Once again, this part is written by/this story was started by Mads(man/the
Beast). It's a coincidence. Really.
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
cents...by signing up to be a writer! Throw a monkeywrench into the works!
Contribute to the insanity! Or just get that warm fuzzy feeling of having
written something.
And without further ado: The Black Pack!
*****
He is known as "The Demon".
The Demon was born under the name of Garrick Foster and his parents'
names were Garland Foster and Gina Foster. The young Garrick lived a
relatively normal life in the middle class Foster family, went to
grade school in a somewhat prestigious institution and graduated in an
exclusive high school owing to an academic scholarship.
In college, Garrick had no trouble with his education but yearned for
something more challenging than simple deskwork or studying. Since
preschool, Garrick had been diagnosed by his guidance counselors as
having a slight aggression problem, these becoming manifest in a few
episodes of violence both in and out of campus.
After receiving his diploma, Garrick began his rather illustrious
career as a wanted man.
Together with a few old friends, Garrick formed a gang called the
Fire Ants. The group started discreetly enough, beginning only with
small transactions within the scope of the resident arms smuggling
rings and performed a few assassinations on low profile targets on the
side, mostly for friends. As the Fire Ants grew in number and
influence, they became known in the underground for their sheer
tenacity-- that, and their brazen confidence in the face of larger,
more well established syndicates.
This brazen confidence was often attributed to Garrick himself, founder
and self-styled leader of his small band of outlaws and it cost him a
war.
The confrontation that exploded in the heart of the city became the
stuff of legend. The twenty or so Fire Ants were cordoned in a hostel
by a liquidation team of about a hundred, all heavily armed and under
orders from the feared Maccivelli Ring, by far the strongest in a
triad of power maintained in the city.
In the end, only Garrick and a few others had survived, but the men of
the Maccivelli had all been disabled or killed. The account went on to
describe how Garrick had single-handedly strode into the Maccivelli
stronghold and gunned down the entirety of the ring's high council.
Thus, the Demon was born and Garrick's popularity as a leader was never
higher. Those who'd been working for the Maccivelli were all too eager
to realign their loyalties when the young, ambitious Garrick stepped in
to take over the reigns of power. Since then, he'd initiated a few
reforms in the old system and profited greatly from his investments.
The Maccivelli Ring, retaining its old name, grew into a nation-
spanning organization, dealing in everything from illegal weapons to
pirated action figures.
The Demon was something of a military genius as well, and as soon as he
had the Maccivelli's armed strength completely under his control, he
consolidated that power in key areas and strengthened his new ring's
foothold of influence within the city. Boasting a decent army and the
means to supply it, the Maccivelli Ring became the most powerful crime
syndicate in the nation and its reach extended everywhere.
During the height of the group's power, Garrick was betrayed by his
long-time consort, Alice "Icy" Rogers. Operatives from both the police
and special government agencies stormed the annual meeting between the
highest ranking members of the metropolitan triad in what was supposed
to be a secret location. The leaders of the other two syndicates
were slain, along with a good number of Garrick's most trusted men. As
for the Demon himself, he was captured and sent to a pseudo-military
establishment for the country's most dangerous enemies after a
clandestine court hearing that sentenced him to five life sentences.
The establishment was called New Alcatraz and was under guard by the
national army itself, making both escape and rescue indefinitely
impossible under any circumstance. For a long time, the Demon remained
confined within the underground prison facilities of New Alcatraz,
pondering his lost Maccivelli Ring and the treachery of one Alice "Icy"
Rogers.
After five long years, the Demon would be freed.
tHe bLacK pAcK
Day 1: Herein Begins the Story of
Garrick Foster and The Black Pack
by MtB; 7/22/2-7/25/2
"Get up, Demon," said the guard to the sleeping heap on the cot to the
left of the diminutive cell. "Someone's here to see you."
The heap shifted on its resting place but did not get up. The guard
rattled his riot stick irritatedly at the bars lining the small
rectangular opening on the door, the room's only window to the outside
world.
"Come on, Demon," the fully-armoured guard called again, a little
louder this time. "Don't make me come in there..."
The lying form on the metallic plank held up by two lengths of chain
did not even so much as stir this time. The guard grunted annoyedly
and slipped his access card into the lock device beside the door's
knob. There was an electronic beep and the thick steel portal swung
open slowly to admit the security officer.
"It's a suit, Demon," the guard said, using the facility's nickname for
all office workers, which included lawyers, accountants, supervisors,
anyone likely to come in looking sharp and expensive in an Armani.
"He's probably here for your... hehe... parole terms. Eh, eh? HAHA--"
He had stepped too close.
The guard's laughter was cut short by a sharp blow to the side of his
abdomen, the area on his torso least protected by the SWAT armour
draped over his body. He doubled over and his helmet was instantly met
with a crushing upward blow from the knee that sent a shock straight
through the fibermetal protection and into the man's skull. He
collapsed, twitching on the bare stone floor.
Running feet could be heard from outside and then three more of the
armoured guards appeared beyond the door, automatic weapons at the
ready. The lead guard aimed his firearm at the straitjacketed figure
standing over the sprawled body of the earlier guard.
"What in the *fuck* is going on in here, Demon!?"
The man in the straitjacket, a man with close-cropped black hair that
slanted at angles designed to enhance his glare, stared back at the
lead guard, a snarl on his lips. He didn't seem to be very concerned
about the numerous low-power machineguns trained on him. "Who IS this
newbie, Richard?"
>From behind reflective visors, eyes closed in tired resignation and the
guard lowered his weapon a little, relaxing a bit. "His name's Karl
Madison, Demon, and he's just been transferred here from some city
schtick. He's green, Demon, just give him a-"
The Demon flipped the downed guard's one hand onto his back and then
the other one over it. He lifted his heel over the prone guard's form.
*KRAKK*
"-break," the guard leader outside finished, removing his helmet and
then palming his face. He shook his head and sighed. "He's the sixth
this month, Demon. Keep this up and the higher-ups will have to tie
your feet up, too."
