Post by HoM on Jun 12, 2018 11:29:34 GMT -5
THE PRESENT: BLACKGATE PENITENTIARY
SOLITARY CONFINEMENT
TWO DAYS UNTIL EXTRACTION:
Aaron Helzinger had been in solitary confinement for months, and damned if the whole thing didn’t make him angry.
He hated that the only book he had to read was worn out copy of the fifth Harry Potter that was missing twelve and a half pages. He hated that he wasn’t allowed food from the commissary, just the reheated garbage they served him three times a day. He hated being forced to talk to Doctor Gibson twice a week while wrapped tight in a straitjacket.
And he especially hated that he’d been thrown in solitary before he got a chance to knock out the stuck-up guard who called him a dumb animal.
The only time he was remotely happy-- or at least, not brimming with rage-- was the hour when they let him into the yard. Under close supervision, he could lift weights, shoot hoops, or even just sit and enjoy the sunshine. It wasn’t much, but it was his, and it was peaceful.
... And then Officer Mulligan had to speak up.
He was a timid, shaky man with a still-healing scar down the side of his face, and he appeared to be having trouble deciding which words to say. Finally, he settled on, “Helzinger?”
Aaron didn’t look at him, instead just kept quietly counting his bench presses. “Yeah?” he said, between reps 26 and 27.
The corrections officer took a moment to look around to make certain there was no one within earshot.
On one hand, it was necessary to make sure nobody knew what he was doing. On the other, it still left him alone with Amygdala, a nearly super-strong killer who didn’t take kindly to authority figures.
What someone with his condition was doing here instead of Arkham Island, Mulligan didn’t know...
“M-Mister Bird has a job for you,” he said.
“Who?” asked Helzinger, in a flat, uninterested tone.
The question gave the officer more than a little stress. “You know...” he looked around again, then said in a loud whisper. “The Penguin.”
“No. Who am I hurting?”
? ? ? ? ? ?
Previously, in Secret Six..
One night in Gotham City, a sextet of criminals were abducted by the mysterious crime lord known only as 'the Voice' and blackmailed into acting as his agents in the field!
Given the task of liberating career criminal Kostas Agrios from Blackgate Penitentiary, the male members of the Six were sent inside the prison itself and given one week to find Agrios before their liberation. However, soon after their arrival, Mister Toad split off from the group to find his friend and ally, the twisted surgeon Professor Pyg. To make matters worse, the Six have no idea that the Penguin is, even now, putting together a plan to destroy them once and for all.
WHO ARE THE...
? ? ? ? ? ?
Cluemaster (Arthur Brown)-- Genius inventor. Expert at subterfuge. Not as smart as he thinks. ? ? ? ? ? ?
Mister Toad-- Amphibious member of the Circus of the Strange. Drives cars. Eats flies. Croaks.
Double Down (Jeremy Tell)-- Rogue gambler from Central City. Can turn his skin into razor-sharp playing cards. Still needs to grow a spine.
Mist III (Nash Nimbus)-- Opal City criminal. Able to become a cloud of living vapor. Knows how to hold a grudge.
Sickle (Timur Abramovichi)-- Hulking Siberian ex-pat. Criminal enforcer. Southpaw.
Copperhead (Larissa Diaz)-- Assassin for the Penitente Cartel. Master contortionist Expert in poisons. The only real professional here.
Also featuring…
The Voice-- Mysterious crime lord. Enigmatic extortionist. The one in charge.
Dale-- Caretaker of the House of Strangers. Right hand to the Voice. Doesn’t suffer fools.
? ? ? ? ? ?
DC2 Presents...
SECRET SIX #8
“How to Be Productive While Incarcerated", Part 2
Written by UltimateDC
Cover by Joey Jarin
Edited by House Of Mystery
Helzinger finished his set when he reached thirty, put the barbell back on its holder, sat up, and looked at the officer. “Gen pop?” he asked, with a twinkle of hope in his eye.
“...Anything except that,” Mulligan said nervously. “The warden’ll never approve it.”
