superpierce: I'm still having trouble thinking as to why foxhound or the government, in general, want Peter to have the possibility of a normal life. I mean is their more to why they want him to have other possibilities?
( don't think they want him in the military) Were his parents CIA operatives and a few people they were friends with pulled some strings so that he could have a normal life?
Re: First off, it isn't "the government, in general", that wants this; it's staying exclusively in-house since Hank Pym pulled the strings to get Ray Palmer (and Peter Parker by extension) out from under the heel of the Russian Communist State. As was further explained to Virgil during his casual mission briefing, they want to cultivate a good relationship with Peter Parker not only because it might give FOXHOUND an "in" to Ray Palmer's tech, but also because you can never have too many metahumans in a covert ops organization; just look at Psycho Mantis, the guy was Alpha bordering Omega-Level Telepath/Telekinetic, to the point that a person hypnotized with Psycho Mantis' brainwaves were able to channel him from beyond the grave. Or Psycho Mantis channeled himself from beyond the grave. Either or.
Also, do you know how much the ability to dodge bullets increases mission survivability.
Another reason for the "normal life" angle, with emphasis on getting an education, is because if Peter Parker becomes a High School or College drop-out, he's more-likely to become a Supervillain in the future due to lack of actual monetary revenues, and FOXHOUND would have to answer for that since they saved him.
Passively, FOXHOUND is interested in Richard and Mary Parker's former CIA status because it might "run in the family". They don't know that for certain yet, but it never hurts to get a foot in the door.
Blaze1992: I am really surprised by his restraint by know I would've flatly told them "I understand but let me make something beyond perfectly clear, you ever betray me or use/threaten those dear to me it will become your last mistake. Cause afterword's I will make sure to utterly destroy you even if I have to endanger not only the world but the universe too.
Now your thinking I am just a kid what can he do to me, well this kid managed to escape the NYC so it sure as s**t be easier to break back in for the sole purpose of breaking the containment of the virus. My last breathes/actions will be making the world a living hellscape for you from which there is no going back.
So Sure I'll "Watch" my new friends for now but just remember my warning to prevent yourself or others from making a bad call in the future M-kay." While making sure the entire time my heart-beat is slow and my face utterly blank to convey I am not BS-ing this statement.
It is getting a little tiring seeing him going along with everything.
Re: Well, Virgil doesn't have the kind of "stopping power" to make those sort of threats. He could've said all that stuff, sure, but it would've made him look like "a petulant child" and damage whatever reputation he's trying to build with them.
It might be "tiring" to see him going along with what FoxCry has going on, but if he doesn't play ball, then he won't get his "rematch" with Blackwatch and avenge his foster family's death; essentially, so he can get revenge on his "Joe Chill". There's nothing he can do about the "Mercer Virus", but he can kill Blackwatch, he just needs to build up "a very particular set of skills" so he can go through with it and still appear in the sequel movie.
As opposed to a group like the Suicide Squad/Taskforce X where he has a BOMB in his neck, the "carrot" to the "stick" is the chance to burn down everything Blackwatch had built.
Virgil out-of-suit might have Magic, but it's barely any magic, and ability-wise he's barely Superhuman aside from his adrenal bursts, so he doesn't have a whole lot of leverage. Or a fulcrum. Or a place to put that fulcrum. Objectively-speaking, Robin or Artemis are the "weakest" of the Young Justice crew, but at this point in the story, Virgil is still weaker than them. The only reason he beat Artemis was because she was a year "undercooked" and he had a tech advantage over her.
Raidentensho: very nice. hmm, I do wonder if the element Tony makes in Iron Man 2 would be called something more dignified than Badassium. perhaps, Pythagorinium(there's triangles everywhere in the structure of it man!). I do wonder what kind of suits Peter will be able to make with help from The Atom in his corner. hmm, will Virgil point Peter to Magic to get better understanding of his powers due to being a form of The Red/Shamanism? this has a lot of potential. figured that the 'Spider Sense' would ping off his own budding Arcane senses. this will be epic. until then, later!