"What was this yahoo babbling about?" said the prisoner, sitting down
on his cell's only furnishing. He ignored the other guards as they
dragged their unconscious comrade's body from the floor, each taking
care not to inconvenience the sitting man on the bench.
"Some law guy bringing a message from the government. They want to
talk to you about something, Demon, and it must be pretty important,"
the guard called Richard explained, slinging his weapon behind him and
then folding his arms. "The suit wants to see you personally and he's
set an appointment since last month. He'll probably be bringing you a
lovely briefcase full of complicated shit and whatnot. Whatever it is,
it's gonna be heavy I'm betting."
"Why wasn't I told?" Demon glowered from his seat.
"We know how much you love surprises," Richard snickered, grinning
widely as he put his helmet back on.
"I hate surprises."
Standing up, he followed as Richard led him from his cell when the two
others returned from bringing Madison to the infirmary. They followed
the path of a single straight corridor that grew out directly from the
doorway. The walls of the corridor were featureless-- the Demon's cell
was the only one in the area.
The party arrived at a large steel door that wouldn't open before all
three guards inputted their personal clearance numbers into the console
embedded into the wall. It opened into a room with another door that
would only permit exit when pressure sensors confirmed that three
guards and a prisoner were indeed passing through its interior, no more
no less. They emerged into the holding quarters for the rest of the
inmates of New Alcatraz.
"DEMON! DEMON! DEMON!"
"We've... gained a few more since you first came in," Richard said
through the chanting and clamour the prisoners on all levels of the
holding areas were making as the Demon and his escort walked through.
"Ask me if I give a damn," was the unenthusiastic reply.
They stepped into a complex of barred doors, each stationed by an armed
unit of men. At every checkpoint, those accompanying the Demon had to
log their business in worn ledgers and the Demon was checked at every
stop for any foreign object he might have gotten a hold of during his
short traverse across the common holding cells.
Cameras observed the Demon's progress from every angle, watching him as
he strode through yet another lengthy corridor that led into a smaller
hallway dotted with unmarked doors.
The four stepped into one to find a sharp-eyed blonde man already
sitting at the table inside, waiting for them. Before him was a neat
stack of papers stamped with the ominous mark of 'CONFIDENTIAL'.
The Demon smirked. "Reginald Cray. How've you been?"
"Fine, thank you for asking, Mr. Foster," the man nodded as the Demon
was seated before him on the opposite end. "And you?"
"Peachy," the Demon smiled slightly, taking a short look at each of his
escorts in turn. They had turned into statues, standing at attention,
ready and alert from beside and behind him. Garrick regarded the man
called Reginald with his stare again. "Any other clients as difficult
as me lately?"
"Really now, Mr. Foster," the lawyer said, flipping the folders before
him open and perusing its contents. "That's hardly likely. Your
credentials are rather... ah... *unique*. Now... let's get started,
shall we?"
The two at the table had been sitting for almost an hour. One of them
had been talking for just as long.
"Garrick J. Foster," the man in the suit droned on in his peculiarly
emotionless, low voice. "Do you understand the terms being given to
you?" There was a rustle of paper as the bespectacled lawyer looked up
from his documents at the man sitting across him at the silvery metal
table in the center of the otherwise featureless room.
The other man looked at him balefully with fiery, piercing green eyes.
"Do you understand the terms being offered you?" the bored-looking
lawyer asked again, putting down his folder and then clasping his hands
on the table.
Garrick smiled, partly revealing even white teeth.
"Let me get this straight," he said slowly, leaning back on his seat,
eyes half-lidding. "The Maccivelli Syndicate is under new management-
again- and this new ringleader is called Remy Forsythe. He's taken
over where I left off and he's expanding the Maccivelli into an
international operation. Now the government's afraid of what he can do
but couldn't stop him with its agents, can't even find him. Now, the
guvs need someone familiar with the underground, someone familiar with
the workings of the Maccivelli. Someone strong and crazy enough to
take Forsythe on. The guvs want Forsythe stopped at any cost, and it
figures that I'm the best person for the job. And in return--"
"You get your empire back," Cray finished for him tonelessly. "With a
few modifications, of course. Do you understand, Mr. Foster?"
Garrick eyed him intensely for a moment, an eyebrow cocked impudently,
managing to look menacing despite his restrictive garb. The three
guards posted about him stood stock still, unimportant and ignored.
Cray removed his glasses unconcernedly and began to wipe them with a
piece of cloth.
And then the Demon began to laugh.
"Ooookay," said the elderly gentleman manning the checkout office at
the top level of the mile-deep facility that was New Alcatraz prison.
"Foster, Garrick... AH! The Demon!" he chuckled as he rifled through
his file cabinets and then produced a key from one of the compartments.
"Let's see what we have in here..." A locker was unlocked from
underneath a smooth wooden counter and its contents brought out from
inside a thin aluminum cabinet. "Black shirt... black suit, slacks...
black socks and shoes... a black wallet with approximately three
thousand dollars inside and a library card... By the way, you'd also
brung quiiiite a bit of unlegal stuff widjaz, know what I mean? You
won't be getting *those* back anytime soon, j'understand?"
"Whatever."
Accepting his clothes and the personal items he'd been carrying when he
was taken five years ago, the Demon peered at the lawyer beside him
from the corner of his eye. "It sounds too good. What are my
guarantees?"
"THEY should be asking you the same question," Cray said, a little
irony creeping into his voice. "I'm your lawyer, Mr. Foster and rest
assured that I've investigated the entire matter from top to bottom.
I'll be taking care of most of the paperwork for you, but it all only
works if you play your own role in this little arrangement: get rid of
Forsythe for the guvs and all the charges you've accumulated will be
summarily dropped. You will be free to do anything you wish including
returning to your former... ah... position."
"Why would they rather have me than Forsythe?" the Demon demanded,
taking the last of his possessions and then heading for the locker room
adjacent the checkout office. "Why the Demon?"
"The guvs know you, Mr. Foster," Cray explained as both men paused by
the locker room entrance. "To be quite frank, they feel that if they
caught you once, they can do it again. Besides, they know they can
negotiate with you. You brought them nice, fat arms revenues in the
past, as you may well remember. They only decided to take you down
when you... ah... crossed certain boundaries."