He expected Helzinger to fly into a rage, and he instinctively reached a hand for the doorknob behind him, but instead, the prisoner looked sad and hurt by the answer. It was easy to forget that for all his rage and violence, Helzinger still had a very childlike mind.
Helzinger took a moment to think before he said, “Harry Potter.”
Confused, Mulligan repeated, “Harry Potter?”
“Yeah,” said Helzinger. “All of ‘em. New ones though. With all the pages. Nothin' torn out.”
Mulligan understood. “Uh, yeah, we can arrange that.”
“Good. Then I’ll hurt people for Mister Bird.”
And with that, the hulking prisoner laid back down on the bench and resumed his workout routine. Mulligan waited a moment to see if there was anything else to say, before realizing their conversation was.
As he left, Walt couldn’t help but pity the poor nobodies who were going to meet their fates because of the Penguin’s order. He almost regretted taking work from the crime boss, but then he remembered he had two mortgages and alimony to pay off, none of which he could do on a corrections officer’s salary. He wasn’t about to shed tears and four inmates who probably had it coming to them anyway.
Let the scum turn on each other, he thought. So long as he survived, what did it matter?
CELL BLOCK F
ONE DAY UNTIL EXTRACTION:
Arthur Brown stared at the payphone in front of him like it was the barrel of a gun. He opened and closed his hand nervously as he tried to find the exact words to say after he dialed the number. He’d been trying to come up with a solution since Toad went and got himself thrown into solitary, but had come up with nothing.
The Six’s plan had come off the rails and there was nothing he could do to fix it. He had to check in with his compatriots, had to let them know what happened, he just didn’t know how.
“Come on, already! I wanna talk to my kid!” shouted an inmate behind him, a heavy-set man whose arms were decorated with tattoos and whose hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb or a bottle of shampoo in years.
Taking one last breath and thinking a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening, Brown picked up the phone and punched in the numbers.
The phone rang once. Then twice. Then a third time. Brown almost thought he wouldn’t have to have this conversation when, before the sixth ring was through, a sweet voice answered, “Sextet Security Services, this is Dale.”
He had never heard Dale talk like this. He could only assume she wanted to stay as inconspicuous as possible while talking on a public, state-owned line. “Hey, it’s Arthur,” he said, doing his best to act natural.
“Arthur!” her voice brightened. “How are you? Wait, no, stupid question. Sorry. Are you okay? Are you surviving?”
“Yeah. Listen, there’s been a, uh, bit of a hiccup in... things that I think your... our... employer should know about.”
“Jesus Christ, Brown, what did idiots do?” Dale said, dropping her cheerful facade.
“Nothing! Well, mostly nothing. Maybe something. But it’s not a big deal, it’s just that, well...”
He struggled to explain the situation without giving away the particular details. There were stories of Blackgate staff listening in on random phone calls, and the entire operation depended on a certain level of secrecy. Eventually, Dale stopped him.
“Just hang up the phone, you dumbass,” she said.
Brown heard a click and the line went dead. Confused, he placed the phone back on its hook, and was almost immediately shoved out of the way by the tattooed inmate behind him.
“Finally,” he muttered as he grabbed the receiver and started pushing numbers with a meaty, dirt-covered thumb. After a few moments, he said excited, “Hey, buddy, it’s your old man! How are--”
His expression dropped. He glanced over at Brown, confused, then held the receiver out to him. “It’s for you.”
Similarly puzzled, Brown took the receiver and put it to his ear as the tattooed inmate returned to his place in line. “H-Hello?” Brown said.
<What happened?>
It was the Voice.
Brown stood there in a stunned silence, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had become. He tried to say something, but all that came out was an awkward, meaningless stammer.
<This is a secure line, Mister Brown. Now, tell me: What. Happened.>
Turning his back to the other inmates and officers and lowering his voice, Brown did his best to explain the situation-- how Mister Toad had gotten himself transferred to solitary confinement under the impression that he could find Kostas Agrios there, and how they hadn't been able to contact him or find Agrios since
When he was done, there was a prolonged silence. Brown’s fingers twitched as the dead air hung between his end of the phone line and the opposite, wherever that was. His voice shaking like a leaf, Brown said, “S-Sir?”
<Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Now let me update you on your mission: Agrios is being transferred out of state in two days. I expect him to be removed from Blackgate’s custody before then. If he isn’t, neither you nor your comrades will benefit from my continued hospitality. This will be the end of your criminal career... and of your dear daughter’s life. Are we understood?>
“Y-Yes, sir,” said Brown.
<Good,> the Voice’s response was quite curt. <Get it done, Mister Brown, or I’ll find someone else who will.>
The line went dead again. Brown replaced the receiver and walked away from the phone. He’d have to figure out some way to break the news to the other two now, but he was significantly less worried about that. Facing down a metahuman and an enforcer were nowhere near as frightening as bringing bad news to the Voice or facing the results of disappointing them.
GOTHAM CITY
EXTRACTION NIGHT:
Nash Nimbus and Larissa Diaz had been alone together in the House of Secrets for seven days, and the experience was... testing, to say the least. The two had little in common and had barely talked to each other up until now.
They attempted conversation with each other a few times, but they were awkward, stilted, and bare. The two were extremely guarded around each other-- Nimbus didn’t trust anyone on the Six and quietly awaited the day when this whole nightmare would be over, while Diaz simply didn’t have the time or energy to waste on amateurs like her.
They came close to bonding on one occasion. While Diaz was training in the gym, punching and kicking at a heavy bag, Nimbus approached her, asking for some tips and pointers on how to handle herself in a fight.
Diaz complied, and the two almost appeared to have reached common ground... until Diaz applied the training techniques she herself was given as a child, which were more punishing than Nimbus was willing to put up with. She left the gym in a huff, with an unconcerned Diaz resuming her routine.
Finally, after what seemed like years, the night of the extraction came. Mist and Copperhead suited up-- Copperhead rolling her eyes at Mist wearing her ornate sunglasses, regardless of the time of night-- and were driven by Dale to the Gotham Wharf.
Waiting for them there was a speedboat loaded up with a backpack that held all the supplies they’d need. Copperhead drove the boat out into the water, where they saw the looming shape of Blackgate Island: a rock floating in the middle of the ocean, atop of which at a concrete block surrounded by guard towers, spotlights, and a tall stone wall topped with barbed wire.
Copperhead anchored the boat on the far side of the island, just past where the searchlights scanned. The two crept up to the wall and scaled it with little trouble-- Mist’s gaseous form allowed her to pass over the wall with easy, while Copperhead’s experience with breaking and entering made scaling the wall unharmed into a simple task. The real hard part was the next step.
Mist set down the backpack and zipped it open. Inside of it were three small devices, cylindrical in shape and roughly the size of the palm of Mist’s hand. Copperhead had seen advanced technology like this on the black market: they were rudimentary teleporters.
They were notoriously unstable-- having brief battery lives and only able to send their targets over short distances-- and often caused the matter they moved to explode, especially if it was organic. To say they were impractical for commercial use was an understatement, but for the Six’s purposes, it was exactly what they needed.
Mist affixed the devices in a triangle pattern on the concrete wall of Cell Block F. She set the three of them to the same frequency, adjusted the timer, and stepped back. Copperhead did the same. They heard the high-pitched ticking of the devices until they reached zero. There was the sound of crackling energy and a burst of bright light, and suddenly a triangle-shaped hole appeared in the side of the wall. Mist collected the devices, put them back in the pack, and entered the prison, with Copperhead following behind her.
Their first stop was a guard station, where an overweight corrections officer sat in a rolling chair, paying more attention to the Knights-Stars baseball game on his portable radio than he was the array of security monitors in front of him. He didn’t notice it when Mist came up to the door, shifting into a gaseous green cloud and seeping under it, until she was already in the room.
He was confused at first, which quickly gave way to panic as the cloud reached for him and down his throat. He coughed and choked and struggled for air. He reached for his transmitter in the hope that he could call for help, but a slender hand with black-painted fingernails appeared from the ether and grabbed it, holding it just out of reach. Finally, the guard collapsed, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his body motionless.
