Alex grumbled as he adjusted his mask. It wasn’t sitting right without the neck armor he usually wore. That piece was attached to his actual supersuit back at the lab. This “spare” costume might look cohesive despite actually being made from several left over bits of the Tech Crash outfit and the lower half of the Riftmaker one thanks to some quick paint adjustments, but he felt oddly naked in it, unable to look past the small gaps either of its two constituent parts had previously filled. Not to mention his gauntlets were completely hollow right now on account of the mad scientist using their old gravitor generators in order to compare her new designs to.
It didn’t help that he’d been forced to change into this whole get up in a public restroom, adding to his feelings of vulnerability. He couldn’t just fly across the city to his meeting with the same mask he’d worn when he’d taken on the Starlight Squad. Without any functional gear, any hero or whatever League lapdog was roaming around would make quick work out of him.
Still, he needed to show up in person and in costume for this. Which meant the indignity of getting dressed in the lobby restroom after insuring it was empty and sneaking into the elevators. Okay, that admittedly was paranoia on his part given that the entire first floor of this building seemed abandoned and there didn’t seem to be any traditional cameras set up. No doubt because the occupants on the higher floors had their own secrets which they really didn’t want any evidence of.
Despite this, an uncomfortable itch in the back of his head was screaming that the people he was coming here to meet might still have gotten a look at his face through some secret monitoring system he was unaware of.
He sighed as he tapped the twenty second floor and finally got the mask to hook onto his head the right way. The elevator took a while to lurch upwards after the doors closed. As it slothfully ascended, the villain moved to the back of the suspiciously spacious box he was trapped in to sulk.
Alex knew he was being melodramatic but figured he’d get it out of his system before the meeting. He was also well aware that his sour mood was entirely due to having to leave the Starsilk lab this morning. In particular, it was leaving a certain someone there. Being honest with himself – an awful habit, not recommended – extracting himself from the arms of his new girlfriend had been the thing that ruined his whole morning.
Neither of them had intended to drift off like that, but it had made for a fantastic way to wake up, even if his back kind of ached from the posture he’d spent the night trapped in. The makeshift couch she’d set up had clearly been intend only for her body shape, but Alex got the feeling it probably hadn’t been the best idea for her to catch Z’s there either.
Unfortunately, the need to try and establish the bedrock of a villain organization with the chops to make a run at world domination in order to not get murdered meant saying a painful farewell way too early in the morning so he could rush across town in clothes that he slept in just to hire minions.
He took a deep breath and assured himself that the paper towels and sink water totally made him feel refreshed and clean just in time for the doors to squeal open.
Beyond the worryingly noisy opening of the elevator sprawled a supiciously benign office hallway that seemed confused as to whether it wanted to be beige or warm grey and split the difference. Dusty grey carpet whose better days were only spoken of in legend barely shifted underfoot as he followed a faded sign’s instructions towards 2204. Along the way he passed two empty suites with dusty glass walls that looked like their doors had last been opened twenty years ago and one suspiciously unmarked opaque door – presumably 2202 – behind which he heard a soft humming.
The walk took a little more time than he’d expected as the empty 2203 suite stretched far longer than any of the others had, but within moments he was standing in front of the offices of Wakeland’s Warriors. Sure, the faded letters over the door said Wakeland’s Event Planners, but he was pretty sure that they hadn’t gone legit in the two days since he’d called them. Probably. Gods, what was the henchmen job market like these days?
Alex’s stray thoughts were interrupted by the mechanical sounds of a camera adjusting on the wall nearby and knew his arrival had been noticed. Some villains might simply wait in front of the doors in an odd powerplay. Others might force their way inside. For Alex’s part, he was content to simply knock and wait for the doors to open. No need to start this meeting off with rudeness.
He didn’t have to wait more than three seconds for them to open slowly as a woman with with short black hair and thick rimmed glasses dressed either in the exact monochrome stereotype of secretary or a government spook replaced the frosted glass. Over her shoulder he could make out an extremely “minimalist” lobby area with a computer at the front desk that looked ten years out of date and two of the cheapest folding chairs he’d ever seen. Behind the desk, two corridors fled in opposite directions from a cheap dark wood panel backing that abruptly cut the small room short, forming a T shape. The only decoration on that wooden wall was a set of silver letters that displayed the false name of the company once more.