"It wasn't that simple," the Demon growled, eyes narrowing, but his
stare was somewhere other than on the shorter man.
"Of course it wasn't, Mr. Foster," Cray agreed, nodding. "The point
is, Forsythe is unpredictable and the guvs don't like that. Already,
the man has initiated a few armed uprisings in quite a few major
cities and the guvs were barely able to stop them all. From the looks
of things, these were mere test runs, experiments to check the
feasibility of some other, much grander scheme. Needless to say, the
media coverup was a... ah... bitch." The lawyer's eyes glinted from
behind his glasses. "Rumor also has it that Remy Forsythe may have had
something to do with your untimely apprehension as well..."
Garrick grunted, stepping into the locker room. "What are the
conditions?"
"The guvs know you better than to ask for your full cooperation with
the police force," the lawyer sniggered before quieting down again,
following his client in. He resumed his emotionless mien and went on.
"No, all they ask is that you leave them alone as they will leave you
alone as you go about your work. No killing of government personnel or
civilians. They, of course, provide for the occasional casualty or
two, but five or ten would be pushing it. They require to know at all
times your whereabouts-"
"No-- no knowing where I am," the Demon interrupted Cray, pausing a
moment in his undressing from behind one of the lockers. "No reports.
No escorts. No GPS. No homing fucking devices."
"That can be arranged," came the lawyer's voice from the other side.
"One more thing-- if at any time you do something that cannot be hidden
from the media without violating the demands of prudence or good
politics, the government will withdraw all support and hunt you down."
"Discretion, huh? I can do discreet..."
There was a rustle of clothing as bright orange inmate's clothes were
disrespectfully tossed aside and more familiar articles of clothing
unfolded and dusted off. "What do the guvs do if I decide to join
Forsythe?"
"You won't," Cray smiled. "They know you better than that. And even
if you did, Forsythe isn't exactly the sharing type."
The Demon nodded and stepped out from behind the lockers.
He took a deep breath and smoothed out his already uncreased long
sleeves, his lapels, and flicked away the dust from his shoulders. He
straightened. "I have a few conditions of my own."
"They knew you would."
"It's been too long. I can't do this alone." The Demon strode
purposefully out of the locker room, his tall, jet black frame a
striking contrast against the clean white of the halls outside.
Cray, following from behind him, nodded. "The guvs have arranged for
a few of your companions. They were all selected especially for the
job in mind."
"I have someone specific in mind," Garrick said, turning a corner and
stepping into a lift. The elevator controls had buttons that would
take its passengers to either the surface, or any of the lower prison
levels. "Without him, there's no deal."
"It can all be arranged," Cray reassured him. "But one's the limit.
Tell us where this person is and if he's still there, we can go about
getting him for you as soon as possible."
"He's here, Cray," the Demon answered, jabbing his thumb on the button
that would make the elevator descend to the prison facilities. "He's
right here."
"Feeding time already?"
When the doors to the rather spacious cell opened, it could be seen
that the walls were concealed by rows upon rows of books mounted on
makeshift shelves and every other conceivable surface that could hold
a paperback or hardbound. To one corner was a large bed strewn about
with printouts, newspapers, magazines and photographs. Across it, a
fairly modest personal computer was set upon a rickety table.
Occupying the chair before it, hunched over the keyboard, was the
biggest African American man Cray had ever seen.
A figure dressed in full black stepped forward, hands in pockets, a
cocky grin on his handsome features. "No, Alexander, we aren't here to
stuff your pie hole."
"SHIT, Demon, 'zat you?" the giant said, getting to his feet suddenly
upon seeing the other man. The chair broke as he got up and he looked
at it disgustedly. "DAMN-- that's the sixth one this month."
"How've you been, Alexander?" the Demon asked amiably. "It's been too
long."
"Been too long my ASS," the much larger man bellowed. "I've been
coolin' my heels in this dump, thinking you were dead for five years,
and you ask me how I've been? HELL! How've *you* been? You look good
for a dead man." He laughed and slapped a hand between the Demon's
shoulder blades, his hand almost spanning the other man's entire back.
Cray cleared his throat from his place by the door.
Alexander frowned at the blonde at is doorway and looked down at the
Demon. "Who's the suit?"
"We've got a job, Alexander," the Demon said by way of reply. "This is
Reginald Cray, my lawyer, and if you've forgotten about him, he hasn't
forgotten about you."
"Brashier, Alexander T.," Cray said, stepping forward himself and
looking up at the hulking form in the middle of the room. He adjusted
his glasses with two fingers and went on. "Fifteen counts of assault,
three counts of carriage of an illegal firearm, and more than eighty
charges of unauthorized hacking into both government and corporate
databases." Cray grinned his shark's grin at the giant. "And all this
was of course, *before* you were under Mr. Foster's employ."
Alexander turned to the Demon and jerked a thumb at the lawyer. "We've
got a fucking genius here, Demon."
Cray ignored the sarcasm. "Mr. Brashier-- you were condemned to rot in
here for the duration of your natural life for your crimes. How would
you like to have the government disregard all that and even compensate
you considerably for... ah... services rendered?"
"Is this guy for real, Demon?" Alexander asked impatiently, folding
two massive arms about himself, cocking an eyebrow at his friend.
"The guvs want us to do a job for them, Alexander," the Demon said,
faint amusement in his voice as he stared at something on the ceiling.
"Remy Forsythe's the new head of the Maccivelli and the guvs don't like
him but can't do anything about him. They need people like *us* to
do it for them."
"Shit," the gigantic man spat. "And what do we get?"
"You get your freedom, Mr. Brashier," Cray answered.
The giant gave it some thought, a hand to his chin. He scratched
absently at a spot on his bald head. "Sounds too good to be true,"
Brashier concluded, folding his arms again.
"Don't I know it," the Demon said from beside him, smirking again.
"Mr. Foster asked for you by name," Cray told Alexander, eyeing him
seriously. "The government has already selected a small team for Mr.
