bagman

[Bagman]

(( These are my old bagman stories, I thought I had lost them, because not only did my webhost disappear, but the old pcity.com boards were gone at the same time. Were it not for the Tunnels, I would not be able to have saved these. Thanks Ink ))


The Institute


"Sonny? Can you hear me? Answer me if you can hear me?" asked Dr. Silva.


A child sat on the wooden stool, slumped forward, listless and quiet. He had short black hair and dark eyes. He was thin and small, even for a twelve year old boy.


"Sonny...you've been here for three months now, and have not said a word. We cannot help you if you do not speak to us..."


The woman sat at a dark, antique desk covered with books. Her office was a veritable library of thick books, most of them stacked in high piles.


She wore a pair of black square glasses on her nose with her hair in a tight bun. She looked down severely at the boy next to her.


"Ok, here is a pen and paper. Write me what you are thinking, ok?" said the woman.


The boy took the paper from her and scribbled hurriedly on it. He handed it back to Dr. Silva.


The paper read, "in the Bag".


"What's in the bag, Sonny?" asked the woman. The boy didn't answer, but just pointed at the paper.


"I don't understand why you always write that. Always the same thing...". The woman seemed to pause and study the paper for awhile.


"If only we could find your mother..." mumbled the doctor. Finally, she shook her head and pulled out some pictures from her desk.


"Ok, Sonny, let's try something new...I have some pictures for you. I want you to look at these pictures. They are called Rorschach drawings...and tell me what you think of when you see them. Ok?" said Dr. Silva.


The doctor held up the first drawing, then handed a blank piece of paper to Sonny. He wrote on the paper and showed it to her.


The paper read, "How?"


"What do you mean? Oh, how do you make these? You pour black paint on a white paper....here, let me get some...like so...then fold the paper in half...open it..and there you have a different design each time."


The boy's eyes seemed to light up at seeing this simple type of art. His interest gave the doctor an idea.


"Sonny, I can give you this bottle of paint and a whole pile of papers....but only, only if you ask me out loud...Can you do that?" asked Dr. Silva.


The boy looked at her seriously then looked at the paint and paper. Slowly, he opened his mouth, croaked, started coughing, then said "May...I have...the paint and paper?"


(...three days later...)


Dr. Silva hurried down the hallway flanked by Jane, an old, grey-haired nurse.


"It wasn't Sonny's fault, Dr. Silva. That boy Billy...the one whose dad is a supervillain...he has been bullying all the kids, especially Sonny...I couldn't stop him..." said the Jane.


They got to the door, and Dr. Silva tried to pull the handle, but it was jammed shut. She could hear scuffling and loud noises from the other side.


"Open the door now, boys!" shouted the doctor. No one answered and the loud noises did not stop.


"Hey, Jason is here!" said the nurse as a large orderly rushed towards them. He was over seven feet tall and had the shoulders to match. He came to the door, and the doctor and nurse cleared the way as he charged into it. The door fell open.


Inside was a scene of chaos. The sleeping room had all the cots and chests turned over, and all the boys were huddled in the corners except for two.


Billy, a tall, handsome boy, stood in the middle of the room, all the debris cleared in a large circle around him, his fists glowing with a bright, white light.


There were objects flying circles around him; a book, a lamp, a toy car, even a clock. They moved quickly, continually flying down and striking hard at another boy at Billy's feet.


That boy, Sonny, was kneeling down holding his hands over his head. He was covered in white paper splashed with black paint. Even his face was covered by paper. The repeated blows by the flying objects smacked him hard, though he made no noise.


"Oh man, what a wimp! Get up you coward!" shouted Billy.


"Billy! You stop that now!" shouted Dr. Silva. Immediately all the objects fell to the ground as Billy turned to the doctor innocently.


"That wimp started it, Dr. Silva. Didn't you? Don't lie now!" shouted Billy.


The doctor stared at Billy sternly.


"What? I was tired of his stupid pictures. Hehe, now he's part of his art now!" answered Billy.


Sonny didn't move, but Jane was already at his side.


"Sonny, get up." said the nurse as she started pulling off the papers with black paint. Sonny did not move.


Dr. Silva motioned to Jason as she stared at Billy. Jason grabbed Billy and manhandled him out of the classroom. He started crying, yelling for his mommy.


