Chapter Text
“You wanted to see me, Patrón?” Flug asks, stepping halfway through the door to BlackHat’s office. Clacking the papers on the wood of his desk loudly, he looks up in a blasé manner. Setting them down he folds his hands over them, obscuring the words written.
“Yes. Close the door behind you as well, Doctor.” The door leaves his hand as he begins to push it closed, swinging slowly and locking itself with a quiet click. Clasping his hands together behind his back he makes his way in front of his grand desk. A razor thin pupil looks up from the paper to meet his gaze. The simple action has his chest constricting and a small breath halt in his throat. “I have a proposal for you from a regular client.”
He pushes a paper across the desk with two fingers. Picking it up, he looks it over carefully. It was a handwritten letter, folded into threes addressed to Blackhat from Miss Chievous. She had been commissioning special items from the Organization for over five years and seemed to have a particular taste for psychological inventions. Scanning the paper quickly, he has to return to a higher line and read more carefully near the middle, brows quirking downwards as he reads more carefully.
“Unrequited love?” Looking up with the question, BlackHat gives him a nod and motions with a roll of his wrist to continue. Most of the letter explains her desire for a disease to be developed that thrived in hosts that suffered an unrequited love. In one line, she mentions an old Japanese myth that bloomed inside the hearts of those cursed to suffer through an unrequited infatuation. Oddly enough, she tells him not to make any sort of container for her personal use. But to allow the finished product straight into the general population. The offered price is roughly five million U.S. dollars; she is willing to negotiate prices.
“Indeed. Release right into the pig pen, a disease none of your kind has built any sort of immunity to. The last time something like this happened, it ravaged your civilizations and killed millions.” With a grin he rests his elbows on his desk, steepling finely manicured claws beneath his chin and tapping them together. Eye squinting slightly at the memory before his expression returning to as it had been before. “Do you think you’ll be able to replicate that, Doctor?”
“Perhaps not the millions part.” Gloved fingers lock with each other over his thighs, pressing into them as he tries to look at his boss, but not in the eye. “But I have modified DNA before.”
“It was a simple yes or no question.” He says and reaches forwards, pulling the paper from his hands and returning it to its earlier position on the desk. Flattening out the paper and straightening it, he's careful to avoid the sultry red stain of lipstick on the bottom corner above Miss Chevious' signature.
“I believe I can, Sir.” He had modified DNA while creating 5.0.5. But that had been so long ago and he had been half-asleep during most of it. It would be a miracle if he held onto any of that information after all these years.
"Splendid." He folds up the letter and tucks it back into the envelope. Another kiss across the seal lining up as it’s closed. "I want the work on the catalog on hold until you've made significant progress on this commission."
"Yes, Sir." He nods, somewhat eager to get back to the general safety of his lab. While BlackHat didn't appear too annoyed, his temper was notorious for exploding at any second over anything. It was best to get in and out of his office before anything happened. Though, he always was calmer when discussing business and commissions he particularly likes.
He leans back in his grand chair, the tips of his claws tapping together under his chin. "You're dismissed now." Nodding, he offers a brief bow before turning and quickly making his way towards the door. His hands coming up to tug and shift his bag on his head as the door opens and closes without him ever touching it. Once outside he sighs in relief and leans against the door.
Adjusting his goggles again he breathes out and shakes his head. Work. Right . Looking up he drops his hands from his head. How the hell am I supposed to do this ? Pushing off the door he makes his way back downstairs, careful to listen for Demencia along the way back to the lab. However the hell I made my Fluffy is how.
Luckily he manages to get to the lab without any incident. Luckier so, the lab was empty. Which probably wouldn’t last when he started to get into his work; he had a feeling Demencia could sense when he was finally truly focused on his work and decided then to mess with him. There was no keeping track of the measures he had taken to keep his tools, inventions, and blueprints away from her and intact.
Nevertheless, she wasn’t here now and he needed the free time to plan and maybe start. Disease… Disease? A virus might do . Recalling the myth Miss Chevious had written briefly about, he decides to test out respiratory viruses.
Influenza was highly infectious and great at adapting. Colds are gradual and tend to last several days. Those two overlap nicely in symptoms and may be easy to work with—easy as virology can be. Additionally, he had previous experience with handling plant DNA, thanks to the creation of 5.0.5.
If she wanted unrequited love, he could throw in a few love stereotypes and see what worked and could survive. Flowers were a go-to, right? If possible he could make them overly affectionate to those their love is directed at until the disease needed to spread and they either killed the person or self destructed to help it spread.
Love. Love. Love. He mutters the word to himself as he leans over a page of notes and lazily written down ideas. The pencil swings back and forth between his middle and fore fingers as he worries at his bottom lip. How the hell do you weaponize love? Well, you have to target those chemicals. So…
Tilting himself back on his wooden stool he looks up from his pile of papers and miscellaneous blueprints from other projects. He had a book around here somewhere about human biology. It was- it was in his room. He hadn’t needed to use it in a few years, since high school really. Well, after coming here. It had been one of the first things he had ordered.
Slipping off the stool he makes his way over to his room attached to the lab. The book is thick, roughly the width of his hand and as heavy as a kettle filled with water. Just about one thousand pages jammed packed with most everything humans understood about themselves.
With the book securely beneath his arm he makes his way back out and into the lab. He barely has time to close the door behind himself before the door to the lab is thrown open, hitting the metal wall with a loud bang that shakes the floor. Demencia places her foot back onto the floor, tongue caught between her teeth as she grins mostly to herself.
“Fluggy!” She calls and bounds over to him, slapping her tennis shoes loudly against the ground. “What’cha got there?” Pointing to the book for a moment she then pulls it from his hold and looks over it. The paper is peeling in places from the cardboard cover, but the drawing of a man, all organs neatly labeled to the sides, was still visible through the wear and tear.
“Give it back, Demencia. I need it for a commission.” He grabs for the book back but she spins away, hair hitting him in the bag.
