CHAPTER FOUR // Well This Is A Fine Mess
"Rupture."
What remained of Johnathan Boyd, an unregistered Esper working part-time as a gas station attendant, collapsed down onto the carpet of his shoddy apartment. And above that stinking, white-hot mess of viscera, two men stood - both in dark-grey suits, one pale and hairless and the other heavily scarred and sporting an eyepatch.
The former's lapel read NO.6 // NEMESIS, while the latter read NO.7 // SEVER. And now pale-skinned Nemesis was shaking his head at his one-eyed companion.
"Come on, man," he sighed. "You know Thompson wants the corpses intact."
"Guess she sent the wrong guy, then," Sever shrugged. "Besides, he was a threat."
"He pissed his pants."
"Yeah, well," Sever scoffed, glancing away. "Whatever." He was looking around, now, at the dilapidated apartment in which they now stood.
Nemesis' black eyes flicked to the back of his partner's head.
"What?" he asked, after a moment.
"Nothing," Sever muttered, reaching into his pocket and producing a long, white cigarette. "Man, what a shithole."
"Pretty typical for our prey, isn't it?"
"You're not wrong," Sever agreed, his voice muffled by the unlit cigarette now clenched between his teeth. "Fuckin' rats. They live like rats, they die like rats. It's disgusting." He shook his head. "World's lucky to have guys like us cleanin' up the filth."
"No doubt," Nemesis nodded - looking up, now, and meeting the dark eyes of his own dead-eyed reflection in the window.
"Hey, by the way," Sever called over his shoulder - stepping into the trash-strewn kitchen and pulling open the door to a yellowing fridge. "You hear 'bout that Fall kid?"
"The gravity user?" Nemesis asked - still staring at his reflection as he slowly ran a finger down along the side of his face. "What, did he finally surface?"
"Oh yeah," Sever chuckled, emerging from the kitchen with a beer bottle in hand. He pressed his thumb against cap - and a moment later the neck of the bottle separated and crashed noisily to the floor. He took a swig, now, before continuing. "Boy, did he ever. Kid was ID'd as part of that clusterfuck heist in Jersey."
"No kidding?" Nemesis glanced back, finally pulled away from his own reflection.
"No kidding," Sever nodded. "Whole Esper crew, actually. Thompson's got it all suppressed, though - you won't hear about it on the news. But word is our boy damn near beat a police Esper to death."
"Huh," Nemesis mused. Some strange, unknowable emotion passed across his face.
"Poor fucker," Sever smirked. "Must've been a rude awakening, goin' up against a former Predestitigator."
"Former is right," Nemesis scoffed. "The boy was always weak."
"Yeah?" Sever asked, stepping closer - and taking another swig of the stolen bottle. His one eye glittered dangerously in the faint orange light of a nearby desk lamp. Even from just a few feet away, Nemesis could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You gettin' excited, Nem? Sounds to me like you got an axe to grind."
"He disgusts me," Delta said flatly, meeting his partner's leering gaze. "Just like these rats disgust you. He's an affront to the rest of us. A pathetic little failure - a Predestitigator manufactured, not grown."
"Don't often see you so worked up," Sever grinned - exposing two rows of yellow and blackened teeth. "Guess we'd better hope we're the ones who get the call, then."
"Yes," Nemesis agreed simply. "I guess we'd better."
They were silent, for a moment - and then, without further ado, Sever tossed the bottle aside with a shrug of his shoulders.
"C'mon, then," he called, beckoning casually over his shoulder. "Let's go grab something to eat."
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"911, what's the nature of your emergency?"
"Yes, hello?" Tachyon asked, her voice calm and measured. "My name is Tamara Wilson, and I live at Harris Apartments Room Number two-five-seven. I'm calling to report a break-in."
Tachyon was laying on the floor of her cramped, dingy apartment, a gun lying on the floor beside her and a choking, dying man held tight in a headlock with her one free arm as she spoke without a hint of urgency into the phone. Scattered around were no less than four additional corpses, each the victim of two shots to the chest and one to the head. Though the dying man did indeed sport the requisite chest-wounds, his head remained untouched - the product of a limited magazine and nothing more.
"Yes," Tachyon replied flatly. She paused. "No. Yes, ma'am. Understood - I'll be waiting right here. Thank you, ma'am."