Re: I think he might try for "Badassium", but later settle for something like "Starknium". "Pythagorinium" is a… unique idea, but the conductor being triangle-shaped doesn't necessitate that kind of naming scheme; a triangle was just the most-structurally-sound when working with a home-made Particle Accelerator. As for suits, that topic comes up in-chapter, and while Virgil is versed in magic, he doesn't know enough about it to steer Peter toward The Red, as he doesn't yet know about the different Parliments that bind together all life like The Force. Also, the [Spider Sense] isn't magic, it only detects "danger"; anything form a sniper round being aimed at him, to an egg-salad sandwich that's gone bad.
*NO REST FOR THE WICKED*
Ivy University
November 21, 20:31 EST
"Remember. No Russian," the lead mercenary said as he and his three accomplices walked into the red-lit research building leased to Dr. Ray Palmer. Tucked under their arms were light SMGs armed with tranq rounds. They numbered four, three men and one woman, ranging from their late-20s to late-30s, clad in all-black, their faces concealed with balaclavas.
The four of them pairing off on either side of the double doors, the leader counted down to three before they entered the room, SMGs raised. Coming into a pitch-black room, the four mercs immediately slapped NVGs over their eyes, panning the room from left to right as they fanned out looking for the targets, missing the shadow at their backs.
*Fwt*
"Agh!" one of the mercs, the woman, yelped as something pointy the size of a toothpick bit into the nape of her neck.
"Какая?" another of the mercs yelped as the youngest of their rank locked up and fell to the ground, stiff as a board. The other two whirling around as the third went to help her, were met only with darkness at what was once their exposed rear flank.
A loud *clack* sounding from the right side of the room away from the door, the three mercs then whirled around, a pencil rolling across the ground, their NVGs following. Had they looked up, they would've seen a teenage boy scuttling across the ceiling, a number of pencils clenched between his teeth, a hand going back to its hold from its previous action.
*Fwt*
"Agh!" the merc kneeling next to his fallen comrade yelped as something struck him in the neck, his body locking up and falling atop her.
"V chem delo?" one off the standing mercs cried whirling around frantically.
"My popali v zasadu!" the leader grumbled, safety coming off his SMG as he whirled around as well.
Before they could ruminate on this any further, a voice that whispered- "Boo." -into the air caused them to whirl around, right into a high-intensity beam of light that made their NVGs completely blind them.
The next moment tranquilizer rounds hit them in rapid succession, the green of their night vision going black as a figure with an eyepatch loomed over them.
*NO REST FOR THE WICKED*
"Ah, good, you're waking up," the mercs heard as they began to come to. The lights in the room were on once again, power restored to the building, and the four of them were put in sitting positions against one of the walls, their limbs bound with multiple zip-ties. "You can call me 'Washington', like this guy," he said gesturing jovially to a dollar bill in his hand, "and I will be your interrogator this evening."
"Vy ne mozhete ponyat' ni slova, kotoroye ya govoryu, i ya by ne skazal vam nichego, yesli by vy mogli," one of the mercs spat in his face.
"YA mogu… I ty budesh'…" David dictated darkly in perfect Russian, their eyes going wide. "Maine," he said inclining his head to a very tall, very large man at his side with a bald head. "Let 'im have it," he said gesturing to the merc on the far right.
"GRAAAAH!"
"No-No-No-Nyet!" the main cried as Main raised his arms above his head.
*CRUNCH!*
"Jesus Christ!" Ray cried from the doorway where he was peeking through the crack, the other mercenaries screaming their heads off as geysers of blood squirted out the top of where the man's head used to be, the body falling limply to the side and broken pieces of collarbone and spine clattering against the linoleum. "Oh god I'm going to be… gonna be… HUWAAAAAAUGH!" he cried as he upended the contents of his stomach into the room.
"Well… Not exactly what I had in mind, but it certainly loosened some tongues," Washington said as the female mercenary looked like she was about to speak up, only to be elbowed in the ribs by her compatriots. "Hey Maine, how often do you make a guy's head 'telescope' into his own body?"
At this, Maine gave a dismissive shrug and an inhuman growl from the depths of his scarred throat.
"Now then!" David said clapping his hands loudly, getting the mercs' attention, their friend's torso spewing spurts of blood like a busted fountain. "Who wants to play every interrogator's favorite game; Who Wants to Talk First?"
