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Alarms were sounding throughout the Talon base. There'd been a breach somewhere and scores of hired goons were streaming through the halls to defensive positions. The lower level was eerily empty though, all energies going to preventing an intrusion at ground level or above, not realizing the interlopers had already gotten inside.
Doors led to darkened storerooms, medical facilities, various experimental labs, and a room with a wall of brightly lit monitors surrounding a table.
Closer inspection will reveal Maximilien laying on the table, all lights off, almost invisible in the darkness but for the glint reflecting off gold plated knuckles. There's wires everywhere, a large conduit connecting the back of his head to a computer nearby, and smaller ones all through his arms and chest, his jacket and vest cut open but not removed.
One monitor is tracking Max's cerebral functions, the bar steady as only baseline processes are running currently. Another is displaying some sort of extraction program, various red messages indicating it's failed several times so far and has stopped. Not all of them have failed and there's another screen of various files and documents ripped out of Max's memory some with labels like: Talon, Overwatch, Null Sector.
It's clear they're trying to break into wherever he keeps the memories for his various bank accounts, assets and holding companies. But either Max saw this as an inevitable end for him, or he was very paranoid, because there's multiple levels of encryption and failsafes preventing it from being accessed.
Apparently they were done trying that method after thousands of fails, and there's only one program on the computer still running. This one uploading something direct into Max's processor. A god program AI to overtake his own consciousness and commandeer him like a drone. But even that is encountering problems, unable to overwrite certain files, though a large percentage of it is getting through.
Max himself looks a mess. He's dusty, obviously been down there for a while, the only part of him still shiny are the finger streaks around parts where wires have been hooked up and adjusted. There's no movement, no whirring of machinery, he's effectively dead, the barest hint of him kept active but the rest forcibly shut down. Technically only half of Max, as his legs are missing. Platinum and gold plating are worth a hefty sum and Talon decided to sell him bit by bit to recoup some of the costs while they try and get the rest of him to comply.
There's a beep from the computer as the program notes the upload is 25% complete.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-06-23 05:46 am (UTC)As a veteran of the Omnic Crisis, this isn't the worst scene he's stumbled upon, but it's up there. When their source said Talon had gotten their hands on game-changing intel, Jack figured his target was a super-computer, or disk. He's done that kind of job before. It's a quick, albeit destructive, in-and-out. Find the source. Eliminate and/or abscond with the source. Retreat.
They were given coordinates for a sub-basement with sewer access. It didn't take Jack long to find the data-bank, or to blow it. He wasn't planning on taking a tour through the facility, they're only two people, and Ana is watching the exit. Soldier 76 is a tough sonnuva bitch, but he's not invincible.
Jack couldn't say what brought him to this room. Maybe it's a gut feeling, or maybe their leak wanted them to find more than their intended target, and knew Jack Morrison couldn't leave well enough alone.
"What the hell..."
He can't make heads or tails of what's happening. Not at first. There's too much going on. Wires. Computers. The equipment both technical and mechanical. He almost doesn't recognize what's left of the omnic at the centre of it all. Not until he gets close enough to see his face.
Maximilien.
Accountant. Criminal. Turn-coat. Loyal to no one but himself, and his many bank accounts. Playing Overwatch against Talon had been a dangerous game, one that's finally caught up to him. Jack shouldn't care. The omnic didn't. If there positions were reversed, Max wouldn't have lifted a finger to help him. Not unless it suited him.
Talon must still want something from Max to spend all this time and effort on extraction. Terrorist groups were rarely sentimental. If Max wasn't valuable, he'd be in the scrapheap with every other omnic who outlived their purpose. Materials to be recycled. Looks like they already got started.
Talon wants something. That means they might want it too.
That's what Jack tells himself, and is preparing to tell his pissed-off partner, as he wastes valuable time pulling the wires, cords, and sensors off the omnic's body, blasting the surrounding consoles with his rifle. It's possible Jack's frying Max in the process, but given the alternative is being broken open, wiped, and trashed piece by piece, he'd be doing the omnic a service.
If he makes it out of here alive, Ana is going to kill him.
