Chapter Text
The calendar was a liar, unless of course it wasn’t. Unless it really was time to begin the newest round of hassles.
Not that he disliked his job. Jobs. They were all very fun and entailed rejoining the people he’d been missing- but was it really time already?
He pressed both hands to his face, rubbing away the grime of sleep and some residual muck from a late night nosebleed. Easing upwards out from the blankets and onto his feet, he fished for the tiny false book tucked in the overhead shelf. This produced a key and a translucent weekly planner from which he drew the day’s iron and adderall, downing the latter and stowing the former for later. The key went to the second most drawer beside him, and in that was his satchel.
Reducer, clothes, shoes, hologram, breakfast for later, etcetera; each task marked off as Ren readied. Should he swing by Amity Park first or go straight to his more official duties?
He decided the former, nabbing the box of goodies he’d stashed in the fridge. Was he a particularly good baker? No. Would that matter in the face of triple chocolate goodness? Also no.
One last check to everything around him, to the clock and the rising dawn, to the ‘mirror’ and the falsehood it showed, was he forgetting anything?
Hopefully not.
——
Wow, there must’ve been some cowboys in here. Ren texted, surveying what he could see of the small town. While his friend was not the sole watchdog of the area, Danny still absolutely handled the bulk of paranormal incidents.
Most of them were small inconveniences or personally frustrating obstructions. It actually reminded Ren of his life when he first started out with vigilantism.
Ren had had a busy indeterminate-amount-of-time, and it seemed as though his friend had fared similarly.
Receiving no immediate reply, he figured Danny to be taking some well deserved rest— sneaking the box of goodies to the Fenton’s kitchen would be a breeze. It was a shame that he wasn’t able to see his friend while in town, though a more honest part of him felt relieved that he could get a little more of a reprieve from people.
This town was a little known hotspot for the single easiest form of ‘magic’ to contain. Specifically, ‘ghost goo’, as dubbed by the ever cheeky, apexed phantom. Ren had been doing this for so long that it was practically second nature, the knife slitting the thick stocks to release the stones from inside. He’d not intended for it to look like a weird, oozing pea pod when drafting the construct, but he was nothing if not adaptive.
He moved from one cropping to the next, each set in a sort of semicircle midway through town. That, too, had been an accident. He’d only meant for areas away from prying eyes yet locked to the perceived ley lines. Most were in alleys or tucked worryingly close to roof gutters.
There weren’t too many people out yet, what time was it? Had he accidentally come right after everyone would have rushed to work, or were they all just avoiding the streets? He didn’t really want to put to words the damage around him, the tiny hints of a struggle, the more obvious burns or breaks as his friend was smashed through air and into wall. …Maybe he should call Danny, just to see if the halfa needed an ear.
Someone was entering his range. Well, a lot of people had done that, mostly passerbys or folks giving the green stained stranger a quirked brow before walking on, but this one was moving with purpose.
Which form was he in? The hands were a pale cream-yellow, human looking. He whipped the knife against the tiles and pocketed it, then rubbed his hands with the towel he’d long learned to keep near.
“Hey,” The other person spoke first, resignation heavy in their voice.
“Hi,” Ren chirped back, smiling over to…. Danny’s friend? The techy black geek with a beanie. It was too early to put names to faces. “I gotta ask you, was I being obvious with this or….?” Ren waved to the stock.
The person cringed, “Uhm, no, I just knew you’d be here for those ghost fruits,”
“Ah, you’ve got my schedule then?” He asked half teasingly.
“We have a problem,” Tech-person- Tucker? Said.
Ren raised a brow and tilted his slightly, “Between us or in general?” Tucker opened his mouth to say something- “It’s early.” Ren explained without thought. He bit his tongue to remind it to mind their turn.
“It’s Danny.”
…Danny wasn’t a timeframe? What did he have to do with the yet metabolized meds intent on pushing cohesion to thought?
“As in,” Tucker looked a little annoyed, irritation nudging aside worry. He brushed up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Your friend ‘Danny’?”
“Yeah.. I know who you’re talking about. Didn’t assume ya meant the smaller one.”
Tucker stared at him.
Ren watched back, eyes flicking to the side to check their surroundings. Subtlety was harder to manage when someone was talking to him, calling up from the ground.
“…Do you want to restart?” Ren suggested.
“Danny,” Tucker began, pantomiming a flying ghost, “Was caught,” he made a needless reconstruction of his hands into a cage, “By the men in white.”
“Okayyy, got it, thank you,” Ren felt a bit condescended to and was unsure whether or not to call him out on it. “Does Danny plan on breaking out, or do ya’ll want me to do it, oooor is there some other plan at play?”
