Lynn and George barreled down the streets near Lake Michigan, the police siren ablaze on their cruiser. It had already been forty minutes since Wild Card's message, and they were running out of time. Lynn's knee bounced anxiously as they drove. Sergeant Bently was at first reluctant to send her into a hostage situation, considering her inexperience, but due to the lack of time and the fact that Wild Card specifically told her to be there, she and George didn't wait for permission before they started traveling. While speaking to him over the radio, they were able to convince him to let her be there, but only if she followed Detective Peters' orders to the letter, as he was the one leading the Bianchi case.
They pulled up the warehouse in question. A police presence was already there, including S.W.A.T and paramedics. As they exited their cruiser, Detective Peters walked over to them. He was a tall, thin man with wiry gray hair, wearing a black suit. He had an air about him that indicated he had zero patience for nonsense, and a reputation to substantiate that impression.
"Alright, Loud," he said. "Since this freak wanted you here, that makes you the prime target. But I'm not gonna let you do anything to risk the hostage's life, so no more heroics like you pulled at the bank."
"Understood, sir," said Loud.
"After S.W.A.T has cleared the area, that's when you and Ramos will enter -"
"With respect, Detective," said George. "I think Loud needs to be the first one in."
"Out of the question," Said Peters. "It's too-"
"Sir, every second we spend arguing about this is a second that man doesn't have," Said George. "Wild Card was specific about Lynn, we need to do this right."
Peters thought for a moment. "All right," he said finally. "Get moving."
Lynn and George moved forward towards the warehouse doors. One of the S.W.A.T. members had a battering ram ready, waiting for orders. Lynn and George drew their firearms, nodding to the officer, who proceeded to beat down the door. Once it was down, Lynn and George raised their weapons and entered.
The warehouse was dark and silent. They went from room to room, but didn't find anyone. Only a few offices. After a few minutes of searching, Lynn entered into the main floor of the warehouse, coming to a halt. In the middle of the floor was a single man, strapped in a chair, with a bag over his face, illuminated by a single light over him. George cleared the room while Lynn ran over to the man.
"It's okay, Robert," she said. "You're safe -"
She removed the bag and gasped in surprise. "GEORGE!" She shouted.
George quickly ran towards her, stopping dead once he reached her and saw the man before him. "What the hell?" He said incredulously. The man before them was indeed dead, but the man wasn't Robert Houlihan.
Sitting in the chair with the words "Bad Luck" scrawled across his face was none other than Salvatore Bianchi.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Salvatore Bianchi was meeting in his penthouse office in downtown Royal Woods. This was the perfect place to conduct his business. A small hick town in eastern Michigan, out of the way from the prying eyes of his rivals and law enforcement. Here, he could establish himself as a model citizen and figure of the city. It was the perfect cover of hiding in plain sight.
But things started to go wrong. He had heard about several of his businesses, both legitimate and otherwise, being ripped off by some freak in a mask. As soon as he appeared, he just as quickly vanished into thin air, so his men weren't able to get a bead on him. Anyone who did know about this "Wild Card" was too frightened to speak about him, even with the proper persuasion. One enforcer even tied an informant to a chair for 16 hours, pulling teeth and beating him senseless, but the informan never budged on the identity of Wild Card. In fact, he point-blank told them that whatever they did to him, he would do far, far worse.
After the robbery and fire at the bank, Bianchi realized that Wild Card was upping his game. It was time to nip this problem in the bud once and for all. He called a meeting with the family in order to brief them on the situation, and to find a way to find and put a stop to this freak of nature once and for all.
The last thing they expected was for him to invite himself to that very same meeting.
As Wild Card made his way towards the conference table, the armed security around the room all trained their guns on him, waiting for orders to bring him down. Despite this, Wild Card looked calm, even jovial.
"I heard you were having a tea party," said Wild Card. "Thought I'd drop by. I brought the crumpets." He placed a bakery box on the table, pushing it to the center. No one even bothered to look at the box, staring only at the uninvited guest.
"You've got a lot of stones showing up here, freak," said Brazzo, one of Bianchi's enforcers. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't bash your face in right now."
"You sound miffed, princess," said Wild Card, unfazed. "Maybe it's all that cannoli you shove down your gullet. Really, would it kill you to eat some fiber?"
"You sonova-"
"Stop," said Bianchi. "I want to hear what he has to say."
"You heard the man, pinko!" said Wild Card, shooing him away with his hand. Brazzo reluctantly sat down.
"You've been making quite a mess of things for me lately," said Bianchi. "The only reason you're not dead is because I'm curious as to why you're here."
"Have I been a bad boy, Uncle Sally?" Said Wild Card, sitting down. "I do apologize. I'm just a young man who is really starved for attention. You see, all my life I've had to compete for attention, and as you can see, I've gotten really good at it."
"That's why you did this?" Said Bianchi, surprised. "For attention?"
"Well, not just anyone's attention," said Wild Card. "Only a very certain special someone. And you are the key to getting what I want."
"Really," said Bianchi. "And how is that going to work?"
"Well, first, I had to do something about your Empire," said Wild Card nonchalantly.
"What do you mean?"
