The Nine were growing complacent. They were far too used to inspiring fear.
This one would not live long enough to learn her lesson.
---
Author Notes:
It was touched on in Jack's interlude, but Hatchet Face was not killed by Cherish. Enough butterflies were kicked up that she missed her rendezvous with the Nine by a day or two, and hadn't managed to catch them by the time Leviathan hit the Bay.
I almost added Shatterbird's fight to this chapter but this thing is getting a bit long and the next chapter needs to be from a different perspective anyway.
As always, comments and criticisms are welcome.
Hope you enjoyed it.Last edited: Mar 24, 2018984McSwazeyMar 24, 2018View discussionThreadmarks Chapter 47 View contentMcSwazeyMar 29, 2018#2,443Jack had always enjoyed surprises. They were a unique flavor to what might have been an otherwise bland lifestyle. There were only so many ways to carve up a random civillian, after all, before things became stale. His Nine usually helped alleviate the tedium; the careful balancing act he engaged in every day kept him sharp. Their unique recruiting methods only added to the challenge, as admission through trauma held risks unique to every individual. It was hard, rewarding work, to balance every factor, to find the perfect game. Jack was very good at it, but every now and then his candidate surprised him.
Those days were usually counted among Jack's best. Looking back upon a life of conflict, his fondest memories, his greatest successes, were when circumstances fell just slightly out of his control. It forced him to adapt, to improve, to be better than ever. He savored those moments like fine wine.
Alas, time made fools of every man. Jack was getting old. There was little he could do about it. Bonesaw's modifications, as good as they were, could not bolster him forever. His hair was going grey, his body ached in the mornings, his reactions were just a fraction slower; slowly but surely, Jack was feeling the effects of his lifestyle. He was reaching the end, soon, yet he was unsatisfied. He had accomplished so much, twisted and shattered and destroyed so many lives, but there was still more yet to do. He hadn't yet peaked, he hadn't yet created his magnum opus.
Like any self-respecting monster, he just wanted to make the world a worse place before he died.
"Mannequin's vitals just went poof, Uncle Jack." Bonesaw's confused voice snapped Jack free of his introspection. The youngest member of his Nine stood beside an operating table, perched on top of a milk crate, elbow deep inside one of the local heroes. Siberian hovered protectively beside her, as Bonesaw frowned downwards. A small monitor balanced precariously on her patient's rib cage, monitoring the life signs of Jack's Nine. Beyond her lay four more tables, each with a body on them, strapped down, sedated, and ready for their operation. The next in line was just a corpse, another hero, but past that were the very much alive Omaha Wards. As per the rules, Bonesaw would start working on them after she finished her current project.
"Truly? Well, Alan was always a bit overconfident," Jack mused. His mind quickly reviewed what he had expected to happen, puzzling out what went wrong. Ideally, Armsmaster's return to a destroyed Protectorate base would have brought up feelings of guilt and inadequacy in the man, pushing him towards a willingness to sacrifice himself for the sake of those he failed to protect. Mannequin's test, which tended towards some form of self-mutilation, should've been seen as almost a relief for Armsmaster. Sacrificing an eye or some fingers for the first clue was a natural extension of the hero's desire to atone for his mistakes. Why else would the man allow himself to be exiled to this boring city without a fight?
So, what had gone wrong? Mannequin had overextended, obviously. Alan's loss was unfortunate, though not entirely unexpected. Jack would miss the fearsome reputation the man had brought to the Nine, but tinkers were easy to replace. Especially since he expected to have one by the end of this little adventure.
Had Armsmaster claimed Alan's prize? If he had, then Alan's purpose was served, and Armsmaster had dipped his feet in the waters of madness. If he had not, then why? Had Mannequin perhaps attacked Armsmaster in a fit of pique, foolishly deciding he would rather see the man dead than recruited? Unlikely. Alan had enjoyed breaking his prey every bit as much as Jack did.
Perhaps it had been Armsmaster, then, who had initiated the fight. Jack could see it. Armsmaster, guilt-ridden and enraged, instantly attacking an unprepared Mannequin. Alan, expecting fear or restraint, taken by surprise and falling.
Yes. That was better, really. Armsmaster, failing to obtain the slightest hint of where his precious Wards were hidden, would fall deeper into the pit of guilt. Jack could work with that. He turned his attention to the remaining occupant in the warehouse.
"Murder Rat," Jack ordered, "go tell Hatchet Face he gets his turn early." The walking corpse nodded stiffly, and vanished with a flash of blue. A strange quirk of Mouse Protector's power allowed her to teleport into Hatchet Face's field, but not out of it. Though the shambling work of 'art' had no voice, Jack was confident she could relay the message.
Hatchet Face was the perfect opponent for a shaken Armsmaster. His test was both brutal and straightforward. With any luck, Armsmaster would be just desperate enough to allow it. Normally, Jack would hold the brute back. When a candidate lost their limbs, it generally spoiled the fun, but in this case, Hatchet Face served as an excellent probe of Armsmaster's state of mind.
Omaha was a big city, and without even the slightest of hints, Armsmaster would not find his missing Wards anytime soon. Once he encountered Hatchet Face, Armsmaster would have to face the fact that playing Jack's game was the only path available. Would he break, and allow himself to be maimed? Would he fight back, and try to capture his opponent? Torturing the information out of Hatchet Face was something Jack would consider a reasonable plan. Should Armsmaster go with that option, Jack would be inordinately pleased. It was a win-win, really. Hatchet Face was a thoroughly replaceable member of the Nine, so no matter the outcome, Jack would come out with more information than he started with.
Murder Rat reappeared with a flash, staggering slightly. Her coordination had grown worse over the past few weeks, despite Bonesaw's maintenance. There was only so much you could do to delay the inevitable, and her time was nearly up. Today, though, she was due for an upgrade.
"Come here, Ratty!" Bonesaw demanded, shoving the corpse in front of her off the table. It plopped to the ground with a splash of blood, minus several limbs and most of its chest cavity.
Jack relaxed in his seat, watching idly as Murder Rat reclined on the bloody table and the bio-tinker began her work. Bonesaw's attempts at fusing more than two powers rarely went well, but this was as good a time as any to try. They had cape bodies to spare, after all.
"Hatchet Face just flat-lined," Bonesaw mentioned indifferently, as she hefted her namesake tool. Siberian, looming behind her, barely twitched at the news, simply taking a bite out of an arm she had scrounged up from somewhere.
Jack stood with a frown, and peered towards the vital monitor. Mannequin's vitals had vanished earlier, rather than flat-lining. It was a small distinction—one that Bonesaw wouldn't care to notice in her tinker fugue—but important nonetheless. Armsmaster had either shorted out the implant somehow, or had managed to completely destroy the chest piece where the tech was embedded. Any weapon capable of doing that should have been able to break through Hatchet Face's brute rating with ease.
