Fireworks (aka: What became of Frank the Tank)

[Blitzen]

Kids come and go all the time at St. Joes. Sometimes they say good-bye, sometimes there's just no time to, and sometimes, you're just so happy that they've left that you don't ask questions. Frank Argillo was one of those kids.

He had a chip on his shoulder, picked fights, made snarky comments over the comm. He saw himself as a tough guy. That's Frank. Here yesterday, gone today and most of the school can breathe a sigh of relief.

So no one really asks "What happened to Frank the Tank?" To be honest, I'm sort of glad no one does. Believe it or not, I can keep a secret.


FIREWORKS - Part one

Frank Argillo rounded the corner of the hallway as he absentmindedly swung locker doors into the unsuspecting students who were trying to grab whatever books they needed before heading home.

"Asshole." One of them called out after being clipped in the ear. Frank stopped short. On one hand, he could have easily pummeled the boy, but on the other- he had business to attend to, and his schedule didn't permit time to blow sitting in front of Dr. Conrad's office pretending to look like he was sorry. Fuck that. The tough-guy-hero would get his later, and he'd never know what hit him.

Shit like that wouldn't happen back home. He reminded himself. A smirk crossed his synthetic face, his eyes glowing an eerie red.

Samantha Douglas gave a last look into her locker before slamming the door shut, eager to get out of her school togs and into a pair of jeans, knock around Paragon some before having to sit back down at a desk and study for an English exam Mr. Carson was giving. Like diagramming a sentence will ever come in useful in life. She groused. She stopped short as she near careened into another student rounding the corner. As she saw the familiar face, she pasted on a smile.

"Hey Frank." She said while slinging her backpack over one shoulder, trying to maintain her bearings. "Near didn't see you." I'd have likely gone the other way if I did. "So...Football season in a few months, you're... you're still trying out, right?" The boy smiled some in response, twisting his lips to show his amusement.

"I'll be there, Legs." He sneered. "You can cream over me then, but for now? Shove the sunshine act. I got somewhere to be." Sam scowled as he shoved her aside rather than taking a step to walk around.

"Jerk." She muttered under her breath. Frank stopped again, flexing his knuckles. He turned on his heel, a finger raised, but the thought of the task ahead of him soothed him, and he instead picked up his gait walking down the hall. They'll come a day when people will have no choice but to respect me. He'd decided early on that he wasn't going to be a nobody. There's no way I'm going to throw away my whole life being some office bitch, slaving away for a few bucks. There's money to be made here- real money, if you know the right people. You don't grow up in Atlantic City knowing nothing about connections. That's what he needed. What he was working towards, what he'd achieve. They'll see. All of them.

He went back to his dorm room and flipped on the television, pressing play for the DVD.

"Now what you have to understand, Sonny, is that while Sollozzo's being guarded like this he is invulnerable. Nobody has ever gunned down a New York police captain before. It would be disastrous. All the other five families would turn against you. The Corleone Family would be outcast. Even the old man's political protection would run for cover. So, do me a favor, take this into consideration." Frank smiled as he placed his school jacket on its hanger, and grabbed his black pinstriped two button suit. He'd been watching the movie that morning, pausing the scene before he needed to leave for school.

"Alright, we wait." He said alongside James Caan as he buttoned up his dress shirt. He took a small pouch from the bottom of his closet, hidden purposely beneath a mound of laundry.

"You can't wait. I don't care what Sollozzo says about a deal he's gonna kill Pop. He has to. It's a key for him. You gotta get Sollozzo." Frank tugged at the sleeves of his jacket's cuffs, making sure they sat just so on his wrists.

"Mikey's right."

"Alright, Professor, what about McClusky. What do we do with this cop here?" Frank mimicked again while taking a look in the mirror. An Italian cut suit could make anyone look impressive, even a boy with no true body of his own. He rolled his shoulders in approval.

