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See No Evil: Setting (ch. 11)
🕑 Added 2020-09-09 15:03:45 +0000 UTC
I was a person now. Not that I wasn’t one before, but now I had a legal identity. At the low, low, low cost of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I purchased myself a background, a social security number, and an ID card. In the eyes of the world, I was Vergil St. Jude, a sixteen-year-old kid with a troubled past to explain any holes in my history.
It felt good. Wasn’t a fan of being sixteen again, but Mr. Cobblepot’s explanation had merit. In this business, being a minor was almost a golden ticket of sorts. All kinds of defenses and excuses could be made that suddenly vanished once you hit eighteen. Because you were just a kid. You didn’t know any better. The adults took advantage of your lack of world experience and led you around the nose. Maybe you weren’t guiltless, but you were also just a kid.
And for two years, I had those excuses.
I didn’t want to be sixteen again, but I wanted to be in jail less. So, I took the offer. I was sixteen again.
Looking down at the leaflet of papers that outlined my fake background, I could boil it down to a few simple points -- dead parents, orphaned young, lived on the streets instead of going into foster care and I was recently emancipated. Which allowed me to start my own business, Sainthood Flowers.
My financial records were a bit of a black hole, but that was intentional on the Penguin’s part at my request. Sainthood Flowers was starting from the ground up, but the initial funds necessary to start a business were officially unexplained. Under the table, however, I had received a ‘loan’ from Mr. Cobblepot. Which was my out. If the cops came busting down my door, then I could point to Mr. Cobblepot and say that he added the clause after I signed the contract and he made me turn my business into a front for his mob.
Pretty sure Mr. Cobblepot knew I was ready to sling mud his way, but he followed through with the request all the same. It wasn’t like he didn’t have his own dirt on me with that videotape.
“This… was worth a hundred and fifty thousand bucks,” I ultimately decided. You never knew just how many doors closed in your face when you were without a legal identity until you lost it. Now… hell, I could go back to school if I wanted. I didn’t, but I could. With the identity as airtight as mine was, I could run for US President and no one would be any wiser that I had purchased my background.
I was a US citizen again. Shoving the papers into my pocket and into my cards, I took in a deep breath. I took a step forward. Things were in motion. I had my identity, I had my business, and I had money. Not half a mil worth of money, but I had money. Now all I had to do was make sure that I didn’t take two steps back.
As I shoved the papers in, I pulled out my phone. A message with a time and a place from Jeremiah. Where they would be using me to smuggle guns into the city. To be used in a gang war. I had already seared the time and address into my brain -- eight in the morning in front of a coffee shop, but looking at it made it feel real.
"Why did you have to tell me?" I asked the phone, tempted to call him, and ask that question directly. It would be so much easier if I didn't know. So I could pretend they wanted me to smuggle pot or some expensive crap that was stolen. Or… or maybe it was a good thing. Because if I got there and they wanted me to smuggle people…
Knowledge was a burden but it was better than ignorance.
Brushing a hand through my hair, I stepped out of the bathroom stall I was in. It was disgusting. But I had just used it to change my clothes -- another nifty thing I had learned about my cards, I could use them to store outfits.
My suit was labeled as Cheap Suit, which was a D-Rank. And the outfit I wore now was affectionately labeled Bum Attire. An E-Rank outfit.
Still, given the state of the clothes, it probably deserved it. I put on my hat and left the bathroom, and then began to make my way towards my destination. The sun drifted towards the horizon, and by that time I reached the gun store. It looked like an inner-city gun store -- barred windows, a neon sign that simply said guns, and it was squished between an alcohol shop and bodega.
A bell rang and the guy that sat behind the counter looked up at me. He watched me like a hawk as I walked to the bulletproof vests and grabbed the one that offered the most protection. I had learned from my mistake. Once I had one, I walked over to the ammo and grabbed a few boxes for my nine millimeters and my snub-nose .38.
Bringing them to the clerk, he looked me up and down. Then he checked me out. Didn't even ask to see the fake ID that said I was eighteen.
