoever was at the other end of that smile. Then he spoke in a voice
that did the exact opposite of inspiring confidence in ones own safety.
"I love it when a plan comes together."
The prisoner fainted dead away.
Author's notes:
I love it when a part comes together.
I don't have much to say about this. I think I went a bit heavy on the
happy homeowner part of things, but on the other hand, I think that it
served a decent purpose and set a good precedent. Sure, we need plenty
of shooting and mindless violence, but we also need a good setting and
some coherent plot points and, most of all, a Lair of Justice for our
heroes to plan their attacks. Although, as Garrick says, I doubt this
particular lair will last more than two or three parts before it gets
blown up in some spectacular fashion. I know I pushed a lot of
character time and made a big thing out of the Demon-Icy love-hate
thing, but I think it needed to be done. Garrick isn't going to just
get out of prison and say "Hey, I know you betrayed me and everything I
held dear, but you're pretty, so let's shack up again."
I know that it's a bit early for it, but I tried to set down how the
various sides are reacting to the whole "Garrick's loose" thing. The
government is waiting for Garrick to win so they can take him out
again, and Garrick knows that but thinks he can beat whatever they
eventually throw at him, just like they think they can beat whatever he
eventually throws at them. It's almost exactly like a Mexican
standoff, except not.
On Dougall: he's not meant to last more than four or five parts. He's
also not meant to give away Remy's location. He's meant to attack the
Black Pack every episode and fail miserably, eventually leading to his
death at their hands. Whereupon they have to start all over on their
"climbing the ladder" tactic with the next more competent Lieutenant.
This can go on as long as everyone wants it. What fun!
I would apologize to any otaku offended by Sasuke, but if he does
offend you, you probably deserve it. C'mon, I'm poking fun at myself
as well here guys. My only regret is that I couldn't make him a
regular character, but he would probably just end up turning into a
lame one-note joke anyway. Which isn't surprising, since that's what
he was.
I will apologize about the terrible, terrible accents I wrote. I
couldn't write them well if my life depended on it. No offense was
meant, either through mockery of minorities or through my terrible
writing, although both may have occurred.
Sorry about the lack of any Christmas themes or anything. I'm Jewish,
so I'm not obligated to include them like you guys. Ha ha! Think of
this as the only piece of current entertainment you're likely to find
that doesn't have snow and evergreens and shiny little baubles and
happy messages about how the real meaning of Christmas is, as Garrick
would say, to give far, far more bullets than you receive.
Something like that, anyway.
David Schwager, SLADElevel99@yahoo.com, hoping that you enjoyed reading
this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
"So," began Garrick slowly, "how do you say we torture him?"
"T-t-torture?" asked the frightened prisoner, who currently tied to a
very sturdy chair.
"I saw we just cut off fingers until he talks," said Richmond in a
singsong voice. "Use a saw for extra pain."
"I know a powder you can rub in his cuts that stings like hell,"
offered Geraldine. "Plus, you can ignite it and it'll burn for
minutes, just weakly enough to not burn off his nerves completely."
The prisoner got a good, long look at the five people standing in a
huddle just a few feet away. They looked very happy, for people
contemplating what torture to use. He was pretty sure that was a bad
sign.
"Well, if you two are laying claim to his hands, I'll take his feet,"
said Icy. "I can get some liquid Nitrogen or something and completely
immerse his feet in it. If you do it right, his feet don't get numb,
but the flesh actually freezes solid. It's nice and slow and, judging
from the screams I usually get, very painful."
"That's a good one," said Garrick admiringly. "What about you,
Alexander?"
"Oh, das easy. I can get some electrodes and a power source from
upstairs and rig a circuit to directly stimulate his pain nerves. Just
gimmie a leg or arm or somthin'."
"That's perfect!" exclaimed Garrick. "Even after the other three have
totally wrecked his limbs, you'll still be able to make him feel like
those parts of him are in pain!"
"What, pray tell, are you going to do, Demon, sir, while we torture
him?" asked Richmond questioningly.
"Oh, I don't want to use my methods on him unless he's a particularly
tough nut to crack." Garrick smiled menacingly, in full view of the
prisoner. "It would really be a waste if he's not tough enough to
handle any of your ideas. But don't worry, I do have a way to keep him
from fainting during your tortures."
Finally, the prisoner broke free from the trance terror had him under.
"Wait! Don't torture me! Please! I'll do anything! Don't you want
something from me? I'll do it!"
"Oh, don't worry," said Garrick dismissively. "I wouldn't dare insult
the legendary underworld loyalty by suggesting you give up information
on your superiors without torture."
The prisoner only had to think about it for a second. After all, while
his superiors would kill him for giving up such information, his
superiors weren't here right now, while five extremely deadly and
mentally unstable torturers were. Besides, if how easily they had
destroyed the rest of his squadron was any indication, after they were
done with whatever they planned to do, his superiors might not be in a
condition to do anything to him except haunt him, and he didn't believe
in ghosts.
It was much easier to believe in the Demon's smile.
He told them everything he knew.
***
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Thanks for the time, folks. We now return to your regularly scheduled
fanfics and C&C, already in progress.
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I'll be posting more chapters from this fic in the next couple of weeks. If
you'd rather read the rest of it now now NOW, come on down to
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And without further ado: Chapter two of The Black Pack!
***
News spreads.
It's only natural, of course. The proverbial rumor mill is the oldest
and most venerated source of information. No matter how hard people
try, it will never be shut down completely. The more important
something is the more people want to know it, and the harder you clamp
down the more pressure builds up, until even the tinniest cracks can
let loose a flood of knowledge.
Four words.
They spread across the underworld like wildfire despite efforts to the
contrary. Of course, the rank-and-file were kept in the dark; this
knowledge remained only in the hands of the powerful. The people who
controlled people who controlled people: the elite of society's
underbelly.
Five syllables.
It wouldn't be long before they really started flying. Two, maybe
three weeks tops. Then every two-bit gangster worth his bullets would
know of them. You wouldn't be able to walk a block without hearing a
whispered rendition of someone's fanciful theory. What is this
knowledge that would soon hold the minds of every criminal worth the
name in its grip?
"The Demon is loose."
"I'M being MUGGED?"
The tone of that voice was hard to nail down. Incredulity was
certainly dominating, but there was a strange mix of I-can't-believe-
this-is-happening-to-me and ho-does-he-think-he-is in there too. It
was almost, but not quite, the voice of a very rich and conceited man
being asked by a dirty beggar to not only give a few dollars, but also
a nice mansion and guaranteed income.