“Oh! It’s nerdy stuff, isn’t it?” She hunches herself over the book. Twisting and turning to keep it from his hands as she flips through the pages. “What kinda commission is it? You gonna make zombies? Or are you gonna turn people inside out?!”
“What?! No! Just give it back, you don’t even need it.” Reaching for it again he stumbles as she pushes him away with her foot at his knee.
“If you’re not gonna tell me what you need it for, you can’t have it!” With the book pressed to her chest she makes her way across the room. Her running in the lab always made his heartbeat spike. There was a tendency with her to be… less than graceful. More often than not in these past few years, her causing trouble was the leading factor of him needing to redo something or clean—well, help 5.0.5 clean—a large mess.
“That doesn’t even make sense, Dem! Just hand it over. You can play with it once I get some notes down.” He follows after her, stopping as she steps up onto the wall, staring at him sideways, hair brushing against the floor.
“Then it’s not fun!” She whines through a grin. “Just come and get it! Cat and mouse! I’m the mouse!”
“Don’t make me get Lord BlackHat.” He threatens. It didn’t, and never worked. In fact, it really seemed to encourage her every time. She wanted to see BlackHat every chance she got. But what other threat did he have? She’d chew all of his tools to shreds if he took anything of hers, or tear up all his spare bags if he gave her the cold shoulder.
“Jokes on you, Fluggy!” She starts, watching with gleeful eyes as Flug makes his way over. Scurrying up the wall she balances the book onto her stomach as she crawls on all fours across the ceiling to the middle of the room. “I love seeing him! And I love annoying you!”
“You’ve done that! Are you happy, can you give it back now?” Following her across the lab, craning his head back to watch her. Green hair sways in the air beside her, just within reaching distance. Reaching up he grabs the curled end of it and gives a gentle tug. “Come down before you break a light fixture!”
“You’re bright enough, nerd! Besides, I’m n+ot done looking through your book.” With one hand she leans the book back against a thigh and flips through the pages back and forth.
“What? You’re not even reading it!” Pulling harder on her hair he tries to get her to drop down. instead, as her other hand comes off the ceiling the book tumbles down, followed by Demencia’s ungraceful, flailing form as both crash against Flug. Who, in his attempt to get away from both of them, falls back and catches his forearm against the corner of the metal table.
Hissing he pulls his arm to his chest and glares up at the empty ceiling. The metal panels stare back down at him, observing Demencia’s momentarily stunned form against his, splayed out and bending the first few pages of his book underneath her knee. She feels nearly as much as the dread when he thinks of all he needs to do. They are not as easy to shove off as she is, or fall back onto the ground as limply as she does.
“I think I broke something.” She mutters, eyes peering at him through squinted eyes.
“You’ve never broken a bone in your life.” He says reaching and grabbing the book. Flattening the pages he watches as they slowly bend back out of place. “Nothing’s broken, you’ve had way worse.”
Sitting up pink bangs curl in front of her face every which way, pearly teeth on full display from a wide grin. With a quick motion she snatches the book from his hand, holding it between three fingers and waving it above the both of them.
“Just tell me, Nerd.” Wiggling the thick volume between them she lets it slip from her hold as Flug snatches it back and slams it down onto the table behind him.
“Miss Chevious commissioned a biological weapon of sorts. All I need is a refresher.” He stands up and checks his arm, tilting it awkwardly and looks at the scratch on his arm. It was bleeding, but not deep enough to leave a scar- hopefully.
"Was that so hard?" Smiling, she stands up. Tugging him roughly to his feet by his elbow. He stumbles into her awkwardly before shaking her hand off.
"With you, yes." Messing her bangs up further with his palm, he takes her by the shoulders, turns her around and pushes her towards and out the door. Tennis shoes squeak on the floor as she wobbles forwards, toes catching on the small dip separating the lab and staircase.
As she goes to correct herself and turn back around to face him he slams the heavy steel door. Turning back towards the lab he swipes his hands together with a sigh and closing eyes before setting about his labs for what he thinks he'll need.
One table becomes notes and planning through the day and the other is cleared in preparation for when he receives samples. Demencia probably couldn't be trusted to bring them safely to the lab, perhaps not for a lack of trying, more so on account of the fact that she was the most graceful woman to ever tread Earth. 5.0.5 hopefully would have more luck—of course that is if BlackHat doesn't decide to roam the manor while he was transporting the samples, or if Demencia doesn’t get her sights on him.
Nevertheless how he would get his hands on said samples, he had a good few candidates in mind. Rhinovirus, influenza, pertussis maybe. The mention of the myth from the letter has given him an idea to see if the viral DNA would accept plant DNA. Nothing was set in stone yet, but he certainly had plans.
The lab door opens and creaks close. Looking up from his notepad to the door he drops his shoulders and smiles. "Hey, Buddy." He greets as 5.0.5 pads over beside him, pressing against him and growling quietly. “You’re just in time, actually,” he says as he reaches up to scratch beneath his chin. “I need you to fetch Papa something very important? Is my fluffy up for this?” At his tone alone his eyes light up.
“Hmm… What am I doing wrong?” Leaning back to look over the entirety of the table, pressing his palms against the edge and curling his fingers down against the metal. There weren't any apparent reactions between samples with exactly what he was attempting to do. It seemed viruses weren't as primed to accept plant DNA into its nuclear genetic coding as he had hoped; but never say never to science.
He'll force them together if it kills him. And judging on this headache he was getting, it probably might be. Leaning over samples like this without proper coverings might not be his best idea… But at least Demencia was leaving him alone!
Standing, he flips a notepad closed and carefully moves a vacuum sealed Petri dish away from the edge of the table. With a kick he moves the stool back underneath the worktable before clicking on a smaller lamp. The lowering of the light soothes the incoming headache.
Grabbing his half finished mug from the second table he leans back and guides the straw beneath his bag. Chewing at the end of it as his free hand flicks a pen back and forth in his fingers. He doesn't manage to delve deep into his own thoughts before there's that all too familiar scraping and taps overhead in the vents.
