.
A Major Setback
The next few months, Hank was studious as studious could be. More so than he'd even been in university! He took in every word as best he could. He watched his uncle intently, mimicking him as best he was able and scribbling notes constantly to the point Foggman began to get concerned and brought the matter up to Hench in private, worried his nephew was stressing himself out. In response, Hench sent Uncle and nephew both on vacation, which completely threw the workaholic Foggman off and sent him into a flustered spiral along with his nephew until Jack had seen them on their way. And taken every device they could possibly have used for work.
When they came back, they went right back to it of course, but Hank dialed it back a bit as Foggman made it clearer to his nephew what was important to note and what wasn't. Hank soaked information up like a sponge, Jack noted. It would only be a matter of time before the younger man was on par with the older one. He expected great things from their little partnership and the growing relationship between uncle and nephew.
Then, of course, things went horribly wrong…
KP
"We need something to headline the fourth quarter rollout. Since progress on Awakening is stagnated, we need something eye-catching and bold to replace it. Something that'll turn heads. Gentlemen, go," Jack said to his duo, reaching into a stack of papers, pulling out some options, and laying them out on the desk. Foggman adjusted his glasses and peered at them before picking the stack up and flipping through it. Hank watched curiously. Jack, noting this, smirked a bit and handed him a stack of his own. Hank, at first confused, caught on and grinned a little shyly at Jack before picking them up and shuffling through them like his uncle was doing.
"Project Titan has been immensely improved, but it's still not perfect. No more Grande Size Me incidents, fortunately. However, there's still the problem of the orange skin and devolved intelligence brought on by overindulgence. Something supervillains are extremely good at, by the way, so I would have to discourage leading with it," Foggman said.
"What about this one? It seems unassuming, but market it right and it could really become a show-stealer," Hank said, smirking and pulling out one of the projects, laying it on the desk. Foggman and Hench both looked at it curiously.
"Hmm, Project Matrix. Inspired by Frugal Lucre's plan to steal the internet. Not bad. Unfortunately, it's also not in the building. We shelved it months ago. Didn't test well with the clientele," Foggman said. "Too low-brow for the supervillains, too niche for common criminals, cartels, and larger organizations we'll call them."
"So meet in the middle. Gear it towards the low-level supervillains. Expand on a new but relatively neglected clientele. Draw them further into the market. Now I know they're not the most profitable option, but there's no telling what could come of them down the road," Hank pointed out. "Every top-tier supervillain started somewhere, right?"
"You know, he's right. I've been neglecting that entire demographic for too long. Forgetting the little guy! It's time to break into new ground. Really draw them in! Client expansion, client loyalty, company profit. Where do we keep Project Matrix?" Jack asked.
"Our warehouse down in the industrial district," Foggman replied.
"Take Hank and head out. Check its status. See if it's still functional. If not, bring it back for a touch-up and facelift. If it is, put in an order to have it delivered a week before we release the September catalogue for viewing," Jack said. "Throw in a mix of devices. Appeal to all our demographics. Hank, your Dark Web idea? Make it happen. Incentivize Lucre however you see fit. Get Foggman's input on the matter. I want this done before the mid-month showcase."
"Yes sir, right away sir," Hank replied, lighting up with a grin.
"Come along, Henry. We have a warehouse to visit," Foggman said with a smile, plucking his coat off the back of the chair and throwing it on.
"Yes Uncle Foggman," Hank replied, laying down the papers and following his Uncle out. Jack watched after them with a proud smile. He couldn't have matched a more perfect duo if he'd tried. Both uncle and nephew would take this company by storm.
KP
"Well, that couldn't have gone better if we'd planned it," Foggman said. "The virus is in perfect condition, we're guaranteed shipment two weeks before the midmonth showcase, and you were able to contact Lucre to make the Dark Web site happen. Excellent work Hank."
"Thank you, Uncle Foggman," Hank replied, smiling at him.
