For Dadjoke

[makesomedeals]

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.

Comments

[makesomedeals]

There they can agree. Max would have rather been killed outright than having his free will taken from him. Not that he would have even known, they wouldn't have woken him up first, ripped everything they wanted out of his circuits and then melted down the rest to sell.

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."

[dadjoke]

Jack watches Max go through the five stages of grief. Omnics are limited in their range of expression, but somehow the denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance are all there, in the sweep of his red eyes, shaking reverb of his voice, and sag of his narrow shoulders.

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."

[makesomedeals]

Bad blood is an understatement. He'd destroyed people for less. Utterly ruined them for even the barest perceived slight, wielding his power and influence with cruelty and pettiness. He'd worked tirelessly to achieve a social standing afforded to no other omnic and he would destroy anyone who threatened it. The power, the money, the perks, they were something he craved, but they were also secondary to his ultimate goal: he was better than everyone, even humans, and he was going to make sure they all remembered it.

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.