Once more, the female mercenary looked like she wanted to speak, but a heated glare from the older of the three stilled her tongue.
"No? Very well then…" Washington shrugged as he began to pace before them, a hand going to his chin as he adopted a look of deep concentration. "You knowww… There's all sorts of ways I could wheedle the information I want out of you. Needles under the fingernails. Hot poker in the eye. Car battery to the genitals. Waterboarding's pretty easy with a garden hose if you have it. But when I want to get really creative with my 'advanced information gathering techniques'…" he said drawing out a thick-walled dark-brown bottle with a fading chemical label and a length of metal tubing sticking out the top and holding it atop his hand, the other hand waving around it like he were demonstrating a product for an infomercial, "I like to go with a good old-fashioned Sulfuric Acid enema!"
The manic glint in his eye caused the younger two of the remaining three mercenaries to let out a small whimper, the bottle clearly labeled Sulfuric Acid.
Of course, part of it may've been that their friend was bleeding out all over the floor from having his head literally caved in.
"So!" he said with a giddy squeal. "Anyone feel like telling me why you're here?" he asked, the mercs turning their eyes to one another before shaking their heads, lips drawn into a thin line. "Very well then. WHO WANTS TO GO FIRST?!" he asked as his lips were drawn into a wide, crazed smile.
What followed in the minutes to come, mission analysts would cite as being "the product of a diseased mind".
*NO REST FOR THE WICKED*
At the end of the nursery rhyme he used to determine who would be made an example of, Maine had the second merc from the left strung upside down by his ankles, bound wrists zip-tied to the front of his pants, his flailing completely ineffectual.
"This'll hurt less if you don't fight it. Like how the dentist works," David said as Maine swung the merc into the wall with a skull-rattling *CRACK!*, putting an end to any resistance. "First step of the Sulfuric Acid enema; pulling down the pants to expose the anus," he said grabbing the back of the merc's pants and pulling them "down" just-enough to expose the butt-crack. "Next! You stick the metal tube right into the asshole!"
The dazed merc letting out a horrified squeal as the metal tube was shoved into his anal cavity, the pained squeal soon turned into a blood-curdling cry of terror as the contents of the bottle were emptied into his lower intestine. The cries of the enema-receiving merc causing those still sitting upright to pale to an almost translucent shade, the scent of proteins and lipids decomposing through amide and ester hydrolysis began to fill the air, the two mercs upending the contents of their own stomachs like Ray had done moments before.
It was one thing that the man named Washington was singing Habanera from Carmen while using a solitary finger to keep the bottle tipped upside-down. It was quite another that his voice was quite melodious, which made the intermingling of operatic singing and blood-curdling screams even more terrifying to behold.
After what felt like an eternity of blood-curdling screaming , the chosen mercenary went limp in Maine's grasp, an inert slurry of Sulfuric Acid and protein dribbling out of the merc's fear-frozen mouth and onto the floor, a snap of Washington's finger prompting Maine to unceremoniously drop the body onto its head with a *Crunch*.
"Cleanup, aisle twelve!" Washington announced with his hands around his mouth, words echoing through the lab. "Tell me, do you know where we are right now?"
The horrified mercenaries, for their part, chose to keep their mouths shut.
"We're in one of Ivy University's R&D buildings which also serves as a research facility to study all sorts of wildlife. I volunteered at one just like it in grad school," he said in an almost nostalgic tone. "It's got a laboratory, an incinerator, and oodles of state-of-the-art equipment. Would you like to see them?" he said with a smile like a stranger offering a kid the promise of candy from the back of his van.
"I'll talk! I'll talk!" the female merc screamed.
"Don't you daaare…!"
"Shut your whore mouth!" she shrieked back, spittle spattering across his face. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Just please don't let me end up like them!" she said glancing nervously as the two mutilated bodies on the floor.
"I think I can work with that. Maine~ Why don't you take this fine gentleman down to the incinerator~"
"You stupid bitch! When I get out of this I'll-"
"GRAAAAAGH!" Maine roared as he raised his foot and brought it down in the merc's face, his skull splintering with a wet *SQULCH!* as it was driven into the wall behind him.
