章節 132: Chapter 127: The Trial Has Been Flipped On It's Head
The next day,
With patient steps, Hawkins moved quietly through the dim room, the soft glow of a red safelight casting an otherworldly hue around him.
The subtle, eerie illumination bathed his figure in an ominous light, accentuating the grim set of his expression.
His tired, hollow eyes lingered on the soft gurgle of water in the rinse tank, the faint tick of the timer echoing in his ears, which still rang with an incessant buzz.
The low hum of the ventilation fan melded with the muted sounds, its steady drone seeming to smother the weight of his anxiety.
Hawkins had been up all night developing the film, knowing it was crucial evidence that might make or break the trial.
Yet, even if the opportunity to rest had presented itself, sleep would have been pointless as his mind churned too relentlessly, burdened by the gravity of what the images might reveal.
That vivid imagery, the same haunting scenes that consumed his every thought, was on full display, not on the developing film, but in the restless theater of his mind.
Desperate to sidetrack his spiraling thoughts, Hawkins pulled a film reel from its light-tight canister.
Unlike his weary, bloodshot eyes, his fingers moved with unwavering precision, steady despite the unbearable weight of the task.
The air was heavy with the pungent tang of chemicals; a sharp blend of developer, fixer, and stop bath that seemed to cling to every surface and almost seep into the walls.
Before him sat the developer tray, its shallow pool of glossy liquid shimmering faintly under the safelight's soft red hue, casting an ethereal glow across the workspace.
Then, Hawkins submerged the film, his movements deliberate while his mind ticked through each step of the process like a mantra.
"Thirty seconds," Hawkins murmured to himself, his voice barely audible above the faint rustle of the film reel unwinding, trying to keep his eyes focused and preparing himself for what was to come.
Hawkins gently agitated the tray, his movements deliberate as he watched the blank frames gradually yield their secrets.
Slowly, they melted away, giving form to the gruesome images of Ricky's wrath in all its horrifying detail as each emerging shape seemed to twist the atmosphere tighter around him.
The timer clicked, its sound sharp in the quiet room and Hawkins inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves as he moved the film to the stop bath.
The acrid scent rose sharply, more pungent than the developer, stinging his nose and anchoring him to the grim reality of his task.
He dipped his fingers briefly in the water to ensure the reel was fully submerged, wiping them on the cloth slung over his shoulder.
The process demanded patience, precision, and an almost obsessive attention to detail, qualities he had cultivated over years in this dimly lit haven.
This was his hobby, the one thing that was supposed to bring him joy, a reprieve from the chaos of life.
Yet now, he could barely bring himself to look at his craft, the weight of its purpose eclipsing any semblance of passion.
As the final rinse began, Hawkins leaned back for a moment, his shoulders sagging under invisible pressure.
His tired eyes traced the soft glow of the safelight as it painted faint patterns against the walls, a fleeting distraction from the torment lingering in his mind.
Finally, Hawkins hung the developed film on the drying line, the faint light catching on the droplets clinging to the edges, transforming them into tiny, shimmering constellations.
But when the images, those grim scenes that already churned his stomach, were fully revealed, Hawkins froze.
His eyes widened, his breath hitching as the stark reality of what he had captured unfolded before him.
"It can't be?!" Hawkins muttered, rushing forward, careful not to contaminate the delicate film with his fingers.
His heart pounded in his chest as he leaned in closer, desperate to confirm what he already feared.
But when his eyes locked onto the images once again, the horror of Ricky Luciano was there in its fullest, undeniable display.
Bodies lay scattered, a gruesome testament to the violence unleashed,but there was something crucially wrong.
Something was missing.
Hawkins's disbelief deepened as his eyes scanned the film again, and the chilling realization hit him like a blow.
The one thing that should have been there, the thing he had been hoping to see, the very core of the nightmare, was gone.
"He's-"
"A DEVIL, HE'S A DEVIL!"
"KILL YOURSELF, GO ON AND KILL YOUR F*CKING SELF!"
"DIE YOU FOUL DEMON!"
"I'M GONNA F*CKING MURDER YOU, JUST YOU WAIT I'LL FIGURE IT OUT!"
"Ah, like music to my ears~" Ricky sighed, taking in a deep breath as he stepped into the courthouse, the flood of hate and anger directed at him palpable in the air.
"Thank you, thank you, I love you all!" Ricky turned with a dramatic flair, just in time to catch a tomato mid-air, thrown in his direction.
Not even flinching, Ricky caught the tomato in his hand with relative ease as if he was playing catch with the crowd.
"Ah, you guys~" Ricky placed a hand over his heart, staring at the ripe, not even slightly rotten tomato, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
"How did you guys know I skipped breakfast?" Ricky grinned, holding the tomato up like a trophy, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.
"URGH, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOUUUUUUUUUUUU!" One of the protestors screeched, the very same one who threw the tomato at him.
The crowd's disdain was palpable, their jeers and boos cutting through the air as Ricky turned around, rubbing the tomato on his suit to give it that glossy shine before taking a deliberate bite while Marshall stood at the side, speechless, stunned by the audacity of it all.
"Seriously?" Marshall sighed, his voice dripping with frustration as he followed Ricky inside, who was still scanning the room, seemingly unaffected by the hostility that surrounded him.
"What? I'm f*cking famished, and I didn't get a lot of sleep because-ah, there you are." Ricky's words trailed off as his eyes landed on Dewey, who was standing off to the side, arms crossed, and looking like he'd been waiting for someone.
"If it isn't the pathological failure, Thomas Dewey himself," Ricky sneered, striding over to him.
Dewey met his gaze head-on, unflinching, though a little hunched over as he had to tilt his slouched neck upwards.
"If it isn't the pathological murderer, Ricky Luciano himself," Dewey countered, his voice steady and cold as Ricky let out a laugh, a sharp, mocking sound, before holding up his hands in mock surrender.
"Quite the accusation you've got there. Any proof?" Ricky asked, watching Dewey squint his eyes while recalling the brutal memory of Ricky slicing a KKK member like a vegetable.
"To the last receipt." Dewey shot back in a seething tone, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving Ricky's.
Ricky simply gazed down at him, his smile condescending, as if Dewey were nothing more than a minor inconvenience to be dealt with.
"Your reign of terror ends in that courtroom-"
"Are you sure? Because I think it's just beginning," Ricky taunted, his laughter echoing in the tense air.
Dewey scoffed, his jaw tightening as he turned away, clearly not in the mood to entertain Ricky's game any longer.
"Well, I just can't wait to see this proof you have. Marshall, let's go." Ricky said with a smirk, turning and walking away.
Dewey, unfazed, simply stepped aside, as if continuing to wait for something, his eyes fixed ahead, unreadable.
"What do you think they're scheming, it must be a last minute-"
"Marshall, it's fine, we've got this trial in the bag," Ricky said confidently, shooting Marshall a reassuring glance as the latter was once again left speechless.
He strode into the courtroom, his posture relaxed as he took in the sight of Judge Mason receiving some documents at the bench.
However that seemed to be an act when one truly looked closer, seeing that his eyes that were scanning the documents were hollow and his mouth was slightly open, seeping out a small stream of drool that was covered by the bustling papers.
The air was thick with tension, but Ricky didn't seem to notice, he was already sure of his victory and was only waiting for the singular intention that came from all of this.
"What do you mean 'in the bag', this trial is at its boiling point and-"
"Will you calm down? Seriously, I got this, just trust me." Ricky said, walking over to the seat and plopping down with a grin, glancing at Marshall.
Sigh
"Maybe you should take your own case more seriously," Marshall remarked passively, his frustration evident.
He was clearly unnerved, his perspective on the trial growing more grim with each passing moment and in his eyes, things weren't shaping up well at all.
"Listen, Marshall, you shouldn't take life too seriously," Ricky said with a grin, offering a piece of his personal motto as he leaned back in his chair, the smile never leaving his face.
"And why is that?"
"Because you'll never make it out alive," Ricky laughed, finding dark humor in the words and for some reason, Marshall felt a strange comfort in the irony, though he wasn't sure why.
Meanwhile, outside the courtroom, Dewey stood waiting, his gaze fixed on the door.
Suddenly, it swung open, revealing Hawkins, who stepped through holding a packet with an almost queasy expression.
"Dewey, we have a problem-"
"We'll worry about it later, we have to submit this as evidence." Dewey turned away from Hawkins, gazing down at the evidence with greed as the desire for beating Ricky had already consumed his patience.
Nothing seemed to matter the moment that packet touched Dewey's hand as the images of how he would take center stage resurfaced, blinding him in the spotlight of possibilities.
It was only then that Hawkins reached out, calling out to him.
"Dewey! DEWEY!" Hawkins shouted, his voice cutting through the room.
Watching Dewey make the mistake that would ultimately cost him everything, Hawkins could only watch his hunched form scurry towards the double doors.
His own greed had blinded him to the inevitable, and now, as Dewey stormed into the courtroom, his presence unmistakable, Dewey couldn't resist sending a victorious glare Ricky's way.
