2014.01.30 - Weapons Evolved

One of the fun things of being a mercenary is one needs to keep in touch with a number of people and places to get a job. Fantomex is a newcomer to those circles, although oddly enough the rumors also say he has been around for years. Just... they are always third or fourth hand rumors.
Nevertheless, he got in touch with a fencer, who knows an ex-merc, who knows a weapon dealer, who knows a fixer, who had Domino's phone number. And so he asked the woman to be here for a profitable job of some mysterious kind. Something about tracking old cold war documentation. Looked complicated, but profitable, because Fantomex is a good thief and crime pays.
Just another job. ..For decades old documents? Heck, Domino's run stranger gigs in her days. It can't be any worse than the one where she had to watch some guy's apartment out in Gotham to make sure no one tried to break in while he was away. Some people will throw large sums of money at anything.
Harry's it is. It's easy to find for nearly any mutant that's spent a week or more in the city. Today it's the only familiar element to the albino, seeking out someone she's had no prior interaction with for a job that sounds fairly sketchy in its own right. Upon setting foot inside of the joint there's a flash of memory from a few days ago on the Gotham rooftops, she didn't get the best look at the man in white but he was in -white.- Like he is now. Kinda stands out. So, fantastic, she's bumped shoulders with the guy once more. Then suddenly he's figured out how to reach out to her through the underground grapevine.
She looks kind of irked, staring across the table at the man as she arrives and drops down into a seat across from him. "Hi."
Despite his strange outfit no one seems to be looking at, much less staring, Fantomex. That is because for anyone else at Harry's he is a completely uninteresting guy that no one would be able to describe when asked five minutes after he leaves.
"Bonjour," greets the man in white. Fantastic faux French accent, really. "I wanted to talk with you the other day in Gotham, but there were too many ninjas and bats around. I am Fantomex, maybe you have heard about me. But most likely all you have heard is slightly untrue."
"What is this, am I getting my own fanclub now?" Domino asks while slouching in a 'couldn't care less' fashion. "Well 'bonjour' to you, too. I don't make a point of keeping track of all of the weirdos and whackjobs in my line of work, so maybe you could cut to the chase here and tell me what this is all about."
Wanting to have a sit-down is somewhat different than working a gig to secure some yellowed pieces of paper. Though, now that it's been confirmed that this is the same guy that had been on the rooftops... She paid enough attention to know that he's quite skilled with a sidearm or two.
Just ignore the fact that she's kept one of her hands out of sight beneath the table.
Fantomex keeps both hand on the table. Maybe. At least it looks he does. "I wouldn't be surprised if you do. I seem to have a number of webpages full of amazing and dumb bits and details about me. All very amusing. I should get on Twitter soon."
He pauses, as if considering what to say. He needs a bit of banter and body-language reading to craft a truly fantastic lie. On the other hand, the truth sometimes is often as fantastic as his best lies. "Do not judge me a whackjob so soon. I am weird, but the World made me so. Pretty much like they made you, Armageddon Child."
"I find that stuff's generally a waste of time," Domino replies in a completely level tone. She's a part of the conversation, sure, though most of her focus is on the person sitting on the other side of the table. Frankly, she's still got no idea what to make of him.
A lot can be said when nothing happens to be vocalized, however this time the words he chooses to say have all the honors of grabbing her attention. As the word 'armageddon' starts to leave his mouth there's the subtle *tik-click* of a double action pistol's hammer getting thumbed back beneath the table. The only two souls likely to catch the report are both seated around the weapon in question.
"I would continue to choose my words -very- carefully if I were you."
Struck a nerve, he did. No one else should know about Project Armageddon. She's fairly confident that not even Cable's aware of it.
"Well, I told you I wanted to find some Cold War era documents, mademoiselle," explains Fantomex. "But you see, I already have a large collection of them. Living weapons. Clones. Weapon X. Project Armageddon. Cadmus and Nowhere. There are a dozen other names spread all over North America and Europe, it started just before World War Two with Project Rebirth. Have you heard of Captain America? He is our dear old granddad."
To this Domino audibly snorts. To think that these two are at all, in any way, connected to someone like Captain America..? Normally that would seem like one hell of a stretch even by her standards, but she is familiar with the star-spangled man's history. What they teach publically, at least. Whether they admit that he's a product from a science lab or not doesn't matter, she can put those pieces together for herself.
So why would this be such a stretch, then..?
