Blackjack Messiah Read online

  Contents

  For

  Blackjack messiah

  Blackjack Wayward, Copyright © 2013 by Ben Bequer

  True friendship

  CHAPTER ONE Point Nemo

  CHAPTER TWO I'm Great with Speeches

  CHAPTER THREE Teamfights, my Favorite

  CHAPTER FOUR Why do They Always Run?

  CHAPTER FIVE Crazy Women

  CHAPTER SIX Rico and Templar

  CHAPTER SEVEN Plans, Plans and More Plans

  CHAPTER EIGHT Downtime (it's never down)

  CHAPTER NINE Back in the U.S.A.

  CHAPTER TEN A Little bit of Help

  CHAPTER ELEVEN A really, really old bonsai, two terracotta warriors and a partridge in a pear tree

  CHAPTER TWELVE Graydon Chase

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN When You Look A Bitl Like Sephiroth

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN Raymond & Dustin

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN Terry, aka Powermaster

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN Stranger in a Strange Land

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Time For Some Hard Truths

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The Kansas City All-Stars

  CHAPTER NINETEEN Official/Unofficial status

  CHAPTER TWENTY Come Out To KC, We'll Have A Few Laughs...

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE About Time, Jeff

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO The Soft Sell

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Now The Hard Work

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Training, Training and More Training

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE The After-Report

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX A Surprise Visit

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Mission One

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT The REAL After-Report

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE A Minor Disturbance

  CHAPTER THIRTY No Win Scenario

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Taken

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Time to Take A Beating

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Meet Dr. Snyder

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Omega Rays

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE Back to Hashima

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX Goodbye, Razorstrike

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Lady Armada Redux

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT Some Things Are Best Left Unsaid, and Unseen

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE Not Without a Fight

  CHAPTER FORTY Mr. Haha 3000

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE Blackjack's Army

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO Time for the Cavalry to Arrive

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE The Plan

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR Father Mike's Madness

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE Bleeding All Over the Place

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX Primal

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN Epilogue One

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT Epilogue Two

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE Epilogue Three

  CHAPTER FIFTY Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE Extras: Patriots & Tyrants

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO Extras: Trevor Kane and the Heaven Sword

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE Extras: Drifters

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR Extras: Blackjack Forsaken

  For Lucy

  And

  For Veda

  Blackjack Messiah

  By

  Ben Bequer & Joshua Hoade

  Blackjack Messiah, Copyright © 2019 by Ben Bequer & Joshua Hoade

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to us using the contact information below.

  Blackjack Press

  Patreon.com/unreliablenarrators

  blackjackslair.blogspot.com

  [email protected]

  Cover and interior art by Erik Von Lehman

  http://erikvonlehmann.deviantart.com/

  email: [email protected]

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, use the contact information above.

  Revision 1.0, 4/2/19

  Printed in the United States of America

  “True friendship multiplies the good in life and divides the evils. Strive to have friends, for life without friends is like life on a desert island…to find on real friend in a lifetime is good fortune; to keep him is a blessing”

  - Baltasar Gracian

  “The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness”

  - Joseph Conrad

  “When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.”

  - Marcus Aurelius

  CHAPTER ONE

  Point Nemo

  Point Nemo didn’t exist on any map. Located in the South Pacific, 2,600 kilometers from the nearest land mass, and surrounded by 26 million square kilometers of open ocean, it was considered the most remote place on Earth. The water was close to freezing, and the closest humans orbited 400 kilometers over the surface of the Earth in the International Space Station.

  I approached in a small boat that navigated based on a waypoint triangulated from satellite photos and star charts. It felt very old school but for the autopilot that made course corrections while I ran numbers on engine output. I built the engines from scratch in the engineering wing of Superdynamic’s Tower of Babel, along with the rest of the boat. Designed to be quiet and powerful, I was surprised to discover a way to make their output nearly undetectable. Superdynamic damn near squeed when I showed him the models. Well, ok, he showed me two equations I had overlooked, then worked the kinks out with me, but I could tell how excited he was in the gentle way he corrected me.

  “Ahoy captain,” Apogee said over comms. She was trailing me on The Cicada, Superdynamic’s flagship, now in its umpteenth version. Cloaked in ten different ways, we decided to keep the ship at a high cruising altitude just in case. She wasn’t alone. At least a hundred other heroes had joined us on the mission. Superdynamic’s team, Battle, was the spearhead of a group everyone was calling Task Force One.

  “I’m sending some more data to you.”

  “I’ll log it with the rest,” she said. “If you could take a break from your nerd exercise, our readings say you should be able to see it.”

  In theory, nothing should have been out there. No land mass, no people, just water and fish, but an island of black rock grew larger as I approached. The boat’s computer was already working on an analysis, how deep it went, the kind of rock, but I didn’t need all that shit. The castle rising out the middle of the island was pretty much the only information that mattered.