The game had shifted, the table was about to be flipped, all by Dewey's own doing, almost poetic.
Meanwhile, Ricky leaned back in his chair, a sly smile curling on his lips, leaning back and enjoying the show rather than stopping him.
Dewey, unaware of the trap closing in around him, turned forward toward the judge, his focus sharp, but his downfall already set in motion.
"DEWEY-" Hawkins shouted, rushing in after Dewey only to find him already facing Judge Mason.
"Your Honor, I have new evidence to support my lawyer's claim that Ricky Luciano is, in fact, someone who abuses their powers, someone not only capable, but a clear murder!" Dewey exclaimed emphatically, holding out the packet just as the jury walked in, their eyes immediately drawn to the confrontation.
"WHAT?!" Marshall shouted, taken aback by the boldness of the claim as he sprang to his feet, his voice rising in disbelief
"This is highly unprofessional-"
"Just look, these images show him caught in the act!" Dewey interrupted, his voice brimming with confidence as he saw victory within his grasp.
Judge Mason, his brows furrowed in concern, took the packet, his hands steady despite the mounting claim.
Dewey side-eyed Ricky, who was also curious, though his demeanor remained calm until he had a sudden thought on how to get a quick laugh.
As Judge Mason slowly unfolded the pictures, Ricky's eyes widened, and his hands began to tremble.
Dewey's eyes gleamed with anticipation, almost craving the scene unfolding before him as he watched, almost relishing, at what he thought was the almighty front Ricky always wore began to crumble.
The once-impenetrable confidence in Ricky's eyes was seemingly faltering, and Dewey could taste his victory.
SNORT
Until Ricky couldn't contain himself any longer and covered his mouth, trying desperately not to ruin the moment, but the sight of Dewey, so desperate to see him fall, was too much.
The urge to laugh bubbled up, and he just couldn't stop it while covering his eyes while revealing his mocking smile before Dewey's questioning eyes.
"WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING, I CAUGHT YOU, I WON-" Dewey stormed over to Ricky, slamming his hands down as his disheveled appearance unveiled itself before him.
"But, did you really?" Ricky asked, his fingers opening to look at his sure eyes as Dewey had an aching feeling forming in the pit of his stomach, turning back to Judge Mason finally looking at the images.
"Y-You-" Judge Mason stammered, covering his mouth as he glanced at the photos and Dewey, his eyes wide with self-assuredness, turned to Ricky.
"I followed Ricky Luciano last night after his house was burned down and captured an image of him slaughtering those responsible-" Dewey's voice was almost relentless, clinging to the last shred of hope he had, desperate for the courtroom to believe him but Ricky, with an almost casual air, interrupted.
"But, did you really?" Ricky asked, his voice smooth, reiterating his earlier challenge as a laugh escaped him while looking at Dewey.
Dewey faltered, his smugness beginning to crack as he turned toward Judge Mason, now pale, his earlier confidence slipping as the weight of Ricky's question lingered in the room.
"What did you do?" Judge Mason's voice was low and venomous, his gaze fixed on not Ricky but Dewey with a hateful glare.
The room seemed to freeze as the words hit Dewey like a cold wave, his confidence now shattered.
Dewey stood there, momentarily stunned, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to form a response as the shock on his face was unmistakable, his plan unraveling in front of everyone.
"W-What-"
"Where in these pictures, of these men being SLAUGHTERED, IS RICKY LUCIANO?!" Judge Mason bellowed, turning the photos over in a frenzy, his voice rising with fury.
He slammed the images down on the table, his eyes burning with anger as he stared at Dewey, who stood frozen in place.
Dewey's eyes shrank in disbelief as he looked at the photos, picking them up as he scavenged through the images for the sight that he had seen and yet, Ricky was nowhere to be found.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out, the truth staring him in the face.
Instead of Ricky slaughtering anyone, the photos revealed blurry images of men being torn apart in a chaotic, distorted, and unrecognizable way.
The horror of the scenes was unmistakable, but what struck the deepest was the absence of clarity.
In every frame, there was no sign of Ricky Luciano but even worse, Judge Mason's face, which should have been a part of the scene in his position, was nowhere to be found as if the blurry flying object had purposely covered it in every scene.
The absence was deafening, as if the images themselves were mocking Dewey's claims.
"I-I-"
"These abhorrent pictures show no relation to our case." Judge Mason thundered, his voice laced with full-fledged anger as he slammed down his hand over the photos, his glare searing through Dewey.
"These will be turned over to the authorities after this session, and the proper authorities will take over." Judge Mason's voice was almost akin to a warning and yet, it all fell on deaf ears for Dewey.
Who stood frozen, his body locked in place as the gravity of the situation sank in and his mind, once so confident and sure, was now spiraling into a mental breakdown.
His breath hitched, growing shallow and frantic as the weight of his own failure crushed him as he couldn't move, couldn't speak before his body betrayed him as the reality of his defeat shattered every ounce of composure he had left.
"B-But I saw-"
"TAKE YOUR SEAT, THIS MATTER WILL BE HANDLED AFTER YOUR CROSS-EXAMINATION!" Judge Mason screeched at Dewey, his voice trembling with a mixture of fury and disbelief.
Not only was Judge Mason consumed with anger, but a deep sadness began to settle in as well.
His eyes fell on the photos, and the truth sank in like a heavy stone as these weren't just random victims, these were his friends.
People he had grown up with, shared memories of his community, watched grow up, and fought alongside.
The realization tore at him from the inside out and it was because of this expression that Ricky had a devious smile, watching it all unfold as everything he could've ever wanted.
Dewey was speechless, his mind racing as the courtroom's weight pressed down on him as this wasn't how it was supposed to go.
He had meticulously planned everything, every detail to bring Ricky down, to expose him for what Dewey had convinced himself he was.
But now, standing frozen in the wake of his failure, Dewey's gaze flickered towards Judge Mason.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut as Judge Mason shouldn't be here, not in this moment, not witnessing this chaos.
And as Dewey turned his eyes toward Ricky, he saw something unsettling.
Ricky's calm demeanor hadn't changed; in fact, it seemed to intensify and because of it Dewey's breath hitched when he saw Ricky's lips move, slowly, deliberately, mouthing two words.
'A cockroach.'
"Court is in session. Defendant, take the stand," Judge Mason hissed, his voice dripping with venom as he fixed Dewey with a glare brimming with contempt.
Hawkins pinched the bridge of his nose, watching Dewey who rose with a hollow gaze.
Confusion clouded his face as he walked to the stand, unable to grasp how things had spiraled so far out of control.
"Mr. Marshall, please proceed," Judge Mason gestured to him, his tone unexpectedly calm, almost favorable.
Marshall hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the shift, but quickly composed himself and approached Dewey.
"Mr. Dewey, you claim your unlawful stop of Ricky was justified due to his supposed risk to public safety and in the interest of complete protection. Is that correct?" Marshall asked, his voice steady as he scrutinized Dewey's hollow gaze.
"Yes, Ricky Luciano is a threat and needed to be handled with precaution," Dewey declared, his voice faltering slightly as he glanced toward the jury.
Their faces reflected a mix of confusion and suspicion, the earlier display of photos still looming over the courtroom and in the minds of all those who didn't catch a glimpse.
Meanwhile, at the defense table, Ricky's stand, Shadow Broker, idly ripped a piece of paper, the subtle sound cutting through the tense silence like a whisper of defiance as if proning those wonders to the surface and even further.
"Could you say that you were acting without bias and entirely in favor of national security?" Marshall asked, his tone sharp as he locked eyes with Dewey.
"Yes, I believe I was doing the right thing at the time-"
"So this had nothing to do with the former Detective Albert?" Marshall asked, his voice steady but pointed as he leaned in slightly as Dewey's jaw tightened, his glare snapping to Marshall like a whip.
"Objection, relevance-"
"Overruled, continue your questioning," Judge Mason's voice cut through the courtroom like a blade, shocking everyone present.
Hawkins stood frozen, his mouth slightly agape as he exchanged a glance with Dewey, who looked equally blindsided.
The jury's murmurs grew louder, their confusion palpable, while Marshall stood there, thinking that this was only something that would happen in his dream and yet, Judge Mason ruled in his favor.
"I'm sorry your honor, could you repeat that-"
"I SAID OVERRULED, NOW SIT DOWN!" Judge Mason's voice boomed across the courtroom, silencing everyone.
Hawkins flinched visibly and quickly sank into his seat, his face pale and his hands trembling slightly as he fumbled with his notes.
"Mr. Dewey, answer the question." Judge Mason's voice cut through the courtroom like a blade once more, his gavel aimed toward Dewey with an unmistakable glare.
"No-"
"Then you're saying you didn't visit Ricky Luciano's father and threaten him? Nor did you approach Ricky without his parental guidance to do the same when he was still, in fact, a minor?" Marshall asked, his words pressing down on him as he gestured toward Dewey.
