"Well, mister 'Byrne', you've got one hundred and fifty seven thousand dollars, and a bit of change. I've got pre-paid debit cards, cash..." Tops smiled. It was only half an hour later, but his ill-gotten loot had simply gone to the local casinos to be swapped out; the casinos only charging tops 2% to trade it across one for one, meaning that he'd be earning 3% on the deal; plus whatever he paid the courier. So that 10%? He'd have earned 7. Just for knowing the right people.
"I'll take a bit of both. Who do I need to meet to collect? And are they free in..." A bit of mental calculations. He could get a decent Fabricator; really just a stepped-up 3D printer that could handle a few material types; for 25 grand. With that and some raw materials... two days to make his 'Supervillain' getup. "Three days?"
Tops gave a slow nod.. and placed two envelopes on his desk. "About that. As you may know, two bounties were placed on Lightning and passed around the underworld. Both for identical amounts. One by my client, who is mostly a legitimate businessman; he gets more from his casinos than his illicit enterprises, but, well. Those illicit enterprises have increased the casino revenue dramatically, so it forms a sort of... symbiotic relationship. I've got to warn you that if you bring him that mask, and collect that bounty, the other will not be available to you. There will be no 'double-dipping' or getting paid twice for the same job."
Jason glanced around the office before taking the two envelopes. Twenty million was a great idea in principle, but honestly wasn't worth the risk of meeting -two- supervillains in their lairs to collect. Pictures of Tops shaking hands with some of the most infamous villains in the country dotted the shelves. Who would the other option be? "I suppose thats unfortunate, but then, wouldn't refusing to pay out the bounty hurt their reputation?"
The lawyer gently rapped his fingers on the desk in an anxious pattern, bitting his lip. "Well. After my secretary called me up, I assumed you had been sent by.... her, but had changed your mind and decided to switch to the Don. Or were going to try to collect here before going back home. I don't think she's worried about her reputation."
"..What gave you that idea?" How much confusion could he show and still be taken seriously? If they thought he was as new to this as he actually was, it would substantially increase his risk of never getting out of this meeting alive.
"My secretary... She touches a person, or an object. She gets a vague sense of pivotal, important memories attached to it for the past few years. Really comes in handy in this line of work. When she touched you... she got the image of Lightning dying, of beating down some police officers... and killing men, women, and children who appeared to be in Afghanistan. Considering that the other bounty is being offered by a wealthy oil princess whose father was killed by Lightning during a US military operation? And some of your kills were right in her backyard?"
Well, hell. He knew about this one. The Black Death. Oil sheikh, mid-grade meta who could control oils and plastics. Loved to drown enemies alive in crude oil; and fond of fighting with a burning pond of the stuff lashing out at her enemies. Hadn't fought seriously in years since inheriting the family business after the initial US strike.
"..Lets just say that if I turned up to try to collect a bounty with her, I wouldn't make it out alive. If she knew what I'd done to some of the people who worked for her... well."
Tops gave a low, hearty laugh, leaning back in his chair. "Oh good god did we have you figured wrong. Give me a second?"
.He lifted a nice smartphone out of his pocket; no burner phone, this. The thing looked to be made from polished chrome. "Hey, boss! This is Tops, your favorite lawyer! No, actually, I got good news this time. You know that special someone you've been looking for? Well, I found him for you. I honestly think he was looking for you and just didn't know which casino was yours."
"Actually, I don't go in the casinos. They thought I cheated at one earlier, so I avoid them."
Tops stopped at that.. but then resumed talking. "He'd like to meet up somewhere in three days. Preferably not a casino, apparently there was an incident where they decided he was cheating at one and he was asked to stay out; so as a matter of politeness, he's been doing so." He smiled, nodding at what he heard on the other line. "Of course! I'll get him setup with a penthouse suite, you bring in whoever you'd like to meet him. We'll talk later, boss!"
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Setting his phone back down, the lawyer smiled. "So, the boss is amenable to meeting in three days. And, so long as you don't cheat too much, any past casino shenanigans are forgiven; any winnings will just come out of your bounty payment. We'll get you setup at the penthouse, you can have fun in vegas for a few days, and then meet up with the boss. He'll call you with the address."
Tops simply took another phone out of his desk, and placed it on top, sliding it across. "On this phone. GPS will take you right there."
