Post by Victor Fries on Aug 12, 2015 23:59:10 GMT
To Kill a Man (or “The Power of Love Part II”)
Otto was breathing fire, but summoning globes of ice capable of rendering an entire landscape into a frozen state of emergency via the Freeze charges supplied to him by his employer Dr. Victor Fries, the former Chief of Research at the now defunct GothCorp. He was using everything he could to thwart the progress of the Gotham City Police and Gotham State Police chasing him and the convoy of stolen chemicals necessary for cryogenic purposes. Otto was in a class of his own, an elite professional worth every dime, he would die before this mission went off the cliff—those chemicals would make it to the destination, and there was nothing the police could do if Otto had anything to do about it.
It took him an hour to lose them completely, but every bit of that hour bought the convoy time to escape down country back roads to cloak into the night. This was a good thing, Otto thought, because even if they caught him they would never find the chemicals in time. But it was unnecessary, as he was able to avert the law.
The news broke over the bunker's public address system, it had interrupted Fries' calming classical playlist for an emergency bulletin which he had wired to all major news outlets of Gotham, national, and world alike. It was almost a punch in Victor's stomach, something he had never felt before, and as the anchor's voice reported the bit, it felt as if the news was twisting a hole in his gut in which the air escaped from his lungs.
“One reported dead as Freeze bandits robs LexChem in Gotham Township on the outskirts of the City” the anchor said, as Fries stood from his seat, but almost collapsed immediately, needing the support of his counter to regain his composure.
“No, no... no no no” Fries stumbled backward, and then scrambled for the hangar as the news continued to develop.
“Several injured, including police, during the ongoing pursuit of the thieves. Special Agent Benjamin Garnet of the FBI and Gotham City Police Commissioner James Gordon have arrived at the scene to investigate the crime committed at LexChem in Gotham Township” the anchor said, to Fries it almost sounded like he was being taunted by the voice.
“OTTO! NO!” Fries could not afford this, whatsoever. “Stop! Please stop!”
The vault door opened to the hangar, and the four trucks rolled in behind it. The man responsible for the death of Chris Clendening, the LexChem guardsman, jumped off the first truck in, and approached a very distraught Victor Fries.
“Where is Otto?” said Fries, “Tell me now!”
“I don't know, he's back there throwing the cops off our tail!” said the man.
“Who are you?” said Fries, in between sporadic breaths, “What's your name?”
“My name is Birch.” said the man, “The mission went south, but we got the chemicals here. Your charges nabbed a guard.”
“Birch, if you don't mind, shutting your mouth for a moment, I'll fill you in on something: I am well aware that the fucking mission went south!” yelled an irate Fries. “What you need to explain is just how my charges killed the guard? And, more importantly, who was the trigger responsible for it?”
“Well, if you want to know, it was me. But hey, I did what I was told. I fired away from the guy.” said Birch.
“That's a load of bullshit!” said Fries, “You had to have hit him. Why did you blatantly disobey implicit instructions? Are you not a professional?”
The professional dig was meant as an insult, and it worked. Birch was one of the best Otto knew, and was a veteran. Perhaps, it made him a bit too arrogant at times. “Listen, maybe a shot grazed his shoulder. But the guy looked like he had goddamn rabies and was waving a gun at your chemicals like a wild man! What else would a professional do? Risk the goddamn mission for the sake of a glorified rent-a-cop? Risk millions of dollars for a guy who barely makes above minimum wage? Give me a break!”
“What do you mean he looked like he had rabies? Explain yourself!” said Fries.
“I've seen feral mutts in the ghettos of Bogota with less problems than this guy had, and were far more prone to cuddling than this maniac was” Birch said, “I don't know what it was that those tranqs did to him, but it caused him to go into super-cop mode, and well... he bit the freakin' dust, man. I don't know what else to tell you.”
Fries stood there, silent, he knew his calculations of worst case scenario were all wrong. He figured the weaponry he developed was foolproof, and there was very little chance of it ever backfiring. But Fries was a fool, and he knew it now. How could some upstart expect complete perfection in execution when the brains of the operation was still too immature at this stage. After all, Otto's sentiment of robbing a sub-entity of LexCorp would be no easy task no matter how the events would transpire. A fear began to grow in Fries, an anxiety that Otto was still out there, possibly dead, or worse—captured by the authorities. He slowly turned from the trucks, walking towards a storage crate which stood no taller than an average kitchen counter top from the floor, and hoisted himself up onto it to sit down.
“What do you want us to do?” said Birch, he was getting impatient with Fries. He wasn't a rookie, and he was beginning to have an ever-growing suspicion that the man who was paying him for the job was. He narrowed his eyes as he saw this Mister Zero plop down on a crate, and slouch like a loser.
“I want you to wait.” said Fries.