His composure faltered for a brief moment, his gaze darting towards to the side to Ricky, seated with an air of smug confidence, barely contained his laughter, a mocking grin playing on his lips.
Dewey's eyes were bloodshot at this, his nails digging into his palms with a soft trickle of blood dropping onto his pant legs.
"I-" Dewey began, his voice catching in his throat as his eyes flickered to Judge Mason.
The weight of realization hit him like a freight train since Judge Mason, very much alive, glared down from the bench with an expression that combined disdain and rage.
Dewey's words faltered, his confidence draining visibly as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead.
'Why is he still alive-wait.' Dewey's mind spiraled, the courtroom walls seeming to close in as fragmented thoughts battled for clarity.
Suddenly, Dewey shot up from his seat, the tenuous thread of restraint snapping as realization completely dawned upon him.
His instincts to hold back dissolved completely, and with reckless abandon, he threw caution to the wind, his finger trembling as he pointed it squarely at Judge Mason.
"You're in on this! You're taking his side!" Dewey yelled, his baffled accusation directed squarely at Judge Mason.
The room erupted into gasps and murmurs, jurors exchanging uneasy glances while Hawkins buried his face in his hands, visibly cringing at the outburst.
Judge Mason froze, his gavel hovering midair, his expression morphing from surprise to unfiltered indignation.
"Mr. Dewey, you best watch those words-"
"No way would you have allowed this negro to speak out of turn towards us otherwise," Dewey shouted, his voice dripping with venom as his eyes darted around the courtroom as if seeking allies among the stunned audience.
"They clearly have something on you, maybe some dirt, some leverage-"
"Mr. Dewey, another word and I'll hold you in contempt-"
"HOLD ME IN CONTEMPT? HE SLAUGHTERED YOUR FRIENDS IN THE KK-"
"THAT'S IT! I HOLD THOMAS E. DEWEY IN CONTEMPT!" Judge Mason thundered, his voice echoing through the courtroom as he slammed his gavel down with such force it seemed to shake the entire room.
"BAILIFF, TAKE HIM AWAY!"
The bailiffs sprang into action, closing in on Dewey, who lashed out in a desperate frenzy, struggling against their grip.
"YOU'RE ALL IN ON THIS!" Dewey screeched, his voice cracking as he flailed.
"YOU'RE ALL UNDER HIS CONTROL, AND YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW IT!"
His wild accusations hung in the air, the courtroom plunged into a stunned silence save for the echoing sounds of his protests as he was forcibly dragged out.
The jury exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier confusion now mingled with disbelief at Dewey's complete breakdown.
Meanwhile, in the corner, Shadow Broker remained eerily calm, methodically tearing away another strip of paper the sound almost inaudible but strangely foreboding.
All the while Ricky watched the spectacle unfold, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head as if this was everything he wanted it to be and more.
Ricky could've done more, he could've intervened or had Marshall speak on his behalf but there was this unnerving satisfaction in watching Dewey spiraled further into the depths of his own madness, his grip on reason slipping with every frantic accusation and outburst, without him having to do a single thing.
The best part was it was a slow unraveling, one that Ricky had orchestrated with precision.
Piece by piece, Ricky had chipped away at Dewey's credibility, exposing the cracks within his being and his testimonies for all to see.
It was as if everything that Hawkins had based his argument on, his case, all whittled away under Dewey's outburst.
"Your Honor, I'd like to proceed with a motion to strike Mr. Hawkins' comments regarding Mr. Dewey being a reasonable and capable official." Marshall said, rising to his feet and adjusting his tie.
"Given the events that have just unfolded, I believe Mr. Dewey's mental stability should be called into question and cannot serve as a reliable basis for such statements-"
"Objection-"
"Overruled," Judge Mason declared firmly, his gavel slamming down to punctuate the decision.
"Strike it from the record, and I ask the jury to disregard his remarks entirely in your deliberations." Judge Mason turned his hollow gaze toward the jury, who exchanged uncertain glances, clearly grappling with the chaotic turn of events that had just happened.
"Cross-examination has ended. We will reconvene once the jury has made their decision," Judge Mason declared, his voice cutting through the tension in the room and Hawkins, unable to contain his growing panic, slammed his hands onto the table, his voice rising in frustration at the unraveling of this case before his very eyes.
"YOUR HONOR-"
BAM
"Session dismissed," Judge Mason declared, his voice laced with finality as he squinted his eyes, his expression heavy with the weight of the proceedings as he turned and walked toward his chambers, his steps deliberate and unwavering.
"Man, this is not looking good for you." Ricky said from the side, his voice dripping with mockery as he looked at Hawkins.
His shoulders slumped as he ducked his head, realizing the case was slipping further away with every passing second.
The walls seemed to close in around him, and the weight of the courtroom's scrutiny felt heavier than ever.
Ricky, savoring the moment of victory, let out a chuckle, watching as Hawkins struggled with the inevitable.
Hawkins couldn't even bring himself to look Ricky in the eye as he hastily gathered his things, his hands trembling slightly as he packed up the paperwork.
Without a word, he quickly exited the courtroom, heading straight for the county jail.
The weight of the day's events pressed on him, and the realization that his position was crumbling left him with an overwhelming sense of dread as he had lost control, and there was no going back.
Meanwhile, Ricky, his victory palpable, had no intention of basking in the courtroom's aftermath.
As if he knew of the sight to come, he quietly followed after Hawkins who was chasing after Dewey being dragged away by the soles of his shoes.
Meanwhile outside the local police station,
"Thomas Dewey, you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and harboring dangerous information." The officer's voice was cold as he pulled Dewey's hands behind his back, securing the handcuffs with a sharp click.
Dewey, his face pale and his eyes wide with shock, stumbled as they guided him further into the department.
"What is the meaning of this?" Hawkins burst into the room, breathless and disoriented, his mind still reeling from the courtroom drama.
He barely caught a glimpse of Dewey being led away before the officers turned their attention to him.
"Hawkins, you mean a lot to this community, and it pains me to do this, but you're also under arrest for assisting in the murder." The officer's voice was firm and emotionless as he approached Hawkins, the cold metal of the handcuffs clamping around his wrists.
"On what grounds?!" Hawkins yelled, resisting arrest only for the cuffs to be wrapped around his wrists regardless.
"On the grounds of Johnson's girl." The officer repeated, shaking his head as if the revelation alone was enough to seal Hawkins' fate.
"She said that you and Dewey went out there to kill those young men. But what's worse is that you actually handed the evidence to Judge Mason. What were you thinking?" The officer asked, knowing how easy it would've been if they had been able to pin it on the mutant.
Everything was happening so fast, too fast for Hawkins to process as his mind was swirling, thoughts crashing against each other like waves in a storm, drowning him in a sea of confusion and regret.
The walls of the small room seemed to close in around him, and the sound of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears, as if everything was moving in slow motion while his world spun out of control.
"I-I-"
"Judge Mason wants your heads, and I'll be damned if they don't roll," the officer muttered, his voice thick with frustration.
He turned away, leaving Hawkins standing there, the weight of his words settling heavily in the air.
The officer knew that the judge wasn't just angry; he was vengeful, and he would make sure that Hawkins and Dewey paid for what they had done.
As the cell door clanged shut, Hawkins found himself pushed inside, the cold steel bars closing in around him like a tomb.
He barely registered the sound of the heavy lock turning, trying to piece together how things had gone so terribly wrong.
He looked across the cell to Dewey, who was pacing near the bars, his frantic movements punctuated by angry mutterings.
"I DIDN'T DO THIS-"
BAM
The cold, metal door clanged shut behind the officers, the sound reverberating in the small, dimly lit cell.
With a heavy sigh, Hawkins slammed his forehead against the cold, unforgiving barsl.
The sting of the metal pressing against his skin was nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of defeat and loss that surged through him.
"Don't you see, Ricky's doing this-"
"WILL YOU SHUT UP? WE'VE BEEN JAILED BECAUSE OF YOUR OBSESSION!" Hawkins screeched, his voice trembling as he turned to glare at Dewey.
"We would've won if-"
Sigh
"Listen, all we have to do is not turn on each other and we'll be fine." Dewey assured Hawkins, looking at the disheveled lawyer who was literally in a courtroom just ten minutes ago.
Hours passed, and the two men sat in their cell until an officer emerged, escorting Marshall as he glanced at the two of them, his expression unreadable.
"Hawkins, your lawyer is here to see you." The officer gestured toward Marshall and at the mention of him, Dewey shot up immediately, his eyes narrowing.
"Hawkins, don't do it-"
"Back away, or I'll be forced to use force," the officer warned, his hand resting on his sidearm which had his fingers slowly wrapping around his baton.
Dewey hesitated but backed away, his eyes fixed on the officer as Hawkins glanced back at him.
"I'm in over my head, Dewey. I'm sorry," Hawkins muttered, his voice tinged with regret.
Hawkins stepped forward, his body tense with the weight of his words while Dewey gripped the bars of the cell, his knuckles white.