Being the kind of mugger he was (i.e., not a very good one), the mugger
(who shall, from now on, be named "The Mugger," which should give you a
good idea of his life expectancy) didn't even try to figure out what
kind of voice it was.
"Yeah, and since you're seemin' to not know how this be workin', I'll
'xplain it to ya nice'n slow. Me an' my gun an' my two friends here,
we be wantin' your money. So's you give it up, and you don't get hurt,
see?" The two friends behind him, both looking rather long on muscle
and short on brain, agreed with their leader amidst some laughter.
"I'm being MUGGED!" This time, the voice included a healthy amount of
is-this-guy-serious and what-an-idiot as well. Both went completely
unnoticed.
"Yeah, we 'stablished that already. Now drop ya groceries and reach
deep down in'na that nice black trench coat and bring out ya wallet."
"YOU'RE mugging ME? MUGGING me! Who the hell are you?"
As we have already shown, The Mugger wasn't quite bright enough to pick
up that this line was not uttered in quaking terror like it was
supposed to be. Still, at this point, it really wouldn't have mattered
even if he did get a clue.
"Ha! I'm the Black Demon, y'hear? You evah get mo' money to lose,
c'mon back an' I'll take it from ya again."
The trench coat clad man carefully put both of his brown grocery bags
onto the ground and stepped forward with a lopsided grin on his face.
"I should really be insulted by this, but all I can really think of is
how much I should be pitying you," he said,
The Mugger looked like he was having trouble keeping the vein in his
head from bursting his scalp open. "WHAT? HOW DARE YOU!" he yelled,
running forward and thrusting his gun at the face of this strangely
calm man. "YOU'D BEST APPOLOG- AHHHHH!"
He abruptly cut off as the mugging "victim" reached up with his right
hand to grab The Mugger's wrist, pulling the gun and hand that
contained it towards The Mugger's left side, away from the threatened
man's face. Simultaneously, the man reached up with his left hand and
broke The Mugger's gun arm with a strike at his elbow. Almost before
the mugger had a chance to scream (thankfully he wasn't fighting
seriously, otherwise he would think his skills had dulled. Really,
giving the opponent time to scream? How slow!), the man who really
didn't seem about to be mugged anymore slid towards the man who really
didn't seem about to mug someone anymore and knocked him out with an
elbow strike to the head with his left hand. Casually catching the gun
in his right hand, he fired a bullet into each of the remaining
muggers' legs, causing them both to collapse screaming.
Shaking his head, the lone upright man tossed the newly acquired gun
into one of his supply bags to be thrown away later where morons like
this couldn't get a hold of it. Picking them both up, he walked away
from the screams of the two conscious thugs without remorse.
"Feh, what posers," Garrick said.
tHe bLacK pAcK
Day 2: Five Man War
Created by MtB
This part by David Schwager
"So, what now?"
Those three simple words have been enough to throw countless leaders
into dizzying tailspins. Nothing kills the battle fervor of a real,
red-blooded man like having to worry about silly niggling little
details. For every bold leader who stands at the front of the army and
makes stirring speeches about justice and not being afraid to die,
there's someone standing just behind and to the right who worries about
little things like making sure there's enough food to last through the
entire campaign. If there isn't, bad things tend to happen (witness
the invasion of Russia. It doesn't matter which one, they all ended up
pretty much the same way)
Logistics isn't the only problem, either. Making goals is easy, but
there are lots of steps between saying something like "let's invade
Russia" and actually planting your flag in Moscow. Sometimes, having a
really simple goal is worse than a really complex one. For instance:
Goal: kill Remy Forsythe.
Assets: five skilled but eccentric (people who can, and often do, kill
ten men in as many seconds get the same treatment as rich people as far
as being eccentric goes) fighters, their various armaments, a
reasonably large but hardly unlimited government expense account for
weapons, equipment, rent, and food. Oh, and one lawyer that could be
called in if needed, but probably wouldn't be.
Enemies: pretty much every crime organization. Theoretically, there
might be some willing to ally with the legendary Demon, but it was
unlikely Remy had left such a bold opponent in something other than
rubble.
Clear Problems: to kill Remy, you need to know where he is. This is
important information that is not likely to be found easily. There's
also the matter of having thousands of criminals with orders to kill
your group on sight. You're good, but not that good. Let's not forget
that a good number of those thousands are, most likely, already
involved in actively hunting you down.
Question: "So, what now?"
Answer: .................................................. .....
In Garrick's case, it went: 1) find somewhere to live, 2) eat out
somewhere expensive, 3) find supplies (including ammunition and food),
and 4). None of his allies knew what 4) was yet, but that was part of
his plan. No matter how much his sister pestered him, he refused to
tell.
The reason was that Garrick didn't know what 4) was either, and was
waiting to make something up appropriate later. In case of an
emergency, he could just say that 4) was "everything else," but chances
are some situation would come up where he could look like a better
leader by pretending to have prepared for it. Sure, it was a bit
dirty, but it was an old habit; he didn't get to be the head of
Maccivelli by letting opportunities to improve his image slip by. He
thought that Icy might have caught onto the trick, but as long as she
didn't say anything it didn't matter.
To his surprise, 1) had been incredibly quick and painless. He had
been worried when the real estate agent caught sight of Alexander's
gattling gun, but after quickly sizing them up, the small man had
apparently decided that these particular customers should be made as
happy as possible and brought them to what appeared to be the best
house he could find and offered to rent it to them at a significant
discount. Chances are they would be moving soon, but while it
lasted... well, as Geraldine said, "Whoo, a real stone fireplace! Hey,
another one! Alright, it's experiment time!"
If the syndicate didn't get them, Geraldine would, Garrick reflected
morosely.
The house and two full floors, a small attic, and a basement. There
were plenty of doors, but Garrick wasn't worried, since more than half
of them (and most members of a reasonably armed attacking force) would
be able to make more doors at will (they were renting a house, not a
bunker; some things you just had to accept, and shoddy armor was one of
them). The basement was quite spacious, albeit cold and rather bare,
but it was fairly sturdy and would make a good place to store their
bulkier equipment and a decent place to make a last stand at, having
only one entrance (although, as has been said, more could easily be
made if one had the inclination, otherwise smart people often just
didn't think to do so) and, as Geraldine had brilliantly pointed out,
the washing machine and dryer ("Well, if we're in a siege, it'd be nice
to have clean clothes. Er... and we can maybe drink the water if we
get thirsty?). The attic was small, cramped, and fairly useless even
as a sniper roost (as Icy had said, "Unless the enemy wants to be nice
and courteous and stay on the other side of the road, I can't get a
good shot from these inward-slanting windows. Honestly, weren't the
people who built this thinking even basic fortification? ...Don't
answer that."). The two main floors were fairly unremarkable except
for the stone fireplace on each and the wide staircase that connected
them. The kitchen, dining room, and most of the bedrooms were on the
top floor, but the TV room, garage, study (now turned into Alexander's
computer room) and main door were all on the lower one. In short, it
was an awfully nice house that made Garrick almost sorry that it was
sure to get demolished soon.