"Ehh... Not so much having fun. Right now I'm... well. Unprofessional. Without armor and proper weaponry, I almost feel naked. Definitely not going to show up to meet someone this important looking like some drunken cowboy fresh off the ranch. If he's gonna have work for me? I'm gonna show up ready for work."
*****
The 'Fabricator 2000' is a coffin-sized box whose inventor made sound like the most incredible thing since sliced bread; but in reality was just a more advanced version of the 3D printer. Coming in at 30,000$, if you can get the plans for it, and the spools of plastic and wire, it can make it for you. It needed to be perfectly level, it consumed a fair amount of power, gave off tons of heat and toxic fumes... and it just barely fit into a panel van.
Jason picked up a used panel van; one that some plumbing business had formerly used as a work vehicle, with a table and shelves on one side and an open space for pipes and toolboxes on the other. With a level and a set of eight jacks, he carefully leveled out the platform that formed the base of the Fabricator; knowing full well he'd have to redo it every time he moved the van.
Once it was all set... in the parking garage attached to the casino he'd be spending the night in.. he got to work on design. Armored vests were an easy start; the fabricator could print out the whole thing, but it was recommended to use tungsten or ceramic inserts, as the Fabricator was only rated for a top temperature of 3000 degrees without a special cooling insert to keep it from breaking down; taking titanium and tungsten off the table.. so of course he picked up a box of tungsten inserts to go with it.
The basic outline was simple. An ordinary athletic t-shirt and some jogging pants for the base. Shock-absorbing pads around the torso and knees to help survive blunt-force trauma. Tungsten plates around the torso, thighs, upper arms, and groin to stop bullets.. and a carbon fiber and steel mesh to spread the impact of bullets that hit elsewhere.
A good sealant to make the whole thing air-tight, with magnets snapping the boots into place around the pants to make a good seal.
And, of course, a helmet. While he went for a classic supervillain style, with a couple of glowing red eyes on the front.. and a bulletproof layer of one-way mirror over the face, letting him still look in every direction while giving a nice, chrome finish. A rebreather and an tiny air tank that he'd need to buy over the counter, and that was set; he wouldn't want to dive in it, but the suit should protect him from someone breathing toxic gas.
Aside from that, there was always fire and cold. They made these tubes of fire suppression foam that would explode when ignited; he bought some, planning to attach the tubes wherever he could. And, well. Not much to do about cold. A fairly nice over-the-counter flight jacket would work, for now.
That would cover the armor, at least. He'd need something more offensive. Some of it, he would buy over the counter. A new, better, handgun. A rifle he wouldn't take to see the boss. Others, he would need to get less than legally, or make himself; he had a brilliant(possibly) idea to include some of his custom Shroud grenades; a blend of glass beads, water, and plastic beads that would launch out in clouds of compressed air, forcing any speedster to slow down dramatically or meet the same fate as Lightning; in the shoulders of the armor.
If he did that? He could have triggers in his sleeves, and have a serious fighting chance against the next one he ran into.
Finally, he made himself a new side-arm. A very different side-arm; a two-barreled 40mm grenade launcher. The tolerances for the breech-loading weapon were much lower than for a classic tenner, so the fabricator could actually make it.
He spent the full three days he had the penthouse suite working on equipment. Printing pieces. Assembling them the rest of the way by hand. Printing shells for 40mm grenades and creating custom content for them. Installing compressed air cannisters. Gluing on fire suppression foam tubes; fortunately just pencil-thick, able to neatly nestle up in seams around armor plates. The fabricator printed the helmet while he was asleep; and he mounted a tiny HUD and the LED lights after waking up in the morning of the third day.
Ultimately... he liked the way the pieces looked, all together. And if he wore a long coat... probably a classic duster... he could blend into a crowd until he put the helmet on. So. Duster, bandage, cowboy hat until he reached the door. Then swap to the helmet when he walked in.
If everything went peacefully? Awesome. He could walk out just an extremely paranoid retiree. An extremely sweaty paranoid retiree; good god was making the suit airtight and trying it out in Nevada a mistake.
If things went poorly? He'd be able to take down a small army, including multiple metas.
He was shaving off a few stray bits of metal on his fabricated 40mm pistol when the call came in. A nice, chipper ringtone with promises of incredible danger, and the possibility of exceptional rewards.
He looked at the simple bag on the table with Lightning's mask; the blood long since having dried; as he picked up the phone. He tapped a button on the same digitizer he'd used during the robbery. "This is Eyeball. I've been expecting your call. Where would you like to meet?"