"HAWKINS, YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! NOT WHEN I'M SO CLOSE, HAWKINS!" Dewey screamed, his voice cracking as he gripped the bars tighter, watching Hawkins retreat down the hall.
Hawkins didn't turn around, his head hung low as he walked away, each step echoing in the cold silence of the holding area.
"DON'T DO IT, DON'T GIVE INTO THAT DEVIL!"
Led into an isolated room, Marshall and Hawkins stood in silence as the door clicked shut behind them.
The atmosphere was thick with tension, the sterile walls and harsh lighting casting an unforgiving glare over everything.
Marshall, his expression unreadable, was gathering the necessary paperwork and files from his briefcase, the rustling of paper the only sound in the room.
Hawkins stood nearby, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, eyes darting between Marshall and the door as if expecting something, anything, to break the quiet.
"I know it's sudden but Mr. Luciano hired me on your behalf-"
"Just cut to the chase," Hawkins sniffed, his gaze narrowed with disdain as he looked up at Marshall, the man he once considered beneath him.
Marshall didn't flinch as he calmly placed the papers on the table between them and pushed them forward.
"This is a plea agreement." Marshall began, his voice steady and wondering how the hell Ricky managed to get one so quickly.
"It states that you will receive full immunity, but in exchange, you'll vouch that it was all Dewey's plan and actions that led you down this path." Marshall tapped the highlighted section, the words clear and damning.
Hawkins glanced down at the paper, his disheveled form slumped slightly in disbelief not at the plea, but at the conditions that went with it.
"However, you will lose your license to practice law in the state of Texas," Marshall stated firmly, presenting the ultimatum.
Marshall knew it was a tough pill for him to swallow and because of that, Hawkins let out a stiff, almost incredulous laugh in response.
"Being a lawyer is my life, it's all that I'm known for-"
"What you 'were' known for." Marshall corrected, his tone heavy with finality, knowing that after this, Hawkins would be nothing more than a disgrace.
Hawkins looked up, his mental and physical appearance almost beaten to a pulp compared to who he once was.
Standing across from the man he had once threatened with a plea deal, he now realized how far he had fallen, the irony of it all.
"You were there, you saw what we saw, so how can you go along with that monster?" Hawkins asked, leaning in, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and helplessness as his eyes locked onto Marshall's, desperate for some kind of answer, some glimmer of justification.
"How could you take his side, how could-"
"A negro take a mutant's side?" Marshall misinterpreted his words since he couldn't quite remember the events of that day due to Ricky's interference.
"Let me ask you a question." Marshall continued, his tone colder now while gazing at Hawkins.
"How is it that you can live with yourself after causing so much pain?"
Hawkins opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as he paused, struggling to find anything to say.
"Because I think I'm doing the right thing, for my kind." Hawkins let out an ironic laugh, a bitter edge to his words, before meeting Marshall's gaze.
"Then I guess we're the same in that way. We're just trying to do what we think is right for our people." Marshall looked down, his voice tinged with regret as he didn't want it to turn out like this, but it felt inevitable.
"Now sign the damn plea agreement." Marshall slid it forward, his voice laced with contempt for the first time as Hawkins stared at the document, unable to tear his gaze away.
Hesitating, Hawkins reached toward the side and grabbed the pen, signing away his future for what he hoped would be his freedom.
His hand trembled as he dotted the line, each stroke feeling like a weight being lifted and yet, a heavier one being placed in its place.
Marshall took the paper, glanced at it one last time, then stood up but as he walked towards the doorway, stopping just before leaving.
"For what it's worth, I think you were a great lawyer," Marshall muttered, his tone softening for just a moment as he side-eyed Hawkins, watching the man's face briefly crack.
Hawkins didn't respond, his eyes focused on the table, as Marshall turned and walked toward the door.
The weight of the realization that his career was over pressed heavily on Hawkins.
The agonizing process of being released from custody did nothing to ease the feeling of his world crumbling.
No one was there to greet him as he stepped out of the police department, the streets eerily quiet.
His torn suit hung loosely on his frame, a physical manifestation of his shattered life as he walked alone, his footsteps heavy, the darkness of the night reflecting the emptiness within him as he made his way back to his house, his once-proud home, now a hollow reminder of everything he had lost.
Click
Hawkins flicked the light switch, the harsh illumination flooding into the room as he saw Ricky standing by the bar, pouring himself a drink, his back turned.
Hawkins' eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't let his gaze linger and instead, he walked over to the nearby chair, slumping into it, the weight of the day dragging him down.
Without a word, he reached for his own drink, the burn of old bourbon familiar, though it offered little comfort.
"You really won." Hawkins muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion as he leaned his head back.
"Almost." Ricky said, his tone light but edged with something deeper.
"Marshall says this will be appealed at the Supreme Court, but the damage is done here at least." Ricky chuckled softly, the sound laced with a quiet satisfaction.
Ricky poured another glass of bourbon, the liquid sloshing slightly in the bottle before he handed it to Hawkins.
Gulping it on breath, Hawkins wiped his mouth while watching Ricky sit in front of him and sipping on his drink.
"How?" Hawkins asked, his voice raw with frustration, the single word giving way to a torrent of unspoken questions but Ricky simply laughed.
"Does it matter?" Ricky responded, his tone calm but piercing.
"Will it help you get over everything you lost?" Ricky genuinely asked, knowing that if he truly wanted an explanation, then he'd give him one.
"No, no it won't." Hawkins admitted quietly, letting out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looked down.
He wiped his eyes, sniffling as he gazed up at Chester, who landed gracefully on the coffee table.
"A-Are you going to kill me?" Hawkins asked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and disbelief as he watched Ricky take another sip from his glass before quietly setting it down.
"I made the mistake of leaving Dewey alive years ago," Ricky said, his voice calm but heavy with meaning.
"It was for my own selfish reasons, and sure, it made me better. But I won't leave any more loose ends, not after him." Ricky said, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a pen and a piece of paper, and placed it on the coffee table as the quiet, deliberate motion sent a chill through Hawkins.
"It's unfair, knowing that your life is but a mere stepping stone towards my own ambitions, but the saddest part is that you don't even have a choice," Ricky voiced, the weight of his words hitting Hawkins hard as his confusion shifted to shock before his shoulders slump and his eyes dilated.
For a long time, Ricky observed Hawkins as he mechanically scribbled something on the paper, his expression hollow and distant.
When he finally finished, Hawkins walked toward the corner where a rope and a chair stood, his movements slow and deliberate.
He positioned the chair beneath him, wrapping the rope around his neck with a sense of finality.
Without hesitation, he kicked the chair away, the sound of it scraping against the floor cutting through the stillness.
"Let's go, Chester." Ricky murmured, gesturing toward the bird as he turned away from the man. Chester promptly landed on his shoulder.
A gate opened, and they stepped through it, the weight of the moment lingering.
Meanwhile, Raven entered from a nearby door, her eyes scanning the room only to see that Ricky had returned.
"I did what you asked but I won't be able to always be here-"
"Chester already took care of it while we were in court. She'll believe exactly what we want her to." Ricky said, motioning to Chester perched on his shoulder as Raven smiled and walked up, scratching under his beak.
"Remind me to never get on your bad side," Raven chuckled, pulling out a sunflower seed and offering it to Chester as he accepted it with a nod.
"Accepted." Chester responded, approving of her gesture before flying off to join Alexander and enjoy the treat.
"So, how does it look?" Raven asked, her smile betraying the anxiety in her eyes as she referred to the trial.
"It looks really good. The jury's going to meet, and it looks like we're going to win," Ricky said, delivering the good news as a wave of relief washed over her, the tension in her shoulders easing as she exhaled.
Raven rushed forward, leaping into Ricky's arms as she grabbed the back of his head, pulling him close and nestling into his neck, her body relaxing in the warmth of his embrace.
"You did so good." Raven whispered, squeezing Ricky tightly as they collapsed onto the bed.
"Does that mean I get my good boy treat?" Ricky laughed, referencing their first encounter as she kissed him deeply on the lips.
"It's only fair."
Next morning,
"Jury, what is your verdict?" Judge Mason asked, his voice steady, though the tension in the courtroom was palpable.
Everyone waited with bated breath, everyone except Hawkins, whose fate had already been sealed earlier in the day with it being revealed in his suicide note.
At the front of the room, Dewey sat in his prison attire, his gaze fixed on the jury as his face was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a sense of uncertainty.
He had played his cards, but now it was out of his hands and he could only hope for a miracle that would never come.
"We find in favor of Ricky Luciano, on all counts," The head juror announced, his voice firm.
It was the same juror Marshall had tried to discredit earlier, the one who Ricky had decided to let in at the last moment.
Heartache and despair were evident on Dewey's face and those around him, their expressions heavy with defeat.
Raven clutched her heart, tears streaming down her face as the weight of the moment hit her.
Marshall, on the other hand, threw his arms around Ricky in a wild, almost manic hug, laughing hysterically as the relief washed over him.
