Even with further strategic meandering it doesn't take long for the unlikely pair to vacate the dining sector. However, the dead weight between them is taking its toll on Will, who's fighting against the fatigue growing in his right arm and leg. Chris steers them down a maintenance corridor, and in a few yards the noise of the casino is practically nonexistent.
"Where are we taking him, exactly?" Will huffs, putting in more effort holding his half of the burden.
"I got us a safe room. Through here."
Chris kicks open a nearby door, allowing the three to squeeze into a large supply closet filled with shelves and stacks of cleaning materials and assorted furniture.
"Put him down over there." The two shamble over to a blackjack table and dump the anesthetized Jo into the dealer's chair. As Will catches his breath, Chris turns on the lights, closes the door and plops down on a stool, kicking off his stilettos. "Rest while you can. Once Jo wakes up it's onto the next phase of rescue."
"How long is he supposed to be out, again?"
"Just a few minutes," Chris answers as he undoes his corset. "Then it's some 'ughh's and he'll be himself."
"But it's been ten minutes already." Will ponders something before asking, "What does that injector say about drinking alcohol?"
"Couldn't find anything, so it's probably nothing to worry about." The general casually casts aside a bra.
"I'd say the possibility of overdose or death is plenty to be worried about!"
"Relax, man. The symptoms must hit harder on some than others." Having unrolled one stocking, Chris works on the second before saying, "We just need to nudge him awake, is all. And for that, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Serj Tankian of System of a Down!"
Round of applause as the hairy frontman strolls over to the dealer's table, waving to the invisible audience. Standing before the dozing Jo, he slams the table hard.
"WAKE UP!"
Jo's eyes fly open as he sputters back into consciousness, which is Terj's cue to depart. That was really it, people.
"See? He's perfectly fine," Chris says as he plucks out his eyelashes.
"What, who, where am I? Why's my head feel so thick?" Jo looks at the two other men. "Will, Chris? What is…?" He looks down at his fresh threads. "Daaaang, I look smooth! But seriously, what's going on here?"
"The long and short of it is that the station owner has everyone brainwashed, and it's up to us to save them," Will puts it directly.
"Seriously?"
Chris is back in his casual Hawaiian wear, but takes a moment to wipe off his lipstick. "It's true, Joey. You had been another puppet dangling on a string just some minutes ago, but we pumped you with an anti-hypnotic, which is why you're probably feeling less than ideal now."
"That's putting it lightly."
"Luckily, I have a ready cure for that." The wily ginger wheels over a drinks tray bearing a burbling coffee maker and hands out piping mugs to both Jedi. "It's only instant, but it'll wake you in a pinch. And you might as well have some yourself, Will: there's still a lot of work ahead of us."
"Terrific," Will grumbles as he pulls up a chair and begins sipping with Jo. Chris also drags his stool over, settling down and adopting a grave look.
"While you're having your beans, I want to be upfront and level with you both about something. And not just you two; I'll tell the others the moment we get them back. See, I'm not doing this solely for the sake of rescuing everyone on this station. While that's priority numero uno for sure, there's this one other thing I want to do. Gentlemen… I wish to pull off a casino heist. And I need your guys' help."
The two Jedi freeze as they stare silently at Chris for several terse, awkward seconds, until Will succinctly expresses their shared opinion with, "Are you for real?"
"Yes I am, William. You probably never would have imagined this, but for many years I have wanted to pull off a big score like the one in Ocean's Eleven… the remake, not the original; that one had way too depressing an ending."
"I didn't know there was an original. Huh…" Jo mumbles while taking a contemplative sip of his brew.
"I came to this station wanting to relax like everyone else, but opportunity has presented itself and I cannot resist. And before you rightly call me out for moral duplicity, I'm not just doing this to put a checkmark on my bucket list. It just so happens that the sole means of entering the casino vault is also the same one that will get you to the guy that's holding everyone hostage. And to get to either of them, I need people I can trust and with specific skills to bypass the security measures that's keeping us out. Once we've assembled the full crew, I'll go into further detail as to what that pertains. Now feel free to speak your grievances or forever hold your peace."
"I don't know about holding my peace, but if doing a casino heist is the only way to save the station, then I'll just have to go with it," Will accepts.
"It is, and I thank you again for your cooperation and assistance. It really fondles this weathered soldier's heart hearing that."
