Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t feel chains or restraints on him but when he tried to squirm he couldn’t. Agent felt his breathing hitch as he tried to writhe. Please, no, not again! He let out a sob. I… I got out! Was that just a dream?! “Let me go,” he whimpered. “Please just let me go!”

“Aww, why would I do that?” He felt a phantom touch on his head. He tried to jerk away but couldn’t. His body felt so heavy…

“Please…” He gasped as what felt like shards ripped through him. “No, please…” He had to struggle, had to get away, run, flee, fight back, anything! Why couldn’t he move?

Why can’t I move?!

Ungodly pain engulfed him. He tried to thrash, to not give The Dark Lord the satisfaction of hearing him scream, but both failed as he shrieked in his agony, tears rolling down his face as he was forced to endure it, endure the torture, endure the harsh, mocking laughter that seemed to echo around him. He didn’t even know what was hurting, there was just pain, pain, pain pain pain pain pain-

Something touched his shoulder. “Agent!”

Suddenly he could move. He bolted upright and swung.

“Ack!”

Numbness slammed into him, dizziness and exhaustion striking him as the colors and sounds around him filtered in. The soft bluish cream of the walls finally registered, the beeping of the heart monitor, the sheets were soft under his fingertips, and - oh… he was in a hospital room…

“Even without ya full strength, ya have one mean right hook, Agent…” Guilt welled up in his throat as Hazard got up, rubbing his jaw. “Ya good? Ah, stupid question, given the past month… Sorry I startled ya.”

He buried his face in his hands, trying to slow his frantic breaths to a more measured, even pace. “Sorry…”

“Hey, no big deal. Just means I need ta work on my reflexes a bit, yeah?” Agent let out a shuddering breath. “Do ya wanna talk ‘bout it, or…?”

He stared at his shaking hands. “Ah don’t know…” He pulled up his blanket, draped it over his shoulders. “It… it don’t even make sense…” He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them. “It don’t make sense…”

“Can I…?”

The rest was left unsaid, but Agent understood what Hazard was saying. “Can I touch you?”

He nodded. He actually felt… calmer with a hand on his back. It had been the one place The Dark Lord couldn’t invade his personal space through often enough for his mind to link being touched there with being hurt.

“Just try ta focus on breathin’, Agent. Ya safe here.”

He sighed. “Ah, uh…” He buried his face in his knees. “Ah couldn’t move… not an inch… an’… an’ Th’ Dark Lord… ah could hear his voice… then… everythin’ started hurtin’… real bad… Could only scream an’ cry… Heard ‘im laughin’ like he almost always did… Started t’ think that ah never was rescued…” He let out a hollow laugh. “I’m so pathetic…”

“Hey, no talkin’ ‘bout my friend like dat.” A firm hand rested on his shoulder, and for once he didn’t flinch. “I’ve seen some pathetic sticks in my life, and ya not one of ‘em! A lesser stick woulda died before we reached ya, but ya hung in dere ‘til we did. Alan told me about da fight ya two had. Ya never stopped fighting, not once. Ya made dat virus bend to ya will, Agent. Dat’s not somethin’ a lotta sticks could do. If ya think ya reacting poorly ta being tortured makes ya pathetic, ya wrong. Who wouldn’t react dat way? Ya’d be hard pressed ta find a stick who wouldn’t.”

Agent felt himself zoning out.

He knew that. He knew all that! So then why?

Why was it… so hard not to feel like a complete failure?

Why did he feel… so exhausted?

He felt so dizzy… “Agent?” He felt himself list to the side. “Woah!” Hands caught him. “Ya good?”

“Th-think ‘m gonna…” Cold shudders surged through him, forcing him to tremble violently as the taste of saltwater filled his mouth. A bin was quickly supplied to him, and he felt himself hurl.

It hurt. He stopped after a few times, panting and shivering, throat burning, before a bigger wave of nausea overtook him and he was forced to throw up again.

My body’s tryin’ t’ off me, he decided as nausea continued to bubble up. He wasn’t even throwing up stomach acid, and instead this bitter yellow liquid. Dark Lord don’t do me in so m’ body’s decided t’ finish the job… He soon wasn’t even throwing up anything anymore, but his body still went through those painful motions, the cramping, the gagging and retching. He could barely catch his breath. Someone put a bullet in m’ head, please… He could barely hold himself up.

“Agent?” The bin was put to the side. “How are you feeling? Talk to me,” Moonstone said.

“Ah would like t’ die,” he wheezed.

“That bad, huh?” He nodded. “This should help.” She showed him an IV bag. “This is Zofran. It’ll get rid of the nausea and prevent any further episodes of vomiting.” He nodded and slumped back. “Try to rest. Your body’s been through a lot.”

“Don’t… wanna…” His voice was faint.

“Hmm?”

He shuddered. He desperately, desperately wanted to sleep. His body was craving it, and yet… “Nightmares,” he mumbled.

“Hey.” He eyed Hazard. “Would me staying here help ya rest easier?”

“Maybe…”

“I have time.” He felt his hand get taken. “Try ta rest, alright?”

His eyes were already drooping. “Mhmm…” He sighed and let them close, allowing himself to relax and drift away.

Chapter Text

Chosen… didn’t get sick too often. At least not modern day. This meant that feeling so sick was an… unusual feeling.

The times he had fallen ill while free, those first few years at least, The Dark Lord had been there to help nurse him back to health. He’d been wrapped in blankets, his fever brought down, and given something warm to drink to keep him fed and hydrated.

The first time he had to deal with sickness alone had been… rough, to say the least. He had woken up with his head feeling like cotton, and sitting up did nothing to ease his dizziness. Shudders had overtaken his body as he forced himself to his feet, vision swirling as he suddenly felt himself tumble back onto the mattress, back onto the heap of sheets he used to make up for its lack of softness. Stiffly, he had buried himself in those sheets, trying to find a semblance of warmth as cold assaulted him. He wasn’t sure how long he had laid there, whining and groaning, before he managed to drag himself out of bed again. It might’ve been a few hours, or it could have been a few days.

A hand ran through his hair, momentarily jolting him back to the present. He interlocked fingers with Alan before continuing to doze.

He didn’t remember walking - or flying - to the city, but that’s where had he found himself after he had managed to drag himself out of bed, wandering around, trying to put one foot in front of the other. He had eventually collapsed against a building, whimpering and groaning as he struggled against the heat and cold of his fever. He hadn’t been coughing yet, so that at least was good.

Someone had thrown his arm over their shoulder and lifted him up. Part of him had thought he was being abducted, but the exhausted, sickened part of his mind could have cared less

Suddenly he had felt warmth, and he heard the stick call for someone named Peony.

“Isn’t that The Chosen One? What happened to him?”

“No idea, but he was practically passed out on the sidewalk.”

“Quick, bring him upstairs! Sweetheart looks like he could use a warm place to rest. Sal? You got the front?”

“Got it, Sis!”

“I got his legs.”

He had passed out momentarily before regaining consciousness.

“Hun? You wanna change into these? It can’t be comfortable sleepin’ in that.” He had let out a small mumble, and had felt soft cloth under his fingers. “I’ll give ya some privacy, alright sweetheart?” The next thing he remembered was collapsing on something soft, the feeling of warmth, soft pajamas pressing into his skin.

