February, 2001
Manhattan Island
Ooooh boy. You'd think that a multi-million dollar payout would just make everything absolutely smooth sailing. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Taxes took a chunk, on top of the various expenses necessary for keeping a company running. Even so, it was basically a drop in the glass compared with what we actually made off with.
Which led to probably the most important purchase of them all, and the one that had each and every employee of Maverick Solutions clustered around my desk, pouring over both the monitor of my dusty off-tan computer, and also a large number of fresh realty booklets. We had more than enough money to get ourselves an office that wasn't absurdly cramped, with shitty insulation and generally terrible upkeep. Of course, actually finding a suitable office space was… difficult.
Neither Aleksei, Herman, or I had ever actually gone through with something like this before, and were critically lacking the necessary experience with sorting through what would and wouldn't actually be useful. Thankfully, Mrs. Watanabe pulled through. I honestly didn't know what we would have done without her help. Thus, we were all assembled, looking through the properly curated booklets.
"Hrrrm… This one is good! Has waterfront access. Very excellent for Boat! Is very good price!" Aleksei exclaimed, pointing to one of the listings, while sounding intensely happy… which turned out to be an old… I genuinely wasn't sure what sort of building it was supposed to be. The low price was probably because Doctor Octopus had once used it as a hideout, concealing a prototype Fusion Generator inside until the magneto-gravitational anomalies drew Spider-Man's attention. The entire inside of the building had been wrecked by the generator and the fight, and currently lacked most of it's floor. It did have berths for boats, which was how Ock had gotten out… but it wasn't really good for an office.
Aleksei's face fell when he saw my expression. "Ah… is no good?"
I shook my head. "Too much work to fix it up. I like the thought though!"
"What about that one? It has Subway access, specifically notes heating and power are top of the line… hey, even comes with internet installed and… oh." Herman pointed to a listing for… godsdammit. Both of us realized the issue at the exact same time. "Dammit, it's in Four Freedoms Plaza."
Yeah. Setting up next to the Baxter Building was… not very conductive to one's health. Sure, Reed Richards basically owned the entire plaza, and was very fair when it came to the prices of renting space in that area… but the Fantastic Four's property tended to get attacked by cosmic level threats on a much higher basis than the rest of Manhattan. "Shit. And it woulda' been perfect otherwise."
I fished around some more, considering things. Mrs. Watanabe just smiled as she watched us, before going back to sorting through some of the new application forms we'd gotten. That was going to be fun to go through later. As it happened, Mrs. Watanabe's husband had been a very highly decorated police officer, and her granddaughter was currently a Captain in the NYPD, so she had a fair amount of pull when it came to background checks and other such things. Now, as you might expect, I wasn't worried about criminal records inherently… it was the contents of those records that might cause issues. I had some set criteria to help winnow out the really bad applicants, and help smooth things along, even if it was still a ton to sort through. I didn't envy Mrs. Watanabe for having to take care of the first few steps… but she took it all in stride. And I was also paying her a lot for her work.
"Oh oh! I like this one!" Aleksei had found another location of interest, and was pointing excitedly at it with a finger that took up most of the tiny booklet's page.
"Damn. What the hell is that doing on the market? I'd think it'd only be on offer for private sale… if that." Herman stared at the listing, scratching at his forehead. I leaned over, and my eyes went wide.
The property was an old restaurant in Harlem, with two floors of office space above it… and also a noted and fairly expansive customized basement, including a large underground garage. All of that came at a fairly steep price… not outside of our budget just… steep, but that wasn't what had all three of us boggling. "Jeez. You think the ol' Cyclops is hurting for cash?"
Herman's reaction was entirely understandable. Beneath the listing, and this was an official, entirely above-board catalog, was a little bit of text that read 'Decommissioned S.H.I.E.L.D. Property.' I almost couldn't believe it, but the booklet had literally been printed this morning when we'd picked it up from the realtor's office. "Well. That's… you know. I can't really say no to something like this. What are your thoughts?"