Mist rematerialized and opened the door to the station so that Copperhead could come in after her. The assassin crinkled her nose at the stench of the room. “Madre de dios, does your power always smell like this?”
“Yeah, try choking out this slob,” said Mist, dismissively. “His breath smells like chili fries and self-loathing.”
Copperhead rolled her eyes. “Turn around,” she said.
Mist did, and Copperhead reached into the pack and pulled out a different small device, this one equipped to be plugged into a computer. She found an outlet among the monitors and inserted the device, which lit up with a faint blue light. The security monitors flickered for a moment, but returned to normal quickly enough.
“Alright,” said Copperhead. “Now comes the noisy part.”
In their instructions to the Six before they were locked up, the Voice was very specific: they didn’t want the team to draw too much attention to themselves. Together, the Six had come up with a solution that was inelegant, but they hoped would be effective.
Reaching down to the prone body of the guard, Copperhead searched through his pockets until she found a set of keys. She removed them, returned to the console, and placed one particular key into a slot beneath the monitors. She turned it once, saw a button light up red in front of her, and, taking a breath, pushed it down.
The sound filled the halls of Cell Block F and echoed around them. It was the sound of every door in the place opening simultaneously. It was followed quickly by the din of an alarm that blared over the PA system in the halls.
There was no turning back now.
Copperhead removed the key from its slot and tossed it to Mist, who caught it and put it away in the backpack. “C’mon,” said the assassin. “Let’s go get our boys.”
CELL #223F:
Arthur Brown stared at the ceiling in the dark of the cell, being sure to stay awake for extraction night and too nervous to even try falling asleep, especially considering the last time he woke up in a prison cell had started this whole mess so many weeks ago. His time in prison had been difficult enough, but now that he was about to leave, the stress seemed ample enough to kill him.
The door to his cell swung open, and by the cacophony that followed and echoed around the Cell Block, it wasn’t the only one. The alarm followed quickly after. Brown might’ve thought it was on schedule if he’d had a clock, but since time-pieces were only kept in general areas, all he could do was force himself to focus, climb down off the top bunk, and make sure his cellmate was ready.
When Mister Toad had gotten himself transferred to solitary confinement, Brown had lost his cellmate. He hoped he’d be spending his time at Blackgate sleeping by himself, but Toad’s friend, Phosphorous Rex, was quite fixated on the idea of escaping Blackgate, and had requested a transfer of cell in order to bunk with Brown, which the guards off-handedly approved because, as was abundantly clear to Brown, they didn’t give a damn as long as the prisoners kept out their god damn way.
Another thing that Brown discovered was that, for the most part, he didn’t mind having Rex as a roommate, although his tendency to whistle Gilbert & Sullivan songs during downtime wore thin very quickly.
When Brown checked on him, Rex was already awake and getting to his feet. “I suppose that’s the cavalry, then?”
“Let’s not keep them waiting,” said Brown, as he and Rex both walked out their cell.
The two weren’t the only ones outside of their cells. Many of their fellow inmates were trying to suss out the situation. There was one corrections officer with them, hoping to maintain order by waving his flashlight and yelling as loud as he could.
“Back in your cells, all of you!” he shouted, but his orders falling on deaf ears as the inmates continued to find the reason for the chaos. The officer radioed again for the third time since the alarm started, then approached the nearest inmate, holstering his flashlight and drawing his baton. “I said get back in your cell, inmate!”
“I just want to know what’s going on,” said the inmate. “Is there a fire or something? Do we need to go somewhere safe?”
The guard pointed towards the cell. “What you need to do is get your ass on that cot right goddamn now!”
The inmate didn’t move. “Hey, if we’re in danger, we have a right to know--”
The baton collided with his skull and knocked him to the ground. Heaving, the guard stood over him and continued his assault on the prone prisoner’s body. As he did, he failed to notice another group of inmates come up behind him, restraining and attacking him to save their cohort.