Tucker pulled back slightly, Ren took the moment’s stall to readjust his position. “Aren’t you going to help him?” Tucker asked, askance.
“Sure?” It’d be nice to know the details, like whether or not he’d be on the receiving end of some long winded lecture about incidental sabotage. “Can you rate this?”
“What do-“
“How severe it is, the number of goons, how bad it might be, the time frame; graded in letters or numbers, how urgent is this?”
“He’s your friend! ”
“I know. And you know I know.” Ren raised a brow, deciding to try and redirect a now mutual irritation into something more cheeky, “And I know you know I know.”
Tucker was clearly trying to stifle his exasperation. “Look, are you going to do something or not?”
Ren pulled his lips into a tight smile, “I already agreed to, and I’ll be doing lots of somethings.”
“Okay.” Tucker gave a curt nod and turned heel.
Ren wondered where the interaction could have gone better, surveyed the area for any outwardly obvious antogins, and plucked out his knife.
——
“Since when am I earlier than you?” She said, snickering worriedly from behind him as he righted the blade.
“I slept in again, m’workin’ on it.” Ren admitted.
“Have the meds been helping?”
“Yes.” He angled the knife to pry the membrane from the metaphysical, “Some. ..It’s better.”
Ren could hear unfamiliar footsteps shuffling coltlike beside Benjamin, who swung her bag on the unbusied table. “Better’s a step closer to great!” She chirped, “Buuut it’s a lot of trial and error.” She motioned wildly, “AndMillzthisis-“
“Who’s your frie-” He accidentally started.
“Millzthisis-“Ben cleared her throat, straightening and forcing her words slow, “Millz, I would like for you to meet my temporary steward, Cashew Cottonwood.”
“Just ‘Ca’od’ is fine, I prefer it,” They stage whispered.
“And this!” Ben made a sweeping bow to Ren, elegance in every fanciful fiber, “Is the one and only Found Vessel!”
Ren made eye contact with the kid, who seemed to be a young teen. “I’ll call you ‘Ca’od’ if you call me ‘Fou’sse’.”
The kid bobbed their head-
“And so it shall be!” Proclaimed Ben.
“Baby, I love you, lower the volume. ”
Ben snapped from boignent to serious, “Understood.” And then right back to cheery, “Can I help out with that? We have a while before we can skedaddle on out.”
Ren shrugged, “Be my guest.”
Ben gave a muted squee, snatching up the kid under her guard and hoisting the slightly smaller alternate practically to the ceiling, beginning to explain the art of converting life energy into snack food.
“I’ll need to head out nowish,” Ren said suddenly, eyes widening in realization, “Take care of things?” He asked.
“Righty-o!” Ben released the child and threw out her arms, readying to tackle Mildren.
Ren reciprocated, “Gently, please, my body’s threatenin’ ta be rude.”
Ben obliged, snickering evilly, “We shall devise the most ghastly of punishments for yon flesh, fair fellow.”
“Hm,” Ren closed his eyes, smiling slightly and feeling his breath dip as he began to melt in the embrace’s warmth.
“Juuust so we’re clear,” Ben began after several long, wonderful moments. Mildren started to pull away but felt the grip tighten assuringly, “This isn’t a skip day, you took your meds already, right?”
“Yep,” Ren breathed, honing into his body’s signs in search of any changes. Heartbeat? Regular. Aches? Unaltered. Weight? As if laden with lead from the inside out. “Hasn’t kicked in yet, I think.”
No response came, then Ben gave a thinly veiled hum of worry, “..Take the back-ups with you.”
—
“What’s next?” Ren tried to remember, flipping through his scheduler to find the current day. “Check on Rook?” he guessed, dipping from speech to muddled thought before shoving his words back to the forefront, “Which means…” What did it mean? “Time to go to headquarters!”
Finally finding the page, he gave it a onceover to verify the correctness of his recall, then gave one bruising bounce towards the respective portal. He corrected himself into a steady walk.
Before and around him were the cumulative efforts of nearly five years, panes offering access of egress into practically any venue he’d thought important enough to validate imminent access.
He paused, realizing, then walked back to the apartment panel. Wait, no, wrong one.. Should he dismantle it? Questions for later.
Finding the correct room, he hopped in to find and uncap one of those assigned nutrients drinks that constituted an allegedly absolute meal. He downed it in five choking gulps before tossing it in the sink and venturing on to headquarters.
—
Zak sat in the passenger's seat of a stranger’s oversized truck, silence stretching between them as the tall blue and white alien drove through an unmapped route of streets.