Aleksei hummed softly, hand on his chin. "Is very good. And within budget. I do not see any problems. Is very convenient though. Should be careful."
"Careful is right. I wanna know what the spooks were thinking, letting a place like this go?" Herman grunted. "Other than that… well. If we get it, we'll need to sweep for bugs. Can't be too careful when S.H.I.E.L.D. is involved."
I took everything into consideration, and then decided to mark that one down as priority for Mrs. Watanabe to call about. It rapidly became a higher priority as Herman looked more closely at the listing, and immediately dropped his complaints when he saw that the basement also included a pre-ventilated area that was designed to be used as a workshop. None of the other places we'd considered had had anything close to that. It also helped that if we went for this one, we'd actually be buying the building straight up, rather than renting.
There were a few more properties to look at, but none of them really had as much for as good a price as the decommissioned S.H.I.E.L.D. restaurant. Sure, the restaurant portion hadn't been in operation for a few years, but it did dominate the street-level of the building.
So, we put a call in, set up appointments, and celebrated with a bottle of peppermint vodka that I'd had for a while. And that was just the start of the various purchases and preparations.
My own personal cut of the profit from the first job went towards a few very specific areas. The first was something to assuage the lingering little bits of paranoia and terror at the fact that my first genuine fight in this world had been with Cletus fucking Kasady. Thankfully, I had a solution to that. Whether it was a maverick solution or not was… well, okay, I didn't actually have much of an idea where I was going with that. In any case, I once again called on the Tinkerer for some equipment.
Mason was fast, reliable (so long as you paid him the proper amount, and on time), and best of all discreet. And after all, what's the point of getting a mostly hidden weapon if your supplier isn't discreet?
And thus, that was how I'd once again found myself in one of Tinkerer's workshops, this time accompanied by Herman. We didn't have to teleport in this time; instead we just took a very specific cab with tinted windows to a very specific warehouse. I couldn't have told you where it was if you asked. It might not have even been in Manhattan. Either way, the facility we were in looked mostly like a regular auto repair shop… except instead of normal cars on the hydraulic lifts, there were two fairly generic large robots that were both heavily dented. They looked like a cross between a car, a helicopter (which seemed to have been in a head-on collision midway through switching between ground and aerial modes), and an actual goddamn tank.
It was… kind of surreal honestly, though Herman didn't particularly seem to care. Probably—no, definitely used to it all already. In any case, the Tinkerer was the same as before, save for the fact that his speech was a bit less… robotically stilted than it had been the first time I'd met with him. Wait, hang on…
"I see you've moved up in the world, Ms. Anderson, Mr. Schultz," Mason greeted us, sliding out from under the tank, wrench in hand, mechanic's jumpsuit stained with oil. "You said you were in the market for a hand-held, customized Anti-Symbiote weapon… well, I've gone over your specifications, and come to a few conclusions."
He handed me something that looked like a clipboard at first, but actually turned out to have a computer touchscreen on the front. I examined it closely, holding it up so that Herman could see as well, and both of us stared with no small amount of shock at the list displayed there.
"This is…" I started to say, only for Tinkerer to cut me off.
"A bit more than you expected? Well, when you give me a budget like that, and such a general concept, things will… spiral."
It was true that I'd basically given him a concept and my maximum budget, but this was… a bit overkill. The specific request I'd given him was 'I'd like a palm-sized weapon that'll give Carnage a really bad time'.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Mason this is nuts." Herman turned the clipboard to the side, and scrolled it along a bit. "What the hell is that?"
He pointed to one of the components on the list, which hadn't stuck out to me, until I took a closer look. "Mark XIV FoH Model Mimicry Circuit - Pre-Set Pyro-Type?"
I… had no idea what that meant… until the acronym started to make sense.