  See, fun as it was to field test my boat; this was really a whale hunt. The whale in question was Primal, most recently the dictator of Madagascar. According to the people who worked in his “government,” he left because people were not worth the trouble. That’s a direct quote. He was an old school super, cut from the same cloth as Retcon and Global, but he wasn’t one of the Original Seven, which meant he was only a demi-god. He had some kind of pyroclasmic power that he had used to create the island and all of the structures on it.

  Tossing aside my heavy coat, I changed the waypoint in the boat’s navigation suite. The boat swayed to follow its new nav point, and I shifted my feet to keep balanced as I stepped out of the small cabin. The prow was almost facing away from the island when I engaged my rocket boots. I let the thrust carry me high so I could take in the totality of Primal’s island. It was the size of a football stadium and made from what looked like a single contiguous piece of rock. I co
uldn’t help but compare his castle to the one I had built no long ago. What was it with villains and castles?

  I stayed high for another reason, I wanted to be seen. Primal wasn’t alone. The island was intended as some sort of supers haven, catering mostly to the criminal types. We had no idea how many had taken the offer, but it was enough to worry the shot callers in the hero community. They wanted a preemptive strike. Orbital bombardment, or the old hit hard and fast, count the bodies later strategy. I felt like Frodo watching the different factions fight over how best to rid themselves of the One Ring. My plan was the only one that didn’t end in a bloodbath. Superdynamic smiled when he heard it.

  We had sent a message but didn’t want any surprises. I fell forward into the island, letting my boots slow me on approach, and it didn’t take long for Primal to arrange a welcoming committee. A dozen or so fliers made their way to me. I kept my trajectory, slow and looping, arms wide open. “Here we go,” I said.

  “Don’t let them talk you into changing sides,” Apogee said with a laugh, then got serious. “We’re right here, babe.”

  My rig had an integrated computer tied into Superdynamic’s system that allowed me to target and ID most of the incoming supers. Small popup boxes flashed into view just above my eye line. Of the bunch, only one packed a punch strong enough for me to feel. He went by Flamestrike and he was more than capable of vaporizing me. From what the files were telling me, he was a headcase who liked hurting people. He had been jacked into the Utopia mind prison, along with Primal, and me. The three of us, along with at least a thousand others, escaped at the same time, when a madman named Zundergrub destroyed the place trying to kill me. I still had to convince people it wasn’t my fault.

  “Look who it is,” said a woman the computer identified as Shadowflank. She was a Class-C nobody. I could pluck her out of the air and beat two of the others to death with her corpse before any of them could react. I had no white flag, no olive branch. The only thing that kept them from attacking me on sight was my rep. “They’ve sent us their lapdog”

  “Blackjack,” Flamestrike said. He was bad. I mean as a human, he was awful. His warm, throaty voice was harsh and exaggerated.

  “I come with terms,” I said.

  I sensed a crackle in the air, the urge to get violent. I soaked it up and it felt like waking up from a long, restful sleep. I ignored the idiots as they did their mental gymnastics. This part of the plan relied on a mixed bag of psychos choosing self-preservation over ego and whatever other voices whispered in their ear. They were each running a calculation, deciding if it was worth the risk. The formulas were different based on who you were dealing with.

  For the heroes, bless their stupid hearts, laying out for strangers was part of the contract. They actively looked to martyr themselves. I had my own experience with that and it usually ended up with me needing replacement organs. The villains generally wanted different things, but in almost every instance, what they really wanted was freedom. Mostly, freedom from the rules. Within that, there was a level of pragmatism that I admired.

  The question on each of their minds, with the possible exception of Flamestrike, was, “Which one of us is going to die?” From what the little boxes were telling me, the answer was most of them. I hadn’t been in a scrape for months, and my blood was singing for it. They knew it, too. They also knew that restraint wasn’t my strong suit. Oh, sure, have your fun and banter a little, but throw a punch and I’ll rip your fucking head off. See, I was doing my own trigonometry, and if my math was right, no less than eight of these people were a breath away from feeding fish at the bottom of the South Pacific.

  “We should frag him,” Shadowflank said. I made a mental note, classifying her either crazy or stupid.

  “Take it easy, Tara,” said a guy called Redline. Another minor leaguer, he hovered close enough that I could tell they were more than friends. “That dude’s dangerous.”

  “I’ll speak only to Primal,” I said with a sly grin. I didn’t really want to fight, but they would pounce if they saw weakness.

  “We should frag him,” Shadowflank said. “Flamestrike, we can take this fucking loser. Rip his spine out, and the rest of those pansies will shit themselves.”

  A couple of the others were arraying themselves around Shadowflank in a loose formation. Redline drifted away from her closer to Flamestrike, the only vote that really mattered. He was about to speak, but Flamestrike cut him off with a gesture.

