෴Raz෴

෴Ingrid෴

෴Braithwaite෴

෴Candace Remington෴

෴෴෴ ෴෴෴ ෴෴෴

Helpless

෴෴෴ ෴෴෴ ෴෴෴

Without opening his eyes or moving, Raz expanded his sensoria outward. The surrounding tower still held more than enough residual charge to map out its entire frame in brilliant blue and red lines.

The woman who’d implanted him was crawling up a nearby staircase. He couldn't see into her physiology from this range, but the way she crawled with one arm and favored one of her legs told him it was her.

You got me good. Don’t worry. I won’t forget you. You’ll get yours.

Ingrid still lay outstretched from her cuffs, her bare foot pressed against his. Through the chip, he could feel her emitting some kind of energy. As best he could tell, she was trying to inhibit the chip’s ability to function, and specifically, it seemed she was trying to slow it down and interrupt it’s processes.

Well crap. Maybe I owe her one. Bee, any evidence that she helped?

[A lot. I am still reading through the code. However, the more I decode of this machine’s instructions, the more clear it becomes that we had help. We may never know just how much help we had, but that we had some is not in question.]

Damn. Does that make us even? She attacked the outpost; She killed those soldiers. Nothing can make up for that. But so did Fidel! I helped her; she betrayed me. Now she helped me again. I think I’m still ahead, but this is more moral ambiguity than I was looking for. What if I need her to get out?

Still lurking in the far corner of the copper and silver-lined cell, Braithwaite began muttering. A sort of stream-of-consciousness monolog.

“You should be able to hear me. I hope you can. I hope some tiny part of you hears me as the last sound before the implant takes over.”

[4:05]

Braithwaite let out a high-pitched giggle. “It’s so funny. To think, she originally designed these chips to empower the recipient. Such a lack of vision.”

[4:11]

“You’re going to be my perfect trojan horse. My perfect little pet stalking horse.” He let out another laugh as he thumped the large box next to him. “And this broken toy will be the perfect test.”

Ingrid looked at Braithwaite. “You really are sick in the head.”

[4:20]

Braithwaite snapped his malignant gaze toward Ingrid. He seemed shocked, as though he’d forgotten she was even there. Without hesitation, he flicked a finger at her. A resounding clang rang out in the small, echoing room. Ingrid went flying as far as her bonds would allow. Raz distinctly heard and sensed both her forearms giving out and snapping cleanly in the cuffs under the sudden sharp force.

She screamed. Her arms hanging limp, bent in places they shouldn't have bent. She desperately scrambled to get herself back under the cuffs in an effort to reduce the shocking blades of pain from four unset fractured bones. She flailed her legs madly, trying to relieve the sudden agony. Finally, she pushed against one of Raz’s limp feet and managed to get enough traction to shift into a better position. Her screaming and wheezing in pain continued throughout it all.

Braithwaite settled back into his lurking crouch. “Shut up. Make another sound and I’ll break both your legs, chip you, and make you walk home.”

She bit back her screams into a choked whimper.

Sick bastard. He’s got to die. Gotta stay still for now. Stick to the plan. She’ll survive this if I can get out of here.

An undercurrent of simmering fury made sticking to the plan harder with each passing moment.

[4:29]

He’s going to–shudder–touch me. Be ready for maximum power, or speed whatever, subtle analysis, and siphon. I know I’m full, but I want his energy anyway.

[Ready as we can be.]

Raz did his best to remain still, and tried to imitate the dead, lifeless tone he’d heard from Higgs. “Unit ready for DNA lock.”

Braithwaite stood, then looked at the tableau before him. Raz didn’t want to know what he was thinking, but his body language told him anyway. He was deeply pleased to see Raz naked and chained. Somewhat aroused by Ingrid, but more aroused by her pain and injury than her specifically. Like someone finally living out an intense fantasy, he was stopping to catch his breath, take it all in, and savor the moment.

Ugh. How do I un-know these things? I don’t need to know what nasty things turns him on! I cannot wait to ruin this for you, you sadistic little troll. In fact, I can’t wait to ruin you.

Despite his efforts to remain calm and follow the plan, his pulse kept racing every time he relinquished direct control. Raz absently noticed that at some point, the pile of ash and bone had vanished, leaving a slagged pile, the remains of the metallic grounding garment.

Raz forced himself to hold still as Braithwaite licked his finger with an obscene sucking sound that seemed to go on for way too long. He crouched down and rubbed his wet and slimy, cold finger all over the back of Raz’s neck.

Stay still, stay still. It’s so disgusting!

Raz forced himself to go limp in the cuffs, ignoring the way the tight cuffs pinched at his arms. Thinking back to how long Higgs had laid there, he tried to match the timing. All the while, the disgusting clammy hand still rested on his neck.