“Wow, Ren must live really far away, huh?” Zak commented finally.
“No, the Tennyson household is located in the suburbs, which is approximately ten minutes from our starting location.” Rook instantly responded.
“He’s meeting us somewhere?” Zak guessed.
“I do not believe so, and have no reason to expect it.”
“Uhm-” Zak gestured to himself and the inside of the vehicle, as if to say ‘what am I here for? “When do we see him?”
“I will likely see him in six-to-eight days when he has finished undisclosed activities. There is, of course, the chance that an event will occur which he will appear at for emergency responder purposes.” Rook’s ear gave a contemplative flick, “I do not expect such an event to happen.”
—
Ren pushed out the cart and steered toward the cells, checklist, cleaning supplies, and meal trays at the ready. The particular pane he’d chosen was set just so in an crook unseen by security measures and unpopulated by people, be they prisoners or staff. He had placed it so precisely, in fact, that he often could complete these tasks uninterrupted, save for by those within the cells.
“Khyber,” Ren called benignly, looking for the specific tray. Almost no one here was of the same species, as such the meals couldn’t be uniform without condemning those in their hold to deficiency or poisoning.
“Greetings, Tennyson.” Said Khyber, having strode close before Ren could figure out which was whose.
“Yuh huh, hello, howdy,” He responded distractedly, squinting to double check the label, then backing up a few steps to peer up at the cell’s listing. “...They should really just put names on these.”
“Most sentient life finds no issue with numbered titles.” The hunter observed.
“Fair, fair,” Ren allowed, “But they could at least put these things in order..”
Pause,
“Unless maybe they arrange them as they fill them, and like goes with like…” He figured.
The hunter gave a hum. He was by far the least mentally taxing ( person at Headquarters ) inmate to engage with, though he’d also been one of the most personally daunting assailants of the last year. Something about being hunted, pursued for his pelt and treated as a literal trophy, just struck a chord.
Ren slid open the slit in the containment structure and pushed the tray through. “Have ye any notes for the warden, medical staff, or repaire people?” He slid it closed once sure the tray wouldn’t fall.
“Nothing for the day, no.”
“Alright,” Ren glanced at the cell, his cart, then his list, “I think that’s everything for now then, enjoy your meal.” He flicked his pencil across the name then moved to the next, glancing around dizzyingly to find his next mark.
—
Danny’s house had an oddly stacked nature. In truth, Ren sometimes wondered how the additive, stilted structure had survived the ordained onslaught of tornadoes and frightless fights.
He flew over and around the thing, swooping intangibly through his friend’s window to land in a decidedly empty bedroom. His ears flicked, tail lashing once before he brought it to heel. There seemed to be no evidence of long term absence at first glance, and no sign of official investigation.
Pressing feathered wings to his sides, he slunk through the bedroom door, branchia breathing open to take in a whole host of details. Two organisms, shaped as adult humans, were in the festering, confusing mesh of electromagnetic movement making up Fenton Works’ laboratory. Two others were elsewhere, one in a bedroom and the other the living room. His necklids snapped shut and he debated shifting back to his ‘human’ self.
Deciding instead to get another look at the town, he flew through the ceiling and above the lowest of clouds, coasting in quiet circles. Most of the houses seemed intact, although many private businesses and public buildings were haggled, with clear signs of structural damage. He flew over the hospital he could recognize and tried to survey if it was abnormally busy. It was outside of his radar’s range, and sending signals through it might damage delicate, needful machinery. He changed course to the public library, returning to tangibility after touching down.
“Excuse me,” He began in his most human form to the first worker he could find; a green, wavy haired young adult dressed in a patchwork skirt. “Pardon, I’m from out of town and was hoping I could ask you some quick questions about recent events?”
The librarian’s brows knit, “Are you a journalist or something?” they inquired.
“No,” He half lied, “I’m looking for a friend who lives near here, but he’s not answering his phone and some of the buildings look like someone went lousy with fireworks.” It was July, that made this a reasonable enough assumption.
The librarian’s eyes softened slightly, “You must be very worried,”
Ren shrugged, “I know he’s been through the ringer.”
They sighed, “There have been a few.. Incidents for the last few days. Yesterday’s paper had an article about it, I thought you might be a part of that.”
“Do you have any spare copies?”
—
Zak glanced at Rook again, to the window, then the headboard. “Is this what we do all day?” he asked stiltedly.
“I will have finished my professional obligations after the circular path brings us to arrive at Headquarters.”
“And how long will that be?” Zak grossed, wishing he had snuck his brother along for the ride.
