Harker, year 0-5 Acceptance, Snake

Snake sat in a school bus so old, he wouldn’t be surprised that it still had a combustion engine. It was one of the smaller ones the California penal system used, six seats, three to a side.

Where they were used to take children to school, two easily fit per seat. Three had been squeezed into them, back when he went, his district not being able to afford enough of them from the students crammed into the public elementary school.

Now, he was happy it was only four of them in the bus, not counting the driver and the guard, shotgun at the ready should one of them decide to try something. The kind of criminals destined for Alcatraz were not on the svelte side. More than six, and some of them would have had to share a seat, and Snake didn’t think that could happen. His neighbor certainly wouldn’t fit along him on this one.

They weren’t all parahumans, like he was, but Alcatraz only got the physically violent criminals, and that meant, on the whole, muscle mass. Unlike him, the stronger the normal guy was, the more mass he needed to have. He didn’t look as strong as he was, and that let him skirt ending up in Lancaster, the country’s prison for dangerous parahuman criminal.

Of course, dangerous was a nebulous term, so the government had established guidelines for what that meant. A parahuman with physical strength needed to be able to deadlift a minimum of one ton to be considered dangerous. An exception was made for those who looked physically dangerous, like when their body was made of metal, or energy, or they were massive, or looked monstrous. It didn’t matter how physically strong those were; they ended up in Lancaster.

Snake had learned a lot of that the first time he was arrested, at fifteen. He wasn’t as strong as he was now, or his scales as tough. The judge had made sure he understood how lucky he was his parahuman abilities were under the threshold. The government didn’t care what age a dangerous parahuman criminal was. It was Lancaster for them.

He’d ended up in a halfway house where the judge hoped Snake would straighten himself. What he’d done was read up on those criteria. And in subsequent arrests made sure he never crossed them when tested.

Without a machine to tell them what powers someone had, or that they even were a parahuman, a visual check and other tests were all they had to go by. Snake’s skin made it impossible for him to claim he was normal, but weights he could trick. He kept his strength at around a thousand five hundred pounds during those tests and made sure not to show he was stronger while in prison so they had no reason to think he was gaming the system.

The advantage of selling his services to the gangs was that none of them had experience with parahumans, especially not those with physical strength. The moment a gang member found out they were stronger than normal, they upped their game and tried to go super-criminal. That invariably took them to other criminal of that rank, which meant the crimes they committed were grave enough it was Lancaster for them.

The government didn’t care how powerful a parahuman was once they were involved in deadly crimes. They were punished in the harshest way they could be. And that was Lancaster.

As horrible as the death-toll in Jacksonville was, it had the added benefit, for him and his ilk of criminals, of keeping the vigilantes from showing up in court to testify. If Ghost had, Snake would have been screwed. He could have attested to how strong he was. But he hadn’t, so he’d played the game.

Another area Snake was fortunate was his skin. The government set a parahuman’s toughness, to be considered dangerous, as being able to take a fifty caliber gunshot with only bruising. Snake wasn’t that tough. A nine mil could pierce his skin. Fuck, a sharp knife with enough strength behind it could. All it was good for was taking punches and kicks.

Well, most of him. Ghost had reminded him that parts were as sensitive as any other guy’s.

So he was on his fourth stint at the Traz.

Better than Lancaster, always, but maybe it was time he considered getting out? The Traz’s library was decent, since California’s answer to Lancaster was actually geared toward rehabilitation, instead of what the rumors said happened there.

He did his best not to think about those. Not to believe them. But stories of experimentation, either so they could recreate the powers and sell them to the rich, or find a way to shut them down so only the rich could have them, played into what he knew of the world. Using those inmates as fodder in wars parahumans couldn’t be involved in also fit what he knew of the military.

His strength kept increasing. One day, he’d screw up the tests and he’d end up in Lancaster, to find out firsthand which rumors were true.

Unless he went straight.

He chuckled at the turn of phrase, and the massive man on the other side of the aisle glared at him.