"Bonesaw, did Hatchet Face's vitals show any signs of pain before he dropped?" Jack enquired curiously. Dragon's interference had prevented Jack from gaining a thorough understanding of Armsmaster's capabilities and character, and that was starting to become irritating. Jack wished, not for the first time today, that he'd imposed a harsher penalty. Plague bombs were great as a threat, but Dragon should have suffered for her actions. He would've killed that upstart Ward the tinker was protecting, but Armsmaster's protege was too much of a prize to waste on simple revenge.
"Not really. Some pain, but then he died," Bonesaw replied with distraction, attaching what appeared to be a spare brain stem to Murder Rat's spinal cord.
A relatively fast death, in a fight where Armsmaster almost certainly held an absolute advantage. Why then, wouldn't he attempt to capture Hatchet Face instead? Jack understood that his own moral compass was well off center, but had the hero truly not even considered interrogation?
Was Jack missing something?
He glanced out of the warehouse window, towards the park where Shatterbird was playing. The shaker was building some sort of monument to her own vanity, and spending an absurd amount of time carefully filling it with blood. Jack considered sending her to scout but... no. She wouldn't want to abandon her current project until it was done, and Jack would rather keep her within sight for now. Losing two members of the Nine, this quickly, was an interesting twist, but Jack would rather keep the casualties to a minimum from here on out. Dragon would have spread the word by now, that he was in town, and heroes would come in droves. Crawler and Burnscar would keep them busy for a good long while, but he needed to wrap up this business with Armsmaster fairly quickly. Worst case scenario, he'd just kill the Wards in front of the man, and use Siberian to walk away. Maybe spout some lines about helplessness, or point out the PRT's failure to assist him.
Jack enjoyed surprises, but he enjoyed winning more, and his goal was only to break the hero; recruitment could wait till the man snapped completely. One way or another, that would happen. Parahumans were fragile like that, especially when one poked them in just the right way. Jack would figure out what to say. He always did.
Yet that niggling feeling remained, that odd tugging at the back of his mind saying something was going wrong.
What was Armsmaster's next move? Assuming Jack's read of the man wasn't completely off (driven, determined, but haunted by his failures and desperately seeking redemption), then he should have made at least a half-hearted attempt at extracting information from the two members of the Nine he had killed. Maybe he had succeeded, but the act had been so brutally efficient that Jack was having trouble reconciling the speed?
No, that didn't feel right.
What were the other options? Jack might have simply been wrong about the hero's personality. Maybe Armsmaster was callous, heartless, ruled by logic and reason. Maybe he had decided Jack's game was unwinnable, and chose to simply bow out. It didn't seem likely, and Jack refused to entertain the idea that his suppositions were so far off base. It simply wasn't possible.
Did Armsmaster have a way of tracking the Wards? But, no, they had ruled that out immediately. There were no records of tracking devices being installed that Mannequin could find in the local PRT database. Jack had even questioned the heroes himself, before Siberian had shredded them, and Jack knew when someone was lying to him. If there was anything that he had complete confidence in, it was that he could catch a lie.
Had Armsmaster lied to his team? His Wards? Had he hidden some sort of tracker on them, in them, without their consent? That certainly didn't sound very heroic.
And then, with a sort of instant clarity, Jack realized of course he had. That was exactly how the man would have dealt with loss. No bureaucracy, no regulations, he had simply identified the problem, and fixed it with all the single-minded focus of the late Alan Gramme. It was fantastic. He would fit in with the Nine perfectly.
Someday.
Not today, though. Armsmaster wasn't yet broken. He was on his way; Jack felt it in his bones. There was no time for anything elaborate (a shame, truly), but perhaps Jack could puncture a bit of the man's confidence. Or, alternatively, bolster it? Either would be effective. Would he arrive wounded and bloody, feeling the full weight of his task, and fall just feet shy of his goal? Would he arrive victorious, unbent and unbroken, ready to take on the world, only to be crushed like a bug beneath Siberian's heel? It didn't matter; both situations would set the stage for a future performance.
He took a quick stroll out the entrance of the warehouse, and turned to face Shatterbird's direction. "We're having a guest, soon!" Jack called to her. "Be sure to give him an appropriate welcome."
Shatterbird's response was a delighted grin. The air hummed as her power went to work, quickly finishing her bizarre sculpture. She perched herself at the top, a bird in name and action, waiting for Armsmaster to appear. The girl was nearly as impatient as Crawler, usually, and only in her periods of extreme showmanship could she maintain any kind of poise. Jack found the whole thing rather gauche.
Shaking his head, he returned to his warehouse, a plan slotting into place. "Bonesaw, be a dear and finish up quickly. Murder Rat might need to step in and I want her functional," Jack told the distracted girl. "Oh, and wake up the Wards when you're done. I want them lucid when Armsmaster makes it here."
"Okay," Bonesaw called back to him. A mechanical spider skittered past, carrying an oversized syringe to its master, filled with a shimmering silver liquid. She took it with a dainty grunt, and stabbed the serum into Murder Rat's chest. The zombie amalgam shuddered, then sat up with a jerk. She looked much the same as before, with a rat-like face and pale skin mottled with ebony, but now she sported a tumorous growth on her back. It looked like a hump, almost, though it was smaller than a soccer ball. Its position on her spinal cord forced Murder Rat into a constant hunch.
"Well?" Jack inquired, raising an eyebrow at his bio-tinker.
Bonesaw smiled widely and pointed at Murder Rat, who was staring blankly into the distance, and Jack watched as the cuts from Bonesaw's surgery slowly closed.
"Fantastic!" Jack praised. "Very well done, Bonesaw!" The cape she'd included into Murder Rat was a low-level brute, with enough regeneration to survive gunfire. The self-healing should bolster the mindless cape long enough for Jack to replace her properly.
"Run along, now, and wake up the Wards. Oh, and if you want to keep any of them, decide now, and let Siberian know," Jack reminded the young girl. "I doubt you'll have time to pick out souvenirs if you wait much longer."
Something tugged at the back of Jack's mind, and he glanced out the window. Armsmaster stood at the edge of the park, clad in battered blue and silver, radiating righteous rage. Shatterbird stared back, head raised in mocking arrogance. Jack could practically feel her confidence.
She was almost certainly going to lose. The feeling was sudden, inexplicable. Shatterbird had every advantage in the fight. She could fly, attack at range, block anything Armsmaster threw at her with glass shields, yet Jack knew, knew, she would lose. It was that instinct, that intuition that had kept him alive all these years. If he didn't act, he would lose another member of his Nine.
