Gemma Morrow's Story

“Take it off!”

Huey pulled at the gunmetal-gray collar around his neck, a panicked look fresh upon his face. For a newly-christened fifteen-year-old, the boy was a little short for his age, though that knowledge wasn't novel to him. He had tan mocha-hued brown skin, which was perfectly accented by his bright amber eyes currently rounded in agitation. Once again, he yanked at the thick hexagonal choker fastened tightly around his neck, trying his very hardest to worm his fingers in through the small cleavage left between it and his skin. After a few seconds of fruitless struggling, he finally gave up, exhaling loudly. He was obviously flustered.

Frowning deeply, Huey turned his head, leveling his tormentor with a steely glare. The boy’s hair, black a night, seemed at odds with the rest of his body. A large unkempt mass it was, balanced symmetrically atop his scalp as if by sheer luck. Some might have called it an afro, though it resembled not a delicately sculpted oval or semicircle, but a wild and ferocious gaggle of thick roots that went in every which direction. It was the style of a person who couldn’t be bothered to keep up with society’s standards, and it gave Huey the look of a mad scientist upon first blush. The sight was tempered, however, by the unusually demure impression his countenance tended to impart.

Of course, Huey was anything but calm or reserved at the moment.

“Come on!” He said, subconsciously upping his voice in pitch and octave. “How long do I have to stay like this, lady?”

His tormentor did not shy away from the boy’s piercing glare, electing to stare right back at him, her dense golden irises equally as piercing. Where he frowned in frustration, she grinned in glee.

“I told you, call me Neer, my dear Huey.” She smiled politely, the warmth of her tone and expression completely encompassing the entirety of her face. Simultaneously, she flipped the paper over on the clipboard she held, revealing a fresh page. “So tell me more,” she began, taking a step towards Huey. The boy mirrored her motion, but in reverse, taking a step away from Neer. “How do you invoke your ability? Is it merely instinctual? Or is it logical? Involuntary? Visceral?”

She took another step towards Huey, and Huey took another step back away from her. Unfortunately for him, his back was now flush with the wall. There was no more room for retreat. She started scribbling furiously as she spoke, soon filling the entire top half of the paper with handwriting so atrocious that it was only decipherable by Neer herself.

“Do you have to make contact with a certain part of your body when you do it?” She continued, her voice speeding up drastically. “How does it feel? How about other forces? Heat? Can you feel heat? Pain? Anything at all? How about electricity?! I’d love to run some experiments on you! Oh! What’s the highest you’ve ever jumped?! Have you ever been hit by a car?! Hmm?!” Eventually, she began to speak so fast that her words blurred into single stream of gibberish, the pen in her hand flying across the paper before it with an impractically swift yet predictable rhythm, like a typewriter on turbo.

Huey just leered daggers at her, folding his arms in unyielding obstinance, turning his head to the side in defiance, and saying nothing. If looks could kill… and mere daggers could fell someone like Neer, perhaps she would have died.

Neer’s rapid-fire round of questioning came to an end when she finally noticed that her respondent wasn’t reacting to any of her prompts. She pursed her lips—not in annoyance or frustration, but in curiosity. The child before her was quite a bit shorter than she was—five four to her five nine by her visual approximation. Her eyes were mechanical rather than organic, so she tended to trust her visual approximations. Still, an approximation is just that. Her eyes also allowed her to estimate that he weighed no more than 120 pounds, yet another metric she outclassed him in. In comparison, she herself weighed in at a staggering fourth-of-a-ton. That’s a good five to six hundred pounds.

Not a lot of fun to be around on an elevator.

Neer observed Huey’s generally unkempt appearance didn’t stop at his hair. Though it did little to hide his slim yet oddly toned physique, the boy wore a grimy black tee-shirt that obviously hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in weeks. As for the lower half, he was clad in what Neer could only assume were a misappropriated pair of knee-length white shorts with black highlights, coupled with some ordinary pair of shoes. She came to the assumption about the shorts due to how clean they were in comparison to the rest of him. They were veritably impeccable. Hell, they even looked good on the kid.

In comparison, Neer herself wore a tight gray form-fitting one-piece. Coupled with her perfect curves, plump bosom and lengthy flowing white hair, it gave her the look of an athlete fresh off the field, or an astronaut preparing to don the big suit. The outfit was of her own design, of course. Neer was a serial tinkerer if nothing else and loved not anything more than creating stuff, from clothing to weapons and everything in between.

“If you don’t answer my questions, this is going to get a lot less fun for you, Huey.” She said, still grinning merrily.

Huey didn’t miss the iron in her voice, and flinched slightly at her last few words. Once more, he brought hands up to the cool metal that encircled his neck, though he did not tug at it. Seems he’d given up on that course of action.

But Huey was no stranger to threats, and even less so to pain. As such, he kept his mouth shut, vowing silence. Neer took another step forward in response, her lengthy form towering well over the boy, her body casting a noticeable shadow in the wake of the sterile fluorescent lighting that permeated the room. Neer’s home was tiled in white from floor to ceiling, like a hospital room but without the antiseptic odor. Unsurprisingly, the place was pretty messy, from what Huey had seen. Scraps of cloth and metal remains lay strewn across the floor like discarded clothes.

Huey hated the place upon first stepping foot within it.

“Hmm.” Neer took a knee, lowing herself until she was eye level with her youthful ward. Huey refused to look at her, instead staring off to the side. “I thought you wanted to join the Wicked Ones, sweet Huey,” she said, her tone gaining gravity.

At the mention of the Wicked Ones, Huey’s eyes snapped forward, meeting Neer’s. What he saw there wasn’t the glint of stratagem or glimmer of malice, but the depth of simple inquisitiveness. He raised an eyebrow when she failed to go on, the outright candor of her statement making him forget his internal vow of silence.

“Yeah… what about it?” He mumbled.

She grinned, bringing her face to within millimeters of his. This caused the area under Huey’s eyes to flush red as he subconsciously pressed himself further backwards into the wall.

“Uhh…” He mumbled, his eyes shifting to and fro, unsure of on what to focus.

Neer was obviously enjoying making Huey squirm, but ruined the moment by dropping her clipboard and pulling a tape measure out of one of her many hidden pockets. “I have connections, Huey. I know them.”

Huey grimaced, responding quickly. “Do you really?” His tone had a caustic sarcastic edge to it. This was how she’d pulled one over on him just a few short hours ago. It was how he got into this mess in the first place. Huey saw the signs. They were a thinly coded messages—ones that lead him and three other street kids straight into a trap. Neer’s trap. One minute they were waiting around in an abandoned warehouse and the next, Neer pops up out of nowhere like some psycho white-haired Batman. Snaps some metal collar around the neck of the person closest to her. Unfortunately, that happened to be Huey. The others used the opportunity to escape, leaving the boy to his fate.

So much for honor among fellow homeless, huh.

“Yes, Huey,” she said, using her free hand to pull at the measuring tape. She began taking measurements of his arms as words fell from her mouth. She didn’t miss a beat. “Despite what you may think of me, I’m no liar.” She paused in her efforts to measure the boy, catching his eye. “Though, I guess if I were a liar, that’s something I would say.”

They stared at each other for an awkward moment before Neer resumed her measuring. “Anyways, chances are: I can get you in if you’re with me. You just gotta do as I say, dearest Huey.”

“Can you stop saying my name?” He muttered, almost under his breath. At the same time, he darted to his left and out from under her oppressive presence, shaking off her attempt to measure the width of his chest. He didn’t move far though. Not like he had anywhere to run, plus the collar…

“And stop touching me!” He demanded. “Just let me go or leave me alone.”

With the subject of her measurements having moved, Neer released the business-end of her tape measure, letting the flimsy material snap back into its furled compacted position with a pop! She slanted her head to the side, throwing Huey an imperceptible look.

And then she picked up her clipboard, pen at the ready. "Hmm. Hey, were you able to use your ability just now?”

Huey caught himself shaking his head in response to her most recent question, electing instead to stare at the ground by his feet, brow furrowed. He wasn’t sure how to proceed in light of her previous statements. Was she telling the truth? Did she really know the real Wicked Ones? Could she really get him in?

Or maybe it was another trick.

For what purpose was this lady collecting homeless kids interested in the Wicked Ones? Kids with abilities? And if she really was picking them up… Huey hadn’t noticed anyone else around Neer’s place. Where were the other kids? Why was he the only one here? What was she planning on doing with him? And this choke collar she “invented”. It was constricting to Huey in far more ways than one. He could feel it.

Fool him once, shame on her. Fool him twice…

It was a moment before he spoke again, his voice coming out in a hushed tone. “Yes,” he said, his hands slowly curling into fists. “I want to join the Wicked Ones.”

“Huh?” Neer put a finger to her ear, slipping the clipboard under her arm in order to exaggerate the gesture. “Say again?”

Huey’s grimace returned. “I said: I want to join the Wicked Ones!”

Neer smirked. “Good boy.”

When you've spent the majority of your life on the street, huddled with random strangers under the warm muffler of a parked truck with the hope of belaying, but for a moment, the steely frost of winter's night, you begin to acquire a certain sense about the world. A special sort of intuition, owned by the few and honed by years of paying dearly for one's mistakes. For instance, that intuition was currently warning him: the season was shifting. Though most were currently basking in the radiance of cloudless skies and greenery flush and full of life, thoughts of a cold harsh winter as far afrom their minds as ancient history, Huey could feel it in his very bones. Perhaps it was the shallow howling of the trees or maybe the brisk pace at which the wind whipped about, but it was definitely getting colder outside. Soon, the days would grow ever shorter, the nights longer and more frigid. The boy looked down at himself as he walked, making a face. Dirty scrawny arms, tattered shirt, and a pair of shorts. At the very least, he'd have to acquire for himself a jacket and soon. It's no fun being homeless and cold.

He'd made that mistake before.

It was his intuition more than anything else that guided him in all things. It drove him. Defined him. It allowed him to know where not to be. Who not to steal from. When to run and not hide, or hide and not run. When all else failed, he always came back to that gut instinct, that solid insight into how the world really worked. Always... and it had yet to go wrong for him. His continued existence was proof.

And that's what so unnerved him now.

He was an excellent judge of people, or at least he considered himself so. It was one of the many perks of his intuition. Inevitably, the moment occurs in any situation with a stranger where you find yourself asking: is this someone I should trust? Over the years, he'd bet his life on the answer to that question. More than once. Yet, even after spending a full two weeks as Neer's lackey, his intuition floundered to deliver a concrete answer. He simply felt nothing from her. Absolutely nothing. He couldn't tell if she was a threat and he should have his defenses up or if she was cool and he was just being paranoid. It was like trying to gauge the emotional consistency of a television.

Huey sighed, coming to a stop a few meters behind a gaggle of people. They were all overlooking a field of kids playing soccer, most of them around Huey's age. Some were cheering. It was a mini-game they held weekly. A bunch of neighborhood kids and their parents would come out and play each other just for fun. Huey knew this because he spent a lot of time at this particular park, especially during the the warm days.

Looking beyond the field to a series of old benches clear on the other side of the park, Huey spotted what looked like his current boss, Neer. She was right where she said she'd be.

Neer wore a loose-fitting one-piece over which she sported her trusty white lab coat, her lengthy silverish hair billowing out behind her in the wind. Huey squinted at her, shifting the plastic bag in his grasp. Even though Neer was merely sitting on an old rusty bench, one leg neatly folded over the other, she somehow gave off the look of a foreign dignitary perched high atop her throne. Her impenetrable black shades certainly didn't help the issue, either.