"They want to have a meeting with me, right? It will be me, McClusky and Sollozzo. Let's set the meeting. We get our informants to find out where it's going to be held. Now we insist that it be held in a public place, a bar or a restaurant where there'll be other people there so I'll feel safe. They're going to search me when I first meet them, right? So I can't have a weapon on me. But if Clemenza can figure a way to have a weapon planted for me, then I'll kill them both." Frank smirked, pressing pause before flipping the TV off and tossing the remote on his bed.

"You're taking this very personal." He said to no one, looking in the mirror one last time while placing a hand over his abdomen to rest on the jacket's top button. "Tom, this is business and this man is taking it very, very personal."

[Blitzen]

Sure, Independence Port wasn't the prettiest area of Paragon, but it did sport a great view of the Valor Bridge. It was one of Sam's favorite spots, especially around dusk. There was something almost mesmerizing about watching the bridge light up. It was like a really big marquee. The first bulb would spring to life, setting off a chain reaction down one side, up the main cable, over the tower, back down to the deck, and back up again. Maybe more of a roller coaster than marquee. Shortly after the bridge would light up, so would the docks. Big flood lights and small street lights, the show that gave Christmas a run for it's money.

She never hung around much past that part- the warf would get gloomy and almost spooky with the fog and the horns from the boats, but she figured she'd check first to see if Lusca was out. Nothing was better for procrastinating homework than chasing off the giant octopus with a few school friends, but no dice tonight. Sighing heavily, she resigned herself to heading in, dreading the hours of studying ahead.

I am going home. She mused to herself. Home would be the subject, because that's where the action is going, or, wait... would I be the subject? Then that would make home... the predicate? I mean, I am the one going. Going, that sounds like a verb, and I am the one going. She rolled her eyes at herself. I am the one going to fail.

Frank was proud of himself. Up until now, he'd worked hard to get where he was, making connections, real connections, being asked favors instead of scrounging for work to prove himself. While the rest of the mooks at St. Joes were out saving kittens, planting trees or dry humping each other he was building his future, cementing his place in the family.

"Frankie!" Gianni Danilo said, holding his arms open as the steely teen approached. Frank smiled and held his arms out in compliance as Goffredo stepped in-between the two, patting Frank down to check for weapons. He'd been through the drill before, and he went along with it as a sign of respect for the family. Satisfied, the large guard nodded, and the two men briefly hugged. "Frankie, Frankie! You're lookin' fine, kiddo. You eating good?" Frank nodded in response. Gianni didn't need details, such as the fact that the boy didn't eat at all. "Billie Heck says you have some good news for me?"

"Would I let you down, Geo?" The tank replied with a wry grin, pulling a stack of bills out from his inside pocket. "Monty sends his regards, and apologizes for the delay in repayment." He handed over a stack of bills to the taller man. Gianni cupped a hand around Franks, neck, smiling.

"Moving into Port Oaks territory? You're a good kid. You got a real future."

"I know." Frank agreed. He removed a pouch from an outside pocket. "I also happened across these little goodies. Consignment, of course." Most homes were unoccupied between 3 and 5, making it the perfect time for Frank to pay an unannounced visit. My service to the community. He smirked. Unpleasant little reminders that valuables are much safer locked up in a deposit box at the bank. He knew Gianni had a personal involvement moving jewelry through the black market, and the trinkets he came back with would endear him further. The mobster would keep a bigger cut for himself than if Frank went elsewhere, but this was good business, an investment. He could hock the other stuff himself, but gold, diamonds, rings, watches always moved through Gianni.

Sam could've flown. It would have been shorter... but the sooner she got to her room, the quicker she'd have to start studying. Instead, she made a game out of leaping from cargo freight cars to crates as she made her way back. She cheated, it was more flying than jumping, but she always wished she could move like Artie or Diego who could take giant strides from rooftop to rooftop. She'd just touched down one-footed on a lamp post when she caught sight of some guys in suits surrounding someone who was undeniably Frank. Even with his sunglasses, he had an eerie red glow for eyes, and the harsh glare from the streetlamps gleamed off his metalic looking skin. The guy in the white suit had his hand around Frank, and was grabbing something from his hand!