Creators, he had ached. He couldn’t stop shaking and shivering, and his throat had felt like coarse sandpaper had been rubbed against it. Coughing had been the worst. Pain had flared through his chest with each forceful exhalation. In between fits he’d lay there, eyes closed, consumed by fire and ice as he laid on top of what he assumed was a bed.

“Shh, you’ll be alright, hun.”

“How’s he holding up?”

“Hmm, he’s got a rash on his face. I called Chrome. He’ll be over after hours as a favor.” A hand had rested on his shoulder. “Hun, you awake?”

“Mngh…” He had cracked open an eye and immediately scrinched it shut. The lights hurt.

He had felt himself get shifted over, a sheet tucking him in, soothing warmth engulfing him. He had let out a whine as someone placed a hand on his head. “Shh… Peony‘ll be back with something for your fever.” He had mumbled unintelligibly, leaning into the touch. Delirious grumbles escaped him as he shifted around, trying to get comfortable in spite of the heat. Part of him wanted the blanket off, but it was so inviting and comforting.

“… open up. Let’s get this medicine in you, hun.” He struggled to open his mouth - all his joints felt stiff and ached - but after managing to do so he tasted something very medicinal and somewhat sweet. He scrunched his nose at the taste. “I know, hun, I know. Try to swallow it, though.” He managed to get the liquid down his throat - it hurt and ripped going down. “ That’s it; nice and slow…” Why was swallowing so painful? It had been like he was eating glass.

He had faded in and out.

“I don’t know if waiting it out is a good idea. The fact his fever was so high is concerning, especially with his level of consciousness.”

“Don’t wanna,” he had mumbled into the pillow.

“It definitely seems like measles, but I’ll have to send these in for testing to make sure. If his fever stops responding to medicine, take him to the emergency room and call me.”

He didn’t remember much except waking up a few days later once his fever broke.

“Is he asleep?”

“I think he’s just resting.” A hand gently rubbed circles on his back. A soft smile spread across his face and he let out a murmur of contentment.

“Creators, he’s cute. I need to hug a pillow before I screech and startle him.” He heard Alan chuckle at Victim’s statement. “Orange is equally as cute - fragments, all your kids are. They look like if you hug them they make squeaky noises.”

“So does that mean you also make squeaky noises when hugged?”

He heard Victim sputter. “What?” Chosen smirked a bit at this.

“You might not feel the same way, but it’d take a lot more than what you did to ever get me to think you’re not my kid. Besides, I still have a responsibility to make sure you’re okay as your creator.” Chosen nuzzled Alan’s hand and smiled as he felt himself drift off.

Chapter Text

The pressure he felt when putting a foot down felt like fragments. Agent’s grip on the bars tightened as he slowly let out a pained breath. He took another step. Pain shot up his legs, and he grit his teeth, fighting back whimpers as he forced himself to keep moving forward.

Keep goin’. Don’t… don’t give up! He was out of breath by the end, and practically collapsed into his wheelchair. Ugh…

Cursors and Creators, he hated physical therapy.

“You’re doing very well.”

He laughed a bit. “Sure don’t feel like it.”

He was laughing, but inside he felt embarrassed at how pitiful he must have looked. His strength came and went as it wished, dragging his energy along with it as it fled from him. It never stayed when he wanted it to, such as now.

He was the one who had always been in the lead when chasing after Chosen back when they had been tracking him. Everything the boy had thrown at them he had easily evaded, jumping over toppled stands, weaving in and out of crowds. It had been second nature, like breathing, to him.

Now, he could barely stand upright for more than ten seconds without feeling out of breath, without his feet and legs screaming for him to stop. It was humiliating, is what it was! He hated the looks from the other workers, the looks from the security guards. The judgement… the pity…

I’m not weak! He scowled. I’m not… He sighed. No… I am weak… Couldn’t fight back. Stood no chance escapin’… couldn’t rescue myself… Had t’ wait like some princess in a tower… it’s shameful! He glared at his lap. Who’s gonna protect Vic now? I’m clearly not competent ‘nough t’!

“Hey.” He jumped a bit. “How’d it go?”

“Arright, I guess…” He picked at the edge of his shirt as Hazard sat next to him. “Hazard, am… am I still competent?”

“Where’d dat question come from? ‘Course ya competent! Didja think I wasn’t competent after I got kidnapped by Sage da second time?”

Agent balked. “Of course not!” he stammered.

“Den ya no less competent just ‘cause Da Dark Lord nabbed ya. Ya’ill ged back ta ya old self eventually. Ya bounce back almost as quick as Chosen does. Ya not gonna be stuck in da infirmary forevah. Okay?” He pat him on the back. “Stop talking smack ‘bout my friend, ya hear? Don’t mattah if ya him; no one talks smack ‘bout ya.”

He smiled a bit.

Then he yawned. “Let’s get ya to ya room, okay?”

“Mhmm…”

There was very little he… could do at the moment. Everything ached, he sometimes had very little feeling in his left arm, he got out of breath very quickly, and his reflexes were… less than ideal. Everything hurt everywhere, inside and out. He had to wonder if it was a result of the torture, the virus, or a mix of both.

He still shuddered when he remembered being under the virus’ thrall. Feeling disconnected from his own body, but not as if he were out of it. No, he was very much watching everything unfold as he internally cried for himself to stop, to stop hurting Alan, to stay away from Chosen, screaming internally when he stabbed Hazard, horror flooding him, being pushed back as the virus took control once again. He had struggled against the ichor wrapping around him, dragging him down, strangling him as he fought to seize control of his own body. It had wrapped around him, around his face, trying to pull him into the depths, but he fought back. He ripped it away so he could breathe, so he could reach the surface, and once he did…

He tried to end it, knowing that it was a losing battle. He had felt numb as he plunged his blade into his stomach, felt Alan pull it away and tackle him to the ground. Desperate for release, he had shoved the cursor into Alan’s hands and guided the edge of the blade to his neck. He’d have slit his throat himself, but he was too busy fighting for control over his actions to force himself to go through with the action. His body hadn’t been his own, he was forced to watch that… parasite take hold of the reigns and force himself back to his feet.

Don’t make me hurt them! he had screamed internally.

He shuddered at the memory. “Agent?”

“‘M sorry…”

“Huh?”

He sighed. “F’ what happened… after th’ virus…”

“Agent, dat wasn’t you. You’d never hurt me - or anyone - like dat. It made ya do it.”

He let out a shuddering breath. “Never shoulda…”

“Hmm?”

“Th’- Th’ girl… Never shoulda…”

“Agent… what did Da Dark Lord tell you ‘bout Errant?”

He blinked a bit and looked at Hazard. “Who…?”

“Dat’s what we’re callin’ da kid.”

“I… I don’t follow…”

Hazard sighed. “Agent, she didn’t leave ya ‘cause she wanted ta… Dark Lord drugged her before she found ya.” Agent’s eyes went wide.

“He… lied…” He sighed and shook his head, feeling ashamed and furious. “‘Course he did, why wouldn’t he? Made me think she abandoned me…”

“Not in da slightest. She was lookin’ fa ya ever since dat day.” He found himself leaning into the hand on his head.

“Where is she?”

Silence.

