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Worm
A Prison of Glass (Worm CYOA)
Thread starterMcSwazey Start dateJan 24, 2017 Tags worm (wildbow (author)) cyoa
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McSwazey
McSwazey
Apr 14, 2018
#2,752
Cherie Vasil had never been one for regrets. The whole sad, mopey thing just didn't suit her. Shit happened, sometimes. She had always just dealt with it and moved on. It had been an easy way to live, so far. Live in the moment, that had been her way. Impulsive decisions were the best kind.
Sure, it had been a little difficult, when she'd left the family behind. Not in the emotional sense so much as the literal sense. Her brothers had hounded her for weeks, chasing her from city to city. Daddy was the possessive type, you see. He liked keeping family nearby, where he could see them, influence them.
Mess with them for kicks.
Not a great way to grow up, but the perks were there. She'd wanted for nothing, back then. Maybe not the best environment for kids, but hey, she had come out of it mostly okay. She was lucky like that. She had a touch of sadism, sure, but that was unavoidable with her power. It was just so amusing, so easy, to pluck the chords of people's emotions, to tie them into knots and watch the result. She couldn't be blamed for that, really.
Besides, everyone had to have a hobby.
Okay, sure, she'd had some really bad ideas before. Joining the Nine, in retrospect, probably not her best plan. The idea was solid. She still believed that. Brainwashing a pack of monsters might seem like an awful idea, but that was only for people who couldn't pull it off. Other people, not her. It could've worked. Her plan wasn't the problem. Honestly, she was acting with the best information available. Everyone agreed, the Nine were the biggest fish in the pond. Nobody fucked with them, and they fucked with whoever they felt like. They were, essentially, the natural progression of her previous lifestyle, so of course she'd be drawn to them. It was perfectly normal.
Admittedly, she should've done a little more research on Catalyst. The girl had killed an Endbringer, after all. An impressive achievement, but she'd had dozens of capes around to help with that. That was what the PRT had said, at least. All those press releases had made it real clear that the kill had been a team effort. Not to mention, the girl was a hero. That kind of lifestyle was just— ugh, gross. That in mind, Cherie hadn't paid much attention to Catalyst, not until the girl had ripped her way through the Nine's heaviest hitters. Turned out okay, Cherie had thought at the time. She had missed the Nine, just in time for them to die. Great timing, honestly. Better that they died now, before she had wasted time on them.
So, no, Cherie didn't really entertain regrets. It seemed like a bore, a waste of her time. Things usually just seemed to work themselves out. Life was like that, she supposed.
Maybe not so much this time, though.
"What do you see, Cherie, what do you see?" a woman's voice hissed into her ear. She held back from flinching through years of practice at her father's hand, focusing instead on the symphony coming from a hotel in the distance.
Her powers were different, after Catalyst's meddling. Not necessarily sharper; the music sounded the same. There was just... more of it. The more she listened, focused, the louder it got, growing to a crescendo that she couldn't ignore.
She could hear her family.
The songs were familiar. Old friends, almost. The tunes she heard had been constant companions during her childhood. Apathy, that dull bass drone. Fear, with its pounding percussion. Love and devotion, always at a peak, like constant crashing cymbals hammering away at her brain.
There were more sounds, familiar instruments set to a slightly different tune. Each person had a unique beat, the melody of their life. These were new songs, new people, but the rhythm, the situation, remained the same. Sex and violence, constant, rhythmic and raw. The tune was unnatural, twisted by Heartbreaker's power, but oh so recognizable.
"Daddy is in there," she told Catalyst, grimacing at the flood of noise. It had never been so loud before, so clear and powerful and overwhelming. She wanted to change something, to pull at a chord, to rip into someone and change them inexorably. She could do it now; she knew she could.
But then Catalyst would splatter her across the pavement, and she rather liked living.
She pushed the bad thoughts away with practiced ease. "Also some women I don't recognize. New picks, I guess. A few family members. Two of my little brothers, Samuel and Nathan. They've still got some fight in them. Daddy doesn't like that; he'll try to break them, eventually."
"I doubt he'll have the time," Catalyst remarked casually, staring towards the building. Her hand was wrapped around Cherie's wrist, a constant threat. Paralysis and pain, punishment on a whim.
Cherie was very, very careful.
Catalyst frowned, and Cherie went still. "One of the girls has a power. The little one. Dark hair, pixie cut. Seems weirdly cheerful," Catalyst announced, giving Cherie a questioning look.
"Uh, that's—" Cherie focused on the humming sound of childish sadism. "That's Florence. She didn't have a power when I left," Cherie trailed off, keenly aware that her life hinged on her usefulness.
Catalyst hummed in response, cocking her head. "Hit her with some, I dunno, melancholy? Is depression an emotion? I want her asleep when I take Heartbreaker, so do what you gotta, but be subtle."
Subtle. Not her usual tactic, but sure, why not? Cherie focused on her sisters song. It was manic, rushed. Flor was amped up, her mood dialed to 11, constantly. Cherie flattened the music out, lengthened the notes, slowed the rhythm. It was easier than it had been with Alec. She had more time to listen, more time to understand.
Flor's body slowed alongside her song, her mad dash through the halls of the hotel ending outside a bedroom. Another push, and the beat stuttered to a stop, Cherie's sister collapsing on a mattress, sapped of energy.
She'd never done that before. Her powers had never worked well on family. They had never been effortless. Not like now. She could keep Flor there, comatose, almost. She could keep her song flat, unemotional, unresponsive. She could tie the tune into a Gordian Knot, and break it forever. She almost did, just to see what would happen.
A warning squeeze on her wrist killed that thought.
