Warehouse
Wilson Fisk and Mike Ehrmantraut
The noise was thunderous. Not just within the confines of this...
warehouse, this husk he found himself in, but in the general vicinity; even outside, among the grass and trees where the slightest noise sent rodents and animals scurrying, it could be heard.
The rage.
Wood splintering. Concrete cracking. A cacophony of sound and fury, the frustration borne from a man of ill intent. From outside, the only indicator of it being an ordinary man-- not a monster-- committing such extraordinary violence was the unearthly bellows that wracked the facility with each crash.
"YOU TOOK ME AWAY FROM HER! I WILL SEE HER AGAIN, AND THE LAST THING YOU SEE WILL BE MY HANDS AROUND YOUR THROAT!"
And then, as suddenly as the auditory carnage had begun... it subsided. A strange tranquility came over the scene, like the calm immediately in the wake of a great storm. For a few moments, nothing happened.
Then the door to the warehouse opened.
The man who sauntered through the frame was nothing short of a goliath, tall and broad with an immense and imposing presence, his breathing steady but deep from the rampage he'd inflicted within as he looked out into the wilderness, bag in one hand and aluminum bat in the other. So. Here it was. A kingdom of trees and dirt.
And it would
all be his.
It didn't take long for him to notice someone else standing there, perhaps drawn by the sound of his tantrum, perhaps not. Either way, the man called Wilson Fisk affixed him with not a snarl, or a sneer... But with a placid, almost awkward, smile.
"Good morning... I'm afraid you've caught me at something of an... off hour."
He chuckled, though the action lacked the mirth you would expect, the man's massive hands fidgeting by his sides. His demeanor seemed strange; not nervous, not even cautious. Simply... uncomfortable, in everything from the way he moved to the way he spoke, emphasis put on unusual words and syllables.
"...I'd like to think this... predicament warrants some... measure, of... of discussion. Would you care to step into my office?"
His tone turned wry as he stood to one side, sweeping one broad arm to gesture through the door and into the warehouse.
"Our abductors, seem somehow... expectant of us. To fight. To tear each others' throat out like animals. They'll be disappointed, I think, to learn that I am not an animal." He smiled again.
"Are you, mister...?"
The man watching Fisk didn't respond at first. He'd been studying the apparent "businessman"; the way he held himself, his almost childish outburst in the warehouse, yet above all his ability to see the bigger picture. His reaction spoke for itself, more than any words could.
"Ehrmantraut. Mike Ehrmantraut. And you could say I'm keeping my options open, mister, uh...?"
At the end of the day it was a no-brainer for Mike. He knew this guy's type. This man had money. Power. He was still getting his bearings, but the older man could tell already the odds of him dying during whatever this was were substantial. He was a realist, and more importantly he had a family to think about. His granddaughter. Rich guy like this, could he help her if he got off this rock? Give her a life Mike never could? There was a long game to be played here, and somewhere in the midst of it all the jaded enforcer saw opportunity. Maybe he would die here. He didn't know. But dying for the right cause had the potential to help more than just him.
"A man of reason, I can... respect that, admire it even. I'm afraid now however is not the time for... admiration, mister Ehrmantraut. It is a time for action."
The taller man led Mike into the warehouse interior, where they were met by the wreckage wrought by his earlier actions; Chairs smashed, crates demolished, glass shattered. In the midst of it all, however, there was a table and two chairs that lay untouched by the destruction around them. Fisk made his way around the other side and took a seat, gesturing for Mike to take the one opposite if he so desired as he rested his forearms on the wooden varnishing.
"My name is Wilson Fisk. And I think you and I are very much alike. That's not referring to, the... lack of hair on our scalps, you understand, but rather our temperament. Our... perception, of the world around us. You seem unperturbed by all this, by... the events that led us to this moment; I presume this means you have some experience in taking lives, though much like myself you take no pleasure in it. That, mister Ehrmantraut, is exactly the type of individual I need on my side. One who is not above killing, but who must resort to it when the need arises. Traits that will be a necessity in our escape-- and, yes, I intend to escape. And I intend to kill anyone who stands in my way, and then I intend to KILL THE ONES WHO PUT ME HERE!"
He slammed his fist down on the table with such sudden abruptness it almost seemed to surprise even him, though he quickly reined himself in, swallowing and adjusting his collar.
"...So, mister Ehrmantraut... I am a man of means. If the prospect of escaping alone does not appeal to you, there is much more I can offer. Name your price, as it were."
Taking some time to think the situation over, Mike gazed vacantly past Fisk and into what seemed like the abyss. He spoke only when he found the right words to react, looking back at him.
"An escape? Look around, Fisk. I don't see any technology here. The people who took us? They're smart. Real smart. Don't get me wrong, I'd like to get off this rock, but I'm a realist. I'd like to hit a homerun in the Major League too but some things just don't happen. Only one of us is likely to make it. That's the brass tacks."
"Oh, I don't doubt it, mister Ehrmantraut. The people who... conscripted us into this event are unquestionably intelligent and powerful beyond belief, so much so that perhaps they could get away with this under normal circumstances. It is... regrettable, therefore, that they made such a grave, error in judgement today. They chose to target me."
A dark fury flickered across his normally-mellow features for a brief instant, amicable smile contorting into a snarl of rage.
"They are a dog chasing a car, realizing their error too late as it... backs up over them. That, mister Ehrmantraut, was their mistake, and THAT, is brass tacks."
In the silence that ensued the former cop would look Fisk up and down, studying him. A deep breath was taken as Mike continued, speaking briskly and concisely.
"If we wanna come anywhere near escape, we'll need a crew. Three to four other people. I'll vet 'em, you pay 'em. My pay? I want it set up in a trust fund. How much? Whatever you think's fair. This fund would be for my granddaughter, Kaylee. She's the only reason I'm doing this. I have a few rules too. One; I even get a whiff of you fucking me over, we're done. I don't care how much you're paying me. Two, we keep this professional. You make the final calls, all I ask is if I have something to say, you at least hear it out. That fair?"
Fisk stood up, breathing out and taking heavy strides across the room to halt next to the window, clasping his hands behind his back and looking out into the plains beyond.
"...One million for your granddaughter, for... Kaylee. An extra half-million for yourself should you make it off this island with me. A tip for services rendered, if you like, to do with as you will; Consider it a... motivator, of sorts. Is that acceptable, Michael?"
Mike's cold eyes just stared as he registered the offer.
"We got a deal. One more thing, when I assemble the crew. They'll be paid fairly?"
These words were important to Mike. If he was going to start a crew, loyalty was everything.
"You have my word. Whatever deal we make, whatever terms we come to, I will honor it. That is the sort of man I am."
Fisk replied solemnly, hands fidgeting behind him as he turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder.
"So. Where should we start?"
Pulling out his map, Mike rolled it out and set it on the table.
@Josh M (collaboration)
@Cromartie Sarkissian