"I agree, Maine. That is now how you address a lady," Washington said with a kind smile, the remaining mercenary pissing her pants as her eyes danced around the three corpses that used to be living people only minutes ago. "Now then," he said causing the woman to let out a mouse-ish squeak as his attention was wholly turned towards her, a genial smile on his face as he took a knee before her. "About why you were here…?"
*NO REST FOR THE WICKED*
"Uncle Ray… What was all that screaming a second ago?" Peter asked his uncle as the man returned to the room they'd been reallocated to after the invading mercenaries had been captured, the building itself surrounded by the FBI and local police since the Russians had gotten involved. The mercs hadn't brought in any ID, which was to be expected, but facial recognition placed the lot firmly from the Russian motherland.
"You… Urp…! You don't wanna know…" Ray said almost retching.
A moment later he scrambled for the nearest trashcan and began dry heaving into it.
"I'll… take your word for it," Peter answered nervously.
"Palmer, Parker," David said stepping into the room, clapping his hands as a woman was led away in handcuffs, three men with covered bodies on stretchers following behind. "Good news! I got everything I needed out of that last merc."
"Last merc?" Peter groused under his breath.
"Turns out, after Titanium and Radioactive Man utterly botched your last kidnapping attempt, certain persons within the Russian government who will deny everything, put out an open bounty on the both of you," he said causing them to reel back in shock. "At least as 'open' as anything on the darknet is," he amended. "Seems someone didn't get the message that Palmer's tech, and his family by extension, were off-limits so I had to have a…" A pause. "Let's call it 'have a very strongly-worded discussion' with them."
"Will more come?" Ray asked worriedly.
"Foxhound will put feelers into the darknet and see who nibbles the bait, that way you'll get a heads-up if anyone's planning on trying again, though I wouldn't bank on an early-warning in case anything slips through the cracks," David answered.
"I see," Ray hummed, his mind awhirl with new training regiments if he intended to keep his nephew safe. Maybe even a way to "warp" through the microverse.
"Mr. Washburn?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you some kind of super-spy? Because it seems like you're some kind of super-spy."
"What makes you think I'm one of those?"
"Well, I mean… When those four mercs came in, they went down really quickly. Like, 'under a minute' quickly," Peter answered.
"Well, it helps that I ambushed them, for one," David answered. "If you 'stack the deck' in your favor, it doesn't matter how well-armed your opponent is or how many more of them there are. If you can complete an ambush before they can get their bearings, anyone can come across as a 'super-spy'."
"And is everyone in Foxhound like you?"
"Not by a longshot. Every organization has its pencil-pushers and file clerks, I've just had the good fortune to get a little training under my belt."
"I see…" Peter hummed. "Um… You said you wanted to know what my powers can do. Does Foxhound want me to work for them someday?" he asked nervously.
"If you're offering, sure, though you'd have to undergo a lot more training before you're asked to do anything meaningful. Whether that's with Foxhound itself, or your fellow supers is up to you, though I don't think I need to remind you that you shouldn't shout out your connections to Foxhound from the rooftops."
"I'll keep that in mind," Peter answered. "And… if I didn't want to work for Foxhound?"
"Then that's fine too. The only time 'you' would become a problem for Foxhound is if you were to 'go bad'. Part of the reason I, as your 'liaison', am urging you to keep up your grades and get a higher education, is so you aren't tempted to turn 'dirty' if you still choose to become a superhero."
"Dirty how?" Peter asked with a raised brow.
"Basically stuff like finding relish in punching guy's teeth out like a Tooth Fairy on steroids, or stealing money from the crooks you bust, or accepting bribes not to stop certain criminals."
"I'd never do that!"
"You can say that now because you're a teenager and everything you need is handed to you, within reason, but once you're out of high school and you make your first foray into the real world… Your parents might seem overbearing now, but once you have to start paying rent, you'll see just how important a steady income is."
"Well… I am thinking of getting a degree in chemical engineering," Peter hummed. "First Christmas gift I remember getting was a chemistry set," he added with a nostalgic smile.
"Ah, see, now that's good money right there," Washburn nodded. "And if you really are going to go with a spider motif, chemistry would definitely come in handy."