Anyway, since 1) was over so quickly, they had decided to split up and
proceed to 3) before doing 2). When Garrick arrived back at their new
home, he found that he was last one back. Alexander was already
plugging away at his new computer (Garrick was sure it was at least
$3000, even though he had specifically told the giant to get something
$2000 or under), and Geraldine was watching him type in amazement. The
Demon had a small chuckle at that. People who hadn't seen him in
action usually thought that Alexander's huge fingers would prevent him
from being able to type, but he had trained himself to hit the center
of each key quickly and precisely, which was really something
considering he had only a few millimeters of space to spare when
depressing a key. The scariest part was that he typed faster and made
fewer typos than people with normal-sized fingers (he claimed it was
because his training gave him greater skill than those who simply type
without actively trying to improve).
Heading upstairs, Garrick glanced into the kitchen, where Richmond was
unpacking the food he and Geraldine had bought. Richmond glanced over
in the Demon's direction and gave him a quick thumbs-up, meaning his
mission to steal all of Geraldine's cigarettes was successful.
Garrick's non-veiled-at-all threats hadn't budged the man, but
mentioning how dangerous cigarettes are to your health and how
Geraldine would be dead before she was forty had gotten her husband to
swear on his life to help her quit. Which, in Garrick's mind,
confirmed him as a nut, since, considering their chosen profession, it
was unlikely that any of them would live for another ten years, let
alone twenty (which is why he hadn't given up on forcing Geraldine OUT
of their chosen profession). Still, he filed away in his mind that
Richmond's biggest weakness was his wife's health, which would have
been a lot more useful if it wasn't one of Garrick's biggest weaknesses
as well. Still, the whole situation did give him a few moments of dark
comedy. Who would have thought that his sister's taste in men was just
as bad as his own taste in women?
Heading around the corner, Garrick dumped his big bags of bullets on
the dining room table, where the testament to his taste in women was
already unloading her bags, which also contained various types of
ammunition. "I'm surprised you got back after I did," Icy said.
"Yeah, well, I got held up. Some jokers tried to mug me. HEY," he
yelled to the house as a whole, "ANYONE WANT A CRAPPY HANDGUN?"
"OH, ME ME ME ME!" yelled back Geraldine from the lower floor.
"Wait, someone tried to MUG you?" Icy paused in confusion. "THEY
tried to mug YOU?"
"Yeah, that was more or less my reaction too. DAMNIT SIS, WHAT HAVE I
TOLD YOU ABOUT USING HANDGUNS? I had to leave them alive too, because
I wasn't sure if they're considered civilian casualties. Are they?"
"I KNOW, I KNOW," echoed back the demolitions expert. "IF I HAVE TO
USE ONE, MAKE IT A GOOD ONE. BUT I DON'T WANT TO USE IT, I JUST WANT
TO EXPERIMENT ON WAYS TO BLOW IT UP."
"OH, WELL THEN THAT'S OKAY. Well, Icy?"
The sniper seemed lost in thought. "I... really don't know. I think
if they attack you, they're fair game, but if you leave a swath of
destruction all the way through the inner city, that's not going to be
looked upon well."
"Alright, gotcha. I can kill those who attack me within reason."
Garrick made a face. "Gah, I hate 'within reason.'"
"I'm sure you do, Demon, sir," said Richmond from the other side of the
room. If Garrick had less self control, he would have jumped in
surprise: either his hearing had been dulled by prison or their blade
expert was quieter than when they last met. "Now that we're all here
and I'm finished unpacking the spoilables, how about that nice dinner?
I know a few good places here, unless they've been demolished or bought
out or otherwise changed in the past few years."
"Sounds great," said Garrick. "I guess we'll just trust your judgment
on this one."
"My thanks, Demon, sir," Richmond said as he ghosted away.
Garrick paused, listening. Even when trying, he couldn't hear
footsteps. Moving to the doorway, he looked down the hall and saw his
target walking silently down the stairs. Moving back inside, he looked
at Icy. "Did you hear-"
"No," she replied.
"I mean, sure, he's walking on a carpet, but still, we should've-"
"Guess not."
Dinner was GOOD.
Garrick had been greatly looking forward to his first non-prison meal
in five years, which is why he had insisted on going somewhere fancy
for it. As you might imagine, the three of his companions who had also
been incarcerated shared the Demon's great hunger (this is quite
possibly the only time the Demon's great hunger actually refers to
food). By unanimous consent, they had ordered ten dishes and passed
them around in the table, constantly recommending various foods to each
other (if they hadn't been dropping over half a grand on this meal, a
waiter would have politely complained a bit about the noise). Somehow,
all ten dishes were completely eaten, along with all fifteen deserts
they ordered afterwards (as you might imagine, Alexander played a large
part in both feats). Appetites satiated, Garrick uttered the words of
any great businessman upon handing the waiter his credit card.
"Thank god for expense accounts."
"Hey! I have a great idea!" enthused Geraldine. They were about
halfway back home, and the walk was reminding Garrick to add 5) rent a
car to their list of things to do. "When you take the Maccivelli
Syndicate back, we can have a meal like this every night, right?"
Garrick thought about it. The idea certainly did have merit, and his
stay in prison had helped him cultivate a much greater desire to use
his wealth for personal enjoyment while he had it. "Eh, sure, that is
a good idea. Whenever we're not hiding or something, we can go eat out
like this. We won't have to ration it out of fear of a revoked expense
account, that's for sure."
"Eh? Why would we be in hiding?" asked Geraldine.
The other four looked away as if she had said something silly and
embarrassing. Alexander finally took it upon himself to say something.
"Well, y'know... from the guvs and all."
"But they let bro out, right? Why'd they want to go after him again?"
"This is why I didn't want my sister along, y'know," said Garrick in
what would almost be a whiny voice. "There's a reason she only had
petty crimes up till now."
"Hey, what does it matter if my crimes look good?" said Geraldine in
what was definitely a whiny voice.
