Rain Harlow
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Chapter 105
🕑 Added 2025-11-20 16:00:13 +0000 UTCChapter 105: Who Lies and Who's Sinister
The vessel deposited him roughly in the center of the whole platform and near the core concentration of the rougher, abandoned buildings. The ‘research facility’ was further away and stood out from the rest.
Stitcher waited, just then tapping out a smoke with her fingers and stowing it away in a case. She was clad in full suit and coat, standing in what might’ve been a mock town square. She only lacked the full uniform due to her absence of headwear. A pair of goggles was on her head, but these were different from the huge, complex contraption she’d had on in their prior encounters. They were simpler.
As Jack exited the vessel, he was somewhat surprised to see it take off and leave.
Nope, that’s not foreboding at all…
He glanced at the immediate surroundings. A dry fountain immediate, its exact form not quite discernible, like a low-res memorial to an indistinct subject. The buildings around seemed to also lack detail, as if hastily constructed. They were maybe meant to be municipal style. There was also a big pile of scrap metal nearby, which he could only assume was there specifically for his use.
Everything in the environment definitely felt old, grainy, and dilapidated. Abandoned for quite a while.
Stitcher, arms clasped behind her back, declared, “You can be honoured if you like, Cadet. All of your eldest elders, alive and dead, trained here at one time. Sadly, there are no true memorials on a bloody test site…” She trailed off, eyes casting off to a certain half-destroyed building — the tallest one, perhaps five stories. It might’ve been six, but the top had collapsed downward, with much of the guts spilling out to one side, leaving maybe two-thirds of it standing. She squinted at it as if it were a puzzle she was trying to unlock.
Jack rolled his arms and neck around, trying to get loose and get a feel for his movements in the getup, as he nodded and continued checking out the area. “It looks like a bombing test site.”
He had the black inner suit on, of course, but he’d opted against the Jackette for the session, instead going with his custom, metal-reinforced vest that he’d been using for the PACCs. Considering he’d pretty much ruined the vest from storage as a ‘default item,’ he’d had to pay for it, and it was basically his, now. It was the same for his helmet, coated in thin steel as reinforcement.
Stitcher nodded, frowning faintly, still looking at the building. “It was, in part. Spiritually and literally. In fact, that was the last thing it was used for, perhaps forty years ago. Now, even prototype runs are not so ‘crass’ as to run this close to home. Memoria’s choice, that.”
“Isn’t everything?” Jack asked, partially in jest, but partially just to see what she’d say.
Stitcher said nothing for a long moment, likely indicating she wouldn’t answer. Finally, she took a deep breath as her eyes widened a bit. “I just realized what that was.”
Jack uncertainly looked over at what she’d been staring at, and back. “The collapsed building?”
Stitcher nodded, then formed a faint grin of reminiscence. “That, my dear boy, was… Chromey. Turned into a kinetic missile as I threw him down into that very building.” A chortle bubbled up from her gut as she shook her head, eyes gleaming and distant. “I was angry and he was so very amused. We were testing my flight capabilities with these enormous, ridiculous wings I laboriously fashioned of faux-flesh. I tried so hard to make those work fluidly — in combat and so forth, I mean. I suppose I’m just not that sort of engineer. And, wouldn’t you know, the bloody System never helped me with that dream? Ah well. Fate anchors us where we’re needed rather than destiny setting us free where we want to be.”
“Wow.” Jack stared at the building, suddenly much more interested in it. “What made you angry?”
She scoffed faintly. “Him, of course. Teasing and picking about it. And then he damaged the bloody wings! Never mind that the idea was to test durability, too. Before I went careening, I grabbed him and tossed him harder than I ever had anything or anyone. He was asking for it, you know. And he laughed all the way down, a bass sound to echo off of these walls. That’s what triggered the memory. That laugh, rarer and rarer as the years went by… so joyous to finally make me crack…”
Jack chuckled as he imagined the scene: Chromey rocketing downward, laughing as he demolished a building with his body that had been made into a projectile. His amusement was somewhat tempered as he realized Stitcher could get angry and throw someone through a building. He cleared his throat. “Well, if you do throw me through a building, I humbly request it not be that one.”