That was when the guard’s back-up arrived, rounding a corner into the hall and charging towards their besieged comrade, nightsticks drawn. The guards collided with the inmates and a full-on brawl broke out, with the two groups lashing and striking at each other amidst the chaos of the alarm.
Brown and Rex watched the madness unfolding in front of them. Brown nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Abramovichi and Tell standing behind him, flanked by Mist and Copperhead.
Brown said, “Oh you are truly a sight for sore eyes,” and he was surprised to find how much he meant it.
“Uh huh,” said Mist, looking at his cellmate. “Who’s the burn victim?”
“The name's Phosphorous Rex,” he said with a smile. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
Mist cocked an eyebrow. “Ma’am?”
Brown cut in. “He’s a friend of Toad’s, he can help us find him and Agrios.”
“And escape with you,” Rex chimed in.
“We’ll see,” said Brown.
Tell spoke up, his attention still aimed at the fight. “Maybe we should go get them now. Like, right now.”
They all silently agreed, and the six of them turned from the chaos and ran, following Rex’s instructions on how to make their way to solitary confinement.
None of them noticed Officer Walt Mulligan watching them, nor did they see him slip away out of the cell block and make his own way towards their shared destination.
SECURE HOUSING UNIT
CELL #16:
Mister Toad couldn’t sleep either, but he was more excited than anything else. He was going to reunite with Professor Pyg, he was going to get out of Blackgate again, and he was going to pull another one over on Officer Veidt again. The only downside to getting out would be that he didn’t get to see the look on that tyrant’s face when he found out that Toad had escaped. For now, however, all he did was pace around his cell, occasionally shadowboxing, and trying to keep his mind occupied until the extraction came.
Toad was not above admitting that his stay in solitary was getting to him. The most contact he had was with the COs, who would say nothing when they slid trays of food into his room and then move on to the next.
He was able to talk to his neighbor, Kostas Agrios, sporadically, but their asynchronous schedules of talking to psychologists, completing work requirements, and taking their allotted, singular hour of time outside meant that they weren’t in direct contact as often as either would like.
“Oi! Aggs!” Toad said. He had given up trying to pronounce Agrios’s name correctly days ago. “Can I ask ya somefin’, mate?”
Agrios sighed, but not loud enough for Toad to hear it. He was beginning to weary of their conversations, few or far between as they may be. The man could talk.
“Don’t suppose there’s much I could do to stop ya,” he said, resigned.
“Who do ya fink’s payin’ ta bust you out?” Toad asked.
At that, Agrios actually chuckled. “Dunno for sure, but if it’s who I think it is, they’ll be mighty pissed at me enough without me revealing their secrets.”
“‘They,’ huh?” said Toad. “Does that mean there’s more’n one?"
“Could be. Or it could be that I’m being deliberately vague and this line of questioning won’t get you anywhere,” replied Agrios, curtly.
Toad shrugged. “Huh. Fair enough, mate.”
He jumped when he heard the click of a key and the turn of a lock. The door to his cell opened and florescent light flooded into his dark room. Toad blinked, and when his eyes had adjusted well enough, he saw standing in the door of his cell was Cluemaster, a large ring of keys in one hand.
Behind him stood Sickle, Double Down, Mist, Copperhead, and a pleased-looking Phosphorous Rex.
“There you are. Listen, we--” he was cut off by Toad rushing out of the cell to embrace him. It was so tight Brown had trouble breathing, but it broke off just as quickly as it had arrived.
“Did you just...?” Cluemaster trailed off.
“Suppose so. I guess I missed ya,” said Toad, apparently just as confused by this as his ally. “Weird, innit?”
“Yeah...” said Cluemaster, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “Anyway, I hope you’ve found Agrios, because otherwise the Voice is going to be very upset with all of us.”
A wry smile crossed Toad’s face. “Give us a moment, Clue.”
He took the ring of keys from Cluemaster and darted towards the cell next to his. He tried key after key in the lock, finding failure until the sixth key slid into the lock easily and turned with a click. With a grin, he swung the door opened and said, “May I present to you: Kostas Argento.”