Yes. "Television" was an accurate simile. It described Neer perfectly. Whenever Huey conversed with her, she seemed to be playing back some set of pre-recorded responses, like he wasn't saying anything she wasn't already prepared for. He'd met girls like that before, but none so... so perfect at it as she was. It was downright distressing.

Huey turned away from the cheering strangers and began walking down a path that ran parallel to the playing field and Neer's current location, the thin plastic bag in his hands swinging to and fro.

Was she someone he should trust?

Huey took the long way around the park, circling around to Neer's position. When he made his way out of the shrubbery several minutes later, he was staring straight at the back of her head. If she noticed he'd appeared a few meters behind her, it didn't show.

Despite himself, a smirk touched Huey's lips.

He began to sneak across the expanse that separated him from the bench upon which she sat, one foot after the other, careful to avoid jostling the plastic bag in his grip and remain as silent as possible. It only took him a moment to get within arm's reach of the woman, and she had yet to react. Perhaps she didn't even know he was there.

Huey's smirk morphed into a full on grin as he reached out towards her. He wasn't sure why he wanted to scare her, but whatever. Maybe it'd make him feel better to know she didn't have all the answers—that something could actually surprise her. Or maybe—

"Thirty-six," Neer called out suddenly. Huey hesitated, then froze. She didn't speak loud enough for her voice to carry far, but she didn't speak soft enough for her words to go unheard.

Afterwards, both Neer and Huey remained quiet. The ambient melody of kids hard at play could be heard in the distance. For several seconds, it was the only sound on the air.

Again, Neer was first to speak. This time a little softer, as if addressing Huey directly. "Thirty-six breaths per minute." Neer turned her head, gazing over her shoulder, her posture still relaxed. She tapped her ear twice with her index finger. "It's what I heard. That's how fast you were breathing just now. Thirty-six breaths per minute." Her voice took on a certain quality, as if she were lecturing to a student. "Quite fast for your age. Makes you sound suspicious." She turned back to face the field. "If you're gonna sneak up on me, you'll have to do better than that."

Huey had to stop his jaw from hanging agape. "Seriously? You heard me breathing?"

Neer chuckled as Huey made his way around the bench. Surprisingly, it was a pleasant sound. Huey plopped down on the other side of the bench, as far away from her as possible. He set the plastic bag down between his feet and rummaged through its contents with both hands, like a pirate digging for treasure. From within the bag he pulled a handful of thick platinum tubes. He set them atop his lap gently, as if he were dealing with precious cargo.

"Do you have my change?" Neer asked.

"Nope," Huey responded simply, taking up one of the thick tube-like items into his hands. "Burrito guy said he doesn't give change." He began to peel back the silvery sleeve, revealing the tan-colored wrap of a stuffed burrito. Without wasting a second, he shoved it into his mouth like a feral animal, tearing off a massive chunk.

It was a moment until Neer spoke again. "When's the last time you washed yourself?"

Huey gave her a look, raised eyebrow and all. "Are you tryin' to be funny?"

"I didn't just hear you, Huey. I could smell you." She put emphasis on the word. "You should considered bathing regularly."

Huey considered her for a moment before tearing another chunk off his burrito. And then another. And another, disappearing the foodstuff entirely. He then grabbed a second burrito and began devouring it, too.

"You can't meet with the Wickeds smelling like you crawled out the sewer."

Huey swallowed hard, his gaze darting over to Neer before returning forward. "I'm not gonna get naked around you."

Neer chuckled. "Why? My lab has a shower. The shower has a door. I won't be there. Your logic does not follow."

Instead of answering, Huey focused on devouring the food before him. Seven burritos in total, and he'd just finished the fifth. He began unwrapping the sixth. "I've been a prisoner in your crazy lab forever now. There's cameras everywhere." He took a bite. "Knowing you, I bet they're in the bathroom, too."

"But that's beside the point, my dear Huey."

At that, Huey stood, catching the final unopened burrito in his free hand. Neer threw him a look full of curiosity, her eyebrows raised high past her shades as if to dare: come at me, then. He took a few steps closer to her and then plopped down again so that they were at most a foot apart. With him so close, the difference in their heights became stark. Without turning to look up at her, Huey raised his hand, offering Neer the final burrito.

"Ah, no thanks," she said. For the first time ever, she sounded... surprised?

Huey looked up at her. "What, you can't eat human food?"

"The majority of my upper digestive tract is intact, yes, but I know how important your calories are to you. I'll just refuel back at the lab. You eat it."

"Refuel?" Huey stared at her for a moment longer before shrugging. "Weirdo." Huey slowed his voracious consumption his own burrito to the point that he was only taking small bites. He was also chewing slowly, as if mulling something over in his head. After a few minutes, he spoke. "Sooo... why are we out here again?"

"I enjoy seeing people in their natural habitats." Neer replied, eyes focused on the soccer match that was wrapping up downfield.

Huey looked up at her again, squinting suspiciously. "Their what?"

"Habitats. Their natural environments. Plus, I try to take time outside the lab every now and then."

Huey opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it. He seemed to be gathering the courage to say something. That much was apparent. It was Neer who spoke first, though. Her eyes were still focused downfield. "Well?"

Again, Huey stood. "How about..." He pointed to Neer. "You. Finally take this stupid thing," he continued, point at the gunmetal-gray collar around his neck. "Off me? I won't try to run away or anything, I swear."

Neer's eyes were still to the field. "It was never to stop you from running away."

"Okay... then what is it for?"

It took her a second to respond. "It's—you—are helping me with a favor I owe."

"A... a favor? To who?! That's not fair—!"

Before Huey even finished his sentence, Neer had twisted the fabric of the boy's collar between the fingers of her cold mechanical hand, pulling him towards her. Huey could do nothing but flinch backwards, though he wasn't nearly fast enough to escape her range or strong enough to withstand her pull. In the next moment, they were face to face.

"Huey," Neer began, a stepford smile adorning her lips. "Do you trust me?"

And there it was. The question he'd been putting off for weeks. Ironically enough, it was her that was asking him. On the one hand, she was his best chance to meet the Wicked Ones... probably. She was his only lead. If he didn't manage to join the Wicked Ones soon, his old friends would be in big trouble.

On the other hand...

Well, on the other hand, she could be a complete liar, and that meant he was in imminent danger.

In the midst of searching for a response, Huey's gaze dropped off until his eyes met with the floor. Neer took that as her cue to continue. "Well," she began, bringing Huey even closer. Their faces were now mere millimeters apart. His breath caught in his chest, his face flushing red slightly. By this point, it was obvious that Neer was very fond of making him squirm. "I trust you, Huey. I trust you to be patient. If you can do that for me, we'll both eventually get what we want." She let go of his shirt. "Deal?"

Huey grimaced, pursing his lips. "Fine. Whatever." Shoulders slumped, he took a step backwards, defeated. "I'll just let you get back to..." He waved his hand about, motioning generally towards the people playing the soccer match in the distance. "Eyeing these people with ill intent."

Neer leaned back and barked out a laugh. It was somewhat startling. "If I were really the evil monster of your nightmares, Huey," she began, tilting her head to the side, her hair falling down around her eyes. Her sunglasses, jostled from their resting placed across the bridge of her nose, now rested a bit further down, revealing her piercing golden eyes like two miniature suns boring into the core of his being. "Wouldn't that be immediately obvious?"

Instead of answering, he turned his back to her. "I'll meet you at the park entrance when you're ready to go."

As Huey walked away, Neer noticed that he'd left something on the bench. It was one of his burritos—the one he'd offered her earlier. He must've left it for her. Neer stared at the cylindrical foodstuff for several moments before taking it in her hands and slowly unwrapping it. She then sniffed it once. Twice. Before taking a bite.



Neer's "lab" was really a one-bedroom studio apartment on the basement floor of an otherwise tenant-less building. It had a single entrance, and that was a staircase located in the back alley along the side of the building. Huey, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, was the first to round the corner and approach the staircase. He was walking a dozen or so paces in front of Neer, who was taking her merry time.

She guessed he was still mad about not getting the collar off. She let out a silent sigh, picking up her pace slightly.

"Neer!" Came a shout. It was Huey.

With mechanical assistance from her cybernetic leg, Neer blasted down the remainder of the sidewalk in a second, bending the corner and sliding to a halt beside Huey, sparks flying as the metal bottoms of her shoes contacted the swollen bits of asphalt that lined the alleyway.

"What?" She asked, her voice calm. They were standing atop the flight of stairs that lead down to the lab's entrance.

In response to her question, Huey pointed at the rusting silver door... and that's when Neer noticed.

The door was slightly ajar. The mechanical lock that kept the door in place had been melted, as if by acid.

Someone had broken into her lab.

Moving past Huey, Neer stormed down the concrete steps, her footfalls thundering like blows from Thor's hammer. If there were people in there, they definitely heard her. Not like she was trying to be quiet. Instead of storming in, however, she stopped at the door and placed her hand on the adjacent wall. A metal panel slid upwards, revealing a series of five ports. The tips of Neer's fingers seemed to slide back into themselves, like one of those collapsing monoculars. Without missing a beat, Neer clicked her fingers into the ports and, in the same moment, disengaged, her fingers returning to normal.

She turned. "Let's go."
"Uh, are you sure? We could just wait for the whoever it is out here, right?"
Neer responded with a sneer. "We don't have to. One of my traps caught them. Two of them."

And so it did. As Neer and Huey entered the lab, they immediately saw the would-be thieves—woefully incapacitated. They had several dozen metallic ropes going horizontally across their bodies, wrapping them from the neck down, rendering them unable to move. They looked like huge earthworms... or massive wrapped burritos. Huey snickered under his breath.

As Neer moved forward, Huey halted upon seeing the thwarted thieves' faces. He was visibly taken aback.

"They're just girls!" Huey said, matter-of-factly. This fact seemed to embolden him, since he ran up to secure a better view. "Wow."

And they were just girls. Two girls. Black hair. Blue eyes. Sisters, by the look of them. They were dressed in rags, so they were obviously slum kids looking to make a quick buck. Unfortunately, they chose the wrong house to try and rob.

"Good for them," Neer responded, walking up to stand beside Huey.

The girls gave Neer the stink eye, one of them growling softly.

"Hey, what's your name?" Huey asked the elder girl.

In response, the girl took her eyes off of Neer and focused on Huey. She frowned. Huey, curious, leaned in a little closer.

And that's when she attacked. Her lips curled away from her teeth into a semicircle and out from her mouth flew a wad of spit, aimed straight at Huey's face. For his part, Huey backed up immediately, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid whatever it was. Luckily, Neer reached out her hand with all the speed and accuracy of a machine. The spitwad collided with Neer's open palm instead of Huey's face, glomming onto the metal like putty.

And then it began to melt. Or, that's what it seemed like. Neer brought her hand to her face, analyzing the damage.

"What the hell was that?" Huey asked, his attention shifting between Neer and the girl that spit at him.

Neer didn't answer his question, choosing instead to address the thieves. "So," she said, bringing her hand down to her side. Apparently, the damage was minimal. "You two have gifts, huh girls?"

"Fuck you!" The elder girl responded, her tone harsh and unforgiving. The younger girl just stared. If looks could kill, Neer's face would be full of daggers right now.

Neer snorted, all of the warmth draining from her face, to be replaced with that creepy stepford smile. She walked over and grabbed each girl by the ropes—one per arm, hoisting them into the air. The two struggled to free themselves, but it was to no avail.

"Huey," Neer said, looking over her shoulder, the warmth returning to her voice. "Would you be a dear and open the bay door for me?"