He carefully reached out with Diagnose. He could instantly determine that this one was a copy. All the cells were obviously too new.

Too bad. That would have been convenient.

The analysis completed, providing him with a map of Braithwaite’s abilities.

Hmm, Kinetic absorption and blasting. Punching and shooting him is no good. In fact, maybe not even knives. At the very least, anything kinetic is right out, while he’s got energy anyway. That flick is ugly. No desire to get hit with it.

[Energy reserves full.]

[Siphon Target energy: 28/50]

Keep draining. I don’t care if it gets wasted.

[Working on it.]

The map of his abilities revealed that Braithewaite was limited to one simulacrum at a time, with a minute or two warm-up to make a new one.

Yes! Paydirt. That’s what I’m talking about. Kill them both, kill him for good. No more popping up like a damn cockroach.

Resigned to playing this out, he pretended to stir and wake. He didn’t have to fake recoiling in fearful revulsion at Braithwaite’s leering face looking down at him from entirely too close. The large box the madman had pulled into the cell with him was the windowed crate holding Nona.

“Be still.” He spoke into Raz’s ear in an ecstatic, overly intimate tone. Raz was hard-pressed to hide the instinctive shudder.

Raz pretended to fight it the way he’d seen Higgs fight. When he eventually fell still, Braithwaite was looking at him with clear suspicion.

“That was odd. The rev seven should have the confirmation phrase. If that isn't working, I’ll need to verify the field override works manually. What a pain. After I found the backdoor in the older models, I had such high hopes for the mark sevens.” He talked to himself as though alone in the room.

Raz and Bee both desperately searched the code for a confirmation phrase. Within a few seconds, he’d found it.

Raz grunted, gritting his teeth, twisting his head all around, and moaning as if in great pain. After he felt he’d sold it enough. He let himself fall limp and spoke in the same dead voice. “Unit activation sequence complete.”

Once he’d choked out the phrase, he let himself fall back against the icy wall as though too exhausted to fight. His adrenaline-soaked muscles ached to fight, to struggle against it all.

Having Hex here but disabled is bad. I’ve got to get her out safely, no matter what. This wasn’t part of the plan. I never thought she’d be captured. I didn’t realize she’d be here. What else did I get wrong?

He reached out and began stacking Friendly Fire chevrons on both her and the crate itself as fast as he could.

Braithwaite noticed his attention. “Yes. She is quite attractive, but no more so than this one,” he absently gestured at Ingrid’s whimpering, broken form, “and yet your reaction to her is far stronger. It’s too bad I can’t seem to wake her,”

He knocked on the transparent pane in front of Nona’s face. “Even a mark four implant didn't get anywhere. I’d say she was braindead, if she didn’t have faint EEG activity consistent with–well never mind. It doesn’t matter to you. Oh well. I have such a good feeling that listening to her screams would have been incredibly motivating for you.” He paused, looked at Raz and then Nona, “and let’s be honest with each other. If nothing else, I’d have had a good time.”

The door to White Fire began to open on its own.

What the hell!?

It took every bit of Raz’s self-control to clamp down on it and keep the searing energy at bay. The energy coiled on itself, crashing at the door again and again as it fought him. It wanted nothing more than to blast out of him into Braithwaite.

Bee!? What’s happening?

[Unknown. It seems White Fire may be ‘hard to control’ in more ways than we thought.]

The scientist watched the facial contortions as Raz tried to hold back the overflowing ocean of seething energy that wanted nothing more than to render his enemies unto dust.

Braithwaite stood up and took a step back. “You look constipated. Are you trying to shit yourself? Fair warning, if you do, you'll be licking this place clean once I’m done training you.”

Raz tried to imagine how one of these chipped people would react, and couldn’t come up with anything. So he didn’t react at all.

Suddenly all business, Braithwaite ran through a series of directions and commands similar to what he had said to Higgs there in the desert. He touched on not using abilities without explicit permission and direction many times

I guess this is meant to make sure I don’t fry him again. Too bad for him. That is definitely happening.

Finally, he wound down and just stared at Raz for a long moment. He seemed to be expecting something, but it wasn’t clear what he wanted, so Raz just remained still.

As long as he thinks he’s in control, she’s safe, and I can make my move at the right time.

Without warning, Braithwaite stepped forward and brought his foot up in a long arcing kick. Instinctively falling into slow time, Raz had plenty of time to decide what to do.

This is going to suck.

The kick landed on his jaw and knocked his head back. He let his head naturally relax back into position. Something about this seemed to throw Braithwaite into a blind frenzy. He kicked Raz in the ribs and shoulder several times before getting closer and focusing on gut punches.

Is it just my imagination, or are his hits pretty weak?

[Look at his upper body. This isn’t someone with a solid workout routine. More to the point, you’ve gained the passive abilities of Might rank 1, which increases several physical abilities including Durability.]

