The safehouse is an old, underground storage facility that had been intended for long-term cold storage.

Whatever people needed to store in the cold for the long-term wasn't something Adrian really cared to know about. His first guess would've been bodies. On the bright side, considering how people were conveniently turned to dust instead of dropping dead, no one was going to be using this warehouse anytime soon.

Gargan and his men had set up their living spaces as far apart from each other as possible. Toomes set his space up in a room on the opposite end of the warehouse. Gargan hasn't explicitly said he has to stay, yet.

Toomes is sure it's coming. They would've killed him by now if all they really needed was to be lead to a safe house. Whatever Gargan wants him for, he's pretty sure it has something to do with his history. Something told him Mac Gargan wasn't keeping him around for his accounting skills.

Still – who the hell were these guys? Two uncomfortably muscular Russians and a chubby guy that was too quiet for his own good. Adrian didn't recognize the third man, but he'd been able to hot wire an ATM in under five minutes. Not that cash had done them much good. The utter chaos that was still gripping the country had pretty much negated the need for normal societal necessities like paying for things.

Adrian had to admit, just downright stealing stuff instead of stealing some stuff to buy other stuff was a lot less complicated. Upstate New York was a popular spot for hiking, and had an abundance of sporting goods stores to loot along their little ride. He'd made a nice little nest for himself within the stolen camping tent. It was sized for three people, but Adrian was a man who liked his space and privacy. Sing Sing had been a hell on earth, but one that, thankfully, was quickly fading in his mind.

Gargan approached him after a few days of settling in, the familiar and unsettling smirk resting across his face.

"I got a few guys taking stock of the D.O.D.C. vault right now. They're gonna be heading up this way with a few trucks of goods. I need you to start rebuilding that fancy wing rig of yours as soon as they get here. We're gonna need it-"

"Hold on, hold on." Adrian had to laugh despite Gargan's clear displeasure at being interrupted. "Listen, Mason built my wing rigs. He was the genius behind it, alright? I just knew how to f-"

Adrian hadn't been in prison that long to get rusty, so he'll just blame it on his age.

Gargan has a hand around his throat and is shoving him back against the concrete wall before he can even react. His head slams back on the cement twice – then three times, and then he's seeing stars and the room Is probably upside down.

"I'm done taking your fucking attitude!" Gargan snarls. Adrian winces as the man shouts directly into his ear, grimacing. "You will do as you're told, or we'll see how well you can fly without those wings, okay? Do I make myself clear?"

Patience. The chance will come. Patience. Toomes has to recite the mantra over and over until he can bring himself to nod, appearing well cowed by the other man. He shrinks back against the wall, nursing his head once Gargan releases him.

"The world's gone to shit, Toomes. Avengers ain't around, nobody knows what the hell is goin' on – we just got handed the world on a silver platter. I got you out of prison, now it's time to pay me back and be a team player, understand?"

"Sorry – can you speak up?" Adrian puts a hand up to his ear, squinting at Mac, "I'm kind of old."

The punch to the ribs is going to be felt for a solid two weeks at the very least, but he decides it's worth it.

He eventually grunts out that he understands. Gargan then explains his goal to steal various versions of the Iron Man armor. Adrian would tell him to stick that right up his ass, but at the same time – if half of the world vanished, no doubt that meant half of the Avengers as well. If the heavy hitters like Thor or Vision aren't around – hell, even if the littler ones aren't around to cause any trouble – they've got it made.

Or whatever Gargan's idea of 'made' is. Adrian personally sees absolutely no reason in accumulating wealth in a world where society is collapsing at a staggering pace. Gargan seems to think that society will eventually rebuild itself – surprisingly optimistic from someone like him. He also seems to think that by stealing Stark's tech, that they can be on top of the criminal food chain once things begin to settle.

Adrian sneers at the thought of being the alpha predator on this criminal Serengeti that Gargan is visualizing. He's much happier watching from afar, and waiting for the path of least resistance.

Still, he knows he has to cooperate for now. Gargan is stronger, younger, and has a large crew of associates at his disposal. All Adrian has on his side is patience. If that's all he can have – then so be it. He'll have to use it to his advantage.

"If you want me to get that wing suit up and running, your boys are going to have to get the plans. Everything from our main headquarters was confiscated during the trial." Adrian grumbles, appearing to grudgingly accept the role that has been dealt to him.

"Not a problem." Gargan mutters, taking a few steps back and watching him keenly. "I'll have my guys sniff out where they stored all your designs."