"You're going places, my boy. More quickly than you know. I see a lot of Jack in you. Now I know he sees a lot of me in you instead, but I honestly think you're more him than me. At least where it really counts. Things like innovation, creativeness, and guile come as naturally to you as breathing. They'll serve you well. Hench likes you. I'd dare say he's never favored anyone more. Something about you spoke to him. He's a valuable resource and wants to be, so use him," Foggman said.
"I know sir. It scares me a little though," Hank said.
"Why?" Foggman asked with a concerned frown. Hank shrugged but didn't speak. "Hmm… We'll talk about it later then. You know, Henry, why don't you take the lead in this rollout? I think you could use the challenge."
Hank's eyes widened. "Me, Sir?" he said.
"Why not?" Foggman asked with a smile. "You're ready for it, after all. You have all the tools and resources you need to really make this show a bang! Go for it. Show Mr. Hench what you're capable of. I think you're going to be greater at this than even I am, but you know, if I had to pass the torch down to anyone, I'd just as soon it was you."
Hank, deeply touched, smiled at his Uncle gratefully. "Yes sir, Uncle Foggman, I won't let you down. Thank you. For everything. Now about Mr. Hench's fourth quarter roll…" Hank began.
Suddenly the sound of a bullet rang out and Hank found himself splattered with blood as his uncle dropped to the ground screaming in pain! Hank gaped in shock, hardly able to process what he'd just witnessed. The next second a car sped up, came to a stop, and four men with guns leapt out, snatched the screaming and groaning man, and hauled him into the car before Hank could even think to move! The whole thing happened in five seconds, if that, and he watched them peel off. Snapping back to himself, he gasped and raced out into the street.
"Uncle Mark!" he cried out in alarm. Quickly noting the license plate of the car, he pulled out a notepad and scribbled it quickly down. It was about all he could do. Clearly the kidnappers noticed, though, because the car screeched to a stop and began to round on him. Hank glanced up, caught his breath, and immediately fled the scene!
The car roared after him. Desperately he darted into an alleyway and raced toward the next street. The car barrelled down on him and he knew he was a dead man if he couldn't get away from it. He ran left and hugged the wall as the car tore out of the alley, then raced back into it and down again. The time it would take them to turn around would buy him a precious few more seconds, but not a lot. He raced to the right as bullets echoed after him, and booked it down the street, whipping out his cell phone and calling nine-one-one.
"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" the voice on the other end said.
"Fisherman's Way by the warehouses! A bunch of men with guns shot my uncle, pulled him into a car, and are trying to run me down and shoot me!" he blurted gracelessly, making sure his location was blurted out first. He jammed the phone into a slot on his briefcase because he figured it would probably be the last place they looked, but didn't turn it off. That way the dispatcher could hear what was going on and maybe even track him down. The car peeled out of the alley and drove right at him. He threw himself to the ground as a hail of bullets flew overhead. The car screeched to a stop and he heard men getting out. He gasped as they seized him. "Help!" he cried out frantically as they pulled him towards the car. He struggled vehemently but knew he wouldn't stand a chance. He started shouting out every descriptive detail he could. Hair colour, builds, approximate heights, identifying markings. He seized the sides of the door, determined not to be dragged inside, but just as he was about to be yanked into it or shot, whichever came first, sirens were heard tearing up. The police must not have been far! He gasped and could have cheered. Maybe it wasn't too late!
One of the men cursed, pulled a gun, and shoved it against his forehead. He gasped, seeing his life flash before his eyes, and instinctively brought his knee up hard right where it would hurt most. The man screamed in pain. The scream startled the others and Hank elbowed back violently. He was pretty sure he'd broken someone's nose, because he heard a pretty loud crack and a howl of pain, but the distraction gave him the opportunity he needed to pull free and race towards the sirens desperately.
"Run Henry, run!" he heard his Uncle shout after him.
He slid to a stop with a gasp, looking back. "Uncle Mark," he said, pale. He turned to start back, but the man he'd kneed was recovering and taking aim again. Hank shouted in alarm and threw himself behind a dumpster before scrambling into the alley as bullets echoed after him. He got up, running to the other side again, and almost charged straight into the path of a police car. It screeched to a stop just in time, Hank jumping back as quickly as he could to avoid being hit. "Down there, they're down there! They shot my Uncle! They have him in their car!" he blurted, pointing. The police car backed up, then raced down the alley as another rolled up rapidly and stopped next to him. Hank gasped, looking over at them with eyes wide. Officers hurried out to check on him and he let out a shaky breath of relief.
