A work in progress of
Exo vs. a Council Vamp. There's more to the picture (rue you, you average sized scanner), but that's what I could fit for now.
On with the story (this part's longer, sorry).
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Exosteel: Birthpains
Chapter 3
John, I
The phone slammed into the receiver as Michael walked into the office, and John spun around in his chair so he was facing away from the door. He glanced away from the diploma tacked the wall that he was pretending to study intently, and Michael saw that he looked like hell. His hair, still with its regular amount of product in it, had somehow become disheveled, matted across his brow in a flat mess. Sweat beaded above his eyebrows and on his cheeks as a dry tongue tried in vain to wet dry lips. John, are you ok?
John snorted, and thought Michael scarcely believed his senses, the burning smell of alcohol suddenly became apparent in the room. Michael, nervous and unsure, began to laugh. He wanted to ask who had been on the phone, but instead he said, Are you drunk?
No, Michael! Im not drunk. John paused, a thin smile spreading across his face, clearly about to unveil some great wit. Unlike you.
Michael scratched his chin, not amused but unable to leave his friend hanging. He chuckled, uncomprehendingly, and said, Im not drunk, John.
Oh, yes you are.
No, Im not, Im
YES YOU ARE! Spittle leapt from his lips and seemed to boil on the ground where it landed. You are drunk. On power. On publicity. Youre a lush! What is this, the Michael show, now? Michael backed away as John advanced on him with a finger pointed like a rapier. You and your pretty girlfriend, all over the news. All over the papers. Like youre the only one whos doing anything. Youre the only one whos smart!
Nobody thinks that, John. I dont think that.
Who gives a [censored] what you think? Its what it looks like you think!
Michael felt resentment rise up in him, and inspired by the awkward, unfamiliar feeling, he went on a counteroffensive. Are you really this mad at me, John? Because youre the publicity end of this deal by your own insistence, and I cant control what the news says just because Im in it. Then, slyly, Who was on the phone, man?
John suddenly lunged, grabbing Michael by the collar of his shirt, pushing him hard against the wall. Michael bumped the back of his head and saw stars for a moment before Johns face came into focus. His eyes were wide, his mouth contorted in a frown of rage. But it was the cold fear, close to terror, that resided in Johns irises that made Michael feel like he had cornered the rat, and not visa versa. John said nothing, simply staring hard for a long moment. Then he let Michael go and strode across the room to his desk, sitting hard in the chair. I spoke to the Countess, John said.
Michael glared at him. His partner was losing his mind. And?
Its time Michael. I know you. I know youre stalling. All these medicinal breakthroughs dont simply lie on the way to the weapon were trying to create. Youre biding your time.
Michael blanched, his mouth working in silent protest. Its not that it wasnt true; he had been avoiding work on the weapon mutation of the Rikti virus. He had simply thought that as long as he had been making money for Crey, the higher ups wouldnt care what he was developing. The cold sweat that had just broken out on his skin signaled the end of his happy self-delusion. Did you tell the Countess that? he asked quietly.
No. John paused, shook his head and blinked bleary eyes. No. Of course not. I may want my due credit, but I dont want you fired. Or killed.
Michael blinked and nodded, almost surprised by that last statement. It was true, however, that bleeding edge science in Paragon City often left scientists bleeding. What did you tell her?
I didnt tell her anything. Nothing. She just mentioned to me that she was wondering about the progress of that particular branch of this little endeavor. John looked up at him, a nervous sadness in his eyes. He looked as though he might say more, then clearly changed his mind. Lets just get to work on it, Michael. Please. I cant do it by myself.
Without waiting for an answer, John stood, and left his office. Michael stood there, frozen in place until the motion sensitive lights went out. Aside from the blinking green light on Johns computer terminal, the room was as quiet and dark as a grave.
Oh, god. I dont want to die.
The smell of scorched mortar and brick mixed in his nose with the slight odor of dampness. Maybe above his grave, out in the world, it was raining. Michael hated grey days with a passion, but he didnt mind the rain.
Its true, he mused.
I dont want to die.
Then again, perhaps he did. To choose between death and living life as it was outside of his chamber of isolation was a hard choice. He was an amateur student of all sciences, and a master of only a few, but he knew that in the solitude of his burial, awaiting death, which would come in its own time, human psychology demanded catharsis. Though he didnt want to think about what had happened next in his life, he knew he had no choice.
I have no choice, Sarah, its my job. He was being defensive. He got defensive when he wasnt being entirely honest.
I dont understand. Youre not explaining everything. She didnt have to know him as well as she did to read him like a book. Michael felt he was clumsy and obvious when it came to emotions. Why would the Countess put your medicinal projects on the backburner and reassign you? This is your baby. Youre the PR face of Crey right now!
I know! I know
I
He paused, swallowed hard. Look, why are we fighting about this. Its just the way things are.
I am not fighting you, I just want to know whats going on. Sarah paused, an angry pout on her full lips. It doesnt make any sense, Michael, you must realize that. Youre getting defensive.
