Gotta Get Paid

Brief Title:

Firebrand II & Ares

Scene Runner/Watcher:

IC Date:

Ryker's Prison

Ares offers Firebrand a job he can't refuse.

Social or Plot:


Seated in the singular meeting area at Rykers, Russ Broxtel is found wearing the standard lock-up orange of the prison system. His name tag indicates Broxtel and he doesn't look pleased to be pulled from his daily routine - especially when he wasn't expecting guests. Tempered bullet resistant glass separates him from the other side of the booth and two phone receivers connect either side for communication.

Mr. Broxtel is only kept waiting a marginal amount of time. It's relatively short and only gives him enough of a moment to consider his surroundings, the lack of other prisoners getting visitors, and even the lack of guards within the room for the moment. It's definitely not a visit from Aunty Petunia, and not from that schmuck of a lawyer. Just who it is, however, becomes clear a few moments later.

Stepping into the room through the large white door, a tall man in black chinos and sweater emerges. He turns to face the window, craggy and weathered features severe as he meets the gaze of the inmate across the way. A small nod of greeting is given, then he crosses the room a few steps to take a seat before the glass seperation.

One calloused hand reaches for the telephone receiver, and then the man opposite him awaits Russ to do the same.

Broxtel dos the same. He reaches and leaning forward will take the receiver. His left hand puts it to his ear/mouth and his right arm remain on the counter. He eyes the other man while waiting for him to speak.

"Russell Broxtel." The tall man's voice is rough, gravelly even across the subtle alteration of the phone line. His eyes are dark and he holds the other man's gaze levelly though there's a hint of a gleam deep in the eyes of this visitor. There's a small tilt of his head as he considers the inmate, then he goes on in that steady tone. "My name is John Aaron, I represent opportunity. Your life is currently over, the mistakes you have made have placed you in a role from which there is no chance of escape save one." There is something almost formal in the man's words, as if chosen precisely.

"The government of this country has agreed to grant you a measure of freedom for your use as a weapon against its enemies. You will be doing what is considered 'good works' though the appeal will not be made to your sense of morality as your file tells me you have none. The appeal will be made to your self-interest."

A smirk crosses his lips lending to a half smile with the right corner of his mouth turned upward. His eyes reflect interest even if he reflects a slight grunt of 'there's always a catch'. "So you're tellin me that the government is gonna write my ticket as long as I play their mercenary... what does it pay?"

There's a slight narrowing to the tall man's eyes, just at the corners. For a moment there's a pause between them, just the space of a single heartbeat, then he presses on. "One year of service will grant you a pardon. You'll be paid little. You'll most likely die." There's a certain intensity in the man opposite Russ Broxtel, something that is difficult to put one's finger on. It's as if this man before him doesn't care one whit if he lives, dies, murders, saves lives. It's because he doesn't. "You stay on beyond that year, you'll get paid more than a little. But I'll be surprised if you last that long."

There's a small wave of one hand to the side, as if Ares has gotten past the boilerplate. "What they wish you to be a part of is a unit that will strike at this world's enemies. To make the decisions that the Fantastic Four and Avengers are afraid to make. You think you can survive the year, then well and good. If not, stay here and rot."

Perhaps they should have sent someone else other than Ares to do the recruitment.

His arrogance has already determined that he's better than most and he'll overcome what ever challenge - that death won't have her claws in him just yet. He also knows that sitting in prison is a waste of his talents and time. Plus there's no dames in here and he sure ain't playin that part. His words are simple and agreeable when Broxtel states, "What else am I doin, right?" - not a question, but an acceptance of the offer.

A short sharp nod is given, then Ares says simply. "They'll come for you when they're ready." And that is that, for now at least. The phone makes a 'click' as it hangs up, then John Aaron gains his feet. He turns around and moves for the door, leaving Mr. Broxtel there for a time with his own thoughts. Until the guards return him to the cell, of course.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License