"Gah!" screamed the Demon. "Petty, not pretty! Petty, as in small
time! Not important! Look, let me give you the facts of life: the
guvs want me dead only slightly less so than they want Remy dead. The
second his heart stops beating, they're gonna come after me in full
force with tanks and jets and shit precisely BECAUSE they let me go!
They don't want anyone the public to know I'm loose, because that would
mean the public would know they let me loose! That would be very, very
bad for their image, and would spark all sorts of tribunals and court
martials and shit that would leave the people who planned this back
where I started this, by which I mean IN JAIL. The four of us are
gonna be on the run half the time, and even with the Syndicates power
behind us, we'll have plenty of trouble. There, now, any more
questions?"
His younger sister was practically cowering against the wall in terror
at the Demon's long rant. Timidly, she raised one hand. "Uh... just
one... why did you say 'the four of us?' Because I'm fairly sure I
count five..."
Oops, thought Garrick. "Oh, I thought I did say five."
Quick to follow up on any advantage she had, she continued her line of
questioning. "No, you said four. Didn't he, guys?" Looking around at
the others for confirmation, she saw her husband and Alexander was not
to meet her eyes and giving various non-committal noises, while Icy
started away and into space... well, icily. "Hey, what's wrong?"
Garrick, quick as always to recover his composure from his slip-up,
replied. "It's because I'm going to send you back home once we finish
this, so it'll only be the four of us remaining. Now c'mon, let's go
home."
"Oh no you don't, not that easily! You can't fool me that easily bro.
Why would you let me chase after Remy but kick me out when the guvs
come? Hurry up and come clean!"
Icy sighed, and began walking again. "What he means," she said, "is
that the second Remy drops, your brother intends to drop me as well."
"Whu-whu-WHAT? BIG BROTHER! Is that true? HEY! Don't just walk away
from me!" she yelled at his silently retreating form. "Come back here-
"
Geraldine started to run after her brother, but was stopped by a
gigantic hand placing itself on her shoulder. "Girl, chill," said
Alexander. "It's their business."
"But... but... she's his girlfriend..." Geraldine thought about it for
a few seconds. "Well, kinda his girlfriend anyway."
"Exactly," said Richmond quietly. "She's his girlfriend, and she
betrayed him. He lost everything he had, including most of his friends
to her betrayal. He has to kill her, for himself and them. That's
just how things work."
"What about her then, huh? Why's she so accepting of it?"
Her husband put his hand to his chin as if thinking. "I guess it's
like she said: she has her reasons."
"I think it's a truce, just like with the guvs," said Alexander. "They
both know they'll backstab each other in the end, but the only path
they have is just to go for it and hope they end up on top."
Geraldine looked at the two men. "That's... awfully cold, isn't it?"
Alexander shrugged. "It's the way of the underworld. Most of us
aren't really friendly folks."
"Hmph. I think you've got it all wrong," said Geraldine as she spun
around and resumed walking. "I think she's soooooooo in love with him
that she wants to be together with him even if the only way to do it is
to have him kill her."
The two remaining men stood there until the Demon's sister was out of
sight. Finally, Alexander spoke. "Nice girl you got there. Crazy as
hell, but nice."
"Of course," replied Richmond, "they say much the same thing of me,
only without the 'nice.' I guess we're a perfect couple, hmm? Now,
run along back to the house. I'm afraid I've got a bit of business to
finish off before I return."
"Oh? Wazzat?" asked Alexander.
"Nothing much," the blade master said with a smile. "I just need to
kill the talentless amateur who's been following us even since we left
the restaurant."
Much later that night, after respective tempers were cooled, the five
gathered for what was know officially known as 4) a group strategy and
planning meeting (when asked why he had kept it a secret, Garrick
replied that it was "because you can only plan long term strategies
then your short term needs are met." Icy had giggled. Damn her, she
HAD figured it out, thought Garrick).
Garrick looked around at the gathering. All five were sitting at a
good sized round table that was one of the only pieces of furniture the
house had come with. To Garrick's right was Icy and to his left was
Alexander. On the other side of the table, Richmond and Geraldine were
sitting far too close together for Garrick's comfort, but he decided
not to bring that up. They were in some sort of downstairs lounge next
to Alexander's computer room. It was a little bare, but serviceable.
"Okay," began the Garrick, "first order of business. Richmond,
considering you were so late back to the house, I assume you took care
of the guy tailing us?"
"Yes sir, Demon sir," replied Richmond lazily. "I even left a little
message on his recording device for Mr. Forscythe to find." He leaned
forward a bit and made a slightly disapproving face. "You shouldn't
have let your temper get in your way, sir, or you would have gotten rid
of him yourself."
"Yeah, whatever," Garrick said as he dismissed the criticism with a
wave of his hand. "Now, second order of business-"
"Wait, we were being FOLLOWED?" asked Geraldine frantically.
Garrick sighed and put his face in his hand. "Second order of
business, I propose that Geraldine is banned from speaking again during
strategy meetings. All in favor?" He raised his hand and looked
around at four cold glares (one of which was positively Icy) and no
hands. "Fine, fine, the nays have it. Okay then, onto our third order
of business. Any of you have any suggestions?" As Geraldine began to
speak, Garrick cut her off. "And if anyone says something along the
lines of 'we should blow Remy to pieces,' please keep your wisdom to
yourself."
His sister looked at him with a hurt look. "I'm not THAT clueless,
bro. I was gonna suggest that we infiltrate the syndicate. I'm sure
they're looking for new members, seeing as how they're about to face
off against you."
"That's the stupidest-"
"Demon!" interrupted Alexander.
Garrick sighed. "Alright, so it's not that bad an idea. But
unfortunately, all of us except you are far too well known to attempt
it, and you're not suited for stealth missions OR for infiltrating the
mob. Especially alone. Anyone else?"
"Alexander, of course," said Alice softly.
"Already on it," the giant said. "I don't think I'll have get much
tho'. This Forcythe guy don' seem like the kind to make this easy on
us. I doubt his location is online in any way, and if it's not online,
I can't get it. I'm good, but I'm not God."
"So Alexander's out." Garrick looked around. "Anyone else?"
"The same way I got to you, Demon, sir." Richmond smiled broadly at
the reaction his words caused.
"And... that... would be?" said the Demon in his best intimidation
voice. It didn't work very well.
Richmond's smile became lazy again as he explained. "You can't run a
business like the syndicate in isolation, no matter how good you are.
You talk to people, they talk to more people, and so on and so on down
like the roots of a tree. One leader with many Lieutenants, each with
hundreds of men and officers..."