"Sentinels are excellent salvage. Those who bring them in, usually less so. Those… what do they call themselves these days? There are so many groups like them, I can never keep it straight. Ah yes, the Purifiers this time. Those Purifiers decided that the price I was willing to pay for their spare goods was too low, and obviously that made me a Mutant. Unfortunately for them, idiocy does not provide a shield against a focused neutron flush." Tinkerer brushed his hands together. "In any case, the parts were mostly junk, save for a singular gauntlet that held inside itself a Rankin Chemicals Polygel X-Gene Mimicry Circuit keyed to the genetic structure of one St. John Allerdyce, formerly known as Pyro."
Herman started, and was now staring at Mason. "Those circuits were always faulty. What's the catch with this one?"
Tinkerer chuckled. "Well, it can only sustain about ten consecutive seconds worth of activation time before shutting off due to overheating, and it's a great deal less precise… but other than that, it is quite effective."
Herman maintained his suspicious glare, though Tinkerer just laughed him off. "I've tested it very thoroughly. It won't just randomly explode or melt down, if you're worried about that. I'm being paid top dollar after all."
I… understood what was being discussed… if barely. It meant that one of the components of my Anti-Symbiote Weapon was a bit of Sentinel Salvage that could mimic one specific Mutant power, that being Pyro's Flame Manipulation, just not as well. I supposed that that dealt with the fire portion really well then. Still, the mention of the Purifiers made me feel a drop in my stomach.
Stryker's not-so-little band of maniacs weren't usually as out in the open as, say, The Friends of Humanity had been before Operation Zero Tolerance, but honestly? The Purifiers had always been more terrifying to me. The FoH were a loud, angry rabble, but they were just that. A rabble. The Purifiers were a highly trained, well equipped militia of absolute fanatics. A lot of people had seen the videos that they posted to the net, once that started being more common. People being held at gunpoint in a dark room by men in tactical gear and angelic masks, while a white-haired man dressed in the robes of a minister and a mask with three faces read off their 'crimes' with a bible in one hand. And then he would take his other hand, made of glowing violet crystal, and shoot the prisoner in the head. And it wasn't just Mutants. It was ordinary people as well. People who had helped Mutants. Ordinary people who had been in a relationship with a Mutant. Or, just like Mason (sans paranoia-fueled preparation for such an event), someone who had made the mistake of pissing the Purifiers off.
One of my hands reached to fidget with the small hammer medallion around my neck. "That's Sentinel Tech… you're sure it won't be able to be tracked?"
Mason seemed to understand what I was getting at after a moment. "Not possible. It's a mostly inert component with zero wireless function or processing capabilities, and the X-Gene component is purely simulated. It is honestly rather crude, despite the ingenuity of the underlying concept. Classic Reverse Engineered Achronal Tech really."
I cocked my head with confusion. "Wha?"
It was Herman who answered, seemingly surprising Tinkerer. "They got the basis for the tech from a Time Traveler, and got somebody who was much less than a Super-Genius to reverse-engineer it. It's all industry bywords and shit."
"Ah." I nodded, and let Tinkerer continue his explanations of the weapon after that digression.
"The sonic component, since you're paying extra, is a refinement of that idiot Klaw's Sonic Disruptor." Mason's normally neutral and disinterested voice momentarily shifted to what I could only describe as professional irritation. "And no, before you ask, this will not turn you into living sound through overuse. That would only happen if you were mentally deranged enough to attach it to your body directly."
I had been raising a finger in query, but put it down as soon as Tinkerer elaborated. "Because the man who made it is a moron, the mechanism is still designed to be controlled by a bioelectric signal—that is, control via direct connection to a nervous system normally—but fortunately, that is relatively simple enough to work around. There's a group of skin-contact electrodes that should be able to piggyback off the nerves that control the movement of your fingers. Unfortunately, human anatomy demands that it take the form of a secondary unit—that would be the little armband there—but it isn't much larger than an exercise band. It should hopefully not have any major ergonomic impact, other than a necessity to roll up your sleeve to equip the device.
As for operation, this control system means that the device will 'mirror' the movement of your fingers. I have keyed functions to the curling motions of each finger in order of importance. The frequency is controlled by the thumb, the amplitude—that's the 'loudness' of the sound—by the index finger, the wavelength—that would be how far it carries—by the middle finger, and so on. If you make a fist, it will immediately set all functions to their maximum value, which should be enough to demolish a building, or give Carnage at minimum a very miserable week of recovery."