How interesting.
He briefly contemplated allowing her to die. It would serve to embolden Armsmaster, to elevate his confidence to the very peak. It would make the fall so much more satisfying to watch.
Despite the man's potential, Jack knew that Armsmaster had no real plan for Siberian. Few people ever did. Still, he was performing astonishingly well. Jack was well and truly surprised. Killing Shatterbird could serve as a metaphorical pat on the back, Jack's little way of saying congratulations. The man deserved a prize of some kind, though he would certainly not be leaving with the one he wanted. Shatterbird was getting dull, anyway; her incessant need to announce the Nine was starting to grate. He hated repeat acts.
Ah, but Jack was a cautious man. He'd lost enough from this particular venture, and Crawler would most likely depart soon, as well. Jack wasn't yet ready to fight a hero like Catalyst, and Crawler would not wait. Sad as it was to admit, Jack needed Shatterbird for a little while longer.
A close shave, then. That could work. It would serve to raise Armsmaster's confidence, and his performance here would certainly raise his public profile, but the ultimate failure should shatter him. When Jack returned to collect him (and he would return, Armsmaster was just too interesting not to), then Shatterbird could serve as a sacrifice to the hero's anger. It had a pleasant sort of symmetry. The hero would rise from the ashes of his failure in the eyes of the people, only to fall once more, further than ever. It was a beautiful plan.
And risky, insanely risky. The timing had to be perfect for maximum effect. Jack's success or failure balanced on a knife's edge.
He loved it.
"Murder Rat!" Jack called, turning away from the window as Armsmaster charged his foe. The zombie cape approached him, machete claws clicking against the floor. Jack scooped up a piece of nearby debris, quickly testing its heft. "Use your power on this," Jack ordered. "Jump to it after I've thrown it. Interrupt Armsmaster, and save Shatterbird. Don't do anything permanent to the hero."
Jack walked towards the exit, listening to the thunderous crash of gunfire. Armsmaster had apparently brought an entire armory along with him. Shattered glass and angry screams formed the chorus of battle, brief but heated. He rounded a corner, sidling up against the warehouse wall. He watched as Armsmaster, sprinting through the center of the park, discarded an assault rifle and drew his halberd. Shatterbird's pyramid shattered, expanding outward and battering the hero with waves of glass. Great furrows of dirt were torn free and hurled into the air, as the glass spun like a cyclone, blurring out Armsmaster's form. Above the storm, Shatterbird sang, arms spread wide and head raised skyward.
Showing off for Jack.
Jack watched Armsmaster stagger to his feet and raise his halberd. The tip of the blade pointed towards Shatterbird, and a plume of smoke spat out of the shaft. The sharp bark of a gunshot rose just above the screaming wind, barely reaching Jack's ears. He grinned, tossed his rock towards the storm, and covered his ears.
The air exploded with sound. It was a clear chime and a thunderclap all in one. It was a scream crossed with a roar, a shout with a whisper, a vow with a death knell. The glass shattered into powder, and Shatterbird fell to the Earth, clutching her ears and screaming. Armsmaster's halberd was locked on her form, aiming down nonexistent sights, when Jack's rock bounced off his shoulder.
Murder Rat flashed into existence, bladed claws swiping at Armsmaster's halberd. The hero reacted almost instantly, ducking the blow and rolling away. He came up in a crouch, still aiming upwards, and Murder Rat dashed forward to intercept him.
And Jack felt—
Armsmaster reoriented, firing towards the zombie cape. She twirled out of the way, her speed bolstered by her upgrades, and closed to melee range.
—that something was—
Murder Rat dove past a halberd swipe, landing inside Armsmaster's guard, striking forward to gut the hero.
—about to go—
Shimmering grey panels snapped to life, as Armsmaster shoulder-checked his foe. Murder Rat disintegrated from the torso up.
—horribly, horribly wrong.
Shatterbird crashed into the dirt, struggling to move. Walls of powdered glass rose up around her, broken and fragile. Armsmaster hefted his halberd, a grey blur surrounding the blade, and hurled it like a javelin at Shatterbird's prone form. It sheared through the walls effortlessly, piercing through Shatterbird and into the ground, kicking up great swathes of brown and red dust.
But Jack was already moving, already running towards Siberian and Bonesaw, some deep instinct screaming at him to move move move move.
He heard an entirely too familiar voice echoing from above the courtyard. It was gleeful and savage, warm yet vicious. He heard the words as he entered his warehouse at a sprint.
"Holy shit, that was awesome!"
Bonesaw glanced up at him, her brow scrunching in confusion. "Burnscar's gone," she said, pointing at her monitor.
"We're leaving, now," Jack snapped.
Bonesaw blinked in doubt, but Siberian, sensing Jack's panic, scooped the girl up onto her shoulders.
"I really thought you'd need some help, but damn you're hardcore. Hold up, I'll catch the rest of the rats."
Siberian latched onto Jack's arm, just as the walls began to shake.
"Bonesaw, hostages!" Jack ordered. The girl looked around in a daze, but her mechanical spiders scrambled onto the operating tables, planting themselves above the Wards.
The Wards who were waking up. Well, this was just a really off day for Jack, now wasn't it?
The walls vanished, literally disappeared, with no trace of their existence save a massive clap of displaced air. The sound was blunted by Siberian's invulnerability, but all three Wards sat up with a gasp, spider bots clinging to their chests.
Hovering in the air beside Armsmaster was a sight Jack had hoped to avoid for a good long while.
"Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in," Catalyst chanted with a laugh.
Well, this was going poorly.
"Catalyst, I appreciate the backup," Armsmaster said with a serious nod. His eyes were fixed on his Wards.
"No problemo, chief," Catalyst replied, waving her hand airily. Bonesaw's spider bots crumpled into balls, and the three Wards were yanked towards Armsmaster, collectively shrieking. The armored hero caught his protege as the other two came to a stop beside him. Jack watched, moderately irritated, as he checked the traumatized children for injuries.
Catalyst peered towards Jack, squinting. "Soooo the exhibitionist is Siberian, which makes the brat Bonesaw," she said, more to herself than anyone else.
"Is that homeless guy really Jack Slash?"
Alright then. Jack couldn't not respond to that. "I am, indeed, Jack Slash," he said, taking an elaborate bow. A blade concealed in his sleeve dragged across Catalyst's throat as he bent his arm across his waist. She didn't even seem to notice. "I'm a huge fan, though I didn't think we'd be meeting quite so soon."
"Yeah, bad luck for you there, champ," Catalyst laughed. "You threatened to release a plague in a city with, like, half a million people. Dragon did the sensible thing and called Panacea, who was doing some contract work for me at the time, and I offered her a lift."