Immediately he sets his cup down and moves to save his Petri dishes. However, this seems to do more harm to himself than good. Demencia falls unceremoniously from the vents as she usually does, this time flailing her body in a way to land on top of the table. Her back crushes his arm as he goes to grab the first sample to move, which smashes it into the third Petri dish. It cracks beneath his exposed arm, directly beneath his previously acquired cut.
"Demencia!" He shrieks in horror, trying to wrench his arm free from underneath her; only seeming to work the mixture more into the cut. "Move! You lizard!"
"Work on your insult game." She says, sitting up and hopping down from the table. "You have to put more bite into it! Really make me feel you're mad! Try again." Hand on her hip she turns and looks at him, eyes momentarily moving to the table's surface. "Whoops, did I do that?"
"Yes!" He screeches, cradling and wiping at his arm with the bottom of his jacket. It was too late- he knew. It probably already was in his blood. That hodgepodge of unrefined chemicals. Sometimes, he really just doesn't care for Demencia.
Moving to the emergency eye washing station he sticks his arm over it and starts the water, rubbing at the cut to try and get rid of whatever was left on his skin. Demencia hovers behind him, grabbing at the back of his coat in her own form of an apology.
"What did you get in you? You're gonna get superhuman powers now? Oh! You can be like the rest of us and stop being such a baby during missions!" Tugging on his coat she bounces on her toes. Flug turns the water off, shaking his arm off to the side before frowning at her.
"I'm not 'being a baby’! I'm being thorough. You're the one that derails my plans." He protests, pulling his lab coat from her fingers to dry off with. There's a sharp giggling behind him as Demencia rounds back to the work table to look over the damage.
"It was your silly plans that got Sunblast to follow us." She says, picking at a broken Petri dish, watching the sample inside drip out onto the table. Flug rushes over and pries it from her fingers, wiping them off of his coat.
"Don't touch that! You'll get sick!" Shrugging off his scolding she wiggles her fingers free and checks to make sure her lime nail polish hadn't been scuffed.
"I'm a lot more resilient than you." She says with her tongue stuck out. Mimicking the movement, he shoves her away by her forehead.
"Go see what Jefecito's doing or something. I have to clean up after you." Stumbling at the force she gives him a blank look like that name means nothing to her for a moment before everything seems to click on inside her brain and she stands straighter.
"Blackie! Here I come!" She coos up towards the ceiling before hurrying out, giggling and laughing like a child all the way. Flug watches her go before going over and pushing the heavy metal door shut, giving it a good shove with his shoulder. With a sigh, he turns back towards his work table and flips the brighter lights back on.
The earlier headache flaring up as he moves to clean the mess. Stopping momentarily to replace his gloves which had only been taken off for the more delicate aspects of what he had been doing before being interrupted. Luckily, she didn't crush every sample.
It wasn’t long after that Flug noticed the start of a cough. Really, it was just the beginning of one, nothing he hasn’t powered through and maybe eaten a few vegetables over out of paranoia before. But all too quickly it dissolves into something much worse. The pain, which pulsates and aches at every joint, had made him retreat to his bed for a short nap. Just to see if some sleep would dispel whatever he was coming down with. But when he woke he had slept through all eight alarms, an extra five hours, and was in far worse condition.
Skin sticky and hot to the touch, he could do little more than lay still and breath. Sharp pains and aches resonated through his entire body. They pinched in his joints and came and went as they pleased through his stomach and chest. Once, and only once, he had pushed himself up to try and force himself back to work but his head had felt like a balloon seconds away from bursting. His eyes buzzed, there was an odd pressure in his ears, and the world seemed to tilt and turn in a way his body wasn’t.
Worries of an angered BlackHat appearing in his room or summoning was at the back of his mind as he laid there, staring up at the ceiling. For the next few hours he thinks he dozes in and out of consciousness. Though they all seem to blend and mix into each other until there’s no true point in trying to differentiate any of them.
At some point 5.0.5 comes in. He tries briefly to convince the bear to leave. Spare himself from possibly catching whatever amalgamation he had infected himself with. But he would hear none of it and left only to return with a soup mug of tomato soup and a spoon the size of Flug’s eye. Truly, he would have really liked to sit up and eat it, somewhere in those how many naps his mouth had started tasting like dog food, or dirt. The movement to even begin to sit up on his elbow made the entirety of him feel as though he was lurching from his bed and he paused before dropping himself onto the pillow.
“Thanks, Sweetie.” He says, though his voice was starting to become scratchy and sore. 5.0.5 'baws' and settles into the floor beside his bed. "Why don't you grab a plushie to keep you company?" He whispers, knowing full well 5.0.5 would plan to sit there until Flug could move again.
There's a brief, uneasy silence from him. It takes a little encouragement before he stands up and waddles towards the door. He looks back in the doorway, ears dropping on his head and flower tilted down before he steps out. The glass doors hiss closed over him as he wiggles out of his coat and nearly rips his bag as he takes it off.
He supposes he fell back asleep in that time. Because the next thing he knows he's in that odd plane of being where one's brain is awake but the body hasn't received the message quite yet. Shivers rake his body but it feels as though he's been dipped into boiling water.
"And how long will he be like this?" Something snaps awake inside him at the sound of BlackHat's voice. He wanted to sit up and cower but there was no muscle within himself that was willing to actually go through with the action. Another part wants to be self-conscious about so many people being around to see him bag-less, but the energy doesn’t remain. 5.0.5 makes a small growling noise from nearby. There's a soft ruffling and hissing as the doors to his cryogenic bed open. A soft weight lays down on top of him, promptly tucked beneath his sides.
"'I don't know' is not an answer, bear!" The sound of the door follows as it closes loudly, not quite slamming, followed by a brief silence. 5.0.5 sighs quietly and settles back onto the floor. Flug falls back asleep after that.