The Traz controlled access to the internet, but a bunch of learning site were on the approved list. And they offered trade courses there. There had to be one where his strength would give him an advantage. Automotive repairs, maybe? How he looked and his record would make finding a job tough, but the Traz had to have some sort of placement system. If not, there had to be someone out here willing to give a guy like him a chan—

He hit the wall as the bus spun. Once the bus stopped, he righted himself, and the guard behind the grill was getting up, shotgun aimed at man in the front row in the process of standing.

“Sit your ass back down, Roary.”

“Or what?” the man asked in his rough voice. He wasn’t even as muscular as Snake, but he still out-massed the guard. He was a firestarter; the not parahuman kind. The story Snake had heard was that in one of his first fire, Roary had inhaled gasoline fumes as he ignited them, and it had given him the deep, throaty voice he used to intimidate.

The guard’s reply was cut by the bus’ folding door ripping off.

Snake pressed his face against the dirty window, trying to see who was out there, but the angle was wrong. He considered ripping it out to look when the guard scream and crashed into the reinforced glass that protected the driver.

“No death,” an unseen man said in a casual tone, and the guard slumped to the floor and didn’t move.

From his vantage, Snake made out the driver behind the cracked glass, halfway up, gun out and straining.

That she couldn’t raise it further meant mind control, or telekinesis. There were probably other ways, but Snake didn’t know them. She put her other hand on the gun, so that meant telekinesis. One strong enough to hold someone.

He wondered who in this lot rated a super crew breaking them out.

The man who stepped into the bus wasn’t imposing. Black, short-cropped hair, clean shaven. He looked good in the dark blue suit, very corporate, Snake thought.

“I want to make something clear before we continue,” the man said in well enunciated words, looking the occupants over. “I am here for one person and one person only. The rest of you will have to continue this ride to its destination.”

“That better be me,” Roary rasped, stepping before the door. He landed back in the seat, and a woman now stood behind the guy in charge. A bit on the plain side, some Asian in her ancestry, but too far removed to give her that mystique that resulted is so many Asian women being fetishized. He’d definitely go out with her if given the chance, but he’d prefer her boss.

“I am afraid not.” The man raised his gaze. “Robert Sanake?”

“It’s Snake,” he replied. He didn’t hate his real name, but it was a reminder of the weakling he’d been before his scales appeared, and he didn’t like that kid.

Then the implication hit, and he stared. Him? He didn’t rate her. That kind of power started at one mill. Gangs were who he worked with, and they barely afforded his rates.

“My apologies, Mister Snake. If you would?”

He kept staring. This had to be a mistake. There had to be another Robert Sanake on the bus.

“If you prefer continuing the ride,” the man said, “My employer will be disappointed, but I expect he—”

Snake stood. Fuck if he was missing this chance. Mistake or not.

He hobbled forward, the restrain at his ankle limiting those movements as much as the ones around his wrists. He could break them. They were only titanium or something like that. Not one of those strength-sapping contraptions Lancaster used. But that would give him away, and he didn’t trust this group to keep the information to themselves. He’d do that once they were well away from here.

“Would you mind? We are on a schedule.” the man asked, and before Snake could wonder what he might mind, his shackles opened and fell. He stepped out of those around his feet and hurried to the door. Her starting rate had just double, as far as he was concerned, at the kind of precision needed to undo those things.

Parahumans were basically a dime a dozen these days. Just about everyone knew someone who could do something that physics said couldn’t be done, but precision? That was rare. It was basically how the leagues were rated in the criminal world. Breaking something was easy. Doing it in a very specific way made you valuable.

This crew was now at the upper end of the minor league. Possibly at the bottom of the major one.

What the fuck were they expecting from him as repayment?

He’d asked that once he was free.

The man took a keycard off the unconscious guard and opened the door, then stepped out of the bus. Snake followed, then the woman. He looked up, taking in the sun and fresh air.