Stitcher snorted. “You are not tough enough to endure that, Cadet. Not yet, anyway.”
“You are?”
“Of course. Like demigod-grade shoe leather, as it were. As you’ll eventually be, if you reach a strong fraction of my level. Hard to say what fraction — it depends on mutations. Toughness alone won’t do it. Are Controllers, Blasters, and so on, soft puddings of flesh forever, ready to splatter at a flick from greater monsters? No. Not literally, anyway. Just comparatively less tough than the tankier sorts. Unfortunately, for us, there is something of a switch that has to get flipped further down the road, to truly enter that new world of durability.”
“Right. Not soft pudding forever; good to hear. Say, I… wouldn’t mind touring that building sometime. Maybe after the spar?”
“If you survive, you mean?”
Jack slow-blinked. “Doctor, I’m really beginning to-”
She held up a gloved hand to forestall him. “Please, please… Cadet. I’m joking. Forgive me. Gallows humor comes naturally to me. All of us old-timers, I suppose.”
Jack nodded, finally exhaling through his nose and cracking a grin, if nervous. “I can understand that. Guess I’m not much different.”
They’ve just seen a lot more actual death. Close-up, at that.
“You can check out the building sometime, yes. I’m considering requesting it be preserved at this point. That’s the sort of memorial I can get behind. Perhaps Memoria has already considered that for this whole location? A heritage site. Hmm, hmm, hmm…”
“And here you are, ready to scuff up a sacred museum for a bit of training, Doctor.”
“Indeed. I’m nothing if not a blasphemer.” She shrugged, splaying her hands out. “What else, when you play god?” She began taking off her gloves, revealing her bare hands. She stuffed the gloves in her pockets and held up her hands, wriggling them. “Your first task is to make me use these in defense, as opposed to simply dodging. A warm-up, essentially. Go ahead and prepare as you deem reasonable.” She brought her goggles down over her eyes. “I’ll let you know when it’s time to get more advanced.”
Jack took a deep breath and nodded. He affixed his faceplate over his face, sealing up the helmet system, and then began channeling memorite. He soon collapsed it into the scrap metal nearby, pulled the raw material to him in a line like a long, chromed serpent, and began reforming it into various implements of his trade. Principally, weapons and a central sphere to operate out of. Darts. Lots of darts. An army of darts.
He knew of various ways to cheat a ‘hit,’ but not only was he unsure she’d appreciate it or bother blocking it, but he’d prefer to progressively figure her out, and hit her as authentically as possible — if it was possible to begin with.
“Ah!” Stitcher called. “Before we begin, you did remember to blot out your little connection to your sweetheart, yes?”
Jack blinked. “Who?”
“I didn’t take you for that dense, Cadet.”
“Uh, Neex? Why is that necessary?”
“Courtesy. I’d highly suggest it.”
Frowning, Jack quickly closed his eyes and focused, as before, on the ‘membrane’ Neex had helped him visualize, to squelch it. Right before he squeezed it down to being imperceivable, he shot over to Neex, “Just doing intensive training with Stitcher. Open up later.”
“No problem!” she sent back. “No Death!”
“I’ll do my best!”
Jack squeezed the connection down to its ‘next-to-nothing’ state and opened his eyes, nodding to Stitcher. “It’s done.”
“Fire when ready!” Stitcher called, displaying one hand before it came to rest on her chin, one finger tapping her lip, the other in her coat pocket, as if she were continuing some unrelated calculus in her head while she waited for him.
Now, that’s just a little bit rude, isn’t it?
Jack launched a vast array of darts in her general vicinity, aiming to blanket it and not collapse them all down on her at one point. Instead, he aimed for the whole area, knowing she was likely fast enough to dodge such a convergence. He could instead try to catch her on the path of her avoidance and swerve a closer dart.
It seemed like she didn’t intend to budge, even past the point of feasibly dodging the central collapsing portion of the mass. But right at the last moment, there was an explosion of movement he could only catch for the result of how she braced hard enough into the ground to stir dust and send a spiderwebbing crack through the stone. It likely should have been the sort of movement that surpassed the sound barrier, but fortunately, there was no ensuing sonic boom in his face, by way of however reality manipulation did things rather 'smoother' than normal.
