In 1946 an alien virus that rewrites human DNA was accidentally unleashed in the skies over New York City. It killed 90% of those who came into contact with it ('drawing the Black Queen'). However, 9% mutated into deformed creatures (known as 'Jokers') and the remaining 1% gained superpowers (known as 'Aces'). A percentage of the Aces were referred to as 'Deuces', having acquired useless or ridiculous powers, such as the ability to levitate up to two feet, or to grow body hair at will. The airborne virus eventually spread all over the world, infecting tens of thousands.
This is the world you inhabit. This is the world of the Wild Cards.
On Manhattan Island, in the section of the city known as the Bowery, on South Street, overlooking the East River stood the Blythe van Renssaeler Memorial Clinic. More commonly known as the “Jokertown Clinic”, at this time of night the building stood as a slab of black marble, aside from a single lit room on the 2nd floor. This was the office of Dr. Tachyon. For the last few days, this had also become his temporary home. The couch in his office had a smattering of pillows and blankets. His extravagantly coloured clothes littered the floor near the hat rack where his feather adorned archer’s cap sat proudly and at least half a dozen empty paper cups were scattered across his desk, dregs of what could be described of as “coffee” by some settled at the bottom of some.
Dr. Tachyon sat at said desk, his eyes red and drooping, his posture ragged and his movements slow. He thumbed through the patient files spread in front of him, not taking in any of the words scrawled across the page, the sound of the papers scratching against each other merely serving as a distraction for him.
The last few days had been hell, for Tachyon. Between the Croyd Crenson incident, the recently lifted quarantine, the new in-flux of Jokers & Aces and now this happening, Tachyon could barely take the mental strain, even with his mental defences. Pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, he sighed softly and leaned back in the large, leather bound chair, somehow hoping it would swallow him whole.
5 Jokers and 2 Jokers with Ace-like powers had seemingly disappeared from the Clinic, or at the very least, from Jokertown. Five had checked themselves out with supervision from a “family member”. It was only when the families came during the normal operating visiting hours over the next few days did the staff realise that something had gone.
This and the Croyd incident had caused Tachyon a shitstorm and people affected by the Wild Card were now pulling out of the Clinic, stirred on by the morning tabloids spouting that the “Jokertown Clinic was no longer a safe haven for Jokers or anybody”. One such headline poked out from under the files and Tachyon flung the entire pile to the floor in utter frustration.
“Damn that Digger Downs. Damn those papers. Damn them all!”
Tachyon shouted in frustration at no one in particular, smacking his hands against the desk in exhausted anger. A search by Tachyon himself of Jokertown revealed the Jokers had not returned and he couldn’t have imagined where they might have gone. Jokertown, while a squalid tourist trap slumtown, was still the safest place in the US for Jokers. He just couldn’t imagine where they’d gone or why.
He sat up, leaned forward and gingerly picked up the phone. Tachyon needed to call in a professional.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Michael Benifield stood in his main office, the glossy sheen of the metallic finish on most of the interior glowing orange with the setting sun. The office’s triple glazed windows gave Benfield a clear view of the upper island, with a view of the Hudson and the East River on either side. He always enjoyed taking in the view with a Scotch at the end of the day. The 67th floor of the tower housed the headquarters of Field Enterprises. The Tower was owned by Benifield too, as he’d funded the construction and development. Some of the other floors hosted many different tenants. Some fancy, over-priced clothing stores occupied the ground floor. A couple of movie stars lived in a few. One of the apartments on the 49th floor were home to 2 cats, with the owner occupying the other, and if he remembered correctly, one of the apartments 9 floors down was home to some Haitian dictator or something. That made him chuckle.
He was snapped out of his amusing thoughts at a buzzing on his desk. He stepped over to the desk, sitting softly on the edge as he clicked the nearby phone.
“Yes, Martha?”
“Mr Benifield, sorry to disturb you but she’s here to see you.”
From the inflection for Martha’s tone, Michael knew exactly who she was.
“Thank you. Send her in.”
He clicked the phone again, the ice in his glass clinking as he shifted off the desk and to the seat behind it, raising it to sip the remaining liquid down, sighing at the lingering burning along his throat as the double doors at the other end of the office swung open and she stepped in.
She was a tall, beautiful woman, buxom and broad-shouldered, with soft, brown hair and icy blue eyes. She strode into the office with an air of confidence and seduction. Upon her back was a pair of beautifully feathered brown and white wings.
“I see you decided to accept my offer in person Peregrine.”