“I’m Riftmaker,” he introduced himself. “I have an appointment.”
Her eyebrow arched upwards. Maybe that was too passive? No matter, he wasn’t going to start with an ego just because Wakeland hadn’t rushed out to meet him personally. Alex had rarely been present at the interviews during his minion days but had always heard stories from the front desk when someone threw their weight around. That tended to sour the relationship before it had even started, and he wanted to avoid that.
“Mr. Wakeland is this way,” she informed him, her hand waving him past the desk to the right-hand corridor beside it. Barely assisted by his mask’s visual suite – one of the few things still working in this interim suit – Alex noted the callouses and how her nails were cut short as she made the motion. Even though they were painted, the woman in front of him gave off the impression that she didn’t sit behind that desk as much as her costume might imply. His eyes quickly scanned her outfit for a concealed weapon but turned up nothing as she led him further into the office.
The first few rooms he passed looked like normal, if disused, offices where file cabinets outnumbered the empty desks. Monitors playing generic screensavers were the only sources of life. Further in, they passed a room filled with a lot of military-style storage crates stacked on top of each other. The door was left open, almost certainly on purpose, “accidentally” exposing a few open crates where some decent weapons snugly fit into transport foam. It might’ve been more subtle if they hadn’t tilted those crates on their side so passerbys could get a full view of the rayguns and telescoping charge batons, but Alex appreciated the show.
The hallway terminated with a door which the woman leading him opened without preamble, holding it open for him to pass through before quickly retreating. He found himself in a small office with two cheap plastic desks shoved against the wall while a very heavy wooden one sat near the back, framed by a large window with fraying blinds. A mixture of weaponry and cheap office fixtures piled up at the periphery of the room. The place exuded an atmosphere that was just lacking the mixed stink of cheap cigarette smoke and heated dust to fully complete the feeling that it been teleported out of the Dot Pub era.1
The room’s three inhabitants were exactly who he’d been expecting. Warren Wakeland was a fossil with a steel frame, sun-damaged skin stretched over rocky muscles that didn’t belong behind a desk. His arms, visibly stretching the short sleeves of the polo shirt he’d barely threaded them through, were coated in scars of all sorts underneath a decent layer of white fuzz that ran up to his knuckles. His head was topped with short white hair cut into a rigid shape that he’d probably first started wearing as a merc in the employ of some villain or another and never bothered changing for the last forty years or so. He didn’t bother standing, unlike the other two, preferring instead to remain reclining behind the thick desk, allowing the morning light to halo him as it slipped through the drawn blinds.
A woman with a long burn covering most of her left cheek stonily watched him, hands tucked behind her back. She sported an extremely short hairstyle that Alex would be hesitant to call a pixie cut so long as she was glaring him down. Cross-body holsters did what their name said and crossed her upper torso, holding twin pistols tucked under her arms – strategically on display since her jacket sat draped over an abandoned office chair. Dark circles around her eyes gave the disguise that she was wearing eye-shadow for a brief moment. Not that her face was completely bare of makeup, as Alex noticed a small shimmer of it under the florescent lights as her head tracked him, cheeks adorned with a bare amount of foundation. It appeared as though this was done to try and highlight the burn mark rather than tone it down. Alex hadn’t gotten her name but remembered her voice over the phone call and her rigid expression matched the exact impression her voice had left.
The only one of the trio that offered him a smile was ironically the only one of them dressed ready for combat.
Wade Wakeland had handled most of the initial phonecall but had made it clear that his father was the one in charge. There was an eagerness to please that was written across every inch of him, from his beaming smile to the way his combat outfit seemed immaculately polished and pressed to perfection. He bore a strong resemblance to his father despite lacking the stern expression, faded tan, and his auburn hair not yet having a hint of grey in it. It was the shape of his face – slightly squarish in the same way, and the slate eyes that felt too clinically observant for his simple grin.
Alex inclined his head as he entered the room, “Hello, Mr. Wakeland. My name is Riftmaker. I believe we spoke over the phone.”