"Ew."
"That's swell and all. One question: why the h*** am I dressed like this, exactly?" Jo asks, indicating his leisure suit.
"Right, should probably get you fully up-to-date. And also get you changed into something less conspicuous before going for the next Jedi."
Chris gives the quick rundown of the situation to Jo, allowing some additional minutes of rest before they tackle the next "mark".
Apart from the usual gambling fare, there's a zone of Dionysus that caters exclusively to games of leisure and skill rather than chance. Lengths of arcades, bowling lanes, tennis courts, batting cages, driving and archery ranges, and so forth take up several acres of space, and all of it is packed with patrons. Among them are Chris, Will and Jo, making their way out from the outdoor-style recreations and into one of the pool halls.
Jo is back wearing the vacationer garb he had upon arrival, courtesy of a remarkably fastidious and foresighted Chris. Still, he feels himself uncomfortable seeing members of the Mega Man Boss Corps serving as mindless staffers, such as Wheel Gator gobbling up golf balls or Knight Man being used as a tetherball pole.
"They really are under mind control, or reprogrammed or whatever," he mutters in passing. "And you said that I had my own harem of ladies?"
"Nearly a dozen of them," Will affirms.
"Real shame I can't remember any of that. Or even what words or moves I used to get so many."
"They were acting like bubbly airheads, so it likely didn't take much."
"Still would be nice to know. I might have some killer pick-up lines in my head and not even know it."
"This isn't the place for pick-ups, Jo," Chris reminds as they enter the realm of green felt and spherical ivory. "It's only sport, not booty calls here. And we're going after one of the kings of this domain."
"This I definitely got to see."
Amid clacks and clunks and murmurings and shufflings the three go deeper into the smoky den, until Chris halts them within a small, hushed gathering and points yonder. "Lo and behold, gentlemen."
Before them is a pool table, and striding around the polished angles is the tallest member of the Jedi ensemble himself, Alexander Copeland: wearing a crisp, smart burgundy vest, black slacks and a tie to match. With cue stick in hand and a smoldering cigarette between his lips, he eyes the layout of the felt like a master jeweller, his face betraying no emotions other than aloof concentration. There's a number of stripe balls and one solid on the table: the pitch-black number eight, placed close to the center. The cue ball is near one end of the table, with the eleven ball standing between it and the game-winning eight.
Standing near the other end of the table is an aging, vaguely-familiar dude-bro leaning on a cue stick. Unquestionably the opponent, looking as though he's caught himself a break.
"Doesn't look too great, bro," Austin says in smug, jovial fashion. "Seems I'll have a chance to catch up."
Those words nor the inconvenient arrangement doesn't faze the stoic player, who takes position behind the cue while chalking up the tip of his stick.
"Back left corner pocket," he announces, before putting down the chalk and bending forward in one fluid motion, cocking his arms as he lines up his shot, one eye closed for better focus. The tension is palpable among the observers, but the wait isn't long as the maestro does a few test pulls before letting the cue stick fly. The cue ball hops over the stripe easily, and against all amateurish understanding of Newtonian dynamics, the eight ball is hit with the right force and angle to send it on a beeline for the designated pocket, which it falls into almost soundlessly.
The crowd immediately lets out a collective breath as they clap their hands and cheer quietly as Copeland takes his cigarette and snuffs it in an ashtray provided by Ted, leader of Geek Squadron, who appears to be serving as valet/man-servant to the Jedi.
"I never took him for a pool player," Jo says. "All part of the mind control as well, huh?"
"Certainly hasn't changed his personality by the look of it," Will notes.
Austin approaches the stoic victor in the meantime, looking in fine spirits despite his defeat. "Whoa, talk about stompage on my part. I'm totally cleaned out; really shows why I shouldn't bite off more than I can chew," he says while holding out a bill fold of credits. "Still a good game, and I'd totally be up for another."
"Provided you have the credits, I will be glad to conduct further business," Copeland says curtly as he snatches the money, and after pocketing it he begins disassembling his cue stick.
"I can't remember: did Austin ever sound like Theodore Logan?" Will only gets a "h***-if-I-know" shrug from Jo.