Without another word, Tachyon snapped the phone shut, tossing the device aside as she rose to her feet and released the wheezing, purple-faced man. She crossed the room, opening a drawer and withdrawing another black-bodied pistol as the man crawled forward, reaching out with a trembling, dying hand.
Tachyon bent down - rolled him over onto his back, up against the wall - and then without further ado she planted her boot upon the center of his chest and leveled her pistol against his forehead.
"No matter what, you're gonna die," Tachyon said simply. "You talk, you die quick. You stay silent?" Slowly, the barrel of her weapon drifted down. "You die slow. Now, then," she reached up and racked the slide back, "who sent you here?"
They spoke for approximately two minutes until, satisfied, Tachyon stepped back and shot the man twice in the forehead. Then - her expression still utterly calm - she reached into her pocket, withdrawing a second phone and pressing it against her ear. It rang only once before picking up.
"Raul," Tachyon said simply, as the blood began to pool around her feet. "We have a problem."
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"Anton's people, then?" Raúl asked. He stood at the center of a lavish penthouse that loomed overtop the city below, flanked on either side by windows that spanned the entire length of either wall. "Interesting."
The void of emotion in his tone belied the neurotic tapping of his finger against the back of the phone as he paced and paced.
"Seems so," Tachyon's voice replied. "Apparently they think we've been messing with their money. Maybe the heist-"
"Indeed," Raúl inclined his head. "There is much to discuss - but not over the phone."
"Right," Tachyon agreed. "Have you received confirmation from the others?"
"I only just now got off the phone with Pharaoh," Raúl said. "Seems it was quite the bloodbath up there."
"It's always a bloodbath with him," Tachyon said, humorlessly. "Any others?"
"None as of yet."
"Okay," Tachyon said. "You try to get ahold of Petra and Surge. I'll call 'Neck and head straight to August's place - he doesn't live far from me. And after that?"
"The third location," Raúl replied. "Best not to speak its name over the phone."
"Understood," Tachyon said. "If I'm not there in two hours I'm dead."
"Same for me," Raúl nodded. He hesitated. "Be safe, Tachyon."
"You as well."
Then, the phone clicked off, and silence reigned once more.
Slowly, Raúl's head tilted up - and he found himself staring at his own reflection in the window ahead.
He stood in silence that way for nearly thirty seconds before his phone began to buzz urgently in his hand - and then, instantly, it was pressed tight against his ear.
"Petra," he said quickly. "Are you alright?"
"I-I..." a weak, shuddering voice came. "They s-shot...it's Surge, he-he's..."
Raúl's grip tightened around the phone. His jaw clenched.
"Don't say another word," he ordered, striding briskly towards the door at once. "I'll be right there."
"R-Raúl?" Petra asked - and the older man couldn't help but flinch. She sounded as though she were on death's door.
"Yes, I'm here," he said quickly, donning and lacing his boots as he wedged the phone between his ear and his shoulder.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
"I..." Petra trailed off. "I had to use Orochi."
Raúl didn't say anything, for a moment. Then without further ado he rose to his feet - straightened his jacket - and yanked open the door.
"Five minutes," he declared. Then, he snapped the phone shut and ran, slamming the door behind him.
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Slowly, Fall's eyes flickered open.
It was bright in here. Way, way too bright.
He found himself sitting in a small, damp room - a space with wrought-iron walls and a concrete floor, illuminated by a hanging lamp and occupied only by a folding chair upon which he was now chained. And he was quite thoroughly chained - his hands bound not by handcuffs but by a conjoined block of solid steel.
Well, he thought to himself, glancing around. How the hell did I get here?
His memories were spotty, fading. The last thing he remembered was walking up to his apartment door, and then...
Oh, right. The hand. The rag.
This was going to be a pain in the ass.
Another might have panicked in such a situation, or fallen immediately into despondency. Another might've needed several minutes to gather themselves - especially when waking from chloroform-induced sleep. But Fall was the product of a decade of brutal, rigorous, and all-encompassing training. Even moreso than his brain, his body already knew exactly what to do. It was writ upon his muscles like a tattoo upon his skin.
And so, Fall rose to his feet and snapped his fingers, increasing the gravity in the precise space between his two hands to three tons - more than enough to split the cuffs quite neatly in two.
Nothing happened.