"We're all well aware of basic organization," said Icy as he trailed
off.
"Yeah, even my sister knows this," said Garrick before being glared at
by all four. "Sorry, sorry. Get on with it, Richie."
"Certain, Demon, sir," said Richmond without even a trace of the
irritation Garrick hoped to cause with that nickname. "Simply put, the
easiest way to get to the top is being climbing the chain of command.
You take a random thug, find out who and where he gets his orders from.
Then you find that person, and find out who and where he gets his
orders from. So on and so on. If you go up long enough, you'll make
it to the top without fail."
"It's... a bit simple," said Garrick.
"The best plans are," replied Richmond easily.
"It'll be long and boring, and if we accidentally kill one of our links
we'll have to start all over."
"There aren't that many layers of organization in the Syndicate,"
pointed out Icy reasonably. "Most of the top lieutenants should know
something, and besides, do you have any better ideas?"
Once again, Garrick sighed. "No, I guess not. Well, barring further
suggestions, we'll move onto our fourth order of business, namely, why
furniture is generally too expensive to waste our money on when we can
make do with things like sleeping bags instead of beds. No, Geraldine,
I don't want to hear it..."
"And so, Mr. Forscythe, sir, I'd appreciate it if you don't order any
more men to tail us," said Richmond, grinning his usual sly smile from
the large television that was currently playing back the last (and
only, since the rest of the tape had been erased) recording of an
extremely ill-fated spy. "Or at the very least use someone with a bare
modicum of skill; really, if this one had been any less competent, even
Alexander or my cute wife would have heard him. If you want to find
our place of residence, I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more
cunning than this. Goodbye for now, but I'm sure we'll see each other
again. After all, I doubt you're careless enough to let me kill you
from the shadows."
Remy Forscythe laughed at the recording. Then he turned to his most
trusted (or, more accurately, "least negatively trusted") Lieutenant,
who had been recently drafted to work directly under Remy as his aide.
"I want you to give Lieutenant Dougall the order to exterminate the
five Black Pack members by any means necessary." The name had been a
spur-of-the-moment idea, but somehow it had stuck due to its
appropriateness. "Make it clear that if he doesn't succeed, he should
consider saving himself the trouble and making his own pair of cement
shoes. Oh, and give him what basic info we have about their
abilities."
The Lieutenant paused to consider this information before speaking.
"Sir, with all due respect, Lieutenant Dougall is an incompetent. His
men are incompetents. The rest of us Lieutenants use him as a dumping
ground for our useless men, and if by chance he recruits someone
talented, we steal him away. In short, sir, the Black Pack will eat
him alive."
Remy smiled and laughed gently. "I'm glad I chose to promote you; I
doubt any of the others would have been that honest with me. But
you're exactly right: Dougall is useless and the Black Pack will tear
him apart. However, that is exactly my purpose." He leaned forward
and widened his friendly smile, like he was talking about how great his
lawn was coming in. "In my organization, the only dumping ground for
incompetents will be the morgue."
"Yes, sir," said the Lieutenant obediently. He understood the plan
now: use the Pack to purge the organization of a disliked element while
at the same time wearing them down to the point where a better able
group would have an easy time destroying them. It was an excellent
plan, since five men, no matter how skilled, were only five men.
Right?
The Lieutenant did his best to block the legends of the Demon out of
his mind. The stories just had to be exaggerated. Of course there was
evidence that many of them had at least some basis in reality, but no
single human could possibly do that kind of damage.
Right?
Lieutenant Dougall smiled a toothy grin as he received his orders.
After all, rarely did such a glorious opportunity come to him.
Destroying the Demon would win him great favor with the new boss, and
it would be hard for even a brainless two-year old to screw this up.
Sure, everyone had heard stories about the "Demon," but who in their
right mind would believe such garbage? They were obviously just myths
the former leader had created to enhance his image and strike fear into
his enemies. Well, Dougall was one smart cookie, and he wasn't going
to fall for it.
Of course, most of those who had known the Demon personally were killed
during the upheaval after his imprisonment, so there wasn't much first-
hand information either way. But still... no, forget it, it's
impossible.
Right?
Right.
First he would need to find them. That shouldn't be too hard, as he
already had their general location. All he needed now was to find them
specifically. Well, Dougall was one smart cookie, and he had someone
just perfect for that job. Specially imported just for this reason,
you could say. He would surely be able to find them and somehow relay
that information back to the hit squad (indeed, although Dougall had no
way of knowing it, his agent would perform those duties to the letter,
although not in a way either might have imagined).
As for the hit squad, thirty gunmen should be more than enough. They
wouldn't even all need machine guns. Even if half of them only had
handguns, it wouldn't matter.
Well, maybe they SHOULD all have machine guns.
Y'know, just to be on the safe side.
After the meeting, their little group had broken up to do whatever they
wanted. Icy tinkered with her rifle, Alexander tinkered with his
computer, Richmond tinkered with his blades, and Geraldine tinkered
with her explosives. For his part, Garrick had found Bonnie and Clyde
in disturbingly good condition. It was disturbing because someone had
to have kept them in a condition that good, which would have meant
regular cleaning even if they hadn't been used, and Garrick didn't want
to think about who had been doing it (Icy, most likely) because that
would mean thinking about WHY she- er, THEY had done it. Instead, he
thought about Geraldine and how to send her back home to her parents
and college and boredom and away from getting a bullet through her
brain and that crazy husband of hers. This line of thought was
hampered by his being able to hear Alice's familiar rifle tinkering
(she was having some trouble with her sight attachment again; from the
sound of it, her infrared scope was still refusing to slide in easily
and NO NO NO think about Geraldine). During his five years of
incarceration, Garrick had only thought about one thing: kis-KILLING
Alice "Icy" Rogers. Killing her for betraying him. Killing her for
sending his friends to hell and him to the next best thing. He would
NOT allow himself to forgive her.
So, while trying to figure out how to get his sister to leave and
trying to avoid figuring out exactly what his relationship with Icy
was, Garrick quickly tired his mind out. Opting to have his body join
his mind, he went down to the basement to work out his prison-atrophied
muscles a bit. Since there wasn't any proper equipment there, he had
to improvise with what he could find (using chairs instead of lifting
weights, stick a box of bullets on his back when doing pushups, etc.).
Luckily for him, he hadn't lost as much muscle as he feared, but he
would definitely need to work harder to get back up to top shape.