When he fully wakes again it's to the smell of soup. His eyes hurt to have open, throat sore, and stomach ache much less severe. But at least- no, he still feels as though he could vomit.
Curling further into the blanket over top him, as he coughs, grabbing onto the fabric and digging his face in. A paw nudges his face out and feels at his forehead and cheeks. Flug attempts to turn away from the touch. Not feeling up to being poked and prodded at. But there was little he could do to stop it. 5.0.5 pets his hair in a manner that is supposed to be soothing; but his paws are much too big and he gets much too clumsy while nervous to be gentle. So he ends up just patting him instead of comforting.
“Fluff,” He groans, cracking an eye open and peering up at him. The lights had been dimmed some time ago, but they were still too bright and burned his retinas. “Stop it. What’re you doing?”
A soft 'baw' of excitement had Flug even more confused. The paw stops however, and gives him enough room to shimmy up into a sitting position. 5.0.5 sits beside his cryogenic bed, tricolor fish plush sitting near Flug's knees.
"How long was I out of it?" He mumbles blearily, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead to rub at his eyes. 5.0.5's growl has him sitting up in alarm, head spinning at the speed and vision flashes.
"A week ?! BlackHat's going to kill me!" Panicking he tries to stand up, only to be stopped by both 5.0.5 and a wave of nausea washing over him. "Oh, the commission needs to be finished." He groans, pushing himself up onto his elbow again.
Explaining briefly, 5.0.5 twists and grabs a large mug of chicken noodle soup. Flug watches him with sagging shoulders. Taking the cup he swirls the noodles around inside, frowning as small bits of chicken floated around. He was starving but if he stuck anything in his mouth he might not be able to hold it.
"He-" Staring into the soup in puzzlement he ponders the words. BlackHat gave him as long as he needed to recover? There had been plenty of times Flug had gotten sick or couldn't work for a day or two, but he'd always been expected to continue working. What was different now?
"A week?" He mumbles. "I don't remember all of it, but I guess it might have been a week." Swiping his fingers through the mop of carrot orange curls over his forehead. He needed a shower… 5.0.5 'baws' and stands up. As he moves towards the closet Flug notices he's moved his bed into the room. And that he's turned off his alarm.
Soon he returns with a towel in his hands and a small bundle of clothes. He stares up at him for a moment before realization dawns on him and he places the mug down on his bedside table. Taking the towel and clothes into his arms, 5.0.5 gently helps him to his feet and into the bathroom. Although reluctant to leave him on his own, 5.0.5 grants him his privacy to bathe.
Flug places the towel and clothes down onto the toilet lid and kneels beside the bath, turning the water on and plugging up the tub. Awkwardly and slowly, he shimmies from his dirty clothes. Careful not to move too fast or suddenly. Eventually, he turns the water off and lowers himself into the water.
A few minutes later, outside the bathroom door he hears the sound of a door open and close. The quiet noises of 5.0.5 organizing ceasing immediately as he makes a curious noise.
"Where is the Doctor?" It's BlackHat's voice that asks the question. Suddenly the water doesn't feel as nice and Flug feels very embarrassed to be so undressed. 5.0.5 answers and all he can do is pray his boss understood and respected the human custom of not walking in on people in the bathroom . For all things he could be baffled about with his species, please don't let it be this.
There is a sudden knocking at the door. But the handle doesn't turn or jerk. "Doctor, I want you in my office immediately when you finish for a new timeline on the commission." Being spoken to while bathing was still certainly embarrassing, but so much better than being walked in on. He sags into the water in relief.
"O-Of course, my Lord! I'll- I'll be up as soon as possible!" He calls back, grabbing onto the edge of the tub. Silence follows from the other side and Flug assumes he's been left alone. Sighing, he works the last of the shampoo through his dense curls before rinsing his hair out and pulling the plug.
Quickly, enough to make himself dizzy three times, he dries off and dresses. He spends a longer while towel drying his hair so it doesn't soak through his bag. There was no need to wear it within the manor, where everyone had seen his face numerous times. But he'd already spent a week out of it. And what harm could one more comfort item cause?
Once he was sure that he wouldn't soak through the paper he pulls on a freshly cut paper bag—with many thanks to 5.0.5—and his goggles. Smoothing out his lab coat and pulling at his gloves he slowly makes his way out from the lab and into the main entrance. His legs wobbled as he walked and his thighs felt as though they might give underneath him. He felt very much like a fawn learning to walk.
Taking it one stair at a time, 5.0.5 hovers behind him anxiously. It felt ridiculous to need to be watched walking up the stairs. But once 5.0.5 had noticed the way he stumbled and swayed on his feet it would be too hard to shake him to be worth it. Everything had grown unused to being worked and used while he was bedridden. Hopefully, BlackHat wouldn't want him to do much other than stand and speak.
Standing was still like being on a boat, but he could do it! That was a huge improvement than… last week. How he managed to sleep away a week was still amazing to him.
Knocking on the door to BlackHat's office, he sends a smile over to 5.0.5. Sensing the message he smiles back before heading off down the hall to busy himself as he waited for their meeting to be over.
"Come in, Doctor." The door opens on its own accord. Slowly and with a quiet squeal that Flug's sure BlackHat put there purposefully. The lights are dimmed and seem to be tinted red. Curtains of the grand window behind his desk pulled back, allowing a beautiful view of the sky in a watercolor of purples, reds, pinks, and oranges as the sun sets off to the west.
BlackHat sits at his desk, talons steepled in front of his mouth which was pulled into a familiar frown. Brim of his hat tilted downwards to cover a majority of his eye and monocle. The glass catches in the dim light and the light moves across the surface of it as his head lifts up. Their eyes meet and for a brief moment, Flug's knees feel just a hair weaker.
"You wanted to see me, Sir?" He asks, hand coming up to the door frame. BlackHat seems to look him up and down as though he were looking for something. Moving a hand to motion him in with a wave with a small nod. Flug steps inside the office, kneeling and bowing before him.