Armsmaster paused his examination of his frozen Wards long enough to ask, "You flew fourteen-hundred miles in...?"
"Seven minutes," Catalyst replied cheerfully. "Woulda' been faster, but Amy was screaming in my ear the whole way."
"Fascinating," Armsmaster replied, his tone sounding sincere, if distracted. "I need to return my charges to their homes, then assist with search and rescue. Do you require assistance here?"
"Nah. Have fun."
"I think you are forgetting something, Catalyst," Jack interrupted. "Dragon broke the rules, and so must pay the penalty." He smiled widely as Bonesaw whooped in excitement. "I'd suggest you help with the evacuations. It will take all of your considerable power to—"
"God, your voice is grating."
Jack blinked as sound refused to leave his throat. He turned to Siberian in alarm, and the invulnerable woman turned to stare at Catalyst. With slow, languid steps, the Hero killer approached the Endslayer. Armsmaster dragged his Wards away from the pair, but kept a hand on his halberd.
Siberian came to a stop in front of Catalyst, smiling with teeth. Catalyst grinned cheekily back, unafraid.
A striped hand lashed out towards Catalyst's eye, the same eye stolen from Alexandria, only to freeze in place. Something squeezed tight around Jack, some force around his skin locked him in place. Bonesaw was similarly frozen, trapped by the same power that made Siberian invulnerable.
"Go ahead, Armsmaster. I've got this," Catalyst reassured. She ran a gentle hand down Siberian's flawless cheek.
The hero seemed simultaneously disturbed and reassured, giving Catalyst one last nod before tugging his charges away. The children clung to him, traumatized and broken by their experiences. At least Jack had managed that one little thing.
"You know," Catalyst whispered softly into Siberian's ear, "sending an energy projection to hurt me is just about the worst plan I've ever heard of." She placed her hand over Siberian's face, frozen in a snarl, and smiled. "But, thank you. This was the best gift anyone here has given me."
A pulse of something rippled out from Siberian's skin, and suddenly Jack could move again. He staggered away, as Siberian collapsed in a boneless heap, with a screaming Bonesaw still on her shoulders.
"What did you do!? What did you do what did you do whatdidyoudo!?" Bonesaw's shrill screech snapped Jack into lucidity. He drew a pair of knives, raking them across Catalyst's form. He felt the edges expand, crash against something, and slide off, again and again.
He paused, mind racing for a solution. He opened his mouth to try and speak. "If you—" but something hot and sharp struck his neck. Pain lanced through him, and he stared in shock as his own arm dragged a knife across his throat. He fell backwards, grunting in pain, and threw his remaining knife at Catalyst's chest. It stopped in the air, re-oriented itself, and speared through his gut and into his spine, pinning him to the ground.
"Uncle Jack!" Bonesaw cried, crawling towards him. The ground shook as great walls of dirt rose to surround them, allowing just enough light to see.
Bonesaw skid to a stop at his chest, pulling free a pink knapsack full of tools. "Hold on Uncle Jack," the girl murmured shakily, seemingly oblivious to Catalyst watching over her shoulder. The older girl's gaze was hungry, attentive, locked on to Bonesaw.
This was the great hero?
Bonesaw pulled the knife out of Jack's spine, sealing the wound in minutes. Feeling slowly returned to his legs, as she worked on his spinal cord. Catalyst simply watched.
This was the girl who would save the world?
Bonesaw finished her work, smiling with relief. Jack smiled back, knowing what was coming. His knife returned, tearing through new places, ripping him apart. Bonesaw screamed and Catalyst smiled.
This was the girl he wanted to break, to turn?
Bonesaw worked feverishly, sealing wounds, replacing blood from vials she pulled from her bag. Jack's body seized in agony, and through it all Catalyst watched. She finished, as Jack knew she would, and again the knife struck, as he knew it would.
What a joke.
"Stop it! Stop!" Bonesaw shouted desperately. "Stop hurting Uncle Jack."
Catalyst grinned down at the broken girl. "I'll stop hurting him if you can fix him in, oh, let's say three minutes." She knelt down to eye level. "I promise. You can trust me. I'm a good girl, a hero."
Bonesaw shuddered, returning to Jack. She moved faster, more precisely, but her tools failed her. Her knives blunted themselves, her needles bent, her threads broke. She used a cloth to stem the bleeding and it dissolved like tissue paper.
Catalyst was a treasure well beyond him. The world was in the palm of her hand, and one day she'd crush it.
Bonesaw cried freely, beating her hand impotently against Jack's chest as her tools twisted and melted.
What was left for him to do? What legacy could he leave?
Well, perhaps there was one thing.
Jack raised a shaky hand, cupping Bonesaw's cheek. Catalyst watched him curiously, like a cat watches a canary.
"Bonesaw," Jack rasped, his throat bloody and brutalized, "be a good girl."
Bonesaw's composure shattered into pieces, her head lolling to her chest, her grief choked in her throat, and two beings spiraled through an airless void, past suns, stars and moons.
Darkness took Jack, blanketing his light like a gentle lover. His final sight was of starry skies, and Catalyst's triumphant smile. Deep within the recesses of his mind, as his end found him, Jack Slash laughed.
He had always enjoyed surprises.
Author Notes:
That feeling when you write 4k words of a scheming egomaniac only to kill him off immediately. Ugh. It was always the plan for Jaya to show up, in case anyone was wondering. There was literally no chance she wouldn't jump at killing the Nine as soon as she got word. I tried to portray Jack as someone who could read people fairly well, but was wrong as often as he was right. If Jaya hadn't shown up, Jack would've interrupted Armsy's fight, and most likely could've accomplished his goals.
As always, comments and criticisms are welcome.
Hope you enjoyed it. I'm glad to be done with the S9, and next chapter will be reactions to this and the Butcher.Last edited: Apr 6, 20181164McSwazeyMar 29, 2018View discussionThreadmarks Chapter 48 View contentMcSwazeyApr 7, 2018#2,569"You can't keep her, Catalyst. The idea is ridiculous."
"Just look at her!" Catalyst steered forward the young blonde tween, hands on both shoulders. The child (because she was a child) looked almost comatose, with a blank face and dull eyes reddened from crying.
"She's adorable!" Catalyst exclaimed.
David gazed down at Bonesaw, and contemplated simply putting the girl out of her misery. It was clear that the loss of the Nine had devastated the young bio-tinker. She had been with them for over half her life, after all. She had grown up in that horrific environment and it had shaped her irrevocably. David would have pitied her had she been any less monstrous.