Walking out of the store and finding a place with a bit of privacy, I combined my bulletproof vest with my suit. The results were exactly what I had hoped they would be.
Bulletproof Suit. C-Rank.
Perfect. This was where my cards started to get weird because the suit itself looked as it ever did. Nothing special about it. Except now the quality of 'bulletproof' had somehow transferred to the suit. Though, I did wonder if it meant all of the suit? Or was just the torso considered bulletproof? And when it said bulletproof -- did it mean stop the bullet and get kicked by a horse kind of bulletproof, or would the fabric of my suit not absorb the force and it would break all of my ribs instead?
The only way to find out was no way to find out. So I bought another cheaper one. Just to be safe.
"Alright. Protection is taken care of, now I need to look into weapons," I muttered to myself as I continued forward. As the skies began to darken and the street lamps turned on, the sidewalks grew more sparse. Because of that, other things began to stand out. Things like the homeless.
I grew up in a big city that had a homeless problem, but it never felt… so glaring. Maybe it was because I had my eyes opened, but it seemed like every alley I looked down there was a group of them camping out. I saw them everywhere -- in alleys, in parks, on the sides of the streets, in parking lots… just everywhere. All of them looked beaten down by life, and life hadn't seen fit to take its boot off their necks.
They barely seemed to notice me, dressed as I was. They begged, holding up signs for pleas for food and money, and the people that could afford it walked right by them. As if they couldn't see them.
I couldn't help everyone. I couldn't. I knew that. I could barely help myself most days, but… I wanted to.
"Hey," I said to a group of three guys huddled around a fire. Unlike with Jack, Tony, and Bill, they had their camp inside the alley. They looked back at me, torn between fighting and running. They relaxed when they saw it was just one of me and I wasn't much better dressed than they were. "There's a place called 7th Heaven underneath 7th Street. Hang right at the metro tunnel, and you'll find it."
"What the fuck?" One of them muttered, and I guess I could have broken the ice a bit more.
"There's a homeless community there in an abandoned tunnel. Everyone's welcomed there to stay the winter. Spread the word," I said with a shrug of my shoulders.
"What the fuck was that about?" Another muttered. "I ain't falling for that, no way." And that was a fair reaction, I guess. I wouldn't have trusted me either. But that was also the point.
7th Heaven didn't have the capacity to house over two hundred thousand homeless people. But it did have the capacity for a hundred. Maybe even two. And as good of an offer, as it was, I doubt that many would be tempted. It sounded too good to be true and in a city like Gotham, that meant danger.
But there would be a few that came. The desperate. Or naive. And they could find a home in the 7th Heaven.
I couldn't help everyone, but I wouldn't close my eyes to the ones that I could help. I wouldn't pretend I couldn't see them because it was easier and more convenient. Just like I told Jack -- I was paying that shit forward.
But I couldn't bring myself to speak the words out loud. Because they would sound so hollow given what I had agreed to do.
I was going to make weapons to protect myself in case the gun deal had trouble.
I arrived at a department store in a better part of town after a quick cab ride. The employee looked at me like they wanted to kick me out just for being there. As I grabbed a buggy, I didn't fail to notice how one of them was following me to make sure that I didn't steal anything. Which wasn’t right, but it was deserved in my case because I was absolutely going to steal a few items. I had money at the moment but that didn't mean I wanted to spend it.
My shopping trip was productive, at least. Once I proved that I could pay for everything, the employees left me alone, letting me store the contents of the buggy. And from there, I began to combine things after I found an isolated spot.
I needed an edge. I had my gun. I had my pepper spray smokescreen. But I needed more. My cards were more than a way to make money. I was cautious of being too overt with them because of Mr. Cobblepot, but that didn't mean I couldn't use them at all. Especially when I was going on jobs unrelated to him. I just couldn't use something that I couldn't explain. Like pulling out an antimatter gun, or whatever. The things I created? Certainly odd, but nothing that was out of the world insane.
Sleeping medicine combined with fire extinguisher gas to create Drowsy Gas.
Installation foam combined with concrete powder and water to make Concrete Foam.