Perhaps he saw some movement, at most a blur. Even with enhanced eyes, though, he lost track of her for too long to adjust properly, and his darts simply blanketed the ground, shattering and bouncing. A split-moment later, he saw her on the far edge of the zone, to his left.
Her coat seemed just then to catch the wind, billowing like mad. One strand of hair came free of her bun, also going chaotic. She held up a finger very absent-mindedly, and then instead splayed her palm as she said, “You’ll have to get craftier than that, Cadet.”
Jack clenched his jaw as his eyes focused harder on her. Cheating it is.
He bumped his output to 100%. There was no way he could use less with her, even if he’d fatigue much quicker. It was in the ‘minutes’ range, at least.
Jack pulled the best remaining dart remnants up off the hard stony surface and reinforced the numbers with his reserves, as he launched them again, this time in a slowed, up-and-down arc, like a falling volley of arrows. He didn’t launch until the last moment, and immediately after he did, he let his control go in terms of making minute movements. Instead, he picked out widely distanced fragile pieces that ‘surrounded’ her, four of them, perhaps as many as he could truly manipulate at once, the way he wanted, at decent magnitude… and ripped them all apart violently, creating a big spread of shrapnel. Without Destroy, this was not ideal, efficient, or astounding forceful, but doable with mere Control and Transmute. The goal wasn’t to damage, but to tag her with a piece, and then follow up. Tricky.
The timing was also tricky. He had to guess the best point in time, and aimed to do it right around when Stitcher had bailed out the last time.
But, as it turned out, she moved well before that point and moved directly away from him. He desperately reached out for pieces closer to her, but couldn’t locate them in the mass.
When the dust cleared, he could see across to her now stationary form, and noticed she’d not been touched. She’d dodged the damn explosions, even. Granted, that was a pretty loose term, as they barely qualified, only somewhat faster than when he shot a dart.
“You’re like a damned speedster,” Jack commented.
Stitcher shrugged and folded her hands in front of her. “Well, I am something of an all-arounder. Imagine, Cadet, how much I’ve altered myself compared to others. How much more advanced that is, for me to understand how to bestow something tangible on others. I know my own biology in a way I can’t properly put to words, perhaps even that I cannot put to thought.”
Jack began moving slowly her way. “Your medium mostly allows you to self-buff?”
“As it turned out. You know, there’s only so much you can fix a person up just to make them merely their default health. The same goes for ripping someone apart. That’s very easy, quick, and crude for me, and either it works or it doesn’t. I have to be fast enough to get my claws into them, if you will. Altering myself turned out to be the better method, and through this, the rest of the myriad possibilities opened way, like skin peeling away to reveal the heart within. Obfuscation parting to unveil the truth.”
As she spoke, Jack was turning his conveniently blow-up metal into finer stuff, creating a particle field. He kept his eyes on her, but his peripheral acuity was strong enough to see the fine bits and get them the way he wanted them. He took his time. Because Stitcher was so absent-minded and prone to… well, when it came down to it, kinda villainous monologue… he did his best to hide what he was doing, keeping it very subtle and his demeanor nonchalant. Slowly, oh so slowly, it filtered its way higher into the air.
Jack winced and said reluctantly, “You know, sorry, but you’re getting kinda sinister with this, Doctor. I could almost expect a grand reveal that you’re actually evil and are about to activate embedded super-genes that turn me into a hideous monster under your control, or something to that effect.”
This set Stitcher into a shocked pause. “What? You’re kidding.”
Jack held his hands up defensively. “No, seriously. I felt a tight knot in my throat, like ‘Oh shit, here it comes!’ Luring me out here alone, no other soul within a klick, all the veiled threats. A constant creepy unease permeating everything. Pretty textbook shit, don’t you think?” Jack kept his cool and kept discipline, not moving too much at once, remaining steady with the output flowing upward. It wasn’t easy. He wanted to strike while he had this advantage, but he needed more material… “You’re not, though, right?”
Stitcher showed to be quite offended by now, her brows drawn down in a frown, mouth open incredulously at him. “Not what, Cadet?!”
“I dunno, gonna do… something… nefarious?”