“Remember,” the man said. “Remain out of sight, but keep them from leaving until the San Francisco Parahuman unit has arrived.” He consulted his phone. “They should be here under thirty minutes. You are only getting paid once the remaining three are officially in custody again.”

She nodded, and the man headed for a SUV parked in an alley. Snake stayed with him until they reached it, then went to the rear passenger side door.

The man looked at him as he opened the driver’s door. “If you prefer riding in the back, that is fine, but I expect you have questions, and those will be easier to answer if we are both in the front.”

Snake was always happy he’d lost the ability to blush when his scales appeared. He’d expected them both to sit in the back while a driver took them wherever they went. Corporates always had drivers.

He was belted into the passenger seat before the man finished getting in. “What do I call you?” He knew better than to ask for the man’s actual name. He’d never played this high in the league, but he knew the protocols.

“Reed will do.” He smiled. “It is my real name.”

The SUV pulled out of the alley and away from the bus, and the tension left Snake.

He was free.

“What’s this about?”

“My employer has needs of your skills.”

Snake studied him. “With all due respect to whoever you work for. I don’t rate what you paid to break me out. I’m a thug who pulls jobs for gangs and the occasional drug dealer.”

“A man who knows where he stands is a rare thing these days.”

“That’s an observation, not an answer.”

“I don’t know why my employer picked you. My role is to make his will happen, not question it.”

“So….”

“We are heading to meet him.”

He was about to meet a man who gave orders to a guy who had paid a telekinetic worth at least two mill an hour to break him out.

What the fuck was going on?

“No other questions?” the man asked, smiling.

“If you can’t answer that one. I don’t know you can answer any of the others.” He couldn’t keep the awe from his voice, and some of the trepidation. This had the feel of skipping the minor leagues to end up in the major ones, after failing the minor league try-outs.

*

The lobby was deserted as Snake followed Reed. Even the arrival counter had no one there.

“Err….” He couldn’t voice the question.

“The hotel was well paid to vacate the premises. My employer is not in the habit of employing violence where other methods are more effective.

He breathed easier. Violence was how he earned his living, but the scale of what he’d contemplated here had made him uncomfortable.

The elevator took them to the penthouse and opened onto darkness. Snake’s slitted eyes didn’t give him any better vision in the dark than normal people. After a few seconds, he realized there was one errand beam of light from an improperly closed blackout curtain. In it, he made out the form of a seated man; a suit, hair to the shoulders. A hat on the table next to him. Other shapes were hinted at in the large room, now that his eyes had adjusted. A fireplace, a couch, more seats.

“Mister Wheeze, This is Mister Snake.” Reed stepped away and basically vanished into the shadows.

“Robert,” the man said with a heavy wheeze in his voice. He motioned to the form of a seat facing him. “Please take a seat.”

“It’s Snake,” he replied reflexively, searching for the oxygen cannister as he sat. He’d only heard that kind of wheezing once, back when he was a kid. A neighbor had her grandmother living with her, and her throat and lungs had been ravaged by smoking. She’d needed a canister of oxygen at her side at all times.

“Please forgive me, Robert,” the man said, his voice not sounding as labored as Snake expected, in spite of the wheezing. “But monikers are for those who fly and bring building down. I prefer dealing with men, not icons.”

Snake smiled. “But you want me to call you Mister Wheeze?”

“You don’t believe it is my name?”

“With your voice, it’s a perfect moniker.”

The laugh was as raspy as the words. “I suppose you are right.”

It was all he’d get, he realized. And it had to be more than people showing his level of impertinence got. “I’m grateful for my freedom. What do I have to do to pay you back?”

“Work, of course.”

He kept himself from answering until he trusted his tone to be neutral. “What kind of work can I do, there isn’t someone better at it?”

“I am certain you are qualified for a great many things beyond others.”

“I doubt it,” he replied, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice this time. “I’m the guy paid to break things or to keep things from being broken. And I was on that bus because I failed at that, this time around.”