"Yeah, I am a bit of a nerd," Peter said with a bit of pride in his voice. "I haven't really put any thought into what my 'Web Shooters' would look like since I'm not sure how small the cartridges would be, but I have some costumes if you wanna see," he offered hopefully.
"You're putting an awful lot of trust in me…" David hummed.
"Yeah, well… Trust is a two-way road. Foxhound is trusting me not to go bad or blab about you guys, and I'm trusting Foxhound to keep the Russians off of me. If I can't even trust you enough to show you some costume designs, what can I trust you with?"
Turning to Dr. Palmer, the man shrugged his shoulders.
"Don't look at me. You're the liaison."
" . . . Alright, Parker. I've got some time left until I have to get back to base. Let's see what you've got," David conceded after a moment.
*NO REST FOR THE WICKED*
Peter's notebook containing his observations about his powers, Web Shooter, and costume designs was thankfully not the same one he was using for school. It'd be pretty damning if he were caught doodling a non-existent superhero who then appear in real life a week later.
Peter's costume designs for the most part were pretty well-drawn. It wasn't the sort of thing a tailor would be able to get anything useful out of, but he got the point of what he was ruminating across pretty well. Color, design, features, possible materials. Some of them were absurdly simple, others more-elaborate but were thankfully crossed out since they left the realm of practicality to the wayside.
The most-recent design, the one that had the most work put into it, was a red-and-blue number that covered his entire body, the red parts of the costume bearing a web-like pattern and a small black spider emblem on the sternum. Set in the underarms were small webs that seemed like they were meant to be used for gliding, if the word Glide? connected to it by an arrow had anything to do with it.
"I'm no tailor, but these are pretty good," David nodded, flipping through the designs. "Though I have to wonder, is the red-and-blue because of Superman by any chance?"
"N-No! Though I can see how that misconception might be named," Peter said with a nervous hand wave. "It's actually based on my uncle's costume, just with some aesthetic changes."
At this, Ray felt touched.
"I see…" David hummed. "Well, you'll definitely want to get some body armor under here, because let me tell you, getting shot, sucks."
"Yeah, I'm thinking something lightweight, like an aramid fiber, maybe come Kevlar to protect my vitals. I'm fast-enough to dodge bullets, as hard as that still is for me to believe even though I was there… so I'll probably be an agile hero, like Robin, but with the stopping power of guys like Batman or Wildcat."
"Well, it's your ass on the line, so you go be whatever kind of hero you want to be," David said as he went through the designs once more. " . . . Spider-Cop?" he asked incredulously at an earlier design.
"Well, I mean, it wouldn't hurt to have the cops on my side…" Peter said nervously, thinking back to the full-on manhunts that occurred when the Batman had made his first appearances.
"Unless you plan to get actual police training and licensing, you're just-as-likely to have a warrant on your head for 'impersonating a police officer'."
"Yeah… I guess you're right," Peter returned bashfully. "Hey uh… There's something I need to know."
"Shoot."
"What happened to the guy I kicked? The guy I kicked with my super-strength?"
"Don't worry. He lived."
"Oh. Thank goodness."
"I mean, the guy got so much cranial trauma he can't even remember his own name, but he's still alive," he amended.
"Thank… good…ness…?"
"Trust me, it's better he not remember," Washington said with a wave of his hand. "They were only after you to get to Palmer, if not Palmer itself. No-one knows you're a meta outside of Foxhound, but that'll change if the Russians give you a physical. And let me remind you, there is a huge market on the black market for meta-enhanced human viscera."
"Yeah, I heard you the first time…" Peter sighed. "Do you really think I have what it takes? To be a superhero, I mean."
"Honestly… I'm not jazzed with how much people rely on heroes instead of saving themselves. You get me talking 'politics' and I'll tell you, that the existence of superheroes makes people in general weaker, more complacent, and lose their ability to remain self-reliant," he answered causing Peter to shift nervously. "You ever hear about that one case, where a woman was getting murdered outside her apartment and no-one did anything because they all thought 'someone else will do something'? Well, when there's a superhero in-city, that's basically the approach everyone takes, which means I'm just not a big fan of the superhero 'establishment'."