“Bloody h- no! Of course not! This is completely ridiculous, and you’re out of line with these accusations. You should really know better, young man.” Her lips made a thin, pressed line. He was glad she had goggles on, as it took some sting out of her glare. Suddenly, she seemed to deflate slightly. “Did you say creepy? Really? You’ve found me creepy?”
Jack fought hard not to wince in sympathy and backtrack. Instead, he made a face of apologetic admittance, blowing air out of the side of his mouth. Whether she could see through the faceplate or not, it would likely translate. “A little bit, yeah. You might want to check yourself on that. Feel free to get some second opinions, though.”
Don’t think about the fact that this is a famous hero… Don’t think about the fact that this is a famous hero… Wow, chanting it in my head was an exceptionally bad way not to think about it, wasn’t it? I can’t pull this off. I can’t, I can’t, she’s gonna kill me, I can’t-
Stitcher crossed her arms as her head dropped to the side slightly, frowning thoughtfully. “I suppose there’s such a thing as getting too out of touch…”
Right above her head, he’d very slowly reformed a Fragile Spike. “Well, look, we all have things to work on, but-” Mid sentence, he dropped down the spike, directly downward with everything he had, at 107% output, for a vanishingly short period of overcharge.
He definitely caught her by surprise. Something translated at the last moment, but instead of dodging, she looked up — right as it smashed into a goggle frame over one eye.
Her hand came up reflexively, and a mass of pale reddish threads fired out of her fingers, cradling the entirety of the goggles and branching up into the metal even as it came crashing down.
The speed to do this in reaction was just absurd. He watched in awe as those sprouts from her hand jammed right into the spike — which was just then impacting and piercing the goggles — and ripped it apart, causing it to explode into tiny fragments and dust.
Her head very slowly came back down to regard Jack, as the tendrils coming out of her fingers wriggled around seemingly in agitation, her hand lowering. The damaged goggles frame was cracked and partially destroyed, so he saw one of her eyes glaring through.
She looked very shocked. “You tricked me.” It was delivered quite flat.
Jack showed his teeth with a face frozen stiff in an apologetic smile, as he shrugged with his hands. “Caught me?” His voice sounded breathless to his own ears. Because it was.
Her face deflated into something cool and deadpan. “Not soon enough.” Strong admonition in her tone. “You cheeky, cheeky boy.” Her tone betrayed a note of amusement, thankfully.
Jack let out a breath he’d been holding, relieved he didn’t get turned into a blood smear on the ground. “Sorry. Saw the opportunity.” He finally let up on his memorite output, no longer inclined to waste energy. The brief overcharge wasn’t enough to fatigue him, either. That had been a conservative estimate, actually. He could probably go a little higher for little, near-instantaneous bursts.
Stitcher took a deep, deep breath, nodding unconcernedly and looking around, her eyes now focused and assessing the environment rapidly. “You used the distraction to filter very small particles… likely newly visible to you after the improvement… You moved these very slowly upward and reformed a new projectile from above.”
Though it wasn’t a question, Jack nodded and replied, “Yep. And I got you to use your powers actively, per your challenge, Doctor.”
Stitcher looked down at her still un-retracted tendrils. “I’m quite aware.” The tendrils promptly retracted and disappeared. She pulled off her goggles and held them out, dangling in front of her, inspecting the damage. “Serves me right, I suppose.” She pocketed the damaged goggles and met Jack’s eyes, giving him a respectful nod. “An agent uses all the tools at their disposal to get the job done, do they not?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“With mercy?”
“Without, ma’am.”
“Yes. So, job well done, I must say. I certainly didn’t expect you to accomplish that so quickly. Very impressive, Cadet Laker. Very. I’ll be watching your career with great interest.”
Jack winced. “That was pretty sinister again. Just a tad.”
“Was it? Hmm. Perhaps I do need to scale it back, then. A tad.” An uncertain pause as she eyed him with a frown. “But… about the other thing. The being creepy thing. Is that true at all? Are they connected or separate? Out of curiosity. Not a terribly big deal, either way, of course.”
“No, not at all,” Jack lied. “Not even slightly connected, and that particular thing was made up out of the blue.” He smiled reassuringly. “All part of the act, Doctor.”
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M van Dongen
Said to the person able to pick apart your Biology at her whim.....