“If our current rate is maintained, we will be done in a half hour.”
Pause.
“Great.” Was all Zak could think to say.
—
“Excuse me,” Ren said again, bookmarking the last line with a finger, “The people it says arrived, were they wearing weird, all white suits?”
The librarian blinked, having been interrupted while filing book returns.
“Like professional, lawyer lookin’ suits?” He added.
“Oh,” they straightened, “Yes, they arrived a couple of days ago, I think ~~~~.”
“What was the last bit?”
“Wednesday,” They repeated, “I think they arrived on Wednesday.”
“Thank you,” Ren debated the logistics of taking a public newspaper along for a fly but decided to snap a picture instead. “Last question, I think,” He adjusted the article to catch the rest, paying mind to look up out of politeness. He grinned, “Any chance you know where I can find them?”
—
Portals, they are good for instant travel. And once Ren was done swooping in to check on Benjamin (and maybe doing a few quick chores so as to not stray too far from schedule), he swooped on in to Amity Park’s public highschool. Danny was unalive, not undead, and as such had a corporal body that wore and aged with time’s prodding. He had been part of the last year’s graduating class, but not everyone was so transient.
He found the ghost of a forgotten name lounging in the space behind the indoor gym bleachers. They were scrawny, short, and had a defensive sneer permanently stamped into their face.
“Heyya, thought I’d check in real quick,” And with that, Ren began the second of several sparse, speedy conversations, which totally were not investigations of any sort. He asked what he thought relevant, scribbling it all out once out of sight, and wondered of his resources.
What happened was obvious in the broad strokes, but assumptions wouldn’t serve him well– especially if whatever he wound up doing in the end required a certain level of defensible foundations.
Ember was who called him out on it. She very well could have been just guessing his ultimate intentions, but regardless of how she’d come to them, her conclusion was correct.
“Do you think you’ll be having a show tonight?” Ren prompted as a smirk slowly slid over his face.
“Count on it, lil’ drummer.” She said in a voice as slick as spilt oil.
When he finished the third-party questioning he paused, an alarm having gone off on his phone. Sighing, he fished out his waterbottle and downed the tabletted iron. It could, hypothetically speaking, make the room spin a little less or have the aches lighten some. He found a metal pole and allowed a bit of the unknowable haul him higher until he could climb from it to an adjacent roof. Once he found a flat enough spot to safely sit, he leaned back, munching on a snack and waiting out the little timer Danny had mandated. Besides, it gave him a chance to think.
Danny was supposedly missing, his friend had said so. Note: the interaction had happened in the limbo between pseudo consciousness and medicated awareness, meaning the whole thing might not have happened.
The town had seen an uptick in incidences sans intervention, unless of course the ever escalating efforts of the Guys in White were to be counted as anything other than reckless egotism.
He still needed to check in with Jake; he had…something.. An investigation? Something undercover… He’d offered to help with some operation, it was on his list of tasks and he needed to chart out some time to figure that all out. It was for tomorrow, though, so he needed to figure this all out today.
Tomorrow was also when the well portal would widen; he would have an influx of orders. If he didn’t go through and approve the clientele today, he’d have to just let anyone through or completely constrict it to the regulars. Canceling the whole affair wasn’t an option, and if the matters of today dragged too long then he’d have to use the fast method of handling things. Danny… would not like it if he went that route.
The timer dinged and Ren stretched, shuffling his feet to try and work the tingling from them. He bent down, limbs forming and body contorting into something new, and took off into the sky.
—
Distractions were necessary things. If he had allowed himself to focus exclusively on the task, he would have made up his mind. Danny needed him to approach this without preconception, regardless of how impractical such an approach was in this particular case.
Despite his efforts the Omnitrix must have clued in at some point- had he said something too explicit already? Tucker-beanie-tecky had stated the basic component, but nothing that should have riled the semi-sentient biomechanism.
Finding Tucker was a bit tricky, and he didn’t stick around. He had only one task for this particular specimen: “Get an alibi for you, Danny, and the goth one.” He didn’t really care about eloquence when it was just himself and this place, far too many of Amity’s undead had too keen a collective recollection for him to bother with false niceties.
Tucker and the poly’s third member were perfectly alive, but they were an exception to the rule.
The place currently occupied by the Men in White was not where they were holding their various catches.
At some point, just on the outskirts of town, they had hastily refurnished themselves a laboratory filled with bootleg Fenton crafts. For Danny’s sake and that of his family, Ren could recognize no sign of their branding. He would have had to reevaluate the Fenton parents otherwise, they might have even made it to his list of grudges.
