Fool's Gold

Once upon a time, the isolation would have been the worst part. The lack of contact. Hell, that would have been the smart thing to do...

But people didn't always do the smart thing.

"Okay, let's start from the top."

Godfather idly swirled her wine, keeping her back to the prisoner. Keep them guessing, that was the trick. Keep them nervous. If they can't see your face, they can't tell what you're going to do, and nobody likes an enemy who's predictable...

"You have information I want. Information about your world and the way it works. I could use some of that, and save myself a lot of time in messing about with technology only half my men understand. And, obviously, I can't just beat it out of you, because I'm not a hired thug."

Turn, slowly... perfect. Flash those pearly whites...

"So... How about it? A cosy draft job with any of my boys, hourly wages and all the clams you can eat. In return, you tell me anything and everything, and I only listen to the good bits. Sound fair?"

"No."

A brief pause.

"That's in regards to the offer, by the way. Though it's also an answer to your last question."

That was the problem with a giant organization, after all. Too big, too complicated, too many moving parts. The left hand stopped knowing what the right hand was doing. Really, the smartest thing to do would have been to keep doing this. The cell, sealed off in a box, barely able to touch the outside world. Isolation was hell on social animals...

But mankind, and especially its evils, rarely understood the subtleties...

Eh, they always refuse the first one. No matter. Keep calm, keep smiling.

"What about a management position, then? Don't even have to go out to earn your pay, and you get somebody to press your suit! And you get discounts at all the fancy restaurants!

"...although all the waiters get nervous when we show up. Really, what's with that?"

"No."

Metal, and thick at that. Even if whatever weirdness they'd hacked together wasn't crippling him, he probably couldn't have punched his way out. Even if he COULD have, it would have taken time, and time was not on his side, especially in the heart of enemy territory. The only way in was a handprint scanner...

The smart thing would have been to let him stew in the isolation.

The human heart and mind were often at loggerheads that way.

Alright, arschloch. You're making it hard to keep composed, especially when we can feel the wine glass cracking in our grip. Those things are expensive.

"How about this? Joint leadership, with me. Half of the criminal underworld would stab their own mothers to share my dinner table, and that's just on a professional level."

"...Since it is clear I have to spell it out, NO. I will NOT betray my world, my friends, my PEOPLE, for you, even if you offer me everything in this world, the next, and throw in every single damn star in the sky. GO. TO. HELL."

The funniest thing (but not ha-ha funny) was, that hadn't earned him this. You would expect otherwise...

Crack. Aaaaaaand there it goes.

If Godfather was capable of it, she would be jetting steam from her ears. As it is, the gathering shadows were enough to make the two armed soldiers present take a nervous two steps back.

"I don't think you realize," she hissed through gritted teeth, "just how lucky you are. If you had been who my men thought you were, I would have come up and killed you myself. And just in case you mistake me for the average brain-dead tyrant, I have done my best to make you at least adequately comfortable. The least you can do is give me this one favour."

She let the glass shards trickle from her hand. There wasn't a drop of blood on them.

"Am I going about this wrong? Please, tell me! Am I asking too much, when all of this has practically gift-wrapped itself and all I need is the price tag cut off?! Do I have to start singing?!"

"...You could have treated me worse, yes. Thank you for that."

A pause.

"...but no. If you're not the average brain dead tyrant, you'll understand that I won't betray my world and its people. I...won't. No matter what. Singing? Fine. Do it."

Did she notice the tremble? It was definitely there. But...how could he give any other answer?

"You don't wanna do that, man," piped up one of the guards. "It's like if Niki Minaj-"

Too late. Godfather threw back her head and what came out of her mouth was worse than Niki Minaj with a head cold. It was more akin to a very bad impersonation of Kylie Minogue, if the impersonator was an elderly crow with a throat full of nail files. The guards actually cringed and covered their ears at several points.

Thankfully, it was over in a scant minute. A minute that probably seemed like an hour, especially to the shaking soldiers, who picked themselves up and exchanged nervous glances.

Perhaps the reaction from the stranger surprised them.

"....um...look, I'm a shit liar. That was terrible, but I can't sing either, so I'm not one to judge talent. If you were going to brainwash or break something in my head, it doesn't work. Plus, I endured being near the queen in yellow...that's kind of a step down."

Godfather snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Whatever. But you do realise, of course, that you don't have any other options? It's not like I'm going to let you wander all around my top-secret headquarters and stumble upon all my deadly secrets, like in Dracula. And my boys aren't going to release you even if you ask nicely. So either you tell me what I want, or you stay here and become part of the furniture."

The shadows around her dispersed slightly - a sure sign she was regaining her composure again.

"...is this really necessary? Is the only way to get what you want pillage and conquest?"

"Oh, really!" Godfather huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You make it sound like that's all we do! No, mostly we're in the shady deals and smuggling business, like any good criminal empire. Just think of this as us branching out into new markets, that's all! But to answer your question...

Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"It's a start. Then I was thinking of kicking back and watching half the world retcon itself whilst the money and booze rolls in."

"Then why am I here?"
 
