Magnetic Attraction 26 (Patreon)

Commissioned by Kejmur

Magnetic Attraction
Chapter 26

-VB-

Francis looked down at the suitcase opened in front of him.

“Empire Eighty-Eight is… let’s just say that it is an affront to the current American policies and ideal,” the mysterious man who wanted to hire them replied to his question. “As unfortunate as the Endbringer’s assault on this city was, it has done the city some good in killing off the villains that have caused more damage in people than the Endbringer has. They are … a slow cancer, eating away at the body, mind, and spirit of the city.”

“A-and why come to us?” Francis asked the man who had the money his team desperately needed to survive.

“Because you are a nomadic cape team. If you cause some issues and then leave, then what are they going to do? Besides, most of their influence have disappeared already with the death of their leader and European contact,” the man shrugged.

“A-And if we kill them…?”

The man leaned forward. “My client will double this.”

Francis gulped.

Because he had in front of him one million dollars. It was not something he could easily touch.

“My client is also asking other groups, so if you don’t take up on this job offer quickly enough, then there are surely others who will,” the agent shrugged. “Would you like some time?”

“Just enough time to talk to my team,” he quickly spoke up. “I promise it won’t take more than ten minutes!”

“If you say so, Mr. Trickster.”

Francis hurried out of the man’s office and found himself looking at two of his six-member team.

Marissa and Luke, both of whom were in their costumes, looked up at him. “So?” Luke asked him gruffly. “What’s the job?”

“They want us to fight some sort of a neo-nazi gang in Brockton Bay,” Francis replied quietly. “One million dollars to do some crazy damage.”

Marissa looked uncomfortable with the idea. “How crazy are we talking about here…?”

“... They promised to double the pay out if we killed them.”

Both of them froze and looked at him aghast.

“Kill them?!” Luke hissed. “This isn’t a job. It’s a fucking assassination request!”

“They’re Nazis!” Francis dismissed the concern. “And it’ll be a big battle. A final hurrah for the Nazis or something. They promised to have a backup at the ready.”

“But we don’t have to kill the Nazis, right?” she asked.

“No, but an extra million dollars will do us some good,” Francis glared at her. “I mean, Noelle deserves to eat, right? We need to eat, and an extra million dollars means that when there are only assholish jobs or heroes around, we don’t have to risk our neck. Besides, we’re attacking Nazis. Who gives a shit about them?”

Marissa bit her lips before nodding.

“I’m in,” Luke added. “But I also want to reserve the right to call retreat, because last time, you didn’t when we should have and I nearly got my neck nicked for it.”

“That was your fault,” Francis shot back.

Luke narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

Francis almost said what was on his mind, but instead threw his hands up. “Fine. Sorry. Yeah, you get the right to call it.”

“Sweet. Go to the man, then.”

Francis turned back around and entered the office. “We’re in.”

The bald agent with the eyes of an oily coyote grinned. “Wonderful! The client wants the job done within the next month, but if that’s too much, then I can try to get in contact with them for you?”

“No. One month is good enough. And the reinforcements they promised…?”

“The client has another mercenary team ready, but as they dislike fighting where they live…”

“Got it.”

The agent grinned as he printed out the contract, and asked him to sign on behalf of the Travelers. Francis did, signing himself as Trickster. A copy of the contract was made, and a few minutes later, a fully signed contract, with the client’s name showing up as “EE,” got printed. He got a copy of the full contract and left the office building with Marissa and Luke in tow. They left through the backdoor and changed their costumes further down the street.

When they got back to the rest of their team, they quickly moved out.

To Brockton Bay.

-VB-

“This is … concerning.”

“It is,” her guest agreed coolly as he poured her a cup of wine from her own bottle. “Personally, I don’t want anything to do with the German-name besmirching super gang, but rumors have brought me to you.”

“So, how can I help you, Eisenfeld?” Faultline asked the new biggest name of Brockton Bay.

Sitting across from her with only a hoodie, a pair of dark blue jeans, and a pair of black boots but with his face somehow shrouded, the cape hummed. “I do not want whatever is coming to blast the Emprie in the face to unduly affect the rest of the city,” he replied. “For that to happen, I want to hire you to contain the fighting, and if need be, then help arrest them for the PRT and the Protectorate to pick up.”

“You are asking a lot out of us,” she replied. “Operating in the city we are basing out of will cause issues for my team and I.”

“I know, and I am willing to compensate you for that.”

“It’ll have to be a lot.”

“How does one million sound for showing up to the fight?”

She stiffened only momentarily.

“Don’t bother not putting up a poker face or anything like that, Fautlline. I control iron, remember? Iron in your blood is enough for me to know your heart rate and I could extrapolate from there.”

She cleared her throat. “A rather roundabout way to threaten someone you’re trying to hire, don’t you think so?” she asked in return with a glare.

“... I apologize if that’s how I came off as. I merely wanted to ask you to be honest with me.”

“Then be honest with me, Eisenfeld. Where have you heard this rumor from?” she leaned forward and placed her chin on her gathered hands, going on the attack with her question.

“I will tell you if you will sign up for this,” Eisenfeld promised.

She debated in her mind.

Eisenfeld wasn’t asking anything big out of her. It would suck if the city got wrecked, and would mean fewer customers for her team’s Palanquin, which made up not an insignificant portion of their income because of how intermittent their jobs came and went. On the other hand, if her team interfered on behalf of whoever attacked the Empire Eighty-Eight, no matter how weakened they were, then it would mean that their stay in Brockton Bay might be in jeopardy.

“How much?” she asked.

“Ten thousand dollars per diem for each of your team who shows up to fight. If you do show up to fight and actually fight, then I will pay you additional one million dollar bonus.”

“If we don’t show up?”

“Then you would have not done your part of the contract. Never mind contract violation, you’re villains in the eyes of the law, and I am someone trying to be a hero.” The rest need not be said.

“What if I don’t take this contract?”

“I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me or the city.”

She grunted. It was the basic carrot and stick. If she played ball, then she and her team would get paid. If she didn’t, then she would gain nothing. But that’s the thing, wasn’t it? Nothing might change at any given time. He mentioned the city, which meant that if she were to take a job in the city and for any non-heroic capes, then that would be “bothering” him.

And he knew where she and her team lived.

“Fine. We’ll take it. Now tell me how you came to hear that rumor.”

He leaned back with a nod. “I have many associates in the high levels of society outside of Brockton Bay. However, more than a few have suffered at the hands of the white supremacists, either because they had minority friends or were minority themselves. So when they heard that the Empire was weak…”

“Beat it down so it never bothers them again.”

He nodded.

And then he took out a fat stack of one hundred dollar bills.

“For today.”

And then he left, walking out of the door and then mingled in with the late-night party-goer crowd. She lost sight of him from the windows of her room looking down at the dance floor.