Ricky, however, remained composed, smiling at the verdict, but his mind was still working as he knew the war wasn't over yet.
"But we have found that the ten million dollars is insufficient to cover the damages incurred onto Ricky Luciano, and as such, we have decided to award him twenty-five million." The juror declared, his thick Southern accent heavy in the courtroom.
He glanced at Ricky Luciano, who raised an eyebrow in response, before seeing the head juror give a slight nod to him.
GASP
Many in the courtroom gasped, Raven included, as the enormity of the decision settled in.
This wasn't just a historic win, it was the largest payout to date, a staggering sum that would leave an indelible mark on legal history.
Raven's eyes widened in disbelief, her heart racing as she processed the weight of the moment.
"Then I find this case resolved."
BANG
The gavel slammed down, cutting through the chaos of the room as screams of disbelief and triumph echoed, drowning out the cheers of victory.
Ricky glanced back at Raven, a mischievous grin forming on his face as he winked at her, his confidence unmistakable.
The moment was his, and he knew it.
"Ricky we need to-"
"I know but first, let's go make history." Ricky said, ushering Marshall toward the door as the courtroom was filled with a mix of hate and applause as they made their exit.
The atmosphere outside was thick with disbelief, the intensity of the reactions escalating to an almost unfathomable level since no one could quite grasp what had just happened.
"MR. LUCIANO, OVER HERE!" a reporter shouted, the blinding flashes of cameras and broken light bulbs buzzing around Ricky as he stood tall before it all, a sleazy smile playing on his lips.
This wouldn't only be a defining moment for Ricky, but for history as this photo of him laughing amidst the crowd would go on to be put in textbooks that would later be distributed in schools nationwide.
"MR. LUCIANO, WHAT DOES THIS WIN MEAN?" The reporter pressed eagerly.
"One small step for man, and one giant leap for mutant kind!" Ricky laughed, twisting the iconic quote to fit his own narrative as reporters scrambled to scribble it down in their notepads.
"Anyway, I've got a lot of celebrating to do, so I'll hold another conference when I get back to New York." Ricky raised his hand, signaling the end of the conversation as he walked off with Marshall.
The screams of hatred roared after him, but Ricky paid them no mind as he effortlessly yanked Marshall and walked across a psychic bridge, hovering over the crowd.
The onlookers stood frozen in shock, unable to process what they were witnessing.
Flashbulbs popped as photographers scrambled to capture the surreal moment, eager to make headlines with the extraordinary scene.
Ricky pulled Marshall through the chaos, heading to a private location where the rest of the group had gathered.
1 hour later,
Soon after, they sat around a lavish table, piled high with the finest food money could buy.
Ricky, with a grin on his face, reveled in the occasion, making sure every detail of his celebration was as extravagant as the victory itself.
The restaurant owner, eager for the generous bribe of two thousand dollars, had ensured the space was prepared to perfection, creating an atmosphere of wealth and excess to match the moment.
Ricky's gaze drifted to the window, and there, walking down the street, he spotted the head juror.
The man was strolling with his daughter, who tugged playfully at his shirt as the head juror raised an eyebrow when his daughter pointed in Ricky's direction, her little finger aimed straight at him.
The juror's eyes followed the gesture, locking onto Ricky with a mixture of recognition and curiosity as it was then that he whispered something into his daughter's ear.
The girl beamed up at him, smiling brightly before turning back to Ricky as she waved enthusiastically before her eyes blinked, horizontally.
The head juror had spent his entire life in this town, steeped in its traditions, its biases, and its expectations.
He had learned, like everyone around him, to see the world through a certain lens but everything changed the moment he became a father, a father of a mutant.
Ricky let out a surprised chuckle, the irony of it hitting him with full force as he nodded to the man, acknowledging the unspoken bond between them.
The juror returned the gesture, his face softening with a knowing smile, one filled with gratitude and quiet understanding.
As they continued down the street, the juror walked on with his daughter, their steps slow and steady.
He wouldn't be anything more than what he was right now and everything he would benefit from had come through Ricky's own ambition.
Yet, it was enough for this sheep, this father and his child, navigating a world that had just become a little more complicated, but a little more forgiving to be herded in.
"Wow." Raven rested her head on her hand, gazing at Ricky with clear affection as he turned to face her.
Jake, Asterion, Marshall, and the rest of the familiar faces were laughing and enjoying the whiskey flowing into their glasses, while these two remained in a sort of separate world, absorbed in their own quiet moment.
"Did I just take your breath away?" Ricky asked with a sly grin, cutting into his steak as she chuckled softly.
"I'm just-well, a little jealous," Raven admitted, glancing down at her food as Ricky shook his head, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.
"You shouldn't be, you've done the same-"
"But in the shadows, I'm jealous that you did it all without hiding from the world," Raven said, her voice thick with emotion as she looked up at him and Ricky reached out, taking her hand in his.
"Then stand with me, don't just fade back but stand smugly with me." Ricky smiled warmly at her, Raven letting out an anxious laugh.
"You don't need me-"
"But I want you by my side, and that's enough." Ricky interrupted her with his tender words, Raven looking up at him before quickly looking away.
"I want this to be real, I really do, but I'm not going to force you here," Ricky lied, his thoughts already spinning with ways to bind this exotic woman to his side as she looked up at him.
"Oh tiger, you're a real charmer."
"Only for you, baby," Ricky winked at her, and Raven, deciding to embrace the moment, let the good vibes flow as they held each other's hand throughout the dinner.
Hours passed, liquor flowing and the food devoured before Ricky slowly stood up with a champagne glass and a knife.
Clink
Clink
"Aye, all of you shut up, I want to make a heartfelt toast!" Ricky chuckled, clinging the knife against the glass to get their attention.
Slowly, they all stopped what they were doing and looked at them, some, Alexander mostly, were more sh*tfaced then others as the gerbil was only propped up due to Chester's sincerity.
"First, I want to thank my lawyer Marshall, who had the absolute balls to walk into the tiger's den without any fear." Ricky tipped his glass to Marshall, the lawyer tipping his own glass with a tooth smile.
"Job ain't over yet!" Marshall, a little drunk off the champagne and vanilla flavored whiskey, shouted as everyone around laughed.
"Damn straight, but I wanna take the time to really say, you know, thank you for putting up with my sh*t." Ricky honestly spoke from the heart, knowing the piece of work he could be at times and thanking everyone for putting up with it.
"From Asterion, the literal creation of a Greek god, who decided he wanted to see the world with me." Ricky pointed his glass to Asteiron, watching the mighty Minotaur completely devour a barrel of vanilla flavor whiskey at the side.
"To my familiars, who always offer me advice when I need it most or sometimes when I don't," Ricky smiled at Alexander and Chester, with Garfield pushing himself into view and shrugging playfully at him.
"But I want to take some time to thank my oldest friend here, Jake." Ricky then turned to Jake who was at the side, rubbing his arm only to see the attention turned to him.
"I know it's been rough lately, and I know you might've felt outta place, but I'm glad you're here, man." Ricky nodded to Jake, acknowledging the tough times he'd been through and appreciating his presence.
"Thanks, Slick." Jake smiled, nodding to him with an appreciative expression before Ricky turned to Raven who rolled her eyes.
"I'd also like to thank the beautiful Raven here for being my motivation through all of this, cheering me on from the sidelines," Ricky said with a laugh, watching Raven shake her head and lean back, arms crossed, clearly trying to act unimpressed.
"How she dances around in such skimpy attire all for my pleas-"
"RICKY!" Raven's face immediately blushed, throwing a napkin at him since he was going too much into detail as he pulled it off his still smiling face.
"But most of all, I'd like to take the time to thank myself." Ricky said, raising his nose and placing a hand on his heart as everyone rolled their eyes.
"How crazy handsome and downright ballsy I am to even do this in the first place. I mean, I cut through the odds like my jaw cuts through granite." Ricky laughed, rubbing his chin as his narcissism flared to its peak, clearly basking in his own glory.
"God, and can we take a moment to appreciate how I said I'd win, then I went out and won-"
SIGH
Everyone let out a unified sigh, clearly over it and eager for Ricky to wrap it up already and with a dramatic flourish, he raised his glass high.
"TO ME!" Ricky declared boldly, his grin wide.
The others laughed, rolling their eyes, but couldn't help themselves as they lifted their own glasses in unison, indulging him for the moment.
"To Ricky!"
(READ) SICK NOTE: Hey guys, I feel like I'm f*cking dying and at first it wasn't so bad until I got halfway through the day then it felt like everything around me was spinning. It's why I don't think I can do a chap tommorrow which is why it will be pushed to wedsday instead of sunday to make up for it.
章節 133: Chapter 128: Worlds Revelation
The next day,
Meanwhile at the white house,
In the grandeur of the Oval Office in which history was made time and time again, Franklin Roosevelt sat behind his resolute desk reading it, his gaze fixed on the newspaper before him.
Bold letters proclaimed, 'One Small Step for Man, One Giant Leap for Mutantkind.' Beneath the headline, a photograph of Ricky's smug face grinned back at him, an almost silent mockery that so audaciously showed his smug face not to him, but to the world.