I know. I know it. Im sorry. He sighed. Time for a partial truth. I
I had a fight with John this afternoon. Thats all. It was no big deal, before you ask, sweetheart. He and I are
fine.
A fight? About what?
About the reassignment. I dont want to be reassigned, he does. About
other stuff. He rubbed his eyes, a sudden dull exhaustion pressing in behind them. Hes mad. At me. And you, too I guess.
For some reason, Michael was afraid that Sarah might go after John further. It wasnt that he wanted to protect John, just that he was tired of confrontation. Pretty self righteous of him to be mad at us. He have a good reason? She half smiled at him. She wanted him to know she was listening, and he appreciated it.
No, not really. Just PR stuff. I think he always thought he would be the poster boy, you know? He has the looks, the personality for it. Im here by accident
Youre not here by accident. Her voice was firm, but there was no anger in it. Exasperation did, however, color her words. Youre brilliant and you know it. Hes riding your coat tails and in your shadow, thats all.
Yeah, well. I still feel bad about it, hes my friend.
Is that why youre rolling over on this reassignment issue? For Johns sake?! She was not going to let this go, Michael could tell. His mind slowed in his panic.
No! No, its just that the Countess
We talked about that part already, Micheal.
And John has been talking to her
Yes.
And she wants to move ahead with the weapon
He stopped suddenly, realizing his error.
The what? Her tone contained an equal amount of electricity and ice. Michael had never heard anything so terrifying.
I
oh, god. Dont hate me. Michael could tell he was being whiney and pathetic, but he was so scared. Hed had nightmares about this moment. The true purpose of his experiments unveiled, even on such a small scale as this, could cost him everything.
What weapon, Micheal? Shes reassigning you to a weapon?
Deep breaths, Michael chided himself, having trouble remembering to breath at all. No. No, shes not reassigning me to a weapon. Its been the project from the beginning. He sat down, defeat welling in his chest as tears welled in his eyes. There was no way out. Crey, its a big company. Its a world power. The Countess, she kept our contracts on the stipulation that we develop a truly terribly biological agent. It will melt flesh on contact, and disperse immediately afterwards. Its untraceable. Its criminal, and its criminal to make it.
Have you made it yet? Sarahs eyes had narrowed, her gaze was far away. There was a stern set to her jaw. She looked, for all the world, like a superhero.
No.
Honesty is a virtue. But I could. I could make it tomorrow. He sighed, deeply. Somehow, he felt better now that Sarah knew, even if she walked out on him. He knew he deserved no less. I dont want to, but John and I knew there could
no, there will
be consequences for not doing as the Countess requests. Weve all heard the stories about Crey.
Sarah sat down next to him. There was anger and sadness in her eyes, but she laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. He fell towards her, and they embraced, and he shook with relief. Why did you do it? she asked.
I thought the good I was doing would outweigh this one
scar. I was wrong, I think.
You werent wrong, Michael. He looked up at her, feeling stupidly childish. We all have to take risks to do the right thing. Even sometimes do the wrong thing. You can fix this.
How? I cant refuse the Countess Crey. Shell kill me, or worse, go after you, and I
No, thats not what I mean. She smiled, her brilliant mind working behind her shining, white teeth. Youre right, you cant refuse the Countess. But you can do something else. Design a neutralization agent.
What? Michael sat up straight, the obvious idea just beginning to process.
Make a cure, or a vaccination, or something. She stood up, brown eyes reflecting light like Steel. I can use my
contacts in Longbow to get the antidote out to all the police and heroes. We can make the city immune before its ever an issue. Develop her weapon, and make it as awful as she wants. But build a failsafe. Disarm it before its ever set up! The passion in her voice brought Michael to his feet.
My god, do you think it will work? But he didnt really have to ask. He knew it would. A slow, confident smile spread across his face. He had been right when he had surmised there was no way out. No way out but through.
No way out but through. Nothing to do but to try. Michael flexed the fingers of his burning left hand. He thought about trying to move it, resigned to the fact that it was going to rot off anyway. He pictured Sarahs smiling face in his mind. He imagined her voice. No way out but through, it said, comfortingly at first. As it echoed down into the depths of his mind the phrase became mocking, and the needling anger and itch returned.
Are you just going to give up, Michael?! With more will than strength, Michael somehow began to move his left arm. There was a rumbling, and a cracking, and then it was free. He could move it. He could not see his hand in the darkness, but he reached up and scratched at the surface in front of him. Some of it crumbled.
He let out a whoop, which died quickly amidst the rocks. He began scraping in earnest, a slowly kindling anger given focus and direction by what his rational mind had already decided was a futile task. Nevertheless, he was a incensed man, driven not just by the potential for survival, but by the idea of seeing John and his accomplices again. And getting even.
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Ideas, predictions, wishes for the story? Wanna do an art/art, art/literature, literature/art trade? Hate everything I do?
Let me know!
- SL