The man who stepped out of the cell was tall and wide-- not so much as Sickle, but not far removed from him either. He had a long dark hair and a thick jet-black beard, both of which threatened to overtake his face and both of which looked like they hadn’t seen a razor in months. Even more hair covered his exposed arms and peaked out from beneath his shirt. The Six could see scars decorating his face and thick callouses built up on his knuckles.
Kostas Agrios nodded to the group and said, “Heard you folks were my ride out of here.”
“That’s the plan,” said Cluemaster. He felt a wave of relief wash over him. They were going to complete the mission. Now all they had to do was escape from this god forsaken place. “Right then. According to the prison blueprints, there should be another way out to the East side of the prison down this way. We can avoid the chaos in the cell block and get out before anyone notices we’re gone.”
“Chaos on the cell block?” Agrios raised an eyebrow. “What kind of mess did you make?”
“Why don’t we get out of here before you see it for yourself,” said Cluemaster. “Now let’s get going. Toad?”
He looked over at where Toad was, but he was gone. Instead, Toad was crouched in front of the next door down, frantically trying to find the right key to the lock.
“Toad, what are you--?” Cluemaster said, but he was cut off by Toad’s yelp of excitement as he found the right key. He threw open the door and ran inside. Lying asleep on the cot was a heavy-set man whose face looked unnaturally taught and stiff.
“Professor! Professor, mate, it’s me. It’s Toad. Ya gotta wake up, sir, we’re gettin’ ya outta here!”
The sleeping man stirred, blinked his small eyes open and took in the sight of Toad. “What...?” he said, still slowly waking up. “What’s happening? Is it time for breakfast already?”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Toad. “Let’s just focus on makin’ tracks, yeah? You’ll be right as rain once we’re on the outside.”
Toad helped the professor to his feet and put an arm around him, supporting his considerable weight and leading him out of the cell. “Fellas,” he said. “This is me ol’ mate Professor Pyg. Professor, say hi to the fellas.”
Professor Pyg groaned in response, barely lifting his head to look at them. Toad looked to the group and said, “‘E’s just a bit pit out by bein’ in solitary. The professor’s a social creature, y’see. Once we leave ‘ere, ‘e’ll be back to ‘is old self in a snap. Rex, would ya mind givin’ us a hand?” Phosphorous Rex rushed to be at Pyg’s other side, helping to support his weight.
“No way,” said Cluemaster. “You jeopardize the mission on a whim and now you expect us to take two stowaways back to the mainland?”
“These ain’t ‘stowaways,’” Toad insisted. “They’re family.”
“Enough with this ‘honor-amongst-thieves’ crap!” said Cluemaster. “The Voice will bury us all if we go off-script like this! Leave them behind or you’re not getting on the boat!”
“Forgive the interruption, gents,” Phosphorous Rex spoke up in his persistently polite tone. “But it appears our way out may no longer be viable.”
They all turned to look. Standing at the opposite end of the hallway from where the Six came in, there was a line of three COs, dressed in body armor and carrying riot shields and batons. The one in the center, carrying a launcher, spoke for the group.
“Get down on the ground and put your hands behind your heads!” he shouted at them.
The Six stood their ground but didn’t know what they were going to do next. Toad seemed more confident than the rest. “We can take ‘em,” he said. “Just get this collar offa me and I can croak ‘em.”
“I don’t have the key for that,” said Cluemaster.
Toad glared at him with his bulbous red eyes. “Then ‘ow in bloody ‘ell do you expect us ta get outta here?”
“Get down on the ground!” the leader repeated. “This is your last warning!”
“Guess we’re taking the scenic route,” Mist muttered. Almost all at once, the Six turned from the line of COs and bolted away back the way they came. The leader of the trio said something into his radio while his cohorts ran after the inmates. He didn’t try to follow them. When they were out of sight, he approached one of the solitary cells and opened it with a key on his first try.
“Rise and shine, Helzinger,” said Walt Mulligan to the man asleep inside. “It’s time to go to work.”
TO BE CONCLUDED
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