A final punch to his stomach and a kick to his limp arms and Braithwaite stood up, wheezing.

“Oh, that was cathartic! I might just have to make that a regular thing,” he muttered to himself.

Just don’t want to give him a reason to flick me. I bet that one still hurts plenty.

Something chirped. Braithwaite looked at his wrist. “Bleh. Martine. What does that halfwit want now?”

He went to the door, then turned back with an expression almost apologetic. “I hate to be a poor host, but it appears I’ve been summoned. I’ll be back for more fun as soon as I can.”

With a clang, the room was silent except for the sound of Ingrid crying, louder now that Braithwaite had left, and the softer sound of Hex breathing inside the box. Below that, he could hear three hearts beating at very different rates.

He tried to reach out to Hex, anything to feel her presence.

Dammit, babe, why didn’t you leave!? You promised me you’d go and be safe!

His emotions rapidly shifted between fear, anger, and worry at the thought of her here, locked in Braithwaite’s power.

Looking at her there, so defenseless and vulnerable in the high-tech cage, infused him with a wave of new burning anger he shoved down into the deep reservoir of pulsing fury within him.

The door to White Fire started rattling in its frame. The power was knocking, imploring to be unleashed. He gritted his teeth harder, holding back the wave of devastation that wanted nothing more than to blast forth and lay waste to his enemies.

Not yet! Need a new plan to get us both out of here.

A thrumming pulse inside him conspired with the White Fire gate, urging him to throw the plan to the wind and simply break free. His eyes flicked over to Ingrid, taking in the purple swelling rising around both broken arms.

Maybe even all three of us.

A glance upward showed him Braithwaite walking up the stairs. He’d stopped to talk to the injured woman that had slipped the chip onto him.

No doubt he’s getting his rocks off looking at someone that’s hurt. The world will be a better place without him.

Suddenly, he realized Ingrid was talking to him. He hadn’t heard anything over the din of his own pounding heart and grinding jaw.

“—hy are you doing this? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything. Please, just help me. I know you can! It hurts so much.”

He realized she was curled up there, trying and failing to find a position that relieved the pain. With a guilty look at Hex, he finally responded to her.

“Put your foot back over here.”

She moved ever so slowly and gingerly. Each small shift extorted a grunt or whimper from her pursed lips.

“Don’t take all day. Who knows how soon he’ll be back,” he said gruffly.

She finally precariously balanced herself and extended her toe. She couldn't reach him. With her arms hanging uselessly, she was nearly a foot short of making contact with him.

Am I going to regret this?

[You healed Fidel when he had done worse to you, and others. Logic says we need every ally we can get.]

Yeah, but she already betr—

[You’re judging her more harshly because you want to have sex with her, and you feel guilty about that. Stop it. We need to get out of here first and foremost, that you find a beautiful woman attractive is hardly news, or worth worrying about right now.]

That's not what this is about!

[Sure it’s not.]

With a frustrated grunt, Raz walked his feet out as far as he could reach, until he reached the limit of the cables holding his legs. This gave him just enough reach to put the bottom of his foot against the bottom of hers.

Diagnosis pulses flowed from him into her. With Braithwaite still gone, and perhaps not returning soon, he dared to dig deep and deal with the things he’d noticed while dealing with her bullet wound. Her body told him the story of years of hard training, and more than a few incompletely healed injuries. Compared to Hex’s usual pristine condition, she seemed very damaged. He started by disabling pain receptors in her forearms.

Absently, he noticed her relaxing, reminding him of her beauty when the rictus of pain faded from her face.

“Straighten your arms and pull gently until I say,” he said.

She looked scared, but followed his instructions. “It doesn’t hurt, but it still feels awful having my bones grind against each other.”

As soon as the bones dropped into alignment, he grunted out a directive to stay still and jumped into action. Deep within his slow time perspective, he laid down strands of protein and surrounded them with amorphous blobs of coalesced minerals from the blood present at the injury caused by the inflammatory response. He tore through the blood, causing local swelling to steal as much as he could to rebuild the bones.

She wasn’t as still as he would have liked, so the work seemed to drag on as he’d attach a bundle of proteins and then have to watch in slow motion as a small twitch on her part snapped them away.

Damn you! Stay still. No. Not her fault. This isn’t the right approach for someone hanging in a precarious position.

Back inside her, he focussed on fixing her right radius and dumped all his energy and concentration into bonding the entire surface to the other side in a single push. The end result was a bone that was perhaps a tenth of a millimeter longer than it had once been. He repeated the step with the right ulna, trying to make the overall bone lengthening consistent. Before pulling out, he repaired the small hole that a shard of jagged bone had poked in a vein.

The other side was easier, having broken more cleanly. He debated clearing out all the inflammation but satisfied himself with healing the gross injury and letting the arms still look bad.