In spite of these people’s objective effectiveness against their target demographic, they lacked the means to protect against someone whose intangibility and obscurity did not hinge on ectoplasm. Some Plumber tech gave Ren the run around in that regard.
Another thing they seemed to lack was staffing. Overall, there were about five heartbeats in his radar, and that was when he strained. One of them was a secretary, another was at a set of what had to be controls. Someone seemed to be emptying trash bins, though he was unsure of the other three.
It made sense that fewer people would be here, given how many of them were either out trying to wrangle the current spooky, scary ghost or off having a meeting in the town hall. What were they talking about, anyhow? That probably should have been on his list of places to snoop, and he would have stuck around had it not been for the opportunity to stroll about mockingly undeterred.
One of the people still present was a security person, with whom Ren had no gripes. If the inevitable comes to pass, he’ll add them to the list of those spared, or mercifully slewn.
He wasn’t paying too much attention to the details of the place; it was a drab, brutalist building with wannabe thermoses for holding cells, a few offices, a break room, and a few rooms that seemed to have gotten some genuine effort put into their design.
Had this place been a health facility? It would have needed to be really small, so an orthopedic place, but since when were those composed of raw concrete rather than something more inviting?
The second option was that these rooms, which Ren was just close enough to prod at for shape and contents, were not originally operating rooms.
This wasn’t a morgue, probably, because those would have needed walk-in freezers or similar containment features.
Thinking too hard on what this place and those tables were intended for would make him angry. He wanted to know, feared the answer, and would wait until after things were properly prepared.
He knew, of course he did, and unless he was somehow proven wrong… around and within his wrist, the Omnitrix was crawling with anticipation.
—
Danny’s containment thingie was easy to find. He wasn’t the same breed of creature as the others, being half human and all, though the difference meant that Ren’s original plan for how he’d hide his deeds less realistic.
What Ren had initially tried to gear for was swapping his friend out with a substitute, like raw ecto or the sorry, soon-to-be remnants of the operant Ren had found sitting behind the security monitors.
Best to get that alebi, stat.
“Okay, lil buddy,” Ren imagined saying, flittering through possible ways to go about the interaction, “Time for you to do your thing”. He’d be saying that to the visible bit of the Omnitrix, the dial, specifically. It would have been fond and slightly playful. It would have lit, shining on his face, and his eyes would shine back with a theatrical flourish.
No audience; no point.
What Ren actually did was poke at the growths squirming under thinning layers of dermis, picking and tugging at the loosening layer of false flesh until out came the fibrous roots, springy and wet with an entirely translucent lubricant. They wiggled as worms in his palm, defiant against the coercive touch.
He dropped them atop the containment device, which looks like a cube caked in uncovered circuitry, and impatiently waited as they flailed inwards, seeping through crevices and plugs.
While waiting, he glanced at his arm, observing the rapidly shedding, overly itchy material that had- just minutes before- looked indistinguishable from the rest of him. Impatience brought him to pick at the edges, field flickering idly to check again at his surroundings.
This was a little too easy, he’d have preferred it if they'd given him a better excuse.
With a sudden whirr, the cube activated, little lights flashing as it ejected its contents into the physical world. Ren gave no hesitation.
He jammed the cube back into its slot, the confounded device sounding no alarms and signifying nothing but the wrongful assurance that it was filled and brimming. Ren snapped back to Danny, grabbing his incorporeal, newly wakeful self and shoving him into Ren’s core.
Then he morphed, and after that they were far, far away.
—
Ren spat out his unwilling possessor, forgetting to feign apologies in favour of grabbing Danny by the arm and pulling him to Ren’s chest.
Danny said something, returning the hug but seemingly discomforted.
“I need you to get an alibi.” Ren stated, mind ebbing a little, the world unclear and overly sharp.
Ren started talking again, accidentally interrupting whatever Danny was saying. “Now, I mean. Get one now. Find your datemates and be in public. Stay human until about an hour after dark. Not before. After . Don’t do anything until everything’s already chaos, and don’t let anyone go near that building we were in. At all. Got it?”
He was melting from the inside out and did not know how coherent the words came, but Danny seemed to get it and Ren very suddenly felt the urge to become one with the earth.
Should he leave now, could he? He got halfway through turning before realizing he hadn’t announced his incoming absence. “Love you, bye.” He crushed Danny in a frenzied hug, then shifted through physicality.
—
—-
—
In his mind, Ren was grasping at his thoughts, trying to force them into shape.
He was flying. He was unseen.
He’d just snuck a friend- Danny, he knew it was Danny- out of a facility.
The place had worried him because, because…
It looked unfinished. What was worrying about that? It had tools in some of the rooms… sharp things, things he recognized.
