Well I see no point in finishing him now, but I thought you guys could at least see where I was going with him.
The heat wave was hitting Khazan hard. Blocks of Lowtown have been without power for days now and nobody really seemed interested in getting down there and fixing the problem. No one wanted to get their hands dirty…
It’s been said that true heroes are the ones that do the little things for the people and don’t expect, nor need, the recognition for their good deeds. He always agreed with that sentiment. It’s one of the reasons The Conspiracist despised the idea of the “Alpha” Sentinels. He never really trusted the Sentinels much in the first place, but their insisting to stay in the limelight is what really put him off of them, only gracing the world with their presence when there almost isn’t a world. While their members are dedicated and undeniably renowned for the crime-stopping and world-saving, they seem to bask in the fame and glory of it all too much.
He threw the vice grip to the floor and it clattered noisily amongst the trash. He winced as he bit the covering off the final wire before intertwining it with the copper wire of another. He watched the bare bulb up above flicker hesitantly before humming to life. He then wiped the sweat and dirt from his brow before picking up his toolbox and heading for his car.
The mustang had to get a total overhaul after his last case. It seemed that was the case after every case lately. It had taken him long enough to fine the right parts, but the actual repairing of it was a whole other ordeal entirely. However, he got it done.
The streetlights were on now and, like roaches, the scum scattered about the streets. He kept out a watchful eye as he placed his toolbox in the trunk and soon saw exactly who he was looking for. Frank Cecily. He was a syndicate lowlife that never learned how to keep his mouth shut. It made him a quite good informant, after you roughed him up a bit.
The Conspiracist reached into his pocket and pulled out a white cloth. He shook it out before placing it over his head. He then nonchalantly placed on his fedora and stepped out the alleyway, adjusting the pistol that was concealed in his blazer.
He cried every time. The whimpering, it was really pathetic. The snot and tears mixed in with the blood from the hemorrhaging wound at the back of his head. This all dripped and swirled together into a vile puddle that grew under his head.
“This would go by much quicker if you would just talk.”
The monotone but rasp voice bounced among the shadows.
“I’ve already told you everything I know you freak! All I know is that the boss has been freakin’ out about missing street walkers and…” Frank, hanging upside down, yelled as he forced his body to swing in his chains.
“I don’t fuckin’ know… There’s something going around about a big shipment coming in for something. All I knows is the freaks are messin’ with the bosses’ business. Now cut me down, I’m not fuckin’ with you anymore!”
“Now that wasn’t very nice.” The Conspiracist said as he loomed forward into the light. He adjusted his fedora upon his head and pulled down his white mask further. “Now you stay put, wouldn’t want you getting yourself in any trouble.”
He moved out of sight momentarily and a switch was flipped. The rest of the lights in the garage turned on.
“There’s a sandwich and some drinks in the fridge, make yourself at home.” He said as he bypassed the dangling man and opened the door to the mustang and got in.
“What? Aren’t you going to let me down first, man?” Frank yelled over the roar over the starting engine.
The Conspiracist waved as he pulled out the garage and the garage doors shut themselves and the screams of Frank inside.
The water boiled softly as two bottles of baby formula was slowly warmed. Jenny was preparing dinner, rapidly chopping carrots to add to a heating pan, searing and ready for the veggies. The carrots sizzled and darkened as she pushed them about the hot pan. She slowly opened a drawer and reached inside before feinting and pulling a glock and aiming into a shadowed area of the apartment.
A masked figure slowly stepped forward. "Conspiracist. You bastard, I almost took your head off." She placed the safety back and put the gun away.
"Your draw is getting slower."
She turned back and began stirring the vegetables. " I just put the babies to sleep. I didn't want to spend an hour putting them back to sleep."
"How sweet. How is it, being a housewife and all?"
Jennifer placed down the wooden spoon she was stirring with and finally turned back to the masked man. "What do you want? I know you didn't come just for a house call." She said suspiciously.
"No, no I didn't." He said inspecting a trinket upon the coffee table. "There's been some rumbling. The syndicate have been making some big moves as of late. Large shipments. Old names coming back into play. I fear they may be planning something."
"That still doesn't explain why you're here. You know I'm retired, John too, for now. I assumed you were as well after that Sayang debacle."
"No I never stopped. I just wasn't needed. But now, I fear we don't have the manpower to stop the growing syndicate..."
The baby monitor makes a stirring noise, and Jennifer reaches for the bottles testing their heat before turning the burner down.
"I'm tired Conspiracist. You know i would help if i could. You'll have to scarce up the rest of the Angels." She felt a sudden draft and Conspiracist had a leg out the window, he paused before turning back to her.
"Hopefully, it'll be in time... Tell Reynolds I said hello."
He then silently and effortlessly scaled the complex.
Information will always be a powerful weapon to wield. It can build up the people, making them strong and assured, or it can tear down a nation with lies and mistruths. It’s a versatile beast and whoever masters it rides high. At the moment, The Conspiracist was unarmed. All he knew was that ‘something’ was coming in and it was going to be big.
The Syndicate had been quiet for years, ever since the cigar wars, but there had been a sudden breath of life. Someone new had been appointed to take the reins and he had to know who. Luckily, he knew exactly where to go to find out.
Dawn was creeping upon the night with pinkish rays above the horizon. Ezekiel sat alone in the park, the stone chess board set before him. He studied the board intently, his silver eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The Conspiracist then sat before him.
“You’re late.” He said matter-of-factly, moving a piece forward.
“I know. I had some things to take care of.”
“You’re still looking for Roscoe?”
“Yes.” He moved his knight, capturing an opposing pawn. “Him being back in Khazan is another reason we should be taking a closer look at the Syndicate.”
“What do you mean we? I’m retired.”
“I know I lost my cell but there’s still a war to fight. I still have some ties in the Angels. I had visited one earlier.”
“And how did that go?”
“Not well, but there are others.”
“At least you’re realizing that you can’t do these things by yourself.” He moved his queen, capturing an opposing rook. “Checkmate.”
“You win again.”
“You’re still trying to win the game on your own, there is more than one piece of the board, remember that. Trusting in every piece is the only way to win. Don’t give up.” He then reached below his chair and pulled out a tablet. He tapped it several times before turning it over to The Conspiracist.
“Her name is Alma Notch. She’ll have all the dirt on the going-ons of the Syndicate, if you can afford it that is. Since you’re still wearing the same fedora I met you in, I’m guessing not.”
He laughed, “I suppose I’ll have to use my wit and charm then.”
He then would've proceeded to bash in Alma's skull until she told him where to find the syndicate. Then he would've went and raised hell with a couple cameo characters.