He nodded to the other two, earning a flash of surprise they quickly recovered from. Yeah, his own experience in the line of minion work told him that this simple common courtesy to anyone but the big guy in the room was a rarity among his peers. It turns out that villainy bred an attitude of entitlement and ran on egos. Who knew?
The elder Wakeland sat up in his chair, forgoing the cultivated air of irate aloofness he seemed to have been trying to lead with, “Right, you’re in the business for some hired help. Mind explaining what it is you need?”
While Alex noted that he’d dropped the posturing act of a half-retired mercenary, he still caught the edge to the man’s voice and the fact that his eyes kept measuring him. This was a test more than a business negotiation and Alex needed to walk a respectful line without coming off as weak-willed. A boss that was a pushover was only good for one thing as a henchman: robbing blind when they weren’t looking. Too meek meant bad paydays and quick retreats.
Straightening his back, Alex attempted to project as much confidence in his voice as possible, “I’m looking to expand my organization after our victory over the Starlight Squad. Your agency was recommended to me by a trusted associate. I want to hire you on, exclusively, for the foreseeable future.”
His helmet’s heads up display caught the subtle shifts in expressions around the room at that statement. The younger Wakeland looked intrigued while the elder seemed wary. The glare from the woman – whose name he’d still not caught yet – intensified.
“We’re not-” she spoke up before Warren cleared his throat to silence her.
“We caught your little performance,” the older man told him. “Impressive stuff, but we’re not looking to become a part of anyone’s organization right now. We can talk about working for you though.”
His tone carried a warning note to it not to push the issue too hard. Still Alex had to make one thing clear.
“I can respect that,” he told the man. “But I’m preparing to make some very interesting noise soon and don’t want anyone from outside poking into my business. I’m going to have to insist on exclusivity at the very least.”
The three of them exchanged glances. This time the younger Wakeland spoke up.
“When we spoke over the phone, you mentioned small operations in the immediate future,” Wade said. “Our operation can’t really make a living by working exclusively with you with that kind of payout.”
“Not even at thirty percent?” Alex asked.
He wished he’d had the foresight to set his helmet to record their reactions before tossing out that number. From his experience, ten percent profit splits had been standard for most villains. Some of the more generous offers would go even to fifteen.
That might seem extremely low until one remembers just what the profits look like for any job that requires minions would usually pull in. Even split throughout the agency, the small time crooks would usually walk away with months of living expenses and a lot of leftover spending money stuffed in their pockets for a job like the warehouse heist. Supertech sold big.
Wade was the quickest to recover, clearly crunching the numbers in his head, “That’s incredibly generous but-”
Technically less than what they might make for getting hired out at full capacity, no doubt. With several squads pulling ten percent cuts from other jobs, the Warriors probably would be able to get close to doubling a single thirty percent share, even if Alex had a short list of jobs on hand. But that was best case scenario for them. Most minion organizations had a few squads that sat on their hands and drained a trickle of the company coffers to kept fed.
Knowing this, Alex seized the initiative back, “This is only our starting arrangement. My organization needs to build up some funds and then we’d be happy to transition over to a more traditional salary system rather than a payout split. This would involve my organization retaining your services for on-site security in addition to sorties, effectively hiring more of your operation full time when we transition to that stage. I have some example contracts I was hoping for you to review.”
He withdrew an envelop from an internal pocket of the coat he was forced to wear instead of his chestplate. Song had written several examples up for him, concerningly in the same legalese as infernal contracts. She’d instructed him to get Sand Devil to recreate them later.
These laid out the nitty gritty of how long the original profit split relationship would last and the expected numbers. Alex had blanched at the generosity of full time contract – even though he’d been fully onboard with a thirty percent split, remembering his own days and the numbers his bosses grumbled over – but when his landlady ran the math out for him he understood.
He offered the documents outwards to no one in particular. The younger Wakeland strode forward instantly to take them, quickly shuffling over to his father to lay them across the desk the moment they were in his hand.
Alex continued his explanation, “For the initial arrangement, I’m willing to put down the standard downpayment for the small squad I initially reached out to you about as well as a contribution to your ‘group insurance.’”