"Mason's designs."

"I don't give a shit who designed them, I just need them to be rebuilt. I know you ain't as stupid as you pretend to be. You worked with that alien shit for eight years and you expect me to buy that you never once learned how to put a few wires together? You'll figure it out. Aleksei and Otto will lend you a hand, Toomes – but I expect that wing harness to be up and running, and a few guns would be nice too. My boys are hauling up enough goods from the D.O.D.C. vault to give you all the kibbles n' bits you need."

Adrian eyes him warily, face half buried in the thick shearling collar of his jacket. He glances down, trying to appear as if he's conflicted about something. Gargan catches on, frowning at him.

"What is it?" He fumes, left hand curling into a fist.

"...How much Stark tech am I taking away from this job for myself?" He grumbles, glaring at Gargan.

A grin comes to the man's lips and he nods, chuckling. "I knew it – I knew you'd be a team player. You stuck it to Stark for almost a decade – I knew I could count on you!"

His jovial tone can't mask what Adrian full well knows – there's a knife just waiting to find his back as long as Gargan is around. He has to tread as carefully as he can, and play the role of a greedy ex-arms baron. Gargan had no idea who he was, or that he had any plans to reunite with his family. During their time in prison together, Gargan had never asked about them, and Toomes figured that a man like him probably didn't put much stock in his relatives.


Adrian spends the next two weeks well away from the others as often as he can. Aleksei is the only one he occasionally allows into his space. The muscle-bound man seems to struggle with his english, but breaks into fluent Russian around Sergei. While they wait for Gargan's men to bring the trucks up from the vault, Aleksei seems to be the most restless of them.

It's five times now he's wandered toward Toomes, standing just within his peripheral vision. Adrian has to acknowledge him before he speaks. Frankly he finds it creepy, Aleksei just waiting there to be addressed, staring at him while he works.

Adrian had begun the cathartic past time of copper wire theft. He'd need the wires for his wing harness once the parts arrived, and he knew enough to at least splice the wires together so they could fit the length of the frame.

He knew Aleksei had been watching him splice the same cable for almost six minutes now. Eventually Adrian gives in and sets the wire down on his work station, turning to the man.

"What's up?"

"What you doing?" Aleksei asks, pointing to the lengths of copper wiring.

"Just splicing – uh, putting two wires together. They need to be pretty long throughout the wings to pass signals to the receivers at the ends."

Aleksei grunts, and just stares at the mess of wires, cutters and pliers. Adrian stares at him in return, and soon a heavy, awkward silence falls over the pair.

"...You uh...got any hobbies, Aleksei?" Adrian finally asks, resting an elbow on the table.

Aleksei shrugs, glancing down. "Exercise. Reading – but, not many books in Russian here. I can read English but it's hard, takes longer than what I already know."

Aleksei strikes Adrian as the type who was just on the wrong side of the tracks most of his life and never got a good opportunity. The type that had to accept that there was one life for them, even if it wasn't the one they'd wanted. It made Adrian a bit sad, even at his age, to see people who had never been given their fair shake.

He'd felt as much for most of his life. Life was nothing but one hurdle after another for the poor and hard working. He missed Doris, and he missed Liz – but he knew that if he hadn't done what needed to be done, Liz never would've been given the opportunities that her education provided her.

At times Adrian would think if he'd do it all over again, knowing that he'd wind up mixed up with criminals and murderers (himself one now as well). He'd decided during several occasions where the question had popped back up in the back of his head; yes. He knew Liz would be strong, Liz would recover and she'd still be as smart as she was before everything went to shit. Liz might not forgive him for what he'd done, sure – but when she was older she'd understand. Even if he wasn't completely sure that was true, he had to at least convince himself from time to time.

If she's even still alive.

Adrian sighed, glancing back up at Aleksei. He needed a distraction, badly.

"C'mere, I'll show you how to splice these."

Aleksei looks at him, confused, but steps up to the work desk and listens. As Adrian talks, occasionally looking over at Aleksei to check if he appears to be understanding, he catches a brief glimpse of a tattoo on the man's shoulder.

"Whassat' there?"

Aleksei looks over to the tattoo, pulling the strap of his wifebeater down a little further and turning his shoulder toward Adrian.

"Rhino."

"Why a Rhino?"

"Nickname in prison. Rhino." Aleksei answers simply. While Adrian would like an elaboration, possibly a backstory to that, he figures Aleksei isn't the type to go into too much detail. But, he considers himself a simple man too, he can respect that.