Fall blinked.
Then, slowly, his expression twisted into one of exasperation and annoyance.
"A Negator?" he demanded aloud, to nobody in particular. His voice was cracked and weak. "You gotta be kidding me."
Fine, he thought to himself, stepping now towards the looming steel door. There was a Negator Esper, somewhere, robbing him of his ability - and sure, that was plenty inconvenient. But his enhanced physiology remained. To a human, this cell would be quite utterly inescapable. But to an Esper?
Fall cocked his cuffed hands back - then swung, slamming the door with such forge that it was nearly blown off its hinges. Another hit - and now he could hear distant, muffled voices shouting outside.
Fall cocked his hands back for a third strike, just as the door swung open to reveal a gun-barrel staring him square in the face.
The weapon barked - but Fall was already ducking low and surging forwards, knocking the gun aside with his handcuffs and sending the shooter flying back with a snap-kick to the chest.
Another man was by his side, then, leveling a shotgun against the side of Fall's head. The former Predestitigator didn't even spare him a look.
"Slow," Fall chided, whirling around and batting the shotgun away with a spinning kick before smashing his assailant's face in with the same hunk of metal that bound his hands together.
Both guards slumped to the ground, unconscious, and Fall had only a moment to ponder just who the hell these people were when, without any semblance of warning, he felt an ice-cold hand resting against his shoulder.
"Settle down, now," a deep voice came from behind him - and at once, it was as though every once of energy was drained from Fall's body. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed, drooling and twitching, as above him a tall, lanky, shirtless man now stared down at him, his skeletal body covered in countless tattoos, piercings, and studs. He looked at Fall now with something like sympathy as the former Predestitigator struggled to move.
"Good evening," the stranger said simply, putting a hand to his chest. "My name is Null. I've been tasked with watching over you."
"You damn...Negator..." Fall slurred, struggling to make his mouth move properly. His tongue felt like a fat, useless hunk of meat inside his mouth. "Always a...pain...in the ass..."
"You've dealt with a Negator before?" Null asked, cocking his head to the side. "I'm surprised. Most of us have been hunted to near-extinction, after all. Well, in any case, I suppose that speeds things up. You know full well that you're quite powerless against me."
"Asshole..." Fall seethed, his entire body trembling - but still remaining unmoving. He knew full well that an Esper was rendered utterly paralyzed by the touch of a Negator's palms. And he knew, too, that the Negators were indeed a dying breed - as was to be expected of the natural enemy of a superpowered class of human. Division Five had long sought to recruit one of their number, and long had they remained unsuccessful. Now, one of them was staring Fall right in the face. That, he supposed, was just his luck, wasn't it?
"We're both here on behalf of my employer," Null explained, steepling his hands. "I've been instructed to detain you here until his arrival."
Fall resolved, then, that from here on out he would refuse to give the Negator the satisfaction of watching him try to speak. And so, in the face of the other man's words, the former Predestitigator simply remained silent.
"You've calmed, then? Splendid," Null said. And with that he stepped forward - and raised his boot-heel high.
It was only then that the thought crossed Fall's mind - what about the others?
"Wait-" Fall blurted out, through paralyzed teeth. "What-"
Then, the boot came down, and darkness was swift to follow.
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The door to Fall's apartment flew open - and in stormed Tachyon, an old M-16 rifle in her hands.
Though her face was concealed by a camouflage-patterned gaiter and a baseball cap both, her eyes remained keenly visible as they swept over the near-empty apartment, following in turn as her rifle-barrel did the same.
Slowly, she stepped further into the living room, her every footstep careful and measured. Into the bathroom. Into the living room. Into the kitchen. And then, finally, she stepped outside - gave the apartment one long, last look - and closed the door gently behind her.
A few moments later she was back in the driver seat of an old, beat-up sedan, her rifle beside her and her second phone pressed against her ear.
"He's gone," she declared. "Abducted, looks like - door was unlocked and ajar when I arrived. Don't think he ever made it inside."
She paused, listening.
"I'm certain," she replied. "He didn't sell us out."
Again, she listened.
"Got it," she said, after a moment. "I'll be there in twenty."
Then, she keyed the ignition, peeled out the parking lot, and a few moments later she was roaring down the street beneath the pale light of the midnight moon.
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"We are under attack," Raúl said simply.