But she was monstrous. Few people were irredeemable, David could acknowledge that, but even fewer were worth the effort of redemption. Those people, the ones who truly felt remorse, who truly sought atonement, David could support. The child in front of him, by all accounts, did not fit that profile. She delighted in the suffering of others. She was, no matter the circumstances, an unrepentant murderer. Bonesaw, useful as her power might be, was not worth the time and sacrifice it would take to save her.
Catalyst disagreed, unfortunately.
"She isn't—" David stopped himself. A power bubbled to the surface of his mind, and he seized it, putting a bubble of silence around Bonesaw's motionless form. Monster or not, the kid shouldn't have to listen to him debate killing her.
"She isn't worth it," he said, finishing his thought. "Can you imagine the sacrifices you would have to make, both personally and publicly, to—and I can't believe I'm saying this out loud—adopt a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine!? It's absurd, Catalyst."
"I don't have to adopt her," Catalyst replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm just saying, killing her seems super fucked up. She's like, what? Eleven? Twelve?"
"So was Leviathan, and you didn't have any problem killing him," David snapped, somewhat absurdly.
"And since when do we execute kids?" Catalyst continued blithely. "I thought this was America, not Soviet Russia. Or would that be the CUI? Either way, shouldn't she be given asylum or something?"
"There are so many things wrong with what you just said, I don't even know where to start."
"You could start by putting Riley in therapy," Catalyst suggested helpfully.
"She. Has. A. Kill. Order," David emphasized each word carefully, despite knowing it would make no difference. It was like they were having two completely different conversations.
"Those can be revoked," Catalyst dismissed with a wave of her hand. "All I have to do is say something like 'Jack Slash had a master power' near a camera, and half the country would start feeling sorry for her."
"And the other half would assume she's still mastered and try to kill her." David blinked. "Wait. Did he have a master power? Because that would explain quite a bit."
"Eh, sorta." Catalyst wiggled her hand back and forth in a so-so motion. "It was more like his power gave him an almost perfect understanding of parahumans. He could predict their actions and manipulate them easier than basically anyone."
David didn't bother asking how she knew that. The answer would just be some form of caustic sarcasm.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You look at the girl and see a child forced into villainy," David impressed, "but everyone else will just see Bonesaw. That's not going to change just because you want it to. Even with your support, she will never live a normal life."
Catalyst shrugged, unconcerned. "That's fine. I just want to give her a chance to live at all, you know? It seems... fair?" David's student nodded to herself. "Yeah, that sounds about right. She got fucked over pretty hard by life, and she helped me figure some stuff out. Helping her a bit, here and there, it's only fair."
The young hero smiled then, affectionately ruffling Bonesaw's hair. "I'd be a real asshole if I just broke her and walked away," she said.
"I doubt killing her father figure has won you any points with the girl," David remarked. "Once she overcomes her shock, it's unlikely that she'll want to see you."
"Oh I don't know," Catalyst replied with a knowing smile, "I think I left an impression."
David shook his head, done with the argument. Catalyst would do what she wanted to do. He could either assist or get out of the way.
A mentor supported their student. That was the way of things.
He had calls to make, and a tinker-tech cup to buy.
Rebecca would try to castrate him for this.
—————
"Lisa!" Taylor shouted urgently, "Jaya! Television! Bad! Get over here!" Her words were in rapid staccato, as if full sentences were hiding behind a wall of panic
"What's wrong?" Lisa yelled back, wincing as her voice echoed around the large walls of her bathroom. She could barely make out the sounds of a news broadcast over the roar of the shower, but there shouldn't be anything exciting. Well, aside from the obvious. Jaya had called half an hour ago, reporting the success of her trip; the Nine were dead. If every news channel in the United States wasn't talking about that little adventure, Lisa would eat her heels.
So what the hell was there to worry about?
"Jaya! Press conference!" Taylor shrieked, throwing open the bathroom door. "She's talking in front of cameras!" Her hand gesticulated wildly in the direction of the living room.
"Oh fuck." Lisa was moving, scrambling out of the shower, flailing about for a towel. She skid across the wet floor and past Taylor, taking half a second to cover herself before charging into the living room. She somersaulted over her couch, swiped her remote off the coffee table, and came to a stop in front of the television.
"I killed Jack Slash less than an hour ago," Jaya announced from a podium, in front of hundreds of cameras. The crowd exploded into applause at her words. Armsmaster stood at her side in battered armor, and Eidolon's glowing form hovered behind her in silent support.
Eventually, the noise died down, and Jaya continued, "Before he died, though, I discovered how he managed to survive so long as leader of the Nine. Jack Slash was a Master." The capitalized M was obvious to all listening, and the crowd gasped appropriately.
Lying, Lisa's power told her.
"Noooooo," she moaned, dragging her hands through her hair. She had worked so hard to hide Jaya's eccentricities from reporters, it was just her luck that the girl would give an interview the literal instant she was out of Lisa's reach.
"Though its effect was weak, I believe that prolonged exposure would have lead to blind devotion and dependency. Kinda like a low-powered Heartbreaker aura," Catalyst continued, with Eidolon nodding in the background.
Knows Jaya is lying, disagrees with her plan but willing to support her anyway. Wrote most of the speech, Lisa's power supplied. Well wasn't that just spiffy. Eidolon should've handled the press conference, then, the great green jackass.
"With that in mind, though the Nine has been thoroughly destroyed, Bonesaw remains alive and in PRT custody. Whether or not the young girl can overcome six years of Jack's Master influence is up to her, but I believe she deserves the chance to try." The crowd went silent at Jaya's words, leaving only the sound of camera shutters. A moment later they exploded into noise. Jaya smiled blandly at the horde of raised hands.
Will take questions. Will be dismissive of concerns. Thinks she's helping.
Wants to recruit Bonesaw someday.
Fucking what. That thought needed to be censored before the girl could blurt it out.
There were certain rules that Lisa had set down, once the idea of Vanguard became a reality. The very first was that Jaya should never speak in front of cameras for longer than a minute or two. The risk of her saying something insane was simply too high. It was a rule that the older girl had memorized and followed well enough, but her fickle nature meant that it would almost certainly be forgotten in time. Luckily, Lisa was prepared for such an eventuality.
She picked her phone up off the couch, and dialed Jaya's number.
A reporter was interrupted mid-question by a frenetic ♪♪GERING-DING-DING-DING-DINGERINGEDING♪♪ blaring out from Jaya's cell phone.
"Just a sec," Jaya announced into the microphone, turning away from the podium and flipping open her phone.
"What's up?" the infuriating girl asked, her voice still audible to the stadium mic.
"Catalyst, what happened to not giving interviews!?" Lisa shouted into the phone.