The two men instantly looked up from the papers they’d sprawled in front of them, naked surprise on their faces. Most villains didn’t know much about how henchmen organizations had to operate. That there was a pot of money set aside and contributed to in order to take care of any of their members who were injured or arrested seemed obvious to Alex. Apparently it was the kind of things capes tended to overlook, just assuming the steadfast loyalty was some ingrained quality of minions. From his own experience, a couple of them figured out that tipping their helpers earned a little more gusto, but almost no villain he’d ever henched for had ever bothered trying to directly contribute to the specific emergency funds which kept henchmen from immediately flipping on their employers after a job gone bad.
“I’m willing to increase the down payment as well if you’ll allow me to utilize a few more of your teams on a rotational basis. I’d like a chance to familiarize myself with your individual operators for future assignments and I’d rather you not have a bunch of bored men and women upset that I asked for an exclusivity clause. Obviously, I still would like you to manage the assignments, both now and in the future, but if we do pursue a longer relationship, I want to know who I’m working with.”
“I- uh… I see,” the elder Wakeland glanced up and down from the documents before eventually turning his attention from them. “Wynn, would you guide Riftmaker over to the boys and girls while we have a look at this real quick?”
The woman, apparently Wynn, locked eyes with Alex. Well, she’d been glaring most of this time, but it felt like she was now trying to make eye contact rather than just attempting to intimidate him. Without a single word she made a beeline for the door, seemingly unconcerned if she was going to walk into Alex along the way. He moved aside and with one final glance at the two Wakelands, he opted to follow her down the hallway.
---------------------------------
Wade watched the door shut and mentally counted to ten before turning to his father.
“This is an infernal contract!” he hissed, trying to keep his eyes from bulging out of his sockets.
“Yep… or at least it’s gonna be one,” his father scratched his chin, clearly just as rattled by this Riftmaker as he’d been. “I’ve never seen one of these written in normal ink before…”
Wade himself had only had the misfortune of seeing an infernal contract once before. That came from a brief stint in the corporate world before coming back to the family business. That job had somehow been more harrowing than fighting superheroes at the behest of some psychopath in a funny costume.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
His father flipped through several of the pages in front of him while he scooped up a few more. His dad let out a low hum.
“This looks too good. Especially right now. Did you ever figure out who this guy is?”
Wade laughed, “You know I paid Vandal Eyes for a background check after he called us two days ago? Heard nothing until literally ten minutes before he showed up. Just a quick text message saying we could trust him and a partial refund.”
His father’s eyes widened, “That’s- Fuck me, this guy shows up with an infernal contract and a broker like Vandal only texts right before he shows up? And she’s throwing money at us to not ask questions? Fuck… this reeks of scary shit.”
Wade nodded, having come to the same conclusion when that text had come in, “He said he’s looking to expand his organization. I kind of thought he was League given the timing. Maybe he is and this is some weird politics?”
His dad shook his head, “Nah, timeline’s off. League didn’t start popping up until after his stunt with Terror and the rest. Don’t know if that’s better or worse actually…”
Wade turned his attention back to the document and swore out loud. When his father raised an eyebrow he slid the sheet over to him.
“Fuck… that’s… One hell of an incentive package.”
Wade pointed down the page, “It’s not that far-fetched though. Look, we’d be on the hook for these costs here. That takes the numbers down from ‘frankly unbelievable’ to just ‘one of the best jobs you’ll ever have.’”
Warren’s expression hardened, “So he’s trying to trick us?”
Wade laughed, more to clear his throat than out of humor, “No, he wouldn’t have brought out an infernal contract, even a first draft of one, if he didn’t want us running over this with a fine tooth comb. Nope, this was to grab our attention, then let us see a more realistic offer. Damn… this guy’s good.”
His dad rocked back in the plush chair that was on its last legs, “I can’t tell if this is a trap or not.”
The younger Wakeland brought his thumb to his lip absentmindedly, “I think… we’re in too deep already. He was insistent on his privacy, right? I feel like if we say no, he’s going to bring up that ‘trusted associate’ he mentioned. We’re not that big of a company. Who the hell could he be talking about that knows us by reputation?”