“Stand up, Doctor. Lest you vomit on the carpet.” BlackHat snaps, resting his chin on the heel of his palm. Sitting up he briefly gives BlackHat a bemused look before standing. Leaning on his hands as he got his feet beneath him and closing his eyes for a moment as his head swam.
"Of course, Sir." He says, clutching his hands behind his back. It seemed his getting sick had put him in a sour mood. And while he didn't particularly feel like sitting through a long rant about costing the organization money, and how weak humans were, he would- he just wouldn't like it.
"How is your condition?" He asks, watching him fidget in front of him. The question, however, does catch him off guard. What he had expected was something more aggressive. 'Who told you you could get sick?' 'Do you realize how much money you cost us by just pausing the catalog to work on this commission? And now you put us a week behind because what?' 'How incompetent in your job that you can't even handle chemicals properly anymore?!'
"Uh- It's… I'm feeling much more prepared to work now. I'll take steps to ensure nothing like this happens again and won't rest until I've completed the commission to yours and Miss Chevious' liking, Lord- BlackHat- uh, Sir!" Stumbling over for the right thing to say, he just opens his mouth and spits out words. Not entirely sure if they're what he's supposed to be saying. It doesn't seem that way when BlackHat gives him an unimpressed look.
"The bear said you had a fever for several days. Tell me about that." He says, chair moving to the left slightly as he sets his hand down onto his desk.
"Oh. Uh- Well I don't believe it's as severe as it was before, Lord BlackHat. 5.0.5 was checking it for me earlier and didn't find it to be too high." Intertwining his fingers and tugging until one knuckle pops he stares as BlackHat's never changing expression through his goggles. Any earlier reassurances about what he would be confronted with shriveling up in nervousness.
“You’re functional now, yes?” What am I? A machine? He thinks miserably before forcing himself to nod, popping another knuckle and surprising himself with the noise of it.
“I should be able to return to work now, yes.” He says, nodding again. BlackHat features remain displeased as he stares at him. Trying to stand as still as possible he averts his gaze to the papers on his desk and the shiny, golden nameplate. Perhaps the silence is only tense to him, but there’s a tense silence nonetheless for a minute or two as BlackHat seems to mull something over.
“Very well,” He says, waving his hand towards the door. “You’re dismissed.” With a third nod, that has his head spinning for a moment, he quickly turns and makes his way towards the door. As he approaches it, the locks click and the door cracks open for him. Taking the handle into his hand he slips outside and slowly closes it behind him. Sighing in relief, he presses a hand to his chest and turns towards the stairs.
He barely has time to turn and open his eyes fully before he’s jolting backwards and stumbling on his own feet with a yelp. Big blue paws catch him before he hits the ground and jerkily sets him back down onto his feet. Fingers dig into said fur as the concept of gravity returns to Flug and he gets his bearings.
“You- You can’t sneak up on me like that, Fluffy.” Patting at his arm he stands on his own, looking up at the anxious bear. Reaching up he scratches the best he can with wobbly knees behind a drooping ear. “It’s okay. I’m not mad. Just- give Papa a little warning next time.” Glancing over at the office door he figures he better take his gushing elsewhere- lest Blackhat decides to step out and see. “Let’s get back to work.” 5.0.5 nods and takes one of his hands to help him down the stairs.
Heroes had a tendency towards pleasantries that were all too easy to take advantage of in the best of ways. They loved to gather civilians into one, large, open space. Bore them to death with a speech a hero a century ago could have said, and show off what little they could do with themselves besides look pretty and rich. Especially on holidays.
Really, one would assume they’d learn eventually these were bad ideas. Any large cluster of people listening to some rich man blather on optimistically tended to be bad news. But at least one would think they’d learn from the… oh, probably hundreds of surprise attacks carried out on these sorts of events.
However, one does not complain or question when the perfect release group practically hands themselves over to him. What he will question, though, is BlackHat wanting to witness the initial infection live. With him. Not through a screen.
That is not to imply BlackHat never gets his claws dirty with villainy. He dabbles and plays around with his own heinous acts that reinforces heroes hatred and abhorrence. Terrifies civilians out of days of sleep, settles the terror in their bones until they can no longer see safety in the world. Demands respect amongst fellow degenerates.
Holding the detonator in his hand, he wonders almost breathlessly if he'd ever be as effective as a villain. If this would ascend him to the level of turpitude to receive a proper praise from BlackHat. If he could ever ascend to the level of striking mind numbing terror in whoever dares step in his path. The image of Goldenheart cowering from him, or SolarPunk hesitating at the mere sight of him enters his mind; a sick thrill of merciless glee washes over him.
"Watch him carefully, Doctor." BlackHat says, stood proudly. His gloved claws folded neatly on top of his cane, tucked between his feet. One eye gazing disinterestedly down at the raised platform from their vantage point atop a nearby building. On it Scarlet Beast stood behind a podium, hands gripping the side a smile stretching his conventionally attractive features. "He feels comfortable there. Thinks this is where he belongs. Isn't it just pathetic?" A cruel grin dawns BlackHat's lips.
"They never seem to learn, Lord BlackHat." He says, looking from his crouched position. Eager to watch the following chaos. But he held himself back, he needed to follow BlackHat's plan. They needed to make a big show of this, to properly scare the public. Not that they really needed to do anything other than stand there to scare people.
"Never." BlackHat agrees, eye squinting slightly with his grin as he stares down at the newer hero. The crowds chattered amongst themselves, phones already stuck up in the air to record.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Scarlet Beast leans down towards the microphone. A few strands of lush, brown hair escaping from his perfectly brushed quiff and hanging down over his forehead. "As you know, a few weeks ago yet another pernicious attack in our lovely city. Lives were lost. They were loved ones, parents, children, siblings, friends. We understand your anger and grief, as we feel it too." His features suddenly turn very solemn as if he had just remembered to show the same emotions his words were giving. Pernicious, big words for a small brain.