"The tried-and-true hustler archetype: a vicious prodigy of whatever game or sport they partake in," Chris narrates. "They use their mastery to con suckers out of coin, valuables or favors. Just the sort of scumbug any self-respecting casino or resort would have lurking their game halls. And they have a quick eye for faults or irregularities, so getting the ol' sneak on him won't work."
"Of course not: that would be too easy," Jo says sarcastically.
"What you have to do is go up to him and challenge him to a game. But not one for creds. No, it will be one of skill; a battle to decide who rules the block around here. Or rather, a means for him to prove that he's truly legit. With his pride on the line, he'll be so focused on the game that I'll be able to slip in with the injector."
"Alright. So just go over and goad him into a game, right?"
"Right, except it'll be Jo doing the goading. You will serve as his caddie." Chris holds up and drops a pool stick and several cubes of chalk into Will's arms. "He looks more the part of a pool player, plus having you following him will lend a level of credibility that even Alex will have to acknowledge. That said, it's vital that you stay hushed to sell the image."
Will grumbles as Chris takes a step toward Jo. "As for you, it's important that you get him riled up. Agitate him, question his ability, call him noodle arms if you have to. I want him frothing at the mouth, dead set on burying you... metaphorically. That's how dedicated I need him in your match."
"Okay. Now what about my being able to keep up with him during the game? I haven't touched pool in years."
"You have the Force, don't ya?"
"Yeah, but he's gonna notice right away."
"Not necessarily. If he's rustled enough, he'll be too focused on his own play to bother noticing yours, as long as you're subtle about it."
Jo huffs. "Alright. The first part will be easy. But you're gonna have to pray for the second."
"I'll pray super hard to whatever god or hellspawn will listen, though really you're better putting your faith in me, as I'm actually around to do s***. Now, I'm gonna slink over and wait for you to set things up, so get to it, slick."
Chris slinks on away, and Will asks, "You sure you can work Alex up?"
"Easily. Something you pick up from years of moonlighting as a bounty hunteris how to rub people the wrong way. You just watch, ye caddie of little faith."
"Just an FYI, Jo: I will break character and smack you if you're gonna keep calling that or anything similar."
"Fine; I'll keep it to a minimum."
The two go after Alex, who has retired to a chair by a lone table. He's pulling out a fresh cig as the two approach.
"What is it?" he grunts dismissively as Ted leans over with a lighter.
"As you're clearly a very busy man I'll cut to the chase: I've been feeling mighty restless around so many amateurs and was hoping for a game of pool worth my time. I figured you would fit the bill."
"I'm presently on break. Check with me in ten and I'll see about lightening that wallet of yours," Alex says after taking a puff of his lit cancer stick.
"Oh, I'm afraid you're mistaken. I'm not here to wager money. I'm looking for a challenge. For someone who can match me, get the blood pumping, and only another master of billiards can do that. Whaddya say?"
Alex takes a long draw of his smoke, then pulling it away he answers, "I am going to have to decline."
"Oh, what? Too tired from standing around? Or are you plain… chicken?"
"The fact you're trying to provoke me is proof you don't take this game seriously. You might be good with the drunks at your local bar, but trust me: if you played me for real, you won't ever want to pick up a cue stick ever again. If you wish to continue finding enjoyment with this game, you're better off finding someone else."
"Oh, really? Well first off, I have my own assistant here to handle my sticks, so I am certainly one who takes this game seriously."
"You have money to spend; doesn't mean jack in terms of skill or dedication," Alex says as he's handed a ruby beverage by his own assistant.
"I'll give ya that. But I think you're selling yourself way too high. One can't call themselves a master if they're running mostly on luck."
The hustler halts his sipping, lowering his drink to level a cold glare at Jo. "Excuse me?"
"Oh yeah, I saw your little show earlier. Real impressive how you got that eight ball in juuust right. Very calculated, almost like it was predetermined."
"Are you suggesting that I cheated?" A bit of heat in that tone.
"Oh not at all. I mean, the only other explanation was that you lucked out. Which is fine, though I find it dishonest to pass it off as pure skill."
"Luck plays no part whatsoever in my shots."
"So you say, but I know your type: plays it all cool when deep down they're fretting over messing up, being sussed out as an average player. For you to keep it up long enough to build up this image is downright incredible. Being able to play decent also helps. But calling yourself a straight-up professional… yeah, that rubs me as pretty iffy. Dare I say callous, or perhaps cowardly."