Amare Sweet strode over towards the desk, a tight yet business style dress hugging her figure. Her angelic wings dipped and swayed with each step. She grasped the seat across from Michael with one hand, the pale, white skin reddening as she grasped it and settled onto it. She perched precariously on the edge of the seat. Her wings were awkward at times but nothing compared to other joker afflictions she had heard about or seen. Peregrine smiled politely.
“Actually, Mr Benifield, I’ve come to decline your offer. I thought it best to do it in person.”
Michael’s smile faltered slightly before returning. He was not used to not getting what he desired and he certainly desired Peregrine. In more ways than what he offered her.
“And why is that, prey tell? It was a generous offer, was it not? And please, call me Michael.”
Again, Peregrine smiled politely, “More than generous Mr. Be…Michael. But, I’ve got a contract with my network for “Peregrine’s Perch”. It’s a five year deal and I love the show. Between them, managing the clothing & cosmetic lines and the new baby…”
Michael raised a hand, not in a rude way but more of a calming, surrendering gesture, “Say no more. I understand you have other commitments and responsibilities, especially with the new baby. John, I believe?” He smiled gently as Peregrine nodded, flashing his pearly whites like a tiger before continuing, “I guess I’m just disappointed I couldn’t get one of the most prolific Aces to join me in my new venture.”
Peregrine leaned forward, flashing her perfect teeth right back, along with a bit of cleavage, “Well, I’m here with a counter-offer, directly from my network.” Benifield’s eyebrows raised as she leaned back, almost drawing him in from across the desk, “While I can’t join this “venture” as you’ve put it, I could bring you onto the show this Saturday night to unveil your big new investment.”
Michael leaned forward, perching his elbows onto the deep brow mahogany table, eyes locked on the icy blues of the angel temptress across from him, his head swimming distractedly in fantasies of him and Peregrine, perched atop this very table. He smiled as he murmured, ”What would be in it for me?”
“Well, we are the No. 1 watched show by Nats, Aces and Jokers alike. You get a prime time slot, Saturday night, and you get me…” She flickered her long, luscious lashes flirtingly, making Michael’s core stir, “…well, my backing at least. My word has a lot of sway in the Ace & Joker community and if I think it’s good enough to have on the Prime Time segment…” She spread her arms, leaving the very obvious implications bare for Benifield to grasp at.
He lay back in his chair, the cogs obviously whirring in his brain. He reached down; pulled out the bottle of $200 Scotch he had been enjoying and poured himself a 2nd glass. He raised the glass slowly to his lips, pausing to look at the Guardian Angel that had been sent to him.
“Fools rush in, where Angels fear to tread.”
This is the world you inhabit. This is the world of the Wild Cards.
On Manhattan Island, in the section of the city known as the Bowery, on South Street, overlooking the East River stood the Blythe van Renssaeler Memorial Clinic. More commonly known as the “Jokertown Clinic”, at this time of night the building stood as a slab of black marble, aside from a single lit room on the 2nd floor. This was the office of Dr. Tachyon. For the last few days, this had also become his temporary home. The couch in his office had a smattering of pillows and blankets. His extravagantly coloured clothes littered the floor near the hat rack where his feather adorned archer’s cap sat proudly and at least half a dozen empty paper cups were scattered across his desk, dregs of what could be described of as “coffee” by some settled at the bottom of some.
Dr. Tachyon sat at said desk, his eyes red and drooping, his posture ragged and his movements slow. He thumbed through the patient files spread in front of him, not taking in any of the words scrawled across the page, the sound of the papers scratching against each other merely serving as a distraction for him.
The last few days had been hell, for Tachyon. Between the Croyd Crenson incident, the recently lifted quarantine, the new in-flux of Jokers & Aces and now this happening, Tachyon could barely take the mental strain, even with his mental defences. Pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, he sighed softly and leaned back in the large, leather bound chair, somehow hoping it would swallow him whole.
5 Jokers and 2 Jokers with Ace-like powers had seemingly disappeared from the Clinic, or at the very least, from Jokertown. Five had checked themselves out with supervision from a “family member”. It was only when the families came during the normal operating visiting hours over the next few days did the staff realise that something had gone.
This and the Croyd incident had caused Tachyon a shitstorm and people affected by the Wild Card were now pulling out of the Clinic, stirred on by the morning tabloids spouting that the “Jokertown Clinic was no longer a safe haven for Jokers or anybody”. One such headline poked out from under the files and Tachyon flung the entire pile to the floor in utter frustration.
“Damn that Digger Downs. Damn those papers. Damn them all!”