Jaya winced away from her cell. "Oh fuck, I forgot," she replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head.
The microphone caught every word. Lisa could feel her blood pressure increasing.
"Listen to me carefully," Lisa said. "Tell the reporters that you are needed back home, and Eidolon will answer their questions. Then go find Amy, ask when she wants to be brought back here and if she needs a ride. Then get your ass back here so we can yell at you some more!"
"Yeah!" Taylor echoed somewhere in the background.
"Aww." Jaya whined. "But I haven't even invited—"
"Now."
"Fiiiine."
Lisa was going to have words with the girl. Harsh words, about recruiting murderers more murderers and about proper communication. At least she still listened. A few quick words towards the cameras, and Jaya was gone.
Eidolon looked awfully awkward as she blasted off the stage. Apparently, he had not foreseen speaking publicly today, or at least alone. He broadcast a subtle sense of awkward tension in almost every movement.
Good.
Served him right for conspiring with Lisa's teammate without telling her.
————
"That's where Crawler is?" Melody asked.
"He's trapped within there, yes," Colin answered stiffly, still not certain this was a good idea.
Melody's hand tightened into a fist.
They stood, together, in front of Crawler's 'grave'. It was a massive metal globe, forty feet across and embedded thirty feet deep within the earth. Crawler lay trapped at the center, courtesy of Catalyst. There the changer would remain, until the Protectorate devised a method of killing him completely.
Colin liked to think that Catalyst could have finished the job, but felt that sightless, soundless, motionless incarceration was the more torturous option. It was a sentiment he agreed with.
Between Crawler, Burnscar, and Shatterbird, over seven thousand lives had been lost, with over twice that number wounded. Most of the casualties had come from Shatterbird's initial song, though thousands were injured by Burnscar's fires. All in all, Crawler had done the least amount of damage, with most of it structural.
But he was the one who had trampled through Melody's foster home, and he was the one who remained alive.
Colin was almost certain that this was, in fact, a terrible idea.
People passed by on the street behind him, occasionally stopping in recognition of his armored form or Melody's distinctive outfit. Most left quickly. Grief was an ugly, obvious thing. Melody radiated it, even through her mask. Few people would interrupt it, not when the whole city grieved alongside her.
Melody approached the globe, placing a shaky hand on its smooth surface. She took a deep breath, but the sound of her exhalation was lost to her power.
Colin approached behind her, uncertain but supportive. He suppressed a wince as he lost his sense of hearing. Melody's power was disconcerting to experience, at first. It felt somehow beyond deafness, beyond the simple loss of auditory function. It had no visible border, no obvious signs of use. One moment you could hear, the next, absolute silence. There was no way to know how far Melody extended it in advance. Only by experiencing it could you know for certain.
Colin waited. He knew why she was here; he knew what she wanted to accomplish.
A minute passed, and another. Melody stared at the silvery globe, tense and angry. Finally, she turned away, and sound crashed back into place. Her anger faded, slightly, transforming into something more like grim amusement.
"He's struggling," she said to Colin. "He's struggling, and screaming, and demanding that Catalyst fight him. And nobody will ever hear him."
She smiled at him, a sad smile, a real smile, and Colin relaxed a fraction. "It's not exactly justice, but it'll do," she said.
Colin nodded, and returned a sad smile of his own. "I've found that justice rarely takes the form we'd prefer."
"Yeah, life sucks that way," Melody agreed. She bumped her shoulder into his as they walked away from the site. "So what's next for you, big hero? Going to transfer back to Brockton Bay? Go punch out Behemoth beside Catalyst and Eidolon?" She tried to hide the tremor in her voice, but Colin wasn't quite that oblivious.
"No. I think not," Colin mused. "I've grown rather fond of this place. I'll be needed here, anyways, to help with the inevitable crime wave."
"Psh, like we need your help," Melody sniped, shoving at him with one arm. The other swiped quickly across her eyes. "Haven't you heard? We've got some new blood transferring in. We'll be fine."
"Hm. Regardless, I'll be gracing you with my presence for a good long while," Colin replied with finality.
"Well, yeah, good," Melody muttered, bumping against him again.
They arrived at the street nearest the globe, where Colin had parked his bike. Colin climbed on, but Melody stopped beside him, staring back towards Crawler's grave.
"So— I guess that's it, then? We just move on?" Melody asked. "The Nine are dead, the city is saved, woohoo, job well done?"
"Not exactly," Colin replied, wrapping an arm around the younger girl's shoulder. "We... remember. We learn, from what we can. And eventually, if we're lucky, we become better."
"Because that's what heroes do?" Melody asked, leaning into Colin's embrace.
"Because that's what heroes do," he echoed.
Author Notes:
I've discovered something about myself. Apparently I subconsciously hate reaction chapters. Every time I try to write them, they somehow turn into something else. Anyway, this chapter was driving me insane, so I'm just posting it so we can move on to other stuff.
As always, comments and criticisms are welcome.
Hope you enjoyed it.Last edited: Apr 7, 20181041McSwazeyApr 7, 2018View discussionThreadmarks Chapter 49 View contentMcSwazeyApr 11, 2018#2,658"In another stunning display of heroism, Protectorate legend Armsmaster recently disclosed his intention to donate 95% of his bounty money towards reconstruction efforts within Omaha. This selfless act was announced after his speech, during the opening ceremony of Omaha's new Protectorate base, while in the company of the Wards that he worked so hard to protect." A picture of Armsmaster appeared. Clearly taken from a distance, the hero was kneeling down in front of his Wards, his hand on the shoulder of the center girl. His face was twisted into a sad smile.
Flip.
"—is what people don't seem to understand. Not only did Vanguard declare what some might call martial law on the villains of Brockton Bay, they then proceeded to enforce it with results that the Protectorate has never been able to achieve. The Teeth, who have been around for nearly a decade in some form or another, were removed within hours of entering the city, and by a hero whose only previous claim to fame was her membership within Vanguard. Three different members of the Elite have just appeared in PRT cells over the past two weeks, two members of the Fallen were found hanging off the edge of a skyscraper, and let's not even get into what Catalyst did to the Slaughterhouse Nine. These aren't just powerful teenagers playing around. They are coordinated, they have a plan, and they follow through. The citizens feel safer, they are more productive, crime is down citywide. Vanguard is a proof of concept that being tough on villains can work." The speaker was an older man in a suit, arguing with a young, attractive woman. The woman smiled prettily at the camera before replying.