"We both urge for the affected to reach out to us for help in healing from this tragedy, and for you to help anyone you know who has lost someone." He continues on, but Flug's attention is pulled towards BlackHat as he speaks.
"Really, it was only a hundred people." He says, looking rather bored. "And that cumberworld couldn't even hold the weaponry correctly. Truly, a stain on villainy."
"Embarrassing, Sir." He agrees absentmindedly. Watching Scarlet Beast lean closer to the microphone, seeing Goldenheart in his place. Fingers itching to press the button and shut up his useless rambling, but oh- the sweet irony of interrupting a speech of stopping villainy and helping victims by creating more victims and testing a newly created disease on them. A disease based on love, released on Valentine’s day nevertheless.
"BlackHat, the seeming overload of the villains, is one of our main targets to help end this age of evil and corruption. He owns and maintains a business providing villains with weapons and lessons on how to be a more heinous criminal. His scientist pet, however, is our main target overall." He says, brows furrowed seriously and hands gripping each side of the podium. BlackHat scoffs beside him.
"You? The main target? Insolent fools! They know not how easily I could rip this world to shreds, and how willing I am to." He seethes. Advertising his gaze from the angry demon he looks to the crowd, trying to estimate how many potential hosts were down there. A good handful at least, enough to spread hopefully. "I would enjoy seeing them even attempt to approach the gates of the manor."
Flug nods, the image of the security system ripping apart another hero mildly amusing. Of course, he would be the one to clean the blood from the mechanisms though. Scarlet Beast continues on with his uninteresting dribble, regurgitating the words and promises of heroes for years now. BlackHat seems to be growing bored as well, he raises his claws from his cane and the walking aid disappears into a cloud of smoke that reeks of burning wood and skin.
"Any moment now, Doctor. He's proven himself enough of a fopdoodle and a bore." He says, waving a gloved hand towards the crowd disinterestedly. Flug watches the movements of people within the crowd and Scarlet Beast's hands move off the podium, back on, off, and on again. Raising the detonator in his hand and pressing down on the small, red button.
With a small click he knows it's only a matter of seconds before all goes to hell. This public speech had been announced weeks beforehand. Which had given Flug plenty of time to slip out in the Outfitter—a small hand held device that changed his entire appearance from skin, to hair, to eyes—and both scouted the area for possible hiding spots, and then the following installation of the explosives.
He'd found a nice spot on top of a few lamp posts. The explosive was small and discrete enough to not be conspicuous. They all were small half circles secured to the top with a weak adhesive that wasn't meant to last terribly long and would probably fail when they exploded.
From the roof the hissing wasn't audible. However, to the quietly mumbling crowd, (as crowds always seem to do, unable to stay silent for long when something was being said or someone they liked was speaking to them) it drowned out Scarlet Beast for a few moments before dying. The hero himself even seemed to notice the noise as his next words trip over each other and his eyebrows furrow.
They suddenly explode with several loud bangs that take the protective covering off the top of the lamp posts. Large clouds of smoke seep from them, Thick and endless, they consume the open square quickly. If the explosions hadn't caused a panic, the moment people began to notice something was now in the air is certainly when a few people grew unnerved. The crowd broke apart, dispersing from the centered clump of people. Some ran immediately, though the explosives were placed in a wide area around the center point. Light yellow-green smoke fills the air, seeping and curling menacingly from the lamp posts.
Scarlet Beast looks about almost frantically, evidently caught off guard. He jumped from the platform, rushing to citizens and directing them through the cloud of spores. Perhaps the quantity was over-kill for the initial infection, but the spores should travel through the air and hopefully find more hosts.
"Will we present ourselves, Patrón?" He asks, staring down at the hero, grabbing people and flying them to clean air. With a warm sense of satisfaction, he knew it was already too late. "Announce what this is and thoroughly terrify the public?" Looking up at the eldritch being he shrinks back slightly when he notices he has stepped closer. BlackHat peers over the edge, appearing to enjoy the sight of the smoke spreading out into the streets, people covering their mouths as they run back and forth.
"Very well. Come and tell the people what you've done to them." He grabs Flug by the back of his collar, hauling him up to his feet before the entire world lurches and spins around them. The scenery twists and seems to melt away before snapping back to clarity. His eyes burn and mind spins as he tries to make out his surroundings. BlackHat had moved them down onto the podium, taking the position Scarlet Beast had abandoned and tapping thrice on the microphone.
There were enough people taking refuge in the buildings and shops around the plaza to hear. Scarlet Beast is still out and in the thick of the cloud. At least the target would be infected, with how heavy he was breathing. The speech would be for him anyways, as a messenger to the Hero Organization.
"Listen closely, you ostentatious and insufferable worms, writhing helplessly. You'll only be told once." Flug looks out across the plaza, at terrified faces peeking from behind coverings and through windows. In these moments civilians never felt so human and like guinea pigs at the same time. It reminds him of his childhood, really.
"As punishment for thinking you could live your pathetic lives, and fool about with one another," Overhead, the silhouette of Scarlet Beast lingers, the sun casts a white glow over his scarlet and white suit. "Since your little societies," he pauses to scowl at the words. "adores love so much, we've now given you love." Flug reached down into his pocket discreetly. "And all those nasty little things that come with it."
Scarlet Beast's figure seems to just drop from the sky, swan diving down towards the platform. For a moment he wonders how fast the effects are in genetically advanced individuals. Though he knew better, it was a controlled fall. He was trying to get to them as fast as possible.
It's only a few more seconds before Scarlet Beast is angling himself towards the pair of them. Flug’s shoulders tense as he tries to appear absorbed in what BlackHat was saying, keeping close attention to the approaching hero. When he is just a few feet away he yanks the gun from his pocket, points it and pulls the trigger.
When the net hits him and tangles around him it sends him flying back. He hits the ground with a loud thud and a yell. He even rolls a little until he stops face-down in a large bundle of plasma rope and man-toddler. Looking over to BlackHat for permission of sorts, he takes the obvious glare in the hero’s direction as permission enough, and he jumps down from the raised platform.