Finally tired out, he went back upstairs and to bed. He made a special
point to not look at Alice's room, or even check her location. He did,
however, check his sister's room, which he refused to think of as
Richmond's room in any way, just to make sure that there were still two
sleeping bags there. While he didn't realistically expect them both to
be used, the only thing keeping his sanity intact at the moment was the
thin illusion that they might be (at least that was what he had told
them, and he was only exaggerating slightly).
"Rise and shine bro!" cried Geraldine as she roused her only sibling
from slumber. "It's breakfast time! C'mon and wake up or you don't
eat!"
"Yeah yeah, whatever," mumbled Garrick as he got to his feet. "Gimmie
a minute to dress and I'll be right out."
Meanwhile, his sister started at him in slack-jawed amazement. "Bro...
since when can you get up like that? It used to take me half an hour
to roust you!"
"I wake up easy now," said the Demon. "In my world, you either wake up
fast or you don't wake up at all."
"But why... oh, right, you get killed in your sleep. Alright, message
received, just get out there." Geraldine smiled as she left. Finally,
irrefutable proof that the criminal world wasn't entirely without
merit! It had made her brother a light sleeper! Was their mom ever
going to be disappointed when she found out.
Garrick received his first nasty shock of the day the second he walked
into the kitchen expecting breakfast. For one thing, no one but him
and his sister was there. For another thing, the only food was in a
decidedly unprepared state. Years of experience in deadly underworld
plotting leapt to his aid, instantly connecting dozens of points of
information into a clear picture of the scheme laid against him.
"No way!" he said vehemently. "There is no way I'm helping you cook
breakfast!"
"Oh, but you're the only one here whose cooking I can trust to not
poison us!"
"I am a criminal boss! I do not 'cook.'"
"But if you don't help, then you and Alexander won't eat."
Garrick paused, struck in an unexpected weak area. "...What?" he said
intelligently.
"You heard me! If you don't help, then I won't give you or Alexander
any food!" She smiled at him, confident in her victory.
"Fine, go ahead," spoke the Demon, confident that she was bluffing.
While she might see fit to deprive him off foodstuffs, she would never
go so far as to exclude another for his misdeed. Since she was
bluffing on that, her entire position would crumble once she gave in.
"Okay, less work for me," she said as she began cooking.
The Demon looked on, slightly less sure but still confident in his
judgment.
Then his stomach growled.
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" guffawed Alexander. "Who would'a thunk it,
huh?"
"Yeah, laugh it up big guy," growled Garrick.
"I mean, it's a damn classic!" continued Alexander between fits of
laughter. "Whadda we call ya now? The Cooking Demon? The Demon With
Spatulas?"
"See if I ever do you a favor again," grumbled Garrick from his
position over the eggs.
"How about the Demon Chef?" suggested Richmond.
"The Frying Demon," added Icy.
Garrick glared flaming death at his sister. "I hate you," he said
simply, before turning and flipping a load of pancakes off the griddle.
"Yeah, yeah," she replied in that special way only siblings can.
"Okay, the hash browns are done. I'm gonna go dig out the salt and
syrup and stuff."
"Whatever. I still hate you." It wasn't that his voice was un-
intimidating. It's just...
"Y'know Demon, you'd be more intimidatin' if you weren' spoonin' out
pancake batter."
Thanks, Alexander. I couldn't put it better myself.
"Damnit! This is exactly why I didn't want- oh, whoops," he stopped
for a second to turn off the flame under the eggs and reach for a
platter. "Wait, what am I doing? Si- Geraldine, get back here! I
refuse to do this anymore!"
"Oh, I dunno, Demon, sir. You seem to be doing pretty well," observed
Richmond. "Oh, but you might want to flip those pancakes again."
"Nah, they need another thirty seconds at least- damnit, stop that! I
refuse to do this! I am a skilled criminal mastermind, not a damn
short order cook." Garrick's declaration was somewhat lessened by the
fact that he had to turn around to flip the pancakes ten seconds later.
Icy stared at him, trying desperately not to show just how much she
wanted to laugh. "I really don't know what's funnier, Garrick. You
cooking, or the fact that you seem so good at it."
"It wasn't my idea," he grumbled as he finished flipping the pancakes
and moved the platter with the other finished pancakes closer.
"Oh? Whose was it?" asked Icy.
"Our mom, of course," said Geraldine from the doorway. "Hey, honey,
get over here and help me with some of this stuff. Oh, and remind me
to never buy the bulk syrup canisters ever again."
"Of course, dearest," said Richmond as he glided to help his wife with
her burden. "So, your mother taught the good Demon how to cook?"
"Yep, him and me. She insisted that she wouldn't raise a child who
couldn't cook for themselves."
"Sis..." intoned Garrick in warning.
"Oh, relax, it's not like she's here. Anyway, you'd be surprised;
bro's actually a pretty good cook. You should try the pasta sauce he
makes-"
"SIS!" yelled Garrick.
"Geeze, what's UP with you?" wondered Geraldine. "You've been in a
total snit ever since I made you help out with the food. I know you
never exactly loved to cook, but you never minded it that much."
"It's because of his image," explained Icy offhandedly. "'Merciless
killer of hundreds' and 'makes a mean pasta sauce' don't mix well. I
don't know why he cares so much now though, since we're all friends."
She paused and thought about that for a second. "Well, almost friends.
Close enough for mob work, anyway."
"Yeah," said Alexander, "we're all friends here. Besides, now I know
wha' ta' getcha for Christmas." He paused as if thinking deeply.
"Although I don't know where I'd find a black apron aroun' here..."
"I hate you all," mumbled Garrick.
After breakfast it was time for work, which consisted of walking around
the most populated parts of the city with, as an exceptionally
irritated Garrick put it, "All you fucking jokers in full battle gear.
That ugly ass pink getup of yours, sis, that ludicrously oversized gun
of yours, AL (knowing full well how much Alexander hated that
contraction), and that snowwoman costume of yours, Alice. Oh yeah, and
try to act as much like the prancing idiot you are, Richmond. Yeah, of
course hide your gatling gun Alexander! I dunno, put a tarp over it or
something. We're trying to attract the bad guys, not a fucking swat
team." The idea was to attract as much attention as possible, in the
probably hope of drawing some of their targets to them. If it looked
like it wasn't working, they'd try raiding some of the old hideouts,
but they doubted they would have much success; the syndicate didn't
usually keep any hideouts active for more than three years, since at
that point too many people tended to know about them and they weren't
exactly safe anymore.
So, they walked down the biggest, most crowded streets they could,
talking loudly and drawing more attention than any of them were
particularly comfortable with. Now if only someone looking for them
would actually find them...