"Be that as it may, Bill, I don't think we'll see a huge reduction in crime anywhere other than Brockton Bay. Catalyst has left the city a grand total of one time in the past month, because she really is the lynchpin of the whole machine. Without her backing, her reputation, Vanguard would have never come into being, and she seems to have assembled a team who specializes in rooting out hidden villains." The woman pauses, holding up her hand and ticking off fingers. "Between Weaver's insane range, Catalyst's power, and Fidelis' suspected thinker rating, it's actually possible to police most of the city. That sort of combination isn't going to just pop up anywhere. This is a— a dream team, this is the 1927 Yankees, and we aren't going to find another any time soon. Other hero teams might try and follow Vanguard's example, but I just don't see how anyone else can pull it off. The Protectorate certainly won't be changing their policy any time soon."
Flip.
"♪♩♪Thundercats are on the move, Thundercats are loose! Feel the magic, hear the roar, Thundercats are loose!♪♩♪"
A door opened somewhere, and Alec reluctantly muted his television. With tremendous effort, he lifted his head above his couch and glanced towards the front door, expecting to see Catalyst.
It wasn't Catalyst.
A girl, just a little older than him. Pale skin, dark hair with a red streak dyed into it. She was armed, a dainty pistol in her belt.
Alec blinked.
"Cherie?" he asked, idly wondering if he'd taken acid this morning on accident.
"Jean-Paul," his sister greeted, one hand on her hip and the other twirling her bangs. "How've you been, little brother?"
"It's Alec, now," he replied, frowning towards his guest. A mental twitch opened another set of eyes. "The old man send you?"
"No, I'm on my own," she replied, shaking her head. "Been that way for a while. Just looking for ways to spice up my life, now."
Alec raised an eyebrow skeptically. "By coming to Brockton Bay? You got a death wish or something, Cherie?"
She shrugged. "There's opportunity here. Besides, I figure it's the one place our family won't follow. You've certainly done well for yourself."
He rolled his eyes. "How would you know?" he asked, flopping back down. Lung's body climbed to its feet in an adjacent room.
"I've been watching you for a bit," Cherie admitted. "I was pretty mad, you know? After you left, things got worse. Daddy went all hyper-protective. Angry too, all the time. It got worse when we couldn't find you."
"My bad," Alec drawled, unmuting the television.
"It was," she snapped. "But that's okay. I know how you'll pay me back." She circled his couch, coming to a stop between him and Thundercats. Her hand drummed the grip of her pistol.
Alec flashed her a practiced smile. "I'm all ears, big sis."
Lung's power thrummed in anticipation, and Alec let it build. He could feel it pooling, a growing heat in his chest.
"I was just gonna, y'know, kill you." She mimed a gun with her index finger and thumb. "Pow." Her hand rocked back with feigned recoil. "But I got curious. You've got a nice setup here. Nobody bothers you."
Alec nodded at her. "It's comfy," he said, honestly. "No drama."
"Boring," Cherie corrected, pursing her lips. "But I guess that's how you survive, here."
Alec cocked his head. "I guess it is."
"I want that." The sentence was rushed. It came out like a curse; like she hated the very idea of it.
Like peace was poison.
It was kinda hilarious.
Alec's smile grew more natural. "I thought you were looking for excitement?"
"I can find that outside the city." Cherie waved her hand dismissively. "That's the rule, right? Catalyst's rule? As long as I keep my dirt elsewhere, I can lay my head here?"
"Well, not here here. In fact, I insist that you live as far from me as possible," Alec emphasized. "But yeah, Catalyst won't bother hunting you down if you don't make trouble within the city. Well, unless you're doing Slaughterhouse Nine level fucked up things, I guess, but they're history and most people aren't that stupid."
Cherie flinched slightly at his comment. "Yeah. I really dodged a bullet there." Her face shifted into something between relief and embarrassment.
Alec stared at her for a moment, deciphering her expression.
Then he got it.
"The Nine? Are you fucking kidding me, Cherie? When did you get so dumb?"
"I had a plan," she defended. "A good plan. And they were supposed to be untouchable!"
Alec laughed. "Yeah, real untouchable. It was only a matter of time before they pissed off the wrong person and got taken out." He laughed again, at her pinched face. "So you want help getting set up in town? What's in it for me? You've never done shit for me, Cherie, even back home."
"You owe me for leaving, dickhead," Cherish chided. "Though, if you want more incentive..." Her hand tightened around her pistol.
Alec snorted and pushed the heat in his chest towards growth. With a pop pop pop of expanding flesh, Lung's arm tore through the neighboring wall. His hand, nearly the size of Alec's television, wrapped around Cherie's waist and squeezed, locking her arms against her sides.
Cherie yelped, more out of surprise than pain, and awkwardly twisted around to look at her attacker.
"—the fuck?" she gasped out incredulously, staring at Lung's over-sized limb. "You've just got a goddamn meat puppet hanging around in your apartment all day long? Why can't I feel him?"
"Nothing there to feel," Alec replied, a little smugly. "No emotions, anyway. Perfect for me, not so much for you."
"You got a brain dead cape to act as bodyguard? Hardcore, little brother." She sounded genuinely impressed.
"Your praise means the world to me," he said dryly. He sat up and leaned forward, plucking the gun out of his sister's waistband. "What were we talking about?"
Cherie shrugged as much as she was able. "I was threatening you, I think."
"How's that going for you?" he asked.
"Well, I've still got my bomb, so pretty good, I think."
He blinked languidly.
"Your bomb," he repeated. He looked her over, from her jacket to her boots. "You hiding it down your bra or something?"
"Sure," she nodded. "It's not that big. Amazing what you can do with something the size of your forearm. I've got a guy hanging around with the detonator. All I gotta do is give him a push."
Alec waved her off. "Meh, Lung can take it." The hand around Cherie tightened, constricting her.
"Doubt it," she croaked, as breath was forced out of her lungs. "Will level the place. Might kill him. Or you."
The hand stopped squeezing, and Alec eyed her curiously. "Why did you really come here, Cherie? If you've been watching me, then you know who backs me."
"Catalyst," his sister panted. "You scored a big fish, I know. I couldn't even feel her, never would've noticed her if I wasn't looking right at the girl, and you've got her coming over to play video games! How the hell did you do it!?"
"Must be my natural charisma."
Cherie flashed him a dirty look. "Nothing natural about our charisma."
"I'm not controlling her," Alec protested. "She's a blank spot to me, same as you."
"Bullshit," Cherie insisted. "You've got something going on, here, and I want in." She smiled at him, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. "Who can you trust, if not family?"
"Fuck you," Alec said with a laugh. "You'd screw me over first chance you get."
"Only a little bit," she admitted. "I'm still pretty mad about you leaving, but I can postpone revenge if it means getting my hands on someone like Catalyst."
