Ten Years Ago.


Jack Vantas was a powerful man. No body controlled as many Casinos, Speakeasies or… Well, let's call them gentleman's clubs. And what he didn't own Legitimately, Spades Slick was collecting 'protection' payments from. There was a reason Jack Vantas was the richest man in Midnight city.

Which is why Drake Megido despaired at his old friend's stubborn refusal to move out of the cheap apartment on the shadier side of town. Derse Alley wasn't the sort of place anyone would stay longer than they had to… Anyone, apparently, apart from Jack Vantas. As ever, the room was full of cheap smoke and empty bottles, with Jack asleep on the couch. Drake sighed the kind of sigh that oozes resigned pity, turning off the television that had long since dissolved into static and white noise. "Why do you do this to yourself, Jack?" Receiving no answer but Jack's drunken snores, Drake removed his Jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and began the long and arduous task of ensuring Jack's apartment was actually livable.

Present Day.


Kids. Drake Megido hated them, every last one. But then, Arabella Megido had never really been a kid, not like them. Sure she tracked mud (and Lord knows what else) into his carpet, she came home with her clothes in rags on multiple occasions and she once dug up half the goddamn garden looking for dinosaur bones. But she wasn't prone to the kind of bratty tantrums he saw in other kids, she was polite and respectful and she knew what was expected of her. He supposed that He could thank Damara for that. He'd have to remember next time he had time to visit.

But his leniency did not extend to Karl Vantas. Still, someone had to look after that snarky little shit when Jack was in one of his slumps. No child should have to grow up in Derse Alley. And no child deserved a father like Jack. Much as Drake cared for his old friend, Jack was a mess. He had been for a long time. So it was with a start that he saw Jack not only out of the apartment but actually walking the boy to school. The boys Snow white mop was now as black as tar, and he seemed happier than Drake had seen him in years. Maybe there was hope for Jack yet.


Later, when he went to visit Jack, the door was locked again. Sighing, Drake fished out the spare key he knew Jack kept under the mat and entered the room to see... "Jack?"

"Wha... Oh, hey Drake. Expecting someone else?" There was something absurd about seeing a former Mob boss wearing a Pink Frilly Apron.

"What are you doing, Jack?"

Jack grinned, "I'm tidying my apartment, ya moron, what does it look like?"

Drake raised an eyebrow. "I can see that. I mean why? You're up and dressed for the first time in months, perhaps even years."

"Maybe I realized just how much time I've lost... How's Arabella holding up? Karl said..."

"She's... Ok. She's been better, but she's got Calvin looking out for her. She'll be fine until I get back. Stop changing the subject."

Jack's grin faltered and he gave a nervous cough. "I, eh... I know I haven't been... the best father to Karl. And I can't change that, can I? But I can try to better in future. So I'm tryin' to save my relationship with my son before it's too late. He's 14 years old, Drake. It barely seems like yesterday the runt arrived on my doorstep. Ten goddamn years gone before I know what hit me. I'm not gonna let him reach 18 without me realizing. I owe it to his Ma anyway."

Drake thought about this for a second. Jack was a tough old bastard, but he had a heart of... not gold exactly, but some sort of passable gold substitute. It was a side of him few people saw these days. An idea coiled lazily through Drake's head. There's another side of Jack people haven't seen recently. It was a terrible idea, of course. Jack had sworn he was quitting the whole business when Patricia had walked out, taking the 3 month old Karl with her. Made it clear in no uncertain terms that the next person who even suggested it would be in dire need of a wooden overcoat. But... well, if Jack was truly back...

"Come with me, Jack."

"What? No Drake, I still got the Kitchen to clean... and Karl is gonna be home in a couple of hours."

Drake looked past Jack, through the open kitchen door. It was... well, It was as bad as he had expected Jack's apartment to be before getting here. "Nevermind, I'll make it quick and I'll help you when we get back."

"I dunno, Drake... I got stuff to do and..." Drake cut him off.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Jack."


"No, Drake. Ya can't be serious. I told ya to weld it shut, then forget the whole goddamn business."

Staring sadly at the familiar manhole cover that marked the Old Base. The hidden chambers of the inner circle of the infamous Midnight Crew had lain silent since Jack's departure. The Crew wasn't going to run with only three aces, so the shut up shop one by one and went to their day jobs, abandoning the base and letting their legacy fade into the smog of the restless city. The Crew had become legends of the night.

The old Jack would have found that funny.

"Listen Jack, I'm just getting one last thing out and then I'll reseal it. Then we'll head to where we were really going. I swear I wouldn't ask you to..." But it would be damn nice if you would choose to...


The Four Aces was the last Crew owned Speakeasy in Midnight City. It had been the first one, too. And there, at the Bar was a Harry Nitram.

"Boss?"

Jack sighed, "No, ya big lump, how many times? I ain't ya boss. Got it?"

"Yes Bo... I mean Jack. Yes Jack." Harry was struggling to keep a grin from rising to his face. "It's good to see you again."

"Yeah, well, ya can blame Drake for that. Asshole can't keep his nose out." Jack said with mock irritation. "So, Drake... what've ya dragged me out here for then?"

Drake said nothing, he just reached into his pocket and drew out a deck of cards.

"Little early in the day for poker, ain't it Drake." he chuckled nervously.

"Jack, this is your deck. I retrieved it from the base." He sighed pulling out a card and flipped it over. In his hand he now held a book.

"Sheet music, Drake? It's been a while. I dunno if I can still..."

"Try." Drake smiled sadly. "I'm sure it'll all come right back to you."

"Drake, c'mon. I'm a little lacking in the hands department, in case ya haven't noticed."

"Er... Boss. I figured you'd want this back at some point... so I held onto it." Jack turned to see Harry holding out something metal.


Karl Vantas came home to see two men sat drinking coffee in a living room that was far to clean to be his own. He half wondered if he had accidentally stumbled into the wrong apartment, but shook that thought out of his head.

"...Dad?"

"Oh, Hey kid. Me and ya Uncle Drake were just havin' a chat about You and Arabella." He laughed as his son's face flushed crimson. "Relax kid, I'm only messing with ya. I know ya got ya eye on that redhead dame, Whatsername."

"You mean Theresa? No. There is nothing between me and her. That is absurd and who ever came up with that is an fucking idiot."

"Oh, ok then. Guess you'll have to tell Arabella she' wrong then Drake." Jack grinned knowingly.

"I guess I will..." Drake smirked back.