The bay door was what Neer called the door to the studio's bedroom—which she had apparently turned into a makeshift "operating room". With a sort of morbid curiosity, Huey quickly made his way to the door, opening it and holding it open. Neer walked in past him, placing each of the two girls down upon one of the three steel slabs that constituted what Huey could only imagine were Neer's operating tables. The girls wriggled and struggled in place, but otherwise were unable to move.

The moment Huey opened the door, the harsh fluorescent lighting in the operating room buzzed to life. While the rest of the lab was painted in a sterilized hospital-room white, this room was painted jet black. The only window had been boarded up so as to not allow any external light in. It was his first time being allowed to see this room, yet he didn't actually follow Neer inside. He stood under the doorjamb, his feet refusing to carry him any further. It was that intuition of his again, screaming at him louder than ever before in his life. The message was clear:

Run. Run away from here. Now.

"Uh... what're you gonna do to them?" Huey asked, his voice little more than a whisper. Still, his words managed to reverberate throughout the small room.

On the far side of the room, under the boarded-up window, were four rows of drawers. Each row contained eight perfectly square cubbies with pull-out drawers in them about twice the size of a human hand. From top-left to bottom-right, they were numbered from 1 to 24. Neer walked over and opened two drawers: numbered 21 and 22. From within each she pulled a gunmetal-silver collar, not unlike his own. Neer turned then, slowly making her way back to the two girls. They just stared at her, their expressions now more fearful than aggressive.

As near approached the head of the operating tables, she snapped the collars around the girls' necks, one each.

"Neer?" Huey repeated, looking for an answer to his previous query. His voice shook, though he didn't intend for it to. Other questions had resurfaced in his mind at the sight of this new room. Huey knew that he wasn't the only kid Neer had ever collared.

So... where were the others?

"Huey," Neer muttered, finally turning her attention to him. She took off her sunglasses, stuffing them into her cleavage. Even though she was smiling, her voice had a steely edge to it. "I'm going to chop them into itty bitty pieces."

Silence.

"... S-seriously?" Huey muttered, an expression of horror slowly overcoming his face.

Suddenly, Neer chuckled, her voice regaining its previous warmth. "No, Huey. Of course not." From some unseen drawer, she took out some syringes. "I'm going to take a few samples, run some tests, and then let them be on their way, just like the others."

"Like you let me go?" Of course, he was being sarcastic.
"Well, Huey, you're special. None of the others actually wanted to join the Wickeds, so I let them go, get it? You said you wanted to join, remember? So I kept you around." A sliver of iron had returned to her tone. "If you've changed your mind, you're free to leave."

"No!" He replied immediately. "I want to join!"
"Good. Now..." Neer sniffed the air suggestively. "You really do smell. If you want to stay around, go take a shower."
"But—"
"Please. You're making it hard for me to function properly."

Huey bit his lower lip, throwing the two girls a concerned look before nodding once at Neer's request and stepping back from the threshold, allowing the operating room's door to close. Neer walked over to the door and pressed a yellow button next to the knob. The sound of a lock engaging could be heard, along with a small hissing noise. It only lasted for a moment.

"Good," Neer said, turning to the two foiled robbers. "I'm glad I added the soundproofing."

The two girls, collared, just stared at Neer, saying nothing as she walked back over to them.

"Did you know I can selectively disable any of my senses? Any one I want. Flick. Poof. Gone." As she spoke, Neer reached down to the girls' necks, depressing a small button on their collars. Though there were no physical indications, Neer knew that the collars had become operational. "Like smell. I don't have to smell things if I don't want to. Isn't that neat?"

It only took a few seconds for the younger of the two sisters to show a reaction. At first she started shaking her head from side to side. Then, without warning, she arched her back, her belly high above rest of her body, her arms and legs spazzing uncontrollably, still bound by the steel ropes. Her pupils dilated a moment later. Her chest heaved to and fro as she struggled for breath that wouldn't come. After a second, chalky white foam began to pour from her open mouth.

"What are you doing?!" The elder sister cried out, her tone harsh but her eyes full of fear.

Neer ignored her, instead reaching for a clipboard and pen. As the younger sister thrashed about on the operating table, she began taking notes.

"STOP!" The elder sister demanded, struggling against her bonds. It was futile.

"The first specimen—in accordance with my numbering scheme, I am dubbing her Subject 171—has just gone into cardiac arrest roughly 12 seconds after the activation of Prototype 21." Neer was scribbling so fast that she might as well have been scratching randomly on the paper. "From visual analysis of her vitals, it would seem to confirm that Prototype 21's ability dampening algorithm is indeed far too aggressive."

Suddenly, the younger sister became still.

"Hmm," Neer continued, narrating her scribbles. "At 2:08:11, Subject 171 expired. I am not sure of what her abilities were, and so am not able to analyze if they were properly dampened. However..." Neer's eyes swivelled, landing on the remaining sister. The girl was sobbing, calling out to her sister, still trying to break free from her bonds.

"The other specimen, whom I dub Subject 172, has not gone into cardiac arrest at the activation of Prototype 22. This is good." Neer walked over the girl, taking her steps without the slightest hint of hurry. Suddenly, she jammed her fingers into the girl's mouth, removing them in quick succession. At the same time, Neer raised her knee, balancing the clipboard on it, and began jotting down notes while staring at the hand she'd unceremoniously jabbed into the girl's mouth. There was blood on her fingers. "Subject 172's ability, which is something akin to her bodily fluids being corrosive to everything they come into contact with, is indeed being dampened. Based on visual analysis of her saliva, the dampening has been 99.866% successful, though more invasive tests will be run to confirm this."

For a while longer, Neer continued to jot down notes while the girl continued to sob. After a moment, Neer reached down onto the ground, pulling a small black wire out of a socket in the floor and connecting it to a port that opened in the back of her neck. Plugging it in, she stood.

"All of this is good news for both of us, 172," Neer chuckled, her voice full of warmth. "The Prototype 14 had a 48% mortality rate within the first sixty seconds of activation. By 20, I cut that down to 19% in the first twenty seconds. If you're any indicator, the 22 brings that down to 4%. And the 23..."

Thanks to her interfacing with her laboratory using the black wire, Neer now had access to every device attached to her lab network. In her mind's eye, she pulled up surveillance footage. It showed her the lab bathroom. It showed her Huey, arms crossed, standing under the shower head, being drenched in water. Neer smirked.

"Well, I think I might've eliminated the sudden mortality with version 23," she muttered. She was mostly talking to herself now. "But we'll see, won't we, Huey?" In the surveillance footage, the gunmetal-gray collar around Huey's neck almost seemed to glitter as the water washed over it. "My adorable little 170."

"Please," the remaining girl on the table begged, blood trickling down the side of her face. She was no longer struggling. "Please... let me go..."

Neer turned away from her, instead approaching the table where the corpse of the younger sister lay, unmoving. "Ah, right. Sorry, love. I'm on a schedule, see? And the deadline is rapidly approaching." With a slight push, Neer began wheeling the table over towards the opposite side of the room, stopping about halfway between the other tables and the rows of drawers on the far side under the boarded-up window. On the adjacent wall was a large stainless steel door, complete with a huge handle. It looked like the door to a huge refrigerator. "And here I was, thinking I'd have to bring in a few extra stragglers. Again. I hate that. But low and behold, the universe grants me this excellent gift. A twofer, gift wrapped no less!" As she spoke, Neer pulled open the door. On the other side there was... nothing. Just blackness. Neer moved the operating table so that it was perpendicular to the hole in the wall and then lifted the end closest to her, forming an acute angle with the blackness on the other side. The corpse slid down the makeshift ramp and into the hole, disappearing forever. At first, there was no sound, but after a few seconds there was an audible plunk! as the corpse hit the bottom.

"I have to deliver a clean Prototype 24, and it's very very close to being done," Neer continued, wheeling the table back to rest beside the remaining girl, who by now was absolutely hysterical. Ignoring her antics, Neer reached into the same drawer she drew the syringe out of earlier, except this time she didn't pull out a syringe. It was a scalpel. "I just need a teensy bit more data before I can fab it, okay?" Neer moved to stand atop the struggling girl, the harsh fluorescent lights flickering every now and then, at times bathing the entire room in darkness. Even in the darkness, Neer's eyes seemed to glow with a supernatural sheen that was quickly morphing into a crimson glare. "My dear Huey is doing his part, and now it's your turn. You don't want to be the selfish one, right?" The girl didn't respond, she just stared, her eyes round and bulging. Neer raised her scalpel. "I'll take that as a yes. But don't worry!" She smiled warmly down at the girl, the sincerity of her expression reaching as far as her eyes, which were by now completely crimson in color. "I'll put you all back together again."

No one looked twice when the woman in black entered a cozy little cafe on the corner. She swaggered through the simple glass double doors like a whisper, her opaque aviators revealing nothing more than a distorted reflection of the world around her. The woman gave the place a once-over, frowning slightly as she scanned the various patrons sitting about. The place had more windows than walls, like most of the establishments in the area. When her gaze neared an assortment of booths at the right corner of the room, the woman did a slight double-take. At the booth closest to the kitchen exit sat a particularly tall lanky figure. Due to the positioning of the booth, the woman could only stare at the back of the figure's head. Oddly pale white hair was the only thing about the figure that was readily visible above the booth's cushioned seat tops.

A grin touched the woman's lips. Immediately, she resumed her confident gait, making her way towards the end of the room. When she reached the booth, she stepped into the seat opposite the figure. She didn't wait for an invitation, electing to speak first.

"How's it going, Gemma?"
Gemma pursed her lips. "Stein. You're late."

"Couldn't be helped," She replied nonchalantly, removing her aviators as she did. She folded them neatly into one of her many coat pockets. Her eyes were a deep shade of blue, like the sky. Her gaze itself was piercing, maybe even intimidating. "Operational hazards and all that."

Gemma sighed but didn't go on. She seemed to be waiting on some cue from the other woman before continuing. After staring at Gemma for several seconds, Stein's gaze drifted to the only other person at the table. He was some kid no older than fifteen, his hair wild and untamed. Something about him struck Stein as odd. He was slumped over the table, resting his chin on top of his hands. He could barely hold his eyes open, and deep black bags underlined them. His face was pasty and wan, with beads of sweat dotting his forehead.

Stein's frown returned. "Should I even ask why you have a kid with you?"
Gemma shot a glance at Huey, who sat idly in the booth's inner seat. "No, no you shouldn't."
Stein pressed on anyway, her earlier question rhetorical. "Don't tell me it's... yours."

Gemma threw Stein a condescending look.

She responded by bringing her face to her palm and pinching the bridge of her nose. "Well, for fuck's sake, Gemma, I've seen his face." She looked Gemma in the eyes. "Don't tell me you're gonna—"

"No," Gemma interrupted, holding out her finger in admonition. "The experimentation phase has come to an end. Huey and I have simply come to terms. Isn't that right, Huey?" Gemma put an arm around Huey and pulled him in closer.

"Cut it out, Neer," he muttered. Initially he seemed to resist, but he was too weak to actually stop her.
"See?" Gemma continued. "He's my proof of concept."
Stein seemed to perk up at those words. "You mean he has it?"
"He's wearing it." She responded, tapping the grey ring around Huey's neck. "The collar."

Up until this point, Stein had only eyed Huey as an afterthought, like some tacky wall ornament. Now, however, he had her full and undivided attention, which was even worse. He wilted under the totality of her fierce gaze, shrinking back a bit. Suddenly, an odd expression ran across her face. "Wait, is he one of those freaks?" It took her another second to add "no offense".

Gemma sighed. She definitely meant to offend.

"Well... is the collar doing the thing?"
Gemma's lips curved slightly, the beginnings of a smirk. "Yes. It is doing the thing."
"What's its power?" Stein was referring to Huey.