“We still don’t know… Peony doesn’t know, eithah. She might’ve… gone out tryin’ ta take down Da Dark Lord.” Guilt ate at him.

Maybe he… did deserve his ill treatment.

Chapter Text

Some of the worst torture had been the experiments, and it wasn’t just because of the pain. He’d been drugged - that was an understatement. He was fairly sure his tox screen had been a mess when he got admitted.

It hadn’t just been the drugs that kept him from passing out, either. Drugs that made him feel as though he were burning, that made him delirious, that made him unable to speak, to be present. Some of them didn’t even cause pain until they wore off, causing shakes and sweats, agonizing nausea that bubbled up but did nothing - he couldn’t even throw up, he’d been so dehydrated and starved. His own body had been turned against him, made into a weapon to deprive him of control, of any sense of security…

It made trusting Moonstone… difficult. Impossible, almost. Trusting Doctor Nile had been near impossible. There’d been times where he’d tried to pull out his PICC line - he succeeded once. That had caused a mess of blood - and his other IVs because it reminded him too much of the experimentation and torture.

Moonstone had been kind and understanding to his reactions… even when he lashed out in fear.

It felt fake, if he was being honest.

After thirty-one days of constant torture, every act of kindness, every smile, every gentle gesture felt… sinister, like there was a self-serving reason behind it all. He was half expecting to wake up back in his cell or on that table, to suddenly be in one of those rooms about to feel more agony, more pain. His body turning against him over and over and over and over and over and over and over…

“Agent?” He flinched. “Agent, it’s time for another dose of morphine.”

He rolled over. “I don’t want it,” he mumbled.

“Could you please repeat that?”He felt himself trembling. He was in trouble, he shouldn’t have spoken up, he was going to be hurt…! “Agent, I just need to know that I heard you correctly. Consent is important. Did you say you didn’t want it?” He nodded. “That’s alright. I just have to note that down. If you change your mind before the next dosage, just use the call button, alright?” He nodded again.

He eyed her as she left, as she gently closed the door. He let out a shaky sigh and curled up a bit. Napping felt like a good option. He didn’t feel like getting up or walking around…

It was a good option up until his left shoulder began to hurt.

And, dang it, it hurt. He barely remembered the moment he’d been injured there, but he knew it was during an experiment.

Sometimes drugs had been involved… and sometimes knives were.

He vaguely remembered cold sweat dripping down as he gasped in air, his eyes rolling back as pain had coursed through his arm, pinned by shackles, unable to pull away, warbling whimpers welling up as he was cut into.

He didn’t know why he was doing it.

He didn’t care.

He couldn’t even form words, the pain had been so great, but what he wanted to say had been on the tip of his tongue.

Please stop…

Whatever he had done had caused a constant, horrible pain he had to deal with, that he’d managed to tune out, until he had finally gotten pain medication.

But now it was back in full force. He clutched at his shoulder, shakily breathing through the agony as tears quietly fell down his face, as he fought to hold back the whines and whimpers that threatened to spill out.

You asked for no medicine, he scolded himself. This is what y’ get. Deal with it. Don’t be such a wimp; you dealt with this without medicine before. It’s not that hard. He choked out a sob and curled up further. Stop crying.

“Agent? Dude, you okay, bro?” He looked up at Ballista.

“M’ fine,” he whispered.

“You don’t look fine. You’re all pale and… wait, did you get your medicine?”

“D-didn’t… want it.” He shuddered. “D-don’t… deserve it…”

“The frag you mean you don’t deserve it?! Who cares who’s deserving! You’re in pain!” Agent scrunched his eyes shut. “I don’t mean to yell, but, dude, you’re shaking!”

“I c’n deal wi’ it…”

“The frag you’re gonna deal with it- where’s the call button?” Ballista started looking around, muttering swears under his breath. “Stupid Dark Lord, with his stupid experiments… stupid… the frag anyone deserves that pain except maybe him! There it is.” He pushed the button. “Boss, look, needing pain medicine doesn’t make you any less capable. You’re not a wimp for needing it. Pain royally sucks, no matter who you are. You’re a stick. You’re just as mortal as the rest of us.” He slouched in the nearby chair. “You’re not weak just because you need morphine. It’s not macho refusing help when you need it; it’s stupid. I’m the stupid one, not you, so don’t try taking my title.”

Agent reached over and flicked him on the head, grimacing at the movement. “Yer not stupid.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sure a dumbass cu-”

“Language.”

“English, motherfricker.” Agent let out a chuckle. “Really, don’t get so far up your own ass that you can’t tell that sticks wanna help you and care about you. The Dark Lord fed you some rotten garbage, and I’m not dumb enough to think it’ll just go away on its own, so if you feel like shit, please talk to someone for cursors sake. Don’t pull… whatever the frag this was.”

He sighed. “It’s… not because I hate myself that I did it, but I get what y’ mean.”

“Is it the IV?” Agent nodded. “You wanna enlighten me on your thought process?”

“I’m just… reminded that I was helpless to stop him from druggin’ me… He turned my body against me with those drugs…”

“So he threw consent against a wall ‘til it died. Did Moonstone give a rat’s ass about you not wanting it?”

“She, um… asked me to repeat myself…”

“Because she thought she might have misheard?”

“Mhmm…”

“I see. And given… this,” He gestured vaguely at him, “I assume that she didn’t force the issue.” Agent nodded. “I see. And when you felt pain you didn’t contact her because…?”

“It was what I wanted,” he mumbled.

“I’m gonna call bullshit on that, Boss. No one wants to be in pain unless they’re a masochist, which you’re not. No way you’d be so jumpy if you were.” Agent snorted out laughter at that.

Moonstone came in soon after. The pain eventually died down after he was given the medicine. “Can y’… stay fer a bit?”

Ballista smiled. “Wasn’t planing on leaving.”

Chapter Text

Hazard went into Agent’s room to find Ballista and the man chatting - well, more Ballista rambling as Agent nodded along half asleep. He smiled a bit as he walked over. “How’re ya feelin’?”

“Tired…” He then laughed. “What else is new?” He shifted a bit. “Ah… sometimes still can’t believe I got rescued…”

“We weren’t gonna stop looking ‘til we found ya, friend.”

“I… shoulda known… I just…” He began to shake. “It felt… like it’d never end… that I’d be stuck in that hole in th’ fragmented lands forever…”

“I get it… I really do.” He couldn’t help but think back to the few hours he’d been held prisoner. If that had just been about two hours… well…

Thirty one days would break him, too.

“Chosen’s been asking about ya.”

“How is th’ kid? And Orange?”

Orange had been as sleepy as ever, barely awake when he last checked. Chosen had been more lucid, but was clearly adjusting to the suppression on his powers. His powers kept breaking through - at least, that’s what Doctor Nile thought. He kept getting random fever spikes. They’d die down fairly quickly, but while they were happening he was very visibly sick. That didn’t stop Chosen from doting on his younger siblings. In spite of his sickness, he still took time to play with them, to talk to them, to get up to various shenanigans with them…

Sometimes Hazard could forget that Chosen was still sick.

“His powers were outta control, huh?” Agent leaned back. “Guess that makes sense. It’s a part of him. Stands t’ reason they could cause issues.”