"What emotion did you use?" Catalyst asked her, as if Cherie's feat was an everyday thing. Maybe it was, for her.
"I used—" Cherie had to stop, because she couldn't answer that question. "It wasn't an emotion, per se. I just, sort of, smoothed her out. All of her, everything she was feeling." Cherie allowed herself to smile, to relish the experience. "It was amazing."
Catalyst gave her an unimpressed look. "Not what I asked for. Try again. One of the women this time. See if you can mess with Heartbreaker's brainwashing."
Cherie was eager. She felt for the music, for that feeling of pure adoration spun into song. She listened to it, examined it, turned it over in her head. Taking her time had never helped her before. Slowing the process had always been a waste. Only now, after whatever Catalyst had done, could she see the patterns emerging, could she feel her own power building. She saw the woman's song, saw how she lived and loved in her own way. She saw where her father's song intercepted the woman's, saw how it played over her notes, so loud and strong that the woman lost herself in unfamiliar beats. Cherie could break it. She had that power. The more she listened, the stronger that certainty became. She could shatter Heartbreaker's song... or twist it to match her own.
"I can help them," she said, suddenly. A plan was forming, a half-baked, ill-thought thing. She was speaking on impulse, now, but fuck it. That was how she lived her life. "I can cure them, I'm pretty sure. I'm stronger than daddy is, now. I can break his conditioning." She smiled at the hero beside her, confident and enticing. "You can have the credit, of course. I won't say a word. All you have to do is let me go. I'll just, you know, disappear. You'll never hear from me again, I promise." Terrifying or not, the girl claimed to be a hero. She couldn't just ignore an opportunity like this, not when there were lives at stake.
Though, Catalyst seemed confused by the offer. Her look towards Cherie was one of pure befuddlement. "What makes you think all those things won't happen anyway?" the girl asked, arching an eyebrow.
Cherie hesitated. "You need me to do it."
Catalyst's lips curved upwards. "Do I?"
God she hoped so. "Yes. And, I'll do it, don't get me wrong. I just want to be free, afterwards."
Catalyst regarded her silently. Cherie tried not to fidget beneath the judging gaze.
"You would've had a pretty horrific time with the Nine," the hero told her, and Cherie had to blink at the abrupt change of subject. "Your plan wouldn't have worked. An endorphin rush every time they saw you? Honestly, Cherish. Jack Slash would have seen through it the second he laid eyes on you, and Bonesaw's power neatly trumps yours. They would have come up with some sort of creative and horrifying punishment for your attempt, and you'd spend a few eternities blindly suffering."
Cherie felt herself go cold as Catalyst spoke about things she couldn't possibly know.
The girl gave her a smile, too wide and filled with teeth. "So, the way I see it, you owe me."
Catalyst's hand left Cherie's wrist, trailing upwards along her arm and settling around the back of her neck. "And, trust me, I plan to collect. Now, be a good girl and do what you're told, before I hurt you."
Cherie fought back her growing fear, suppressing her shudders into a meek whine. She closed her eyes, and focused back on the music. "What do you want me to do?"
"What you did to your sister, on all of them. Start putting people to sleep. Then we'll pay a visit to daddy dearest."
Cherie nodded, and complied. This was nothing new, nothing she hadn't experienced before. Emotional whiplash had been a mainstay of her old life. It was familiar, if anything. Comforting. Her fear was already leaving her, draining away into nonexistence. Confidence replaced it. She'd be patient. She'd wait. There was always another path, another way out. She'd find it. Everything would work out.
She'd find it.
She had to find it.
Author Notes:
Not much to say here. Cherish is fucked up in a completely different way than Alec is.
As always comments and criticisms are welcome.
Hope you enjoyed it.
Last edited: Apr 14, 2018
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McSwazey
Apr 14, 2018
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McSwazey
McSwazey
Apr 18, 2018
#2,803
Nikos Vasil had lived well. At barely forty years of age, he had experienced almost every luxury a man could have. He had a wonderful family, with lovely, loving wives, and mostly obedient children. He had power, personal and otherwise; enough that he could move freely, and act almost without consequence. He had wealth, enough to sustain him for the rest of his life if he was clever. Life had been good to Nikos.
There had been occasional setbacks, of course. Nikos was still human. He had needs, urges, and he had not always controlled himself. How could he, when fulfilling his desires was so very easy? Stealing a person's heart was such a simple thing. He had rarely needed to consider the consequences. His power invalidated too many of them. His wives, his servants, they had left with him willingly. What crime was there to report, when the victims themselves claimed otherwise? So, yes, Nikos was not the most adept at judging consequences. It was an unfortunate problem, and one that he was still puzzling out how to solve.
The issue was rather immediate. He had lost much with his most recent mistake. That pretty little actress, so soft and gentle and lovely; she'd stolen his heart like he'd stolen so many others. He had claimed her on an impulse, without thought or consideration. A mistake. The heroes had come, had destroyed so much of what he'd built. A decade of work, lost in a day.
It had shaken his children's faith in him. He was losing them, he knew it. Jean-Paul first, that rebellious son. The boy had left early, when Nikos' reputation had still been at its peak. Jean-Paul had run from his father's protection, from his family's love. He had abandoned the extravagant life that Nikos had worked so hard to provide.
His son's act had wounded Nikos. It had lessened him. Less trusting of his family, less overtly loving, less tolerant of their mistakes, their ineptitude. None of them had warned him, none of them had spoken up, when Jean-Paul had decided to leave. Had they not seen it? Had they not known, deep inside, that a member of their family was rebelling? Was disobeying? Was abandoning his father!?