Gemma shot yet another glance in Huey's direction. "Let's just say my Huey here could toss you across town if he felt like it." Her words came out like a thinly-veiled threat, but Stein was not perturbed.

"A muscle-head freak, eh? And you've got it under your control? Nice. My employer is always looking for more talent. Are you selling?"

Instead of answering, Gemma reached down to her side, revealing a small silverish suitcase. Placing it on the table, she popped the lid. Resting inside was another collar nearly identical to the one Huey currently wore, though it was colored jet black instead of gunmetal gray. Gemma presented the suitcase for Stein to inspect, spinning it to face in the other woman's direction and pushing it forward all in one smooth motion.

Stein was practically salivating at the sight of the black collar. "This is it?"
"Yes."

Without warning, a waiter approached their booth, a default grin plastered on his face. "How ya'll doin'? Can I get you guys anything?"

Before he'd even finished speaking, Stein made a shooing motion her open hand, refusing to look away from the black collar. "Go away."

"Actually," Gemma started, "could you get my friend here some water please? He's not feeling too well."
The waiter nodded curtly before moving away.

Stein tore herself away from staring at the black collar to give Huey a proper once-over. He did look pretty sickly. Even had a faint black ring around his neck, like a bad tattoo. "He does look a little green around the eyes," she commented, her tone inflecting as if it were a question.

Gemma understood her point. "A glitch. It's fixed in this latest build."
Stein grunted, nodding more to herself than to Gemma. "And who's the second collar for?" She pointed to the second identical suitcase that sat untouched next to Gemma's feet. "Friends of yours?"

Gemma's tone grew a shade or two darker. "You got what you wanted, Stein. The only thing you and your CIA killers should be concerned with now is paying me my money."

"About that." Stein stood, reaching her full height. "You've done some great work for my employer over the years, Gem. And you have to understand: we're mighty appreciative." She reached into her coat pocket, placing her aviators back on her face, hiding her eyes. "If it were up to me, I would've let you walk." Gemma's expression morphed into a full-on grimace. The change in atmosphere between the two women was not lost on Huey, whose gaze oscillated back and forth between them.

Gemma's next words came out as barely more than a whisper. "Is this the part where you betray me? Again? Just like Chicago?"

Stein responded by pulling a pistol from her side pocket and aiming it at Gemma's face. "We're aware of the freak shows you have dealings with, Gemma, and we can usually overlook them. But. There's this one in particular." Stein raised her chin slightly, the light catching on her glasses. "The Wicked Ones. That's who the other collar is for, right?" Gemma remained silent. "Yeah, that's what we thought." With her her free hand, Stein pressed the lid of the suitcase closed. Careful to keep her gun levelled at Neer's face, she leaned over and picked up the second suitcase, too, stacking it atop the first. "Can't let it happen. You don't want your greatest achievement falling into the wrong hands, do you?"

"I'm pretty sure it already has."
"Oh, Gem." Stein placed her index finger on the trigger. "Don't be like that."

Suddenly, a shrill cry tore through the cafe. Stein looked over towards the source of the racket. Seemed another patron noticed Stein and her gun, and wasn't all that happy about it. With much ado, people began jumping from their seats and heading for the exits.

"Nobody move!" Stein commanded, her voice washing over the entire cafe. "I'm with the government! The good guys!" To corroborate her statement, she used her free hand to pull a badge. "Official freak business—ooff!" The table in front of Stein collided with her hips, pushing her backwards slightly. Returning her attention to Gemma, Stein's eyes widened in surprise. Huey was standing between Gemma and the barrel of her gun, which was currently pointed at his forehead.

"Don't hurt her." His voice was low, his tone icy. The resolve in his eyes was absolute. It left no room for debate.

"Huey?" Gemma began, unable to conceal the bafflement in her voice. Such an illogical maneuver on his part took her completely by surprise.

Stein leaned back and barked a laugh. "And the battered pet protects its abusive master!"
"I'm not a pet, and I'm not protecting her." He replied immediately.
"Pfft. She's just using you, dumbass. I've known her since she was a kid. She runs through people like used napkins. You're gonna die for that?"

Huey refused to back down, instead screwing his eyes shut. He knew he was powerless to stop a bullet in his current state. Still, over and over, a single thought kept rebounding throughout his mind: I must join the Wicked Ones. I must join the Wicked Ones! And Neer—Gemma was still his only hope. If she died here, he'd be lost forever.

Stein regarded Huey with obvious disdain, shrugging. "Whatever".

And then she pulled the trigger.

Which is exactly what Gemma had been waiting for. With machine-like precision, Gemma kicked the edge of the table, causing it to smash into Stein's hand, causing her to shoot at the ceiling instead of Huey's head. With lightning speed, Gemma made a grab for one of the suitcases, snatching it out of the air with her left hand while grabbing Huey by the collar with the right. By the time Stein readjusted her aim, Gemma and Huey were already bounding towards the exit.

Stein stepped out from behind the booth, the other suitcase secure underfoot. She took aim at the duo and fired off several shots in quick succession. Her first few shots missed, with the other rounds hitting an unlucky bystander.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Stein muttered, exasperated. She pressed her index and middle fingers to her ear. "Take her now!"

Huey saw it before he heard it. One moment he was running aside Neer and in the next, her body just exploded. Pieces of meat and metal flew every which direction. Huey came to a screeching halt as Gemma lost her balance and fell forward, the faint report of a sniper's rifle reaching his ears. He had but an instant to survey the damage. Neer's entire right arm had been separated from her body. Her shoulder was a jagged mess of skin and steel. Liquid the color of oil leaked from her horrid wound.

Was that blood?

Huey panicked. No way anyone could survive an injury like that! All he could think to do was kneel down and place his hands over the wound in an attempt to stem the tide.

That's when a mind-numbingly sharp pain tore its way through his right shoulder like a fire iron. He barely registered the sound of the pistol firing behind him. Reflexively, he began to turn his body towards his attacker, but Stein gave no quarter. Firing off two more shots, one grazed Huey's cheek and the other lodged itself into his abdomen. The shock from the rapid assault caused Huey to stumble backwards and fall out flat, back to the ground. Almost immediately, inky black tendrils licked at the edges of his vision, threatening his consciousness. Blood began to pool on the ground around his shoulder and waist.

While Huey was being shot at, Gemma took the opportunity to get her feet under her body and blast forward, all in the same motion. The sniper that'd set its sights on her fired again, though only hit wood as she slid across the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the establishment and landed on the other side. Without hesitation, she placed her back flush against the protective obstacle.

"Don't run, Gemma!" Stein said, her voice conversational amidst all the patrons cowering under their tables. "You won't escape. Not us. Not here. Not this time."

Gemma remained silent.

Stein sneered. This was the part she liked the most. Casually, she made her way over to where Huey lay, wheezing, on the ground. If you didn't know any better, you'd think she was taking a stroll through the park. When she reached Huey, she looked down at him, his body, slowly bleeding out.

And then she stepped on him. His belly, specifically, where her bullet had pierced him. It had the effect she'd intended, for Huey cried out in pure agony.

"Gemma! I know you're there!" She said, speaking over Huey's screams. "You're smart, girl. You could have escaped through the kitchen and out the back exit by now, but you haven't. Why?" She stopped applying pressure to Huey's wound, allowing him to merely whimper, hands clutching at his belly. "Is it because you think you can save your pet's life?" Stein shook her head in mock disappointment, dropping her gun's magazine and reloading all within the space of a few breaths. "That's real out of character for you, Gem. Caring, I mean."

Silence.

Stein's sneer deepened. "How about this. Come out, hands up, case with the collar in it on the floor," she began, her tone still irritatingly conversational and matter-of-fact, "or I shoot him in the head."

More silence.

"Now, Gemma." Stein raised her foot, preparing to step on Huey once again, but the unmistakable echo of a door slamming shut gave her pause.

"Gemma? That you?!"

Silence.

An expression of shock registered on Stein's face, but it was quickly replaced with one of admiration. She put her foot back down on the ground, looking over the counter and into the kitchen where Gemma had just made her escape, abandoning Huey. "... Well, shit." Stein looked down at the kid, who was staring right back up at her, his countenance one of defiance. "Guess we weren't expecting that one, huh?"

And then she shot him in the head.

The cafe's back exit lead straight into an alley, which is where Gemma currently stood, clutching the suitcase that housed her work for dear life. If the loss of her right arm phased her at all, it didn't show one bit. Unfortunately for her, the alley was a dead end, and the only exit was being blocked by a heavily armed group of people, guns drawn. Gemma recognized their uniforms. They were a special operations team. A hit squad.

And they were here for her.

Internally, she kicked herself for falling right into Stein's simple little trap. She shouldn't have waited so long before making her escape. All of her genius and logic came together in an unequivocal cacophony to tell her one simple thing: she was out of options here. She could rush them, but they were ready for her. They'd take her out. She could try to flee, but they'd finish her before she made it up the side of a building. They had her dead to rights.

Gemma turned back towards the door, thinking that she'd have a better chance against Stein than her entire squad, but before she reached the door it opened, and out walked Stein, gun in hand. Gemma froze mid-step.

"Wow, Gemma. The way you used that kid as a distraction for your own failed escape. That was pretty dope, as you youngins say." She could only stare as Stein pulled the slide back on her handgun, perhaps checking to see if a bullet was chambered or to discharge a jammed shell. When she was satisfied, she released it. Her weapon reengaged with a deafening click. "You really are a heartless bitch." She aimed her weapon at Gemma's head, her finger on the trigger. Stein was a big fan of headshots. "But that's why I like you."

BANG!

All at once, the wall behind Stein exploded as if it'd been hit by a truck. Bricks and chunks of mortar rained down on the alley and its occupants. For her part, Stein swivelled on her heels to meet this new threat. Standing amidst what remained of the cafe's back wall was none other than Huey, face bruised, holding his belly like a bowl of candy liable to spill.

Without further hesitation, Stein began firing at Huey with reckless abandon. After a moment, her team followed suit. Like a beachgoer avoiding the sunlight, Huey shielded his eyes with his forearm, his other hand still cupping his belly, as he was besieged with bullets. It was immediately obvious that the slugs weren't phasing him. In fact, they seemed to be gathering around him like snowflakes, piling along the ground at his feet.

Seconds later, Stein's gun clicked. Her magazine had run out of bullets. Her compatriots had also run dry. Huey's unexpected entrance made them careless. They all began to reload at the same time.

That's when he made his move.

Running like an athlete with a broken leg, Huey bumped into the hitman closest to him. Normally such a collision would have resulted in someone of Huey's inferior size and weight falling on their butt, but the exact opposite occurred. The hitman flew backwards, smashing into his compatriots and sending them all to pile up painfully against the alley wall. Keeping with his own haggard momentum, Huey turned on Stein, who hadn't yet finished reloading her weapon.

"You monster," Stein hissed, slamming a new magazine into her pistol. "You fucking monsters make me sick." But before she could fire off another shot, Huey rammed her too, bowling her over entirely. With Stein floored, Huey turned and staggered over to where Gemma stood. She looked down at him, an unfamiliar expression adorning her face. He returned her look with one of his own, wrapping his free arm around her waist.

"Hold on Neer," he muttered, bending his knees slightly. At the same time, Stein came to her feet, gun in hand.

"Hey!" She shouted, aiming her weapon, but before she could fire off a single shot, Huey and Gemma rocketed into the air, easily clearing several stories, to land atop the roof of a nearby building. Their landing was anything but graceful, with Gemma leveraging the mechanics of her legs in order to prevent her and Huey from smashing into a nearby ventilation shaft.