“Don’t know why I didn’t think dat was it,” Hazard admitted. “My powers manifesting wasn’t a cakewalk…”

“Oh?”

“You weren’t created with powers?” Ballista asked.

“Don’t know… Dey sorta just… appeared one day. Accidentally fried a copy machine at work.” Ballista let out a snort and grinned. “Thought it was a powah surge ‘til I got zapped by dem.”

“Your powers hurt you?”

“Mhmm.” He sat down. “Caused me ta start glitching. One moment I was talkin’ ta my partner, da next I was on da floor half passed out.”

“Uh, is he okay?” he had heard the stick they’d just brought in ask.

He had tried to pull himself up off the floor, only for a surge of raw power to rip through him and send him sprawling back on the ground.

“Took a bit fa da doctahs ta figure out what was goin’ on.” He winced a bit. “No small part caused by my powahs, uh… fryin’ da machines…” He laughed nervously. “Couldn’t exactly control dem at first…”

“What was it like?” Agent asked.

“Felt like ma body was tryin’ ta off me… felt like it wasn’t my own. It, uh…” He tapped his foot a bit, “it was scary. Didn’t know if I’d make it out alive…” He chuckled a bit. “It only lasted about four days, but… felt like an eternity.”

An eternity might’ve been underselling it, he felt, but how else could he describe feeling as though raw energy was ripping through him? How else could he get across that nothing had helped the pain? How the only thing that had helped him cope was screaming until he couldn’t anymore? The only thing stopping him from wishing for death had been Caution, and even that had barely been enough to not crave it. “Make it stop!” he had desperately screamed.

Sighing, he added, “Da doctahs think I always had dem, dey just… didn’t make demselves known ‘til den… Had Cau tested fa dem as soon as I could, since dey said dey might be hereditary. Powahs like mine tend ta be, dey said.”

Agent got a look on his face. “Cau’s not gonna go through that, is she?”

“Cursahs, I hope not,” he groaned.

He didn’t like the idea of anyone going through that agony, the spasms, let alone his own daughter. The four days he’d spent in the hospital had been a nightmare. Chills had coursed through him as fire burned him from the inside, and the pain… the pain was all consuming, all enveloping. It hurt to even think about it.

It had hurt about as much as the machine The Dark Lord had used on him.

He remembered crying out in agony, feeling as though death were mere inches from stealing him away - that had been what death would feel like, right? Pure unadulterated agony? He vaguely remembered screaming into a pillow to try and not disturb the other patients, practically suffocating himself in the process.

It had been pure relief when it finally stopped. He had passed out from sheer exhaustion.

His phone buzzed. He took it out and glanced at the message. “Godda go.”

“Where’re you off to?”

“Checking out da shack Errant was hiding out in. Maybe we can find a lead on where she might be.”

The room went quiet. “Isn’t she dead?”

Agent gave Ballista a sharp glare. “Ballista!”

He put his hands up. “I’m just saying!”

Hazard sighed. “Ballista, da last time I assumed someone was dead without seein’ a body, I got kidnapped fa ransom.”

“When did- ooh, right.”

“Regardless, she helped us find Agent. Not giving up on her.”

“Hope she’s alive.” Agent leaned back. “Seems like a good kid from what ah could tell.” Hazard got up.

“Besides Vic, if we find anything, ya will be da first ta know.”

He quietly closed the door on his way out, leaving Agent and Ballista to their conversation.

Chapter Text

All things considered, the shack was not too far from headquarters. One could easily stumble across the clearing taking a stroll through the woods, which, given the former inhabitant, wasn’t too surprising once Hazard thought about it.

It was practically a straight line from the window into Chosen and Orange’s room.

There was residual power in the air, but it felt stale. He found the source to be some oddly drawn circles in the dirt. He recalled that Red mentioned Errant had set up wards. Not so hocus pocus, are dey? He debated whether or not to disturb them - while stale, they still radiated Errant’s power, so if the girl had been in the area recently he’d have no way of telling unless she had just been there, which from what he could tell she had not - and decided to leave them for the time being. He recalled Yellow and Red mentioning that Errant had encountered The Dark Lord here, and her wards had held him off.

He didn’t want to add the risk of being ambushed to this mission.

“Something…” Primal looked around. “Something… here.”

Primal went into the shack. Alan looked back at Hazard, bewildered. “He does dat,” he explained. “I’ve learned not to doubt deir intuition.”

“Hazard.” Hazard went to the doorway.

“Yeah?”

Primal turned around, holding what appeared to be a plush of a long haired cat with almost metallic powder blue accents on its legs, the tips of its ears, and the tip of its tail. Its eyes looked like a brilliant bright sky blue nebula, with flecks of bright mint and deeper turquoise.

“Dat’s… certainly a stuffed animal,” he muttered.

“Made tracks in dust.”

“That’s not possible.” Alan walked up next to him. “Stuffed animals can’t move on their own.”

“Paws match tracks.” Primal lifted the stuffed toy by its scruff and stared into its eyes. “What you? What doing here?” Primal started to shake the toy as it, predictably, remained silent. “Demand answers! Give answers!”

Hazard felt a small buzz at the back of his head. He’s yelling at a toy. He began to step forwards to put an end to the nonsense when Primal muttered something and simply shoved it in a bag.

“Is that her only one?”

Hazard headed inside and took a look at where Errant presumably slept. If there was one phrase to describe it, it was “lived in”. There was a rather large chocolate lab dog plush lying on the bed, blankets tossed around into a nest. There was a sleeping bag made of furs, but it seemed Errant had used it as a barrier between the floor and the blankets and few pillows. There was a cork board nearby with a few pictures. He took a look at them.

One of them was Errant lying up against what looked to be a wolf dog with a boxer and a pit bull cuddled up next to her. He knelt down and pushed a few blankets away and found some colorful rocks with a note in English that read “give to Cau”.

He gently covered them back up with the blanket.

“Hazard, come take a look at this.” He got up and walked over to a desk. Alan turned around with what looked like an extension chord with a crystal embedded. “What… is this?”

“Looks like a powah source… hmm…” He tilted his head. “Bag it. Might tell us what site she’s from.”

He noticed something glint behind the computer. He reached over and pulled out two golden rings and a note.

“Here’s a replica of the inhibitor rings the Professor made me. Hope you don’t develop CLFS, but if you do, use these. They’ll help modulate your powers if your ley lines fail.”

CLFS? He frowned a bit.

“Child was herbalist.” Hazard looked over before walking and kneeling down.

There was a considerable amount of different herbs in bundles laid out, tools for cutting and grinding herbs cluttered around with various books and booklets scattered about. One paper in particular caught his eye, and he picked it up to examine.

“Mysten Far Priestess Certificate,” he read out loud. “A priestess, huh? ‘Splains her holy magic, I guess.” He looked at it closer. It had the words “temporary emergency certificate.” He hummed in concern. He sifted through the other papers until he found what appeared to be an article. “Chronic Ley Line Fracture Syndrome…” He skimmed through it, noting the use of the abbreviation “CLSF” throughout it.  He looked through the pile a bit more. “Sorcerer’s Blood: An Overview on Manatized Blood Syndrome.”