The senior Wakeland squeezed his eyes shut in thought. Wade knew his father had made some splashes back in the day, but the Wakeland Warriors as he knew them were always barely managing to find enough work to keep their forty three employees onboard.
“No idea… but I think you’re right,” Warren muttered. “Besides, this offer looks way better than the one the Skullmasks left us.”
Wade scowled and looked back at the wastebin he’d tossed the insulting letter into. The ‘masks hadn’t even bothered to send a representative to threaten them in person. Even after tearing it in two, he still felt the urge to track down a lighter from one of the guys who smoked and properly dispose of the damn thing.
“Let’s finish up reading this,” his father advised him. “And let the boys and girls get their own opinion on him. We’ll figure out what we’ll do after that.
---------------------------------
Alex followed Wynn silently down the hallway. She didn’t break stride even as they reached the front desk and simply slipped behind the woman there as she plugged away at what looked to be an expense report.
While he wasn’t surprised that she wouldn’t be handling too many clients considering it looked like the days of seeing foot traffic in this building were long since past, the fact that she was busily helping out told him two things.
One, Wakeland’s group probably wore many hats. That wasn’t a good or bad thing even if it brought back memories of him learning spreadsheets in between base patrols, but it might be useful down the line if that really did apply to the henchmen themselves. He wasn’t about to try and make anyone Celeste’s lab assistant, but having some people able to help out with the mundane parts of world domination wouldn’t be unwelcome. He remembered a lot more busy nights once Frost Fiend had made his play for the throne.
Second, it helped to reinforce that this operation was the perfect size. Fencer had mostly filtered out groups with three digits or more members, both due to cost and security risks, but even if he hadn’t Alex would’ve done so himself. While a company being “like a family” would forever remain scarred in his memory as “painfully accurate”, Alex had always preferred working with henchmen groups where you could recognize every face you worked with, even if they were wearing reflective masks and dressed the same. Okay, his phrasing could use some work.
The woman he was following navigated the next corridor at the same brisk pace, clearly not in the mood for small talk as she led him to an unmarked door. She opened it without preamble and stepped through, the sounds of a dozen bodies all snapping to attention at once flowing past her to slap Alex in the face.
He followed Wynn inside to see two rows of men and women dressed in a very familiar set of fatigues and gas masks standing at attention with ray guns held in front of them. Despite his helmet’s filters, he swore he could recognize the smell of this room. The leather of the boots, the ray guns’ housing, and the canvas material of the bags shoved in the corner would combine in this weird way that felt… like an old home you hadn’t been to in forever.
Wynn took up the stance she’d locked herself into back in the office as she spoke up for the first time since they’d met, “This is the squad you were looking to hire.”
A quick headcount put them at about fourteen men and women, two of whom had noticeably wider frames than the others. No doubt enhanced physiques that might let them be minor capes if they were willing to put up with that kind of thing. Alex once knew a guy who could lift a forklift up who told him that strength based powers alone tended to lead to nothing but trouble if you tried to make it as an independent, especially without any modified healing factor.
He strolled in front of them, keeping himself from laughing as they maintained their perfect stillness as he did so. He knew that behind the lenses, every single one of them was staring at him, trying to figure him out. Well, almost all of them. He stopped at the third from the last henchman as he couldn’t help but let a chuckle slip out.
“You,” he singled the man out. “That mask is an RGM-VK6 isn’t it?”
The entire room stirred. Everyone had been primed for the villain in the room to select someone at random for some inane reason or another. Alex knew the drill from his own time as a faceless mook. Hell, tech villains poking at your kit wasn’t even that odd, but usually they’d pick at the gun to start with. The means of violence tended to be a villain’s focus, not picking out headgear unless it was to immediately launch into a rant about needing to change the fashion.
The man in question turned his head to look over at Wynn. The reflection in the visor showed her nodding.
“Yes, sir,” he affirmed, trying his best to speak loudly and clearly through the mask. Alex held back a laugh as he saw the effect that had.
“Mind handing it over for a second?”
Tepidly, the man complied and peeled off the mask, revealing a younger face than Alex was hoping to see. Being honest with himself, the man was probably older than he was when he started this job. Ugh… even with all the anti-aging shit in the water these days, I feel like I’m getting old.2
He focused instead on demonstrating a lesson to the man, making sure that what he was about to do was visible to most everyone in the room. This was the kind of generational knowledge he’d been thankful was passed down to him.
