.

Recovery

Jack was getting agitated now. It had been too long since a message had last come in. What was going on? Maybe GJ or the police had caught up with them? Wouldn't that be a blessing in disguise, he wryly asked himself. He went back to the computer to monitor it, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

This wasn't right.

He pursed his lips and reached out to type, but then paused. After a moment he withdrew and pulled out his phone, calling Hank. Maybe the kid had figured out something on his end. He stiffened when he heard the sound of a phone ringing outside the door. He looked quickly over at said door and was quiet. The ringing stopped.

"You've reached the voicemail of Hank Perkins, I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, I'll be sure to get back to you as soon as I can," Hank's voicemail said in that chipper voice of his. A beep sounded right after. Jack was silent.

Oh no…

He hung up and went quickly to the door, pulling it open. He looked around and spotted the phone on the table. He went to it warily and stopped when he saw what it was open to. The battery was low by now, but the screen was still on, and a message thread was wide open. He picked it up and began reading. His eyes slowly widened as it dawned on him what this meant. "Dammit," he whispered under his breath. He shut the phone case quickly and caught his breath when he felt the note stuck to the back. Quickly he pulled it off and read. He caught his breath, paling a bit. "Dammit!" he shouted, bolting from the office. Pulling out his pager, he paged an alert to his own personal henchmen to get ready to move out should he order it. Honestly, he should just let the kid reap what he'd sown. It would serve him right for pulling something this stupid. Was it stupid, though?

The phone left unlocked and awake, the note left behind.

In part maybe, but not all the way. Those were preplanned actions, not thoughtless recklessness.

Thank you, Mr. Hench. For the opportunity. For everything. I wish I could have paid you back.

He cursed again. That should have been his first hint! 'I wish I could have paid you back', not 'I wish I could pay you back' or 'I hope one day I can pay you back'. He should let the young man dig his own grave for this. He should turn a blind eye. He should let it go and just wash his hands of the whole mess before he buried himself any deeper in it than he already was! But he wasn't one to waste resources if it could be helped, and he saw that young man's potential. He saw it in spades. Besides, he liked the kid gosh darn it! He liked him a lot! The way he figured, he could either view this as proof the boy would never get it, or he could view it as a learning opportunity. He much preferred the idea of the latter.

KP

Hank sat on a bench in the Middleton Plaza by the fountain near the outskirts. It overlooked the street he knew the West Side Wranglers would come up. His knees were drawn up, his arms wrapped around them, and he looked sadly and tiredly at the ground. He heard footsteps approaching from behind and closed his eyes. Well, it had been a fifty-fifty shot he'd be facing the way they approached, he guessed.

"This won't save him, Hank," a familiar voice said from behind.

Hank gasped, turning quickly with eyes wide. Wow. That was faster than he'd figured it would be. He blinked up at the man then looked away again, bowing his head. "I have to try, Mr. Hench," he quietly said.

"So you noted," Jack replied, coming around and sitting next to the younger man. "You're only making it more complicated and more painful. For everyone." Hank was quiet, but visibly torn. "You know, I should just let you dig your own grave for this."

Hank snorted a bit. "They probably will," he dryly replied. It was Jack's turn to keep quiet now. "It's better this way," Hank quietly said. Jack said nothing. "You should go, sir. I promised them I would come alone."

"Do you know where they'll take you next?" Jack asked.

"No," Hank answered. "Probably some factory or something." He looked down at his suit pocket and pulled out his pen, clicking it. Jack saw a red-light flash and was a bit caught off guard by that one. "You can track this if you want," Hank quietly said. "Multi-use, built in GPS… Uncle Foggman gave it to me. I assume it's probably one of yours, so I guess you'd know how to lock onto the signal. Then if-if the worst happens… Please don't let me become a nameless corpse…"

"There might not be a corpse at all," Jack warned. "This particular group does like their acid baths." Hank winced a bit. "Your Uncle is dead, Perkins," he said more gently.

"He will be probably, just not yet," Hank replied. "I'm guessing they'll want to mock me with him first."

"If you know there's no chance of getting him back, why are you doing this?" Jack asked.

"Because of the slim chance I can," Hank replied.

"Sometimes you need to realize that slim isn't worth gambling on and it'll just mean more loss and pain than would have otherwise been necessary in the end. Those judgment calls are the hardest ones to make. Harder than anything else," Hench said.

Hank shifted a bit. "What if this was your wife?" he asked after a moment.

Jack was utterly silent. "Uncle and spouse aren't in the same vein," he finally replied.

"He's the closest family I have," Hank replied.

