Episode: 5.18

--- Aiden ---

He checked the address on his phone, to make sure he was at the right place.

He’d gotten the text less than an hour after the cops were done with his bar, but he couldn’t leave to take care of it until he was sure Ember was asleep for the night.

(Not sure if that little heart to heart helped her or not…)

He knew why Anna left Ember with him of all people, no matter how bad of an idea it was. He just hoped his answer was enough to help Ember come to terms with her mother’s decision, even if it wasn’t the whole truth of the matter. (Because she wouldn’t want anything to do with you if she knew that.)

He shook his head clear of that thought, before focusing on the warehouse in front of him. It was an old thing, one of the numerous warehouses that were left abandoned and unclaimed in New Haven after the Franchetti family was torn apart. It was also a fairly common location for when one of the numerous factions in the area wanted to make a deal without involving the market.

He was fully aware that this was a point of no return, that once he pushed open the door to this warehouse, he was going to have to see this through to the end.

(Didn’t I already promise to do just that?) He laughed to himself, knowing full well this isn’t what Anna wanted when she stole that promise from him all those years ago.

He also knew he’d still see it through until the bitter and ashen end. (Just like always…)

With a final puff of his cigarette, he tossed the thing down, stamped it out, and crossed his personal Rubicon.

As he stepped into the building, he took note of the fact that it was largely empty despite its massive size. In fact, the only really notable thing was an object under a single spotlight in the center of the warehouse, one covered by a white sheet with sporadic red stains.

(At least they have an understanding of drama.)

“Heh, so you’re the infamous ‘Flame-bound’ that has everyone up in a tiff.” A voice laughed from behind him. “Don’t know what I was expecting really, but somehow you’re not it.”

“Just give me a minute,” He warned the cultist, taking note of their black mask with a skull painted on, (didn’t Pet say she stabbed this guy?) “I’m sure I’ll meet all your expectations and more.”

“I’m sure you will too.” The cultist agreed, a smile tinging his voice as he gestured for Aiden to follow. “Now as you’ve no doubt realized that hit was ordered without proper authority, which was a big no-no, especially when dealing with a named individual such as yourself.”

“I thought you lot were all for spreading the Madness.” He asked, his eyes never leaving the skull masked cultist as they circled behind the clothed figure.

“We may be Mad, Flame-bound, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have rules.” The cultist’s eyes dashed towards him with a meaningful look. “You should know that as well as anyone, ‘Brother of Jack’.”

It took an effort of will to keep from swinging on the (suicidal) cultist.

“Anyway, since I was the guy he managed to rope into this mess, we figured it’d only be fair if I was the one to hand you this.” The cultist tore the sheet from thing in the center of the room, revealing a cultist wearing a cracked mask of a smiling face.

“How do I know this is really him?” He knew the cultist never switched or shared their masks, not until they were four years dead and buried, but old habits demanded he ask anyway.

The skull masked cultist rolled his eyes. “You know as well as I that we keep our deals. You wanted the guy who gave the order, so we got you the guy. We don’t want you to retaliate, so you don’t.”

He eyed the smiling masked ex-cultist, before turning to the still-active cultist. “Heard you guys have been more active lately, any idea why?”

The masked cultist watched him for a moment before shrugging. “Heard, there’s a new Jack coming.”

“What about the old one?” He asked with narrowed eyes.

“All Jacks are new Jacks, and all Jacks are old Jacks, after all, all Jacks are Jacks.” The cultist offered in way of a madness ridden explanation. “New one needs a mask, and masks need madness.”

“And that’s why this one was after the kid?” (It’s plausible, Madness traits always flag for Arcane scans, and if it was a bad one it would explain why Ashe nearly shot her…)

The cultist shook his head, destroying Aiden’s half-formed theory.

“I saw her for myself, the kid is marked, but not in any way worth picking a fight over.” The skull masked cultist admitted easily, before giving a laugh with just a touch of madness to it. “Truth be told, having her with us probably would’ve caused more problems in the long run, all things considered.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

The cultist shrugged with an unhinged smile. “Consider it my way of knowing you won’t escalate things any further.”

He didn’t like that but given what he knew of his own reputation he couldn’t blame the cultist for taking such a precaution. (Though it does mean I need to have a talk with Ashe sooner than later…)

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” The cultist told him turning to leave, only to stop after a few paces. “Oh, before I forget, there’s a couple gas cans under the chair. Heard that was your thing.”

With that and the creaking of the warehouse doors opening and closing, he was left alone with the ex-cultist responsible for attacking his family, and the demons that were always haunting him.

(I shouldn’t be doing this…) He thought watching the ex-cultist wheeze for breath.

(But if you don’t, he’ll just hurt her again and again…)

Old scars across his body began to ache as he scratched at a series of round marks beneath his left collar bone.

(They’re playing you…) He told himself, remembering that the higher-ups in the cult knew exactly what would come of leaving him alone with this man.

(Do you really care?) A darker, more seductive voice whispered, sending a chill down his spine and a warmth across his skin.

“You know, I haven’t done something like this in a few years… not since I got my head on straight.” He told the ex-cultist, being sure to take his hat off and set it on the floor before getting started.

The ex-cultist merely whimpered.

“At the same time… a message needs to be sent to the rest of your cult, the ones that’ll want to escalate this mess.” He took a step back and rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, revealing a number of scars and burns he’d picked up over the years, namely the dark ones between when he hurt Anna and when the old man finally managed to pull his ass out of the literal and metaphorical fire.

(Burn the flesh... feed the flame...)

“W-what kind of m-message?” The ex-cultist stuttered out, already having an idea of how this was going to end, and merely praying it’ll be quick.

“The kind people don’t tend to forget easy.” He explained, grabbing one of the cans of gasoline from beneath the chair.

“W-w-wait, you don’t w-want to do this!” The ex-cultist cried as Aiden began dumping the can’s contents over him, making sure to avoid dumping any on the man’s head.

“I really don’t.” He agreed, tossing the can aside once it was as empty as his chest.

“W-what?”

“You’re right.” He admitted crouching down to meet the ex-cultist’s eyes, before removing the man’s mask and meeting the tear-filled blue eyes of the brown-haired man beneath it. “I really don’t want to do this, but… I think I have to.”

“W-why?” The man sobbed tears streaming from his eyes.

He pulled out a set of matches from his pocket, because even on the edge of madness and sin he refused to taint his old man’s lighter like this. “Because for some reason people seem to have forgotten why everyone in the masquerade calls me ‘the flame-bound reaper.’”

“No,” The man gasped, shaking his head as he realized what was about to happen. “No, please, no!”

“Yeah…” He lit one of the matches. “You’re not the first to say that.”