"You're really heavy, Neer," Huey commented idly, wheezing, both hands applying pressure to his belly.
Gemma squinted, levelling Huey with an odd look. "That was illogical. Why did you come back for me?"

Huey grinned despite himself. "I felt it. When you grabbed me back in the caf. The collar. I heard the click. You turned it off," Huey moved his bloody hands away from his belly for a moment before returning them. "But the bullets were kinda hard to stop..."

"That wasn't my question," she said, her tone gently reproachful. "You could have run the other way."
"... Is that what you wanted me to do?"

Instead of responding, Gemma took a knee, examining Huey's shoulder. "There is an exit wound."
"I can feel it, yeah." Despite the wheezing, he seemed oddly calm.
"You're handling a hole in your shoulder pretty well. Have you been shot before?"
His grin turned into a bloody full-tooth smile. "Maybe."

With her remaining hand, she forced his hands away from his grievous abdominal wound, examining the carnage. "The bullet is still in there?"

Huey nodded. At this point, he was bleeding quite profusely. "I can feel it." Without warning, he lost his balance and slumped over, relying fully on Gemma just to remain standing. His voice became fainter as he spoke. "I can't..."

Neer analyzed him further, noting that he was experiencing some form of rapid blood loss. Using her shoulder, she shifted Huey's weight so that he was leaning against the ventilation shaft. And then, without any forewarning, she plunged her finger into his wound.

Perhaps due to his body being in shock or the sheer surprise of it all, Huey did not cry out, instead remaining motionless, his face turning pale. Not a good sign.

Having a mechanical body affords Gemma certain perks. For instance, she can hear things that others might not. She can run at highway speeds for a virtually indefinite amount of time. She can lose an arm and go on about her day. She can also use her body to perform advanced surgical procedures without the assistance of tools—her body usually is the only tool she needs.

A few moments after inserting her finger into Huey's wound, she removed it, along with the bronze remains of a bullet.

"I have the bullet," she said, more to herself than to Huey. "I've also applied a concentrated burst of heat through my fingertip to temporarily cauterize your left gastric artery. That should stop the rapid blood loss, but we must go somewhere calmer if I am to put us back together." Huey didn't respond. Without so much as a grunt of effort, Gemma, suitcase with collar still firmly in grasp, hoisted Huey off the ground, positioning her forearm under his upper hamstrings in order to support the brunt of his weight. After several seconds, Huey loosely wrapped his arms around Gemma's neck. She chalked it up to a subconscious response.

"I already destructed the lab, so we've got no choice," she muttered, bending her knees and leaning into a runner's stance. The increased pressure caused the concrete that composed the building's roof to splinter. Arrays of cracks radiated out from Gemma's feet like spider webs. "We'll drop in on dear Morgan and his merry lot a couple hours early."



Gemma slowed in her one-woman-olympic-marathon, decelerating from a superhuman sprint to a more realistic human jog as she approached the warehouse she knew to be the entrance to The Wicked One's base. By the time she reached the familiar warehouse entrance, she was moving at a brisk walk, like a baroness toting around a sack of jewels.

Immediately, she noticed something wasn't right. For one, the warehouse doors looked like they'd been smashed in with a plow. Poking her head inside, Gemma immediately spotted the "secret" entrance to the "secret" passway. Someone or something had barrelled through the false wall like Superman, leaving little of it standing.

So much for secret.

As she navigated the passageway to the Wicked One's home, Gemma picked up on the faint scent of blood. Blood that wasn't Huey's. Though it struck her as intriguing, she wasn't particularly worried. Things were too peaceful for a siege to have gone down. Plus, she definitely recognized the blood's scent, though attaching a name to it was proving difficult. As she walked, her mind inevitably began floating off towards the prospect of experimentation. Perhaps she could redo their entire warehouse—no, their entire entrance system—NO! The entire base! She'd give everyone mechanical eyes that could unlock the doors. Hmm. Would Morgan enjoy an upgraded set of eyes? Maybe. Eh. She'd run it by him later.

For now, she needed to ensure Huey's survival. His breathing had become shallow during their trip, and he'd long since lost consciousness. Her shirt was probably drenched in his blood by now. Still, she would put him back together again. It's what she was good at.

And he was her proof of concept, after all.

With a few more paces, Gemma and Huey stepped into the main base of the Wicked Ones.

The Wicked leader waited for what felt like agonizing years for Esme to answer his question. However he knew to hold his tongue upon noticing the small frail girls fingers balling up into a tight fist while the other gripped Cain's hand tight. Morgan watched Esme with thoughtful eyes. He glanced over at his old friend, an expression of worry swiftly crossing his face. He did brighten up slightly now that he saw Cain's smaller injuries heal and scab over.

Esme's clear and soft voice made Morgan jumped just the slightest and he hoped the subtle action didn't discourage the girls trust in him. She had his attention once the words poured out from her. As each word was spoken, Morgan's hold on his temper began to crack. Just like his temper, Esme's voice cracked and a tear rolled down her pale cheek.

Instinctively, Morgan reached out for her hand but he hesitated in placing it over her much smaller hands. It pained him seeing her like this, it reminded him of Mei. Finally he brought his hand over her own. Her cries of frustration made him frown and grind his teeth. "Ambition and Pride!?" As Esme continued, Morgan's frustration escalated so did the contents of her words. Once she was done speaking, the small girl sniffed and wiped her nose and eyes, becoming calm once more.

Morgan stood over Esme for a little while longer before he suddenly stood up and began to pace the room. And just as suddenly as he stood up, Morgan punched the wall, "Dammit!" Rubbing his face, he pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes making sure to keep his back to Esme and Cain as he did so. He turned around to face them again, glasses back where they should be. Walking over to Cain's bedside, Morgan sat down on the edge with a heavy but frustrated sigh.

"It's my fault isn't Esme? I'm the who sent him out there and for what for him to come back like this? Damn them all to hell." From the looks of it his anger had a lid on it but one could see it in his eyes and posture that he wasn't over it. It wasn't long after that there was something of a commotion going on within the building. With a look of guilt for having to leave Cain's side during such an ordeal, Morgan backed out of the room as if turning away would mean Cain no longer existed.

He turned to face forwards again and strode down the halls at a brisk pace. People were arguing amongst themselves and it didn't take long for Morgan to see why. They all quieted down once they noticed his presence and he quickly cleared his throat to keep it from cracking. Surrounded by four Wicked members was none other than Gemma Marrow, someone he hadn't been expecting to see considering the circumstances. "Dammit! Now isn't a good time Gemma-" It was then that he noticed the blood soaked shirt and the young man in her arms, or well arm seeing as she only had one arm at the moment. He stood there in some shock for a brief second before he finally snapped out of it.

"Shit. Let her through everyone, can't you see she's injured while carrying another injured person? Follow me." He beckoned the woman forwards and he quickly walked in the direction of the infirmary. Morgan was well aware that Gemma would be fine without medical aid for a while but the kid, probably not. Even though she probably could've gotten to the infirmary herself, Morgan needed something to do even though that something brought him back to the root of his worry.

Entering the room, he motioned towards one of the empty beds and then went to one of the medicine cabinets. He pulled out whatever looked suitable for the wounds he saw and handed some to Gemma. "I know you could probably do this yourself but as you can see I need to be useful for the moment. Besides you've only got one arm and that won't help this kid, at least I don't think." He looked over his shoulder at the oddity of a woman. Despite what was going on Morgan's voice was terrifyingly calm.

He ripped open the pack of sterilized wipes and cracked the lid off a water bottle. Making sure the kids shirt was off, Morgan quickly poured water over the wounds. It washed away some of the blood so he used the wipes to clean it up. "So what's your relationship with this kid Neer?" Referring to her street name. He noticed the collar on the kids neck and the state of his person. Even without the blood loss, Morgan was pretty sure the kid would still look like crap. "He isn't another one of your experiments is he?" As he questioned her, an older man came up behind him and placed his hand on his shoulder.

It was quite obvious that he was in charge here, at least in this room any way. "I know you want to help Morgan but I can handle it from here. And you too young lady. I'm not sure how your still standing there without that arm of yours but something tells me I shouldn't worry." Not waiting for an answer the old man, Roy, quickly took off where Morgan left off. With hesitation in his step, Morgan stepped back, running his hand through his hair and sighing.

He shuffled over to Cain's bedside and pulled out a nearby chair and plopped right on down. Looking away from everyone, Morgan rubbed his eyes again. Turning his attention to Gemma, he leaned forwards on his elbows, clasping his hands together as he did so. "Well should we be worried about that arm of yours Gemma?" He forced on a playful smile but it faltered halfway through and turned into a frown.

Gemma strolled through the beast-shaped hole in the wall and into the home of the Wickeds, still managing to maintain her baroness swagger, even though she was missing an arm and carrying a kid. She paid no mind to the dozen or so heads that spun in her direction as she entered, their gazes icing over into steely leers.

Eyeing a nearby counter, she gently lay down the small silverish suitcase that contained the fruits of her precious research, juggling Huey's weight whilst she did so. Though she exuded an air of machine-like emotional consistency and confidence, now that she had finally arrived at her destination, she was becoming increasingly aware of the dire urgency of Huey's condition with every passing second. There seemed to be moments where he would stop breathing altogether, though if she listened intently, she could hear the faint wheeze of his diaphragm struggling to draw in the necessary oxygen.

That's when someone approached her from behind.

"What do you think you're doing here?"

Leaving the suitcase on the counter, Gemma turned, adjusting her stance so as to more comfortably support Huey's weight. Before her stood what she could only assume were one of the Wickeds. Judging by his tone and the arrogant way he carried himself, he was probably new. She certainly didn't recognize him at least. Then again, she hadn't been by in a while.

Inevitably, Gemma's gaze fell to the guy's right arm. She needed an arm right about now, and this guy seemed to have more arms than necessary.

"You're trespassing," the guy continued, puffing out his chest. "Leave, before we make you leave."

His words were like a call to action to several others in the room, most of whom stood, menacing looks on their faces. Gemma recognized none of them. Maybe she'd been gone for longer than she thought. She returned her attention to the guy standing in front of her. A Wicked. He was as tall as she was, which was... interesting. It also meant she couldn't look down at him.

"Right," her tone was so exceedingly dismissive that the guy flinched back a bit, as if from a slap. She then turned her head away from him, refusing to acknowledge his existence any longer. "You there. Girl." Gemma motioned with her chin to the Wicked closest to the hall she knew led to the inner reaches of the headquarters. The place certainly had a new look to it since the last time she'd hung around, but thankfully the inner hall was still the same homey little cut-out in the wall. "Be a dear and fetch Morgan for me, hmm?"

It was not a question. Yet, the girl didn't move. She held her ground, looking around at the others as if for confirmation. Gemma sighed bitterly, side-stepping the Wicked that stood before her and making her way towards the inner hall. "I do not have time for this impudence," she muttered to herself, her pace brisk but measured. However, before she could make it more than a few steps towards the hall, she was stopped by a hard hand on her shoulder.

"You're not getting past us." Came the guy's coarse voice from behind her. Gemma froze mid-step. "Leave, lady." She paused not because of the fingers digging into what remained of her right shoulder, but because Huey had let out a small yelp. In using his hand to arrest her momentum so suddenly, the male Wicked had caused Huey a modicum of discomfort, enough to be painful. It was something she'd been artfully avoiding by carefully pacing her steps and choosing her footfalls during her hour-long journey here, and it had all been ruined by this punk and his bravado.

Not that she didn't understand where he was coming from. He didn't know her. She was missing an arm, looked generally disheveled with dried blood running down her front side, and just appeared through a hole in the wall. Still, that was no reason to be rude.