Oil and soapy water to make Slippery Slick.
Things of that nature. However, it was as I unsealed a taser something of note happened. I discovered earlier that I could store water in my cards. When I did, I got an Element Series card which was colored blue. Which prompted me to grab the taser. Dropping the card to the ground, I pressed the taser to it to avoid getting shocked for a few seconds. In response, as electricity surged into the card, the blank surface changed.
It became yellow with a lightning bolt marked on it. However, the title on it began to change as more electricity continued to pour into it until it read Twelve Thousand Volts. Elemental Series. Enough volts to stun a person without killing them. I sealed the taser away and picked up the card, looking at it for a few moments. I placed it into my deck.
Unlike the Cursed Series, the Elemental Series didn’t add cards to my deck. I was still at fifty-three. And shifting through them, I found that I had a lot more filled cards than blank. I had about ten cards meant for combat, another fifteen to sell, ten that I’m waiting to spruce up a bit more, three elemental cards, and another ten filled with miscellaneous items. Meaning I only had about four blank cards.
That was an odd feeling. Fifty-two slots hadn’t felt so few until I started to run out. But I guess that was a lesson in not keeping so much junk in my cards.
I looked down at them for a long moment, my gaze lingering on a card labeled Rusted Scrap metal. I had intended on grinding the card up a bit so it could be used as building supplies for 7th Heaven. The people that made it their home proved to be just as ingenious with scrap as my cards were with items -- they would be able to do something with it.
Now… I had an idea.
In the end, I didn’t have it in me to put heavy weapons on the street to instigate a gang war. Because I knew that violence wouldn’t just be contained to the gangs. That violence would spread out, affecting people that just wanted to live their lives. The homeless. Or that kid that was so desperate to get off the streets he came to 7th Heaven.
Jeremiah would get his guns. They just wouldn’t be worth a damn thing.
…
"Morning," I greeted Tifa the next day. She blinked when she saw me like she was surprised to see me. I'm not sure why. Wasn't like I didn't live here. "Coffee?" I questioned, holding up a pot.
"Did you make it really strong?" Tifa questioned with narrowed eyes, but there was a playful smile tugging at the edges of her lips. Those lips had been on my cheek. But I didn't say that. I wasn't that socially inept. "And I didn't hear you come in last night?"
"I weakened it just for you. And I got in pretty late," I explained, taking a sip of my… well, I guess you could call it coffee if your standards were low enough. The grind and taste were fine, but it lacked the kick needed to get the brain working. "I have a deal today, so I wanted to prepare for it."
That playful smile slipped from Tifa's face. And I felt bad about it. "Oh. Did your meeting go well with Mr. Cobblepot?" She questioned, prompting me to take out a card and unseal a packet of papers in front of her. A questionnaire, of sorts.
"It went good. Very good," I said, making some of the tension that it was far too early in the morning for her to have ease out of her. Just a little bit. She inspected the papers, and I explained. "These are some details that will be your backstory. They're not set in stone yet, so if you want to change anything then you can."
Tifa picked up the papers, silently reading them for a moment. The beat of silence was damn near unbearable for me. "I'm sorry," I blurted out without much warning, surprising Tifa about as much as I surprised myself. But there just wasn't an easy way to bring up the topic. Or, at least not a painless one. "My promise. About bringing you home. I'm going to keep it… but it's going to take longer than I thought. I… don't even know how to start," I admitted.
Tifa smiled, but it was a sad one. "You don't have to apologize for anything Vergil." Her gaze dropped to the cup in her hands for a moment, a cup of coffee with entirely too much milk in it reflecting her expression. "And… you don't have to worry about the promise anymore."
I didn't believe that. That sounded far too much like an 'its fine.' I had learned to never trust those two words put together.
"I've been thinking a lot. Of back home. I… my hometown… was slaughtered," Tifa began in a quiet voice just above a whisper. "By a man called Sephiroth. I don't know why he did it -- he seemed like a decent enough man, then he snapped and he just killed… everyone."
"I'm sorry." What a useless thing to say.