Jack considered this. "If it was my wife in their clutches, I would give myself to them on a silver platter and make damn sure she escaped no matter the cost," he said. "But intentions are never guarantees, and if… if there wasn't an absolute certainty that I could get her out alive…" He trailed off. "I would rather my son have one parent than none," he finally finished. Hank looked quickly over at him, eyes wide. Jack sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "Everything is relative, Mr. Perkins," he said quietly. "Letting her go… it would kill me inside. But dying knowing I'd left our son alone and cost him everything would be worse. There are some things worth more than principal, pride, honor, or hope."

Hank felt an unwelcome stinging in his eyes and swallowed, willing the sensation back. "Can you stay? Maybe-maybe not right here, but-but watching?" he asked after a minute.

"I'll stay. Right here. No one will be stupid enough to begrudge me it," Hench replied. He pulled out a cell and contacted someone. Hank gave him a curious look. "Insurance all my own," Hench vaguely said.

"GJ?" Hank asked.

Hench sighed. "You're worth more than your weight in gold, Mr. Perkins. I would really rather not lose you."

"Uncle Foggmann has more experience, more practice, more…" Hank began.

"Your Uncle is passed his prime. I'm not far behind. You're just starting yours," Hench replied. "Given a choice between you and him, I'd choose you. Every time. You know that he would too."

Hank looked up at him, eyes wide like he could barely comprehend hearing such words. Hench could only assume that was because of how worthless his parents had made him feel growing up, and hated them anew. Car engines sounded from down the way and Hank gasped softly, looking quickly over. He stood quickly, anxiety filling his expression. Jack stayed put. Hank swallowed and made his way down the steps. Jack didn't move to follow.

After a moment of clearly contemplating whether or not to just drive off, the car engines finally died. There were three vehicles in total. The one sitting in the driver's seat of the first stepped out, followed by three other men. Hank approached them tentatively and stopped not far away. "You were told to come alone," the man said.

"I did. I wasn't aware Mr. Hench had spotted me and followed," Hank replied. "He… he won't interfere in this. I made it clear to him it was my choice."

The man glared coldly at him, then icily up at Hench, who was watching with dark, unsettling eyes.

Four men got out of the second car, went to the back, and popped the trunk. They lifted a figure out of it, carried him over, and dumped him unceremoniously on the ground. Hank let out a shaking gasp, covering his mouth with a hand and feeling his stomach lurch. "Uncle," he breathed tightly in shock, pale as a ghost. The man was barely recognizable, the way his face and body had been burned.

"H-Henry… Run…" the man said in a hoarse, deep, agonized voice that sounded almost more like a choking garble than anything. Hank staggered back a couple of steps feeling suddenly woozy, and sobbed, holding his head in his hands. There were fingers missing and bandaged poorly. Toes too if the blood-soaked shoes were anything to go by, and Hank's stomach lurched again. He covered his mouth quickly, squeezing his eyes shut, and willed himself not to vomit.

Jack, expression dark, stood up and slowly approached. Their eyes went to him, and their guns lifted warily. He put up his hands casually with a roll of his eyes and stopped next to Hank, surveying the sorry scene. Hank retched. "Trashcan to the left," Jack said calmly. Hank bolted for it and expelled the contents of his stomach. Jack knelt in front of Foggman. "Marcus," he gently said.

"J-Jack. Protect Henry. He's a-a g-good boy. S-such a good boy," Foggman said.

Jack was quiet. "I know, Mark," he softly said. "Close your eyes. It'll be over soon."

"Protect… protect… him," the man began to choke before the sound died out. Jack damned the lump he felt in his throat, but he'd had experience willing back those feelings before. He heard Hank quietly sobbing by the trash. Jack stood up straight.

"Alive. Snitch for consultant," the leader said, a dark, sadistic smirk spreading across his lips.

Jack was quiet. It didn't take a genius to see Foggman was too far gone to be saved. The question was just how much longer he would hold on before succumbing. "H-Henry," Marcus gurgled.

"Hank!" Jack called. Hank looked over, trembling and pale. "Say your goodbyes."

Hank sobbed and scrambled quickly over. "Uncle. Uncle Mark please, please don't-don't go," he pled.

"You're-you're worth so much more than-than they made you believe. You're worth s-so much m-more than they are. Make-make something of-of yourself. Prove them all wrong," Foggman said.