Foster, but has allowed the addition of yet one more person whom they
can pardon of all offences and have accompany the mission. If you
decline now, I don't think another chance as good as this may ever
come your way again. Time is of the essence and the guvs want Mr.
Foster and his team on their way as soon as they are briefed and
readied in everything."
"What do you think, Demon?"
"There's no one else I trust more, Alexander. If I'm setting myself up
for a fall, at least I'll know I have some backup."
"Tch... well, it's not everyday dead friends come waltzing up to me
asking for help, after all..." Alexander chuckled, shaking his head.
He fixed the Demon with a lazy smile. "Besides, that path outta here
sure sounds waaaaay better than what *I* had in mind." He pressed down
on a device in his hand. The monitor behind him flickered briefly...
And then the lights went off as the entire facility of New Alcatraz
went into forced lockdown.
"... and you were just going to *walk* out of here?"
"Yup," Alexander grinned. He was out of his orange overalls and was
looking quite comfortable in a giant-sized suit of his own, dark blue
and expensively embroidered. He twiddled his fingers happily, light
glinting off the ten heavy metallic rings on them, each with a diameter
as large or larger than a regular man's wrist. "Just waaaaalk on out
of here..."
"What were you going to do about the military personnel on the surface
and how were you going to get to the mainland?" the Demon asked idly as
the three of them walked away from New Alcatraz. Behind them, order
was returning to the agitated prison complex and columns of soldiers
could be seen marching out in single file from the barricaded gates.
"Hey, lockdown was only the first part of my plan," Alexander grinned
even wider. "I didn't say I was able to work out everything else."
"Your next member is highly proficient in bladed weapons of all kinds,"
Cray was saying from in front of them, the lawyer taking the lead this
time. Only his intervention had stopped a furious facility head and
warden to drag both the Demon and Alexander straight back where they
came from-- in chains. Cray adjusted his glasses again before going
on. "His melee skills and efficiency as a silent, speedy killer may
come in useful when you need to take out strategic victims or specific
individuals. Detained for eight years in the Yannueas Sanitarium for
the Criminally Insane, he agreed to the terms offered him and..."
"Where're the rest of the mofos, Demon? Why only the two of us?"
The Demon squinted against the sun, unused to the light after so long
underground. "They're all dead, Alexander. You weren't there when we
were all sold out and the guvs jumped us. Nikitta, Viktor, Edwards,
Melvin... they're *all* gone."
"Shit. Powell?"
"Vegetable. Comatose."
"Shit."
"Gentlemen," Cray called their attentions, finished reading the sheet
in his hand. "I would like you to meet your stealth operative, Mr.
Richmond S. Gray."
Standing before them on the open field of grass was a long-haired man
in a grey capelet covering simple, undecorated garb of the same plain,
pale color. He smiled at the approaching men, face pleasant, air that
of endearing charm and overflowing amiability.
Garrick snarled soundlessly. "Richmond," he said after a moment,
stopping a few paces away. Alexander stopped directly beside him and
Cray paused only when he reached a point exactly in between them,
peering first at the Demon and then at Richmond curiously.
"Good day, Demon!" Richmond greeted the man in black cheerfully,
raising a white-gloved hand slightly. "It's been too long!"
"Do you know this guy, Demon?" Alexander asked, leaning his ponderous
bulk over slightly to mutter in Garrick's ear.
"That's Richmond Gray, 'the Silent Knife'," was Garrick's slow reply.
His breathing became irregular and his fists clenched. "Eight years
ago he tried to kill me but got Farren and George instead."
"All in the past now, Demon, sir," Richmond laughed, making the two
conferring men look up at the caped figure. "I was freelancing at the
time, Demon, sir, nothing more. It wasn't anything *personal*, of
course, you do understand, don't you? I was offered an *awful* lot of
money by your rivals... Oh, by the way, how're the cuts I gave you
before? They were pretty nasty-- I hope they didn't scar.""
Cray regarded the Demon, who was slowly getting angrier and angrier.
"He was sent to the asylum immediately after he healed from the
injuries you gave him in that little warehouse scuffle approximately
eight years ago. He isn't fully rehabilitated, but he isn't the
psychotic madman you once knew anymore, though he's still retained all
of his previous skill with a blade."
"If you think I'm going to let myself work with *this* lunatic, think
agai--"
"HEEEEEEY THEEEERE, DEEEEMOOOOON!" came the high-pitched cry.
"What in the-!?"
Cray coughed into a fist, almost as if embarrassed. "We... also have
someone *else* with us whom you might find... familiar. Literally."
"HEY THERE, big bro!" a beaming dark brown-haired young woman called,
her head and then slender body popping out from is concealment behind
Richmond's caped shoulders. Richmond wasn't all that big or wide about
the shoulders-- the girl was simply smallish. Her skintight bodysuit
had the dubious color scheme of black with bright pink, adding to the
surreality of the scene the Demon suddenly found before him.
"G-Geraldine!?" Garrick managed, reeling backwards slightly as the new
addition to their gathering actually skipped and hopped her way to him.
"I thought you were staying over at mom and dad's!?"
"It got SOOOOOOOO boring back there," the Demon's sister whined, brown
pigtails bobbing up and down madly from either side of her head as she
bounced energetically before him. "SO I decided to come to the city
looking for YOU."
"WHAT!? But what about college? And just look at what you're WEARING!
It's a goddamn scandal!"
She twirled on her heel. "Ah, poopoo to college, I say," she giggled.
"Who needs it? And I happen to *like* what I'm wearing, thank you very
much!"
The Demon whirled towards Richmond, looking furious. "What is SHE
doing here? What's she doing with YOU!?"
Richmond's smile faltered and the corner of his mouth twitched. He
held his hands up placatingly. "Now no need to be riled, Demon, sir.
There's a VERY good explanation for all this..."