Tachyon shouted in frustration at no one in particular, smacking his hands against the desk in exhausted anger. A search by Tachyon himself of Jokertown revealed the Jokers had not returned and he couldn’t have imagined where they might have gone. Jokertown, while a squalid tourist trap slumtown, was still the safest place in the US for Jokers. He just couldn’t imagine where they’d gone or why.
He sat up, leaned forward and gingerly picked up the phone. Tachyon needed to call in a professional.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Michael Benifield stood in his main office, the glossy sheen of the metallic finish on most of the interior glowing orange with the setting sun. The office’s triple glazed windows gave Benfield a clear view of the upper island, with a view of the Hudson and the East River on either side. He always enjoyed taking in the view with a Scotch at the end of the day. The 67th floor of the tower housed the headquarters of Field Enterprises. The Tower was owned by Benifield too, as he’d funded the construction and development. Some of the other floors hosted many different tenants. Some fancy, over-priced clothing stores occupied the ground floor. A couple of movie stars lived in a few. One of the apartments on the 49th floor were home to 2 cats, with the owner occupying the other, and if he remembered correctly, one of the apartments 9 floors down was home to some Haitian dictator or something. That made him chuckle.
He was snapped out of his amusing thoughts at a buzzing on his desk. He stepped over to the desk, sitting softly on the edge as he clicked the nearby phone.
“Yes, Martha?”
“Mr Benifield, sorry to disturb you but she’s here to see you.”
From the inflection for Martha’s tone, Michael knew exactly who she was.
“Thank you. Send her in.”
He clicked the phone again, the ice in his glass clinking as he shifted off the desk and to the seat behind it, raising it to sip the remaining liquid down, sighing at the lingering burning along his throat as the double doors at the other end of the office swung open and she stepped in.
She was a tall, beautiful woman, buxom and broad-shouldered, with soft, brown hair and icy blue eyes. She strode into the office with an air of confidence and seduction. Upon her back was a pair of beautifully feathered brown and white wings.
“I see you decided to accept my offer in person Peregrine.”
Amare Sweet strode over towards the desk, a tight yet business style dress hugging her figure. Her angelic wings dipped and swayed with each step. She grasped the seat across from Michael with one hand, the pale, white skin reddening as she grasped it and settled onto it. She perched precariously on the edge of the seat. Her wings were awkward at times but nothing compared to other joker afflictions she had heard about or seen. Peregrine smiled politely.
“Actually, Mr Benifield, I’ve come to decline your offer. I thought it best to do it in person.”
Michael’s smile faltered slightly before returning. He was not used to not getting what he desired and he certainly desired Peregrine. In more ways than what he offered her.
“And why is that, prey tell? It was a generous offer, was it not? And please, call me Michael.”
Again, Peregrine smiled politely, “More than generous Mr. Be…Michael. But, I’ve got a contract with my network for “Peregrine’s Perch”. It’s a five year deal and I love the show. Between them, managing the clothing & cosmetic lines and the new baby…”
Michael raised a hand, not in a rude way but more of a calming, surrendering gesture, “Say no more. I understand you have other commitments and responsibilities, especially with the new baby. John, I believe?” He smiled gently as Peregrine nodded, flashing his pearly whites like a tiger before continuing, “I guess I’m just disappointed I couldn’t get one of the most prolific Aces to join me in my new venture.”
Peregrine leaned forward, flashing her perfect teeth right back, along with a bit of cleavage, “Well, I’m here with a counter-offer, directly from my network.” Benifield’s eyebrows raised as she leaned back, almost drawing him in from across the desk, “While I can’t join this “venture” as you’ve put it, I could bring you onto the show this Saturday night to unveil your big new investment.”
Michael leaned forward, perching his elbows onto the deep brow mahogany table, eyes locked on the icy blues of the angel temptress across from him, his head swimming distractedly in fantasies of him and Peregrine, perched atop this very table. He smiled as he murmured, ”What would be in it for me?”
“Well, we are the No. 1 watched show by Nats, Aces and Jokers alike. You get a prime time slot, Saturday night, and you get me…” She flickered her long, luscious lashes flirtingly, making Michael’s core stir, “…well, my backing at least. My word has a lot of sway in the Ace & Joker community and if I think it’s good enough to have on the Prime Time segment…” She spread her arms, leaving the very obvious implications bare for Benifield to grasp at.
He lay back in his chair, the cogs obviously whirring in his brain. He reached down; pulled out the bottle of $200 Scotch he had been enjoying and poured himself a 2nd glass. He raised the glass slowly to his lips, pausing to look at the Guardian Angel that had been sent to him.
“Fools rush in, where Angels fear to tread.”