It was as if Ricky had pulled back the curtains on himself, orchestrating a grand reveal in the most narcissistic manner possible.
His sheer audacity shattering the equilibrium that was so carefully set for their way of lives, forcing everyone around him to confront his presence and, for better or worse, truly consider him.
Once Roosevelt had seen enough of that smug smile, his gaze trailed downward to a column recounting the massacre allegedly orchestrated by Dewey and the suicide of Hawkins, reportedly consumed by guilt.
Eventually, Franklin set the paper down with a deliberate motion as his steely gaze shifted to his cabinet, clasping his hands tightly together, the tension in his knuckles mirroring the weight of the unfolding crisis.
"How?" Franklin uttered the single word, his voice heavy with restrained fury.
It ignited a wave of discomfort and dread in the men seated before his desk, the same advisors who had assured him, with misplaced confidence, that none of this would come to pass.
"Mr. President-"
"HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?" Franklin roared, his voice reverberating through the room.
He slammed his fist onto the desk with a resounding thud, silencing any attempt at excuses before they could be uttered.
His glare sliced through the air, an invisible blade poised at the throats of each man before him.
One by one, they swallowed hard, the weight of his unspoken demand for accountability pressing heavily upon them.
"We did everything you asked, we put a judge that would favor Mr. Dewey, the best civil lawyer in the state-"
"AND WE LOST, AGAIN!" Franklin bellowed, his voice cracking under the strain of frustration.
He clutched his forehead, grappling with the burgeoning enigma that was Ricky Luciano, a force, a cockroach that seemingly never died no matter what they threw at him.
It felt as though Ricky would crawl out of every rubble, every disaster thrown at him, unscathed and defiant.
The relentless resilience wasn't just grating on Franklin's nerves, it was beginning to shake the very foundation of his presidency.
When people think of a presidency, they cling to the misguided notion that a legacy is defined by the time spent in office.
But presidents, officials, and politicians understand the truth: a legacy isn't cemented in the present.
It's forged in the reflections of a nation, fifty years down the line, when history decides whether they were visionary leaders or cautionary tales.
Franklin D. Roosevelt was one of those individuals deeply obsessed with his legacy and image.
This fixation shaped every decision he made, every word he spoke, molding his presidency into one meticulously crafted for the history books.
Before the war, before that great war that triumphed over everything that Franklin D. Roosevelt had done, he was known for something called the 'New Deal'.
Franklin D. Roosevelt's presidency had already left an indelible mark on the nation and his legacy was slowly being built upon this revolutionary bill.
His New Deal had brought both hope and controversy, reshaping the relationship between the government and the American people.
In the short term, New Deal programs provided much-needed relief, lifting the lives of those crushed by the weight of the Great Depression.
But in the long run, they established a lasting precedent, firmly embedding the federal government as a central player in the nation's economic and social affairs, an influence that would continue to shape the country for generations to come.
It was why even now, Franklin D. Roosevelt was considered a champion of the working class, a president who cared deeply about ordinary Americans as his Fireside Chats, a series of evening radio addresses given by Franklin D. Roosevelt, fostered a sense of personal connection and trust.
For all he was, Franklin was a visionary of a president but before the outbreak of World War II, Roosevelt's foreign policy was focused on maintaining isolationism, reflecting the general mood of the American public.
However, he subtly prepared the nation for the possibility of involvement by strengthening the military and supporting allies like Britain through programs like Lend-Lease, which faced criticism from isolationists.
As widespread as the applause for his actions was, so too were the voices of his critics.
They accused him of overreach, branding him a socialist or even a dictator for the unprecedented expansion of federal power.
Business leaders, in particular, resented his regulatory policies, viewing them as a threat to the autonomy and profitability they had long enjoyed.
It was because of these powerful critics, the very same who sought to dismantle everything Franklin D. Roosevelt had built, that they began searching for any chink in his armor.
What they were slowly discovering, however, was that the threat came from an unexpected source: Ricky Luciano.
Which actually started to force the actual president's hand.
"From now on, all decisions involving Ricky Luciano will run through me," Franklin commanded, his voice steady but firm as it was time for him to fully step in.
"Civil unrest during this time will be detrimental to America." Franklin's cabinet nodded in agreement, understanding the gravity of the situation and the necessity of this new directive.
"File an appeal with a different lawyer for the Supreme Court." Franklin ordered, his tone unwavering.
"Tell them to push every case they have to steamroll this one through. We must crush him thoroughly." Franklin knew that cases like these typically took around a year to resolve, but he couldn't afford to wait that long as this situation was far too urgent, wasting even a second could destroy his polling.
His presidency couldn't be defined by a blunder involving a mere mutant, nor could it set a precedent for civil unrest.
Franklin saw the bigger picture, a vision stretching far into the distance.
America needed unity under him now more than ever, especially as the shadow of war loomed on the horizon.
The stakes were higher than personal vendettas; the survival of the nation itself was at risk and there was only one man who could lead the way.
"I want this trial to be over in a month. Do you all understand?" Franklin's voice was firm, his hands resting above his desk as he shot a demanding glare at the men before him.
Franklin was well aware of the weight of his words as he didn't need to say more since they would bow to his will, and they would get the job done.
"Yes, Mr. President."
Meanwhile in an undisclosed location,
"So, he managed to come out victorious?" A man wearing a Nazi symbol asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied the paper with an unsettling curiosity.
"Shaw, this is no time for admiration. We have a vote to consider," a woman with blonde hair said, her smile warm but her tone laced with a hint of snark.
"Such an interesting specimen." a man in white mused, holding up the picture of Ricky walking on air and pulling the image right next to his eyes.
Selene smiled gracefully, her eyes glinting with quiet amusement at the spectacle as she leaned on her hand.
"Settle down, Nathaniel, you're drooling," Selene quipped with a playful smile. Nathaniel chuckled, wiping his mouth before casually slapping the picture down on the counter and leaning back in his seat.
"Well, is there anyone here who opposes his induction into the Hellfire Club?" Nathaniel asked, his gaze sweeping over the room.
Selene side-eyed the woman in white, her expression unreadable, but the tension in her eyes spoke volumes.
"If there's ever a time to make a snarky comment, Emma, then this would be it," Selene said, her words sounding innocent, but the passive-aggressive edge was sharp enough to pierce Emma's calm demeanor.
"I'm actually saving it for a particularly nasty creature, rather hideous and frail, one that preys on the innocence of small children, and spend all my time remarking on all the flaws IT has," Emma fired back, her voice laced with venom while passively directing it at her.
Selene let out a hollow laugh, the sound dripping with mockery, while Shaw cleared his throat, sensing the growing tension.
"Then, let us send him an official invitation when the hellfire ball arrives, all in favor?"
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"All against."
"Then I guess we should expect Ricky Luciano's arrival."
Meanwhile, across the United States, the shocking revelation quickly spread, echoing through every corner of the country, Ricky Luciano had successfully won his case.
Many tried to paint his victory as shady, but it was hard to do so when he had boldly ventured into enemy territory and emerged victorious.
The sheer audacity of his success left little room for doubt; no matter the narrative they tried to craft, Ricky had proven himself a force to be reckoned with.
The commission, especially, was on edge as Joe began sharpening his knives, preparing for the worst.
The others watched closely, waiting to see his next move, as an emergency meeting was about to be called.
But that was all put on hold by a bold, almost outrageous move that would forever seal the fate of Joe and one other.
"Take care of it. You're already in too deep to refuse," Joe menaced into the phone, his voice low and threatening.
As he placed the receiver down, a chilling smile spread across his face, one that knew that this was the only way of really standing a chance.
"Who was it, boss?" Joe's right-hand man, Pinky Salvatore, asked from the side, his chest puffed with self-assuredness.
Pinky was steady, level-headed, and the perfect counterbalance to Joe's erratic and psychotic tendencies.
For all of Joe's volatility, it was Pinky's unwavering loyalty and calm demeanor that made him indispensable or at least, that's what others thought.
But Pinky hadn't earned Joe's trust through obedience alone but through his sheer brutality that solidified his position.
Nicknamed "Pinky" after his preferred method of handling overdue debts, chopping off the pinky fingers of those who dared ask for an extension, he was the most feared and effective loan shark in the Bonanno family which rarely ever let a debt go unpaid.
"Nevermind that, how is the situation?" Joe waved his hand, dispelling the topic and asking only for Pinky to hesitate.
"It isn't good, the dirty money is flowing but when we go to clean in-"
BAM
Joe's fist slammed on his desk, a vein protruding from his forehead as that budding rpoblem occurred once more.
"Those f*cking pinkertons." Joe seethed, his voice a low whisper laced with venom as Pinky closed his eyes and nodded, the weight of their failed plan settling heavily between them.
It had been Joe's scheme all along, sending the Pinkertons under the guise of targeting Marshall.
But the true purpose was far more calculated: to test Ricky.