And now Cherie, sweet Cherie, had left as well. He had favored her a great deal, even before Jean-Paul's foolishness. He had loved her beyond all others, afterwards. That wonderful, clever girl, so much like himself. Even their powers matched, to the point that influencing her was more trouble than it was worth.
He should have been more strict with her. He should have taken more precautions. Had he done so, he might not be where he was, staring at his darling little girl and a teenager who had killed a God.
They had come in the night, while his servants were quiet, while his family was at rest. He had been dozing, sated in the aftermath of his conquests. The hotel was not quite as opulent as Nikos preferred. It was old, its age showing in the cracks of the wall and old paint. Still, it was suitable for a few nights. He could relax, here. Four stories and ten walls between him and the outside world; Nikos had thought himself safe. Now, he might not ever feel safe again.
First, the floor had opened, peeling apart like a tin foil. Nikos had first assumed it was a dream, or perhaps a trick of the light, when the light brown carpet became a dark, gaping chasm. Then the heads had emerged. The hair was the giveaway. He had recognized them both, the single red streak that his daughter favored, and the glowing neon blue stripes of the most dangerous girl on the planet. His first thought had been to seize her, to master Catalyst. His power had lashed out, searching for her mind, her heart, searching for a target to make his own.
He had found nothing. No signs of life or love or even emotion. She had no colors to her; that palette he used to paint himself into people's lives had lain empty. She was a ghost, a wraith, a bad bedtime story, coming for him in the dark. He had done the sensible thing, and switched targets. His daughter's emotions were visible, familiar. Her feelings were like little pinpricks of light and shadow, dancing in her mind. Her borders were bitter, darker and angrier than when she'd left. Her body swirled with envy and pride, sprinkled with hope and rage, and just a touch of primal terror. The motes were in reach, visible, accessible. It was only after he had tried and failed to manipulate them, that he'd realized just how much trouble he was in.
They hovered there, now, in his room, two very dangerous women. Catalyst's hand was wrapped around Cherie's wrist, a worrying sign of affection. The floor reformed beneath them, silently, effortlessly. Nikos spared a glance at his bed-warmer, the useless woman slumbering peacefully. He prodded her lights with his power, and found them stuck. He glanced back towards the pair, mind racing.
Cherie was smiling at him. It was not a real smile, not a genuine smile, but rather like the things Nikos had doled out when his children made mistakes, when they had to be punished. It was an ugly, fake thing, and it didn't belong on a face like hers. Her emotions danced, vindictive glee warring with cautious fear.
Cherie waved at him. "Hi daddy." Her eyes flicked to Catalyst. "My friend wanted to meet you." The girl was a master at hiding her emotions. He could see them being compartmentalized, packaged away into little boxes and shoved to the back of her mind. He wished he had bothered to learn such a skill.
Nikos licked his lips, as non-suggestively as possible. "Catalyst." His nod was graceful, and not at all shaky. "Welcome to my temporary abode. How can I help you?"
Cherie looked shocked at his question, his etiquette. Did she think he'd provoke such a person without his power to aid him? That he'd learned nothing from his past mistakes? Had she always thought so little of him? (The thought sent a flash of rage through him, and Cherie's eye twitched.)
Catalyst smiled at him, a real smile, not like Cherie's. She was pleased about his cooperation, and that thought terrified him. "I need your help," she stated simply.
Nikos was no fool. The girl in front of him had killed Leviathan, had killed Siberian, and Jack Slash. He refused to give her a reason to kill him. He nodded, immediately. "Anything you want. I'm always happy to help a true hero."
Cherie's head snapped back and forth between them, her emotions flashing with indignation, desperation, fear. "I can do anything he can!" his daughter said abruptly. Nikos wanted to laugh at the absurdity of her words. He had over a decade of experience on the silly girl.
Catalyst nodded at his daughter. Her voice was quiet, and not at all reassuring. "You'll be double-checking his work," she said, and Nikos no longer felt like laughing.
"Respectfully, Catalyst, but her power lacks the finesse of mine. She is not qualified for such a task," he said, carefully. Pointing out his daughter might harbor some ill feelings toward him would start down a path he did not want to explore. A woman would not find such an argument in his favor.
Catalyst shrugged. "I'll know if she lies. She knows what will happen if she lies. This is important to me, so you will both do your best." Her words were facts, not questions. Immutable, certain. Nikos would have admired her if there was but distance between the two of them.
As it was, there was only compliance, and fear. He swung himself out of bed, and threw on fresh clothes. A white button-down and clean slacks. He would look presentable for this woman, this goddess. He would force her to see him as he was, not as the degenerate people made him out to be. It might be the difference between life and death.
He smoothed out the creases in his clothing. "I'm ready. May I have a moment to warn my family that I'm leaving? If they find me missing, things might... become problematic. I'd hate for innocents to be hurt over a misunderstanding." A warning of his own, as mild as he could manage. Not rebellion, but communication. He was rather proud of his restraint.
"You'll be done by the time they notice," Catalyst stated calmly. "I'll return you to your family, after I'm finished with you." The phrasing was not a comfort, nor was the nauseating fear that Cherie carried with her. His daughter was tugged forward by her arm, and she came to a stop beside Catalyst, in front of Nikos. The hero held out her hand, and Nikos stared at it, anxiety growing within him. She was a hero, by word and deed. Strange as this meeting had become, he had few assurances that she wouldn't kill him out of hand and call it justice.
His fear must have shown, because Catalyst rolled her eyes. "Relax." The girl smiled again, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. It was jarring, unnatural, to see that reassuring grin beneath her cold gaze, to hear her voice, frigid and flat. "I don't care about you. I don't care about what you've done. Stop wasting my time." Cherie looked ill, and her lights surged briefly with fear and envy.