"I'll take him to the detention room, Doc." said Jason as he dragged the boy away.


Finally, with Billy gone, Sonny looked up from the floor. One last paper covered his face, pressed tightly with black paint over his whole face; eyes, nose, and mouth.


Dr. Silva hurried to pull it off but only a corner tore off in her hand. She ripped the paper away from his eyes and mouth. Sonny took a deep breath and opened his eyes, staring at the doctor.


Billy had used his power to press the Rorschach drawing flat over Sonny's face. The paper had stuck to his face, the paint drying and binding the white paper onto his face while the rest of his head was covered in black paint. It looked as if he wore a full mask over his head.


"Oh god! Let's get him to a sink now and clean him." said the doctor.


Before they could grab him though, Sonny stood up and turned to run out of the room, quickly glancing over at the other children. They took one look at his face and started screaming in fear.


He quickly turned out the door and ran down the hallway as fast as he could. Dr. Silva and Jane rushed out to follow him, but he was already at the end of the hall and turning before they could even get down the hall.


They shouted for him to stop, but he ignored them and kept on running. Finally, they lost him around a turn.


Several minutes passed, while the doctor and nurse searched the whole building, looking for the boy.


"Dr. Silva!" cried out a security guard. He was an old man, slow and not much use for security except for looks. He was limping.


"What happened?" asked Dr. Silva.


"That damn boy, Sonny. He kicked me in the back of the shin. I could be crippled..." moaned the guard.


"Your holster! It's empty!" shouted the doctor pointing at his belt.


"Huh? What? Oh...oh no! That boy must have grabbed it when I fell..I didn't see it." said the old man lamely.


Suddenly, several shots in quick succession were heard.


Jane ran up to the two, shouting, "It came from the detention room!"


The three of them hurried to the detention room. Outside the door was Jason, the big orderly, lying on the ground holding his crotch and whimpering.


"Did he...?" asked the doctor.


"No, no...he..he grabbed and twisted...hard..." groaned Jason.


Dr. Silva ignored him though and hurried past into the detention room. The room was designed to be like a prison cell, so it had a bed, a toilet, a sink, and a mirror.


Billy was on the bed, lying in a pool of blood, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. There was a bullet hole in each hand, one in his forehead, and three in his chest.


Sonny was gazing into the mirror, studying his face. He ran one hand over the reverse, white on black Rorshach-like shape. In the other hand, he held a revolver.


He turned smiling to Dr. Silva and said, "His power doesn't work on bullets."
_________________

[Bagman]

The Interview


Rebecca was a reporter for the Paragon City Herald. Her latest assignment brought her to a private storage facility in the seedy neighborhood of King's Row, a dangerous place for a woman alone. She was wary of Skulls, super-powered gang members, but knew her job had risks, and was willing to accept them. She arrived at the front entrance and rang the bell on the gate. The manager, a fat man with a cigar in his mouth came out of a small office and stared at her thru the gate. In his free hand, he held a wooden baseball bat.

"For protection...you never can tell," mumbled the storage manager.


"I understand." she answered as she flashed him the pepper spray she held in her left hand.


"Why did you tell me to come so late at night?"


"He usually sleeps days. Evening is his normal working time." answered the manager.


She slipped him a hundred, and he smiled. He let her thru the gate, closing it after her.


"He's on the last one on the left. Don't tell him I let ya in!" blurted the fat man, as he fled back into his small office.


"What do I tell him?" asked Rebecca. But the manager was already closing and locking the door.


She stared at the office door for a couple of seconds, wondering if this was a good idea. She decided she was here, and she needed the story.


The Paragon City Herald had decided to take on the difficult job of publishing short biographies on every single hero in the city. A whole team of new reporters were brought into the newspaper, many of them still fresh from school. They split between them the huge list of new, unknown heroes in the city and attempted to seek out these heroes and find out their story.


Rebecca was the third reporter to attempt to tackle this particular hero for his story. The first reporter to try got hit by high velocity beanbag before even seeing the hero. He survived with a huge bruise in the middle of his chest but swears he won't go back. The reporter who tried to take the story after that came back saying she got inside the storage room but no one was there, just a whole array of tools and devices. She said she got a weird feeling someone was watching her, got scared and fled the place. She also refused the assignment.