There were many ways this could have played out, and Joe had accounted for most of them.
If the Pinkertons survived, they'd report back to him, allowing Joe to assess Ricky's strength and weaknesses firsthand.
If they were killed, their deaths would become ammunition, a perfect tool for leverage against Ricky.
But what Joe hadn't foreseen, what no one could have anticipated from the Ricky they all thought they knew, was that he didn't just fend them off, he flipped them.
That reckless image Ricky once carried wasn't just a means to prove to those closest to him that he had changed, it had also become a weapon for his enemies, a blade they were all too eager to wield against him.
But as time passed, they were beginning to realize a harsh truth: Ricky wasn't the same man they thought they knew.
He had changed.
And in their case, it wasn't for the better.
"They've been aggressive," Pinky began, his voice steady but laced with frustration.
"Disrupting our business without breaking any laws. Delaying the production chains, messing with the money drops, everything we usually hire them to fend off, they're turning around and using against us. And the worst part?" Pinky paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"We can't touch them, because it's all 'legal." Pinky continued, his tone sharpening, highlighting why their hands were effectively tied when it came to dealing with the Pinkertons.
However, it was the underlying message behind the Pinkertons' actions that made Joe seethe, practically steaming from his ears.
The Pinkertons weren't just hired guns, they were the enforcers of the wealthy elite, the relentless hounds unleashed whenever the rich needed dirty work done.
They had a history of crushing union strikes, intimidating workers, and dismantling any semblance of fair treatment for the downtrodden.
To put it bluntly, the Pinkertons were the hired dogs of the rich, and that's what infuriated Joe the most.
Their actions didn't just threaten his operations; they carried a veiled warning.
If Joe decided to retaliate and take them out, he wouldn't just be crossing swords with some mercenaries, he'd be declaring war on the upper echelon of society, the same wealthy class that funded them.
And therein lay the real danger since going after the Pinkertons wasn't just about handling a nuisance; it risked alienating powerful allies or, worse, making enemies of the people who had the resources to make his life a living hell.
Joe wasn't afraid of a fight, but a battle too soon against the rich could destabilize everything he'd built.
The only way Joe could take any action was if the Pinkertons crossed the line, but these weren't amateurs.
The Pinkertons had been playing this game for decades, and they had perfected the art of not only not stepping on that line, but tight roping it.
"Impede them for now, pull some of our goons off the protection racket and guard duty to put bodies in front of them," Joe ordered swiftly, Pinky nodding before he let out a wicked smile.
"I'll handle Slick."
It was just then that a mob boss within the Commission, someone of Joe's caliber, looked upon the crackling of the fire, his eyes narrowing as the flames danced.
The warmth from the fire seemed to mock the cold calculations swirling in his mind.
"Boss, he said he'd take care of it for a favor-" One of the grunts walked toward the highly respected man, his figure cloaked in the shadows.
The low light barely illuminated his hardened features, but the weight of his presence was unmistakable.
"Do it, just make sure it's taken care of."
Some hours later at Alina's Residence,
At Alina's house, a dinner was being held where Marco served his family a cuisine he was trying to perfect, the warm glow of the dining room contrasting sharply with the darkness creeping around the house.
As laughter echoed through the walls, a growing sense of unease took hold outside.
Men, like shadows in the night, silently surrounded the house, their guns glinting under the pale moonlight as deadly eyes locked onto the peaceful scene within, each figure poised, waiting.
Marco, unaware of the looming threat, continued to serve Moxie another helping of mac and cheese, his hands steady, focused on perfecting the meal.
But in that moment, one of the men raised his gun, the cold metal aimed at the unsuspecting cook.
Time seemed to slow as the atmosphere shifted from warmth and comfort to impending danger.
SPLAT
A large chunk was suddenly torn from one of the men, his mouth opening in a silent scream, but a decayed hand swiftly clamped over it, muffling his terror.
Chaos erupted in an instant, contrary to the peaceful dinner inside, outside it was turning into a deadly nightmare.
The hitmen who had once been poised and menacing were now silently overwhelmed, their weapons useless against the unseen threat.
Ten hitmen were completely overwhelmed by the fifty crawlers recently displaced and unearthed around Alina's house.
They all tried to raise their guns, desperately firing into the night, but for every hitman, there were five zombies tearing into their flesh.
One by one, their bodies gruesomely disappeared into the shadows, dragged into the night by forces beyond their comprehension.
"W-What the hell!" One shouted, seeing eight of his brother, his friends, gruesomely ripped apart in what felt like seconds.
"Rico, we gott-" One of the men looked towards the young and frightened Rico, reaching out only for the Zombies to suddenly grab him.
"Rico?" The man forced an unnerving smile, looking upon the young man who fell to his knees in horror at what was happening before him.
"AHHHHHHHHHH-" The man's scream echoed into the night, a desperate cry for help that was abruptly silenced as a rotting hand reached up and ripped into his throat with sickening precision.
Blood sprayed out in a violent burst, coating the nearby ground in crimson as the zombie yanked his throat apart, ripping through muscle like it was just paper.
The man's eyes widened in terror, his hands clutching at the empty space where his voice once was, his desperate attempt to breathe cut short by the relentless tearing of his flesh.
The zombies were unyielding, relentless, their jaws working in synchrony to pull him apart.
The flesh of his arms, his torso, his legs, each part was methodically torn away, bones snapping under the weight of the undead assault as each of the zombies pulled their part of it to the shadows to feast on.
All the while the man's screams turned into a wet, choking gasp, his body twitching as the crawlers dug deeper into him, pulling out chunks of meat with terrifying efficiency.
His limbs, once strong and defiant, were now nothing more than ragged stumps, discarded as the zombies feasted on what remained of him.
Rico sat there, speechless, his eyes wide in horror as he watched the carnage unfold before him.
His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of disbelief and disgust gripping him as the once-feared hitman who had been his uncle was reduced to a bloody heap of flesh and bone.
However this time, the family having a warm meal inside heard that blood curdling shout that made their skin crawl.
"Ma, get them!" Marco shouted, his voice raw with panic as he turned and sprinted toward the broom closet.
His heart pounded in his chest as he yanked open the door, grabbing the double-barrel shotgun from its place.
He didn't pause to think, moving instinctively to defend his family from the chaos unfolding outside.
But he had no idea just how much worse things were about to become as the men who had come to destroy them would have welcomed a quick death by his gun.
"Momma?" Moxie tilted his head, his voice filled with confusion as he looked up at her.
Alina quickly scooped him into her arms, pulling the bewildered Sophia close to her side.
She tightened her grip on the children, her protective instincts kicking in as she scanned for any possible escape and rushed toward the basement.
Meanwhile, Marco's hands were slick with sweat as he'd never killed anyone, never even held a gun before.
The weight of the double barrel shotgun felt foreign in his grasp, the cold metal uncomfortably heavy as his fingers fumbled for a steady grip.
His heart pounded in his chest, each beat deafening as he slowly made his way to the front door.
BAM
"YOU F*CKING BASTARDS, I DARE YOU-huh?" Marco's voice boomed, kicking the door open as his finger was tightening on the trigger as he pointed the double barrel shotgun toward what he thought was an intruder.
But instead of a looming threat, only a single leaf danced in the wind, fluttering in front of him.
His brow furrowed as his gaze swept across the empty space, and with a confused grunt, he slowly lowered the gun.
There was nothing. No signs of anyone. No sounds.
Stepping cautiously onto the porch, Marco continued his search, but still, nothing seemed out of place.
His chest tightened, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, but the tension in the air felt wrong.
Without a word, he let the shotgun fall to his shoulder and walked back inside the house.
With a scowl etched on his face, Marco moved to the landline, his fingers trembling slightly as he dialed a number.
"Who may I connect you with-"
"Slick, ###-#### and tell em it's Marco." Marco said, his voice edged with urgency as he recited the emergency number Ricky had given to Alina.
She had never used it, but Marco wasn't about to let hesitation get in his way as it was a number that, in the back of his mind, he had always known could be a lifeline, something he'd never thought he'd actually need, but here he was.
"What's up Marco, you guys low on cash?" Ricky picked up the phone, sitting on the edge of the bed as Ravne laid panting behind him, completely naked.
"Listen, I wouldn't usually call you but I heard a scream and I need you to come down here, make sure the coast is-"
"What happened?" Ricky's voice cut through the silence as he appeared through the portal, his posture nonchalant despite the situation.
He was only in his boxers, but the gravity of the situation was never lost on him since if his kid was nearby, no threat was mild.
Marco quickly explained the chaos, his words spilling out in rapid succession, telling him how they were having a meal until they heard this blood curdling scream and it set them all off.
Snap
Ricky snapped his fingers sharply, the sound echoing in the quiet night and slowly, the shadows seemed to stir as zombies began to emerge, their grotesque forms moving with eerie precision.
Ricky had warned them that they were given zombie guards but Marco didn't think he was actually serious, unnerved at the mere sight of them.
