<hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/8b/Maxbaine_2.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Max Baine<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Sweetrock (Vice President)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 11th, 1876.<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Early evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Private offices<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Closed, Walter<br/><hr/>Max Baine gave another ghastly smile at the surfeit of bravado in Walter’s words.  Or perhaps it was the simplicity of his confidence.  He gave a small nod, more to acknowledge that he’d heard it than any particular agreement.  He knew he was loosing the leash on a man capable of bringing a new whirlwind of violence upon Gomorra, if not carefully handled.  But then, Walter’s ability to survive and steer that whirlwind was going to be the test of his abilities and his usefulness.  Findley had achieved enough wealth and security to become complacent; he’d achieved tyranny with enough success, along with a well defended fortification to rule his kingdom from.  Perhaps he believed himself immortal, or perhaps he imply lacked the steel to rule any longer.  Whatever the case - they might have an advantage, but they weren’t winning the war.<br/><br/>He watched the savage smile on Walter’s face.  If he was honest with himself, it might have unnerved him once.  But the constancy of his agony meant that pain and death didn’t frighten him.  Even the prospect of Walter turning upon him and unleashing his full wrath was only met with a strange combination of resignation and relief.  Death could be a release, an end to agony, after a catharsis of agony he doubted his heart would hold up to.  So the savage smile was met with his own.<br/><br/>“Good.”<br/><br/>He handed off the money, and then considered Walter for a moment.  He gave a small nod, dismissing him, and watching as the Tattered Man made his way for the door.  He’d expected him to leave, and when Walter turned, he drew his gaze up and away from the board, away from the alluring draw of pins and strategy.<br/><br/>His eyes didn’t narrow at the mention of people feeling sorry for him.  He’d long resolved himself to be beyond what people thought of him.  The history of the world was not forged by those who were slaves to opinion.  Men who forged the world left a wake of opinion, and on occasion they were drowned by it, but their mark stood for itself.  Even the matter of Trick was more a matter of … honor than it was an undue concern.  Part of him wanted to look the man who’d burned him in the eyes, to thank him for the brutal clarity the fire had given him when it burned away flesh.  His fingers tightened on the whiskey glass in his hand, and he drew a draught of it as Walter promised him revenge.  Revenge was a petty matter, a distraction.   He intended to have his - but he didn’t intend to allow it to cloud his vision.<br/><br/>“Thank you, Walter.”  He gave a small nod, watched him leave, and turned back to his game of pins and affluence.<br/><br/>A shadow cast itself across the board, and he looked up to the bearded mountain of a man who looked down at him.  He met the dark eyes in the cloak of hair and beard, and then turned his attention back to the board.<br/><br/>“Playin’ with dynamite, with that one.”  The voice was a grate of stone on steel, and Max acknowledged it with a nod.<br/><br/>“Yes.”  Max Baine was well aware of the potential conflicts such a man could create, the chain reaction one explosion could cause to bring an entire mine down in a flurry of fire and falling rock.<br/><br/>“Want him followed?”<br/><br/>Max shook his head.  “No.  I don’t want you seen around Gomorra.  I have other uses for you.”  He reached and touched the southern edge of the map.  “Lost Angels.”  He tapped it with a single burned finger.  “I think it’s time Kang’s forces were distracted by growing problems with religion.”<br/><br/>The bearded man scowled.  “I hate that place.”<br/><br/>Baine glanced up briefly.  The half-mask of burned flesh made it more difficult to read his expressions, but his eyes made it perfectly clear.<br/><br/><em>Ask me if I care.</em><br/><br/><hr/><br/>Outside, an eagle regarded Walter as he made his way out into the Gomorran night.  It shifted its gaze back to the room where Max Baine still spoke to the bearded man, and then back to Walter, drawing his duster around him and heading for the bridge.  With a flap of wings, it made itself airborne, soaring up and circling once overhead before sliding off into the night.<br/><br/><div align="center"><em>End Scene</em></div>