Jack grabs a couple straps off the table and uses them to belt the omnic to his back. He needs his hands free to shoot, climb, and throw down biotic fields. It's going to be a rough ride. Jack's grimly relieved when the omnic stays powered-down. They need to escape unseen, and if Max starts thrashing or making noise, he'll have to ditch him.
The retreat is ten minutes late, and less than graceful, but when Jack slides out of the sewer drainage pipe with his precious cargo in tow, Ana is ready and waiting to receive them. For now, they run to the safe-house before Talon can make a clean sweep of the area. They keep a quiet, grueling pace and make quick time. The back of her hand comes when they cross the threshold into safety, along with the verbal tongue-lashing.
Max is stowed unceremoniously in a padded clothing trunk, and brought to the sound-proofed basement with electric dampeners. Just in case Talon is tracking him.
The next few days happen in a blur. They run. Hide. Run. Hide. At some point Ana reaches out to an old 'friend' (one of many), an engineer who worked for Omnica before the war. Long retired. Off-the-grid. More or less trustworthy. She takes all of their money, and promises nothing. Ana is ready to backhand Jack again by the time Max is returned to their care.
She says his memory banks are intact, and the corruption is minimal, but only time will tell.
It's been a week since they broke into Talon. Jack is cleaning his rifle while Ana patrols the city on alert for enemy agents, and dinner. Max is still in the clothing trunk. Sat upright like a vintage doll.
Where else are they supposed to put him?
Jack is sleeping on the floor.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-06-23 11:13 am (UTC)Max had known things had come to their inevitable conclusion a few seconds before a hoarde of Talon goons had smashed their way into his office, guns trained on him and requesting he come quietly. Maybe they really thought he would, he did come off as passive and calculating and the best chance of his continued survival would be to comply.
They found out the hard way that Max was anything but passive. And not entirely unskilled at brawling. His fist went through a few of their faces before they started shooting.
It was about the time that he realized they were intentionally missing that he understood just how fucked he was. He'd been doomed from the start with dozens of them and one of him but he hadn't really considered just how bad it was until an EMP blast was levelled at him.
Ah. Problematic for his escape attempt.
The world had gone silent as he collapsed, vision darkening as his scrambled processors tried to keep functioning. The last thing he remembered was being on the floor, one of the goons walking to his head and unloading another blast at point blank range.
They really had terrible outfits didn't they?
Initializing...
The lights in his head blink a few times before coming on, as if he's a rebooting appliance.
What's left of the AI program's corruption is fighting with his own processes for control, impeding him coming back online. It shouldn't take this long.
When his main core finally finishes trying to rebuild tampered databases and activate everything, Max's eyes shoot open. His hands immediately go to the back of his head to rip out wires and cords that he knows would be there.
He's more than aware of what fate was in store for him the minute he'd understood they were trying to take him intact.
Not finding himself hooked up to anything isn't actually reassuring and he tries to back away only to fall over into a heap.
He's panicking now, unsure where he is, the diagnostic overlay in his vision bringing up corrupted file after file and listing out everything thats been messed with. Every process is overclocked into high gear, a sudden whirring sound as it ratchets up, the Omnic equivalent of hyperventilating.
Red eyes are searching around frantically, trying to make sense of all this before settling on Jack. He doesn't recognize him, not at first and in the midst of his mental overload. All he wants is to get away.
It's not successful in the least.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-06-24 08:12 am (UTC)Not while it stays soft, anyway.
As the sound picks up pitch, Jack glances Maximilien's way. Sees the omnic's eyes flicker on and off until they stay in. Search the room. See him.
This wasn't how he planned their first interaction post-rescue/abduction to go. Ideally, Ana would be here, and she could do the talking while Jack tried not to look too interested. Even though bringing the omnic here was Jack's stupid plan, and not hers. She was better with words was this week's current excuse.
Next week it'll be some bullshit about a woman's touch, which she'll undoubtedly smack him over, and he'll undoubtedly deserve. Anything to avoid the consequences of his own actions. Jack's already regretting his decision to take Max, and keep him alive instead of putting a bullet into the omnic's head.
He never could take the shot when it counted. Ana has bigger balls than he does. She wouldn't have hesitated.
Max is panicking, and Jack can't blame the omnic. He's disoriented. Captive. Naked. The engineer threw his clothes out, along with any damaged pieces no longer beneficial to Maximilien's function. Which means all of the half-stripped limbs below his pelvis are gone.