Hank broke down and nodded rapidly. "Yes Uncle," he said. How Mr. Hench could stomach any of this was beyond Hank's understanding, but he supposed that level of indifference and dissociation was something that came with experience and far too many run-ins with similar situations. Had Mr. Hench ever reacted this poorly to similar incidents, he wondered, or was he just that pathetic in comparison to the man? "I-I'm sorry Mr. Hench," Hank choked out in tears. "I didn't mean…"

"It's okay, Hank," Jack replied in a surprisingly gentle tone.

"Admire the handiwork. What happens to you will be far worse, boy," the leader said, reaching out and grabbing the young man by the hair, dragging him up. Hank shouted in pain, instinctively reaching up to try and get rid of the hand holding him.

Jack, eyes dark, rose slowly. "Careful, Hench. Do you really want to start a war over this?" the leader asked. He tossed the young man back into the others, Hank shouting a bit in surprise. He was grabbed quickly and wrestled to the ground on his stomach, then bound tightly with zipties He hissed in pain as the plastic cut into his skin.

"War should be far more a concern of yours, Phil," Jack replied. "If you're smart, you put him down quick and painless right here, right now."

"If you're smart, you don't make demands and prolong his suffering," the man, Phil, replied. Jack was quiet, arms crossed. "Pity. College boy was of a better disposition than you are for sure. More open to reason."

"Gentlemen, I'm very open to reason. Just more experienced at the bargaining table," Jack said bluntly. "I know a bad deal, a scam, or a crooked bargain when I see it. The boy doesn't."

"He ratted us out. You don't come back from that, Hench," the man sneered.

"He's young and inexperienced. He made a mistake," Jack replied calmly.

"Sucks that this one was so costly then, doesn't it? He could have been good for you. Talk more sense into you than you have," the man replied. Jack was quiet, jaw twitching a bit and arms crossed. "Take your consultant and go," the man said, walking over to the bound Hank. He knelt next to him and yanked him up to his knees by his hair. Hank gasped in pain. "We'll take good care of the kid," the man said.

"Oh, I'll just bet on it," Jack replied, pulling out a phone and calling nine-one-one for an ambulance. They gagged the young man and dragged him away, stuffing him quickly into the trunk where his uncle had lain, and drove swiftly away.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?" the operator asked.

"Ambulance at Middleton Plaza by the fountain. Stat. Gang dumped a victim. Severely burned with acid. Fingers and probably toes missing," he said simply before hanging up. Immediately after he pulled up an app and locked onto Hank's pen's GPS, then sent the signal to the one person he knew might still be able to save the kid.

"Henry," Foggman gurgled out.

Jack looked down at him a moment then knelt, covering his long-time advisor and friend's hand. "I'll get him back in one piece, Marcus. I promise. You can rest easy now knowing he'll be safe." Foggman let out a garbled breath and went still. Jack watched him a moment before checking for a sign of life. Nothing. He let out a shaking breath, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

KP

Hank worked at the zip ties binding his wrists. His Uncle had left something for him hidden in the trunk. A sharp piece of metal. How the man had smuggled it there in his state was beyond Hank. HenchCo device? A weapon leftover in his Uncle's body after they'd tortured him, that he'd managed to work free? A trick all his own? It didn't really matter in the end, Hank guessed. It might just save his bacon now. He felt the ties snap. Thank goodness. They'd tightened them until the circulation was cut off, so much longer and he would have lost the hands. He pulled out the gag, grabbed the metal shard, and went to work on his ankles. He really didn't need to lose the feet. He had no idea how far out they were from wherever they were going, but bailing out of a car right now would be a death sentence. Wait until he could feel his hands and feet again, try to see if this was the sort of model you could pop the hood in, if it was, open it a crack and peer out. If it was all clear behind him, he was golden to try, but he wasn't holding out hope there. The other option, of course, was having them open the trunk only to find him unbound and armed, which honestly wasn't a much better chance at survival. At least he'd keep his hands and feet though. For a few more minutes.

He began searching and feeling around for an emergency release. He could have cheered when he found it. He dug the metal tool inside, popping the trunk, and peered out. He almost cursed. The two other cars were hovering behind. Bailing out wasn't an option. Well, he was screwed he guessed. He cursed his luck, laying back and shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes. He guessed he might as well mentally prepare for whatever torture they put on him for even attempting this on top of what he was already looking at.

He should have listened to Mr. Hench…

At least this way he'd gotten his Uncle back, he guessed. Even if only a body.

It hadn't been a risk worth taking. He'd only made things worse. Now Mr. Hench lost both of them instead of just one…

Too late for regret now, he guessed. He made a mental note to never ignore the man's advice again if he got out of this somehow. The vehicle stopped too soon for his liking. He sucked in a sharp breath, closing his eyes, and willed himself to be brave. He'd asked for this, after all.