He’d always been put under for those. No, that was wrong. And irrelevant.
The place had been almost impressive but mostly not. It looked… no, it wasn’t like the base. When Mom would bring him to work, years and years ago, he’d noticed that the army’s offices looked an awful lot like a school building, just with different decour. This wasn’t like that.
It had military grade equipment and some signs of financing, that was worrying; they were gaining more political power. Might even be federally funded.
Okay, that must have been it.
Had he been seen? By one person, but they weren’t in any condition to relay the incident.
He’d deserved it.
Ren needed to cover their trail, but his base form’s primary brain had started to cloud over. The timing was faulty, and the forms not already present in the slots would only draw attention, mark a data point documenting the time and place of the transformation. No, best to stick to the few had on hand.
Plan, they needed a plan. Danny et al would—or should— be getting themselves a collective public sighting. The second he was done here, he’d portal over to Bellwood to do.. something.
He really didn’t want to.
Maybe he could switch forms once in Bellwood, use a borrowed brain and body until he could shuffle off to some reclusive corner. Four Arms didn’t approve of this method but Diamond Head was a rather utilitarian sort. Big Chill, due in part to Ren’s personal service in carrying B.C.’s young, rarely ever objected to unnecessary cooperation.
—
It was such a shame, and maybe Ren had been hasty in the response. True it was that poison laced their blood, he hadn’t needed to share it. He had two venoms, and only one carried such finality.
He should feel guilt over the decision, but fear of repercussions was the closest he got to regret, and far more prominent was the twisted glee and anticipatory satisfaction.
Ren was not bloodthirsty, not per se, but someone would need to take the fall for the evening’s events, who better than such a high ranking operative?
If he confronted the G.I.W. directly, he would be forfeiting his leverage. If he brought attention of them to the Plumbers, he would at best be reminded to stay out of American politics and at worst draw awareness to a vulnerable community. This place could very well become a battle ground, suffering subjection to insatiable escalation. His home county was irreversibly visible, he couldn’t do that to Danny and his family.
The best course of action was to humiliate the G.I.W., make them the statewide laughing stock of undead detail. Danny would unavoidably learn of the operant’s nearing fate, and of the building’s impromptu demolition. The latter needed to occur before the threat of intervention, and that necessitated misdirection.
He was flying again, he had changed his mind on the portals and opted to try waiting out the fog by working to harvest the month’s crop. He had to stop when he nearly sliced open his hand, opting to try ushering in wakefulness through embracing the thermosphere.
(Why didn’t he just use a portal?)
True though it be that he was a living weapon of war, that this flightful form had collapsed ships and struck planes from the heavens, it was still his form. It didn’t think the way he did and this shared mind was a slight escape from his own body’s discomforts.
Casualties for the evening’s events would need to be minimized, that the building was so isolated would be of great help, but either he needed to accept a handful of whoopsies or he needed to think up an acceptable excuse for why the building had been vacated before spontaneous combustion.
He had well over ten hours, plenty of time to think it through. Could he convince Ember to take credit for the rescue? No, she was already on evacuation detail for the town’s minors, and what’s-his-name would be doing the same for the adults.
What of Fenton Works? If he steered them to be rescuers, would that just make them subject to suspicion? The blame might shift from the operant, can’t have that..
If the Omni was to cause the building to have a catastrophic meltdown (or whatever it was the watch was up to), could it sound an alarm in advance?
Following the familiar airways back to the coast, something pinged on his radar. Or rather, some very unfortunately shaped object very nearly triggered the flightful form’s diving instinct. Thankfully, it was grounded, but Ren would need to keep a tighter hold of the reigns, just in case.
There weren’t supposed to be airships along this route, the ground was too uneven and currents too hectic. He couldn’t see any external signs that would indicate the thing to be armed or otherwise war ready. If anything, it seemed recreational; a blimp composed or orange steel.
Orange.. Wasn’t the guy who was set to snoop dressed in that colour? Didn’t his family use some sort of airborne vehicle?
Curious, Ren arched back around, shoving down the urge to scythe through the bulbous body, coming to its crown with a featherlight landing through sheer force of will. Once no longer in the air, the diving instinct quickly fizzled out; flight designers were not built for stationary targets.
Air planes, showboating jets, cruise boats, and commercial drones never gave him much issue. Even if they weren’t set to the earth, they had no weaponry to cause the Omni’s worry. This blimp-esque tangerine, though?
Ren flicked open their necklids, tasting the air and spreading their awareness beneath their perch.