“Wait for what?” said Birch. “I want to be paid for the mission now, and released from this little shabby shithole in the middle mountain yokel territory. I risked enough today. We delivered you the freakin' chemicals you wanted, didn't we?”
“You will wait for Otto” said Fries, his cool returning until it chilled him to the bone, “and Otto will debrief you. We will do this properly, Mr. Birch.”
Regardless of how he felt about waiting, Birch knew it was pointless to argue with the fool about it, because he would risk Fries withholding his pay. He simply bit his tongue, and walked the other way, like a true professional would do, he thought.
“Wait, it just occurred to me.” Birch said before taking more than five steps, and geared his head back towards Fries, “What if Otto is, let's say, rendered immobilized out there, and maybe doesn't make it back to us tonight, or maybe at all? What happens then? How long do we wait, Mr. Zero?”
“Be patient.” said Fries, his German ancestry echoing slightly through his words.
“I'm going to kill you at some point, you bastard” thought Birch, before turning his head, and continuing back towards the truck.
It would only be an hour, fortunately enough for Birch's sake, as Otto arrived albeit exhausted. The vault door opened, and Otto's truck pulled in. As soon as Birch heard the door, his gaze shot towards it, and he grinned. Payday, he thought.
Fries hopped off of the crate, and strode towards the truck. The engine ceased, and not long after the driver's side door opened—revealing Otto in no visible worse for wear. He was fouled on the mission going so poorly, and his exhaustion from evading the police.
“Otto, if you would, please join me in the command room” said Fries, “We must discuss the mission.”
“At once, Mr. Zero.” said Otto, and he followed behind him. As they passed by Birch, he shot him a ferocious glare which said all that needed to be said between the two at that moment. There would be a time for words later.
The two entered the command room which now contained a glass projector screen extending along the length of the far wall from the entrance, replacing the old military installations. In the center of the room contained an island table unit made out of glass with a projection from the ceiling that cast a three-dimensional model of Gotham City. Fries could manipulate the projection cast on the table by the command center computer, which he could remotely access from his wrist-tablet. Fries rounded the table, and turned to Otto.
“Are you alright, Otto?” said Fries.
“No wounds or injuries to report, Mr. Zero.” said Otto.
“What happened out there, Otto?” said Fries, “Give me your full report.”
“Everything was going according to the plan until we were exiting the compound.” said Otto, continuing, “I was turning the corner when one of the guards I had tranquilized before made a mad dash towards the lead truck. He had his gun drawn, but his finger was not on the trigger from what I saw. I don't believe he had all his faculties. He was running on pure adrenaline.”
“So tell me why, Otto, why is this man dead then?” said Fries.
“Birch fired the charges at him: the first one blew his shoulder out, and the second and third did what they were intended to do—landing near his feet.” said Otto, “Inertia coupled with the impact of that first charge caused him to shattered into bits. I have not seen anything like it in my life.”
“That is a serious problem, Otto! Your man, Birch, is a trigger happy barbarian with a seemingly nice penchant for dissidence!” said Fries. “How come he needed three shots for one guard?”
“I don't know why he felt he needed that many shots, I could not speculate on the man's thoughts. From my past dealings with him, he was nothing but professional.” said Otto.
“Well, it matters little now. What has been done, has been done, and we must live with the consequences.” said Fries, “But Birch needs to be dealt with for this.”
“And how would you like to deal with him, Mister Zero?” said Otto.
“Take him to John F. Kennedy, instruct him to take the international flight which we will have arranged for him.” said Fries, and before Otto could speak, “If he refuses, he will not receive payment. This mission had strict parameters to follow, and a true professional follows them. He owes us whatever modicum of professionalism he has left in his feeble-minded body.”
“And the others?” said Otto.
“Give them a proper debriefing, and inform them of their respective payment arrangements. They will receive it in two business days.” said Fries.
“Affirmative, Mister Zero.”
“One more thing, Otto. When you're handling Birch,” said Fries, “Don't kill him.”
Special Agent Benjamin Garnet of the Federal Bureau of Investigation stood two feet behind the barrier created so that the melting remnants of Chris Clendening could be investigated and then collected. The charges effects wearing off in the summer heat slowly, and the guard's remains were not resembling ground beef strewn across the pavement. The investigation behind the Freeze bandit was no longer cold, as Garnet had in front of him the first casualty in the case, let alone the winter wasteland left in the wake of the pursuit of the bandits.
He turned from the body, and reached for his phone to call Jim Gordon, a man he knew that he would become close friends with in the struggle to come in the future. It was late, but Benjamin Garnet's day was just beginning despite the time reading just before midnight on his watch. He knew one fact, and he used it as a starting point for the investigation: if he were to make it through the night, he would need a cup of coffee.