Without legs, the omnic is top heavy. He has no centre of gravity. No real balance. All chest, arms, and coiffed metal hair.
"Stop. Don't move, you're going to--" A thunk as Maximilien topples out of the wardrobe and hits the cement floor. Jack drops his rifle onto the table and goes to the omnic's side, grabbing him by the arms and setting him upright on the closest surface, a dirty, rusted cot, with a snarl.
"Stop. Moving. Unless you want to take another nose-dive and lose your face, too."
Real sensitive. There's a reason he lets Ana do the talking these days. After spending years flying solo beneath the radar, with only his pulse-rifle for company, Soldier 76 isn't much of a diplomat.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-06-24 04:49 pm (UTC)"Where am I?"
A pointless asinine question. What difference did it make if he was in Venice or on the moon? It wouldn't help him escape, not like this. What was he going to do? Crawl out of there?
All his scheming, devising plans within plans some with enough twists to make a humans head spin, hadn't prepared him for this situation. He's badly damaged, no mobility, naked, there's some rogue program sitting on the edge of his periphery, and he's being held captive by.. by..
Eyes turn to Jack, finally actually looking at him instead of through him. Soldier 76. Former Overwatch.
Oh no.
He can think up about a dozen reasons why Overwatch would be taking him captive, but none of that fits together with it being Talon that had incapacitated him in the first place. Nothing made sense, had Talon sold him? What happened to his legs?
Crunching up he raises a shaky hand to the back of his head again, fingers probing around where he'd been plugged in. That program is sitting there, inactive and partially corrupted apparently, but a steady reminder of what was about to happen to him and that causes his panic to rise again. Because if it's there it could be reactivated.
His fingers harshly drag against his own neck. Maybe he can rip it out.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-06-24 06:09 pm (UTC)"We sprung you from Talon a couple weeks ago. Took you to a specialist." A pause, dragging a gloved hand over his shadowed jaw. It's difficult to know how much they can or should tell Max. This isn't a hostage scenario, but it sure as hell wasn't a rescue. They're not philanthropists.
Seeing the look in the omnic's red eyes, something tells him Max won't be making that assumption anytime soon. For all intents and purposes, Max was kidnapped from one bad scenario and dropped into another.
"Before you accuse us of anything; we didn't do this to you. Talon did. The only reason you're still running is because my partner knew a guy who knew a guy who had hands-on omnic repair experience. All they did was defrag your memory, and restore your primary functions."
Jack squints at him through the darkness of the room, eyeing the way Max is touching himself. He knows that look. Saw it in himself when he woke up with half his face hanging away from his skull in ribbons of flesh.
Jack came so close to tearing it off. It seemed preferable to living with the pain, shock, and horror at the time.
"We spent a lot of time and money putting you back together. I'd appreciate if you didn't waste the good doctor's hard work. She's looking into getting you some legs. Cooperate, and we'll make sure you get them."
(no subject)
Date: 2020-06-24 06:49 pm (UTC)His eyes flick from the stained cot, to the cement floor, and around the room, trying to glean any little details he could. It's not giving away much, some supplies, a shelf with basic appliances and a door that he guesses leads outside, or maybe upstairs. Something about the way the sound is echoing gives a sense of being underground, a basement maybe? Or just something really well insulated. Probably necessary to keep them hidden, but Max's first uncharitable thought was to dampen screaming if they needed to interrogate anyone. Are the splotches on the floor rust or blood? He can't tell, and doesn't want to spend the effort to look closer.
Spent a lot of time and money. Of course. Money. He laughs a little, softly, barely audible. He really should have seen something like this coming. And he had but not to this ...extent.
"It appears I don't have much of a choice." The other option was to pull the plug on himself or make some foolhardy escape attempt.
Not having legs should be the biggest concern, but for some reason being naked is at the forefront of his problems. It really shouldn't matter, he's an omnic. There's nothing to see, not to mention most of his kind walked around without clothes all the time, but he'd been wearing them for decades and suddenly being exposed like this was really bothering him. For a brief moment he wrapped an arm around his midsection as he hunched forward, before needing to put it back on the cot so he didn't topple.