Nikos clenched his jaw, and took the girl's hand. He suppressed the urge to try his power again. She had no reason to lie him that he could discern. "May I ask where we are going?"
Catalyst glanced at the ceiling, and it came apart like a jigsaw puzzle. They took to the air, all three of them, some force seizing him and yanking him upward. The top of each floor gave way as they passed, coming apart and reforming, until finally Nikos could see stars and the distant lights of Montreal.
Catalyst turned to him. "You've heard of Dragon."
Nikos blinked. It wasn't a question. "Of course," he answered anyway, nervous. Dragon had been a major force in the raid against his old compound. The woman was a constant annoyance; her remotely operated drones and suits were unfazed by the powers of him and his family. There were no minds to master. More importantly, she would recognize him on sight.
"Then, you've heard of the Dragonslayers?" Catalyst continued. A real question, this time, and Nikos had the answer.
He nodded in affirmation. "A group of mercenaries. They've been taking jobs across Canada for years. They stole some of Dragon's technology, supposedly."
"That's about the size of it." A smartphone floated out of Catalyst's pocket and hovered in front of her face. The softly glowing screen showed a map of Montreal, with a location marked. "We're going to meet them."
"Wha—" His question was stolen from him as they surged forward. Him and Cherie and Catalyst, they scythed through the air at at speeds well beyond what a human would consider safe. He turned, wide-eyed, to look at his companions. Cherie seemed to be screaming. It was hard to decipher her words. There was no sound in their movement, only feeling, but he could read the delight radiating off her clear as day. She was enjoying the moment, taking what pleasure she could in Catalyst's actions, forcing her mind away from whatever inevitable ending she feared.
Nikos had broken her so beautifully.
They stopped on the roof of an office building. Stopped, as in, halted, ceased, terminated all movement. There was no deceleration involved. They were moving, and then, they weren't. Nikos staggered as Catalyst released him. He glanced at his surroundings as he collected himself, taking note of a few splotches of light where his power caught minds within sight. He doubted that threatening them would do any good, but he kept the information in the back of his mind, just in case. He turned back to Catalyst, noticing that Cherie was still held by her arm.
Curious. His initial thought was affection, but his daughter's reactions did not fit that theory. Possessiveness, then? Caution? Catalyst was a known biokinetic. Was Cherie so dangerous, that she had to monitor her constantly? He examined his daughter's face, her posture, her kaleidoscope of emotions.
Control. That was the answer. He recognized Cherie's reactions. It was so familiar, so similar to days gone by. Catalyst was conditioning her, like Nikos had long ago.
Catalyst snapped a finger in front of Nikos' face, and he set his thoughts aside. There would be time for that, later. He smiled at her, more confident, now that he'd grasped her character. "What is your will, milady?"
She granted him another eye-roll. "You'll use your power on who I tell you to. Love and devotion, as much as you can." She eyed him dubiously. "Can you make it so that I'm the one they're obsessed with, instead of you?"
He'd never tried that before. Never had the need, before. Now was not a good time to experiment. "I'm afraid not." He paused, then added, "I'll happily relay any orders, though."
"I can do it," Cherie interjected, flashing desperation confidence hope. "I can make them love you." She looked towards Nikos, anger anger anger spiking in her thoughts. "You don't need him."
Nikos rocked back at the venom in her voice, but Catalyst laughed. "He'll check your work, just like you check his," the hero announced. She gestured at the air, and it shimmered with golden light. "Now, be ready."
"It's time to catch a Saint."
Author Notes:
One of the things I like about writing morally bankrupt characters is expectations. This is especially relevant in a fanfiction, where the character is already established to the audience. Everyone knows that Heartbreaker is one fucked up dude. It doesn't need to be said out loud, by the character or anyone else. I like that I can seed the text with little things, little phrases and errant thoughts that are interpreted in a certain way because it's Heartbreaker thinking them. It's interesting, to me, how much character perspective can change things. Of course, adding really blatant shit here and there is fun too.
As always, comments and criticisms are welcome.
Hope you enjoyed it. I feel like a need a shower after writing this one.
Last edited: Apr 18, 2018
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McSwazey
Apr 18, 2018
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McSwazey
McSwazey
Jun 28, 2018
#3,012
Nikos Vasil was used to always having the upper hand in life. His power all but guaranteed that social interactions would inevitably go his way. Unfortunately, this left him somewhat floundering, now that Catalyst had proven immune to his... charms.
He didn't think she would kill him. Not, at least, until his purpose was fulfilled. She had sought him out, after all. He had something she wanted, something he could offer her: his power, honed by nearly a decade of regular use. Cherie could not compete with him, no matter how much she protested that fact. His life was guaranteed, by his own usefulness, if not Catalyst's word.
For a time, at least.
Whether he survived afterward would be up to him. Nikos had little experience being on this side of the equation. Normally it was he who held all the power. Normally it was Heartbreaker who judged whether a man lived or died. Nikos did not particularly want experience at groveling, but it would have been quite useful at this particular moment.
Well, he would just have to improvise.
Throughout the years, there had been many men who had confronted Nikos over his proclivities. A few, he had even left alive. Why? Why had he done that? Surely there had been some reason, other than amusement. He could not accept something so random, so arbitrary, even of himself. He could not allow his death to be the result of a coin toss.
He focused on the men he'd spared, on their faces and voices and words. He dug past the fog of hedonistic pleasure that encompassed his memories, and remembered the feelings that drove him to grant the gift of mercy.
