There was a very specific, calculated reason why Max had chosen to visit a town like Blitsber and this prison in particular. In Notting Hill City, the influence of the Gilt Rats had been absolute; as the top syndicate, their roots were buried deep in the local infrastructure, the police force, and the judiciary. Even though Max and his team had systematically stripped away every asset they thought they had taken from Ramon, Max was a realist. He knew it was quite possible, even probable, that a man as meticulous as Ramon still held onto a few hidden favors or secret contacts, just in case of an emergency.
Mancuar City was firmly under the iron grip of the White Tiger group, and the other larger metropolitan hubs all had their respective, entrenched gangs controlling the flow of power. To keep Ramon secure, Max needed a "neutral" ground, a place where the Billion Bloodline’s own rising influence could carry them a long way without interference from the established kings of the Underworld. Blitsber was that place. It was the kind of town that the bigger groups simply didn’t care about, a forgotten dot on the map where a massive influx of money could go a very long way toward buying absolute cooperation.
By speaking directly to the local council and promising to fund several high-profile projects for the mayor, Max had managed to secure all the contacts he needed. He had effectively bought the town’s silence, reaching a point where his group could get away with almost anything they wanted, even within the walls of the local correctional facilities.
Out on the desolate corner of the town, situated on what had once been a thriving retail park during more prosperous years, stood the imposing structure of the prison. A massive concrete wall surrounded the perimeter, patrolled by armed guards and anchored by several looming tower stations. It certainly wasn’t the most luxurious of locations. Max knew that if another rival syndicate truly wanted to storm the place, they probably could eventually, but he also knew the cold logic of the Underworld: why would they bother? There was no profit in attacking a backwater prison, and as far as the world was concerned, the Gilt Rats were already a dead memory.
Entering the prison was a seamless experience. The head warden himself had come out to the front gates to personally greet Max and his security detail. It was almost as if they were receiving a private escort through the belly of the beast. They were led through a series of heavy, locked steel cages and buzzing electronic gates, eventually arriving at a high-security, private wing of the prison. This area was devoid of other prisoners; it had been cleared out specifically to house the Billion Bloodline’s "guests."
"We had everything prepared exactly as you specified, and he seems to be quite pleased with the arrangements as well," the warden said, stopping before a large, reinforced blue door.
"It’s guarded at all times, right?" Max asked, his eyes scanning the hallway. "And you’ve set up the remote monitoring so that if there’s any attempt at a breach or if anything unusual happens, my team will get a message straight to our encrypted line immediately."
"Of course, Mr. Stern," the warden answered, bowing slightly before stepping away. "I’ll leave you now so you can have your private conversation."
Max opened the door and stepped inside. It certainly wasn’t a typical prison cell. The room was extremely large and spacious, more akin to a high-end industrial workshop than a place of incarceration. There were no windows, ensuring that Ramon couldn’t track his location by the stars or the landscape, but the area was brilliantly lit with high-intensity overhead lights. The floor space was filled with an array of sophisticated diagnostic machinery and mechanical tools.
"I see they successfully moved the equipment here from your primary lab," Max said, his voice echoing in the sterile room as he looked at Ramon.
Ramon was hunched over a workbench, his fingers moving with practiced ease. "Yes. Me and my workers have everything we need to be productive, so I suppose I should thank you for that. We’re currently working on maintenance for the destroyed exoskeleton units just as you requested, but as you’re well aware, we are significantly low on the necessary funds to purchase high-grade replacement parts."
"That’s alright," Max claimed, a small, knowing smile on his face. "I mean, if we bought you enough parts all at once, you could probably find a way to cobble together your own exoskeleton and walk right out of this place whenever you wanted to."
"Right. And I’m sure you have plenty of hidden precautions in place for if we ever tried to pull something like that," Ramon countered, his gaze shifting upward to the several high-definition security cameras mounted in the corners of the ceiling.
Ramon was fully aware that he was receiving privileged treatment, along with the rest of his hand-picked researchers. He wasn’t completely dissatisfied with his current position, he had a roof over his head and his life’s work in front of him, but it had only been a short amount of time since his defeat. Although the sour, metallic taste of loss was still fresh in his mouth, Max knew that it would eventually fade away. That was what Max feared most: the return of Ramon’s ambition once the sting of the battle was gone.
Because of that fear, Max was making sure every possible fail-safe was in place. He wanted to reach a point where they never had to worry about a betrayal from Ramon again, but could instead use his genius to extract the maximum benefit from their alliance.
"I have something specific I would like you to do," Max said, reaching into his suit jacket and handing over a small, folded piece of paper.
Ramon took the note and started to read. As he processed the information, his eyes started to move drastically across the page, his brow furrowing in genuine shock.
" This is what you want me to research?" Ramon asked, looking up at Max with a skeptical expression. "We live in a world of harsh reality, Max, not a children’s fantasy novel."
"You know firsthand of the existence of Superhumans," Max challenged. "You’ve felt their strength and you’ve seen what they can do. So why is the request on that paper so crazy to you?"
Ramon opened his mouth to reply with a sharp, scientific retort, but he found he didn’t actually have a logical answer. The line between science and the impossible had been blurred long ago.
"Believe me, there is a very good reason I want you to look into this specific avenue," Max claimed.
"Alright," Ramon finally answered, tucking the paper into his pocket. "If you can capture me a live Superhuman to study, then I can probably fulfill this request. Or, if you’re feeling bold, you can always volunteer one of your own inner circle for the experiments."
There was a hidden, dark smile on Ramon’s face, almost as if he were being serious. Perhaps he was; Ramon’s deep-seated hatred for Superhumans was palpable. He viewed them as biological anomalies that mocked his mechanical masterpieces.
"But enough about that for now," Ramon said, his tone turning grave. "Did you do what I asked of you? Did you look into Randy Stern?"