A few more caught his eye, namely one titled “Chaos Bloodline: Demonic Conspirators or Victims of Circumstance?” That one made him raise an eyebrow. “It is no small secret that Chaos is a corruption of the Weave, but what does that mean for the morality of those with Chaos Bloodline based Manatized Blood Syndrome?” This one had quite a few notes in the margins. Things such as, “do they not know about Chaos vents?” and “ A’ba didn’t go through nine hells worth of agony as a kid to be called a conspirator,” and “How is this a scientific peer reviewed article?” as well as “willful ignorance at its finest.” One section was circled with a line drawn from it to a note that read, “We are not a unified hive mind! We don’t all worship Rathnuloc! We didn’t ask for these powers! We’re not warlocks.” There was also another one that read, “Conspiracy theories like this are why people keep trying to burn us.”

He flipped to the last page, and let out a snort when he saw a grading rubric with a note in big letters that read, “Meet me after class.”

The grade was decent. Not perfect. Some points had been taken off for “writing commentary, not analysis” but it had a good grade.

“That seems… advanced for a twelve year old…”

“‘Sides da magic, a lotta dis is genuine medical know how…” He thought about his observations when he first encountered Errant. She’d make very little eye contact with… just about anyone - even his daughter. Any she did make seemed slightly forced and practiced, not natural. She was always fiddling with something - her fingers, her cloak… She also seemed jittery in the big crowds and had shrunk slightly away from speakers. Hazard narrowed his eyes. “Alan, I think dis might also be a special interest a her’s. Na’ mean?”

“Oh?”

“Her behavior when she was with me dat day… I don’t think her mind’s like most. She always got hella staticky when we’d walk by stores with loud music.” He shrugged. “A course I could be just flapping my gums and spewing nonsense…”

“Huh. So she’s like my kids…”

“Explain how she know to treat Chosen…”

Hazard looked around the shack, thinking for a bit. “Bag dem. Bag da most important things first. When we get back ta HQ I’ll ask fa a team ta come out and get da rest. We’ll head ta Da Dark Lord’s last known location next.”

“What if he’s there?”

Hazard narrowed his eyes, and began to leave the shack. “Den we kick. His. Ass.”

Chapter Text

Alan would have been lying if he said he wasn’t nervous going back there. Their battle against The Dark Lord was still fresh in his mind, but as they headed into the complex, they found the place to appear thoroughly abandoned.

A lot of the machinery seemed to have been taken apart, most important components removed, but there were a few stragglers left behind.

There were also extensive research notes.

It was bad enough how… mundane The Dark Lord made his observations sound on paper - or, well, the screen. It was bad enough how detached it was to the pain and horror he had wrought.

There were… so many files, with pages of notes in some.

He once heard it said that the only difference between messing around and science was writing it down, and clearly The Dark Lord agreed with that sentiment, given his notes.

There were also audio files.

The cursor hovered over the file he stared at. “Alan?” Morbid curiosity bubbled up inside him as he put on the left behind earbuds.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I have to know,” he whispered as everything inside him screamed for him to stop.

It was a recording of one of the experiments he had run, obviously, but Alan quickly determined, after hearing The Dark Lord ramble about the potential interactions between his virus and someone’s powers, but needing to observe it close up before developing any hypotheses, he knew just who the subject was. Alan wanted to stop it there, to not listen further, but felt his body stay frozen in place as the recording continued. “Please,” he heard Orange whimper. He could hear metal clinking. “Please let me go…”

“And why would I do that?” He didn’t understand how The Dark Lord’s voice could sound so… genuinely kind. “I had to kill quite a few sticks to get to you, you know~.”

“Please… it hurts…” Alan felt his chest ache.

“Aw, does it?” He heard Orange let out a sob and start to whine in pain.

“Stop,” he heard him choke out. “Please! I… I want to go home…!”

“Shh…” Cries morphed into wails as the recording continued. “Don’t fight it.” A moan of agony made something twist inside Alan’s chest. “I want to see it. Show it to me. Show me that hidden power…”

He heard Orange gasp, heard him struggling against his restraints, cries growing louder and louder, struggling becoming more and more frantic.

“Alan! Help me! Alan!” Every breath felt like he was breathing through a straw, his heart clenching in his chest. Air. He needed air! He needed to get out, out of this room, out of this building! He had to grab Orange and run - they couldn’t stay here; he’d keep hurting him if they didn’t leave, they had to run, they had to run-!

“Alan!” His own gasping breaths filled his ears as he felt his throat feel about to close. “Alan, look at me! Look at me, Alan! Alan!” His gaze began to focus on the face in front of him, he felt the hands on his shoulders, the concrete walls against his back, the floor beneath his fingertips… “Alan, focus on ya breathin’. Breathe in… and out. Slowly.”

The walls were pressing in. “O-Orange…!” he managed to choke.

“He inint here. He’s back at Rocket Corp. He’s safe. Dark Lord inint hurtin’ him right now. He’s safe, Alan. I promise.” Alan felt his breathing slow, his head become less fuzzy. “Ya with me?” He nodded. “I… don’t need ta listen ta da recording ta know what it was about… Da look on ya face told me enough.” Hazard pat him on the shoulder. “I geddit. I really do. I’m so sorry ya had ta listen ta dat.” Hazard shakily took in a breath. “No parent should have ta hear deir kid scream like dat…”

“He screamed my name,” Alan choked. Hazard frowned and hugged him. “He was so scared…!”

They sat on the floor for a long time, Hazard rubbing his back as Alan sobbed into his shoulder.

“Hazard, Alan, company.” Ice flooded Alan’s veins as they both got up and into position. Alan saw Hazard flick on the laser sight before aiming.

“They’re obviously dumb,” he heard someone’s voice echo down the hall. “Only three sticks? It’ll be easy to intimidate them and get what the boss wants. Who cares if they’re Rocket Corp.? Boss’ll just smooth things over with their dumb CEO.” Alan felt a trill of rage bloom in his chest.

As the unknown sticks entered the hallway, Alan flicked on his own laser sights. “Uh, hey, you’ve got something on your…” The stick trailed off and looked down at the laser on his own chest before the two looked up at the trio pointing weapons at them.

“‘Obviously dumb’ you said,” Alan sneered.

“We… uh… we…” The two put their hands up. “You’re… part of Rocket Corp.’s elite force…”

“Yeah, we are, bub. Who’s ya boss? I think ours would like ta have a talk with ‘em about hiring bullies. Anyways, Primal, ya mind disarming dese bozos? Don’t trust ‘em not ta run away like a penguin with deir ass on fiyah and try ta ambush us on our way out.” Alan struggled not to snort at the image that conjured.

As Primal seized their weapons, the two grunts grumbled to one another grumpily. “Our boss is Councilman La Salle.” Alan saw Hazard balk at that answer.

“La Salle?” The two men nodded. “Da same one dat made it possible fa us ta go aftah Da Chosen One?” Alan gave a harsh glance towards Hazard at that.

“Probably. Do you know any other La Salles on the council?”

Hazard hummed a bit. “I’m… uh… I’m seeing da… da picture here… don’t know if I quite like it.”

“What were you sent here for?” Alan demanded.

“Look, all he told us was that there were a few electronics he needed moved, and that he was willing to pay a ton of money to get them moved… quietly.”

Hazard narrowed his eyes. “How much?”

“About thirty grand.” It was Alan’s turn to balk.