“We all have bad days, Robert.” The tone was consoling, in spite of the wheezing. “Yours simply had the misfortune of landing you in prison again. But it also brought you to my attention.”

“And you decided I’m worth the kind of money you paid to break me out?” This felt more and more like he was being set up for something.

“Am I imagining the doubt in your voice?”

“With all due respect, Mister Wheeze. No one pays in the thousands to get me to work for them, let alone however millions she demanded. Look, I’ll do whatever it is you need me to. My freedom’s worth that, but I have to ask. Why me?”

The man nodded. “Your competence is what I am after?”

“What competence?” Snake demanded. “I failed at what I was paid to do.”

“Was it your job to consider a street vigilante operated in that area, Robert? Were you even told this Ghost had been reported as being in the Barrows? Were you given a chance to prepare for a parahuman to attack you? What would you have done if you had known?”

“Not taken the job, for starters.”

“See, you are no mere thug. I have looked over your career. And I see marks of competence there. Of being able to look at a situation and decide you shouldn’t be involved in it.”

“Like this one, you mean?”

The man laughed his wheezy laugh.

“No, I am aware of what you are capable,” the man finally said. “I simply believe you are capable of more than you think, and I would like you to attempt to match that.”

“I’m just a thug,” he said, exasperation slipping through.

“Are you? Or is that all you have been seen as? All you have been allowed to be? I see the potential of a man capable of making decisions beyond simply should he take this job or not. I think you can lead.”

Snake shrugged. In the end, it didn’t matter what his employer thought of him. He’d do the best he could to do what he was ordered to. “What do you need?”

“I have competitors whose business I need disrupted.”

“I can do that.”

“Now, I warn you. This will not be an easy, or quick job. This is not the usual smash and grab you’ve been paid to do before. This is more of a long-term endeavor, and more subtle.”

“You’re read up on me. You know I don’t do subtle.”

“Please give yourself more credit, Robert. But this isn’t the subtle of sneaking around undetected. This is more the subtle of misdirection. What I need of you is to build a gang of your own, much like those Sorentos you worked for or any of the previous gangs who bought your services. Within certain guidelines, you will engage in all the activities such a gang does. But when I require it, those activities will disrupt the business of companies I will name.”

“You want me to put together a gang?” he asked in disbelief. “Do you have any idea what it takes to make that happen? The kind of money needed?”

“Yes, Robert. You can take for granted I know exactly what such an endeavor entails.”

He swallowed his reply at the confidence in that statement. Just how often had this man done this? How many of the gangs in San Francisco existed because he’d needed them to? And he wanted him in charge of such gang?

He swallowed. “What am I going to have to make this happen?”

“Whatever you require.”

Snake’s nod was slow; ideas he’d never even considered before bubbling up. Top among them was how much more than what he needed could he ask for? He shoved that thought away. This man was too powerful to contemplate screwing over.

His own gang.

He was surprised at how appealing the idea was. No longer working for others, except his boss. Having the funds to make things happen, instead of hoping those who hired him knew what they were doing.

“I must caution you about something,” the man said, then continued. “Considering your recent escape, I can’t have you in San Francisco.”

He nodded. “Where am I going?”

“You’ll be operating around Pittsburgh.”

He had to dig all the way back to his geography classes in elementary school to place the name. “As in, Pennsylvania?” Just how wide was his boss’s reach that he had operations on the other side of the country? “I don’t know anyone there. If you want this running smoothly quickly, I’ll have to bring my own people with me.” He’d need a few lieutenants and sub-lieutenants. No, he shouldn’t be greedy. Unless he was ordered to start big, one lieutenant, and three, maybe four subs would be enough.

“Reed will see to it you have those you need.”

Snake took a chance. “Two of them are in prison.”

“That isn’t the problem you seem to believe it is,” Mister Wheeze replied.

With those two, it almost didn’t matter who else he got, but he’d still try for people he knew he could trust.

“I only have one question left,” he said once he’d settled on those he wanted.

“Which is?”

“Exactly how cold does Pennsylvania get in the winter?”