The stood at the center of an abandoned, dilapidated cathedral, flanked on all sides by rotting wooden pews - their only illumination that of moonlight filtering warped and discolored through the stained-glass window above.
There was Raúl - rigid, controlled, unmoving. There was Tachyon - standing at attention with rifle in hand. There was Breakneck - lounging casually in one of the pews with a cigarette in hand and a steel baseball bat resting beside him. There was Pharaoh - leaning back amidst the pulpit, partly in shadow, his clothes still streaked with blood. And then there was Petra - pale, shaking, and gaunt, her shirt stained by a foul black substance. The skin around her snake tattoo was swollen and discolored, and both her eyes had dilated to all but pinpricks.
Surge was nowhere to be seen.
"No shit," Breakneck scoffed, leaning back. "I get off the train and first thing happens is I get jumped by five, six guys."
"Twenty-three came to my house," Pharaoh offered - a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "All of them heavily armed."
"They knew you were the greater threat," Tachyon said, folding her arms. "So they know where we live and there's a good chance they know our abilities. How the hell did Anton's people-"
"Word gets around," Raúl said simply.
Petra didn't say a word. She just shuddered and stared. Now, silently, Tachyon moved to join her, sitting beside the young woman and gently placing a hand upon her shoulder. It wasn't just the shock of Surge's death, she knew, that had Petra in such a state. To make use of Orochi was to exact a terrible toll upon her body.
"Well, then," Pharaoh said, clasping his hands together. "Seems like things are about to get interesting."
"That's one word for it," Breakneck deadpanned. "Shit, man, a gravity user would come in real handy right now."
"Indeed," Raúl nodded. "That's why we're going to get him."
All heads turned to their leader, now.
"How did you-" Tachyon started.
"You don't want to know," Raúl said simply. "Phone calls and favors, mostly. And, in time, there will be a price. But for now-" he reached into his pocket, stepped forward, and withdrew a folded piece of paper, "-this is where you will find him." He met the other woman's eyes.
"Tachyon," he ordered. "Pharaoh. Can I count on you?"
"You know you can," Tachyon said without hesitation, rising to her feet and snatching the paper from Raúl's hand. Behind him, Pharaoh started forward, a hungry grin spreading across his face. His eyes gleamed amidst the darkness like iridescent gemstones.
"It would be my pleasure," he confirmed, stepping beside Tachyon. "Shall we set off, then?"
"At once," Raúl ordered, inclining his head. "Whatever you have to do, whoever you have to kill - bring him back." His eyes flicked momentarily to Petra. "I won't lose another. Not tonight."
"No," Tachyon agreed firmly. "You won't."
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It was barely an hour later that Fall awoke once more.
This time, consciousness was slow to return.
Groggily, he tried to sit up - only to find himself unable. And slowly but surely he came to realize that he was strapped down to a metal cot, his body bound by no less than seven steel bands that pressed tight against his skin. His ankles and wrists, too, were bound by steel blocks not unlike his original set of handcuffs.
He flexed - pulled with all his prodigious strength - and found that the restraints would not even budge.
Compared to an ordinary human, Fall was extraordinarily strong, but among Espers his physical acumen ranked relatively weak. It was with his ability that he enhanced the power of his blows - but now, that was gone, and Fall was caught in a situation that simply could not be brute-forced.
And so he began to panic.
These people weren't with Division Five. They couldn't be. And they weren't police or military, either. That meant that the relation was not to him but to Raúl's crew, and that meant that simultaneous hits had almost certainly been carried out against the other members - be they captured or killed.
Each of their faces flashed before his eyes, then. Raúl? He didn't smell like an Esper, which meant he was utterly powerless.
Tachyon? She, too, was a Normal - but deeply paranoid and heavily armed. Nevertheless, an Esper like Null could have dispatched her with relative ease.
Breakneck? He seemed to possess some sort of foresight. Powerful, potentially - but limited by the man's actual abilities. There was nothing he could do if all his "pathways" led only to ruin.
Petra? Her matter manipulation was incredibly limited in application, and clearly exacted a heavy toll upon her body. She had favored a pistol over raw strength, too, when fighting the police Esper - which meant her strength was likely negligible.
Surge? The ability to manipulate electronics was nigh-useless in combat. He, like Petra, was no fighter.