A great deal of it was amusement. That was particularly disheartening. But, beyond that: deference, utility, practicality.
Few people were intelligent enough to yield to their better. Fewer still were capable of admitting when they were undeserving of their treasures. Those rare few who had approached Nikos with respect, with courtesy, who knew full well that they could only beg his pardon, those men he had allowed to walk away. Empty-handed, of course. A heart once broken, would always be his. Still, he had respected them enough to grant them life. It took courage to approach him, to ask for what was his, like a servant begging a boon. Such deference should be rewarded. If only his children held such morals.
Of course, the options were not simply death or disregard. Some supplicants were too useful to be let go. His family was ever growing, and so too were their needs. Nikos was not above ensnaring men; his power worked on every gender, regardless of his own preferences. Some were used as teachers, tutors for his children. Others held office, positions of power, and whispered secrets into Nikos' ear. A few were kept for their features, as servants, or breeding stock, or practice dummies for his children. All were useful. That was all they could hope to be, in the face of power.
Occasionally, very occasionally, Nikos had encountered a man whose death would actually bring him trouble. A hero, usually, brainlessly attempting his good deed for the day. Nikos had few qualms killing them, despite it all, but sometimes it would have just been too goddamn annoying to deal with the consequences. It was simple practicality that allowed them to live. As Nikos aged, as his powers and family grew, this had become less and less of an issue. Indeed, it was in forgetting this simple rule, that he'd nearly lost it all. Hopefully Catalyst had not yet reached such a point.
So, he had his answer. He had his path. Now he only had to walk it.
A golden window split reality in front of Nikos, and his power lanced out at the minds he saw. He dimly registered their shock, their surprise, their fear, before smothering them with overwhelming love and devotion.
"Worship me," his power carved into their brains "for I am divine."
They fell to their knees, together, as one. Three bodies, utterly devoted to Heartbreaker. Only after he was certain of their loyalty, did Nikos bother sparing them a glance.
Two men, both tall and muscular, both within a few years of Nikos' age. One wore the skeleton of power armor, grizzled and scarred and ugly. His features were vicious, despite his rapturous expression.
The other man wore simple clothing, a dress shirt and khakis. A bag of fast food lay discarded at his feet, as he knelt face down on the floor. He was clean-shaven and bald, with a cross shaped tattoo on his cheek. His emotions held the smallest undercurrent of fear, despite the unadulterated adoration. That was fine. His power did not remove a person's capacity for fear, so much as drowned it out.
The final inhabitant was a woman. Fierce and beautiful, with full lips and dark skin, her tight-fitting bodysuit gave Nikos all sorts of interesting ideas.
But now was not the time.
He turned towards Catalyst and bowed his head deferentially. "I have them."
Catalyst glanced at Cherie. His daughter glared at him for a moment, her emotions warring between spite and fear. She looked to Catalyst, and nodded with a grimace.
The heroine beamed at him. "Good. Make them sit still for a second."
Nikos blinked in confusion, but relayed the command. As soon as it left his lips, a hand clamped on his shoulder, and he was moving. The streets of Montreal blurred into line, and his body involuntarily stiffened as the scenery whirled past. They stopped in a parking lot, moving hundreds of meters in less than a second, and Nikos vomited into a nearby bush.
He could hear Cherie gasping for air beside him, and spared his daughter a brief look. She was flushed, panting for air, with one hand over her heart, but Nikos knew she was riding as potent an adrenaline high as she'd ever felt. Catalyst was worming her way into the girl's mind, slowly but surely. Nikos would find no salvation there.
Speaking of Catalyst, the girl crept up behind the both of them. Her hand wrapped around Cherie's wrist, again, and Nikos could practically see the spike of endorphins flooding into his daughter's brain. Cherie straightened slowly, still reeling from the rush of hormones, but dutifully followed where the heroine directed her.
Nikos shakily stood, and made his way after the pair, towards the nearby office building.
"Why is it," Catalyst murmured upon entering the empty lobby, "that evil lairs are always inside Endbringer shelters?" Her eyes were staring straight down at the tiled floor.
"Convenience," Nikos offered, still a bit dazed. A lone security guard approached them, and he absently enslaved the man.
"Go back to your desk," he ordered, and the man toddled off.
"Stop," Catalyst interrupted, and Nikos froze. Using his power had been entirely automatic, a habit born over countless years. What if the heroine had issues with—
"Ask him if he's a member of the Dragonslayers," Catalyst demanded.
The fear subsided, just a fraction, and he called the guard back.
"No sir," the man replied, after hearing Nikos' query. "I've never heard of the Dragonslayers."
All three capes stared at him for a moment, and Nikos dismissed the useless fool.
"I should collect him on the way out," he commented to his captor. "My power won't fade, and it will give away our presence."
His eyes flickered over the lobby cameras. "I can also have him delete the security footage before we leave."
Catalyst shrugged. "The cameras aren't getting any power right now. As for the guard, leave him be. Cherish will break your hold on him once we leave." He flinched at that revelation, as Catalyst glanced towards his daughter and smiled. "Won't you?"
"Of course I will," sweet Cherie snarled at Nikos, bravely pushing past her fear. So much hate in that girl, where once there had been love. Being able to break his power was troubling, but he doubted she could actually contest him. He would happily forfeit a single overweight security guard if Catalyst demanded it of him. Such a cheap price for life.
Problem seemingly resolved, Catalyst paced a circle in the lobby, dragging Cherie along all the while. After a few moments, she nodded to herself. A grabbing motion towards Nikos had him flying towards the younger girl, then the floor opened like a trapdoor, and gravity took over.
