18: I Definitely Did Not Sign Up for This
Jack's blood runs cold. His eyes twitch in horror as the figure before him shifts and twists its void of a face to the unmistakable appearance of Jack himself. And they say 'appearances can be deceiving,' Jack muses, awkwardly chuckling at the irony. What a load of bullsh-
His thoughts are rudely interrupted by the piercing laughter of his doppelgänger. "HAHAHAHA, HOOHOOHOOHOO, HEEHEEHEEHEE," it screams. Damn, this guy needs to chill out, Jack grimaces at the sight.
Okay, game plan: I'm weak. The more I move, the more the wound opens. I got here by train, which took 20 minutes due to detours, and if backups are coming straight here by car, that makes it five, Jack manages a reluctant grin, so for the next five minutes, all I need to do is stall. He furrows his brows at the thought. Alright, let's see if this asshole is still capable of reasonable discussion.
"You may be able to take on my face," he declares, hoping it will rile the mimic up, "but that is because your ass is so weak you had to intimidate me with that five-dollar caricature!"
The Fake Jack continues laughing, oblivious to the insult. Then it stops in its tracks, its pupils jerking toward Jack. From a distance, the mimic may look exactly like him, but when Jack peers closer, he notices some peculiar details. Its eyes are disproportionate, hanging lopsidedly. Its mouth stretches much more than a human's jaw is capable of. And its arms, by some demonic force, are stretching and expanding, unto infinity.
"OH WOW, YOU'RE STILL HERE? I THOUGHT YOU DIED, HEEHEE," Fake Jack puts its long index fingers on its sagging cheeks and slightly sticks its tongue out, "OOPSIE! FORGOT TO KILL YOU. STAY STILL, CUTIE!"
Jack winces in disgust, refusing to believe the day he gets to watch himself acting like a bootleg anime girl, or whatever cartoons kids watch nowadays.
"Yeah, I bet you are real angry now, aren't you?" Jack continues his banter, eyes darting toward the clock behind Fake Jack. "Sorry, darling, but this ship is not sailing right about now. In fact, it has not even left the dock," Jack tries to stretch his sentence as much as possible.
"AWW... YOU'RE SUCH A GENTLEMAN, MR. JACK," Fake Jack slowly catwalks toward Jack, swinging its hips exaggeratedly and seductively.
"I mean, you are such a catch," Jack slowly backs away. "I bet plenty of guys would fall for your, uh, charms. It would be a waste on a fellow such as myself."
"BUT I WANT YOU, MR. JACK," Fake Jack replies, placing one hand above its heart, if it even has one, "TO DIE."
"There are steps to this, you know?" Jack keeps backing away, and to his dismay, hits a wall. "I mean, you have to take me to dinner firs-"
"DO YOU TAKE ME TO BE YOUR WIFE? IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH, TO LOVE AND TO CHERISH. 'TILL DEATH TO US PART?"
Damnit, has it been five minutes already? Jack bites his nails repeatedly. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead.
"OH WAIT," the mimic stops in its walk, "WE CAN'T GET TOGETHER. YOU'RE DEAD!"
Welp, worth a try, Jack sighs, balling his hands into fists.
With a flicker of movement, Fake Jack lunges forward. The fight is on.
Jack holds his arms up just before Fake Jack strikes. It starts overwhelming Jack with a series of blows, each fist hitting like a machine gun's shot. He locks his feet against the wall, trying to steady himself against the barrage. The mimic keeps walloping at the same center spot, drilling through Jack's defense. While its two main arms are occupied, it sprouts out a third arm behind its back, winds it up, and aims for Jack's head. And Jack has been too preoccupied with its two arms before noticing the third one.
Whack.
The third punch disintegrates the concrete behind him, sparks crackling out of exposed wires in the destroyed wall. Jack, who is currently gasping at the sight of utter destruction, has just swiped his head to the right, missing the punch by two inches. It seems that everyone has their own ways of coping with divorce.
In the split second that follows, Jack notices his imitator struggling to remove its arm stuck inside the rubble, so he immediately rolls behind it, and bolts straight to the staircase. Surveying his wound, which is starting to reopen, Jack knows that if he keeps fighting, another punch like that will kill him, no doubt. He cannot dodge either, without risking intense pain and leaving himself wide open.
As Jack reaches the basement floor, he hastily scans around for anything he can use. There are wooden crates—sealed wooden crates, and a pile of metal scraps in the corner. Upon hearing the deranged laughter of his twin echoing above, Jack heads straight for the metal scraps and begins digging through. Copper. Aluminum. Pipes. Rusted Pipe… Waterfalls pour down his back as Jack searches the trash heap. To prevent heat stroke, he frantically pulls his coat off, rolls his sleeves up, and keeps plowing the pile. Just as Fake Jack enters the basement, Jack finds himself a colossal metal plate.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Fake Jack’s pupils dilate in joy upon seeing the agent. From the palms of its hands come a dizzying array of weapons. Jack's eyes widen in alarm at the sight of a thousand arms hurling toward him. Knives, swords, and firearms of every description whizz through the air.