Well. That was certainly one Hel of a thing to carry around. The details were… quite extensive, as was the coverage in terms of Anti-Symbiote Functionality. Honestly, this thing was just an all around good weapon and tool in general. "Everything seems to be in order….?"
I turned to look at Herman, who I had brought along specifically because, as he had shown, he was my tech guy, and could translate the jargon and trade talk that most Comic Super-Builder/Scientist types tended to slip into because they were just so used to them. He nodded. "Yeah. It's all kosher. Expensive, but worth it."
"Alright then." With that, I reached into my coat, and pulled out my commonly used pink plastic money case, and handed it over as I had when I'd bought my Dynamo suit, with the process going exactly as it had before. "As agreed. One third now, the rest upon completion."
And with that, business was concluded, and we left the Auto Shop and got back in the cab. It was then that I realized something.
"Wait, did he say he killed those Purifiers using a fucking Neutron Wash?!"
The next thing on the agenda came the day after Herman and I went to see Tinkerer. This time, Aleksei and I were going over to Long Island to buy a car!
Okay. Well, technically speaking, we weren't just buying a car. The rental vans we'd been using had been functional, but were mostly a stopgap measure. Thus, actually buying a vehicle that could transport everyone properly.
Thus, here we were at someplace Aleksei had suggested. Big Al's Surplus Vehicular Supplies, just beyond the city limits of Riverhead. On the outside, much like Tinkerer's Auto Shop, it looked like a fairly ordinary used car dealership, even having some fairly normal looking cars out front. But, as it turned out, there was more to the dealership than met the eye at first. Behind the front lot, there was another, much larger lot. And that lot was a great deal more interesting than just a bunch of cars.
"You see! Here is the best of places to get proper vehicle. Is run by my cousin, Big Al. I have never really been able to buy anything from here until now." Aleksei boomed, voice audible even over the sounds of the busy dealership. He was absolutely beaming with cheer. It seemed that he'd already put some of his money to good… if mildly stereotypical use. He was wearing a very classic-looking gray Adidas tracksuit, which had had a rhino patch attached to the front, and the words "WORLD'S GREATEST RHINO" ironed on to the back, a number of gold chains around his neck, and a pair of round red sunglasses with black rims perched on his nose.
"Okay, I get the rest of the outfit. Leaning into the stereotypes and everything, but what's up with the glasses?" I asked curiously, looking at the oddly familiar lenses. Aleksei boomed out another laugh again.
"Well, you see, there is other guy at gym I go to. He is only one there who is as strong as me. And he always wears these. And women there cannot get enough of him. So I ask 'Guido! Where do you get Sunglasses?' and so he tells me, and I get some with my paycheck."
Wait… does Rhino go to the gym with… well, there aren't many big guys with red sunglasses named Guido in Marvel.
In my slight distraction, I hadn't noticed that we'd made it to the Dealership proper. And then Aleksei called out. "Big Al? Is this you I see?"
"AHA! Cousin Aleksei! It is good to see you in neighborhood!" …. What? What?! It was like I was hearing an echo of Aleksei coming from a very familiar looking figure lumbering over towards us. Big Al… looked exactly like Aleksei. Well, save for the fact that had a full head of reddish-brown hair, and he was wearing a red flannel shirt and jeans. I looked between then, once, twice, thrice, back and forth.
"Wa-Wha?!" I only managed a stammer of abject confusion. Aleksei and Al just chuckled. "You… I… okay, what?!"
"You see, Big Al is Robot Duplicate of me, made originally by Green Goblin during that big mess with all of the Clones and other nonsense. He was not destroyed by Spider-Man, and set out on his own." Aleksei explained. "That was confusing point in time very much for everyone associated with Spider-Man."
Big Al nodded excitedly. "I have found my calling in life as a seller of cars and surplus vehicles!"
I rubbed at my forehead and sighed heavily. "Allfather Above, it's like I'm seeing double."