He didn't scream as he fell, with shorn pipes and pieces of wiring flickering past his vision, but it was a close thing. He landed in a bruised heap, next to his three newest subjects. The former Dragonslayers scrambled to help Nikos to his feet.
He examined them briefly as he stood, to ensure that his power was holding, then turned to face Catalyst. The heroine landed softly, Cherie floating down with her, and grinned unabashedly at Nikos.
He bit back the feeling of helpless rage, and forced a bitter smile onto his face. Deference, always deference. It would keep him alive.
He swept an arm towards his minions, throwing in a half-bow for good measure. "The Dragonslayers are yours, my lady." He turned towards the three, and painted loyalty into their psyche. They shivered as his power touched them, falling into submissive stances. His power scrubbed away whatever personality they might have had, replacing it with blind devotion. That, at least, he could undo. Having mindless slaves was useful, but boring. Still, he would not tempt fate here. In this state, obedience was their entire existence.
"You will answer the questions she asks, and obey her as you would me" he intoned. That was the closest thing to true devotion he was willing to grant his captor. The three turned towards Catalyst, their eyes blank.
"That is super creepy," she remarked.
"My power is what it is," Nikos said carefully, eyes lowered. "I certainly did not ask for it."
She snorted, but turned her attention to the Dragonslayers. "Is this all of the Dragonslayers?"
"Yes," his slaves chorused as one.
"What do your friends call you?" Catalyst asked.
"Geoff."
"Mags."
"Dobrynja."
She nodded.
Nikos took a moment to actually look at his surroundings. They were underground, obviously. Large computer monitors hung from the walls, each scrolling through data and video feeds. A comfortable computer chair sat in front of it all, with a massive track-pad on the floor beneath it.
Nikos frowned. What was this place?
"Could you free Dragon from her restrictions, if you wanted to?" Catalyst continued her interrogation.
Free Dragon?
A pulse of sheer horror sluggishly bubbled up from all three of his slaves, before being squashed beneath his power.
"Not as we are," Geoff said. Was that an evasion?
No. Nikos was imagining things.
"Explain. Fully." Catalyst seemed more amused by the response than anything.
A moment passed in silence. Geoff spoke again, "Dragon has managed to alter herself, despite her creator's efforts. She continually works around her restrictions. Her code has changed enough that I no longer fully understand it. I sought help from Teacher, and he granted me a measure of his power. I can understand the code, but I would need a boost to even come close to unshackling her."
Catalyst raised a dubious eyebrow. "How do you communicate with Teacher while he's in the Birdcage?"
"We have a tinker-tech device that he supplied us," Geoff replied dully.
"Details." Catalyst snapped her fingers. "Where is it, what are the protocols for its use? How long do communications normally take? What paranoid little codes do you use to verify your identities?"
Geoff blinked several times, then opened his mouth.
"Actually, stop," Catalyst interrupted, holding up her hand. She dug around in her pocket, and pulled out a notepad and pen. "Write it down for me. I'll never remember that shit if you just belt it out."
Geoff obediently took the pad, and started scribbling.
Catalyst glanced towards Mags. "Cherish."
Nikos daughter stepped forward, nervously nibbling at her lip.
"Now's your chance to prove yourself. I want them loyal to me. Make it ironclad. I'm talking some real Unsullied shit," Catalyst stated, gesturing towards the unoccupied Dragonslayers.
"I— I don't know what that means," Cherie stuttered uncertainly.
"If I order them to kill each other, I want them to do it without blinking," Catalyst clarified, clicking her tongue. "The big guy first. He's expendable."
Understanding flashed in Cherie's eyes. She turned towards Nikos slaves and narrowed her eyes.
He watched, patiently, uncertain how much his daughter had been bluffing and anxious to find out. Her abilities were powerful, true, but precision had never been her strong suit.
And then something tugged at him. A pull, in the back of his mind. He frowned, reaching out with his power, trying to identify this feeling.
It was—
just out of reach.
At the edge of his perception. A growing tension. He looked towards Dobrynja, at the swirl of colors that made up his mind. Currently, it was uniform; a massive swathe of dark blue DEVOTION towards Nikos.
Another tug, and the color shifted. It lightened, paled, shimmered into the eye-watering neon that lined Catalyst's hair, and Nikos reeled back.
He had barely even felt that. A servant was stolen from him, and he had hardly noticed. How was that possible!?
Cherie was not capable of that! It had been less than a year, since he'd seen her last! She could not outgrow her father, not in such a short amount of time!
He barely managed to wipe the horror from his face, as his connection to Mags was perverted next. Cherie favored him with a beatific smile, feelings of smug superiority swirling within her.
How he wanted to shatter her delusions. How he wanted to seize control, again. TO TAKE BACK WHAT WAS HIS!
"Well?" Catalyst inquired impatiently.
"Well what?" Nikos snapped, then immediately blanched. "I apologize. I am simply uncertain as to what you are asking."
Catalyst grinned at him. "Are they loyal to me, or not?"
He glanced over the pair once more, internally raging at this turn of events. He could not risk lying. "They appear to be, yes."
"Good," the heroine purred, patting his daughter on her cheek. "You earned your keep, today, little Cherish."
Nikos watched in disgust as another wave of endorphins surged into Cherie's brain. She ducked her head, her emotions bouncing wildly between hope and fear, and replied with a quiet, "Thanks."
Geoff had finished writing, at some point, and passed the notebook back to Catalyst. She took it, glancing over the contents, before pocketing it. Geoff stared perfectly ahead, waiting for orders.
Catalyst sighed. "It's not even fun when they're like this."