As he’s walking over he tucks the gun back into his coat pocket and brushes his fingers over his bag to make sure it was still placed properly on his head. Rolling over the hero with his sneaker he nearly snickers at the road burn across his forehead and distinct and new bend to his nose. Healers would patch him right up, but how satisfying to have caused this. Scarlet Beast squints up at him through the sunlight and hazy fog surrounding them. His eyes filled with pure hatred and annoyance, as if Flug were only a child tugging at his trousers with sticky and stained fingers.
“Dr. Flug!” Ah, there was the Hero-Voice. “I suppose you were listening to the speech.” A cocky grin splits across his features. Irritation makes his own smile fall as he bends down and grabs a part of the rope by his throat. The hero tenses as his hand nears and his glower returns.
“I wasn’t paying attention to it. We have better things to do.” He replies and begins to tug him towards the stage. Now, Flug never has been, and is not, a strong man. And he often finds himself winded simply by walking up the manor’s stairs too quickly. So to say that the act of pulling this one hundred and fifty pound ‘Zounderkite,’ as BlackHat liked to call them, even a few feet was a great strain on his neglected muscles.
All the while he squirms the best he can and tries to speak but stops whenever he twists himself the wrong way and hurts himself. When they near the stage, BlackHat steps back from the podium, kneels down by the edge, grabs Scarlet Beast by his hair and lifts him up. With a yell he wiggles in a way that would probably be a thrown fist if he could move less than an earthworm could.
“Whatever you’ve done now, BlackHat, it’s not going to-” He’s cut off as he’s shoved down to his knees, Flug moving behind him to hold the back of his neck and make sure he doesn’t move from his place. Looking out across the plaza again. He’s noticed a few civilians are peeking further out. Phones held up as they always do in these situations—not that it was a particularly bad thing, for their announcement it was great. The more it was posted around the more people would see. Just that it would be in no way his first reaction.
“Listen closely, humans,” The word is spit from his lips with disgust. “You’re precious Red Monster will be used as an example.” Thinking better of, and finding it much too amusing to correct him, he, instead, doesn’t let the hero twist around to try and bite at one of them. “What you have just now breathed in, and is now in your air, is a newly developed disease. Made in our labs and now taking root in your lungs, it will effortlessly wipe this planet of your wretched species as you wallow in your own self misery and pain!”
Scarlet Beast begins his struggle again, breathing heavily against the tightening knots in the plasma rope. Flug lets go of his neck to let him writhe miserably in place, to let the idea cement itself into his head. Maybe if the civilians saw their Superman-wanna-be so helpless it would squander any fight in them, make them pliant and easily scared.
“There is no current cure, and will kill you within a matter of weeks.” His grin widens as Scarlet Beast’s breaths quickens and he throws himself back and tries to wiggle a hand free. Flug steps out of his way, nearly brushing against BlackHat’s overcoat. The demon gives him a sideways glance before sparing half a second’s look at the hero.
Looking up, Flug grimaces at the gathering silhouettes in the sky. Stopping his hand mid motion towards BlackHat, he instead indicated upwards. “Sir,” He says, turning to look at him. One razor thin pupil staring up. “We should be leaving now.”
“Very well,” Tilting his head upwards his eye falls closed and a frown replaces his wicked grin. A gloved hand raises and after a moment to follow the shapes of three hovering human-like figures in the sky. Making his way to the other side of the stage he raises a claw to the air and tears a rip into the empty space. The edges of the portal appear like burnt paper, the inside swirling purple and black.
Flug watches him, feet hesitating in place for a moment before he steps up to the microphone and takes it in his hand. “Happy Valentine’s day, citizens of Atreno City. You like flowers, right?” That delicious sense of murderous glee slips into his voice. Rarely did he allow himself to be so publicly monstrous, preferring to keep himself in control than to look at the mess he’s brought and slip into that more... unhinged side of him. However, the swirling yellow and green tinge to the air made him so gleeful that it all worked to worry or care about standing in the thick of it.
Stepping back at the podium he takes a moment to soak in the horrible hue to the air before turning and quickly joining BlackHat’s side. He gives him a perplexing look, one almost approaching pride, or approval. Scarlet Beast gives a frustrated yell and grunt as Flug steps through the portal.
Lights flash and screams ring in his ears. Screams feral and tortured, perhaps not entirely his as the ground seems to shift beneath him and throw him forwards. He’s hurled out of the portal suddenly; landing on his hands and knees, head bowed. Closing his eyes he lets the hot, searing pain roll off him, sighing quietly as his skin begins to cool. And then he hears the tap of a cane against the ground beside him and he straightens up immediately.
“Excellent speech, Sir.” He says quickly, making up for not saying so immediately. BlackHat wasn’t one to hoard praise, seemed to quite despise it, but he would get angry if Flug didn’t at least try. “By the way Scarlet Beast squirmed he was terrified. They all are- or should be.”
“Stand up, Doctor. You look pathetic down there.” He snaps, turning and ensuring the doors were locked, an odd thing to do as that was usually one of 5.0.5’s jobs. Not questioning it and, frankly, already focused on the pathetic comment, he scrambled to his feet. “I’ll be in my office. Don’t let the woman or bear disturb me. I expect you to return to work on the catalog immediately. Should milk every penny from these loiter sack villains while they’re still alive.”
“Of course, Lord BlackHat!” His following bow is more of throwing the top half of him forwards then backwards quickly without the bottom to follow than a bow. But he seemed subdued with the gesture all the same and turns away, cane disappearing into a sinister cloud as a claw reaches for the stair railing. After a moment of looking at him dumbly, he realizes that he wants to see him off and back to work. With a panicked little ‘oh!’ he turns and quickly makes his way back down to the lab.
