Snowball rolling still, snow-wheel soon
Posting early to make up for the last chapter taking longer than I wanted it to... and to speed up the arrival of the next chapter
The wind-up phase is taking a lot longer than I thought it would
—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—
Aleck finished up his meal and left the restaurant — his course had shifted after hearing the Phantom Brawler's familiar voice. Lucian himself didn't seem to recognize him, which was good. Things might go more smoothly this time. He was worried that the negotiations he wanted to have might deteriorate needlessly because the Brawler had been wronged by his men before. He hoped that the prizefighter might be pragmatic about this when they make contact and not hold a grudge.
The only reason he allowed Mr. Orwell to chase the Phantom down — take him by force — was to indulge his enforcer's desire for vengeance. While it is clear now that taking a violent approach the first time might have been an error, the blame lay squarely with Aleck himself.
He lacked foresight in that moment.
As he called his driver to pick him up, he began to consider a few things.
'The bat doesn't seem to have caught onto me yet... but I don't want to count on it. There's this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I should assume that by now, I've already been compromised,' he thought.
But as far as concerns went, that was about that. As per Black Mask's instructions, in the case that he was discovered, Aleck was to turtle up and bide his time until the coast cleared up, or he found an opportunity to counter.
He didn't much like being forced to run and hide, so he would try and go for the latter option. For that, he would need to build up his forces for the eventuality of his discovery.
He was already making good progress with that. He was steadily recruiting muscle, enhancing his higher enforcers' equipment, and his experiments were going favorably. He was to open negotiations with a major player in a few hours, and he would try to capture another asset soon.
That last one was a bit of a risk.
Aleck first assumed that Batman might have had a strong connection with the Phantom Brawler, but that felt unlikely. Black Mask told him that the bat abhorred crime to a fault, and didn't tolerate it aside from vigilantism. Even then, his tolerance wasn't very high... If the bat were to have a connection with anyone, it would be with the Manticore that has been appearing on the news lately. Real goody-two-shoes type, saving cats from trees and pulling people out of burning buildings.
Aleck hated those types.
But his mind was veering off-topic now. When it came to the Phantom Brawler, Aleck had a good chance of swaying him to his corner — he was confident now that the bat wouldn't be meddling in the prizefighter's affairs. His options to pull the Brawler in were diverse: promises of wealth, infamy, both, or more. Maybe power if the Brawler was anything like Aleck's Venom Soldiers... or women, if he was a man after Aleck's own heart. He salivated at the possibilities.
So that was to be the plan: confirm that Lucian was the Phantom Brawler. If evidence pointed toward them being the same person, approach him with offerings first, out in the open. Failing that, corner and threaten him into cooperation. As a last resort, attempt to capture him with Drury Walker combined with a couple of Venom Soldiers.
Aleck couldn't involve Mr. Orwell in this again — his defeat was still fresh, and negotiations might deteriorate out of turn.
As the silver luxury car pulled up where Aleck stood, he let his driver open the door for him and stepped in. Once they were on the road, he used his business phone to send a message to his intelligence team: find information on Lucian, the server at Inigo's main branch. The candid photo that he had taken earlier was also attached to it.
While he was on his way back to his penthouse, he also decided to check on any developments. What he found was... displeasing.
Three major production sites of his had been struck down just the previous night, leaving no personnel uncaptured, and everything they had was confiscated. His face flushed up, but he quickly reined himself in. His hunch had been right.
"Remember, son," his father would always say, "never let your emotions control you. Feel them, and instead of suppressing them, use them as fuel to help you achieve your ultimate goals."
The old man was truly wise when he still had his mind. He would have been extremely useful if only he weren't such a Wayne-worshipper, that blind old dog.
Aleck began sending out orders. He would recoup from the damage, hold off Black Mask's ire, then start making his own moves. It was time to accelerate the project he had in mind for Ricardo Orwell. He would meet up with Drury Walker that same afternoon and bring him in by any means available, and then attempt to take in the Phantom Brawler as well. If bribes and threats didn't work, then he would have to use force... and his gift.
Nobody would hold him down. Not his family's outdated morals, not Black Mask whom he currently served, and not even this blasted city's self-important guardians.
'I'll claw my way to the top, and have the whole world bow down to me.'
◎ ◉ ◎
The hours quickly passed, and the afternoon rush had come before anybody in the restaurant could realize. It was the usual, of course. People swarmed in waves for cheap but delicious takeout, unable to dine in because every single seat had been occupied. Only once a table vacated could people scramble for seats — not desperately, but with definite hurry — only to be dejected and return to waiting in line once they'd been beat. Deliveries were also being made at a frantic pace, calls coming so fast that they were almost impossible to keep up with. The crew talked among themselves, bouncing rumors that their boss would soon invest in another mass-upgrade for the business.
Among the rush, Lucian quickly and efficiently handed out takeout orders and carried meals to tables. As good as he was with delivering meals outside, his capabilities on-site were even greater. He was infinitely grateful to have boosted memory and a holographic checklist hovering around in his vision. Hell, he was even the one writing down orders for his crew and directing the other servers where they should go. It was fulfilling in its own way, mending a different hole in his heart that fighting crime didn't.