"Hey!" One of the suits called out, pointing in her direction.

"Crud." She said back, instantly deciding her best course of action - fight or flight.

Frank may be a jerk, but no way am I gonna let him be ganked by a bunch of goons.

"Three!" She tanked up and jumped into the fray.

[Blitzen]

Part Three


"What the fuck?" Frank called out, a rage building inside him as he tore off the sunglasses, searching for the the interloper.

Sam's feet hit the ground squarely, her fists raised. The guy in the white suit dropped whatever he was grabbing from Frank. She could see two of the bigger goons quickly ushering him away and into a waiting car, before both turning around with guns drawn. Her heart raced. She was pretty sure she'd be fine through it, but that moment of doubt always crossed her mind. The "what-ifs". What if the tank gene failed? What if they came up with some special new kind of bullet? What if one of them was like coach? But they had to be pushed aside. Frank was in trouble, he needed her help.

"Frank, tank up!" She called. Honestly, she wasn't sure how his "thing" worked. She wasn't really sure how her own thing worked, but she did know she wasn't going to let him face these guys alone. The suit closest to her went to draw his gun, but a short jab made him change his mind as the man flew backwards before scrambling to his feet. She could feel the bullet from another bounce off the center of her spine. It reminded her of playing paint ball when she was a kid, the dull thud that let you know something was hitting you. Sometimes, it'd leave a small mark. In the back? She thought, spinning around. The goon fired again and was met by an uppercut, followed by the stamping of her foot which knocked one off the pier, and two off their feet.

"Scram!" one said to the other, while a third pulled out a larger weapon. She grimaced as he fired, and made her way over to hit him with a jab-cross-jab combination that landed a little harder than she'd have liked as the big man fell backwards over a small crate and lay on the ground unconscious. She could hear the squealing of tires and saw Frank by the car, trying to open the back door.

"It's fine! It's fine!" She called to him. "The cops will pick him up. I got a good look, and you can I.D. him. Are you okay? What happened?" He turned on his heels and pointed a finger in her direction, his fire-filled eyes smoldering. "Frank?" She repeated. "You all right?"

"You!" He sputtered. Sam turned to look behind her, did I miss one? but saw nothing except the metal of a container waiting to be loaded onto a ship.

Rage filled the boy, a fire that burned at the Tungsten of his current body. All that work. Months of putting in the time and pulling off petty crimes, building up a relationship...

Sam fumbled with her backpack, and finally found what she needed in the front pocket. "Zig Zapper" as they were affectionately known by the kids at SJS. The goon wouldn't stay unconscious forever, and Frank was acting weird.

"They hurt you?" She asked again. It was hard to tell. It's not like he can bleed, can he? Frank calmly removed his suit jacket, folding it in half lengthwise, and smoothing it down before placing it on top of a crate. He loosened his black tie, removed his cuff links,and rolled up the sleeves of his charcoal gray button down shirt. "Frank?" Sam asked warily as she tagged the mobster. Her eyes glinted with curiosity as she picked up the small velvet bag Frank had been holding, several shimmering pieces of jewelery in clear sight. She stood, then turned to face Frank. "Are you..." His fist connected with the crate behind her, denting deep into the metal. Sam's eyebrows raised, and she shot him a puzzled glance.

In return, his eyes blazed over with a blinding light that made the smaller tank shield her own with a hand as she turned her head to avoid the glare.

"Oh, I'm fine, Legs. Ginger peachy fucking keen." He sneered, grabbing the spoils of his work back from her hand.

"They didn't mess you up or nothing?"

"Oh, no. No they didn't. In fact, the only one who messed anything up," his other fist connected with the crate behind her, boxing her in between his arms. "Was you." Sam squinted as his gaze grew more intense, as the realization hit her like a bucket of ice water.

"You didn't need help, did you?" She asked with uncertainty. Frank threw his head back and laughed.