Rebecca was determined to get this story. Despite her fear, she forced herself down the middle lane of the storage facility. By the spacing of the storage doors on each side, she realized the rooms must be large, about the size of a three car garage. It was dark, as there were not any outdoor lights, but she could still see from the glow of the city lights. She arrived at the last door on the left. The doors were designed like garage doors, opening upwards. This last door was open a couple feet off the ground. There were no windows on the storage door and no markings, and no light came from inside. Rebecca searched in her purse, putting away her pepper spray and brought out a small penlight.


She ducked down and flashed the light inside. She could see machine parts and tools everywhere. No sign of any furniture, besides several boxes. It looked as if he worked on the floor. She could see no sign of the occupant. She laid down on the ground and rolled under the door into the storage room. In the middle of the room was a huge pile of papers, bits and pieces of what looked like a design for rifle. All over the floor were various tools and gunsmithing machines. In one corner sat a small smelting device for making bullets.


The sudden ringing of a phone startled Rebecca. Sitting on the floor, a black rotary phone rang. It sat in front of a small, broken piece of mirror, itself leaning on an a steel ammo box. Rebecca kneeled in front of the phone. She wasn't sure whether she should pick it up or not, but she also didn't want to miss out on a lead. Reflected in the mirror, she could see a large canvas bag next to the opposite wall, beige in color but a bit greyish with wear. It was large, probably 5 feet long, and stuffed to capacity, and closed tightly.


As she wondered about the bag, the phone rang again, somehow more insistently than before. She hurriedly reached down and picked it up...and as she looked into the broken mirror...she saw the canvas bag suddenly shift forwards! Her hand was still on the phone, and she dropped it back on the cradle and shrieked.


"HAND ME MY MASK!" shouted the bag.


Rebecca turned and stared at the canvas bag, now shifted towards her. The small opening of the bag faced her with a single eye staring directly at her.


"My mask! Hand it to me!" screamed the bag.


Rebecca looked around frantically. Behind the ammo box, what she thought were greasy rags was actually a full black mask with a strange white design on the front.


She grabbed the mask...and the eye came away from the small hole of the bag, and a hand came out reaching toward her.


"Give it to me now!" shouted the bag.


Rebecca hurried to give the mask to the hand coming out of the bag. The hand tore the mask from her and brought it inside. Some shuffling later, the hole of the bag loosened and widened, revealing a masked man.


The man was of average height and medium build. He wore white boxers, the strange mask, plain black dress shoes and nothing else. Rebecca could not tell his nationality exactly from his skin color, but she guessed he must be of mixed heritage. He did not stand up, but stayed sitting on the canvas bag, staring at her.


"Why did you answer my phone!?" asked the man.


"I...I..." answered the reporter, as she felt in her purse for her pepper spray.


The man reached into the canvas bag, and quickly cocked and aimed a huge rifle at her, of a design she had never seen before.


"Whatever is in that purse of yours will not save you if you do not answer me..." said the man.


"I...I'm a reporter...with the Paragon City Herald...I'm here to hear your story..." said Rebecca.


"Why do you want to hear my story?" and yet he did not lower the rifle.


"Why? Well, the people want to know about all of Paragon City's heroes, great and small..." answered the reporter.


"You think I'm small! Yes, of course, I am no Statesman, no Atlas. I don't even have the powers of one of their sidekicks. I was not born privileged with power." growled the man as he flipped a switch on the weapon, then cocked it again with a loud snap.


"I've got Sally here set to fire a special round. A round designed to explode into a cloud of needles once inside your body. Tell me why I should not pull the trigger?"


"You named your rifle Sally?" said the reporter, "Such an interesting name...Why did you name it Sally?"


"It's not so interesting. It was my mother's name." answered the man, and still, the rifle was kept aimed at her.


Rebecca tried to keep him talking, to keep him from firing that rifle, "And they call you Bagman? I thought it was because of....it being slang for mafia collector...but now I see..."


"I worked for the mafia at one time. But not now. And this is how I have always slept. Mother used to put me in one to sleep, when I was little."


"That's horrible!...that's child abuse..." said Rebecca.


"Abuse? My mother loved me. We did not have a fancy house and slept in alleys and doorways. She let me sleep in the bag and she stayed outside in the cold. She sacrificed herself for me."