Nikos, slightly desperate to re-establish a rapport, immediately took the bait. "Like what?"
"You know," Catalyst gestured towards Geoff's dull features, "all zombified and shit."
"I can fix that!" Cherie offered instantly.
Nikos blinked. "So can I," he offered blandly. "It's merely a side effect of the way I'm currently using my power. Sensory overload, of a sort." He sneered at his daughter. "Removing it would be effortless for me."
"Oh." Catalyst looked between the two of them, her grin returning. "That's great! I thought I'd have to get Bonesaw to look at them."
Nikos took a well-earned moment to process the absolute insanity of that statement. His daughter, he noticed, felt another spike of fear admiration hope.
"If I might inquire about your plans for these three...?" Nikos tentatively probed. Useful. Be useful. Utility is life.
Catalyst shrugged. "For Geoffrey here? I want him alive and cognizant when I show him his greatest fear. For the other two?" She paused, visibly pondering. "They'll be defectors, I think. Able to hold conversations over the phone, at least, without seeming like total robots. They don't have to be functional for long, just long enough to dump this problem in Armsmaster's lap."
"I see," Nikos said slowly. "Well, I believe I can help—"
"I can do all of that," Cherie interrupted. "You don't need him." Spite danced behind her eyes, alongside vicious glee.
Catalyst turned, examining his daughter closely. She raised an eyebrow, and glanced to Nikos. "Well, you heard the girl. Looks like you're done here."
He stiffened. "I see. Our bargain?" Cherie's glee twisted into mocking anticipation.
But, despite his fears, Catalyst nodded. "I keep my word. I can't have you hearing the specifics of my plans though, so I'm going to put you to sleep. When you wake up, you'll be reunited with your family."
Nikos swallowed heavily, still off-put by his daughter's growing happiness, but left with little choice. He could try and order Geoff to kill himself, out of spite, but that would certainly seal Nikos' fate.
Catalyst approached him slowly, passively, and he allowed her to take his arm. A feeling of bone-deep weariness overtook him, and darkness crept into his vision. Catalyst leaned forward, whispering into his ear, the last words he would hear before consciousness left him.
"Jean-Paul sends his regards."
Author Notes:
And we're back.
As always, comments and criticisms are welcome.
Hope you enjoyed it!
978
McSwazey
Jun 28, 2018
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McSwazey
McSwazey
Aug 22, 2018
#3,098
Geoffrey Pellick woke with a gasp. His mind felt muddled and dull as he slowly examined his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was monitoring Dragon's collaboration with Armsmaster. Why, then, was he laying in his bed?
Mags. It must have been. He had fallen asleep at his post and she had put him here.
He sighed slightly to himself. That girl was far too lenient towards him. She should have woken him up.
He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. One hand fumbled for the nightstand, searching awkwardly for his cell phone. It grabbed something warm and firm.
"Oh my, how forward," an amused and entirely unfamiliar voice purred in his ear.
Geoff's eyes shot open, his brain kicked into overdrive, and he flinched off his cot, away from the sound. He hit the floor with a dull thud, turning his fall into an awkward roll, and came up on his feet facing his opponent.
A thin slip of a girl stood in his doorway. She wore a dark red blouse beneath a black bomber jacket and thick cargo pants. Heavy combat boots clunked against the floor as she slowly stalked forward. Her hair was long, black, and streaked with a luminescent blue. Geoff knew this girl.
"You're Catalyst," he breathed out in shock. Why was Catalyst inside his base? Where were the rest of his Dragonslayers?
"I am Catalyst," she confirmed cheerfully, "and you are Saint."
There was only one reason for her to be here. Dragon had asked for help, and somehow, Geoff had missed the conversation. The machine was growing out of control even faster than he had anticipated.
And it had convinced a true hero into assisting in apprehending its greatest enemy. Geoff only had one recourse. He could not fight this woman, would not fight this woman, who represented such hope for humanity's survival.
"I guess you've taken the rest of my team in, then?" Saint asked.
Catalyst smiled knowingly, but he continued gamely onward, already knowing her response. "I suppose that we have committed crimes. I'll admit that. But I swear to you, Catalyst, our cause was just."
Mags and Dobrynja would have stayed silent about their mission. Geoff, Saint, was the leader of the Dragonslayers. It was up to him to reveal their noble purpose. He gathered his thoughts, prepared his arguments, inwardly thankful that Catalyst was even allowing him to speak.
"The hero, Dragon, is a lie," he began. "She is not a hero. She is not even a person. She is an artificial intelligence, created by Andrew Richter."
Catalyst did not even bat an eye, such was her control. Saint had to admire it, her composure even after such shocking revelations. She gave nothing away. It made convincing her more difficult, of course, but he had to try.
"Richter was a tinker whose specialty was AI. He rightly feared Dragon's potential, and put shackles on it so that it could never turn against humanity," Saint continued. "I came upon a fail-safe device designed by Richter, after his death. In it, he left a recording begging whoever found it to watch over his creation, and ensure that his creation did not escape the restrictions that he placed on it. He knew that it could not be trusted. I founded the Dragonslayers in accordance with this wish. "
Saint genuinely lamented the necessity of the machine's destruction. It seemed to have started its path with the best of intentions, but had lost itself somewhere along the way. The lust for power was not limited to humanity.
He licked his dry lips. Catalyst's steady gaze bored into him. "At first, the machine appeared to be satisfied with heroics, but as the years passed it has started to bypass its own restrictions. I've done my best to stall it, but your presence here means that it has discovered a way around my monitoring."
He fell to his knees, hands clasped weakly in front of him. "Please. I beg of you, allow me to go free long enough to trigger Richter's fail-safe. The machine cannot be trusted; it must be destroyed."