It did have weapons, scarcely used and in need of minor tuning. They felt like lasers? Not like those used by the Plumbers or most space faring machinery; those carried a different shape and sharper fuel. They were unlike their enemies’, dissimilar from the rockets and metal fiery, and that very well could have been their saving grace.
The layout of the place was confusing, filled with peculiar gaps where his radar blurred or failed to penetrate. Nonplussed, she flared his field harder, grasping for a mental map. Some of those rooms had odd things, pointy or small, most encased and secured as if they were exhibits.
And there- Ah, yes, she’d been right; thrumming through its engines were electricity laced with L.E. He couldn’t guess the kind from here, should she peruse?
Feathers ruffling in satisfaction, Ren steered the designer onto the next task- promptly realizing that he had forgotten what his goal had been in the first place.
He had wanted to get to Bellwood; she was there now. She had wanted to fly; they had. They wanted to get a closer look at this weird blimp. Now what?
Be seen . His mind supplied. Shake suspicion before it could fester .
Suspicion that he rather deserved, though it would be unproductive to claim the deeds. Hunting down an alibi would an act of productivity, technically, but it wasn’t what he’d planned the day around.
He’d started behind schedule and had only trailed further off course. Why bother being seen when he should be harvesting the rest of that ectoplasm, set up the Port for business hours, prepare for Long’s sting operation?
<<No, no, we need to do this .>> He didn’t have hands to sign or a voice to speak. Simple Pulse was not something he had any real fluency in, but the clumsy attempts helped to foment thoughts into action.
(He needed to get ready to get rations from Vulpin, too..)
A blink, and he was in some small library room. He’d probably started wandering and phased through the floor. It was an unpopulated, lightly furnished space with disorganized shelving and tasteful decour.
(Bad idea, they worked with the Plumbers; what if they had the right kind of censors?)
Another blink,
—
Slow moments weren’t entirely unheard of, Rook made sure of that within his first year of their partnership. That said, Ren generally avoided unaccompanied quiet. Thoughts could be loud in the absence of sound.
He had found the odd moment to brew himself some drinks for later, alone in the relative safety and solitude his apartment afforded. It was the second one he’d ever had, its size perfectly serviceable for one who only ever came here for rest and storage.
Cooking, too, though that should have been a given. Everything in these thin walls belonged to him and him alone. He owned two moderately small, lidded pots. Everything he owned had a precise set of uses. He had a plate for breakfasts, a cup for water, a mug for evening coco, a spoon intended very specifically for honey, a fork for salads, and on and on. This particular pot, the one with the thicker metal and hollow handle, was used for tea and noodles.
He’d never had coffee before and had been told by three separate doctors that, medically speaking, he couldn’t. The reasons were all different, too: the psychologist had said it would worsen the hyperarousal of his ADHD and C-PTSD, the general health physician had warned him of a suspected heart condition, and his current doctor had cautioned against mixing such things when prescribed such a powerful stimulant.
Ren had tried chai once and learned for himself that his body simply wasn’t cut out for such things. It had tasted rather nice, so finding a safer substitute was on his list of eventuals.
Another list was of all the teas he couldn’t drink, and the consequences to follow. Mint and licorice gave him nasty headaches, roseleaf tasted like sludge, chamomile was flavourless, vetiver would make his head spin and limbs ache. How much of that were the results of mental influence was beyound him. Hypothetically, if ever he decided he wanted to switch off his brain, he could take up a mug of wet leafs soup and be as good as drunk.
He set the cylindrical wire basket on the counter, measuring out rooibos, ginger, and chicory. He’d add the slightest dash of cayenne to this batch for a bit of bite.
Normally when home, he’d wear headphones, listening to songs, how-to guides, podcasts, video essays, and audiobooks. He couldn’t think of anything to listen to now, and so considered the hushed hiss of flame against metal his soft symphony.
He had work to do, too. None that he could draw to mind at the moment, but it felt like he did. Something specific, important, in a way he hoped to have written down.
The tap water here wasn’t the greatest, nor the worst. It was perfectly acceptable. He didn’t like it too much.
There were a few good minutes before the water would boil. And after waiting a minute or two for the pot’s metal to accept the new temperatures, Ren nudged the dial to a near medial pose.
What else had he to do that day? There was the work with Jake Long, of course, but that would be a task for the morning’s early hours— so, technically, not today. Today, after Amity, he had to finish preparing at the Port. The dyes would need to be mixed again; cloths needed to be hung or resubmerged.
While he personally lacked a need for more magics, there was an objective use in the work. The brandings protected him from most hazards he’d come to associate with being near so much magic, the tapestries and matts had their unique purposes, and the materials needed to be compatible with the procedures for such conduits.