He'd done it in the hopes they'd give back his Uncle alive. At the same time, however, he'd known the odds of that were low.

He heard them come around the back and pause. They noticed the trunk was popped. Darkly he heard them chuckle like they'd expected nothing less. The trunk opened. He opened his eyes as the light streamed in, looking up at them. "Clever boy," the leader, Phil Whatever, said.

"Obviously not clever enough," Hank replied. "You certainly got one over on me, sir. Serves me right for thinking I could outwit you. After all, with such an expansive racket you've probably dealt with countless situations like this! Plenty of opportunities to learn from past mistakes. You have my kudos."

There was still the pen, and if he was clever with his words, it might buy enough time for someone to come…

There was a brief moment when they were a bit thrown by his tone and attitude, but soon enough they recovered and dragged him out roughly, forcing him towards one of the seediest looking buildings he'd ever seen. They took him around the side, opened what looked like a hatch to some outside basement, and forced him in. He looked up and regretted everything instantly. To say the devices looked nefarious was putting it mildly, and a large barrel stood covered off in a corner. A very large barrel. Acid-bath large. They dragged him over to a hook in the middle of the room. He almost whimpered, dreading what their plan was. He didn't have much of a background in biology, but he knew from reading about Vlad the Impaler in high school that if you did it right, a victim could take a long, long time to die. He figured a hook through the back would probably work on the same principle depending on where and how they did it. After all, body suspension was an actual thing so surely it worked somehow.

"Might I say that is a very big, very nice hook, Sir. Butcher style?" Hank anxiously asked. The man chuckled in some form of amusement. "You know, I really don't think this is necessary. You could just shoot me you know. Cleaner? Faster?" Hank tightly said.

"More merciful," the man said.

"Yes, but the longer you keep me alive the more likely I am to be rescued, right?" Hank said.

"How did that work out for your Uncle?" the man asked. Hank winced hard at that one and shouted in alarm as he was hefted up.

"No please, please, don't! Please!" Hank pled.

"Want to dig your own grave first?" the man mocked.

"I-I..." Hank stammered in fear.

"Global Justice, freeze!" a voice shouted as suddenly the doors to the basement were busted open and agents, headed up by a woman Hank recognized immediately, leapt in, guns aimed. The gang, caught off guard, spun in alarm and instinctively opened fire. GJ shot back. All except the woman. She ran straight to him and tackled him so he'd be out of the way of the hail of bullets. He covered his head, clenching his teeth. She stayed over him and fired a gun at whatever gang members got near. He could tell it was her gun because of how close it sounded and because of the obvious kickback. Apparently, some of the gang were trying to erase him from the census last minute, or she wouldn't be in defense mode he figured. He decided he didn't want to know how close the gang was to succeeding.

When the bullets died and the smoke cleared, everything was still. After a moment, Dr. Director got off him. Nervously he lifted his head and looked around. He let out a stunned breath at the dead and wounded he saw. "Hank?" Dr. Director asked in a bit of concern, touching his shoulder lightly.

He caught his breath, looking quickly up at her. "D-Dr. Director? But-but how…?" Hank asked.

"Your little pen trick combined with my husband's common sense. Or know-how, depending on how you look at it," she replied. "He tracked your pen but knew he personally couldn't go after you, so he sent the details to me, Global Justice homed in on it, and since we were already looking for these people in the hopes of… of getting your uncle back alive… it didn't take long to catch up. We were tailing you before the cars even came to a stop." Hank bowed his head sadly, pushing himself off the ground. She took his arm, helping him stand, and he brushed himself off, clearly upset. "We learn from our mistakes. We don't let them wear us down," she sympathetically said.

"He said the same," Hank replied, crossing his arms and looking guilty. "What-what happened to my Uncle?"

Dr. Director was quiet. Finally, she sighed through her nose, closed her eyes, and shook her head. She opened them again to look at him. "He succumbed before the paramedics arrived. They managed to bring him back, but not for long. He passed on the way to the hospital. They couldn't wake him up again." Hank felt his mouth quiver and shook his head in denial before sniffing and covering his mouth, shutting his eyes tight. "They sent recordings of the things they did to him to Jack. They were set up to live stream what they did to you too. He's probably been watching since they dragged you down here."

Hank sniffed again, removing his hand from his mouth. Tears burned his eyes. He was pale as a ghost and looked sick to the stomach. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it harder for him or-or for you or for anyone."

"I know, Hank," she gently said, tone sympathetic. "I'm… I'm sorry about your Uncle."