“Total?!” The stick nodded.

“Dat’s a lotta guap fa a few electronics in an abandoned building.”

“Would pay us more if we found these kids he was asking about, too.”

“Kids?”

“Um, I’m gonna take out their pictures to show you…” Alan looked. It was a composite sketch of both Chosen and Errant.

“Look, don’t know why he’s looking for The Chosen One, and we don’t care. All I know and care about is there’s a hundred grand on the line if we find him. Same with the other kid.”

He saw Hazard frown and begin shaking his head. “Nevah seen ‘er before in ma life,” he responded with a straight face.

“Pity. If you guys knew anything we’d split the reward with you. Don’t even know where The Chosen One is?”

“Nope! Nadda clue.” Alan was amazed at how quick Hazard was. “We’re just looking inta dis place. Saw the phenomenon ovah here. Our boss wanted ta check it out ‘cause it’s so close.”

“I see… So you wouldn’t mind giving us those electronics, then…”

“Yes, we do, actually.” Hazard crossed his arms. “We got here first; we got dibs.” He thought for a moment. “I’ll see what kind of arrangement our boss can reach with you, just so ya don’t get nothin’ oudda dis.”

He could see the relief on their faces. “Right… let’s… escort them outside before we contact our boss…”

Chapter Text

Walking into Chosen and Orange’s room was either a treat or another reason to be sad, and luckily, as Victim opened the door, it was the former that day. Somehow, Tango had found a radio, and a jazzy swing version of “You are my Sunshine” was playing on it as he and Purple happily danced. Orange, Red, and Chosen were cuddled together on the couch, and Agent was watching Blue and Green playing an Uno game. Caution and Yellow were sleeping against Ballista, who was being used as a teddy bear - unwillingly, Victim would add.

It was actually quite cute.

“Bro! Stop skipping me.”

“Uno.”

“Hey!”

“Consider this payback for the last time we did this!” Green sputtered as Blue slammed down his last card.

“I hate you!” Green cackled. The two broke down into giggles as Green began reshuffling the deck and dealing out cards.

He looked over to Chosen, frowning when he saw how messy his hair was. He strolled over, grabbing a brush, and sat down next to him, gently grasping his hair and attempting to brush it.

It was a nasty mat, and Chosen let out a grunt of disapproval, looking back annoyed. “You need to get these mats out, Chosen.”

“Mmph… later,” he mumbled. Victim narrowed his eyes and got up, heading out to a supply closet to find a styling comb and some conditioner. He wasn’t as deft at combing hair as Moonstone, but he could certainly help tackle some of the smaller mats.

He ambushed Chosen from behind with a towel. Ambush, because Chosen jumped a bit and sputtered indignantly at the sudden shawl he was given, and even Orange and Red looked over in confusion. Victim poured some conditioner in his hand and began working it into the mats in Chosen’s hair. Chosen squirmed a bit before settling, resting his head on top of Orange’s and closing his eyes as Victim began combing out the mats. It was much easier with the slickness of the conditioner, and as he slowly picked away at the mats, he felt Chosen lean into his hand.

Victim felt himself begin to melt at the look of content bliss on Chosen’s face - the kid looked like he was about to start sobbing. Creators, how touch starved are you? How did I ever…?

It had taken him far too long to see Chosen as the stick he was - he had felt far too much hatred and wrath towards him for his presumed guilt of causing Mitsi’s death.

Something inside him had finally broke when he found out just how little he remembered that day, how many gaps there were in his memory. Gaps that not even the memory scanner could fill in.

Looking back, it made his heart ache at how Chosen had whimpered for him to stop scrolling back, to stop searching, that it hurt. The memory scanner wasn’t supposed to cause pain. It was merely supposed to project a stick’s memories so others could see them.

So when Chosen had started screaming in pain while viewing the day of the attack, he had initially brushed it off as him attempting to garner sympathy. He flinched and struggled as though he were being zapped with each rewind, straining against his bindings as he cried himself hoarse. It had faded to panting and whining and moaning as it went on, pleas for him to stop falling on deaf ears.

He’d gone in expecting at least something, some trace of evidence that he had participated in that atrocity, but the more he rewound and fast forwarded - the weaker and more exhausted Chosen’s cries got - the more it had slowly began to dawn on him that… he… knew why the memories couldn’t be recalled.

It was for the same reason he could only recall glimpses and sensations from his own torture.

When an experience is so traumatic that the mind itself refuses to acknowledge its existence… when, to cope, the mind fully disconnects from what is happening around one’s self…

When the mind only records the sensation through a filter that made one feel as though they were drowning when it was recalled.

Chosen had gone limp by the time he called it quits, gaze distant and hollow once the scanner had been removed, gasping for air like his life depended on it.

He hadn’t intended to torture him, for once; truly, he hadn’t! But when he looked over and saw sweat pouring down, his prisoner gasping as if in absolute agony… it wouldn’t have shocked him if one had thought that had been the goal.

He had thought he’d been dealing with a monster…

As it turned out, it couldn’t have been happening to a sweeter, kinder individual.

Victim gently rinsed the conditioner out of Chosen’s hair. “How does that feel?” he asked.

“Mmmm… better… thank you…” He started to towel his hair dry. “Mmm… Vic?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you…” He saw Chosen settle on top of Orange’s head.

Victim smiled. “It’s no problem.”

Suddenly his pager beeped. “Boss, we’ve got a situation heading your way.”

He raised an eyebrow, “what do you mean ‘heading my way’?”

“Some big shot from the city just pushed past security; he’s, uh, heading towards you.”

“Who exactly is this individual?” He stood up.

“Green haired individual. Called himself La Salle, said he knew you-”

The door swung open, and all eyes turned towards the stick with neatly kempt green hair who strolled into the room as though he owned the place.

Chapter Text

Victim swore that a pin could be heard dropping. He stood up and began to open his mouth to inquire why and how La Salle got into the medical ward when, bursting past him, leaping up and football tackling the councilor was Ballista.

It was bedlam after that. Ballista was screeching like a gremlin; Moonstone ran in with two security guards who swiftly dragged the man out, not even allowing a sputter to escape him before the door was closed behind, and Ballista could still be heard cackling and whooping in delight. At least he’s having fun. He sighed.

He could hear the shouting and threats of lawsuits getting further away, and he let out a relieved breath. “How’d he git so far into th’ building?” he heard Agent mutter.

“Threw his authority in sticks’ faces, likely,” Moonstone sighed. “I do not miss dealing with those kinds of individuals during clinicals…”

“Self-entitled politicians?”

“Mother-in-laws, actually. It wasn’t every day, but it was frequent enough.”

“Who the heck was that?” Purple asked.

“Councilor La Salle.” Victim sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “Do one deal with him and he thinks I’m under his thumb…”

“His secretary ain’t here, right?”

Victim raised an eyebrow at that. “Security didn’t mention anyone else… Why?”

“Because if she is, she’s in violation of her restraining order,” Agent grimaced.

“Why do you have a restraining order against that weirdo’s secretary?” Green asked.

“Not me… Cau n’ Hazard do…”

Victim grimaced and walked over. “Does it have to do with that conspiracy?” he quietly asked.