And Pharaoh?
He thought of that face - of those dangerous eyes, of that wild grin as he descended upon the police officers who would've shot Fall dead. He thought, too, of how the man had moved with speed even Fall could not possibly have matched.
He decided, then, that Pharaoh had almost certainly survived. He simply could not conceive of that man dying at the hands of some amateur gangsters. But the others?
They were no Predestitigators.
Now, Fall leaned his head back and closed his eyes as his heart began to thump faster and faster in his chest. What if it all ended here? What if this was it? He lived for so long as a weapon, a tool, a soulless thing to be wielded another - and then he died without purpose and without meaning. Without friends. Without family. He would not be missed and he would not be mourned. His death would pass unnoticed, and the world would turn on without him, heedless of his absence.
The thought terrified him so badly that he could hardly breathe. And just as he opened his mouth to holler, to roar, to bellow for help from someone, anyone - the door swung open before him.
It was Null - and this time the Negator looked utterly terrified.
"Come on," he said simply, and a half-dozen guards flooded the cell at once. "We're leaving."
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And so, Fall's cot was wheeled down a stained, rusted hall, flanked on either side by grim-faced men with shotguns and rifles in hand. Behind him, he could barely make out Null's figure - and could see, too, the Negator's head snapping back with every distant crash. Every gunshot. Every scream.
Something was happening, Fall knew. Someone was slaughtering his captors. And whoever they were, they had the Negator quite literally shaking with fear.
"Alright, alright," Null was saying to the guards. "There's three vans waiting. We stick him in the left, with me. Left heads north towards Arlington. Middle goes west. Right goes east. You drive and drive and drive and whatever you do you do not turn back, do you understand me?"
"Got it, Mister Null," one of the guards replied, as Fall was wheeled quite briskly around the corner. He could tell now that they were in some sort of abandoned hospital - or a psych ward, perhaps.
Then, in the distance, there was an explosion - one that shook the floor beneath their feet. Null's head snapped around at once.
"Even with his abilities suppressed?" he demanded. "How the hell do you stop that thing?!"
"We got people on it, Mister Null," another guard reassured him. "You just gotta focus on delivering this little fucker to the Boss in one piece."
"I know!" Null snapped. "I know that, damnit!"
Fall was certain, then. Pharaoh had come to rescue him.
Now, all he had to do was wait.
"You're all dead, you know," he blurted out suddenly, and all heads turned at the sound of his voice. "You know that, right?"
"Shut up," Null muttered. Fall felt himself being wheeled slightly faster, now.
"The guy coming after you right now?" Fall continued, emboldened now. "He even scares me."
"I said be quiet," Null growled. But Fall could see the guards exchanging worried glances.
"I'm just saying," Fall shrugged. "Release me now, and I promise you-"
"Shut your mouth before I-" Null began to bellow - only to be interrupted as the wall beside them exploded into a cloud of dust and flying, spiraling chunks of debris. And all that the Negator had time to say in response was this:
"Shit."
Then, from the plume of dust that now filled the hall, a hand emerged, grabbing Null by the face with such force that the cracking of the Negator's skull was clearly audible to all present - and then it yanked him back, smashing his head against the wall. It did not break so much as explode, showering both Fall and the guards in a spray of bone and viscera.
At once, it was though a great weight had been lifted from Fall's shoulders - and so immediately he snapped his bonds with seven precise applications of enhanced force.
Now, slowly, the guards were stepping back as Null slumped, headless, and Fall rose quite casually to his feet with a long stretch of his arms.
"Appreciate it, Pharaoh," he offered casually to the shadow looming amidst the fading cloud of dust. He reached up, brushing his sweat-matted hair to the side. "Now then, let's-"
Then, the dust faded - and Fall found himself face-to-face with a towering figure, its one hand resting atop a wolf-tipped cane and the other still dripping with chunks of gore. Its entire left cheek was ripped away, revealing both rows of teeth and all manner of glistening sinew and tendon. Already, however, the wound was receding, the skin and the muscle knotting themselves back together as new teeth emerged one by one from bloodied gums.
A pair of yellow, hungry eyes fell upon Fall now - and the former Predestitigator's words died in his throat.
"Fall," Bastion rumbled, his voice distorted by regenerating vocal chords. A truly hideous grin split his face. "What a coincidence."