Several blocks away, thirty men with machine guns waited for their
scout to give them a signal.
Sasuke glided from hiding place to hiding place, stalking his prey.
Soon, very soon, he would use his small pocket radio to call in the
rest of the squad, but for now his years of ninjitsu training rendered
him undetectable.
Sure, he was a third generation US citizen and would be hard pressed to
tell the difference between a Japanese, Chinese, and Korean man. Sure,
he hadn't really had a 'master' during any of his hard years of
training, unless you counted his many ninja videos, both animated and
live action. Sure, he had never actually been to Japan, and had only
picked up a few words of Japanese here and there through watching
imported videos. But he was confident that, if you traced back his
lineage far enough, you would find many proud ninjas hiding in his
family tree, much as he was today in a far more literal tree. Truly,
the blood of his ancestors ran strong in him!
Sasuke waited motionless in his tree for the group to pass beyond
earshot. He would finish the mission objectives perfectly! He had
already found them, and soon he would give the attack squad the signal
to, um, attack! He would succeed and show everyone exactly what he was
made of! He was invisible like a shadow. He was quiet like a ghost.
He was silent like greased monkey. He was-
"Hey, is there someone in that tree up there?" asked Geraldine
curiously.
-in deep shit, realized Sasuke as terror took hold.
In a somewhat cruel, yet not entirely undeserved, joke of fate on the
poor Sasuke, every thought he had during this, his first real mission,
was true, although not exactly in the way he had hoped. For instance,
while there were many ninjas within his family tree, most of them had
been quite well known during their lives. Indeed, Sasuke was hiding in
his literal tree with about the same degree of concealment. And while
it is true that the blood of his ancestors ran strong in him, Sasuke
would have been surprised to learn that many of his ancestors had been
tragically killed in their first missions. He would show everyone who
saw him exactly what he was made of (red, mostly). He was as invisible
as a shadow at 10:30 in the morning on a brilliantly sunny day. He was
as quiet as the kind of ghost that wakes you up at midnight to chat
about forging chains in life and likes to moan and rattle his copious
examples. He was, indeed, as silent as a monkey who had suddenly been
coated with a thick layer of greasy sludge.
And most of all, he was in extremely deep shit. In fact, it would not
be inaccurate to say that it had no bottom.
"Yes, sis, that would be the grossly pathetic scout for some attack
squad or other," said Garrick in his most condescending voice. "He
would be why we circled around this small area again, hoping he would
look five feet past his nose and see us this time."
"Oh," said a faintly embarrassed Geraldine as she fished around her
pockets. Finally drawing forth a small round object, she tossed it
upwards to the watcher who was now frozen in fear. "Here, catch," she
said.
Numbly, without thinking about it, Sasuke did. He had just enough time
to register that it was a grenade before he didn't register anything
anymore.
It might have made him feel better to know that the grenade was timed
to go off at his exact height, so even if he hadn't caught it the
outcome wouldn't have been any different. But then again, that
knowledge probably wouldn't make any difference either.
Two things happened in rapid succession. First, the entire crowd for
three blocks cleared out of the streets like... well, like some psychos
had just tossed a grenade into the air and blasted a person into little
red bits (the cover-up would talk about a deadly gang shootout that
left both sides dead and would eventually cause the city police budget
to skyrocket, so all's well that ends well for The Man). Second, the
attack squad rounded the corner before Garrick had done more than begin
to chew out his sister. All thirty of them were there, as they had all
heard the explosion and the screams and had put two and two together.
Surprising everyone, they actually got four. For most of Dougall's
men, this was cause for an award in and of itself.
Seeing their targets standing in the open, the thirty men opened fire.
Unfortunately, they weren't quite quick enough.
Alexander took off for one side of the road with surprising speed,
covering ground in long strides, each of which would make many long
jumpers proud. He had his gatling gun in front of him like a tower
shield to protect himself from stray bullets (it might get damaged, but
not as much as he would). As a testament to his speed, he was inside a
nearby building before even a single bullet touched his firearm.
Garrick, meanwhile, was making a break for the other side of the road,
only at a much slower pace since he had taken time to throw his trench
coat over Icy and Geraldine and was forced to run with both of them
under its protection. While Icy was used to this style of travel and
wouldn't have slowed him at all, Geraldine was most certainly not, and
her rhythm clashed with the other two, forcing them to run slower.
Geraldine did try to throw another grenade, but was stopped by her
brother, who had had enough of her throwing explosives around. Knowing
her it would just end up caught in his trench coat anyway. Even with
all the delays, they reached the safety of a building before more than
a few bullets hit the Demon's coat. This was good, since even the
heavy, bulletproof coat had its limits: too much fire (and thirty
machine guns certain qualified as that) would pummel your body like
hammers, breaking bones and bruising muscles. Nevertheless, as long as
he had some shelter, Garrick was not particularly worried about these
enemies. Indeed, as a testament to that unconcern, he had to fight
long and hard to keep from grabbing Alice and giving her another deep
kiss; running with her under his trench coat (even with Geraldine too)
had brought back a lot of old memories that shouldn't have nearly as
much importance to him as they did. Eventually, the battle was won for
him when Alice said simply "Roof," and ran towards the stairs,
presumably to snipe from the top.
Richmond was not with either group. Somehow, during the confusion of
the attack squad's first appearance, he had disappeared. No one had
seen him vanish (not even the enemy they captured), but when they
looked for him, he just wasn't there. With the exception of Geraldine,
none of the Black Pack was particularly worried about him. Not because
they didn't care much (although, with the exception of Geraldine, they
didn't), but because they believed him to be far too skilled to die in
such a way.
Alexander swung his ponderous weapon around to point it at where he
remembered the enemy to be. Revving it, he heard the beautiful (at
least to the people he wasn't aiming at) hum of its cylinders rotating
faster and faster. When they reached maximum speed, he cut loose.
To be honest, a powerful gatling gun like that is less a 'gun' and more
of a 'cannon.' The bullets it spewed tore through the building wall
like wet cardboard and ripped into the enemy squadron like hundreds of
disturbingly large metal pellets going fast enough to tear cement like
wet cardboard (in fact, several injuries were caused not by the bullets
themselves but rather by shards of cement the bullets had sent flying
like shrapnel). Alexander's barrage killed or crippled at least twenty
of the squadron right there, and he probably could have destroyed the
rest too if he hadn't stopped and let the others work. They did need
at least one alive, he reminded himself as he let his guns whine fade
away to be replaced by the moans and screams of pain.