The unarmed Demon was already stomping his way to the stammering Gray,
murder in his eyes. Only Geraldine's clutching at his arm was slowing
him down just enough so that Richmond could maintain a safe distance by
backing away slowly. "If you THINK... for one moment," Garrick was
seething as he forced his way towards Richmond little by little, "that
you can get me to work with you by holding my sister hostage, you scum,
well you've got ANOTHER thing coming-"
"Oh, CALM DOWN, big bro," Geraldine chided, pulling at her brother's
black-sleeved arm. "Is that ANY way to treat your brother-in-law?"
"My WHAT!?"
"Richmond Gray wedded your sister during one of the few intervals of
freedom good behavior in the sanitarium afforded him," Cray explained,
stepping once more into the scene. "Since the spring of almost two
years past, Geraldine Foster became legally known as Geraldine Gray."
The Demon could only gape as Geraldine left his arm and proceeded to
drape herself all over the somewhat bashfully smiling Richmond. The
man also known as the Silent Knife waved.
"AHAHAHA! You guys're *relations*, Demon!" Alexander guffawed from the
fringes of the small circle of people that had formed, the first sound
he made in a while. "DAMN, but that's a classic." He laughed some
more, holding his stomach even as Cray started to talk again.
"It's all true, Mr. Foster," the sleepy-looking lawyer guaranteed as
the Demon turned towards him again, face indignant. "Mr. Gray would
agree to nothing unless Mrs. Gra-"
"Don't CALL her that," Garrick warned slowly. "She's my *sister*."
"-unless Miss Foster were excused from her misdeeds as well. A simple
matter, really, seeing as that all she's ever been imprisoned for were
petty misdemeanors or felonies all of which require only a term of
twenty years or much, much less." Cray clasped his hands behind him,
looking towards where Geraldine was rubbing up against Richmond.
"The government was willing to make the compromise. Besides, Miss
Foster exhibits quite a talent with explosives and other incendiary
devices, if the five million dollars' worth of property damage in the
commercial sector of the neighboring city is to be any gauge. She is
to be the fourth member of your party and--"
"Teehee! Did you hear that? He said my misdemeanors were pretty!"
"Explosives!? PROPERTY DAMAGE!??" the Demon was bellowing at the
tittering girl beside Richmond, ignoring the lawyer who was still
talking. "First you drop out of school and now THIS!? What will
mother and father think!?"
"Oh, come off it, Demon," Geraldine chided his brother, sticking her
tongue out at him childishly. "We'll all have so much *fun* working
together! Me, you, Godzilla over there, and my sweet widdle hubby
wubby..." she said, reaching up to brush an index finger lightly over
a smiling Richmond's nose.
The former assassin stepped forward and offered his hand.
"I'm sorry we couldn't invite you to the wedding," he apologized, still
smiling. "New Alcatraz doesn't allow mail in or out, as you might well
know, Demon, sir. Still, it's an honor to be married to your lovely
sibling, and I'd just like to extend my sincerest gratitude and hope
that we function together on the closest of terms. As family."
The Demon jumped back a step when the long, loose sleeve behind Gray's
offered hand shifted, and then in a split second, a switch knife jumped
out onto his palm and spat out a blade almost a foot long with a
metallic 'SCHING!'. A strange look crept into Richmond's laughing
light brown eyes. He flipped the weapon over and held it out, handle
first.
"A token of my esteem for you," he grinned at the scowling Demon.
"Keep it," said the Demon, walking past the presented gift. "... and
consider my NOT taking that token and slicing your head open with it my
wedding gift to YOU." He brushed past to follow Cray, who had begun to
walk again.
"You're too kind," Richmond said, still smiling. The knife withdrew
into his sleeve the same way it came and just as fast.
Vehicles were strictly prohibited within a certain area of the prison,
and the group had to walk to the next stop, a heavily guarded outpost
watching over the opening of a high concrete wall that surrounded the
grassy field the center of which was New Alcatraz. From there, they
rode an escorted convoy to the island's port where someone was waiting
for them.
A svelte form wearing a short, tight, one piece dress of pure, dazzling
white and equally white thigh high shiny leather boots stood in the
midst of a flock of doves feeding on the dock. The woman wore a pair
of long, shiny white gloves, both arms folded against her chest, which
strained slightly against the tight confines of her blouse piece.
Long, platinum blonde hair wafted serenely in a gentle breeze. Pale
grey eyes watched amusedly as the Demon's group drew closer. Her lips
curved into a sultry smile, almost luridly red against clear, rosy
skin. A solid white sniper rifle was slung behind her bare shoulder.
White ammunition packs hung from her white waist belt.
"Icy," Garrick said, the last syllable becoming a low hiss.
"Demon," Alice crooned, pouting her lips provocatively, putting her
hands on her flaring hips.
"Finally, you'll need someone who can update you on the many changes
that have undoubtedly occurred in the criminal underground since your
incarceration," Cray said in the background of the two figures staring
at each other. "An intelligence operative, in other words. Miss Alice
T. Rogers is the only one of you who hasn't been imprisoned for any
duration of time. At present, all pending cases against her have been
dropped and she has been commissioned by the government to be their
liaison to your little group."
"Hello, Demon," Alice 'Icy' Rogers greeted the man in black walking
slowly towards her, voice syrupy. "It's been too long."
"You sold us out," the Demon was murmuring, his voice barely audible
over the soft lapping of the waves below them. "You betrayed the
syndicate's trust. You betrayed *all* our trusts."
>From the cemented driveway, Richmond, Geraldine and Alexander watched
in silence as the drama before them unfolded. At length, Geraldine
looked up uneasily at the giant, Alexander. "Should we get them away
from each other?" she asked somewhat nervously. "Before they, like,
you know-- start slapping and stuff?"
The dark-skinned giant shook his head. "She's dangerous. Demon's mad,
not stupid. Let's just wait and watch right here." They turned quiet
again and watched the proceedings solemnly.
There was a short burst of controlled laughter from the beauty standing
on the wooden docks. She fixed the Demon with a pointed look, the
amusement not leaving her face.
"Wrong, Demon," she corrected him. "You *never* trusted me."