Bagman reached behind him and quickly hefted something round at Rebecca.


"Catch!" said the man.


Rebecca caught it and quickly saw it was a grenade of a strange design.


"Hold the clip down! I've rigged that grenade. If you let go, it will go off." said Bagman.


Rebecca quickly squeezed the clip on the grenade,” Why? I mean you no harm...please..."


Bagman stood up from the canvas bag and walked over to an beaten up trunk. He opened it and brought out a brown non-descript suit, complete with coat, pants, white shirt, and tie.


"I need to dress, and I can't hold the rifle on you and dress at the same time. Don't worry, I know how to disarm the device, just don't move much, you might trigger it from all that shaking..."


Bagman dressed, but was in no great hurry, making sure everything was perfect He took considerable time making sure his tie was just right. Finally finished putting on the suit, he reached into the trunk and brought out a brown fedora hat, flipping it onto his head.


"Ok, now I'm ready. Follow me." Bagman went to the door, grabbing his rifle on the way out, and then laid down and rolled underneath and outside.


Rebecca slowly followed him, careful not to jar the grenade too much, and went under the door as well.


"There's a hole in the fence here. I don't like using the front gate." motioning to the fence around the storage lot. "It's hidden by some old crates, only I know about it."


Bagman moved the crates, revealing the hole, and went thru quickly and out onto the dark street. Bagman waved Rebecca to follow him. She went after him, but much slower for fear of the grenade.


"Five blocks south of here, there is an abandoned school bus in an empty lot. Under the driver's seat is taped a note. They are directions for disarming the grenade. You should be able to do it one-handed, it's not difficult." said Bagman.


"Umm...A note? How did you plan this ahead of time?" said Rebecca.


"I was not a boy scout, but I've read the handbook." answered Bagman.


"And are you going to come with me? It's dangerous out here." asked Rebecca.


"I'll watch you from some ways off, but do not look for me. I'll just make sure no Skulls get you, but I won't hold your hand down the street, if that's what you're asking."


"Now go! And don't turn back!" shouted Bagman.


Rebecca quickly headed south, walking carefully; mindful she did not trip on any cracks or any debris. She did not turn back, and did not hear if Bagman followed.


She got to the fifth block and saw the old school bus. She went inside and with her free hand felt under the driver's seat. She felt something taped to the bottom. She slowly ripped it off and brought it outside to the street to read it.


The note was made with a label maker, with a black background and white text. It said, " The grenade is a fake. Throw it away and NEVER come back."


"Damn it!" said Rebecca. She hefted the grenade inside the school bus, and ran north, hoping she could catch Bagman before he got away.


Behind her, the empty school bus exploded.


Down the street, to the north, a second, larger explosion went off.


She paused in confusion for a second, and then kept on running. She got to the storage facility to see the manager out front of his small office, staring down at Bagman's lot, now wrecked and burning.


"I told you not to tell him I let you in..." said the man. Off in the distance, sirens could be heard.


"I didn't tell him anything...What happened? He blew up his place?"


"Yeah, he left me a wad of cash for it though... and he left you something." answered the storage manager. He handed her a black label with white words punched into it.


It looked to be punched out hastily and it read," Srry wrng grnde"


The next day, the Paragon City Herald contained a dozen bios of new heroes in the city. There was no mention of the Bagman.

[Bagman]

The Secret


“This better be good, it’s damn near 3 am. You know hard it is for an old man like me to be up this late?” groaned Dr. Ziggy Frood, shaking his fist in the air as he stomped into the laboratory. The old psychiatrist was in his pajamas and had a bottle of scotch in one hand and a small tumbler in the other.

“I wouldn’t call you in the middle of the night for anything that wasn’t important, Dr. Frood.” answered Dr. Ketic Croix, with a slight grin on his face as he watched the old man fume. Croix paused, collecting his thoughts. Frood sat down on a high stool opposite the lab table where Croix was standing, reviewing some documents.

“Well, spit it out man…you think just because I’m a shrink I can read your thoughts…”

“My, my… aren’t we grumpy?” answered Croix.

Frood poured himself a drink, motioning to Croix if he wanted any.