"And I presume you have a reason for spending time and money getting me functional again?" His voice just doesn't sound right, it's Max but... Subdued.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-06-24 07:34 pm (UTC)He grits his teeth. Hates that they're having this conversation in a dark, dirty room, instead of somewhere he feels confident. He misses having that over-sized conference table between himself and the person he's talking to. There's safety in professional boundaries. Enough mental and physical space to negotiate from a place of logic.
Being up close and personal makes it hard to keep the emotion at bay. Whenever Gabe wanted something, he'd get right in Jack's face. Eye to eye, overwhelmed by the strength of Gabe's conviction, and the heat of the passion burning in his heart, Jack couldn't say no to him. Not as the Strike Commander, or his husband.
Standing over Max in this small room, the omnic only looking smaller for it, and practically cowering beneath his gaze, Jack feels anything but professional. He doesn't know what he's doing, or what he should do. No matter what he tells himself or Ana, taking Max hadn't been a tactical decision. It was entirely impulsive.
Think on your feet, Morrison. Get your shit together.
"You aren't a prisoner. With your knowledge of Talon's finances, security, and inner-most circle, we thought you could be a valuable resource to our cause. You tell us what we need to know, and we'll keep you out of Talon's hands." A curt nod. Jack almost believes himself. Back in the day, he could bull-shit himself into believing his own hype. Only god knows how many people saw through him, to who and what he really was.
A fool on a throne, wielding power he didn't full understand or control.
Jack didn't fake his death and run as far away from Overwatch as he could get to make important, life-altering decisions, and yet... here he is. Ana says he can't help himself, and as always, she's right.
"This isn't the first time we've taken a gamble on you, but I'd like to think it might pay off. You tell me I'm wrong, and you want to go back to that hell-hole, and I'll put you back where I found you. Close enough, anyway. Talon have been looking for you."
The way Max tries to cover himself doesn't go unnoticed. Jack sighs, muttering curse words to himself and grabs his jacket off a nearby chair, draping it over the omnic's narrow shoulders. They don't travel with anything but the clothes on their backs. Getting Max dressed is something he hasn't put much thought into. Jack hadn't known if he would turn on, never mind be restored to full consciousness.
"This ain't Overwatch. There's no paperwork. No plea deal. We don't carry dead weight. You scratch our back, we'll scratch yours."
(no subject)
Date: 2020-06-24 08:05 pm (UTC)Jack says he's not a prisoner, but the fact he couldn't leave if he wanted to proves otherwise. He wouldn't put it past them to rip his legs off after pulling him out of Talon's base just so he was helpless. Helpless and indebted. Talon wouldn't have hesitated to do something like that, but then again they wouldn't let their 'prisoner' wake up in a room alone with one person and not in a cell.
What Jack is saying is hitting all the right notes but there's something behind his gruff tone that seems slightly off. That he might be making it up as he goes along. At any other time he would have been able to seize on that and pick it apart. Turn the tables so he's the one in charge of this conversation. But right now he can barely keep himself upright let alone start a verbal battle.
Max mentally starts tallying up where he stands with Overwatch currently, they'd owed him a favor but then things had transpired and he's pretty certain the onus is on him again. He doesn't finish his quick review of stolen secrets and backalley transactions because then Jack is saying he'll take him back to Talon if he doesn't want to comply.
He looks up at him sharply, giving his position on that away immediately, and he internally chastises himself. Can't help it though, he's scared and disoriented and this is a lot to deal with in the past ten minutes. He needs to get himself back under control, some semblance of the calm and collected criminal he normally is.
But then Jack drapes the jacket around him and his mind goes blank. It's leather, and smells of sweat and pulse rockets, not to mention that it's big enough to cover Max's entire body right now. He's so perplexed by the gesture that the snarky thing he was about to say concerning Jack's offer never makes it through his voice box.
In fact he almost thanks him. Almost.
Fuck what the hell is wrong with him? He stays still, having a staredown with the floor before he finally glances at Jack again.
"I see." there isn't really anything to think about, there aren't exactly any choices. It's either this or back to being mindraped by Talon. "I'm sure it will be a pleasure doing business with you."