The Demon nodded. He stopped, now barely a hand's width away from the
standing woman. He looked down at her, and his smoldering green eyes
were met by dancing eyes of pale grey, unusual and enchanting. "And
now we know that I was right not to, don't we?"
"Silly man," Icy said softly, the frost creeping into her tone. "You
don't ever stop to think you're ever wrong, do you? Oh, well... It
doesn't matter now anyway."
"Nikitta, Viktor, Edwards, Melvin, Ferdinand, Truce... all dead because
of you."
Icy shrugged indifferently. "I had my reasons."
The Demon suddenly grabbed both the woman's shoulders. Icy offered no
resistance, hands still on hips.
"Uh-oh..." Alexander mumbled, beginning to step towards the two. "I
think we'd better get to preserving the peace before it hits the fan."
The Demon shut his eyes as he lowered his head, and his lips were met
by Icy's own raised mouth. Her hands left her sides and flew upwards,
one burying itself in the Demon's short, unkempt black hair while the
other clawed harmlessly at his back, both pulling him closer. The
Demon's own hands snaked their way lower, one circling around Icy's
slim waist, while the other went down even lower and cupped the ample
curve it found there. The two stayed entangled that way as the heated
kiss went on for a few minutes.
Geraldine blinked. She turned and then kicked Richmond in the shins.
"HOW COME YOU NEVER KISS *ME* LIKE THAT!?" she demanded of the killer.
"Ow! Hey!"
"Say, do *I* get a turn?" Alexander grunted when, after a few more
seconds, the two on the docks still didn't break away from each other.
The black hacker raised his hands in mock disgust and resignation and
stalked off towards a nearby building. "Shit-- these two'll have to
stop for air *some* time. Until then, I'll be in there, looking for
somethin' nice in the gift shop."
Icy pulled away first, breathless and flushed at the cheeks. She let
the Demon hold her for a little longer and then stepped backwards,
breaking all contact.
"You won't get the best of me again, Icy," the Demon promised.
"Won't I?" the woman smirked, looking him up and down, an eyebrow
arched at the somewhat equivocal declaration. "We'll see..." She
looked up at him coyly. "I've brought something for you, Demon."
The Demon straightened the lapels of his slightly rumpled black
ensemble and folded his arms, watching as Icy bent over to retrieve the
contents of an open traveling bag that was lying by her feet. When
she stood up again, she held out two shiny black automatic pistols--
magnums. On the handles were gold-wrought demons' faces.
"Bonnie and Clyde," the Demon breathed in recognition, chuckling fondly
as he accepted the two weapons. He hefted them about slowly with both
hands, liking the wave of nostalgia that washed through him. With a
swift, almost unseeable motion, he was pointing one at Cray.
The lawyer looked into the barrel indifferently.
The Demon grinned and slipped one on either side of his suit, the guns
seeming to disappear into the same-colored cloth. Icy smiled up at
the Demon again. "The rest's inside. Look."
A knife... spare cartridges...
The Demon's eyes widened with delight when he pulled out what looked to
be a large piece of dark tarpaulin from the bag. With a boyish laugh,
the Demon slid his arms into smooth, silk-lined sleeves and donned the
heavy, jet black trench coat that was his signature piece of wear even
in days past.
"Exactly like old times," Icy said admirably, trailing her fingers
along the coat's lines and well-made seams.
"Close enough," the Demon conceded, nodding slightly, a devilish grin
on his face.
"SAY! What do we call ourselves anyway?" Geraldine piped up, skipping
closer, tired of being ignored and unimportant. Richmond sidled up
nearer his wife dutifully, still smiling. "We need a name of some kind
don't we?"
"We call ourselves the Fire Ants, of course," the Demon sniffed, moving
his neck and shoulders about, letting his weighty coat settle down
comfortably on his frame. "It was good enough before, it's good enough
for us now."
"Fire Ants?" Geraldine repeated, face scrunching up. "What kind of
UBER LAME kinda name is that? How about-- the SKULL RAIDERS OF DEATH!"
"Sounds like an excellent name, dear," Richmond approved from beside
her, smiling.
>From the distance, a shape could be seen approaching the docks at
cruising speed. Cray noticed and glanced at his watch. "That must be
our conveyance, people," he said just loud enough for them to hear.
"The barge will take us to the mainland where a small convoy will be
waiting to escort us to a government skyscraper complex where the final
details of your contract will be worked out. I'd imagine that once the
particulars are done with, you'll be able to set out at once on your
assignment-- wouldn't you like that, Mr. Foster?"
The Demon smiled. "I would like that very much."
The Demon eyed the portfolio he held in his hands, skimming it and then
pausing to study the face of a man in tinted glasses. Wavy light red
hair crowned a sharp face that stared straight out of the photograph
with large, expressive eyes so brown that they might have been black.
The look was of a trusting, almost innocent young man.
The Demon frowned. "He looks like a goddamn high school kid."
"Don't let Remy's looks fool you," Icy said, arms folded, leaning
against a length of railing. Wisps of her glossy white, almost silvery
hair flowed before her face. "The man is a criminal genius. A little
pull here, a little push there, and the Maccivelli licks his boots, no
questions asked. Kinda scary how he's got everyone so loyal to him
after a so short a time. Dangerous sumvbitch, too. Once, he was
followed alone and unarmed into an empty subway by some smalltime gang
that owed him one. Shot them all with their own guns and cut off their
thumbs with their own knives."
The Demon smirked. "Showoff. How come I've never heard of him?"
"He doesn't like people knowing about him. And he's careful about what
he does. That subway incident? He made it look like a rival gang was
responsible." Icy indicated the files the Demon held in his hands.
"All that's bullshit. Family, relatives, friends, place of birth, all
previous records the government has on him-- none of them are true.
It's all just information he seeded himself, and there's no tracing him
back to anyone or anywhere. He's a ghost, and he's careful enough to
stay that way for a long, long time."
"What did he have to do with the incident five years ago?"
"Everything and nothing. Few knew he was even involved until it was
too late. He isn't interested in starting small-- he goes straight for
the top and you were in the way, Demon. He knew that a direct
confrontation would be messier than he'd ever want, so he got a hold of
someone who could get close enough to you to be useful."