KP
The questioning was straightforward. What happened? What did you see? Why were you in the warehouse district? What did the men look like? He answered every question to the best of his ability. They asked him, then, if he had any idea who the men had been, and he had to pause for a moment. He thought back to the incident trying to recall any identifiers he might have seen. Tattoos, logos, jackets, names. "The-the West Side Wranglers," he said in realization, recalling the logos on the jackets. They were bad news all around. One of the biggest gangs in Middleton. Not that there were a lot of gangs in Middleton, but these guys stood firmly in the top three. "One had a tattoo that said Fin I think? I'm sorry I can't offer more, but it all kind of passed in a blur." He hesitated. "Did… did they catch the car? Did they save my Uncle?" he uncertainly asked.
"Afraid not, son. VCB within five minutes," the Chief said. "What you've given us, and the information you shared with dispatch, should be more than enough for us to start rounding them up though. With any luck, we'll find your Uncle before it's too late."
"T-too late?" Hank uneasily asked.
The officer sighed. "Son, I didn't wanna have to tell you this, but when the West Side Wranglers nab someone, they're not playing the intimidation game. If they nab you, you've screwed up in a big way, or they figure you did, and your lease on life is as good as over. Look, you gave your Uncle the best chance you could, now go home, rest, and leave it all to us. We'll do everything in our power to get him back." Hank stared up at him, wide-eyed, and swallowed nervously.
KP
As soon as he was out of the danger zone and free of the station, Hank hurried to HenchCo and ran straight to Jack Hench with the news, alarmed and scared. Hench, upon hearing his aide-in-training's story, had the building locked down without hesitation, and that was unnerving in and of itself. No one would be able to leave, the man said, until news reached them about Foggman. That he was expecting it so soon was unsettling to the highest degree.
The employees, now stuck inside, went silent. All production stopped. A gloomy atmosphere descended around them, and something told Hank this had happened before with not-so-great results. Jack kept him close to his side, squirreling him away in his office as they waited for either contact from the Wranglers or an update from law enforcement regarding the missing aide. The police had arrived not long afterward to investigate Foggman's place of work and question his coworkers and employer. Mr. Hench clearly wasn't happy about that, when he came back to the office after being questioned, but it seemed the police were the least of his concerns. He sat behind his desk once more, scanned some messages, then set about waiting for information.
Hank was quiet and shaken. He glanced nervously at Mr. Hench, then down again. "Sir, I'm sorry I couldn't…" he began after what seemed like too long a silence.
"You couldn't have saved him even if you'd tried," Jack cut off grimly, glaring at the computer screen while resting his chin on the back of a hand. He was waiting for something, Hank realized, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what. He stayed nonetheless, uneasily watching the screen as well.
"Sir, I didn't mean for the police to…" he soon said.
"It's fine, Hank. Probably for the best in fact. In this instance at least. We'll talk about that more later," Jack replied, cutting him off. Hank swallowed and nodded. Jack opened a cupboard in his desk and pulled out what looked like a scanner. He flicked it on and searched until he found the frequency police were using.
"Suspect Finnigan Hawk in custody. Suspect Tyrone Aikin is deceased. Suspects Zachariah Freedman and Johan Liszt escaped by car with the hostage," an officer said over the scanner, informing his fellow officers of the developments. Hank's heart sank into the pit of his stomach, and he hung his head low. They had been so close…
KP
It wasn't until after the police left that the message came. That wasn't a good sign, Hank knew, because it meant odds were HenchCo was being watched. Closely. The lockdown made more sense now. The message was simple and direct.
WSW: Send out your little snitch. Maybe then we'll give back your consultant. One man for another.