"From you?" He shot back with disbelief, as he raised his voice an octave. "Oh, boo-hoo! I'm in over my head! Help me, Sam, help me!" The fiery teen laughed again, and Sam's blood pressure started to creep up. "Shit, you really thought that, didn't you?" Sam shrugged, trying to find the words to say, but Frank continued. "You never were all that bright."

"What are you doing, Frank?" She asked, wishing she could read what he was thinking. "C'mon, you know better... I mean, the Family? You? Why?"

"Why? Because in ten years when you're slapping special sauce on a fried cow patty I'll be driving by in my Mercedes Benz!"

"Can't drive nothing if you're in the Zig." She muttered under her breath.

"Are you...." He stammered, outraged at the threat. "Do you know who that was? Gianni Danilo. Gianni Danilo!" He laughed, a sort of mix of frustration, anger and down right insanity as he stepped back and disheveled his own hair. "You know how many chances you get with him? ONE. And you..." He jammed a finger into her collarbone. "No shit-for-brains goody goody is going to come along and fuck up my contacts! My future!" His nostrils flared as he flung the bag of jewelry against the crate, expensive looking tennis bracelets, necklaces, watches and rings flying every which way. With her attention diverted, Frank's right hand grabbed her throat, his thumb set to crush her thorax as his fingers dug into the back of her neck. "You know what they say." He hissed, gritting his teeth as he squeezed tighter. "Payback is a bitch."

[Blitzen]

PART FOUR

The tips of Sam's sneakers barely scraped the ground as Frank pushed her against the metal crate, but for the most part, she didn't react, not right away. Her mind was still reeling. Sure Frank had a decent sized chip on his shoulder, and yeah, he could be a bit of a bully, but this? The Family? How could he... he was working for them? For how long? When? How?

Instinct brought her hands to his, but truth be told she could breathe just fine. He tightened his grip, but her throat didn't give, and she found herself getting angry. She'd stuck up for him. When people called him names, she always tried to find something, anything that was positive to say. He was a good running back. And there was the time when they near took State when he celebrated with the team. He's one of us.

"Payback? For stopping you from making a really big mistake?" She fired back, squeezing his arm hard enough to leave an indent. "There's still time. Maybe you can... maybe you'll get community service, or probation."

"Shut up!" He snarled, holding fast as he once again shoved her into the metal crate with enough force to crumple the steel. Sam tore his fingers from around her neck, shoving the boy back.

"Look! I don't want to fight you!" She warned, but Frank swung blindly, connecting with the side of her face with a wild, sloppy right hook. Sam absorbed the blow, staggering back a step more out of disbelief than anything.

"You know I'm a tank, right?" She asked, side stepping away from the crate and taking his next blow without budging. "You can't hurt me." She tried to convince herself as well as him that he couldn't, the Frank she thought she knew long gone. Her words fell on deaf ears. He landed a jab to the gut and she returned fire with an uppercut to his ribcage, each strike more powerful than the last and neither making any headway. Finally, pure frustration filled Frank and he unleashed an arsenal of punches. He swarmed like bees, an onslaught of non-stop energy and aggression, pure rage wearing at her defenses. Sam covered up like a boxer in the ring, letting the boy wear himself out. She fought more like a brawler. No finesse, no footwork, taking hits on the chin in exchange for landing slow, powerful punches when she could.

The slug-fest dragged on, until the two fighters wore down to the point that they were trading half-exhausted cuffs, still neither being willing to give in. "Frank," she tried one last time to reason, as both gasped for breath. "Come on. It doesn't have to be like this. We can still try to sort things out." He laughed, in between taking deep breaths.

"Sort things out? Wake up, Douglas!" He panted. "This is my future."

"Being a two-bit lackey for a bunch of goons?" She asked with an edge of sympathy in her voice. "That's no future."

"Two bit?" He growled, and Sam instantly regretted her choice of words. Frank pounced, pinning her arms to her side at the elbow. His mind raced. She was meta, not like the mooks he'd shake down for Gianni. "You're in for a world of hurt." He threatened, clamping his metallic fingers harder on her arms.