Agent shook his head. “No. ‘Fore any a’ that. La Salle’s secretary is Hazard’s abusive ex-wife.” Victim began to inquire about that further when Agent shook his head. “Ain’t my tale t’ tell, Vic. Y’ gotta ask Hazard if y’ want t’ know more. ‘Sides, I don’t even know that much; only know about th’ restrainin’ order ‘cause I’m Cau’s godfather.”

“Hmm.” He rung security at the front. “Agent, you want to ask them?”

“Definitely.” He handed him the phone and walked over to the window. He narrowed his eyes as he looked out.

Huh. They’re back. He leaned towards it, noticing two sticks in black clothing landing behind. …Who are those two?

“Arright, well, ya need t’ escort ‘er off the premises. Um, we’re trespassin’ ‘er from the property. She ain’t allowed here, and if she comes back, she will be detained and handed over t’ th’ police.”

“What ‘trespassing’ mean, Uncle Agent?”

“Ah, it means someone ain’t allowed somewhere. In this case, we’re barrin’ someone from legally enterin’ Rocket Corp.”

“Who?”

“Ah…” Agent pat Caution’s head. “No one important.”

Hazard would be lying if he claimed detaining the two hired guns of La Salle wasn’t an absolute headache. If they were sniffing around The Dark Lord’s old base, then that meant the councilman had a vested interest in what The Dark Lord had been doing, and that led Hazard to believe he had a hand in the suppression of information regarding The Dark Lord’s existence.

It actually made a horrific amount of sense. That was the same stick that had allowed them to be given the green light to hunt down Chosen.

He looked up and muttered, “Oh, fa da lovah cursahs,” as he saw a very fancy car in the parking lot. He made the gesture for them to land.

“What wrong?” Primal inquired.

He looked to the two gunmen. “Dat ya boss’s car?” They nodded. He despised the smug look on their faces.

“How dare you detain me!” Hazard felt his body stiffen at the shrill sound.

“Shit,” he mumbled. He was only slightly comforted by the sound of Ballista being, well, Ballista.

“What wrong?”

He spun towards the two hires. “Ya knew La Salle and his secretary were comin’ ‘ere, didn’tcha?” he hissed. Their smug expressions told him all he needed to know.

“What? Afraid of little old Ronda?” the taller one snickered.

He jumped at Alan tapping him on the shoulder. “Who is she?” he asked.

“I, um…” He swallowed hard, “ma daughter and I have a restraining order against her…”

Alan’s face went dark, and he slowly stepped towards the two mercenaries. “You two seem to know a lot about this Ronda fellow and Hazard. So I’m assuming you know why this is… alarming to us.”

“Pfft, yeah? So? it’s not like we’re the ones the order’s against.”

A malicious smirk crossed Alan’s face. “No, but knowingly helping someone violate their restraining order is a form of contempt of court.” The smirks melted off as blood drained from their faces, and Alan took a threatening step towards the pair. “My advice? Use what money you’ll get to hire a lawyer.” He pat them both on the shoulder. “You’ll likely be hearing from us.”

They stood there, stunned, as the trio headed back to their hoverbikes and drove them to the docking bay. “How do ya do dat?”

Alan looked over, raising an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Act all scary on a dime. I just never could get dat down; nevah could play bad cop.”

“That because you look and sound like warm hug.” Hazard felt himself blush as Alan let out a laugh at Primal’s statement.

“Couldn’t have said it better.”

Hazard sighed. “Primal, ya mind talking with Vic ‘bout da two mercenaries we encountered. I…” Cursors, the excuse was lame, “I’ve got a headache.”

Well, maybe not an excuse - he did have a headache.

“Leave it to us.” Primal pat him on the shoulder. “Get rest.”

“I…” He scrunched his face up. “I’m gonna h…!” He felt himself smack against the ground, hands under his head. D-dammit…! He pushed the stick - Alan, he thinks - away from him as he tried to get back to his feet. N-no… not… not now… wh-why now? Another fuzzy, stabbing sensation tore through him. He could distantly hear himself gasping. “Nngh… n-not this again.”

“Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah… just… just… ma powahs… actin’ up… fa some reason…” He slowly staggered onto his feet, Alan and Primal guiding him up. “Ugh… think it’s over… it doesn’t… happen dat often… still hurts…” He sighed.

“Do you… need anything? Some water?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“You been sleeping properly?” He tried to not visibly grimace at the question. Primal gave him a look before scooping him up, in spite of his protests. “Go sleep. We take from here.” He didn’t bother trying to squirm his way out of Primal’s hold. He’d been scooped up many times before by the hunter. Once he had a hold on you there was no getting free unless they let you go.

So he let himself be carried.

It hadn’t struck him how tired he was until now. The days of interrupted sleep adding up, his brief capture by The Dark Lord, all of it crashing over him and dragging his eyes shut before he could stop them.

Chapter Text

Hazard grumbled as he woke up. He squinted at the ceiling above him. How did I… Oh, right. Heh… He stretched. What time is it? He looked around. Gh-?! Three PM?! He leapt out of bed, hissing as he landed on his right leg wrong. Ow, ow, ow, alright, one a dose days… urgh… He stifled a groan. Right… didn’t get ta set ma alarm… He winced as he took a step. Mngh… Alright, Hazard, just put a piece a toast down so ya can take some meds… He dragged himself into the kitchen. One foot… in front a da othah… mngh… Grabbing the bag of toast, he slammed one into the toaster.

He heavily slumped into the nearest chair and laid his head on the table, quietly grumbling as he waited for his toast to finish. He tried rubbing where the pain radiated from, but it was deep, deeper than a normal ache, and throbbed much more than a muscle cramp or a bruise. There was the same deep, throbbing, almost tingling ache - the tingling one felt when hitting their elbow - in his right arm, too, but it was worse in his leg. He glanced around. Caution wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so he sighed and continued to remain hunched over. Where’s ma phone? And… shit, meds’re in da bathroom. In his haste to get something in his stomach before taking his medication - his stomach would feel like it was being torn and dissolved if he didn’t - he had forgotten about grabbing said medication.

So he was going to have to get up anyways.

Dammit… It was… around dis time I fell asleep yestahday, wadn’t it? He groaned at the realization. Dat’s why ma leg’s throwin’ a fit, cursahs dammit! He always took his long term medication before bed, so since he had slept through that…

A banging at the door made him jolt upright. “Yo! Hazard! You awake? We need you down at security!”

He sighed. “Give me a few minutes… I’ll be ovah dere…” There was no way he was going to make it to security without collapsing if he forwent taking any medication. Not usually dis bad… He drew in a breath and slowly let it out.

“Hazard, you feeling alright? Primal told me what happened yesterday.”

“‘M fine,” he mumbled, not quite registering he wasn’t loud enough for Ballista to hear.

So it shouldn’t have been a shock hearing the lock being undone and the door opening, yet Hazard jumped a bit anyways. “Hazard?”

“Mister Hazard, are you okay?” He sighed at hearing Blue’s voice.

“I’m alright,” he managed to yell as he forced himself to sit up, just in time for Ballista and Blue to enter the kitchen.

“Bro, you look like shit.”

“‘Ey, no cursin’ in fronta children.”

“Crap wasn’t gonna cut it, Haz.”

He heard the toaster go off. “Just, uh, grabbin’ something ta eat.” He went to stand up.