'Our' granddad. Fantomex is placing himself within the same proverbial tree, then. "Different people, different project," she says, trying to write off the unlikely connection. "What, you think these are all linked together? Why not stick with one underlying program? I know something about Weapon X, having everyone drain millions trying to reinvent the wheel at the same time seems highly counter-productive. That aside, how in the -hell- do you know about Armageddon?"
"Because they are linked," replies Fantomex. "The core project was Weapon Plus. Weapon One was Captain America, the code is still found in some World War Two age documents. Weapon X... was never an X. They used Roman numerals. Wolverine was Weapon Ten. The Cold War demanded many superhuman agents, as you can imagine. Super-soldier programs had large budgets. The Russians had the Red Room working non-stop producing very dangerous super-agents."
Russians, Red Room... It wasn't all that long ago that Domino had bumped into the Black Widow, herself. Another one of those urban legends, except that it turned out to be true. To step back and look at the situation properly would be to find more than a couple connections. Engineered soldiers are everywhere. Who's to say they -aren't- secretly trading notes?
And if Weapon X is something else entirely...
She's still reserving her own thoughts on the matter. If they're all under the same umbrella then she should have heard something about it -years- ago. Shouldn't she? This is a notably different circle than being just another mercenary.
"So we find these documents, then what? You're part of the project, fine. That explains your interest in it. What's your long-term plan? And why bring all of this to me, trying to have a Weapon Plus family reunion down the road?"
"Oui. I want to organize a picnic trip for the family," admits Fantomex. "All the happy family, a good deal of fireworks and we will share stories by the campfire." The man in white smiles behind the mask. "There is a place outside time where living weapons are born, trained, tested, and die, a generation after another. Evolution weaponized. When I left I took a few pieces of the puzzle. When I get back, I want to make a puzzle with the pieces."
As strange as all of this has been, Domino's been keeping pace with it all up to this point. When a place outside of time is mentioned she's no longer able to keep up, even less so about making a puzzle with the pieces. "Sounds like you're a few genes shy of a successful project, yourself," she points out. "A place 'outside time,' like extra-dimensional? If you really know anything about where I came from then you'd know there's very little to it." Not to mention she's only one of two weapons that ever lived long enough to see the outside world, and she had been considered to be a failure!
This Fantomex guy has played an interesting hand. She can't ignore it, as much as she'd like to. She can't walk away from it any sooner. It seems that there are more people out there that know about her past, which makes her entirely uncomfortable.
Agreeing to tag along would be a good way to learn first-hand how much is known about her, and who else happens to be in the loop.
"Where's your next hit planned?"
"Oh me?" Fantomex leans back, "I am just a humble French thief. From France. Ohlala." Pause, "But I am also Weapon Thirteen. Product of half a million years of guided evolution, weirdo whacko child of technorganic machines and mutant genes. Pleased to meet you. Not extra-dimensional, unless you consider London another dimension... uh, which is fair enough."
He is not even French!
"The World, the Weapon Plus main lab, has some alien technology that allows for accelerate time pockets inside. It is a dangerous environment. My next hit will happen when I find enough people and I think we have a chance to get out alive."
Say what. -Half a million years?- How is that--?
Domino has her answer before too long, though it still takes her a moment to process. Now, say that all of these projects -are- connected. If it's anything like what she knows of people as a whole, it's that no one likes to share their secrets or let others play with their toys. Some independent development could have happened. It's extremely likely that's exactly what happened.
Now, consider that this Fantomex guy could have come from the 'core' project, the best funded, best equipped, top of the line weapon building program. -Could- they be pulling these kinds of tricks?
She doesn't yet know the odds. Too many variables to process, though she knows it's ludicrous. Naturally, that's just the sort of result which she happens to specialize in. 'One in a million' territory, and growing.
She'll play along. Just long enough to get a properly clear picture for herself.
"Alright, 'Frenchie.' I'm in."
"Outstanding," replies Fantomex. He also pulls a bottle of wine from under the table, and two glasses. "I will pay the usual fee, of course. Thievery pays better than mercenary work, perhaps you should consider a career change." He offers her a glass, "or not, competition can be distracting."
Wine. Where the hell did -that- all come from, now..! With a slight frown Dom flicks the decocker and tucks her pistol away. A free drink is a free drink. "Maybe if I was built to be a thief," she replies. "Besides, I kinda like the gig I've got going for me."
Genetically engineered to be a killer. Glad to see those guys behind Project Armageddon got that part right.
Category:Log