“I’m good, I have my coffee.” Waving away the offer of a nightcap, Croix picked up a large earthen mug and sipped hot, black coffee.

“Sorry for the lateness of this meeting, but I hardly sleep, especially when I’m doing some research…and it’s always difficult to tell the time when we don’t have any windows.” answered Croix. The scientist straightened and took out a thick file and began leafing quickly thru it.

“You sponsored Bagman into the Underground. You know him best out of all of us. How long have you known him for?” asked Croix.

“For a good while, don’t remember exactly, but it was some time after the last big Rikti invasion that we met…” answered Frood.

“How long has he been your patient?”

“For about the same time. We like to go shooting together when we have our talks. It’s very soothing, you should try it sometime.” Frood yawned.

“No thanks, I am a scientist, not a soldier” Croix said as he noticed Frood’s bored expression,” Don’t worry, I’m getting to a point here. You haven’t had any problems with your rifle, any of its attachments, any of the devices that Alice gave you?” asked Croix.

“No, they all work perfectly. I’m not sure where Alice got them, but you know there is nothing like them on the market. What is this getting to? I thought I was the one who was long-winded.”

“Have you had a chance to look over any of Bagman’s gear, his weapons, his tools?” asked Croix, finally shifting his focus away from his papers and looking at Frood.

“Not closely…he is extremely paranoid about anyone touching his stuff…you know he handmade that rifle?”

“The rifle is not my main concern, although I would like to get a closer look one day. You know he has both an accelerator and a cloaking device? The accelerator device allows him to act much faster in combat, firing and reloading his rifle at nearly twice the speed of normal. The cloaking device covers him in a high tech layer of stealth material,
rendering him nearly invisible when not moving, and difficult to see even when moving. The-”

“Yes, yes, I know all this…I have similar accelerator device attached to my rifle, among other things…” interrupted Frood.

“Let me continue…the accelerator device is actually made up of two small metal discs, about the size of large coins, silver in color, that he attaches to the inside palm of both of his hands, under his gloves. The cloaking device is of a similar circular design, but of a black metal that he attaches to the back of his hands, again, under the gloves.”

“He told you that? How’d you pry that much info out of him?” asked Frood as he downed a shot of his nightcap.

“Simple, my good doctor. He told me himself. I didn’t even ask him…he came here asking for my help. He was hesitant, but he does not have the education or training to repair such devices.”

“Repair? So they had broken down? Knowing Bagman, he would have tried everything possible to fix them himself before coming to you. He has a very self-sufficient personality.” said Frood knowingly.

“Well, not exactly broken…after our battle last week with the Freaks, both had taken light damage to their casings. They are of very high quality and he would not tell me where he got them. With the devices being so small, Bagman thought I could repair the casing more efficiently with my powers and my lab than any of his tools. I asked him to leave them with me for a few days.” said Croix as he took a sip of his black coffee.

“So what’s the problem? You can’t do it? I’m sure we can take it-“

“No! Of course I can fix the casings…that’s not the problem…the problem is…these devices are junk…they don’t work, and upon inspection, it looks as they have not worked for a long time. I’m not even sure I can repair them.” Croix opened a small machine, the shape and size of a microwave, and took out several small circular objects, placing them on the table. Frood picked up one of the silver discs, inspecting it closely.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you don’t know how to activate them?” asked Frood.

“That was my first assumption. I had not seen anything like these designs before…I thought maybe alien at first, many Rikti devices were captured after the war…but I made some inquiries thru my network of colleagues. It did not take me long to find the answer. It seems these devices were created by a company named Miike Technologies, a Japanese engineering firm. These devices are apparently extremely rare tools used by Japanese spies, modern day ninja who work at corporate espionage. The devices that Bagman has are apparently first generation models of these devices. I was even able to receive an instruction manual and some blueprints on the device. Ingenious really, and elegantly designed.”

“So you know how to work these things?” asked Frood.

“You have a way with the obvious, Dr. Frood. Of course I do. Given the time, I could even create new, working models, but I would need to procure some extremely exacting tools…but that’s besides the point…the point is...I know for a fact that these devices here do not work, and in fact most likely have not worked for quite a long time…the power sources don’t even carry a charge anymore…”

“Could this have happened recently? I saw Bags cloak today, and use the accelerator. Maybe your scanner damaged them?” questioned Frood.