"He was killed. I'm not entirely sure how, but he was killed. After that, I left for Midgar. The home of Shinra. And… I was so angry, Vergil. So, so angry. I wanted to tear the entire company apart because they had made Sephiroth. He was a Soldier, a super-soldier enhanced with mako, and… but when I got there when Barret found me, I… the Slums… they were an awful place. But because of them, I found reasons to let go of my anger." Tifa half rambled, pressing her lips into a thin line. "I could never replace what was lost, but I could move on. I made friends and they helped fill the void…"
Her shoulders dropped, "But my friends were terrorists. And I was one too. They believed so fiercely in the cause. I didn't. I mean, what Shinra was doing was wrong and they had to be stopped, but I was doing everything that I did because I wanted to help people. And sometimes the people that I wanted to help… what we did as Avalanche hurt them. Or killed them."
I was silent as I listened, letting her gather her thoughts for a few moments. She continued after a heavy sigh. "Barret, Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge -- they were my friends. But… I don't want to be a terrorist. I don't want to be responsible for getting innocent people killed. I want to help people. I know… I know that how we have to do things is… bad, but we're doing more good than harm. Right?" She looked up, almost desperate for an answer.
I had absolutely no clue.
"We are," I told her, burying my own worries and thoughts. Because that's what she needed to hear. "We're in the black when it comes to karma, Tifa. And everything we do is going to mean that we can help more people like Jack. Once the money rolls in, we can set up dozens of shelters like this. We're going to make it so no one dies in winter in this city."
The first part... I had no idea if it was a lie or not. The last part? That was a promise.
Despite everything, Tifa looked like she believed me. And I was thankful for it. If only I could believe that.
"You're right. We will," she agreed with a nod. "So… I don't want to go back to Midgar. To my world. I'll miss it. I'll miss it so much, but this is what I want. And I can't do that in Midgar."
"They would understand," I reassured, hesitantly reaching out and placing a hand over hers. She offered a thin smile as she held onto it, her palm warm to the touch. "If you told them that this was what you wanted, then they would understand." And if they didn't, then they weren't her friends in the first place.
Tifa nodded, "I think so too. Barret was a grump a lot of the time, but he was a sweetheart underneath. He just didn't want people to know it. The others… if they knew that I was happy here… they would want me to stay."
"And if you ever change your mind down the road, or we have the opportunity, I'll make sure that the option is open. Just in case," I offered and Tifa tried to hide her smile by taking a sip of her coffee. "I promise." And I meant it. Just like I meant it the first time.
"Thank you, Vergil," She said softly before she cleared her throat, her warm red-brown eyes meeting mine for a few seconds before they darted to the stack of papers. "I'll look these over. I'll let you know? Okay?" Tifa added, picking up the papers with her free hand. I saw it as the dismissal that it was and nodded.
"Just let me know. In-person, I'm trying to keep this kind of stuff off my phone. Just in case." I returned, getting an absent-minded nod from Tifa before I left her alone. After returning the coffeepot to its rightful spot, I took in the 7th Heaven.
Tifa probably had better luck getting the word out than me because it was growing. I saw an additional tent being set up and a few unfamiliar faces sitting in the corners, watching everyone as they waited for the other shoe to drop. And I couldn't blame them for that. It was hard trusting your life in someone else's hands. Especially when you didn't know them. Reasons like altruism… were so hard to swallow.
Because of it, my gaze landed on someone walking down the tunnel. A gaunt-cheeked kid no older than ten with a shock of red hair and green eyes filled with suspicion. His hands were in his hoodie pocket, which needed a good wash. Or to be burnt. But the action betrayed that he probably had a knife on him or something.
I hesitated, torn between picking the kid up and marching to the nearest shelter(,) or stuffing his face with food. I hesitated, but Tifa didn't. I had only realized she was looking in my direction when she blew right past me to approach the child. The kid looked about ready to bolt in the opposite direction, but he hesitated when Tifa dropped to a knee. I could see her face and I couldn't hear what they said.