Finally, the afternoon rush ended. The stuffiness from the crowd and their rapid-fire orders still lingered, but all that was quickly fading. Currently, it was time for Lucian and Maxie's lunch break — he had a suspicion that Inigo had manipulated things so it would end up that way. He wasn't complaining, though. He liked being around her.
The others were on break too, but seemed to unanimously agree to all eat within the kitchen...
Luce and Max were alone behind the restaurant again, sitting on the plastic chairs, one of them dead tired. Maxie was slumped, looking half-melted from both the effort and 'field damage.' Having just finished eating, they could finally recoup their physical energy and mental strength.
"Still not used to the stuffy workplace, huh?"
Maxie groaned as if her spirit was slowly evaporating from the mortal coil. "I never thought customer service would be such a pain," she whined.
"Oh, it's hell," Lucian chuckled. "But at least it ain't so bad here. And we got an entire loyal crew backing us up."
Maxie's expression turned solemn for a second. "Yeah... I'm lucky to be here, huh?"
Silence. Slow, comfortable silence.
"I'm getting something from the freezer," said Lucian, rising from his seat. "You want anything?"
"Get me an iced tea," Maxie replied with her eyes closed.
Luce moved behind her seat to pet her head a little. She recoiled the first time he tried it, but after that, she's been getting more comfortable. After rummaging around in the restaurant's backroom for a solid minute, he reemerged with a can of iced tea in one hand, and a small carton of choccy milk in the other.
The can made a crinkling noise as Maxie pulled the tab, while Lucian pierced his carton's tiny foil sheet on his first try.
"Damn," Max remarked. "How do you always manage that?"
"Manage what?" Lucian immediately got to sucking the life out of his drink.
"You know how bendy those straws are!" Maxie mimed stabbing her can's hole with a straw. "Everyone has to get violent with those."
Lucian snorted, speaking after he'd half-finished his choccy milk. "Skill issue, I say."
Max rolled her eyes, unable to hide the amused smirk on her lips even as she gulped down the rest of her iced tea. She was about to say something, but the back door swung open.
"Kiddos!" Inigo's raspy voice bellowed happily. "How're my golden eggs doing?!
"Overtime's how we're doing," Lucian joked, and Maxie followed by nodding along.
"'Fraid I can't let that happen," said Inigo. "With the incident today, I figured it'd be best if you two got off work early. And don't worry, I'm not docking anything off of either of you. Luce has already made up for that dozens of times over by now."
Lucian thought about arguing, but decided against it. Instead he looked to Maxie.
"I could use a change of pace," she said.
"Then that's that!" Inigo said happily. "And there's also this. Follow me." He turned around and reentered the restaurant. Luce and Max followed behind him. Lucian downed the rest of his drink first, tossing it into an open dumpster as he went through the door.
Inside, Inigo effortlessly hefted a sizeable cloth bag of... a lot of things. When it was handed off to Lucian, it did have a considerable amount of weight to it. The bottom layer felt like clothes, and there were several takeout boxes on top of them. A smaller separate bag was handed over to Maxie — toiletries and other supplies that couldn't be haphazardly mixed in with perishables.
"I-is this...?" Her voice wavered.
"I know about the fire, niña," said Inigo, his voice lowering. "It took a while to get everything, but it's the least I can do for any of you here."
Maxie clenched her jaw. A familiar sour sting made itself known behind her nose, extending all the way to her eyes.
Inigo patted her shoulder, and discreetly handed Lucian a wad of cash. He pulled him down and away from Maxie and whispered, "Take her somewhere nice. She could really use the distraction, especially after today." Having said his piece, he patted Lucian's shoulder as well and went into the kitchen.
Tears were now falling from Maxie's face. She used the small cloth bag in her hands to wipe them away and hide her face at the same time, desperately holding back the sobs.
Meanwhile, Lucian set the huge bag down onto a nearby crate. He then moved to Maxie and reached up to her elbow. She looked up at him when his fingers made contact, locked eyes, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Keeping her voice down, she just tightened her grip around his body while pressing her face into his chest. Lucian, letting instincts take over, wrapped one arm around her shoulders and put one hand on her head. He softly rubbed her scalp with his fingertips, the exact same way he used to whenever his sisters came to him, crying.
◎ ◉ ◎
Aleck stepped into his building with a huff. His driver had taken his vehicle to the underground parking space, and his bodyguard accompanied him to the private elevator that could rise directly to his penthouse. He flashed his wristwatch over the scanner, and the doors opened with a ding.
The elevator took a little under a minute to reach the floor just beneath his penthouse. When the doors opened, he immediately beelined for his study, bodyguard trailing behind him like a shadow. The door opened for him, courtesy of a pretty, young woman in a modest French maid outfit. Her wrist had a tattoo of thorny vines looping around it, barely visible from underneath the long sleeve. It was a sign that she was owned by Aleck's sister, Sandra.