"...It would be in your best interest to stop talking." Restrained but simmering seethe this time.
"Want to shut me up? Then play me and prove that you are the real deal. Otherwise I'll make do with going around, lamenting my observations to whoever will listen. I'm sure there's a good number of people here who will agree with me. It might even be a civic duty, now that I think about it. Certainly wouldn't want these fine folks to get suckered in by some slick-looking, noodle-armed phony."
Alex glares at Jo silently, willing this jackass to dissolve in the most painful manner imaginable. When several seconds elapse with no success, he calmly puts down his drink, and coldly asks, "What variant would you like to be destroyed in, if you're so insistent?"
"I'll leave that up to you. Show me your best at the type of game you're best at."
Alex's eyes and furrowed brow remain firm, but the edge of his lips bend up, which is an even more intimidating sight. "Follow."
He snaps his fingers to alert his valet, then stands up and walks back to the pool tables. Bystanders stop and look, sensing something frightful and alluring in the air, then break off their engagements to follow the procession of four. By the time Alex brings his quarry to an open table, a decent crowd of murmuring spectators has formed and set up a thickening ring of bodies.
Ted opens an ebony case, presenting the maestro with the two halves of his baton. Alex takes the shafts and screws them together, reminding Will to hand Jo his own weapon.
"Standard game, but trick shots only," Alex lays down. "Speak the ball you will hit, and the pocket it will go into. The cue ball must either bounce off an edge or the surface. The instant you scratch or fail to deliver, you lose."
Ted finishes up racking the billiards and hands the fated cue to his lord, who in turn holds it out to his opponent. "As this is your death sentence, would you care to set the playing field?"
"Sure," Jo shrugs, grabbing the ball as it's tossed his way. He puts it down on the red starting dot and gets into position, bringing his stick to bear. Lined up, he pulls and hits, striking the billiards with a resounding clack that sends them rolling and spiraling atop the felt. It's a decent spread: no clumps of balls to be seen.
Alex "hmphs" and walks over to the cue. "Number thirteen, corner pocket." He bends, readies and shoots, knocking the cue against the edge past some balls and into the announced number, sending it bouncing twice expertly amid other balls before hitting the pocket.
Jo looks over the table a moment, deciding to start simple. "Two ball, side pocket." The Grand Master gets into position, and after some fiddling he sends the cue ball bouncing rapidly from side to side until it hits its target and knocks it two inches into its designated pocket.
"Fairly subpar," Alex comments.
"I'm not the one trying to uphold an image here."
That gets a scoff as the towering maestro makes his next lightning-fast calculation.
"Number ten, opposite corner pocket."
Pretty straightforward shot Jo thinks, until he sees Alex shoot his ball to the other end of the table, where it bounces back at an angle and hits the three ball, which in turn rolls and hits the ten, knocking that into a corner.
Some "oohs" from the onlookers, and even William Handerson looks surprised by this absurd display of conservation of kinetic energy. But Jo remains cool as a cucumber and smirks.
"You keep going all out like that, you'll be worn down before we get to the eight ball."
"That's nothing. Play."
Jo sidles over to where the cue ball is and looks over the lay of the field. Fair number of obstacles between him and the other solids. Guess it's time to get tricky (and by that he means "sneaky").
"Number five, back corner."
After making a show with his stick of what pocket he meant, he gets down and aims. The stick hits at the base, launching the ball over three other balls onto a path toward the chosen number. A few twitches of his fingers to direct the cue slightly to the right without losing momentum so that it hits the five just right, sending it over into the corner smoothly. A cocky smile over landing it, while Alex merely stalks into position. Seems he truly didn't sense the Force, or even notice. Too focused on making his next shot. On that note…
Jo scans the assemblage around them, but soon picks up the glaring facial hair of Chris ducking within the crowd. Their eyes lock, and the general gives him a thumbs up and waves him to keep playing. The Jedi nods and looks to see his tranced friend's next move.
"Twelve, side pocket."
Hold on, what? But that ball's dead center in that little cluster Jo had just hopped over; how exactly is Alex going to—
The cue ball pops off in a tall arc into the space between the twelve and fourteen balls, and upon landing the twelve pops off laterally and dunks into the corner pocket.