It was like I was paralyzed, watching the scene unfold, knowing that I should walk over and try to help but it was like my feet were rooted to the spot. Because I knew I would find a way to mess it up. Because the kid would take one look at me and realize I was bad news before pulling a runner. It was probably for the best because the kid cautiously took a hand out of his pocket, looking up at Tifa with wide eyes, and she took it.
In a minute, she had won his trust. Tifa took his hand before she stood up, turning to lead him into 7th Heaven. There was a smile on her face when she looked up to find me watching. She said something to the kid as she pointed at me because the kid looked in my direction. And he looked at me with far less trust than he did Tifa. I could feel his suspicion from across the station platform.
But I waved all the same and threw on a friendly smile. All the while the gears turned in my head and I came to an inevitable conclusion. There was absolutely no way I could ask Tifa to go with me on this deal as my backup to keep a promise that I had made. A deal that wouldn’t help the city or the people. A deal that was going to end up hurting them if everything followed through.
I couldn’t ask her to do that. Not after this.
The smile dropped from my face when they left, heading towards the kitchen area to grab something to eat. A sigh escaped me as a hand went down to my pocket to check the time. It was painfully close to when I would have to leave. I guess I would have to go without backup.
Then, as if to disagree with me, I heard the lumbering steps of Waylon. Turning around, I saw him walking out of the tunnel on the opposite end that the kid had just entered. Even with the four or five feet that the platform gave me, I still found myself roughly at eye level with Waylon. He was an absolute giant.
“Vergil,” He greeted, his voice low and rumbly. The slits that served as his nose shifted as he took in a breath. “Smells like we have new people.”
I nodded, “Yeah, word's getting out. Most won’t believe the rumors, but the few that do are going to need all the help they can get. And we’ll give it to them.” I could get my hands dirty providing the money and Tifa could provide the love and support. She was better at it than I was.
Waylon let out a rumbling breath but he sounded pleased. Over the month, I steadily got to know the lizardman. As much as he claimed he wanted nothing but to be left alone, his actions told a different story. He kept swinging around and asking how things were. Because he understood that he was the stick that kept everyone in check. If Waylon really wanted to be left alone, then all he would have to do is not show up.
“How are things with Batman? Do you know if he’s still tailing you?” I asked, earning a shrug from Waylon.
“He hasn’t found me yet,” he edged. But we both knew that Batman would be undeterred by a lack of progress. “He’s not busting heads looking for me, though. I’m guessing something else caught his attention. Catwoman has been active again, so he’s probably chasing tail.” That got an amused huff from me. Waylon nodded at me, “Are you holding up? You looked like you were about to fall apart for a while there.”
When I ran myself into the ground and spent two weeks recovering.
“I’m doing better. Tifa still wipes the floor with me, but that’s not going to change any time soon. My leg and face aren’t busted, so that’s a definite improvement.” I said, gesturing to my healing face and my leg. “But, I might need some help.”
“What kind of help?” Waylon questioned, his eyes momentarily flickering to the people behind me that had just noticed his presence. I couldn’t read his face on account of it being more lizard than man, but if I had to guess he looked a bit sad. Because the people behind me weren’t exactly welcoming his presence with open arms.
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure that Tifa wouldn’t overhear to find her calming the fresh faces down. The kid looked about ready to bolt. I just looked back at Waylon, “I have to pay back a favor. A deal in Bludhaven. For guns.” I added, just to make sure that he knew he was signing up for. If he was apprehensive about that, then his expression sure didn’t show it. If it did, then I probably wouldn’t be able to tell.
“And you want me to be your back up?” He hazarded a guess, to that, I confirmed with a nod. “You do realize that I’m a twelve-foot croc-man, right? Stealth really isn’t in the cards for me.”
I nodded again, “I know, but my last deal… I can handle myself, especially with my cards, but I can’t afford to go down for another two weeks because of an injury.” Maybe Mr. Cobblepot would be fine with it, especially now that I’m going to be moving up from being a runner, but I didn’t want to risk it. Not on a deal that I was doing on my own time. “I don’t want to put you out, especially if Batman is still looking for you. If he does find you, I don’t want it to be because you helped me.”