I cleared up a lot of it just using the inflammatory response blood for materials. She’ll be fine.

She carefully flexed her fingers and moved her arms about. “Thank you so much, whatever you need from me, just say the word.”

“Shut up and don’t make it obvious when he comes back,” he said without looking at her.

He continued to reach out for Hex in the life support box. His heartbeat hammered in his chest. The drive to do something, anything, growing unbearable.

Damnit! Why isn’t there some way to increase my range? She needs me and she’s right there!

All too soon the leering face of Braithwaite peered through the porthole before opening the metal hatch.

“Well, I hope you two weren’t too bored without me.” He looked at Ingrid’s mosaic of red and purple bruising. “He probably doesn't have much to say at this point. They usually don’t.”

Braithwaite looked down at Ingrid, then over at Hex. “It is too bad she seems to be brain dead. The fun we could have had! Oh well, you seem to like looking at her. Maybe this will get you riled up enough to get that last resistance dealt with.”

With that, he abruptly ripped off the heart monitor and dropped it to the floor. “I wanted you to see this before I finish training you. I hope it makes you give me some extra resistance.”

Nearly instantly, something in the box activated with an audible thunk. Inside the box, her head jerked forward as though struck. The lines of vital signs on the front display stuttered, dropped, then flatlined. Raz desperately reached out with Somatic Restoration, demanding that it span the gap with nothing but raw will and energy. A thin trickle of blood ran down both sides of her neck, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone he’d kissed so many times before drawing a crimson line down to her tank top. She was less than ten feet away, but it might as well have been miles. The distance was a gulf he couldn’t cross with his body or power. He watched helplessly as she let out her last breath and went still.

“No!” the word erupted from his throat like a roar, carrying the weight of his loss and pain with it. Both arms slammed against the limits of the heavy cables again and again as he pounded impotently at the air between them.

Even with all this power, I was helpless to save her when she needed me.

Braithwaite turned back to him with a smile. “Still got some fight in you after all? Good.”

Raz snapped his gaze at the man with such focused rage that despite feeling completely in control of the situation, Braithwaite recoiled with instinctive fear before recovering with a sadistic smile.

“Yes! That’s what I want to see. The more anger, the more you hate me, the better you’ll be when you break. Just think! You’ll be my new favorite toy! A trojan horse able to bring me more toys any time I want.” Braithwaite gloated.

Raz glared at him, deep in his own rage and pain. “Never!” he roared, as his restrained arms continued to flail against the bonds.

Braithwaite smiled, then went to the door. “I think I’ll let you stew for a while. I’m sure those punishments will soften you up for the rest of your training in no time.”

It took every bit of Raz’s self-control not to annihilate him as he grinned smugly and left the room.

Kill. Destroy. Ruin. Break them all! Stick to the plan!

The voice in the back of his head grew louder, more insistent.

Got to stay focussed! Break them. Kill them. Grind them to Dust!

Raz couldn’t stop panting. Each breath a deep sucking inhale followed by a violent explosive exhalation.

DESTROY!—Gotta get—KILL!—control. Stay focu—WE ARE WRATH!—sed. Stick to the—NO MORE PLANS!—plan.

He braced against the wall, pushing his arms against the cables with all his might. The cables mocked him. Laughed at him. Laughing at his tiny power.

I’m sorry Sia. Why didn’t you just escape when you could. I couldn’t save you. I tried to save you! I couldn’t do it.

The pounding of his heart grew to a rumble of thunder in his ears.

Just like dad. Gone. I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye.

His skin turned red, flushing with anger, grief, and impotent rage and a crushing, tearing sorrow cycling in on itself and becoming a pure core of fury in his chest. Every breath he drew in ice and exhaled fire.

NO NO NO! NOT IMPOTENT! KILL THEM ALL. MAKE THEM PAY!

A red haze dropped over his vision. Something burned in his chest.

I can’t! I’m locked in here, and even White Fire is taking too long to get me out. I’m practically helpless in here. I can't help anyone. I can’t even help myself. Even with this power, I’m just as helpless as I’ve ever been.

Noises. Someone, the girl, was saying something, her words were nothing but noise. He thought back to the first time Braithwaite incarcerated him.

She’s gone. There’s nothing I can do.

His bones vibrated, tendons and ligaments reverberating with a crackling, humming zeal.

I’m just as helpless

The girl cowered across the room, looking at him in terror. His eyes lit up with an inner fire. Her mouth moved. More noise.

as I’ve ever

His breath billowed out hot, visible jets of vapor or steam. Muscles twitched, swelling and pulsing. Ringing with an aria of force, a song of Might. His gaze flicked over to Nona's terribly still body, and he closed his eyes.

been.

Laying in the custom-built cell designed to contain his power, mere feet from the body of his love, he went Berzerk.