"And yet you're telling me to be one…"
"I'm telling you to be smart about it."
"Oh, well, do you have any advice for me then?" Peter asked taking out his notebook. "I'll take whatever I can get."
"Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?" Ray asked.
"You've only been a superhero for… Actually, you aren't even a proper superhero yet. What happened with the Russians was more of a 'test run'," Peter stated matter-of-factly before looking up at David expectantly.
" . . . Disinfect the mask," he began after a moment. "You're going to want to use baby powder in the suit, heavy on the joints; you don't want any chafing. Though to be honest I'm more of a cornstarch kinda guy…" he trailed off. "Don't go into a situation half-cocked, you never know nowadays who's hiding alien tech, who has 'exploding head' powers, or if the whole thing might be some kind of setup. Also, don't neglect your interpersonal relationships…"
*Growrrrrrr*
"And don't skip meals. Speaking of which, who's hungry? Interrogating POWs for information makes me hungry, what about you?"
*NO REST FOR THE WICKED*
One pizza delivery later, and the four of them were having their late-night snack, Peter, Ray, David, and his exceedingly-violent "muscle" sitting around a myriad of soda and pizzas; Supreme, Meat Lovers, Extra Cheese, and Veggies.
"I uh… I'm not really sure what to make of you."
"What do you mean?" David asked.
"I mean… One minute you seem so normal, and the next…"
"And the next I'm what?"
"Well… You kinda tortured those guys to death, didn't you?" Peter asked nervously.
"Technically I only tortured one guy to death. Maine here killed the other two," he said jabbing his finger at the Agent 47 look-alike off to the side attacking a Meat Lovers like a starving animal.
"Still, did you have to kill them?"
Flat stare.
"Okay, did you have to kill the one guy you killed?"
"Hey, those guys were Mercenaries working for the Russians on American soil. They knew what they were getting into. Hell, they were just as bad as supervillains, just without the stupid outfits."
"I don't think they were that bad."
"They were going to use you as leverage to steal a doomsday device that could cause an entire skyscraper to explode killing everyone in and around it. Trust me, they are 'that bad'," David said flatly.
"I'd hardly call it a 'doomsday device'," Ray huffed.
"I call it like I see it. Why do you think your protection is such a high priority?"
"Sooo… Other than the cornstarch thing, any other advice for me?" Peter asked after they ate a couple more slices.
" . . . How're you going to explain the muscles?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if anyone sees your 'I could grate cheese off those' abs, people will think something's up. How're you going to explain them away?"
"I uh… I never really thought about that," Peter answered nervously.
" . . . *Siiiiigh* . . . Okay, here's what you're going to do," David said after a long sigh. "You're going to buy one of those squeeze grip hand exercisers, and you're going to start using it in class. When you go to gym, you're going to start doing better than you did before your powers came in, but not too good. If you have a gym nearby, go to it for at least an hour every other day. If anyone asks why you 'started working out' so much, just tell them it's PTSD from being held captive by the Russians. Since PTSD is an 'umbrella term' for those that don't know what it means, other people will fill in all the gaps. Then, next time you play Shirts vs Skins, you won't attract so much attention."
"And you really think that'll work? I mean… It sounds a little far-fetched."
"A person is smart. People are dumb. Everything they've ever 'known' throughout the ages has proven to be wrong. A thousand years ago everyone knew as a fact, that the Earth was the center of the universe. Five hundred years ago, they knew it was flat. Fifty-four years ago, they knew they were alone in the universe."
"Did you just steal that from Men in Black?" Peter asked with a raised brow.
"Point I'm trying to make is, 'ignorance is bliss', and people in general are content to be ignorant. You play your muscles off right and you won't have to act like a bumbling incompetent to keep your secret identity safe. Just don't go making any slam dunks, and don't be the best at everything in gym, no matter how much letting yourself get hit by a stray dodgeball sucks," David answered. "Plus I have it on good authority that girls dig guys with six-pack abs. You do like girls don't you?"
"W-Well I…" Peter blushed nervously.
"Or guys. I don't judge."
"Girls! I like girls!" Peter asserted.