"You," the Demon said bemusedly.
"Me," Icy nodded. She smiled a little. "He made a mistake, though."
"What?"
"He thought I would try to kill you myself."
"And why didn't you?"
Icy's smile took on a peculiar mysterious quality the Demon had seen
before. "I had my reasons."
"Whatever."
"Gentlemen, ladies," Cray said from the deck above them, looking out at
the land that was growing closer. "If I'm not mistaken, that's the
convoy right now. Momentarily, they will take us to the conference
building where you will be briefed and the arrangements made for
everything you might need in the way of equipment and supplies."
The barge beached on the dock just as a spray of gunfire raked across
the railing of the its upper level, sparks flying as bullets hit the
metal. Cray watched sleepily as several armed men emerged from various
hiding places along the short stretch of pier.
"... or not," the lawyer said, turning on his heel to disappear into
the barge lobby behind him.
"FOR THE MACCIVELLI!" one of the men from the shore cried out. "FOR
LORD FORSYTHE!" The others took up the cry and gunned the ship in
earnest, automatic weapons discharging loudly.
The Demon was in their direct line of fire and he turned his head
towards the disturbance. He snorted. "Amateurs."
Hunching slightly, the Demon grabbed a hold of his trench coat and
swung a portion over Icy, who ducked inside. When the rain of gunfire
got to them, the projectiles made no impression on the heavy
bulletproof coat. The men on shore went on firing.
"What's going on!?" Geraldine demanded, storming into the bridge
situated to the front of the barge. A lit cigarette was stuck in one
corner of her mouth, smoldering lazily.
The barge captain was lying in a pool of his own blood, Geraldine saw,
and she noted the noise of attack from outside. She idly twirled her
cigarette a bit with her lips and then ducked back into the barge's
main lobby just as the barrage shattered the rest of the bridge's
glass windows.
Leaning against the inside wall, Geraldine pulled out a large duffel
bag from underneath one of the benches, opened it and then started
taking out various tools, tool implements and mechanical parts.
"Time to get a-workin'," she mumbled through a mouth that now held a
couple of bolts aside from the earlier cigarette. "Hey, Richmond,
baby, better look alive, trouble on deck!" She looked up.
Richmond wasn't in his seat.
The automatic rifles spent the last of their ammunition. The weapons
were dropped and then smaller firearms were produced. The men charged
onto the docked barge, shooting wildly.
Icy and the Demon were there to meet them.
With a flourish, the Demon spun, flipping his trench coat out of the
way of his two raised arms, Bonnie and Clyde in either hand. Two
almost simultaneous bursts from the twin guns downed a pair of the
attackers at once and they stayed down, machine pistols clattering to
the deck.
Icy was there to greet the newcomers as well. When the trench coat
aside, the woman was revealed in a kneeling position, rifle up to
shoulder height, cocked aimed and ready. Icy pulled the trigger once
and thunder exploded from the longish barrel, downing yet another man
and throwing him a few feet. Before the rifle's spent shell hit the
ground, Icy was already cocking her weapon and readying it for another
shot.
Unseen to her, high-powered rifles not unlike Icy's own were brought up
and aimed at them, scope crosshairs hovering over the magnified images
of Icy and the Demon's exposed heads.
Even as Icy and the Demon were decimating the first wave, a few were
coming up dangerously close, but both Alice and Garrick didn't seem to
be paying them any heed. Two crazily grinning goons drew their guns up
to bear on them.
The door directly beside Icy and the Demon burst into broken pieces of
jetsam and splintered wood. Before either enemy could recover from the
surprise, a humongous, metal-ringed fist crashed into one of them,
breaking bones and sending the bloodied unfortunate reeling back
against the deck railing, flipping over, and then falling into the
shallow waters of the pier. The other man was picked up as though he
were a bundle of kindling, and then was thrown into a line of his still
arriving comrades, making them all tumble head over heels.
"Who 'n fuck started this party without me?" Alexander complained,
stepping up beside the Demon. "I ain't had SHIT to do since giddin out
of that dump behind us." He produced a large, bulky device from behind
him. A long, clanking ammunition belt trailed from inside it.
The Demon raised an eyebrow. "Gift shop?"
"Gift shop," Alexander grinned and nodded, swinging his newly-acquired
gatling gun in the direction of the men running towards them. Roaring
to life, the heavy assault weapon cut the runners down mercilessly, the
machinegun light in relation to its wielder's mass.
"Okay, this piece goes here, and *this* one goes there..." Geraldine
was muttering as she went on with her assembly from inside the barge.
Taking a drag from her smoke, she regarded her work. "Right. Almost
done... now *this* one over *here*, and..."
>From the shore, a ringleader of sorts was watching nervously as man
after man was killed by the advancing trio on the barge. Things
weren't supposed to turn out this way-- where were his snipers!? He
hurriedly ascended the ladder to the roof of the small building that
was their temporary headquarters where one of his sharpshooters was
stationed.
"Benedict!" he yelled at the figure he found slumped against the wall
below his assigned window. The rifle was left unattended and unmanned,
though already aimed at the battlefield. "What the FUCK do you think
you're doing!? Get to that gun and-" He stopped when he noticed that
the man he was talking to had fresh blood on his black camo fatigues.
"I'm afraid Benedict's a little indisposed as of the moment, sir," came
a chillingly cheerful voice from behind him. Before he could turn
around, a gloved hand covered his mouth and cold steel slid easily
across his throat. He was shoved unceremoniously forwards to fall on
the floor with a sick thud.
"Don't worry, though," Richmond told the man writhing at his feet.
"You'll be joining him and his friends momentarily." Wiping his blade
on the fallen man's back, Richmond walked away from the scene calmly.
Cleaned, the knife slid back inside his sleeve.
The final accessory snapped into place with a satisfied 'SCLICK!'.
Geraldine grinned, lifting her weapon and then dashing to the forward
platform of the deck where her brother, Icy and Alexander were all
standing. She whirled her head around, searching for targets.