Waylon looked at me for a moment, “Are you sure you want to do a gun deal?” He questioned, and I could feel how my answer determined his.
“No. But I owe Jeremiah. Big. And this is how he wants me to settle up with him,” I explained.
Slowly, Waylon nodded. “Alright. I’ll watch your back. Can’t make any promises that no one will see me, but so long as you keep your mouth shut about knowing me then they’re not going to think I was there to protect you.”
I practically sagged with relief. “Thanks, Waylon.”
“Ehh, one good turn deserves another,” he dismissed with a shrug of his shoulders. As he turned to walk away, he spared me one last glance over his shoulder. “Vergil,” he started, his voice low and grave, “be careful on how deep in the muck you sink. Go too deep and you’ll never manage to get out.”
With that, he walked away.
…
"Are you wearing a vest?" Jeremiah asked like that was somehow unexpected when he saw me at the agreed-upon location. I shifted a bit, wondering if it had really been that obvious that I was wearing a vest. I wore my bulletproof suit, which was baggy enough that I figured no one would notice.
I looked over at him, my face covered by a mask. One similar to the ones that I had given them but they couldn't be more different in quality. The thin filters were so powerful that I could put the mask on in a sewer and smell the fresh air. The fabric seemed to just meld to my face until it felt like I wasn't wearing anything at all and the lenses were completely clear. And it was a C-Rank.
"Yeah? I got shot," I defended my choice to keep my internal organs internal. "Twice."
"Point," Jeremiah conceded. The other three guys marched past me to get in a car. They didn't look me in the face, even though it was covered by a mask. An ingrained habit when bigger fish were in the pond. Which was really weird because I still felt like the smallest of minnows. "Are you ready for this?"
I nodded in response. I wasn't feeling as antsy as I thought I would be. But that probably had something to do with Waylon. There was just something extremely… comforting knowing that I had a twelve-foot tall, man-eating lizard person in my corner in case things went wrong.
"After, we’re even," I reminded him. I didn't know if we would have a continued relationship after this, but I was betting so. Provided that Jeremiah didn't get himself killed or…
"We will be," Jeremiah confirmed with a nod of his head. "I don't owe you and you don't owe me."
"Good," I said, glad that was clear. I was chipping away at my debts, one by one. The foundation for how I'm going to pay off Mr. Cobblepot was laid, and this debt with Jeremiah was being settled. All there was left was Dr. Thompkins, and I'd be in the black for the first time since coming here.
"Alright. Then get in," Jeremiah said as he gestured for me to get in the back seat. And apparently I was getting the middle seat. Joy. I crawled in, my gloved hands making sure that I didn't leave any fingerprints behind, and put my feet on the small hump as I squeezed in. Jeremiah slid into the driver's seat. The car itself wasn't anything special -- it stank of reefer, but it looked well cared for despite it being an older model of car.
The car was uncomfortably quiet as we drove to the deal. At least with Micky, Darren, and Joseph there had been a conversation to take me off edge. Though, maybe that was for the best. All three of them were dead -- I hadn't known them well or really felt devastated by their loss, but if the guys in the car with me now died during this deal… then I would prefer it if I didn't know them.
So, we traveled in silence. Jeremiah pulled into the bridge that led to Bludhaven. I figured Waylon was swimming through the ocean at the moment to follow. I glanced out of the window and spotted Metropolis in the distance. Bludhaven, Gotham, Metropolis, and New York were all located in oddly close proximity to each other. It was about an hour’s drive going at about eighty to reach the city, but that wasn't that long all things considered.
Bludhaven looked just as rough as Gotham. The same feel to the city of just… exhaustion and rot. The people that walked the streets moved with the desire to get off of them. The roads themselves were a patched over mess that brutalized the car's poor suspension. We drove for a bit and I recognized the signs of heading towards the docks. A place that all criminals seemed obsessed with, but I guess it was because of how isolated they are.
During the day, I saw some activity before we pulled into an empty warehouse.