"Wrong place, wrong time. Besides, that was only a trial run! When we get this thing going, we're going to do it properly!"

"Then please. Please. Just let me go and leave my world alone."

Godfather paused, raising a finger to her lip.

"Well, you know, I'd love to... Except. Point one. You put down fifty of my boys without breaking a sweat, and why would I let someone that dangerous out when I've got him under control? You might try to warn people about us, even, and that would just make things complicated.

"Point two. Saguaro's a bitch and cut off all communications in the name of building a facility. So I just have to take what I'm given, at this moment in time. Once she stops goose-stepping for five seconds, I'll try and whip her into line... but at the same time, might as well make use of these weird minerals we're getting from the feed pipes, right?"

"...fine. Lock me up, then."

"Heh. You'll see it my way, soon enough. You've got all the time in the world to think this through!"

Godfather turned and began strutting out of the cell, the soldiers reluctantly following. At the fame, she paused, causing the other two to screech to a halt, and turned back, flashing a grin.

"Or, should I say... my world?"

Then she left. As did the guards. The door hissed shut as though it were an audience member in a pantomine, and the lock beeped and clicked into position.

Just as it opened now.

"...You again." Ash said.

The godslayer had seen better days. True, that was his natural state half the time, but at least it was tied to getting something done. Now here he was, stripped of everything, Erdrick AWOL, wearing dull black prison clothes.

A contrast to the suit of metal of his visitor.

"Ash Marsello. Ceremonial Knight-Glorious of The Realms. 12, 12, 12...I honestly no longer have a serial number if I ever did. You ARE aware your boss ordered humane treatment and isn't always going to be asleep at the switch?"

Behind the metal faceplate, Ivan Vanko, codenamed Mr. Silver, cracked a dry grin.

"You assume too much, little man."

The classic haymaker. Dangerous even if done by a normal man. By a large man in armor? That could even be fatal.

Ash didn't IGNORE it, but the fact that he only took one step back was notable. The second one managed to knock him down, but he was already off balance.

"You know, you really shouldn't have a problem. You came crashing into my town and I defended it. It's not like I pantsed you in front of your buddies."

An ugly chuckle, muffled by the mask.

"Oh, so you forget the part where you humiliated me? Denied me my target? Please, allow me to refresh memory!"

A vicious kick for the ribs. Felt, but Ivan distinctly didn't feel certain things. Like bones breaking. Or air exploding out of lungs.

"And what did Sam ever do to you, anyway? Why care so much if you were just hired?"

"I could ask same of you! You have no stake! Nicodemus was my target, and my only target! You did not know him, yet you interfered!"

Rage taking over for a moment, Ivan thumped the wall with one massive fist. The clang echoed for quite a bit, even as the metal-clad Russian kept ranting as Ash got up.

"It is my job! My life! And I was happy! Then you come and make me look like pathetic weakling! Just like my father and Stark thieves!"

This time, a massive swinging clothesline.

"...if this...is how you handle it...then they're still making you weak...and you...beating on an unarmed man incapable of fighting back...will not restore your lost face..."

Ivan snorted, a harsh grating sound.

"You think I am weak? Loyalty is weak. That is why I take job - I survive by taking what comes my way. It is you, who defend complete strangers based on childish morals, who are weak."

"Oh really? Then why are you here?"

Ivan firstly responded with a sharp jab to the face. Mostly out of spite.

"You are not listening!" he snapped. "To survive! I care not for Godfather's idiotic plan! But better this than cold streets with no bread and being beaten with sticks! And if I must work for mad woman, then so be it, but will not march in step to her tune!"

The next thing Ash knew, a massive paw of a hand clamped around his throat and lifted him up into the air. From the angle presented, he could clearly see the flickering, repressed anger in the man's eyes.

"I work here for as long as it suits me. And when I have what I need, I take leave of Magpies. I illiterate this from memory and be Ivan Vanko again. Not Mister Silver."

"...Obliterate."

"What?"

"...I think you mean obliterate."

"What?"

"Obliterate. You said illiterate...that means you can't read. Props for trying to increase your word power, though." Ash said. "Ivan, you want peace? It's not..."

That's as far as Ash got before a roar of anger nearly blotted out his hearing altogether. Next came the sickening lurch, and the world span crazily for a moment before he impacted, shoulders-first and quite painfully, with the floor of the cell. Such was the force of Ivan's throw that the poor warrior actually folded up accordion-fashion, before he properly collapsed to the ground completely, head ringing and spine complaining vehemently.

There was a long, awful pause, punctuated by the rattling of Ivan's breathing.

"...I will have my peace when are dead. Presumptuous brat."

And it came as something of a mixed surprise and blessing when the footsteps moved away instead of towards him. Evidently, the fun of beating up an old enemy had been lost to the now aggravated Russian.

Ash, with some effort, managed to crawl up onto his bed. He was vaguely aware of them on the other side of the door.

"...you'd best get that locked...no sense...getting him mad at you too."

And so the door did close.

"...Name...rank...serial number..." Ash mumbled.

 Ash Marsello.

Would-be hero.

Prisoner of the Magpies.