"OKAY! Where are they!? Where are the bad guys?" the teen demanded,
still looking about, brandishing her weapon. She looked when Alexander
pointed wordlessly at the carnage before them. Geraldine blinked.
"WHAT!? You mean you guys didn't leave anyone for me to blow up!?" she
whined as they all disembarked. "And after I went to all that trouble
of assembling this, too!"
The Demon grabbed at the cigarette dangling from the side of his
sister's mouth and threw it away. "WHERE THE HELL DID YOU LEARN HOW TO
SMOKE!? You'll break mother's heart!"
"WhatEVER..."
"Well. That was refreshing," Cray said from behind them. "There
appears to be something in their van."
All five of them and the lawyer stepped towards the back of one of the
black vans that had presumably brought their playmates to the pier. A
single laptop was perched there, screen towards them, as if it had been
placed there precisely for them to see.
Remy Forsythe's sadly smiling face was on the screen.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come and congratulate you on your recent release
personally, Mr. Foster... or should I just call you Demon?" came the
man's somewhat depressed voice. His eyes were even more morose than in
the picture, but there was something about his ironic smile that told
the group that he was anything but miserable. "I truly hope that the
friends I sent you helped you appreciate your newfound freedom more."
"He knows we're going after him," the Demon smiled, more a showing of
teeth than an expression of happiness or satisfaction. "And he isn't
so secret now, is he?"
"He can afford a little indulgence now, Demon," Icy said from beside
him. "That's exactly why he wants the power you once held-- so he can
finally indulge a little after years of tiptoeing in the shadows."
"Quite right, Ms. Rogers," Forsythe nodded from wherever it was he was
broadcasting from. "But I haven't grown careless either, Mr. Foster.
Rest assured that your Black Pack and I will... ah... meet again."
The broadcast image flickered and then blinked out.
"Well, people," Cray said, clearing his throat to get their attentions.
"It looks like we're taking a cab-- the convoy is the burning heaps you
see over there."
"Fine by me," the Demon grunted and slowly began to walk to the pier
exits. Icy followed to the Demon's right, Alexander next to her, his
new gatling gun under one gigantic arm. To the Demon's left, Geraldine
and then Richmond strode apace of the other three, completing their
line of five. Cray, the lawyer, kept a few feet behind.
Suddenly, everyone turned at the sound of a loud explosion from behind
them. Geraldine blinked innocently at the five pairs of eyes that
looked at her as smoke still trailed upwards from the mouth of the pig-
tailed girl's custom-made bazooka. Shrapnel dropped one by one from
all sides and the van was being heartily eaten by large flames.
"Whaaaat?" she asked them, voice a singsong. "It was probably gonna
blow up *anyway*-- he'd want to destroy evidence, right? Besides,
what's a 'walk away' scene without a good backdrop, eh?" She flashed
them with her most winning smile.
The Demon scowled. Icy raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Alexander
picked at his ear with his little finger. Cray was looking as excited
as always. All turned when they heard clapping hands from amidst them.
Richmond blinked at them.
"What? *I* like the idea," he said, smiling and putting a hand behind
his head as he chuckled, a little embarrassed. "It's cute."
The Demon rolled his eyes and went on walking. "I've changed my mind--
we do NOT call ourselves the Fire Ants. All my old friends would come
back to haunt my sorry ass if we did."
"OOOH, OOH!" Geraldine squealed, running up to her brother's side,
grabbing an arm. "I've been thinking about some MORE names we could
use! Wanna hear them? How about THE DESTRUCTORS!? Too corny? Yeah,
yeah, well, it was a second choice anyway... What did that Forsooth guy
call us? The Black Pack? What about that, huh? Sounds kinda cool,
actually-- 'black' and 'pack' rhyme, you know... but if you don't like
*that*, we could *always* call ourselves THE GUN WARRIORS FROM HELL!.."
"What's for lunch?" Alexander yawned, stretching as he lumbered along
beside his new troupe.
Behind them, the wreckage of the black van went on burning.
Author's Notes:
Bring on the gun-toting men, the mindless violence, the sizzling babes
and the John Woo-esque firefight scenes-- it's gangsta impro time.
The observant will note that very little is original about the whole
'hire a criminal to beat a criminal' gig. I suppose that my most
influential inspirations would have to be 'The Rock' (Sean Connery
plays former Alcatraz inmate who helps elite team inside to stop
terrorists), and a few other movies of lesser merit, though, to be
honest, I really didn't draw too much from any of these, my mind going
on and on in its usually convoluted manner independent of most any
procedure or even structure. Okay... evil run-on sentence. On a
tangent, it would appear that the movie 'Triple X' (or should that be
'xXx'?) runs on most the same premise, judging from the trailer I saw
where Vin Diesel's character was made to do spy stuff for the nation in
return for his reckless crimes being disregarded. 'A new breed of
secret agent,' they say. I'm looking forward to it-- looks like a fun,
fun ride. Hehehe...
But that aside, the true root of the Black Pack derives from my desire
to play with the contemporary 'sentai' (team of five) genre stories.
We all know the premise-- a team of five young heroes versus the forces
of evil. Nevermind the giant robots, or the supaa weapons-- the point
is that the basic elements are there; hero, hero's girlfriend, hero's
rival/best friend (or both), little kid, big, dumb guy (team components
as described by the Laws of Anime, URL: I forgot =p). I truly hope I
managed to slip the proper anti-heroes in the proper slots here. >:D
THANK YOU to RL prereader, Farina-- you are SO WAI! Dankedanke as well
to Montae, Chameleon, Brian, and Nerem for taking a look- youze rock,
too. ^_^
This is Mads, signing off. Good luxxorz to the next authorzz.
Godspeed!
Questions, reactions, assistance...
madsthebeast@eudoramail.com
madsthebeast@yahoo.com
amadeoiii@eudoramail.com
madsthehatchling@yahoo.com
*****
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.
.---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List----.
| Administrators - ffml-admins@anifics.com |
| Unsubscribing - ffml-request@anifics.com |
| Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject |
`---- http://ffml.anifics.com/faq.txt -----'