Hank frowned curiously. "Snitch? But who…?" he began before stopping himself, eyes widening in shock. "Me," he numbly realized. He looked quickly at Hench, eyes still wide and now nervous as well. Getting the license plate, calling the cops, naming the gang and a member in it… Given all that, it was little wonder they viewed it as snitching! Jack's eyes were dark as he glared at the screen, and Hank felt suddenly very uncomfortable. "Sir, did-did I do something wrong?" he uneasily asked.
Jack pursed his lips, considering whether or not to answer, then decided against it, instead placing his hands on the keyboard. He paused, thinking of how to respond, then started to type.
J. Hench: Gentlemen, you broke the rules.
WSW: Rules?
J. Hench: Rules. You snatched my man off the street. No forewarning, no hint of what he might have done wrong, nothing. You know how I play these games. If an employee of mine does something that offends you, you bring the matter to me. I deal with them, not you. Rest assured, if the matter is serious enough, you'll have your satisfaction. You didn't follow protocol, ergo you broke the rules. Which means I'm not honor-bound to give you anything. Not that I ever was. My 'snitch', as you call him, was well within his rights to rat you out. Now, if my man is dead, if he suffered, I'll personally put the last nail in the coffin for your entire racket. Send him back alive and preferably intact, but if it's too late for the latter, I can work with maimed if I must.
WSW: Foggman for the snitch. He's breathing for now, but he won't be for long if you don't hand the new blood over.
J. Hench: I've stated my position. I won't repeat myself.
WSW: He's a hang-around!
J. Hench: Gentlemen, I don't deal in hang-arounds and prospects. I'm a businessman, not a gangster. As such, my methods of dealing with my employees are a little more… sophisticated and unique than what you're used to.
WSW: The Snitch or the Consultant. Your choice.
Jack pursed his lips and drummed his fingers in mild annoyance. "Sir, if giving me to them saves my uncle…" Hank urgently began.
"Your Uncle is dead, Hank. If he isn't already, he will be soon," Jack replied.
"But what if you're wrong?! What if he isn't? What if…?" Hank began.
Jack reached into his desk and pulled something out, holding it up. Hank gasped. An unassuming little pill in a vial. Unassuming little pills in this line of work, though, meant nothing good… "He knows the protocols if it becomes more than he can bear," Jack cryptically said before tucking the vial away again. "Book a dentist appointment with one of the dentists on my cheat sheet. Get a tooth hollowed out. You're about to be promoted it seems, and well, the higher the position, the bigger the target. Better safe than sorry."
Hank swallowed nervously. Oh, he had not been ready for that. "What if he trusts that you'll save him?" he uneasily asked. Jack gave him a sort of look he couldn't quite decipher. Soft in a way. Sympathetic maybe. What he wouldn't have given to know the thoughts running through his employer's head right now. He hoped they weren't bad ones. "Mr. Hench, if I screwed up, I'm willing to face the consequences. Just as long as it means that you and my uncle can stay safe!"
Jack's eyes softened immensely, even more so than they already were, and Hank shifted a little before hanging his head. "The more you speak, the more you remind me of my son…" Jack soon murmured. He looked back at the computer. "And the less inclined I am to hand you over to anyone," he finished.
Hank started in surprise, taken aback. Those words made him feel warm in ways he'd never been able to experience before. Maybe if his parents had actually given a damn about him, it wouldn't be such a new feeling; but they hadn't, so it was. He shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, you're everything I wish my father had been, so please understand why I can't and won't let you risk everything for me. Least of all yourself," he said.
"Hank, I understand that you sorely lacked any form of parental love and affection growing up, but think about this a moment. If a child isn't willing to give up their parent for themselves, how much less likely is it that the parent will give up the child?" Jack asked.
"But I'm not your child," Hank quietly said.
"No, you're not, but the basic principle is the same," Hench replied. Hank fidgeted a bit before hanging his head in defeat. Jack glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and sighed, standing up. He turned to the young man, putting his hands on his shoulders. Hank looked meekly up. "Mr. Perkins, leave everything to me. I'm not a stranger to how these games are played. I'll do everything I can for your uncle, but you're staying right here."