Pivoting on her heel with all the grace of a robotic arm on an assembly line, Gemma delivered a swift kick to the Wicked's abdomen, sending him flying backwards and out through the hole from which she'd first emerged. She didn't exactly mean to kick him so hard, but she was growing tired of wasting what remained of Huey's time.

"Bring me Morgan," she commanded again, her voice cold and hard, this time directing her wish to the room at large. "Now." Gemma pursed her lips in annoyance when, instead of unilaterally obeying her, four other Wickeds decided to advance, surrounding her. She narrowed her eyes.

If she had to set Huey down for this, she'd definitely be taking a few arms today.

That's when someone cleared their throat. Gemma heard it first and so reacted first, her eyes snapping to the figure who stood hall's entrance. It was Morgan.

At the same time she recognized him, she could tell that he'd recognized her. "Dammit! Now isn't a good time Gemma—" He paused when he noticed the veteran Wicked's sad state of affairs.

"Hello to you too, my dear Morgan." She said, filling in the silence. "Now, if you wouldn't mind..." She shifted Huey's weight slightly, putting her bloody shirt and general armlessness on full display for all to see.

"Shit. Let her through everyone, can't you see she's injured while carrying another injured person? Follow me." He beckoned her forward and she followed, matching his quick pace whilst taking care not to jostle Huey's injured body. As they approached what she knew to be the infirmary in general silence, she could tell that some matter was weighing heavily on Morgan's psyche. It was rare to see him in such an... oddly unpredictable state. Something was riling him up and he seemed liable to pop off at any moment.

Interesting.

They entered the infirmary and, at Morgan's direction, Gemma lay Huey's body down as gently as possible, bending her knees and leaning over so as to become level with the bed. Huey's arms, which were interlocked around her neck, came apart easily as he'd long since lost consciousness.

Gemma nodded at Morgan's next assertion, looking down at her remaining arm. Her fingers were twitching slightly, which meant she was dangerously low on energy—so much so that she was starting to lose control over her extremities. Perhaps that sniper had done more damage than she'd initially thought. She was thankful that Morgan was here to help. It would have been annoying trying to operate on the kid by her lonesome, which is why she came here ahead of schedule in the first place.

As Morgan began sterilizing the area around Huey's belly, thick red blood oozed up out of his wound. Gemma frowned in worry, placing the back of her hand on his forehead. He was burning up.

"So what's your relationship with this kid Neer?" Morgan asked, his voice calm. "He isn't one of your experiments, is he?"

She opened her mouth to answer in the affirmative that Huey was indeed one of her experiments, but a rapid series of thoughts gave her pause. She removed her hand from Huey's forehead and stared at it. It was slightly damp with his sweat.

Why was she so worried, anyway? Why had she expended the extra energy in carrying him here? Why hadn't she just discarded him, like any other experiment that'd run its course? He's just another subject. She'd run hundreds of thousands of experiments in the past, many of them on human subject, so what made this one any different? The only other subject she ever truly cared for from more than a goal-oriented perspective was...

Gemma took a step back, looking at Morgan. The struggle evident in his bespectacled face as he cleaned Huey's wound.

"I'm not sure," she said in answer to his question. "I'm not sure what he is to me at all." The beginnings of a grin pulled at her lips. "It's quite fascinating, really."

That's when a familiar old man took the reigns, shooing Morgan and Gemma away as he went to work on repairing Huey's damaged body. Morgan hesitated before relenting, eventually taking a seat next to another occupied bed in the infirmary. Gemma walked up to stand beside him. In the bed was a Wicked she recognized all too well.

She sniffed at the air. "Ah, so that's who I smelled in the warehouse. You went and got your bloody magician injured, though his condition seems stable. Nice. I won't inquire as to what manner of trouble you two have gotten yourselves into just yet." She winked overtly before spotting Esme. "Oh. And his faith healer is here, too. A shame she can't make me a new arm, huh?"

"Well should we be worried about that arm of yours Gemma?"

Gemma smiled lightly, her legs growing tired. "The wound is slowly hemorrhaging liquids, but I'll be fine once I find a spot to set up my lab." Her mechanical stomach was incapable of "rumbling," but if it could, the roar of it would be audible for miles. "I am a tad parched, though. I would make my way towards the kitchen, but I fear you haven't potty-trained these new Wickeds of yours." She raised the back of her hand as if preparing to slap the air in front of her. "Though I'm not above doling out a few object lessons."

Pain echoed through Cain's mind, surging against his will like unending waves against a pathetically constructed levee. It came as a stampede of agony, rampaging through his body and threatening to stamp out his very existence. Cain wanted to give up. He wanted to quit holding on to life. He wanted to just let it end. It was too much for him to bear, and yet, he was alive. The pain would have broken him, if not for Esme. As soon as she had been summoned, Cain's biological life was out of immediate danger. His wounds sealed up, his flesh knitted back together, and his broken bones slowly slid back into their proper places and became whole once more. Someone was putting bandages on his body. Someone had cleaned off the blood and dirt. It was nice. With his body mostly in one piece, and with his life in the hands of his trusted friends, Cain's mind drifted from the real world, and the muffled voices he thought he heard. Surprisingly enough, Cain drifted off to sleep.


"So this is the end of the line for us, eh?"

"I ain't surprised, I mean, there were thirteen of us. Idiot musta had a death wish."

"Watch it you, that's our master you're talking about!"

"Enough, he's here."

Cain opened his eyes. He could see them. Cain's eyes were working. He looked down at himself, his eyes devouring his surroundings. The room he was in was simple enough. There were no walls, of if there were, Cain could not see them, the horizon stretching out all around him into an inky black nothingness. The floor was checkered tile, a simple black and white, but it too stretched on forever. Cain's eyes turned skyward, but it was blacker than a starless night. All around him there were pillars, holding up the nonexistent sky. The bottoms were intricately carved in white stone, but the tops were hidden in the blackness above. There were no torches, or lights, or anything, but Cain had no problem seeing anything at all. It was bright, but it was dark. Cain chuckled to himself, and turned his attention to his own body. Cain was dressed simply, some loose pants and a t-shirt, but they were almost like pajamas. Cain felt tired, but he didn't dare close his eyes. Even before he saw them he knew, Cain was surrounded.

Looking up, Cain's eyes found old friends. Most of his cards were here with him, ten of them to be precise. This must have been a dream, there was no purple fire on his hand, and he had never been strong enough to summon this many familiars at once. The Kraken and the Turtle, his Wolf Pack, the Mighty Dragon, the Twisted Shadow, Mirrored Ambition, Youthful Pride, everyone except Ches the Cat, Esme the Lantern Bearer, and the Griffin was here. "Hello old friends." Cain whispered, his voice hoarse. There was a general muttering in response. "Though I'm already quite sure, where are we?" Cain asked innocently.

The mood instantly shifted. Their eyes all avoided him, and their standing posture became furtive, even secretive. "Well?" Cain prompted, and finally, Ambition, his own reflection, answered him. "You're dead. You lost us in battle, all but three. The strain on your soul was too heavy, and you died." Instantly the pack of familiars devolved into a rioting frenzy. "Oi! Watch your tone! Why'd you go and tell him? Idiots. You little!" They bickered like children until Cain cleared his throat. "Silence, please." Instantly the roiling hoard was quiet. "I am sorry, my friends." Cain said simply. "I have failed you. I do thank you for all that you've done for me. For years of faithful service, and for putting up with my selfishness. Thank you." Sheepishly, words of acceptance were muttered. Even Ambition could do nothing but blush and look away as Cain so unabashedly did away with his own pride.

"I guess, then, that this is goodbye." Cain said simply, but Pride, who was just a little boy, stepped forward, and Cain knelt to speak with him. "That's where you're wrong, Cain." Pride corrected. "You have much to do Cain. Morgan and the rest of the Wickeds need you. We can't just let you die with our debt to you still intact." More general mutterings of agreement. "You breathed life into us, made us, and shaped us. Would would never have lived without you, so now, It's our turn to do the same for you. We have our pride as well." As the little boy spoke, one by one, Cain's familiars were swallowed up by purple plumes of flame. Finally, as Pride himself was set ablaze, he said just one last thing. "This is our gift to you, Master. You need do nothing but shut up and accept it. So... thank you. Thank you for making us, for believing in us. Now go. You are the Oracle of the Wickeds, the Wielder of the Purple Flame, the Bringer of Life, and the Black Butler. You are needed Cain. So live!"


Back in the real world, a sleeping Cain was suddenly engulfed in a brilliant blaze of purple flame. All his bandages were burned off and the scars across his eyes seemed to melt away. Esme startled. She had hidden behind Morgan once Gemma and the others all showed up, but now she curiously stepped forward. What was this? Her master's life, which had been slowly leaking away from him, had come flooding back into his body. What was this power she felt from him? Either way, it was more than enough, and she bolted, scrambling to her lantern as quickly as she could, and she lifted it well over her head, extending the lantern's golden glow to all in the infirmary. Its healing light filled the room with its warmth and all wounds within the infirmary were healed near instantaneously.

Lost tissues and limbs, of an organic nature, were instantly regrown and all lost blood replaced. "Morgan!" Esme shouted, tears of joy in her eyes. "He's coming back to us!" She rushed to Cain's side, lantern still held high, and waited with bated breath. Surely enough, within a few moments, Cain's eyes fluttered open, and he sat upright. Smiling, he placed his hand atop Esme's head, ruffling her hair. "Thank you, my dear." Esme smiled happily, wiping tears from her eyes as she set the lantern on his bedside table. She clambered into his bed, and rested her head against his chest, her arms wrapped around her beloved master. Cain simply smiled at her, and left his hand atop her head. Looking around, Cain's once dull, white eyes, which were now a faint amber, took in his surroundings with a renewed vigor until he found Morgan. Upon seeing his old friend, Cain's gentle smile took on a more pronounced warmth. "Well, it seems I was away for some time, my friend, but I have returned. I hope I haven't worried you too much."

"The wound is slowly hemorrhaging liquids, but I'll be fine once I find a spot to set up my lab." A wave of releief rolled over him. He was glad to an extent that he wouldn’t have to worry about Gemma as well as Cain and those who he had sent out.

"I am a tad parched, though. I would make my way towards the kitchen, but I fear you haven't potty-trained these new Wickeds of yours." Morgan laughed a bit at this although he wasn’t sure why. It could have been that her words took him away from the boy who was bleeding out on the bed behind them and Cain who was still unconscious. He pressed his chin in between his thumb and forefinger, regarding Gemma’s fear. “Should I be offended at all?”

"Though I'm not above doling out a few object lessons At this he chuckled, shaking his head a bit. “Be my guest.” waving his hand absentmindedly at the door. Then a look of realization crossed his features. “Actually no, don’t do that. I don’t want any more problems than I already have at the moment. I’ll see if I can get someone to bring in some food in here.” Morgan looked over at where Roy was still at work, the look he sent him asked whether it was alright and Roy merely shrugged his shoulders. “Looks like our medic is fine with the food part and there’s some water over in that cabinet over there.” He pointed to the very cabinet he took the medical supplies from.

Standing up, Morgan watched Roy for a moment before those golden orbs fell on his friend. “I’ll go into the kitchen, see what food I can find and bring it over. I’m sure once the kid wakes up he’ll want something to nibble on.” He walked out the door quickly so as not to miss anything important if he took too long. Arriving in the kitchen, Morgan found some fruit and a bag of chips. With snacks in hand he headed back to the infirmary. "Morgan” Esme’s voice made him jump and he broke into a run; nearly running into one of the walls from turning the corner sharply.