  “You’re from the Task Force?” Flamestrike said. His voice was so forced, so terrible, it was hard to keep a straight face. I held it together and nodded. “Okay, follow us,” he said and turned away, leading me toward the island. He wasn’t afraid of me. He wasn’t projecting his nerves like the others. Maybe if Primal had the same attitude, this thing could come to a friendly conclusion. If not…things were going to get nasty. I leaned forward and throttled my rocket boots, my Asskickers, and followed Flamestrike. The other supers surrounded me, like buzzing pests, all the way there.

  A group of people waited for me on a platform jutting out of the main castle. I thought about hitting the ground hard, cratering the pretty tiles and scattering the onlookers, but that was for a person trying to look strong from a position of weakness. I didn’t need that shit. I landed softly, a cloud of debris wafting around me, and without waiting for my escort, walked towards the group. There were a dozen supers standing there, flooding my targeting computer, but I ignored the readouts because standing in the middle of the bunch was Primal.

  Compared to the bright spandex and leather of the supers accompanying him, he was thoroughly unassuming. Primal wore a thick, black wool coat to protect against the chill and the elements. His face was dark, lined with scars like some topographical map, his gray hair short and scraggly. A shade over six feet, with squared shoulders, he seemed to hunch, as if trying to disappear amongst the peacock supers surrounding him. And he would have, if not for the gray thundercloud of his eyes. They were tiny, deep set in that scarred face, like portals to another dimension.

  “That’s enough, Blackjack,” one super said, stepping in my way. I took one last step, so we were inches apart. He was bigger than me, with a blue and white costume that sported a long, flowing cape. The readout in my goggles read, “Father Superior,” but I didn’t bother with the rest of the information it was giving me.

  I looked past him at Primal, and the old guy seemed content to let it play out. It was prison logic, I had to prove myself by breaking one of his big guys over my knee. I let my eyes focus on the foppish prick, a scowl parading across my face. “Pretty little outfit,” I said, surprised by the charged energy in my voice.

  The villain didn’t react, but in the back of his eyes, way back there, farther than even he could tell, I saw fear. He was trying to impress people, but it was time for everyone to learn that this was my show. I lowered my voice until the natural baritone became husky. “You know, last time a guy got in my face like this? I bit his cheek off.”

  I could tell by the minute shift in Father Superior’s posture that he did know, or he knew enough. A hundred supers had come to kill me in the Australian outback. I was the only one to walk away from that fight, but thanks to the sociopath A.I., Mr. Haha, it had been broadcast worldwide. The footage was banned on most respectable social media sites, but there were plenty of pirated copies. Bootlegs of it sold like crazy at conventions.

  “I’m hungry.” I leaned in, sniffing at his face, and he took a full step back. Behind him, fists clenched and more than one anima banner flickered to life. “I come with a message, Primal,” I said, staring at Father Superior. “But there’s a meatbag standing in my way. I assume you’re trying to test me or something...”

  The guy turned back to Primal, who said nothing. Did nothing.

  My left hand shot out, getting a grip around Father Superior’s throat. I lifted him high and squeezed. I felt the flesh tense in my grasp, his breath pinched down to a thin whistle. He squirmed wildly, batting at my a
rms and kicking at me with little effect. I could feel movement around me, heat and static building as the villains readied to pounce. I didn’t bother with the others, devoting all of my attention to Father Superior as his face went from light, tanned, and handsome to distended and purple.

  “Blackjack, enough!” Primal finally said.

  “I agree. I came with a message. Either listen to me or fight…either way, fuck you and your little fuckboys.”

  Father Superior’s throat clicked against my palm, his eyes bulging out of the sockets. Primal held up a hand, and the others relented. They spoke in harsh murmurs as I dropped Father Superior who immediately vomited, then curled up next to it, breathing in harsh gasps.

  “Superior…” I muttered, walking past him.

  “That was my fault,” Primal said.

  I nodded. Our relationship was starting off with a bang, not that I expected it to go smooth. Several of the others scowled at me, but Primal waved them off. “Lashwave, Le Kill, take him to the medical quarters. Have Olympia look to his wound.”

  Two supers circled me and helped Father Superior off the ground. His neck was a bruised mess, like chopped meat before the grill. “Thought he was tougher,” I said apologetically.

  Primal smiled, “Me too. Now let’s talk.”

  Another man stepped in my way, “First he gets rid of all that gear.”

  I stared at the guy. He was more muscle than brains and liked having his hairy chest exposed. He dwarfed me, with biceps the size of pit bulls and chains wrapped around his waist and wrists. My computer ID’ed him as Praetorian, a Class-A tough who’d tussled with Epic a few times. From the broken nose and funny, uneven look of his jaw, the guy hadn’t done well.

  “You’re welcome to try,” I said, but Primal was done with the bullshit.