"You're an idiot, Cherie," Alec said patiently. "And Catalyst does what she wants. It just turns out that, sometimes, she—"
The front door opened, and a short Asian girl strolled into Alec's kitchen, distractedly fiddling with her phone. She beelined towards the fridge, which popped open of its own accord. A soda floated out, hovering near the girl's shoulder. Below Alec's sink, a cabinet unfastened itself, revealing a small metal safe. The dial spun a few times on the front, and the thing snapped open, revealing its crunchy contents. A Pringles can joined the soda. The girl finally glanced up as she came into view of the living room, and stopped. Her eyes bounced between Cherish, still hanging in Lung's grip, and Alec, sprawled on the couch.
"Threesome?" Catalyst asked quizzically. "Kinky."
Alec flapped an unenthusiastic hand in her direction. "Sometimes she wants to come over and eat all my food," he finished lamely. His sister's face grew pale as her eyes widened. The effect made her look a bit like a low budget ghost.
"Who's the girl?" Catalyst inquired, as her snacks whipped through the air and landed on Alec's table. "Hooker? Girlfriend?" The last word was drawn out, teasing, and Cherie's eyes grew steadily wider.
"Ew, no. Sister," Alec corrected.
Catalyst's eyes did some widening of their own. "Your sister? Which one?" Her head snapped towards Cherie, who gulped audibly.
"Cherie," Alec answered, nonplussed but used to the feeling.
"Oh, Cherish," Catalyst purred, literally gliding across the carpet towards Alec's sister. She ran her hand through red-streaked hair, ignoring the girl's trembling. "I was searching for you, when I killed the Nine."
"Oh God," Cherie whispered, desperately glancing towards Alec.
"Yes, my child?" Catalyst cackled, poking her finger into his sister's chest. Something shifted beneath Cherie's top, and grains of salt poured out of her shirt and onto the floor.
"Hey," Alec protested halfheartedly.
"Right, sorry." Catalyst waved her hand, and the salt dissolved. Cherie made a sound between a squeak and a whine.
"You've got a fascinating power," Catalyst told Cherie, smiling widely. "I wanted to pick you up when I cleaned out the Nine, but you weren't there." Her voice turned irritated at the end, and Cherie's face became a passable imitation of Alabaster.
"So, here's what's going to happen," Catalyst said. "First, we're going to— Oh, wait." She turned towards Alec. "How much do you care about her?"
Alec regarded his older sister, her pleading gaze, her desperate posture. He thought back to his youth, all the years he spent with her, the joys and pains of childhood.
"Meh," he answered. Cherie's face twisted in anger, replaced almost immediately by fear, as Catalyst clapped her hands together.
"Cool! Where was I?" Catalyst's finger poked Cherie's forehead. "Right. First, we're gonna try a little experiment."
"Wait! I can help—" Cherie managed to shout, before her eyes rolled up in the back of her head and two entities danced through a sea of stars.
Alec snapped awake face down on the carpet. Something— some feeling tugged at his consciousness.
Was that anger?
That seemed right. Anger. He just barely recognized it.
Like a childhood friend, who hadn't been around in years.
But it was usually directed, right? That was how it went?
He sat up sluggishly.
Directed towards who?
He glanced around the room, taking it in. Lung was on the ground, collapsed. Made sense; Alec wasn't piloting him. Cherie was right where he left her, held in the air. Catalyst had the girl by the throat, and Cherie was shooting wild looks in Alec's direction. And Catalyst, she was smiling that creepy, hilarious smile. Alec liked it, usually. It meant something interesting was about to happen.
He didn't like it right now. He really didn't like it.
Hated it, in fact.
Hated Catalyst.
Hated Catalyst?
That didn't seem right. He actually kinda liked Catalyst. She paid him to sit around and play video games. Very likable traits.
Hated that she ate his food, though. Calling in groceries was a pain.
That must be it. That made sense.
And then Catalyst backhanded Cherie across the face, and the world snapped back into focus.
"Holy shit," Alec said, shaking his head like a wet dog. "What hit me?"
Catalyst turned towards him, still grinning. "Your sister did."
Alec frowned. "I'm immune to her. Been that way for years."
"Second triggers tend to change things," Catalyst replied, sounding remarkably pleased with herself. She opened her hand, and Cherie dropped to the ground, limp.
"You second triggered her?" Alec asked blankly, looking down at his sister. Her chest slowly rose and fell.
"I did," Catalyst confirmed. She snapped her fingers together. "Oh! I meant to tell you earlier, Lisa got a bead on your old man. I'll be hunting him down soon." She looked down at Cherie, as Alec's eyes widened.
"First, though, I'm going to watch Cherish play with her new powers in a safe environment." Catalyst cracked her knuckles in anticipation. "It'll give me a better read on your daddy dearest. I need him to do something for me, then you get to have him."
Catalyst scooped Cherie up, hefting Alec's sister over her shoulder with ease. "Toodles," she said, waving to him.
"Wait," he found himself saying. "Just a second."
Catalyst stopped, turning towards him with a raised eyebrow.
"Just, to confirm one more time. You second triggered her."
Catalyst nodded, an amused smile appearing.
"Right, cool. Of course you can do that sort of thing," Alec said, more to himself than his employer. He nodded, once, twice, then glanced up at her.
"Do me."
"...Er sorry, I meant second trigger me. Not the other thing."
"Oh, and if you could fix my wall, that would be great."
Author Notes:
Alec is always fun to write. That is all.
As always, comments and criticisms are welcome.
Hope you enjoyed it.
P.S. I reread Cherish' interlude before writing this. Just...wow. She's kind of an absolute fucking idiot.Last edited: Apr 18, 20181091McSwazeyApr 11, 2018View discussionFirst Prev5 of 6Next LastThreadmarksInformationalView content7 more messages… Not open for further replies. ShareSimilar threadsPollTrivia (Worm fanfic CYOA OC)Huarrnarg Words: 23k spoilers worm cyoa therapyReplies 19Monday at 6:44 AMThe Weakest Architect (Worm CYOA V17)Aaron_Honako Words: 9.7k 1 2 worm original character worm cyoaReplies 37Dec 8, 2025Stepping on Worms (Worm CYOA SI)LaughingApostle Words: 16k 1 2 3 4 spoilers worm action madison clementsReplies 81Feb 6, 2026Worm CYOA: Book of SorrowCosmofr0g 1 2 destiny worm cyoaReplies 41Jul 19, 2025Faerapy (Worm CYOA with Fate elements)LesontheLeft Words: 22k 1 ... 4 5 6 fate series worm comedyReplies 147Dec 30, 2025 Worm Remove this ad spaceStyle chooserContact usTerms and rulesPrivacy policyHelpRSS