He didn't go through his usual polite greetings as he entered, as he was in a bit of a hurry. His bodyguard stopped at the door, and the maid followed him in silently and shut it. Aleck was grateful that she hasn't said a single word to him; doing so might have made him snap. Now that he was a little calmer in this familiar environment, he decided to do a small favor for her later.
He slowly walked through the study, centering himself. His body temperature dropped to normal as he sat in his mahogany chair, the seat of it plush with red silk. The entire room was covered in similar draperies, all embroidered with elegant patterns in darker red threads. Tying the ensembles together were golden threads, tastefully sewn into every seam.
Aleck placed his arms on the sheet of glass adorning his vintage wooden table, unfolding and booting up the laptop laying on it. He started sending out orders to other standing facilities to dismantle, scatter, and lay low, both high-end and low-end. He had enough excess funds to trickle and sustain the people working under him for a month or two — at least, those who could still be of service. Combined with smaller, less suspicious business fronts, he could maybe last four. If he needed to hold out for longer, he would have to start cutting into his reserves, which would really start to hurt.
After ordering his arms and legs across the city to retreat, he checked in on Mr. Orwell's progress in his recovery. It had only been one day since he used the old Venom formula to chase after the Phantom Brawler. His recovery was going surprisingly fast.
'It seems his vitality is almost superhuman... had we not spotted the Brawler in that fighting pit, he would have been my first pick to gift the new Venom blend...'
Aleck decided that even if he did succeed in bringing in the Brawler, he would award it to Mr. Orwell first, even if the formula still hasn't finished going through the final testing phase. It was about time for that, after all. If the Brawler was interested, he would dangle Venom in front of his face as a reward for loyalty.
"Marian," he said to the maid. She bowed in response, and when she raised her head, he gave his orders. "Go brew some coffee. The last batch that I had marked as favorable. I'm calling in R&D for a lengthy discussion..."
"Should I make some snack as well, sir?" she asked politely. Her soft and airy voice rang soothing and pleasant in his ears.
Aleck thought for a moment. "Alright. Make something with dark chocolate — I could use the mental stimulation."
With that, he sank further and further into discussions and plots with the people under him...
...
After several long hours of discussion, everything was finally set up. Retreats were underway, coverups were being made, and loose ends were being tied up.
Project Demolisher was making good progress as well. It was a child's fancy that Aleck had dreamt up when he was still a freshman in high school. The project entailed highly-technological augments to a person's body, turning them into a cyborg with unparalleled brute strength.
The 'Demolisher idea' ended there in his teens — just the thought of becoming a cyborg. Now, with his knowledge, resources, and power, it had evolved. Not only would it give a person cybernetic augmentations, it would also include his own formula of Venom — one much more stable, less taxing on the mind. The idea's overall potential had skyrocketed.
One of the biggest flaws in the most widely-available formula of Venom was that it induced rage and confusion when taken in large doses. One of Aleck's projects aimed to reduce that side effect, if not outright remove it. The process of doing so had turned the substance into a hue closer to blue, rather than green.
Once perfected, he would combine the cybernetic augments — already complete by this point — with the eventual perfected form of his own brand of Venom. First, however, he needed to test it on someone else.
Who better than Ricardo Orwell, his strongest and most loyal enforcer to date? He could handle a full dose of green Venom without going completely off the rails, after all.
And then, once he acquired the Phantom Brawler, he would have him to test his current works in progress without losing any new subjects. He was sure that the prizefighter's superhuman constitution could handle multiple rounds of high-dose testing given time to rest.
Aleck leaned back in his chair, dead to the bone. He could use another micro-dose of his current Venom formula to push himself for longer, but didn't. Relying on it too much could damage him in ways that he couldn't predict. Instead, after this final meeting of the day, he would finally let himself rest.
"Marian," he called out sweetly.
"Yes, sir?"
"Make ready for tea, or more coffee. We have one more guest arriving soon."
Marian bowed deeply. "I'm afraid I must advise against that, sir."
"Don't worry about me," said Aleck. "I won't be drinking any more. They're only for our guest."
"Of course, sir." She lifted her head and stood near the door, ready to leave as soon as the final guest of the day had made a decision.
Minutes later, there was a knock at the study's door. "Sir Donovan," said his gruff bodyguard. "Drury Walker is here."
"Let him in," Aleck replied.
The maid opened the door, and a homely-looking man stepped through. He was still wearing an inmate's clothing, and his hands were still bound by reinforced manacles. Despite that, his strides were confident. Dignified. He strutted through the study like he belonged, head held high.
"So you must be Aleck Donovan," Walker said in a condescending drawl. The smile on his face was a challenging one, thin brows half-furrowed together. This made his forehead look even broader, on account of his receding hairline and prominent widow's peak.
"Yes, Mr. Walker, that is I," Aleck answered, exasperated. "Now... shall we deal?"
"That we will..." Drury Walker sat on the chair before Aleck's desk, as if he weren't dressed in a prison jumper with his hands bound together.