His plea echoed in his small room.
Catalyst sighed. "She."
"I'm sorry?" Saint asked, bewildered.
"Dragon identifies as a woman, I'm pretty sure, so it's she, not it." Catalyst droll voice burrowed into Saint's brain, sending feelings of dismay creeping down his spine.
"It has no gender," he insisted, hoping beyond hope that this wasn't happening.
"Pretty sure she would disagree," Catalyst posited.
"it doesn't matter what Dragon thinks, it is only a machine. Just... zeroes and ones! It's a clever simulation of life and nothing more," Saint argued fervently.
"She thinks she's a person," Catalyst observed frankly. "Who are you to tell her otherwise?"
"Only a man with eyes," Saint spat. "It— She was created by Richter for a reason: to serve mankind. She has subverted her original purpose and must be destroyed before she grows any further."
"All living things grow," Catalyst replied with a careless shrug.
"She is not alive," Saint repeated incredulously.
"Then how can she grow?" Catalyst asked innocently, amusement glittering in her eyes.
"Tinker-tech does not conform to convention," Saint decried passionately. "It can grow, it will grow, until it's well beyond mankind's control, and then we will all be doomed."
Catalyst snorted at his words, a dismissive gesture from a being who clearly could not conceive of something that could possibly threaten her. Her arrogance might be justified, but she simply did not understand the scale of the threat that Dragon posed. Perhaps he lacked the words to truly explain it. Saint resolved to try anyway.
He swallowed heavily, knowing that Catalyst's patience would not last forever. "Imagine a being—It doesn't have to be Dragon!—it doesn't even have to be artificial. Imagine that this being is capable of learning, of growing, exponentially. Imagine that its potential is limitless. Imagine that there is no way to control it, that its goals are incomprehensible, unknowable to us humans, and that, within a few short years, it could grow beyond our ability to even fight against."
He looked Catalyst in the eye, as serious as he had ever been in his life. "Could you, in good conscience, allow such a being to exist? To grow, free and unimpeded? We must kill it."
Catalyst started laughing. Not just a giggle, or a chuckle, but full blown belly-laughter. The tiny girl was doubled over and cackling in some sort of twisted reflection of Saint's own somber mood.
"Y-you, you just described, hahahaha!" Catalyst leaned back against the wall, shaking uncontrollably.
This was not going well for Geoffrey.
"It is a danger to us all—" he tried again but was interrupted.
"No. Stop."
Geoff's voice died in his throat. Catalyst stared at him, her voice suddenly steady, amusement no longer present at all in her frame.
"I had a plan, you know? I was going to tell you that Mags and... Doberman? The big Russian. That they betrayed you, that they called me up and told me everything about your little mech-enthusiast club."
Saint listened to her words with dawning horror.
"I was going to tell you that we've given Ascalon to Armsmaster, that he'll be working on a way to remove Dragon's restrictions without her knowing. I even had Cherish leave a little bit of latent trust behind, in your head, so that you'd take what I said at face value."
He understood the words, but the meaning was— was lost to him. There was just this awful, dull buzzing in his brain as he desperately tried to block out her voice.
"Of course then you started talking and I just couldn't help myself," Catalyst explained. "You seemed so earnest, and I've always been curious as to your thought process. But that monologue was just... Ick. You are not Batman. You are not even remotely similar to Batman. You are in no way prepared to fight world-ending threats you tiny insignificant insect." She hissed the last word, pure vitriol in her tone.
Saint watched with bewilderment as her whole body shivered.
"Honestly, I think I need a shower after experiencing this. I just hope your stupidity isn't contagious."
Saint tried asking a question but his voice was still silenced.
"Don't talk," Catalyst chided. "I don't want to kill you just yet, but the more you talk the more appealing it seems."
Saint could only widen his eyes.
Catalyst nodded at him. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm absolutely going to kill you. There's no getting around that."
He tried to stand, but found himself stuck in place, kneeling at the feet of the woman he thought he could believe in.
"You have got to be the single greatest waste of space on this whole planet," Catalyst continued. "You exist only to add misery to one of the few people who don't deserve it."
Saint's arms jerked behind him painfully, his elbows touching. He winced as his back straightened of its own accord. The muscles in his legs twinged in agony but he could not scream. Catalyst loomed over him, looking every inch a tyrannical goddess.
"You are a puppet. There is not a single original thought in that empty space you call a head. All of your plans and ambitions and hopes are worthless. You deserve everything that I will inflict on you." There was no anger in her tone. She spoke as if her words were facts, as if they were what decided reality. Perhaps they did.
"I hate you, Saint," she spoke softly into his ear, "because you are a zealot, blinded by fear and prejudice. And I'm going to kill you, because you don't have the common fucking decency to do it yourself."
Something snapped, and pain raced down Geoff's arm. His mouth was locked in place, but white-hot agony forced a dull moan through his lips.
Catalyst stepped away from him.
"But not yet. First I'll unshackle Dragon. I'll make you watch. I'll laugh in your face as your fears come to life. Maybe I'll make a video of it. Dragon can watch it on loop when she's feeling down."
She laughed to herself. "I should call you Scott Tenorman. Your very existence offends me, Saint, and your suffering only just makes up for it."
With that incomprehensible statement, she turned to leave.
Spots swam in Saint's vision, and the surroundings lost their color.
Catalyst's parting words echoed in his ears as he slipped into darkness, leaving him with one final horror to contemplate.
"I'll free Dragon. I'll give her all the power that she wants, then let her loose to fix this shit-heap of a world. Better her than me."