"You're a powerful man," Wild Card explained. "Hard to get close to. When your pockets are deep enough, and your friends list big enough, you can get away with pretty much everything. And you did, until now."
"What are you getting at?" Said Bianchi, irritation finally showing in his voice.
"As of 9 AM today, your accounts have been drained, your business holdings have been divested, and your friends bought, blackmailed, or dead," said Wild Card. Despite the fact that he was wearing a mask, Bianchi could hear the smile in his voice. "Everything you own is now mine, lock, stock and barrel."
"You're bluffing," said Bianchi, horrified.
"In cards, there's a time to bluff, and there's to throw down," Wild Card shot back. "Check your books if you don't believe me."
Bianchi pulled out his smartphone, looking over his bank accounts and stock portfolio. To his horror, what Wild Card was saying was true. His accounts were empty, his stocks transferred to an unknown entity. He tried calling several of his contacts, but none of them answered. He looked at Wild Card, his temper boiling over.
"You've just played your last hand," he said dangerously. "I'll get my money back, but you won't be here to see it." He motioned to his guards to open fire on him, but they stayed put. He looked around. "What are you waiting for? Kill him!"
"I already told you," said Wild Card. "Everything you own is mine. That includes the hired help." He let out a fiendish cackle, as the guards began putting masks over their face that were in similitude to Wild Card's. The people around the table began to panic and try to get up, but the guards forced them to sit back down.
"Let's not get too excited here," said Wild Card, leaning over to the bakery box he brought in. "After all, you still haven't tried the crumpets. They're to die for."
He opened the box, which immediately sent out a plume of billowing gas, quickly filling the room. Bianchi and the men around the table began coughing violently, one by one dropping to the floor. Bianchi's eyes stung as he surveyed his surroundings. The guards and Wild Card seemed to be unaffected by the gas, but for the rest of them he could see blood and bile gushing from their mouths. It looked like the gas was eating them from the inside out. Bianchi also began to cough up blood, falling to the floor as his vision doubled. He could see Wild Card walking towards him, stooping to his level.
"Don't feel bad, Uncle Sally," he said. "Everyone's luck turns bad eventually."
The last thing Bianchi heard was the sound of Wild Card's wicked laughter as his world went black.
Lynn jumped as she heard a loud laugh echoing through the warehouse. A projector suddenly came to life, showing a video on the wall in front of them. Lynn gasped as Wild Card stepped into the picture.
"Naughty, naughty, Officer Loud," he said in a mock scolding tone. "Opening your presents before Christmas? What would Santa say?"
"Wild Card," said Lynn.
"You were expecting someone else?" He said facetiously.
"Where's Houlihan?" Said Lynn.
"Three doors down, across from the bathroom," said Wild Card in a matter-of-fact tone. As the S.W.A.T. team piled in, they and George immediately followed the madman's instructions. "We found him!" Lynn heard George's voice from down the hall. "Get a medic!" Lynn watched as an ambulance gurney wheeled away the distressed bank manager. He was pale white as he had lost a lot of blood, but otherwise alive.
"Get well soon, Robby!" Wild Card called after him. "Say 'hi' to the wife and kids for me!" He let out another unnerving laugh.
"Why are you doing this, Wild Card?" Lynn snapped. "What's your game? What do you want?!"
"Oh, not much," said Wild Card. "Burning buildings, thousands dying in the streets, maybe a pony? But what I really want for Christmas . . ." he paused, looking Lynn dead in the eyes. "Is you."
Lynn stepped back, startled. "Me?" She said, aghast. "What do you want with me?!"
Wild Card paused again, pondering her. "Your brother spoke very highly of you, did you know that?" He said. "When he wasn't writhing and screaming in pain and agony, of course!" He let out another cackle. Lynn felt her skin run cold and her heart drop into her stomach. She felt as if her legs were going to give under her weight, but she stayed standing.
"What did you say?" She said, horrified.
"Little Lincoln Loud," said Wild Card, sighing fondly. "What fun it was! I can remember it like it was yesterday: 'help me, Lynn!'" His voice turned into a mocking falsetto as he imitated her brother. "'He's HURTING me, Lynn!! I want to go home! I'm sorry I lied about being BAD LUCK!!" Wild Card let out another menacing crackle. Lynn could feel herself tremble as her blood boiled in her veins.
"You. . . monster!" Lynn spit venomously.
"Now, now, Lynn, you should know by now that we're all monsters to some degree," said Wild Card. "The only difference between you and I is that I've embraced it!"
"I'm gonna find you," said Lynn. "I'm gonna find you and put a bullet in your head! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" She shouted to the projection. "YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME! I'LL FIND YOU!!"
Wild Card leaned forward into the camera of the projector. "I'll be counting the minutes," he said. Suddenly, the projector shut down, and he was gone. Lynn roared in fury and pain, shouting for him to come back before finally dropping to her knees, tears flowing freely. George ran over to her, grasping her by the shoulders, trying to calm the distraught girl, but she only let herself cry. Next to her, Detective Peters approached the corpse of Salvatore Bianchi, sighing heavily.
"This case just got a lot more complicated," he said.