“Absolutely not! You think I am working magic here? I know how to use a scanner.”

Frood eyed Croix carefully.

“You called Phantom here before me didn’t you?” said Frood, now smiling at the scientist.

“Just to do a scan for magic, it’s possible that something magical in nature occurred…I would not be able to discern the origin of it if this was so.”

“And?”

“Phantom said he saw nothing magical in nature here, of these devices or my scanner or even in this room. No, no magic was done here.” answered Croix.

Frood waited expectantly.

Croix adjusted his glasses as he sifted thru some papers, “You’re aware of the origin of the Clockworks?” asked the scientist.

“What? Every hero worth his salt knows…they aren’t real robots, they don’t even work mechanically. They are powered by the Clockwork King’s telekinesis. What does this have to do with…no, you can’t be seriously thinking that…”

“I am nothing if not thorough, my friend. You know I do physical exams and genetic scans of all our new members. Just as a precaution of course.”

“Anything wrong with Bagman?” asked Frood impatiently.

“Actually…no…nothing is wrong with him. He is a healthy, normal human being. He is in good health, not a perfect specimen, but no worse than your average person. Definitely not a mutant or an alien. I also had Phantom give him the once over as well, and he came out clean, a few good luck trinkets on his person, but no major sources of magic on him.”

Frood stood up from the stool. He looked across the table at Croix intently, both men thinking quietly to themselves, reading the other man’s expressions.

“He’s always hated Statesman, at least that’s what he always says…but I’ve always thought…rather I felt…that there was a grudging respect there…” Frood trailed off.

“It’s well documented that Statesman attained his powers thru his sheer willpower. That before his travels, he was just a normal human, with no mutant gene, no special technology, no accident with radiation…just thru the power of his will, he became a hero.” lectured Croix solemnly.

“Well, the next step is to get Bagman in here and run some tests…”

“I already have. I asked him in here, telling him that I had repaired the casing of the devices. He of course tested them, and they worked perfectly, even after I had confirmed they did not work for me. He assumed like you, that I was doing it wrong. I’m glad I inspire so much confidence in my teammates.” smirked Croix.

“I then asked Bagman if he could try without the devices. He looked at me as if I had gone mad. At least that’s what I could tell from his eyes, can’t see much thru his mask…anyway, he laughed at that like I had made a joke…”

Croix continued. “I told him I thought the devices were defective, and had been for a long while. He laughed again, and asked me to explain how he was using them right then. I tried to explain, but when I mentioned Statesman merely as an example, he became very argumentative, saying that this was a mistake asking me for help, that he should know better than to concern other people…he then took the devices and stormed out”

“Well, what are these then?” asked Frood holding up the silver discs.

At that, Croix smiled. “Those are the originals. Bagman left with a set of duplicates I made. Dummy duplicates I created which look almost exactly like the originals, but of course none of the microengineering to make them work. You could only tell the difference under a microscope and only if you knew what to look for. They even have the same scuffs and scratches. But they were not the real thing. And yet they still worked. But for our friend only.”

Frood looked into his empty glass. He poured another shot. Downed it in one gulp.

“He doesn’t know. Somehow his subconscious has reached a higher level of willpower, similar to Statesman, but his conscious self has not. He is under the delusion that the devices work, and his subconscious makes it so. Even as old as I am, as many people I have seen come thru my office, I am still amazed at ways that the human mind can screw with itself. I could write a paper on this that would make me famous…if I was interested in that.” said Frood.

“And that’s why I asked you here, Dr. Frood…as his doctor…should we confront Bagman and tell him the truth, yell it at him, force him to learn the truth?” asked Croix.

“He would think us mad, and would most likely leave the Underground, returning back to his solitary patrols. No, that would be a mistake. You cannot take rash actions when it comes to someone’s mental health. These things must be done slowly, or you are liable to do more damage than good. It may be that he will never accept the truth. And were he to be confronted with it, it is entirely possible that he will lose the powers.”

“I understand. This could not only be bad for Bagman, but for the team as well, if he were to suddenly to lose his powers in the midst of combat…it could be disastrous. We should keep this between ourselves. Even the others should not know.”
answered Croix.

Frood nodded. “It will be our little secret.”

[The Freudian Slip]

Majestically written.