"You can't guarantee you can protect me," Hank said. The tick in Hench's jaw told him he'd hit a nerve.
"I can try," Jack soon replied.
"Don't risk it all for me," Hank pled meekly once more.
Hench was quiet, staring at him. "Leave it to me to decide what I will and won't risk," he finally answered. "Don't worry. Everything will be okay. Even if your Uncle can't be there for you anymore, I will."
Hank hesitated then nodded in defeat. "Give me the pill, sir," he said. Jack was silent. "Just… just in case."
Jack shook his head. "Y'know Perkins, you're at that really awkward age where you still possess some measure of naivety, but not quite enough. That age where one minute you seem like a wide-eyed innocent unprepared for what the world has to throw at you, then the next you prove otherwise and remind others you're not some oblivious kid anymore," he said. Hank smiled ever so slightly. Jack sighed, opened the drawer, and pulled out the vial, examining it. "Here," he said, handing the pill over. "Don't lose it. Just in case." Hank took it solemnly, nodding, and tucked it away in a pocket until he could come up with a better arrangement. Jack was quiet, examining him. "If the worst should happen, I'll come for you," he suddenly said.
Hank looked quickly up at him in surprise, then grimaced a bit, shifting. "Like you did for Uncle Foggman?" he asked sadly, bowing his head. He felt immediately ashamed for what he'd said, but he guessed there was no taking it back now.
Jack was quiet. Ouch, he inwardly thought. "That was a low blow, Perkins," he finally said.
"I'm sorry sir," Hank said, not meeting his gaze.
Jack was quiet, watching him and debating how to breach that topic. "Foggman is a lost cause," he finally said.
"But how can you know that?" Hank asked, voice wavering a bit.
"Hank, I've been dealing with people like this since younger than I care to admit. I know," he said.
"Then you know they'll want me to face the consequences of what I did whether my Uncle's life is on the table or not," Hank said, voice wavering a bit in a mixture of stress and grief.
"They don't have a say anymore. The ball's in our court now. They broke the rules. That was their mistake. Your Uncle's life is forfeit, and I wish I could tell you anything else, but I can't. Now they learn the hard way that HenchCo isn't to be trifled with," Hench said.
"It's because of me, isn't it?" Hank brokenly asked, wrapping his arms tightly around himself, head hung low. "They saw me taking the license plate. They saw the police save me. They know I talked. They know I'm the reason one of their guys is in custody and another's in the morgue. I'm the reason the police are hounding them. They're on a time limit, they have to act fast, and Uncle Foggman is just dead weight slowing them down. They can't hold him, they don't have time if they need to get away. They can't risk their whole operation to make a statement. Maybe if we'd had more time to look into it and track him down ourselves, we could have… we could have saved him… I doomed him…"
Jack considered the words quietly, reminded himself this wasn't a sheltered teenager he was dealing with like his son, and sighed heavily. "Yes," he finally said. "And it won't be the last painful mistake you make either. Not in a line of work like this. The trick is not letting those mistakes break you. Some of them will be painful, hard lessons learned. Some will cost you more than you ever wanted to lose. Some will be mild and easily fixable. Learning how to live with the worst ones is the toughest part… I'm not going to lie to you, Mr. Perkins. Eventually, they'll wear you down, make no mistake, but just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Press on, even when you feel like you can't, and one day you'll be okay again. Promise. Maybe not like you once were, but that's all right. You'll make it through."
Hank sniffed, head still bowed, then shoved away from the desk and restlessly began to pace. "He's the only one who ever cared about me. I got the only family member who ever gave a damn killed! What am I supposed to do with that? Where am I supposed to go from here?" he demanded.
"Forward. Always forward," Jack replied, watching him solemnly.
"I don't know if I can," Hank replied, shaking his head rapidly as he stopped moving.
"That's why I'm here," Jack said gently. "To help you when you feel like you can't keep going."
Hank looked vulnerably up at the man. "Who was there for you?" he asked.
Jack shook his head bitterly. "I'm here for you because no one was there for me. Senor Senior, the one man who might have been, I only ever saw once in a blue moon."