Before their departure he had deep cleaned a majority of the lab, what he hadn’t gotten 5.0.5 had finished up. The last thing he needed was for some unknown mix of chemicals and DNA to be on something and to get him or someone else sick. Demencia had probably the most resilient immune system he had studied, but one can never be too careful with her. 5.0.5 didn’t seem affected by any human- or bear- or even plant disease actually.
And BlackHat, well… Yeah, BlackHat. He probably couldn’t even get sick. Didn’t have an immune system for it. Or any organs that even vaguely resemble humans. Oh, what he’d give to test a theory or two. Hauling up a tool box from the floor and dropping it onto the worktable with a rattle and bang, he sighs tiredly and rolls his eyes.
Tilting forwards he rests an elbow on the lid of the toolbox, and his hand on that. A moment’s rest and breather after engineering a completely new disease for a month without rest or a break took it out of you. Especially if your main source of- well, anything, was 5 Hour Energy drinks and Monsters. None of which tasted any good anymore. Nothing tastes like anything anymore actually. Well wait, when did he eat last at all? And if his eyes closed, and he slipped off a little more than he intended, who could say?
Demencia, that’s who. Demencia in all her glory stood atop his perfectly fragile rib cage and grinning down at him with a smile wide enough to make his own cheeks hurt.
“ Tired? ” He coos, speaking Spanish. “ You never do get outside, it must be tiring! ”
“ Get off! ” He grunts through two half filled lungs. “ Why can't you wake me up like a normal person?! ” Pushing her foot off, he slides out from beneath her and wheezes. A gloved hand goes to rub at his sore chest. Demencia cackles above him, probing at him with the toes of her tennis shoes.
“ We’re villains! Fluggie! Villains! We’re never normal! ” She shrieks, playfully scandalized.
“ Yeah, well, I bet other subordinates at least wake to shouting, not being stood on! ” He snaps, sitting up and trying to figure out exactly where in the lab he was.
“You yell at me when I scream you awake too!” She whines, stepping to the side as he reaches up and pulls himself to his feet with the table. He goes to rub at his eyes but is stopped by the glass of his goggles, confusing him a moment.
“Pick a language. You’ll make me confused.” He groans and turns back to what he had been working on- oh yes, nothing. Blackhat would kill him if he didn’t start now.
“Like how you forgot what apples were?” She teases, poking and jabbing at his rib cage. Jolting away from her fingers and swatting at her hands.
“I didn’t- Stop! Demecia! I- I didn’t forget what they were! I just-” He protests but Demencia grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him.
“Three languages!” The shaking intensifies as she gives manic giggles. Flug smacks at her blindly and pushes her away, holding the side of his head as he stumbles back when let go.
“Yes, yes. Make fun of me for a few slip ups! Now, what do you want?” He asks suspiciously, popping the lid of the tool box opening and pulling a few of his more loved tools out.
“Me? Want something?” Gasping, she presses a hand to her chest. Rolling his eyes and kneeling down to grab his numerous rolls of blueprints from beneath the table.
“You never come down here unless you’re bored or want something.” Setting the blueprints on the table one by one, he realizes how nice a tidy work space was.
“Yeah, well, The bear’s asleep and I’m hungry.” She says, hopping up onto the table and bending down to look him in the face. “Make me something, Pendejo.”
“ Pendejo- You have no respect for the people that keep you alive.” He grunts, shaking his head as he turns towards the lab door. Demencia’s shoes make a loud noise against the ground as she jumps down from the table. When she catches up to him she grabs his elbow and presses herself against his side. He doesn’t cringe away like he used to.
“I’ll respect you when you plan out Blackie and I’s wedding.” She coos, fluttering her eyelashes up at him and pouting out her lip.
“Firstly, I’m not indulging your obsession more than you trick me to. And secondly, you need to propose to him and for him to accept the proposal.” He says, pushing her face away as they round the corner and make their way into the kitchen. Demencia stops clinging and stops in the doorway to pout.
“You never let me have fun!” Flug opens the cabinet to search for something easy to make. Hopefully he could get away with cutting her up some fruits and putting it in a bowl. That would be fancy enough for her.
“Lord BlackHat doesn’t even believe in love. The world would end before he ever even thought about it.” He says, locating an old Ramen cup in the back of the lowest cupboard. He shakes it slightly to listen for the vegetable shake around inside. Maybe she wouldn’t notice them if he mixed it up for her. Lord knows the woman probably needs some vegetables in such a protein heavy diet.
“We can do that.” She says, hopping up and sitting on the rickety dinner table no one really ate at. Feet swing back and forth as she watches Flug fill the cup up with water. “We can definitely do that.”
“Not free of charge.” He chuckles, placing the cup into the old microwave he had taken up from the lab last month.
“Charge who?” He taps in the time and leans back against the counter near the microwave.
“Someone, I’m sure. Probably the whole of humanity. Hand over all the money for some cure or life saver that won’t work and then he’ll laugh in their dying faces.” He shrugs. Demencia leans back and sighs dreamily.
“He would, wouldn’t he?” She coos up towards the ceiling. Shaking his head he glances back at the timer.
“I’d probably be the one doing all the work. Praise me.” He grunts, stepping forwards and popping the door open when he notices the top of the cup bubbling out over the rim.
“Praise be the nerd!” She mocks in a scratchy, high voice. “Oh, wimpy and weak! We praise you and lick your feet!”
“What is wrong with you?” He groans as he peels the top off and stirs the noodles with a fork.
“Something. Considering I can stand on walls.” She replies, feet still kicking as Flug sets the noodle on the table, ripping open the small spice packet and dumping it in.
“There. Enjoy.” He gives a little wave with his hand towards the food. Demencia hops from the table, gives it one hard look before turning and walking towards the door. “You brat! Eat it!”
“You haven’t eaten in days! You eat it!” She calls back, speeding up in her pace. His features screw up in annoyance.
“Don’t trick me into taking care of myself!” He rushes to the door frame, leaning out to call after her. “I’ll pour it out!”