"Well, as long as your… spooge," he said taking a moment to choose the right word, "isn't super-strong as the rest of you, I'm sure you'll have a very productive sex-life."
"What's that got to do with anything?!" Peter asked as he blushed embarrassingly, Ray choking on his pizza off to the side.
"If Superman used Lois Lane as a cocksleeve, and all of his strength feats are proportional, all of them, unless he's wearing a Kryptonite condom, he'd rip her in half like a machine gun."
"Okay, that's a visual I did not need in my head," Peter said pushing away his pizza.
"…You gonna eat that?" David asked after a moment.
"You're gonna be a baaad influence…" Peter groaned.
*NO REST FOR THE WICKED*
"Well," David hummed as he hopped back into their van and left the Ivy U campus once the proper authorities arrived. "All things considered, I think that went very well~"
"Yes. And you and Maine only left three dead bodies in your wake and one very traumatized mercenary," Connie huffed.
"Heh. Heh. Heh," Maine chuckled, cracking his knuckles with a dark grin on his face.
"To be fair, Maine killed two of them."
"And the one you did kill you poured Sulfuric Acid into his rectum," Connie shuddered.
"Hey, I worked with what I had."
"Any particular reason you left such a huge mess behind?"
"Way I see it I'm sending a very clear message to anyone who might want to go after Ray or Peter again. 'Stay the fuck away from Ray and Peter'."
"Right. Because nothing gets the point across like a mountain of dead bodies," Connie said with a roll of her eyes. "You gonna keep that thing on all the way back to the airport?"
"Dunno. It's kinda growing on me," Wash hummed checking himself over in a mirror.
"Well, just don't go bar hopping with that thing on. Don't want you making a habit of catfishing grown women when you're half their age," Connie sighed, turning her eyes back to the road.
*NO REST FOR THE WICKED*
Massachussets Airspace
November 21, 22:42 EST
"Agent Washington. How did the mission go?" Re-l's questioned through AR council once they were in the air.
"You were probably listening via Codec. You tell me."
"Dead bodies aside, you adapted to your role and gave an extremely believable performance without compromising your identity as the field agent who hid Mr. Parker in that dumpster. You also did an excellent job of putting the idea in his head that he'd be a better superhero if he had an actual career to fall back on."
"And you really think Foxhound can use him someday?"
"In a few years, maybe. He's already been ingratiated to us, so it's just a matter of maintaining a healthy working relationship with him. It's also possible we could lean on Dr. Palmer if the need to do so ever arose, and Dr. Pym is still amicable to Foxhound after all these years, though any attempt to lean on him would have to be handled very delicately."
"Want me to take a crack at him?"
"I appreciate your confidence, but I think we'll let him cool off for the time being. Dr. Pym has enough on his plate as it is," Re-l answered. "I'm told you got rather… creative, with your interrogation techniques."
"Just worked with what I had on hand. Used a bottle of sulfuric acid just like that in high school."
"Perhaps, though you'll understand if we ask you to show a little more… restraint in the future."
"Hey, when it comes to 'who I am in the dark', I'm just-as screwed up as anyone else who escapes a literal biohazard."
"I suppose. Though you'll understand if we choose to keep you under observation until your next assignment. Your mental health can only be allowed to deviate so far before the Director begins to question your utility."
"I'll ease off the 'Crazy Juice'," Virgil assured her.
"You'd better. Too much of the stuff for normal people lands them in Arkham's 'revolving door'. For you, someday we might wind up finding you in a destroyed village with a necklace of human ears hanging from your neck."
"Gross."
"Funny. Carolina said the exact same thing."
"Wait, that really happened!?" he gawped incredulously.
*NO REST FOR THE WICKED*
AN:
Some translations for those not versed in Russian. And also a nice little Easter egg for those with an eye for detail.
"Какая?" = "What?"
"V chem delo?" = "What's going on?"
"My popali v zasadu!" = "We've been counter-ambushed!"
"Vy ne mozhete ponyat' ni slova, kotoroye ya govoryu, i ya by ne skazal vam nichego, yesli by vy mogli.." = "You can't understand a word I'm saying, and I wouldn't tell you anything if you could."
"YA mogu ... I ty budesh' ..." = "I can… And you will…"