What the f**k? What sort of hopscotch sorcery was that, Jo thinks rapidly as the audience lightly applauds. There certainly wasn't any Force shenanigans from that end of the table, he darn well knew.
Still, a game has to be played, so he collects himself and goes over to the side. "Pretty slick, I'll hand ya that." He stops at the middle of the table. "Lucky seven, left corner pocket." Gonna step it up, he thinks as he lifts himself and angles his stick down at the cue. He hits it into the fourteen, bouncing back to the opposite edge before hitting the eight, which rolls to hit the seven into the indicated pocket. Jo stands with an easy huff, seeing the fourteen resting nicely on the wall just before the side pocket opening. Marvelous what a few mental twitches can accomplish. He may have to try hustling during downtime.
"Figured I'd air out the clutter," he says smugly, getting no emotion from the pale, sharp wall of a face looking his way.
"You're holding up rather well. I say we raise the difficulty to a more… masterful level."
Snap of the fingers, and bustling over appears the squat, blocky form of Dust Man. Following a nod from Alex, the Robot Master powers up the vacuum atop his head, creating a windy vortex that ruffles the bystanders. Litter of every kind, along with poorly secured wallets and jewelry, get sucked into the receptacle before it abruptly shuts off. Dust Man grinds and rumbles in place, then disgorges several small blocks of trash into strategic spots on the pool table, forming tiny walls between the remaining balls.
"New set of rules: no balls of any kind can touch those walls," Alex explains. "If either cue or colored do, that's game over. Previous rules are still in effect. Understand?"
"Sure, chief. Just don't see why you gotta make it harder on yourself for pittance."
One of those miniscule corner smiles that weakens even the strongest of billiard players. "I enjoy the challenge." And as though to demonstrate, Alex confidently goes to the side where the cue ball lay. "Fifteen, side pocket." Only a moment to bend, pull and shoot the cue toward the back, whereafter hitting the edge it hits the fifteen at an angle toward the side, where it bounces at a sharpened angle into the opposite side pocket, gliding within a hair past the litter walls.
That's put me into quite the spot, Jo thinks as he looks over the new layout. The solids are spread over the other half of the table, with all those barriers between them and the cue. If he's gonna get through this with minimal Force usage, he's gonna have to adjust accordingly.
He gets to the other end of the table before making his call. "Number four, left corner pocket." Jo angles his stick way up, then launches the cue clear over the table, bypassing the walls entirely. Some fast Force adjustments allow the cue to hit the solid on the proper side, and one mild push to ensure it goes into the right hole. That gets some "aws" from the crowd.
Alex, however, remains impassive. "Good distance and control, I'll give you that. But, such maneuvers can always go further." He slinks to the end and brings up his stick.
"Nine and fourteen, back left and near right corners respectively."
Hold on, two balls? How in the heck…?
The answer comes in a resounding clack. The cue ball flies up and down into the middle, colliding and launching the nine ball to the back end of the table, where it hits the fourteen dead-on and launches that clear to the other end of the table. The nine ball rolls slowly into the corner pocket, and seconds later the fourteen does the same diagonally opposite it. After a moment the crowd erupts over this miraculous, impossible feat.
Jo's cool aura shatters as his jaw drops, which is enough to make Alex ditch his stoicism in favor of a smug grin.
"I figure we could speed things up a little. Wouldn't you agree?"
Alex holds out his arms in a mocking gesture as Ted comes over to light up a fresh cigarette. Will takes the opportunity to go up to Jo as well.
"How the h*** did he do that? I mean, godd***, that's something else!"
"He didn't use the Force at all, but for those balls to bounce around like that… there has to be shenanigans afoot or something."
"Well whatever's going on, he's gonna win if you don't get equally crazy at this, and I don't think he'll accept a rematch."
"Yeah. Actually, what's Chris doing?" Jo looks to the frizzy-faced general in the crowd, who waves him on.
"Is he serious? Just how much more 'into it' does he need Alex to be?" Will balks. "He's gonna lose his chance if he doesn't get in here already."
"No. With Alex walking tall as he is, there's really no opening for him." Jo's gaze drifts over the bystanders, the limited airspace overhead, and Dust Man, dutifully standing by. Suddenly, Jo's eyes brighten, as does his smile. "But I'm going to make one."
"How?"