Hank's eyes softened. He considered the words briefly, then nodded in understanding. "Sir, what was your worst mistake?" he asked. Jack just gave him a slightly pained smile and sat back down, turning his attention to the computer again. Hank didn't press. If Mr. Hench ever felt ready to tell him, he would.
"Get some rest, Hank," Jack said.
"Leave everything to you. I know," he replied. "But how will I learn what to do in a situation like this if I don't watch you?"
"I'm adopting you," Jack joked, smirking a bit.
"I know you're joking, but FYI, I really could have complex papers like that ready to go on a next-day basis. I'm incredibly efficient," Hank boasted.
"Would it still net you a full seven to eight hours?" Jack asked in a tone that was almost lecturing.
Hank shifted a bit. "Maybe?" he lamely offered.
Jack chuckled in amusement and leaned back in his chair. "I'll keep it in mind. It's going to be a while before we hear anything else. When something comes through, I'll shoot you a text, okay? Take the time to mentally prepare yourself for what's coming, because I won't lie, things might get graphic and to say it'll be distressing is an understatement. If at any point you feel you might need a break or some fresh air when that happens, go for it."
Hank nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Hench. For the opportunity. For everything," he said. "I wish I could have paid you back."
"Good faith, Hank. Good faith," Jack replied, smiling at him. Hank smiled back, nodded, and walked out.
KP
Shutting the door of the executive office behind him, Hank grimaced a bit then went to the window and looked worriedly out of it at the police flocking HenchCo's grounds. Some were leaving to follow up on leads, others were arriving, though why he didn't know. Suddenly his cell buzzed with a text message and he frowned curiously. So soon? He pulled it out, checking, and caught his breath, heart skipping a beat.
Uncle: Henry, I'm alive. I got away. Hurry. I can't hide from them long. Meet me at the Middleton Plaza
Hank, eyes wide in hope, made to fire a quick reply before stopping, recalling Mr. Hench's words to him.
Foggman is a lost cause.
Your Uncle's life is forfeit.
Something didn't ring true. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. It killed him inside to realize, but whoever was texting him, it wasn't his uncle… He felt a lump in his throat and swallowed over it, considering his options.
Henry: You're not my Uncle.
Uncle: Henry, we don't have time for this! Please!
Henry: You're not my Uncle.
He pursed his lips, considering something.
Henry: But snitch for consultant, you said? Me for him?
There was a long pause. Hank left the admin office in case Mr. Hench came out, and hoped a response would come soon.
Uncle: Hench isn't going to hand you over.
Henry: It's not Mr. Hench's life or family on the line.
Another pause.
Uncle: You could have been worth something, kid. If you'd kept your mouth shut.
Henry: And you wouldn't have a bullseye painted on your back right now if you'd followed the rules. You lost good men for nothing. In the end, no matter how you twist it, that wasn't on me.
Uncle: Middleton Plaza. You come alone and unarmed. You leave your cell phone behind.
Henry: And my Uncle?
Uncle: We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Hank stared at the message silently.
Your Uncle's life is forfeit.
He frowned, pursing his lips. That didn't mean he couldn't at least try, he decided.
Henry: I'm on my way.
Uncle: We'll be there in three hours. Enjoy them. You won't live much longer after.
He opened the settings on his phone and paused a moment before steeling himself for this. Drawing a breath, he turned off the security protocols, turned off sleep mode, turned off screen locking, and returned to the admin office, laying the phone face up on the table right by the door, opened on the message thread. It wasn't a guarantee of anything, he knew, but it was a chance where there wasn't one now. He examined his pen, checking it was active, and smirked a little. Again, it was no guarantee of anything, but there was a cold comfort in the knowledge that maybe, if the worst should happen, his body at least might be found. He went to the receptionist's desk, took a sticky note and a pen, and scribbled a brief note that read:
I'm sorry, Mr. Hench. I know you're right, but I have to try.
He pulled the note off, stuck it on the back of the phone, then left as quickly as possible trying not to raise suspicions or eyebrows.