“I used to hate these things,” he said, flipping the mask over and pointing at the lenses. “Damn things would fog up all the time.”
The RGM-VK6 mask wasn’t like most of the Great War masks that had big filters stuck to the front of them or on the sides of the ventilators. They had a slightly pronounced area around the mouth and nose with a cage of tubes and metal in front of them that led to a series of filters all over the mask. A singular visor above that gave a wide range of vision and the mask sat close enough to face that most helmets would comfortably fit over it. They were snug as hell to seal up your face and keep just about everything bad from getting in there.
“These things are affordable and work like a charm when it comes to saving your life but damn do they suck to wear,” he commiserated to the room, noticing as a few of them twisted uncomfortably in agreement. “RGM has made a fortune off these things since the VK6 took off in popularity. And countless henchmen, lab techs, and handymen have suffered all because they messed up their manual. I bet your quartermaster has told you not to mess with anything since that’s what RGM’s awful Steppeland instructions say.”
Alex had to give the group credit: only a couple of them visibly glanced back at Wynn when he said that. The rest managed to pretend to still be statues. He smiled behind his own mask as he pointed at a knob nestled towards the back interior of the mask.
“Thing is, RGM really didn’t expect these to take off and depended on you knowing about how they laid out the VK4. That manual is more clear about ‘don’t make any adjustments while the mask is in use’ but something happened to their writer I guess. Anyways, the older one lets you know that this bit here adjusts the re-circulation in the mask.”
He gave it a twist. A little difficult with his gloves, but it still worked. Passing the mask back over to the henchman he’d gotten it from, he told him, “Try it now.”
The man hesitated for a moment before replacing it on his face and locking it into place. Alex instantly could tell the issue had been fixed.
“Better?” he asked and got a nod for his trouble.
He strode back over to Wynn who was eyeing him suspiciously.
“I noticed they’re using MAR-17’s,” he noted, looking at the ray guns. “Any particular reason why?”
Wynn studied him for a moment before speaking, “They’re reliable.”
“Stopping power could use some work,” Alex muttered. “For a similar price you could get Arm Hopper’s stuff and it would hold up just as well. I have to ask, is this because of the low lethal settings of Mechanist’s line?”
Wynn tensed and he though he heard her teeth grind, “We… Is it going to be a problem?”
Alex shook his head, “No, I’m just thinking about upgrades in the future. If your group is more comfortable with having ray guns that aren’t going to leave bodies, then we’d be looking at going with the MAR-28’s down the line once we’ve gotten some funds built up. I’d rather not have people freeze up at the thought of pulling the trigger in exchange for rattling a hero for a couple more seconds.”
Wynn’s eyes widened.
“Sorry, you’re in charge of logistics, aren’t you? Per the contract I brought, you’d be making that judgment call, I’m getting ahead of myself,” Alex admitted. He couldn’t help it. This was exciting and he’d always had a weakness for helping his old quartermasters come up with shopping lists.
Alex suddenly stood up straight, realizing he’d made another faux pas. He turned to the gathered armed warriors, “Damn, I didn’t even introduce myself. Hello, everyone, my name is Riftmaker, as I’m sure you’ve probably heard. I’m hoping to work with you all.”
The room was dead quite with the exception of a few bodies shifting under his direct gaze, so he returned his attention to Wynn, “I’m also noticing you’ve got everyone here wearing Klymbwell’s boots.”
Wynn was quick to respond, “They were highly rated.”
She sounded a little flustered and slightly defensive, but there was a note of curiosity in her voice now.
“Yep, for all terrain, but they’re a little rough on the arches in urban settings where there’s so much concrete. Easy and cheap to compensate for with common orthopedic inserts,” he remarked. “Not something we need to fix immediately but if we do end up with some patrol work in the future, we might want to think about it.”
He still struggled to read her expressions but had a feeling the one plastered on her face was at least not too negative. Hell, he’d already started out with her glaring like she wanted to rip his head off so overall it seemed like an improvement. Worried anything else might seem like him kicking tires to drive the price down, he decided to end this assessment there. Any further tweaks to their gear could be hashed out later.