He burst into the infirmary quickly putting the snacks he had gotten down somewhere they wouldn’t be in the way. “What is it!?” A look of worry set deep in his brow. “He's coming back to us!" A grin spread from ear to ear. It was then that he noticed Cain’s wounds were nowhere to be seen thanks to Esme’s latern. He glanced over at where the kid lay and saw that Roy had a look of shock at seeing the boys wounds were healed completely. It seemed like he still wasn’t used to Esme’s abilities.

Morgan focused his attention back on Cain, a flutter of joy upon seeing his friends eyes flutter until they finally opened. Soon enough he was sitting upright his hand resting at the top of Esme’s head before she was in his bed hugging him. Laughing, Morgan took slow steps forwards and took a shaky descent into his chair. It was easy to tell that he was quite flabbergasted by it all, especially when those amber eyes of his settled on him. Wait amber? Eyes widened upon noticing this new development. Once again Morgan was astounded by Cain’s sudden recovery that he didn’t quite hear him speak. “Cain your eyes are the color of amber?” his voice soft, almost a whisper that only those close enough would hear.

Instinctively he reached out to Cains face but quickly set it on a new path so that it rested on his shoulder. Suddenly the hand came back up, lightly smacking the side of Cain’s head. “You amber eyed bastard you nearly had me planning your funeral with you leaving.” He chuckled lightly although maybe his joking manner wasn’t quite necessary yet. Morgan leaned back in his chair a wide grin on his face. His mouth moved silently, mouthing the words I can’t believe it to himself. Suddenly remembering Gemma and the kid Morgan almost jumped out of his chair with a new found energy however his silent rage still sparked in his eyes “Oh! You remember Gemma right? She brought over that kid over there that Roy’s with. He was practically dead, very much like yourself a little while ago until well you know, all this happened,” referring to him coming back and Esme healed everyone.

A Summary of Events

It had only been yesterday since the Wickeds had accepted more into their ranks. However whether they really planned to stay was up to them, the Wickeds leader, Morgan, was the kind to force others into his group. He let them stay for however long they wanted to and if they were satisfied by how life was as a Wicked then they were more than welcome to become an official member. What was supposed to be a simple investigation turned into a nasty fight with a different Other than the one they were told to look into.

The arrival of new members wasn’t the only thing that had occurred the other day, one of their veterans, Morgan’s right hand man, had returned but in the worst way possible. He had lost nearly all of his familiars but with when he was suddenly engulfed in purple fire he was alright. Esme healed him until there was nothing left to be healed. Not only was Cain healed but Gemma’s charge as well. The kid had yet to wake up but that was to be expected with his wounds. Cain was still resting after his ordeal on Morgan’s orders.

~ ~ ~ ~

A Few Weeks Later
Elsewhere

The light was so, so very bright; too bright to open your eyes all the way and most certainly too white to be considered natural. He wanted to see where he was but he felt in unsurmountable pain behind his eyes. Grinding his teeth, he decided to try squinting while looking down instead of upwards. Even this was painful but by continuously blinking he was able to get his eyes to somewhat adjust to the light. He quickly found out the reason as to why it was so bright. The walls were painted white from what little he saw of them for the majority of the room was covered by large mirrors. Just from seeing so little, his head began to throb. With all the mirrors facing each other, they created an endless illusion to the point where he couldn’t tell how big the room was.

Suddenly a figure appeared in his peripheral vision. Dark eyes darted to the figures location but in doing so he opened his eyes too wide. The most rhythmic of throbbing came about and he soon regretted ever trying to see who had entered the room. At first he had thought there was only one other person in the room but he soon realized that there was one other person. It was strange, the sound the second person made. It was as if they were sliding across the floor and he couldn’t feel their movements like he did with the other fellow. Then he realized from the occasional squeak and the final click that this person wasn’t walking, they were being pulled in what he assumed was a wheelchair.

“This is the young man I was telling you about. He was so brave as to volunteer to help us out.” The young man on the table felt a chill caress his body and he shivered at the word choice the man used. He didn’t come close to volunteering for whatever the hell this was. They just came out of nowhere as soon as he locked the door to his apartment. Hands grabbed him, pulling something heavy over his head and then tying something over his mouth to muffle his screaming. Those karate lessons proved worthless by the end of the struggle and he blacked out from being shocked heavily. The young man truly wished he could speak his mind and tell this person that he didn’t want to be there, to protest against his claim but oddly enough his mouth felt heavy and he couldn’t move it. They must have drugged him with something otherwise he would’ve ditched this whole damn place from the moment he woke up.

In response to the man’s proclamation, there was a grunt of some sort and then what sounded like whispers. Despite being so close to the pair, the young man couldn’t hear a single thing. From what he could glean from it the whispers sounded feminine but he wasn’t too sure. Suddenly cold fingers prodded his side and he jumped. Someone giggled and this time for sure they sounded like a girl. The very same hand pulled at his shirt and began to cut away at it. Clenching his teeth, the young man could feel his body tensing in utter fear. He couldn’t see a single thing of what they were doing to him other than taking his clothes off. He could hear the snip of the scissors and feel it brush against his skin. Eventually they finished and the throbbing died down to a dull ache but a bearable one. In realizing this, the young man thought of opening his eyes. Whatever drug they had given him had finally begun to wear off. He could tell since he fluttered his eyes and the light wasn’t as hurtful as it had been at the beginning.

Come on Anthony you can do this. Just look at him and burn him to hell, but he knew he’d have to wait until he was sure the guy was directly over him and the drug had worn off a little more. So Anthony waited, he waited until right after he felt the needles go into his arms and finally opened them when those hands pressed against his head to turn it a certain way. Those dark eyes snapped open, staring up at pale pink eyes with such an intensity they could burn and burn they almost did. The drug was still in his system so instead of burning his kidnapper’s eyes out Anthony began to burn the table. The pink eyed man jumped back, rubbing at his own eyes but was quick to get back up. Fishing around in his lab coats pocket, he produced a syringe and thrust it into Anthony’s arm.

Anthony yelled out and struggled until he could struggle no more against the drug. After his body had finally ceased moving and was perfectly still, save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the pink eyed man pulled a hand through his unruly hair. He let out a sigh and chuckled, turning his attention to the small woman who sat in the wheelchair. “I sincerely apologize for that Odette. We were sure that the drug would keep him under for another hour.” He gently laid his hand on the woman’s shoulder and began to push her chair to a location on the wall. Opening the door, he pushed her chair out into the hallway where another pair of hands took her.

The man walked back to where Anthony slept and loomed over his body. He leaned down close to his ear, his grip on the boy’s shoulders tight. “I know you probably can’t hear me but next time you embarrass me in front of my beloved Odette and I’ll skin you alive.” His words dripped with pure venom. As if Anthony heard and felt this strange man’s words, his body jerked and the man chuckled darkly before finally leaving the room himself.

Elsewhere

They had been working at this for hours and still bore no results, at least not ones they wanted. From a bird’s eye view the room was rather large. Large mirrors were mounted on all four white walls, including the ceiling and the floor. At the center of the room stood a single table; its occupant hooked up to various machines. A door then opened to the right, forming a brief rectangle of varying colors before a young man with light pink hair entered the room and closed the door behind him. His stride was graceful and full with a confidence that practically oozed off his pinstripe suit. The pink haired man stood next to Anthony who was still bound to the table. One could see that there were scorch marks on the table that outlined the young man’s body. He was a living flame thrower in that manner. Salmon orbs inspected Anthony’s body, reflecting on the results of his tests. Nothing else mattered but the results.

“Dr. Blaire. It’s time.” He snapped back to reality and the sound of a constant beep disturbed the silence of the room, or maybe it had never been silent and he just didn’t notice it before. Dr. Blaire turned around to see a young woman standing behind him with her hands stuffed in her pockets. “Ah yes.” he gave her a sheepish smile and turned back to Anthony’s still body. Plucking the various wires from the cold shell, Dr. Blaire began to think of who he’d like to test next. “How many subjects do we have left Ana?” She looked down at the plain clipboard eyes scanning the list of names that had been crossed out. There were a total of twenty overall and there were only two names left that weren’t crossed out. “We have two left. Should we be thinking of getting more?” Dr. Blaire took the clipboard from her to see what the last two subjects were like before answering her question. “Yes. I believe we should. “

~ ~ ~

Morgan

The sound of people running woke him. For the briefest of moments Morgan forgot he was home and sat up quickly. Then the muffled waves of laughter echoed in the hallway. “Ugh to early.” He rubbed his eyes and combed his hair with his fingers, no doubt messing up his bed head even more. Morgan looked at his nightstand eyes glancing at the digital clock nestled between various papers and a lamp. It was almost noon which was surprising as he normally woke up earlier. He fell back into his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Reaching out to the nightstand, his hand groped around for his glasses until they found them. Putting them on, Morgan sighed and finally got out of bed.

Stepping out of his room, Morgan stretched a bit before heading off to the kitchen for some food. As he walked down the halls of his home, Morgan knocked on a few doors to notify him entering. There were only a few he wanted to check up like Gemma, Huey and Monica. He went to Gemma’s first then Hueys and finally he got to Monica’s. He stood in front of her door for a while. He still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around her ability but he wasn’t in any position to judge her considering his own. Rubbing his eyes again, Morgan knocked on her door “I’m coming in.” He waited for a couple of minutes then opened the door. The young man peered into her room and upon not seeing her there he closed the door and went to the kitchen.

There wasn’t much food left from that morning so he made due with a sandwich. While he munched on that, Morgan sat down in the Wicked’s “lounge” room. It wasn’t much to be honest. Morgan and few others had supplied the large open room with a bunch of mismatched chairs, sofas and a couple coffee tables. He sat in a large chair with quite the look. It was covered in bright orange polka dots set against black. Morgan had found it at a garage sale and seeing as it was one of the few pieces of furniture he could buy at the beginning. He noticed a pile of old newspapers but after taken a good look he saw that one was from the other day. “Hm let’s see what they had to say.” Shaking it open, Morgan looked through the articles but none of them interested him until he got to one of the last pages.

It wasn’t as much as the subject that interested him but rather the face next to it. A young man by the name of Anthony had gone missing. However the idea of him going missing despite his abilities was strange. He was not only able to manipulate fire but could conjure it as well. Then again he could have just dropped off the map as well so it was best that he didn’t jump to conclusions.

Bang. Thumb. Crack.

"Uff."

"Shit. That's what you are Tim. You're worthless. Your mother couldn't even stand you which is why she left."

Tim was sprawled out on the floor. He was sure his jaw had broken this time from the man's fist and was feeling something inside of his chest that felt like fear. He was sure he was afraid; afraid and unable to move. It had to be the worse feeling he had ever felt in his whole ten years of life. Much worse than the constant beating he took on a weekly to a near daily basis. This helpless feeling, it came with extra feelings that would tear apart anyone from the inside out. The lump in that grew hollow in between his ribs, growing out to make his whole body feel empty. The fire that burned within his eyes, mouth, and the tips of his fingers. He wished everyday for nothing but the courage to kill that man. However, he wasn't sure what stopped him from doing it. If anything, Timothy believed it was his own personal weakness that prevented him from saving himself.

So it would continue on. Though the longer it continued, Tim grew more adjusted, placing the fire he was feeling in his joints and spread it through his walking corpse. He could never win, but he grew to the part where he could at least laugh at the man for not being able to down a nine year old. However, the beatings grew more severe with every second Tim remained standing, but he knew it was going to end sometime. It usually did. His father would get tired realizing that Tim didn't really do anything to piss him off enough to hurt his hand on the boys face and body anymore, commenting at times how it seemed the boys bones grew stronger every day, passing it up to puberty.