"You'll see. But first, chalk me." Jo tilts his stick toward Will, who sighs and rubs a cube of green chalk onto the tip. Fully chalked, Jo moves around to the center of the table as Alex watches him, smoking his cigarette with the ease of one with victory in hand. In position, Jo takes a stance and levels his old confident look at his comrade.
"I won't lie, pal: that was straight frickin' impressive. Can't say I've ever seen a two-fer played out like that before. However, when you get down to it… it was all straightforward, honestly."
A cock of one of Alex's thick brows. Jo takes a moment to soak that in before continuing.
"When you said trick shots only, I was expecting some truly dazzling, acrobatic ball-handling. I even gave you a few tries to really blow my socks off, but alas, nothing but standard plays."
"...What?"
"Now that I'm loosened up, I can show you something so spectacular, the very memory of it will be a treasured family heirloom, passed from generation to generation. Y'all ready for this?"
Jo stomps his feet, straightens his back, and holds out a commanding finger. "Number One, baby! Side pocket, if it pleases ya."
Not waiting for an answer, Jo leans and hunches down over the cue. "Watch closely, otherwise you'll miss it." Allowing the audience time to focus, he moves his stick back and forth a few times, then rips with a smile.
The cue ball shoots high off the table with a bang and goes for the ceiling, bouncing off the tiling downward at startling speed, where it hits a nearby table and rockets off back the way it came. It then ricochets off a ceiling beam, everyone ducking as it whizzes over their heads into a support column, then off the edge of the pool table straight into Dust Man's gaping head vent.
The robot stumbles as his insides bang something awful, then with a pained groan he pulls back and fires the cue ball at high velocity straight toward Alex. The hustler extraordinaire has enough time to raise his brows in surprise before getting conked explosively in the forehead, felling him like a towering spruce. The cue ball, having committed its hit-and-run, lands delicately back onto the pool table, gently tapping the solid yellow into the side pocket. And with that, the crowd erupts even louder.
Amid a wave of vocal accolades, Jo holds up his stick and blows the tip. Smiling, he raises his hand to quell the uproar, albeit in amicable fashion. "Yes yes, super fantastic and dazzling, I know; 'you're welcome' all around. But can someone look into my opponent? He's taken quite the hit."
It's only then that everyone notices the accident that had just occurred. But luckily, someone bursts from the crowd to help.
"I'm a doctor; give the patient some room!"
Chris, inexplicably wearing a white coat and head mirror, slides down to his knee beside the fallen Alex, holding up his head and patting his face.
"Hmm, yes, still alive; merely concussed," he announces right after he sneakily injects his patient. "I will need to move him someplace more secluded for isolation. You there!" He stares up at Jo. "You must take responsibility for your recklessness; help me carry him."
"Hey doc, I didn't mean for him to wind up as collateral damage. But I'll absolutely help; it's the very least I can do. Come, ward."
Will is about to tell him off, but shrugs and goes to help. The two take up a separate end and lift him, and as Ted is about to follow Chris intercepts him.
"There are more than enough people handling this, thank you very much. If you'll just wait here patiently we'll have him back in two hours. Standard observation time for concussions, as you know."
The "doctor" takes his leave, and a crestfallen Ted goes in search of a table to hold his lonely vigi, unaware that this is the last he would see his dear maestro...
Our heroes are oblivious to this sad turn as they're too busy hurrying out before some authority figure confronts them. As Jo and Will shuffle with their bundle, Chris walks alongside them at an easy pace.
"Real good thinking there, Jo. I can't believe I hadn't thought of a game-related accident. Given how thick those balls are and how easy they can fly all over the place, it should've been a no-brainer!"
"I had been wondering how you were gonna slip in while everyone was watching," Jo huffs. "So I thought I'd make some kind of commotion for your benefit."
"I take it the Force made that 'dazzling' shot of yours possible?" Will says.
"Pretty much. The thing with Dust Man was out of my control, though. He just happened to be facing in his general direction, so I figured he'd hit Alex someplace hard enough to bring him down. It's super lucky it beaned his head."
"Yeah, lucky indeed."
They're halted as Alex's head thunks against the jamb of the exit.
"Watch the cargo, gentlemen!"
With some course correction they leave the billiards hall and book it for their sanctuary so to welcome their ally properly when he awakens… provided they're more careful with getting him there.