His right leg protested… severely. He couldn’t hide the sharp intake of breath it caused. “Ffff…” Shit, shit, shit, not in fronta othahs, not in fronta othahs…

“Bro! Sit! Sit!” He felt himself get shoved back in the chair. “Is it your leg?” He shakily nodded.

“Didn’t… get ta take my meds last night,” he admitted. Ballista grabbed the toast out of the toaster. “‘S not usually dis bad only one day out…”

“Do you have something you take?” Blue asked.

“Mngh… yeah. In da bathroom. Bottle dat says ‘Diclofenac’.”

“Here.” Ballista placed the plate of toast in front of him.

“Thanks…” He took a bite.

“I’ll get you something to drink.”

“Is this the right bottle?” He looked at the medicine bottle Blue showed him.

“Mhmm… thanks, kiddo.” He took the bottle from him.

“I get it, having bad days.”

He couldn’t help but smirk a bit at that. “Right. Ya have contractures, doncha?”

“Mhmm…” Blue sighed. “How bad is your leg feeling?” Ballista put down some orange juice.

He bit into the toast again, chewing as he thought how to describe it. “Feels like someone’s jabbin’ hot needles inta ma leg. Aches.” He popped a pill in his mouth and downed it with the juice. “Cursahs, I sound old.” Blue chuckled at that. “Makes me want ta lay down and not geddup. Dere’s also ma arm. Hand gets real weak.” He leaned back. “Da pain just… drags me down.” He chuckled. “Used ta be worse, if ya can believe it.” He flexed his right hand, noting the weakness was less. Either the medication had already kicked in - unlikely - or fate was being merciful and granting him a reprieve - more likely. “Word of advice? Try not ta get buried by rubble. It’s not very pleasant.” He finished off his toast and slowly got up. “Okay… I can walk now…”

“You sure?” He nodded.

“Id’ll kick in in about half an hour. I’d rather not keep everyone waiting.”

He did his best not to limp out the door.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t often he thought about his injuries, at least not anymore. The circumstances surrounding it weren’t exactly pleasant.

He could still see Agent spinning around as the ground gave way beneath him, could hear him cry out in fear as he himself let out a cry of terror as he fell. He remembered the thud of him colliding with the ground, himself rolling over to try and get to his feet. Digging, blossoming pain had suddenly radiated on his leg, and he had let out a scream, heard everything above him collapsing. He had slumped to the ground as fallen rubble slammed into his arm, a cry ripping from him as he put his free hand over his head to try and shield himself from further debris, the desperate prayer for Agent’s safety, his thoughts being filled with the memories he had of his little girl, light becoming dimmer and dimmer as he squeezed his eyes shut. As rubble crashed and groaned above and around him.

And then everything had gone still. His eyes had burned opening up, coughs ripping through him as he looked up and took in his surroundings - or lack thereof. It had been pitch black with just the teensiest light trickling in. His heart had been beating in his throat, pain nonexistent.

He had tried to move his arm. Pain shot up it, a sob tearing out of him as daggers dug into his arm and leg. He tried to shove the rubble off, but that had only disturbed the delicate balance above, more chunks of concrete and rebar falling onto him.

So he had stayed still, focusing on his breathing as he tried not to panic further.

He had then taken in a deep breath before screaming for help as loudly as he could. There was a slight echo, but no response. Tears had sprung, another writhe causing pain to pulse. “Please,” he had sobbed. “Someone…” He had rested his head on the cold ground, throwing himself a tiny pity party before continuing to struggle, continuing to scream, and scream, and scream, and scream.

Eventually, his dust-coated throat was raw from the cries, becoming hoarse. Tears dug tracks down his cheeks and, exhausted, he had allowed himself to doze off.

“Hazard?” Hazard jumped.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. The diclofenac had kicked in, finally, but with his pain fresh in his mind it was hard not to think of how he got to that point.

“So, we have three major points I want to get to. One of them involves something your team found at the shack, Hazard. The other two are messages: one from La Salle, the other from the police department.”

Hazard exchanged worried glances with Agent and Alan. “Which one is da least worrying?” Hazard inquired.

“The first one.”

“Let’s, uh… start with dat?” He leaned against the back of his chair.

Victim picked up the remote. “It’s actually… sort of funny. You remember the stuffed animal you brought back?”

Hazard frowned and looked at Primal. “I’m about ta eat ma words, aren’t I?” Primal shrugged.

It was security footage from the night prior, in one of the labs. Hazard narrowed his eyes. At first, everything seemed normal…

Then one of the bags moved. Hazard’s jaw dropped as, forcing themselves out of the bag and stumbling onto the floor was the plush Primal had been suspicious of. They shook themselves off like a normal cat and trotted out of sight.

“So that was a creature,” Alan remarked.

“Whad in da magical girl nonsense is dat?!”

“What mean ‘magical girl’?” Hazard shrugged. He had heard Ballista rambling about some show on their way over.

“It’s an anime thing,” Ballista casually explained. “They usually have a… mentor? A superior? Whatever! It’s called a mascot, and they usually look ‘cute’ and stuff. I’m guessing that Errant’s a magical girl and that orb she used is the thingamabob that lets her transform.”

Agent gave Ballista a look. “How do y’ know so much ‘bout that?”

“I watch anime in my downtime, okay dude?! I like shows that are about the power of friendship! Sue me!”

“Um… do… do magical girls usually travel far from home in dese… animes of yours?”

“Not… really?” Ballista turned back to the video, “They fight monsters, usually.”

Hazard frowned. “What kinds of monsters?” Alan asked.

“Ones that make humans act off. They act all hypnotized and violent until the monster is killed.”

Hazard snorted at the same time Agent did. “No wondah she was so calm fightin’ Da Dark Lord.”

“And how she freed me. Arright. What’s next?”

“We got a message from La Salle.” Hazard heard Ballista dramatically groan. “It says, and I quote, ‘Take care of The Chosen One and its associate or I will do so myself’. End quote.” Victim gagged after reading the note.

“It?!”

“That’s what he wrote, Alan.”

“If he comes back here, I’m not waiting for an excuse to punch him.”

“Please don’t ged arrested, Alan,” Hazard sighed. “Dat’s not how I want ta catch up with ma friends on da force…”

“Who wants to tell the asshole that Errant’s likely dead?” Ballista asked. “I call dibs!” Primal smacked him on the shoulder. “Ow.”

“Now… the last thing.” Victim leaned forwards and folded his hands on his desk.

Uh oh…

“So… last night a body was found dumped in a park in Netropolis.” Victim paused, seeming lost in thought. “There’s no good way to put this… but La Salle and The Dark Lord aren’t the only ones who appear to be after Chosen.”

“Whadiya mean?” Agent inquired.

“The body was determined to be a victim of a serial killer the police are calling ‘The Executioner’.” A sudden heavy sense of unease crawled up Hazard’s back.

“Shit, I ‘member hearin’ dat name,” he mumbled. He was never on the case, so he didn’t know too many details, but he knew enough that a picture was beginning to form. A picture he did not like.

“There was a note left on the victim’s body…”

“What did it say, Vic?” Agent looked equally uneasy.

Victim took a deep breath. “There was a picture of Chosen, and a printed note. It said, ‘Angel of Death, you’re next’.”