His father had a girlfriend, Sarah Cunnings. Like them, she also had Italian background. Like Tim, sometimes she would have to take the blunt of his father's drunken stupor. Especially the times when she tried to get the man off of his son and even some of the times he caught her patching the lad up. It had seemed, she was luckier than Tim. After all, she was an adult and had free roam of movement, so when she decided she had enough bags were packed and she was outside waiting for a cab. It seemed his father was going to let her go at first, but once he began drinking he was outside faster than the cab could pull up to the neighborhood. Though when he had her outside the house, Tim was able to push him off of her, throwing the man down the steps and allowing her to run somewhere and call the authorities. Most likely they wouldn't have done anything, for they had past experiences with the law, but Tim was sure that at least she'd get away.

The boy quickly ran inside the house, locking himself in his room. Being only ten at the time, he was unaware of any other options for him and he knew his father wasn't going to be in the best of moods by the time he returned up the stairs. Crawled into the bathroom not hearing or feeling any types of movements around him. Even after the sun fell and nothing but the street lights could be seen from the window on the bathroom wall, there was no word or creak. Eventually he began to feel the need for food and water, forcing him to crawl out of his hiding spot. Once he opened the door he could feel his throat clogging up and his breath being ceased by fear. His father had been sitting against the wall adjacent to the bathroom door. He had a full bottle of booze left next to a dozen empty bottles and began taken a swig from the half finished one in his hand.

His eyes were tired as they gazed at his son, but that may have been because his body was running on fumes. The man had drank himself past his normal limit. He had literally drank himself sober, though Tim was sure his new sober personality wasn't a nice one.

"T-... Ahem," His father's voice was raspy from hours of drinking without talking. "Timmy. Come here son."

Timothy was feeling that feeling again. A feeling he had thought he had gotten rid of. He knew this was it. Out of all the times his dad had beaten him, he'd never approach him so calmly.

"What's the matter? You feeling scared?" His father had gotten to his feet, picking up the full bottle. "Don't feel scared. You're all I got left. Your mother left, my girlfriend left...." Without finishing his sentence he took the half bottle of beer and handed it out to his ten year old son. "Here," he said giving a genuine smile. "You deserve this. Knocked your old man on his ass you did."

Tim didn't move from the bathroom opening. He didn't want to drink the same stuff that was making his father mad.

"Come on.....COME ON!!!! TAKE IT!!!"

With his dad falling back over the edge, Tim saw no choice, but to take his drink. He had never tasted beer before and when he placed his nose over the opening to smell it's aroma, he quickly moved his face away. "I can't... drink this..."

His stutters were heard by his father who sighed. "You know Tim. All I want is a strong son. A son who knows his place in the world like a real man should. You know what I got instead?"

CRASH!!!!

The sound of glass raining down on the floor along with drops of fluids red and piss colored sounded throughout the house as Tim was staggered back. The only thing he could hear was ringing in his ears and he felt as if he had just awoken from a feverish sleep. The lights were flashing around him as he tried to get a grip on reality. It was at this point that the boy had figured death wasn't far behind him.

Just as he thought, his father wasn't done. The man shoved him into the wall, giving him body shots and chocking the life out of him.

"I got a whiny little bitch who can't do anything for me. You see this Tim. You see the man your scared of. You mad him. This is all your," bang, "fucking," thump, "fault."

When all was said and done, Tim was on the floor, apparently beaten to death, with his dad cursing while walking into the other room presumably to get another drink. However, the man was stopped by a sound he wasn't expecting. Turning around to see what the boy was up to this time, he saw him beginning to stand on his feet. At first he was sure the boy was having a hard time, but after he was on his feet, Tim's body rose easily moving around as if trying to stretch out the pain. On top of that, he began cracking various parts of his body, seemingly mocking the man.

"Why you little shi...." His father stopped talking once Timothy turned around. The kid was actually smiling. Blood was running down his face, there was also the shine of glass which could have been lodged in his wound and he was only ten. Only a little baby still. Yet, he was smiling. His dad gritted his teeth, unaware of what he should do about it, let alone what he wanted to do. Though Tim began chuckling and then started laughing. He laughed until he had to cough and when he covered his mouth just to see that blood was coming with the cough he laughed some more.

"You.... You think I'm still scared after all this time. All I know is this," Tim said while licking the blood from his hand. "This taste, this feeling. It's not fear old man. It's excitement."

The walls started cracking around the house and this time it was Tim's father who was becoming afraid. He didn't know what in the world was going on, but he was sure his son was causing it.

"This IS EXCITING!!!!"

Tim had let his instincts completely take over the boy inside him and only thought of what he knew and his journey of learning. It all made sense, everything his father had done. He could understand now what the man had wanted and he was planning on giving it to him, tenfold.

The wall went from being cracked to bursting, sending debris everywhere. His father began to run for the door, but by the time he had approached the knob, the whole door shattered, staggering the man backwards on to his butt. He quickly got back up and picked up his bottle which still had beer left inside. "Fine. You want to challenge your old man. Then come on. What's stopping you?

Tim was too busy looking at his hand which had just been resting inside some kind of strange glove. He wasn't sure what it was, but it seemed like he had no way to back down now. Truth be told he probably didn't want to. Yeah, he was going to relish in the moment. He charged at his father, bursting through the dust and corrosion that use to be his hallway. He screamed as the roof started to cave and threw a punch at his father's jaw. His father reacted as if he had some type of boxing background, slipping out of the way just to pummel his son with a shot of blows to the face.

Tim only squinted at the round of punches, with each one landed, even though they had been harder than any he'd ever received before, he could feel the pain disappearing. With every hardy shot that came, the boy saw that he was becoming someone who couldn't be hurt by his father anymore. His grin formed and became more bestial and he began to want to show his father he had no power over him anymore. With the last punch he let his father throw, he allowed the man to reach his face and tightened his neck, giving the effect of hitting an unmovable object. He was sure the cracking sounds he heard this time weren't the ones of his own bones, but the bones of his father's hand. The man even gave a long agonizing grunt to go with it, which made Tim even hungrier to put the man in his place. His pawed hand grabbed his fathers forearm and he squeezed with all of his might, easily crushing the man's arm. This time the man's scream was more like a woman's. Tim would have thought it was if not for the raspy voice that echoed. The louder his father screamed, the more Tim realized he hated the man's voice.

He did the man a favor by letting go of his arm, but retracted the favor by kneeling and giving his leg a hard hook, bathing the floor in blood and leaving the man with his leg just hanging on for dear life.

With the man now screaming on the floor, Tim was able to get on top of him, keeping him in place by his throat.

"All this time. All this time I didn't know what it was like," he said in his power trance. "You gave me nothing but pain and heartache. You made me like this. . . No. You were trying to break my body. Break my spirit. The only thing you broke was my brain. That's okay. I want to thank you for it."

For minutes that flowed afterwards, Tim began beating his dad with his powerless hand wanting to feel the skin on skin contact. Though, since his body was evolving as well as whatever power he had he still had enough force to break his father's nose in his first hit and break his jaw in the third. He continued to cause irreparable damage to the man. It wasn't until his pleads for the boy to stop was muffled by gargles of blood and sirens from outside that he stopped. It's funny how people part ways. He felt as if he wouldn't have done it any other type of way.


Seven years later and he finds himself finally in jail for reasons that seemed to be zero. He was caged and once again forced to be reformed. However, he wasn't a human, but a beast in a human shell. Instincts had made the drugs ware off. His powers brought him back to reality, and even though he was caged, it was only a matter of time before he escaped.

"Sir. Sir look at this. After two weeks patient RN is finally awake."

"Huh... How's that possible these meds are supposed to work for a year without fail?"

"I'm not sure sir."

"What about his powers? Has he shown any sign of anything?"

"The patient still has shown zero signs of any powers."

"Well that makes zero sense. His blood test say he's one of those freaks."

"No, he seems to just be sitting in place at the time, but his posture changed and his breathing and heart rate are back to normal rating. . . There's one more thing sir."

"What's that?"

"Patient seems to be smiling."

"What?"

"It could be my imagination, but he seems to be hyping himself up. His heart rate keeps rising and dropping."

"Shut up," The bigger of the two men stood up and fixed his belt. "I'll go down there myself and see what's up with this two week kid. There must be something wrong with his dosage."
..........................................................................

"Huh?"

Joe found himself waking up, seemingly during the afternoon again. He was intending to sleep the day away, but it seemed like something was in the air. It was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on what made it so. Though he imagined that the faint life of the corpse he had felt two weeks ago was finally trying to shine. He remembered going back a week before to check to see if any other bodies were around, but the warehouse was empty upon his arrival. The feds and emergency departments had already cleaned up what was there. "Figured that human body was still alive. Probably should have grabbed him before I left the scene."

The man got dressed writing a letter that said, "Hiya's. Lol... Do you even write LOL in an actual letter. Whatev's. Seriously though, that thing we were talking about before with the nature of our powers. Well I kinda did an experiment to see what would happen if I sent a normal person to jail, knowing that he would be sent to the seventh floor. You remember that one right, the one with the big guy who thinks he's one of those warden's off of the movies. Anyway, I'm a go get him now since his energy is feeling off. You might want to prepare a good sedative though. It's only been two weeks, but he's back to full condition and you know those meds are critical. So I'm a need yours to be more critical. Oh. Don't tell Morgan I let the kid get sent there and I'll let you do one test on me. ONE. . . Maybe."

After writing the letter he left his room and placed it underneath Gemma's door. He decided it probably wouldn't be a good idea to go down the steps since he could feel someone's energy down there, so he just hopped out of his window flying on his energy made platform. He still wanted to see the results of his own experiment, but wasn't sure exactly how he was going to go about doing both that and saving the kid from becoming an Other. Still, he knew he could just blow everything up if push came to shove.

Morgan

It would seem Aleksej only wished to say hello to the Wickeds. Morgan watched her leave the vicinity of their home. He had offered, as he did often times, for her to stay with them but her answer was the same as usual, just a simple yet sarcastic no. Briefly he thought of the new recruits they managed to scrounge up. In thinking this he laughed at himself for making it seem like they were trying to reach a quota. Which in a sense they were but not for the reasons a normal business had. The more kids, and adults, they brought in the less they were exposed to the harsh reality of being someone with such inhuman abilities. The Wickeds didn’t have to worry about two or three kids turning into an Other because they allowed for their power to consume them or they simply went to the dark side.

Now that Aleksej was nowhere in sight Morgan went back inside. He took note of the busted down door and the makeshift wall they had made when Cain’s familiar unceremoniously entered the Wickeds compound. With a heavy sigh Morgan began to wonder at the damage the griffin had caused. It wasn’t like they had a secure flow of money coming in. If they did the warehouse would definitely look a lot better than it did now. “Ah well what can you do?” he mused to himself.

~ ~ ~

It hadn’t really been very long since Aleksej’s visit but for the most part everyone was a lot more enthusiastic than normal. Maybe it was because Cain, from his bed, suggested, well more like ordered them to head back out to bring in some more recruits. While the idea appealed to Morgan, he just couldn’t find a decent location that would be good enough for them. The more isolated it was from prying eyes the better however that also meant potential recruits were less inclined to come so far.

The sound of running feet made Morgan pause. Just in time to watch a small group of kids speed down the halls. The kids reminded him of the few families that had truly made their home here amongst the Wicked. Some of the people within this building were parents but without a doubt they were all someone’s kid at one point in their lives, no matter how brief. Now that he thought about the place was getting a little bit rundown and not to mention a tad crowded. Hmm maybe we should move? For all they knew a better, more suitable home awaited them outside the city of Angels, as he liked to call it. Maybe it was time for a new start.

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To be continued . . . maybe . . .