Watching, two zombies emerged from the darkness, each holding not an unconscious man, but an injured cat in their decayed hands.
The animal's limp body hung between them, blood staining its fur but behind them, Rico's form was dragged, his mouth covered by one of the zombies as his limbs were pinned firmly to the ground, helpless and squirming.
"Wait-no, I'm sure it was a man screaming!" Marco's face reddened in embarrassment, seeing the cat let out simmering wails at the gash in its stomach.
"Hey man I'm not judging, but way to go all out with the shotgun." Ricky laughed, nudging Marco's shoulder as he ducked his head at this turn of events.
"Aye don't get down on yourself since next time, it might not be a cat." Ricky patted his head, his eyes looking towards the bushes and making eye contact with Rico before turning the young kid away from the grueling scene ahead of him.
"But hey, don't hesitate to call me, even if it's just for an injured cat, got it?" Ricky smirked, giving Marco a knowing look.
Marco nodded silently, his face flushing in embarrassment before he glanced back at him and trying to find the right words to say.
"Thanks, Ricky, for coming here so fast." Marco rubbed the back of his neck, his voice sincere.
Ricky responded with a simple thumbs-up, his expression stoic but acknowledging the gratitude.
"No problem, man. Call me anytime." Ricky smiled, watching Marco nod and walk back into the house.
But as soon as Marco disappeared inside, Ricky's smile immediately vanished, replaced by a cold, rageful look.
Ricky could have told Marco the truth, could have pulled him into the mess that was his world, but he couldn't.
Moxie was going to be dragged into Ricky's world, whether he liked it or not, simply because he was his son.
But Marco reminded him too much of Rocco and couldn't bear to see that light in Marco's eyes fade the way it had with Rocco.
Marco was a good kid; passionate about cooking, focused on his craft but Ricky knew the kid had a weakness, a vulnerability.
If Marco ever learned the full extent of what had transpired, Ricky was sure he'd abandon his dream of becoming a chef to take on the weight of protecting his mother, his family.
Ricky wouldn't let that happen as he wasn't about to let Marco's life be consumed by this.
Ricky was strong enough to bear the burden for both of them, and as he turned to look at the crying Rico, he realized he was ruthless enough, too.
Snap
A portal materialized next to Rico and without hesitation, the zombies that had been pinning him down shifted into action.
Their eyes, vacant and cold, locked onto the young man as they dragged him toward the swirling vortex.
He cried out, desperate, but his cries were drowned by the rotted hands placed on his throat as Ricky followed the scene.
They threw him into the portal with a force that left him gasping for breath, and without a moment's hesitation, the zombies returned to their programmed task.
The crawlers, the uncommon ones, were almost like living machines.
Their movements were precise, instinctual, mechanical in the way they executed their tasks.
Their minds were nothing more than echoes of their commands, unshakable in their obedience.
The orders that were given by Ricky were clear and absolute:
-Guard Alina and her family with your lives.
-Ensure at least one survives.
Ricky stepped barefoot into the portal, the cool, unseen ground beneath him feeling strangely grounding.
He spared a brief glance at the crawlers, their grotesque forms frozen in place, their tasks complete.
A subtle nod of acknowledgment passed between him and the undead creatures, an unspoken recognition of their efficient brutality.
His gaze then shifted downward, focusing on the sniveling young man before him.
The boy trembled, his face pale and contorted in fear, his body shaking with the weight of the terror he'd just experienced.
Ricky stood tall, silent and composed, towering over him like a predator eyeing its prey.
"P-Please, please don't kill me-ARGH!" Rico begged, he pleaded while grabbing Ricky's foot only for the other to press against his head.
"Do you think of me as some f*cking chump?" Ricky's voice was low, venomous, as he crouched down, his smile twisted with a cruel edge.
"What? Did you think I was just gonna let you walk out of here after you came after my girl" Ricky let out a dry, humorless chuckle that echoed in the silence of the room, the sound almost mocking.
Rico's sobs grew louder, the weight of Ricky's words sinking in as every breath felt like a struggle, the terror pressing in on him from all sides.
The laughter echoing from Ricky's mouth, empty and cold, only deepened his panic, making his body shake harder with fear.
"There's only two options for you." Ricky's voice was hateful, filled to its brim with only anger as he pressed his bare foot firmly onto Rico's head, pinning him down.
"A quick and painless death or a long, drawn-out, agonizing one. Choose."
Rico's body trembled beneath the weight of Ricky's foot, his breath shallow as fear gripped him as his mouth opened, but no words came.
"JESUS F*CKING CHRIST, STOP CRYING ABOUT HOW YOUR LIFE IS OVER AND ANSWER ME!" Ricky yelled, his voice booming into Rico's ringing ears as the young man bellowed out.
"Quick and painless~" Rico cried, unbelieving that his life was really about to be snipped out but he couldn't face like a man, his weeping coming out even louder.
Sigh
"Unbelievable, you come to kill a family or abduct them or whatever, and you're crying, really?" Ricky pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling incredibly annoyed only for it to deepen at a pool of yellow liquid forming beneath him.
"OH COME ON!" Ricky yelled out, embarrassed for this young mobster who was cradled into a ball surrounded into a pool of his own piss.
"I-I-I'm s-s-s-s-sorry~" Rico sniffled out, stuttering through the sobs as Ricky wiped his hand across his face.
SIGH
"Just tell me who sent you, let's get this over with." Ricky sighed out heavily, feeling that this had gone on further than it should and he had barely met this guy.
SNIFF
SNIFF
SNIFF
"I-I was sent by Mr. Nitti from the Nitti family-"
"You're kidding, that wimp?" Ricky laughed, shaking his head in disbelief while slicking his hand through his hair.
Out of all the mob bosses in the Commission, he never expected Frank Nitti to be the one to make the first move against him.
Living in Al Capone's shadow for so long, Frank had always been the type of guy who could only look up at the big figures, never quite stepping into the limelight himself.
Yet, seemingly overnight, he suddenly became the boss of the biggest crime organization in Chicago.
"I'm sorry, I just can't believe it. Hold on," Ricky said honestly, his voice laced with disbelief.
Without another word, he opened a portal and stepped through, leaving Rico sniffling in the silence, completely alone in the dim light.
Minutes later, Ricky returned, Chester in tow, his body still slack with exhaustion, his face frozen in the quiet serenity of sleep.
The moment they stepped through the portal, however, the calm was shattered as Chester's eyes snapped open as he was suddenly thrust into whatever chaotic situation this was.
"Why is there a young man crying in a puddle of what I assume to be, piss?" Chester tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Rico, who was curled up on the floor, his face twisted in shame and fear.
The sight of the trembling young man seemed almost pitiful, but Chester's voice was laced with a hint of curiosity, his tone cold and detached, as if he were merely observing a strange specimen rather than the mess before him.
"It's because I'm gonna kill him once all this is done." Ricky said to Chester, his voice calm but filled with an unsettling finality as he turned to Rico, his tone turning furious.
"But he's too much of a chicken-sh*t coward to stop pissing and crying everywhere!" Ricky yelled, demeaning the young man further which only worsened the situation in its entirety.
Rico's whines grew louder, his body shaking as the weight of Ricky's words hit him, but nothing could escape the looming dread that hung in the air.
"I'M SORRY!" Rico sobbed, his voice echoing through the cavernous warehouse, his tears falling like a river of regret and pooling into the piss lake that was his own undoing.
Chester flapped his wings above Rico, his eyes locked onto the young man's, and in an instant, Rico's pupils dilated.
Ricky slowly approached, his footsteps deliberate, until he stopped just inches away from the puddle of tears and urine that Rico had become.
"Who sent you?"
"Frank Nitti."
"No seriously, who sent you?"
"Frank Nitti."
"No but like, urgh, did Joe ask Frank Nitti-"
"No."
"There's no way it was Frank Nitti."
"It was Frank Nitti."
"Well, I guess it was Frank Nitti." Ricky stood up, rubbing his chin before nodding to himself.
"Can I go back to sleep now?" Chester asked, perching on his shoulder on Ricky was lost in thought.
"Yeah, go nuts." Ricky, clearly in his one world, replied half-hazardly to Chester who shook his head and flew back into the portal.
10 minutes later,
A car drove towards Chicago though it wasn't the letter informing Frank Nitti of the emergency meeting of the commission taking place but instead, Ricky.
"I understand why you are going on this grand quest to quell the burning thirst of vengeance, but why am I here?"
And Alexander.
The gerbil, having heard the reason behind Ricky's relentless pursuit, understood completely why he was driving toward Frank Nitti's residence with such fury.
However, Alexander knew they were just ordinary men, humans, whom Ricky could easily handle on his own.
"For the company?" Ricky asked Alexander, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as he figured it would be a bit odd, and honestly, kind of cringy, if he went in alone.
"Fair enough."
Author's Note: hey guys, thanks alot for the understanding and for being so cool with me shifting the chapters for this week. I'm feeling way better and other than a gross ass cough, I'm fine, anyways hope you enjoy!
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