"I'm a tank." She repeated, narrowing her eyes. "You can't..." Frank laughed again and focused his energy, his eyes starting to ooze an amber colored substance that seemed to crawl down to his cheek, causing a flash of uncertainty to cross the girl's face.

"Yeah? You wanna bet?" He hissed and held fast. The amber colored goop shifted into long snake-like tendrils, slowly creeping out of his eyes and making their way down to Sam's arms. There it is. Fear! Respect! He twisted his lips into a smirk, savoring the moment.

"What's wrong?" He mocked in a sing-song voice as she tried unsuccessfully to get out of his hold. "You're a tank. I can't hurt you." The tendrils slid onto Sam's arms. "I always wondered if this absorbing stuff worked on skin. Let's find out. What do ya say, Legs?" She watched wide-eyed, unable to make a sound as the skin on her arms began to bubble, almost resembling thick pudding right before it boils. Again the boy laughed, and Sam gritted her teeth.

"You're sick!" She cried, mustering all the strength she could. His fingertips adhered to her skin like rubber glue as she tried to pry his hands away. It as the same feeling if she were trying to pull gum off the bottom of a sneaker on a hot day. She closed her eyes and whipped her head forward, driving her forehead forcefully into the bridge of his nose. The tendrils immediately recoiled, and Frank dropped his hold, staggering backwards.

"Shit!" He yelped, bringing a hand to check the dented area by his eyes. The distraction was what Sam needed. She ducked down and grabbed for her backpack, but Frank brought a well-polished wingtip down on her hand. Seeing him wind up for a kick, she rolled towards him and grabbed his foot mid-air. Caught off balance, the fiery teen fell and Sam scrambled to her feet with the backpack, accidentally dumping it's contents to the ground. She quickly sifted through the rubble as Frank slowly got up and methodically dusted himself off, walking back to her with determined steps. Sam slowly stood back up, digging an imaginary line in the concrete in front of her with her toe. Frank closed in fast.

"You're dead!" He screamed, throwing all of his energy into his next punch.

She ducked and sidestepped to avoid it, lunging forward with a jab that landed square on the boy's chest. The punch collided with its mark, leaving behind a concave imprint of her fist.

""I never liked you, Frank." She shot back, tagging him a zig-zap. His smouldering eyes looked almost panicked for a second when he saw the device, but they quickly blazed once again with anger as he started to phase from sight.

"I'll get you, bitch! You're de..." Frank warned, as he phased out of sight.

Sam stood on the deserted dock, wide eyed and breathing heavily, trying to process what had happened. He was Frank, one of them, and one of their own, they don't go and betray everyone's trust just to make a few bucks. She stood for a long time with a chill that came from the inside before picking up the evidence Frank left behind. Bringing it to the police, turning in evidence, that was the right thing to do. If he was sentenced for anything, it was his own doing, not hers. She had no reason to feel responsible, but as she stood there alone, guilt crept in, gnawing at her and reminding her of the court room scene a few years ago.

"I chose my fate, not you, Sam." Her dad had said with an apologetic smile as he stood there wearing his best suit, a court officer on either side of him. "You have nothing to feel bad about, you hear? You go on and you be good, you keep making me proud of you."

Maybe she could return it, track down the owners herself. Or she could dump it, ditch it into the harbor. Frank made some bad choices, that was all. It sounded too familiar.



According to Biff, Frank watched stuff like the Godfather Trilogy, Goodfellas, Casino near every single day. He knew 'em line for line. Turns out his dad was connected, arrested when he tried to buy some guns off an undercover cop, and doing time in a jail down in Jersey. Seeing as I live in that glass house, I'm not going to throw stones.

Frank made some bad choices. Mine just felt that way. That's why I'm glad no one really asks "What became of Frank the Tank?"


((OOC: Major thanks to Frank's player for all of his help, his creative input, and for taking the time to go tank-to-tank in the arena. It's appreciated!))