"I knew it was a long shot," he quietly said.

She nodded. "Come on. Let's get you to a hospital," she said.

"I'm not hurt," he said, shaking his head.

"Your bleeding wrists say otherwise," she said.

He glanced at them. "They're not so bad," he quietly said.

"It's not your physical health I'm most concerned about," she said.

"I'll be… be…" he began. Suddenly he sobbed, covering his mouth and shaking his head.

"Come on hon. You'll be okay," she said, leading him out.

KP

Hank was sitting on a hospital cot waiting for tests to be done when Mr. Hench arrived. Rapidly. Practically ran into the room. He looked quickly over at the man, eyes wide. Hench paused on seeing how pale he was. Hank winced a bit, looking ashamedly away and down. The tests finished and the nurses went to take the samples to check for goodness knew what. He had no idea why they were being this thorough. It wasn't like anything really bad had happened. Cut wrists and ankles, lack of oxygen in the trunk maybe. Other than that, the trauma wasn't exactly physical.

Jack waited until the doctors left, then looked at him once more and approached. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hank beat him to it. "How long had he worked for you?" he asked meekly.

Jack paused and it took him a second to understand what Hank meant. When he did, he still stayed quiet. At last, he sighed through his nose and rubbed the bridge of it before looking at the young man once more. "Foggman's loss hits me deeper than you know. Cuts me right to the quick. I've known him since the beginning… He was the first employee I ever had. Stuck with me through thick and thin no matter what. A close, personal friend outside of work as well." He watched the shaking young man quietly, and his heart sank into the pit of his stomach when he saw the tears misting the kid's eyes. "I wish I was more than just some rich man with a lot of resources, but the fact of the matter is I'm not. There's only so much I can do from behind a desk. Leaving to go after you, meeting them in person… Those weren't supposed to be options. I have personal rules about things like that, but I took a chance."

"Why? The risk was greater than the reward," Hank said. "You said it yourself. Slim odds aren't worth gambling on."

"I also said everything was relative," Jack replied. Hank was quiet. "They snatched your uncle to get to me. Intimidate me. Break me. There was no other reason for his abduction," Jack soon continued.

"Sir, I didn't mean to…" Hank began.

"I know, Hank, but whether you'd been there with him or not, this would have ended the same," Jack said.

"Dr. Director said they sent you videos," Hank said. "She said that-that they were going to stream what they did to me so you could watch."

"That was their mistake," Jack replied, approaching and sitting next to the young man. He unlocked his phone and showed it to Hank. Hank looked curiously at the message thread Jack had been working with.

Jack: Gentleman, you've just made yourself a very dangerous enemy. Now that I'm down an aide, someone else is going to have to fill the position; and you won't like what comes of it, I promise you.

It had been sent around the time the Wranglers were driving him to their destination…

WSW: Rest assured the one filling that position won't be the boy. Hope you enjoy the show, Hench. Next time maybe you'll think twice about inviting snitches into the fold.

Jack: We both know this wasn't about snitching or a lack thereof, Phil.

"Phil wasn't the head of the snake. He was just an obstacle in the way," Jack explained. "The go-to man. Second in command."

"What did you mean when you said they wouldn't like what would come of it? Global Justice?" Hank asked.

"No," Hench replied.

"If you didn't mean Global Justice, then what did you mean?" Hank asked.

Hench smirked a little. "That's your call to make now. Congratulations, Perkins. You're officially my new business consultant. Now I start grooming you for something far bigger," Jack said. He didn't need to elaborate for Hank to understand what he meant.

Hank looked up at him, taken aback. "Even after all this? Even after how badly I screwed up?" he asked.

"We live and learn, Mr. Perkins," Hench replied.

"I'm afraid I probably don't look like much of a potential heir right now," Hank said, bowing his head again. "I certainly wouldn't have looked it when I was throwing up in that trashcan."

"Most everyone has a similar reaction when faced with a situation like this for the first time," Hench replied, shrugging it off.

"Did you?" Hank asked.

"Mr. Perkins, I'm the exception, not the rule," Jack replied.

"Sir, what about the reputation of the company? If word gets out a snitch is your heir…" Hank began.

"Hank, word won't have the chance to spread beyond the Wranglers, that I can promise you. We won't give it time to. So, are you ready for your first task?" Jack asked. Hank looked curiously up at him and Jack smirked. "Find a way for them to pay for this mistake. My resources are at your fingertips.

Hank looked uncertain, considering this, then narrowed his eyes and nodded in determination, straightening up a bit. "Yes sir," he said. They would regret taking his uncle from him…