This was… going to be a bit confusing. And it kind of was. Big Al showed us what he had in stock… which was a lot. Everything from Police Vehicles to Armored Cars, to APCs, to more freaking tanks. Oh, and even weirder stuff. Like a replica of the Big Wheel. Of course, we weren't looking for anything as heavy as that.
"Aha, I see, you are looking for something simpler." Big Al moved away from the bigger vehicles, like that Big Wheel, and a massive tank that Big Al had proudly exclaimed was a restored HYDRA Mega-Tank that Captain America had single-handedly destroyed during World War II. "You see, I have a license for the sale of many vehicles. Perhaps these are more to your liking!"
Now, we were more specifically looking at the selection of various Armored Cars and vehicles of that sort. And there were a lot. Everything from bank trucks to SWAT Wagons, all the way to well… something glorious that Big Al was happy to explain. "You see this beauty, she is a decommissioned SHIELD Battle-Van. This baby can fit an entire strike team in back."
He slapped the roof of the large silver van. "She comes with working hover systems that can reach half of a mile above ground, afterburn-capable thrusters with a cruising speed of two-hundred miles-per-hour."
Both Aleksei and I were very nearly salivating, and there were still more features that Big Al just kept listing off. "Bulletproof Glass and armor paneling, rated for Anti-Tank Weaponry Resistance. Unfortunately, all Weapons have had to be removed, though it does have mounting points for missiles and machine guns, and retractable heavy laser cannon turrets."
He leaned in conspiratorially. "I have those in back of shop. There is discount if you buy."
"OKAY! How much for it?" I asked, resisting the urge to literally jump with joy. It was childish… but this was also a real goddamn Spy-Van and it was amazing! It was perfect! It was…
Big Al told us the price, and both of our faces fell. The van was very much outside of the price range I'd set down. So, with heavy hearts, we settled for a mundane Armored Car, the same sort of model that were commonly used by banks, which we got repainted in silver and red, with the words MAVERICK SOLUTIONS on the sides and back in black text. It was still good, and would still work exactly for the purposes we needed it for… but it also wasn't a flying Spy-Van.
Still, there was a ray of hope, as Big Al explained. "Do not worry. It will most likely still be here if you have more money for vehicles. Thanks to price, most people would not consider buying. Have good time and come back soon!"
We drove off in the new Armored Car, and I could hear Rhino sigh from where he was sitting in the back. "Is shame really. I have always wanted to be in proper Flying Car. Ever since I saw Blade Runner."
"Don't worry about it. After the next big job, if it's still there, we'll pick it up." I replied, stopping for a red light.
"Really? You mean that?" Aleksei asked, voice filled with childlike joy, and I nodded.
"Yep. It's always useful to have an extra vehicle… and flying cars are always cool." My stomach rumbled as we started to head back to NYC proper. "Hey… want to stop for food? I'm pretty sure I saw a diner on the way here…"
"Yes. I think I would like that. Thank you Boss!" When we saw the exit with the diner's sign, I pulled in… and for some reason this felt familiar.
Almost as if my and Aleksei's prayers had been answered, the next day, Allfather Odin smiled upon us… and I got an email about another job, and one that was fairly big.
From: Silver Sunrise Music LLC
Subject: Rebecca Ryan New York Celebration Tour Protection Detail
Huh. That looked promising. It was for a fair amount of money as well. Obviously not as much as the Fisk Gala Job… but still. It was a fair bit.
Let's play bodyguard for a singer. Seems simple enough. And, by the time it's done, everything should be in order for us to move into the new office!
Piece of cake.
A/N: I... um, usually I'm not the best at remembering to do Authors Notes, but I wanted to thank you all so much for the views, all the comments, the gilding(Holy shit, that's never happened before, I'm beyond grateful), everything. I feel better than I have in ages, and my motivation to write is at an all time high. Now, I'm going on vacation over the next few days, but I did write up almost all of Issue 3 on my phone, so I'll probably get Issue 5 out at some point over the next few days.