(no subject)
Date: 2020-06-25 09:03 am (UTC)He knows what Max looks like in his element. The omnic wore more expensive suits than he did. The customization to his face and body so extensive he hardly resembled his standard model brethren. Fitting, considering he had climbed the social and criminal ladder higher than any other omnic. Brushing elbows with some of the worlds most successful and terrifying humans. Max was one of a kind in both reputation and appearance.
The omnic in front of Jack is a pale shadow of the proud, polished accountant who played Overwatch like a violin.
That said, he's in equally tarnished company. Jack's also a pale shadow of the man he was when they first met. Gone are the medals and uniforms. His blonde hair turned to silver. Famous face scarred beyond recognition and made infamous. Even his voice is different. Rough and rasping like he swallowed glass, because Jack did swallow glass, fire, and smoke, when his entire world blew up in his face.
Taking everything he loved with it.
The last time they met, they were two very different men. How far the mighty fall.
"There's nothing pleasant about this. I don't expect we'll ever be friends, but we do have bad blood with the same people. You have as much to gain from seeing Talon fall as I do. Maybe more."
He looks away to give Max a moment of privacy, and to collect his own thought and emotions. Jack doesn't take any satisfaction from seeing Max hit the ground harder than he did. If anything, it brings up memories he's been running from since Jack Morrison became a name on a headstone, and Soldier 76 took up arms.
Jack clears his throat. Shifts his weight from one hip to the other. Without his jacket, dressed only in fatigues and painted on black undershirt, Max can see the dark scars winding around his arms and hands. His chest is worse.
They'll need to do something about those legs. Jack wouldn't be able to live with that kind of helplessness, and he doubts Max could either.
"You could kill yourself, but after what they did to you... I wouldn't want to go without taking at least one of 'em down with me."
(no subject)
Date: 2020-06-25 05:45 pm (UTC)Which is why sitting here, with an enemy, naked and damaged and frazzled, is starting to be less disorienting and more infuriating. He's a billionaire, he shouldn't have to put up with this shit. Wait is he still... yes good. Quick frantic scans of what Talon had managed to break into reassure him that at least his money is still out of their hands. That was the only reason they'd kept him around anyway, even as he rose in the ranks he never really had any true power to influence what they were doing. Sure there was status but that only held weight with those who knew where he fit into Talon's hierarchy.
And of course there's the little issue with him selling them out left right and center for his own nefarious purposes. Not just playing two sides but hundreds, all at once. He doesn't know if Akande ever found out that Maximilien was the one who told Overwatch where he'd be, but he was bound to eventually - at which point Max would offer his vast assets to someone else. The never ending power struggle of staying on top and staying alive.
He looks down at the cot, shuffling back on his palms so he can lean against the wall and not be in a constant state of nearly faceplanting. The jacket comes with him, tugged over his shoulders, nearly big enough to wrap around him twice if he'd wanted. He folds his arms across his chest beneath it, holding the edges in his fingers to keep it in place.
There's a part of him that does consider offing himself. Then he wouldn't have to deal with this rather embarrassing fall from grace. But he'd have to do it in a way that makes his body useless to whoever tried to harvest anything from it. Maybe fry himself with a hundred thousand volts or melt in acid. All things that would take time and effort and give him the opportunity to second guess himself and back out. No, he'd rather make them suffer. Why should he be the one to cowardly rip out his own wires while they gloat?
"No. I'd not give them the satisfaction." It's hard to look vindictive and smug while missing half his body and wearing someone elses' oversized clothes, but he nearly pulls it off. "The fractured, disorganized mess they've made of themselves would make it easy to eliminate them part by part without certain groups even being aware of their destruction. The pieces would fall like dominoes while they scramble to recover."
Red eyes narrow, focusing on the wall ahead while he silently contemplates exactly how he could go about ending each and every one of them for this. Granted his dreams of retribution are dependent on his captors letting him twist everything to his liking and not just taking him to their own extraction engineer and rip it out by force. He turns a calculating look at Jack, trying to judge just how honest he's being. He doesn't trust anyone ever for any reason, but he's more than a little out of his element here. Loathe as he is to admit it, he needs their help.
"What do you get out of this?" the feud between Talon and Overwatch was legendary. But Soldier 76 wasn't Overwatch. Which makes it personal.
Emotional.
And emotions could be manipulated.