"Today's the day," Jeremiah muttered to himself as the others got out of the car. And apparently I was staying in the car because they closed the doors behind them. He pulled a necklace with a cross on it from his pocket before kissing it and tucking it back into his pocket. A good luck charm, I'm guessing. "I've been waiting for this for a long, long time."
I said nothing for a moment, but I was compelled to ask, "Things are about to get messy in Crime Alley, aren't they?"
Jeremiah was silent for a moment as well. "Things are always messy in Crime Alley. But… yeah. Things are about to get real messy. We've been under the boot of the Blackgaters for way too long. We hit the LL, and they came down on us like a ton of bricks. They hit us hard." Because they had helped me.
"So, we're hitting them back. Except we're going to hit them a lot harder than they're expecting. A two-bit gang like mine is the last gang they're going to expect serious firepower from. We hit their safe houses, we torch their lieutenants, and we could take control of Crime Alley. If we don't hit them, then they'll keep hitting us until we're disbanded or dead." He explained, justifying the attack to himself. I could tell. I could recognize the ‘them or me’ mentality all too well.
Unfortunately, that clued me in that this deal was worth more than just handguns or whatever. It was for the kind of hardware that you didn't want in the hands of gangsters on the streets.
"How'd you even find out about the people selling you the guns? If they're selling heat that shouldn't be in your hands, I can't imagine it was easy to arrange this deal." I noted, making Jeremiah nod.
"Your boss. We kicked up what was left of what we had after that deal to arrange something. He put us in contact with someone that could sell us the heat. It's what he does. The Penguin is an overpriced middle man." He said with a scoff before his gaze darted to the rear-view mirror. To that, I just gave a shrug.
"I wish I was an overpriced middleman," I admitted.
To that, Jeremiah let out a small laugh. "Yeah. Most people do," he agreed before the amusement faded into nothing. Another car pulled into the warehouse -- a large one. A man in a sharp suit got out of the truck while four other men got out as well, stepping out from the U-haul.
Jeremiah got out as well, prompting me to do the same. I hung back, trying to avoid attention but the man in the suit looked directly at me.
"A mask. Have something to hide, do you?" He asked, his grin a little too sharp. He was the most thoroughly average looking guy I had ever seen. Not ugly, but not particularly good looking either with brown hair and brown eyes. He looked so thoroughly average I was convinced it was on purpose and he was probably wearing a wig or something.
I didn't respond, letting Jeremiah take the lead. "Do you have the heat?" He asked, stepping forward to make it clear he was the one the guy should be talking to. The guy's eyes drifted from me and settled on Jeremiah. In response, the guy made a grandiose gesture, prompting four beefy men to step forward with two crates, large enough that they needed to carry them two-to-one.
They set them on the ground and cracked them open. Inside were guns. Real guns. Not like the 9mm in my holster, but hardcore guns. M16s, AK-47s, I saw what looked like a box of grenades…
"And the cherry on top," The guy continued, as another guy placed what looked like a heavy machine gun on top of one of the boxes. "All untraceable, all fully loaded and they can be yours for the low, low, low price of-"
This time the gunshot didn't surprise me because deep down, I had been expecting it. The guy's head snapped back as a tunnel formed through his forehead courtesy of a bullet fired from Jeremiah's gun. The other four guys reacted instantly before the guy’s body had even hit the ground, but dodging bullets was a difficult task. Batman made it look easy but that was because he was Batman.
Bullets tore through the four guys with a series of pops that left my ears ringing. They fell to the ground, their hands on their own weapons, but they died before they could use them. Jeremiah's guys stepped forward and claimed them, tossing them in the crates while all I could do was simply watch as the pools of blood grew larger with every passing second.
"Do you have any idea what you've just done?" I asked, making Jeremiah turn around to look at me.
"I have an idea," he answered curtly. If he made this contact through Mr. Cobblepot, then he just pissed off two factions, bringing the total of those that wanted Jeremiah's gang under their thumb or dead up to three. The Penguin mob, whoever that guy worked for, and the Blackgaters "But you're just here to fulfill your favor. So, fulfill it. You let me worry about what comes next."