"No damnit, don't use another grenade, it'll just make things more
messy than they already are. Besides, I need to see where I'm
shooting," ordered Garrick as he leaned around the doorway. He used
the natural wall of the door and his trench coat to cover every part of
him with safety except the tip of one gun and his right eye. Looking
at the remaining enemies, he quickly began to pick them off: one, two,
three, four, five, six, seven, all felled with pinpoint accuracy in
about as many seconds.
Then Richmond appeared out of nowhere behind the attack squadron.
Well, that's not true; much like his disappearance, his reappearance
was simply like him walking back onstage after a quick break. No one
saw him appear, but there he was, like you had just turned your head
away and he had walked in while you weren't looking. Except they were
looking, and had been looking quite closely.
Garrick would kill to know how he did that.
With a bit of a chuckle, he dispatched two men in the blink of an eye
and disarmed a third, holding a knife to his neck and drawing a drop of
blood. With a smile and a flick of the wrist, a blade sprouted in the
neck of a wounded man several feet to the left who had been reaching
for his gun.
When Icy reached the top of the building and looked through her scope
at the scene below, she saw twenty-nine dead men and one prisoner.
Garrick stepped out from behind the doorway and looked at the lone man
being held at knife point. The Demon smiled a cold, nasty smile, one
that spoke clearly of great pain that would be soon delivered to
whoever was at the other end of that smile. Then he spoke in a voice
that did the exact opposite of inspiring confidence in ones own safety.
"I love it when a plan comes together."
The prisoner fainted dead away.
Author's notes:
I love it when a part comes together.
I don't have much to say about this. I think I went a bit heavy on the
happy homeowner part of things, but on the other hand, I think that it
served a decent purpose and set a good precedent. Sure, we need plenty
of shooting and mindless violence, but we also need a good setting and
some coherent plot points and, most of all, a Lair of Justice for our
heroes to plan their attacks. Although, as Garrick says, I doubt this
particular lair will last more than two or three parts before it gets
blown up in some spectacular fashion. I know I pushed a lot of
character time and made a big thing out of the Demon-Icy love-hate
thing, but I think it needed to be done. Garrick isn't going to just
get out of prison and say "Hey, I know you betrayed me and everything I
held dear, but you're pretty, so let's shack up again."
I know that it's a bit early for it, but I tried to set down how the
various sides are reacting to the whole "Garrick's loose" thing. The
government is waiting for Garrick to win so they can take him out
again, and Garrick knows that but thinks he can beat whatever they
eventually throw at him, just like they think they can beat whatever he
eventually throws at them. It's almost exactly like a Mexican
standoff, except not.
On Dougall: he's not meant to last more than four or five parts. He's
also not meant to give away Remy's location. He's meant to attack the
Black Pack every episode and fail miserably, eventually leading to his
death at their hands. Whereupon they have to start all over on their
"climbing the ladder" tactic with the next more competent Lieutenant.
This can go on as long as everyone wants it. What fun!
I would apologize to any otaku offended by Sasuke, but if he does
offend you, you probably deserve it. C'mon, I'm poking fun at myself
as well here guys. My only regret is that I couldn't make him a
regular character, but he would probably just end up turning into a
lame one-note joke anyway. Which isn't surprising, since that's what
he was.
I will apologize about the terrible, terrible accents I wrote. I
couldn't write them well if my life depended on it. No offense was
meant, either through mockery of minorities or through my terrible
writing, although both may have occurred.
Sorry about the lack of any Christmas themes or anything. I'm Jewish,
so I'm not obligated to include them like you guys. Ha ha! Think of
this as the only piece of current entertainment you're likely to find
that doesn't have snow and evergreens and shiny little baubles and
happy messages about how the real meaning of Christmas is, as Garrick
would say, to give far, far more bullets than you receive.
Something like that, anyway.
David Schwager, SLADElevel99@yahoo.com, hoping that you enjoyed reading
this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
"So," began Garrick slowly, "how do you say we torture him?"
"T-t-torture?" asked the frightened prisoner, who currently tied to a
very sturdy chair.
"I saw we just cut off fingers until he talks," said Richmond in a
singsong voice. "Use a saw for extra pain."
"I know a powder you can rub in his cuts that stings like hell,"
offered Geraldine. "Plus, you can ignite it and it'll burn for
minutes, just weakly enough to not burn off his nerves completely."
The prisoner got a good, long look at the five people standing in a
huddle just a few feet away. They looked very happy, for people
contemplating what torture to use. He was pretty sure that was a bad
sign.
"Well, if you two are laying claim to his hands, I'll take his feet,"
said Icy. "I can get some liquid Nitrogen or something and completely
immerse his feet in it. If you do it right, his feet don't get numb,
but the flesh actually freezes solid. It's nice and slow and, judging
from the screams I usually get, very painful."
"That's a good one," said Garrick admiringly. "What about you,
Alexander?"
"Oh, das easy. I can get some electrodes and a power source from
upstairs and rig a circuit to directly stimulate his pain nerves. Just
gimmie a leg or arm or somthin'."
"That's perfect!" exclaimed Garrick. "Even after the other three have
totally wrecked his limbs, you'll still be able to make him feel like
those parts of him are in pain!"
"What, pray tell, are you going to do, Demon, sir, while we torture
him?" asked Richmond questioningly.
"Oh, I don't want to use my methods on him unless he's a particularly
tough nut to crack." Garrick smiled menacingly, in full view of the
prisoner. "It would really be a waste if he's not tough enough to
handle any of your ideas. But don't worry, I do have a way to keep him
from fainting during your tortures."
Finally, the prisoner broke free from the trance terror had him under.
"Wait! Don't torture me! Please! I'll do anything! Don't you want
something from me? I'll do it!"
"Oh, don't worry," said Garrick dismissively. "I wouldn't dare insult
the legendary underworld loyalty by suggesting you give up information
on your superiors without torture."
The prisoner only had to think about it for a second. After all, while
his superiors would kill him for giving up such information, his
superiors weren't here right now, while five extremely deadly and
mentally unstable torturers were. Besides, if how easily they had
destroyed the rest of his squadron was any indication, after they were
done with whatever they planned to do, his superiors might not be in a
condition to do anything to him except haunt him, and he didn't believe
in ghosts.
It was much easier to believe in the Demon's smile.
He told them everything he knew.
***
Once again, that address! http://www.improfanfic.com/
Thanks for the time, folks. We now return to your regularly scheduled
fanfics and C&C, already in progress.
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