“Overall, I have to say that I’m impressed by what you guys are bringing,” he told her. “This is some reliable kit and easy to add onto.”
A ghost of a smile threatened to turn the rigid edge of her lips upwards a half degree before it immediately course corrected into a slight frown, “Add onto?”
“Assuming they’re okay with being trained with a few of my gadgets?”
One of the women lined up broke her impeccably trained stoicism, “Wait, for real?!”
Wynn glared at the offending henchwoman especially as a ripple of murmurs spread throughout the room like a dam had broken.
“Yeah,” Alex turned back to them, “I’m planning some upgrades to my own stuff and there’s no point in leaving the old models lying around. I figured I’d look at training some heavies to help out.”
He’d gotten the idea when Celeste had decided to retool his gauntlets, the urge to recreate his old ones before this meeting making him realize how simple they were to make and what a force multiplier it might be to hand a few of those out. He’d wanted to bring it up with the Wakelands but hadn’t had a chance before they shuffled him out of the room.
A wave of excitement was rippling through the room and Alex grinned, remembering his own time as a minion. Playing with the boss’s toys was always a highlight. His number two regret from those days was never getting a chance to try out the Frost Claws on a job. Fucking Jimmy always kept hogging them.
Wynn’s throat clearing brought the gathered crooks back into order and Alex returned his attention to her.
“We would need to consult with you on that later,” she diplomatically told him off for getting the children excited by dangling candy in front of them. “Did you have any other questions?”
Alex shook his head, “No. Everything looks exactly like what I was expecting. Do you have any for me?”
He turned again to the double line of henchmen, all of whom were taken aback by that. No one dared to speak up however so he simply looked back over at Wynn, “Was there anything else?”
A muscle in her neck twitched but the rest of her face was a stone mask, lips drawn into a solid unbreakable line. Her hand reached to an earbud and Alex barely heard someone speaking in her ears.
She nodded, “Understood. Riftmaker, sir, if you’ll follow me out. Mr. Wakeland would like some time to review your offer. He’ll be calling you later.”
He noticed a tinge of worry in her voice and saw the hand that had reached up for her earbud linger a little too long in the air, as though she was planning on reaching for her holsters if he said no. Slightly disappointed to not get an answer right away from his first pick, Alex nevertheless opted to end this as diplomatically as possible.
“Of course, thank you all,” he addressed the room. “I hope to work with you all soon.”
The lines of men and women saluted in unison, practiced and crisp motion. Damn… that felt good to be on this side of for once.
Alex followed Wynn out in silence, pausing only to give a respectful nod to the woman at the front desk before he left.
He ducked into the bathroom on the first floor to change once more and checked the time on his phone. This whole thing had wrapped up before lunch. He was about to call Lyn to see if he could arrange something when fortuitously her name lit up his screen with an incoming call.
“Hi! I was just thinking about you!” he told her as he answered. “Just got out from the meeting with the Wakeland people.”
“Oh! Uh… right, the hired help,” Lyn’s voice was nervous for some reason. “How did that go?”
Alex sighed, “I don’t really know. I kind of thought I’d get a more definite answer. I might need to look for some help elsewhere.”
“Um… I might have a… solution.”
mirror the developments of this chapter.
1. The Dot Pub boom of the 2090’s is considered the birth of the modern intranet, the electronic information network connecting all of the solar system. This era saw the birth of the traditional website as we know it today, named after the ubiquitous domain name which most websites still use to this day. The period was marked by a brief bout of extreme economic speculation that threatened to form an economic bubble which saw widespread legal restriction on investment practices in response. While this avoided widespread economic upheavals, this still saw a significant economic shift that had long lasting effects on businesses across the system.
2. Just before the Great War, there were significant advancements in nutritional studies being made in fields that would be reclassified as “super science” in the following era. With the many advancements made by multidisciplinary geniuses such as Dr. Irridium, this has resulted in extended human lifespans and a more gradual aging process following puberty thanks to modifications to food and water supplies around the globe, although this initially was met with broad criticism, despite approval from several nature spirits and deities who were consulted.