I looked at Jeremiah, and for a brief, careless second, I could only wonder how this could have ended any worse.
As if to answer me, Waylon came Kool-aid Manning through a wall, punching through wood and steel like it wasn't even there. Jeremiah's gang started firing at him and before I could so much as say a word, Waylon scooped one up and ripped him in half.
Blood and guts hit the ground with a horrifying plop. Waylon tossed the two halves to the side, bullets pinging off his thick hide. But my gaze was firmly on the top half of the guy screaming in pain and horror as he looked down at his missing half. Any trace of moisture vanished from my mouth, the sight burned into my brain.
"Get the guns!" Jeremiah shouted, firing at Waylon until his gun clicked empty. Waylon looked at me for a brief moment, and I could see the realization in his golden eyes. He had assumed the other side had started the fight. He had assumed that I was in danger. And, for a brief moment, I thought I was when he made a swipe at me.
I didn't feel the impact at first, but when I slammed into the gun crates some feet away, I definitely felt that. The wind was knocked from my lungs, leaving me gasping as I scrambled to my feet. Waylon was committed to the act, knowing that if he was seen helping me then the Lost Souls, Jeremiah's gang, would turn on me. The few of them left fired at Waylon, serving as a distraction.
With numb hands, I slapped my empty cards into the crates, my eyes on Jeremiah. He fell back to the car as Waylon reached out and crushed a man's skull in his palm with the same ease I would a grape. He dove into the driver's seat, starting the engine, and slammed his foot onto the gas hard enough that the tires spun out. His expression was a mask of pure terror.
I had overestimated Jeremiah, I realized as the car surged forward. I shouldn't have, given what happened at the deal at the docks a few weeks ago. I had thought Jeremiah had reacted decisively back at the drug deal when he nearly killed me to get away from the deal. But that hadn't been the case.
The car raced past me, leaving me behind as the last remaining Lost Soul was crushed underfoot by Waylon. My gaze followed the rear lights for a moment until the car nearly spun out of control as Jeremiah raced to leave the docks behind. For a few seconds, a heavy silence filled the warehouse, replacing the sea of chaotic noise so loud I couldn't even hear myself think. Then I heard Waylon's footsteps approach from behind.
"Was that your ride?" Waylon asked, making me look up at him.
I was at a loss for words. I was just left behind to die… at the hands of my backup.
"I… yeah. But I'll just call a taxi, or something," I reassured, swallowing thickly as I glanced at the carnage behind me. Then I looked down at the new cards in my hand. Cards filled with heavy weaponry. "Thanks, Waylon."
Waylon shifted next to me, "You sure I didn't screw things up for you? I just heard gunshots, and…" and he thought I was in danger.
"You're good," I reassured. I held up a card that read M60 E6 C-Rank.
"All things considered… I think I came out ahead in this deal," I told him. Because I sure as hell weren't giving the guns to a guy that left me to die. "I'll… I'll see you back at 7th Heaven."
"See you there," Waylon agreed.
What a mess.
Comments
Darkarma
Hah, great chapter. Nice to see more of the mechanics of the power. Also starting to like Waylon a bit. Completely crazy but still like him.
Shinra D Scaryweather
Welp that worked out great and screw Jerimiah he was a backstabbing coward. Now our boy Vergil has some heavy artillery and since its his he doesn't have to scrap or put it on the streets just save it for a rainy day.
IdeasGuy
It was the thought process of someone forced to do something that they didn't want to do. The plan was to turn the guns into scrap and since only two people know about his combine power, Vergil hoped that Jeremiah would blame the arms dealer. It wasn't a great plan considering that Carla is the other person other than Tifa who knows about how he can combine things, but it was Vergil's first attempt at backstabbing. Messy, sloppy, but thankfully the guy he was backstabbing tripped.
Garend
Well, at least he didn't intentionally fuck with the Cargo. What was he evne thinking there? Just combine it with scrap, drop it off and hope it would be forgiven? That entire train of thought was ridiculous.