Jack heaves the metal plate up just before the weapons embed themselves on its surface, the walls, and the floor with a series of thuds and clangs.
“NICE SHIELD, DARLING!” Fake Jack peers out from the front of the plate. Without letting him process, the mimic pounds the plate to pieces, cleaving Jack with broken steel shards. The impact sends him fluttering to the opposite corner of the room, almost rupturing his spine as he lands on a stack of cardboard boxes. Jack’s vision swivels as flakes of pristine white foam encircle him, floating freely in the air. Is it winter already? He pulls himself up by grabbing onto a pipe while coughing out balls of foam.
Disarmed and vulnerable, Jack can see the mimic’s glee as it strolls over to his side. Not only is the metal pile too far away now, but the mimic’s weapons also lie right next to it. Cursing under his breath, Jack frantically scopes the surroundings, searching for any way to defend himself. But there are nothing but cardboard boxes strewn around. Jack grips his knuckle in frustration, and upon doing so, realizes that he is still clutching the pipe. Without missing a beat, Jack clenches both hands on the pipe and yanks it, heaving and wincing as he does it. After three pulls, he finally manages to pluck it out. Wastewater sputters all over his blood-drenched body. Clutching the rusted pipe with both hands, Jack turns around to the sound of clapping.
“WELL DONE, LOVE. YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF,” Fake Jack is clapping rapidly, snorts and tears rolling down its distorted visage. “SO SAD. OH, SO SAD. THAT I HAVE TO KILL YOU.”
“Don’t know about that,” Jack flashes a death glare. “You still haven’t taken me to dinner yet.”
“OOH… SCARY!” The mimic flinches in mocking shock.
Securing the pipe with both hands, Jack charges toward his fake self, his heart pounding with adrenaline as he prepares to engage in close pipe-range combat. Jack initially hoped that by overwhelming his opponent, they could not fight back. As Fake Jack lunges forward, Jack swings the pipe with all his strength, the metal connecting with a resounding clang. But to his dismay, the mimic barely flinches.
“FORGETFUL JACK,” it scoffs, “DIDN’T I TELL YOU I CAN’T BE HURT?”
Jack dashes straight backward, avoiding any retaliation from his doppelgänger. He will not take any chances this time, not if he wants his head to stay intact.
How truly interesting. A battle between an immovable object and an unstoppable force.
Tell me, Jack, how can I help?
Jack widens his eyes at the voice’s sudden intrusion, and even more when he considers its offer. But amidst this one-sided battle, Jack needs all the help available if he hopes to see another sunrise.
“What can you do?” Jack asks.
What can I do? What can I not do? Want me to restrain it?
Jack considers the voice’s suggestion for a moment. It may work, but given the performance of the mimic so far, Jack can brainstorm various ways for it to free itself.
"No, restraining it might not work," he holds his chin in thought. "We need to incapacitate it. Permanently."
On the other side of the room, Fake Jack is laughing and wheezing uncontrollably, its face distorting and changing every second.
I was hoping it would turn into an old man, and get slower.
Eh, wouldn't be too bad if that happens.
“Actually yeah, wouldn’t be too bad of an idea,” Jack nods. “Do it.”
Snap!
Fake Jack stops laughing, and immediately begins crying out in agony. It whimpers as spikes protrude from its stomach, causing it to stumble on a cardboard box, and keel over. Its once-twisted visage contorts violently to that of an elderly man. Jack feels nothing but exhilaration as he watches it suffer. For all he knows, this creature had probably murdered hundreds, if not thousands of innocents and guilty people alike. Scums like them do not deserve his sympathy. And as he towers over its frail and haggard form, Jack is almost sad that he has to end it quickly. Death is a mercy for this piece of trash, he grips the pipe tightly, shaking with rage.
Summoning every last ounce of strength, Jack lunges forward. Winding his arms as far as he can, Jack swings the pipe straight into its face with a deafening crack. The impact rings out through the chamber. Lights flicker above before they fade away with the echo of the impact.
"What a two-faced wannabe," Jack wipes the sweat off his eyelids with the pipe.
Heh, that wasn't too fair. Don't you think, Jack?
Jack heaves his chest like a blowfish as he catches his breath, his gaze fixed on the mangled corpse before him.
"Yeah, not fair for me," Jack scoffs. "You’ve seen what that thing was capable of. I was lucky.”
With a heavy sigh, he leans on the metal pipe for support, his muscles aching from the intensity of the battle.
Okay, let me just clarify one thing.
That was a fragment of CORE.
The transforming entity with a thousand faces.
However, I did not create the entity, even if it was connected to me.
But I guess the time has come for an explanation.
Jack, are you willing to listen?
Jack is not too surprised upon hearing that revelation. Throughout his five years of operating, Jack has never encountered such unbelievable foes, and what is even more unbelievable is that he survived fighting them. And to hear that these guys are connected to CORE, he can relax a little, knowing his efforts were not in vain.
"I have several questions," Jack replies, “and you have a lot to explain.”