In this way, there was utility to his work, as others still needed to accumulate the protections and tools to achieve the lifestyle he most thrived in.
(‘Thrive’ might be a strong word for it.)
Not everything in his arsenal was magic, of course, and ‘magic’ was a simple shorthand for a practice without a common name. He’d heard others refer to his work as ‘witchcraft’ or ‘L.E. clothier’.
The Omnitrix was ignorant to L.E. practices, being a creation of replicative technology moreso than whatever category incidental life belonged to. Humans, and Earth life in general, were all the result of coincidence; the Omnitrix, technomorphs, and nearly all other of Azmuth’s creations were intentionally crafted. Malware had been deemed a failure from the start when deemed incongruent with the intended design— not that anyone would really admit to it, not in those words anyhow.
Ren sloshed the water, trying to excite it into a boil. He nudged the dial a smidge further.
Had things gone differently, he might have spared Malware. They shouldn’t have been enemies in the first place; Malware’s concern was genuine and the actions around him prior to his snap cruel. Anyone could act out when pushed to that degree.
Funny how Ren could rend another without consequence, yet the Omnitrix’s unofficial predecessor was decided as a lost cause for the crime of inconvenience.
(How long until they all decide Ren was the same? What story could they concoct to deem him the ultimate evil?)
There was a point where he wondered why he didn’t feel bad for the things he sometimes did. People were always so fickle on whom to feel pity for, and whom to lambast against with triumph.
Malware was a fine person to cross off the list of the living, but Albedo? Oh , if anyone found out -
He sniffed the spices and grounded mysteries, looking between the clock, unused timer, and pot.
They would never learn. He knew they wouldn’t, or else they would have come to that conclusion years ago. And he was justified. He had an excuse, legally viable.
But he’d hidden it.
On that, they could prosecute him.
Prosecution was a common threat for the first two years of his public discovery. For causing fights in private, being a public disturbance elsewhere, one person even tried to get him for impropriety when they noticed the limited adornments of some of his transformations. As if he had a say on that.
Well, now he did. He’d forced a certain frogman to understand the unfortunate implications of the forms’ near or absolute nudity— when used by a minor. For humans as well as Galvins, exposure was profane. Azmuth had not enjoyed Ren’s passive accusation, and the ordeal had landed Ren in trouble with Max for days , but he got his way in the end. Surprisingly.
Ren had once tried to kill Kevin. Kevin had always been excused from his actions, the most obviously violent of which being done when- allegedly- in an altered state. Ren’s only shield was the flimsy justification offered by the Ultimatrix’s haphazard alterations to his personality, all aimed towards honing a living weapon.
(It still did that, in select circumstances.)
Kevin would have deserved it. Ren was not sorry for trying, he was only sorry for being foolhardy, for attempting to persuade his cousin on the matter rather than simply doing it. He’d trusted her to think of the practicality behind it all, and she had called him a monster.
(She was right.)
They pretended the whole thing hadn’t happened. Kevin never really remembered his episodes, even if that one in particular lasted well over a month. It was awfully convenient for Ren’s ‘best friend’ that recollection failed when it involved trying to smash his head in or rip his arm out of its socket.
But, Ren could admit that the man had seemingly , for the time being , made a turnaround.
The water began to boil, he switched off the stove and set the steel cage inside, watching its contents explode with colour.
Ren, Ben, Jen, Sphen, Den, Pen– whatever name they went by, they were never motivated by a lust for suffering. Then again, they were ace, so-
He was modified for violence, insides more durable against collisions and radiation, central nervous system incapable of his species’ emotional incapacities. He thrived in battle, the Ultimatrix’s behavioral adjustments toying with pain reactivity, empathy, and subjectivity to reach a set goal. That goal was simplified into something quantitatively recordable, as AI’s necessitated. And when the two agreed on the needful omission of specific variables, there was nothing that could stop them. Azmuth really had outdone himself, creating an even more lively weapon than the rest.
It was for this reason that Ren couldn’t be allowed to self isolate. Unofficially, at least. Only for the messier missions was Ren pulled aside by Max, and those were always to be kept silent. He understood. Certain enforcements of policy could be quite cut throat.
That was rare these days, and becoming rarer. Max had climbed the ranks, breaching the top, and Ren? Ren’s private services were no longer a riskless gamble.
Either because of these acts, and those taken unofficially, or maybe just because some people had the wherewithal to recognize the inherent danger in such an unreliable weapon, they always wanted someone to check. His loyalties, mental faculties, combative capacities. In times of political unrest, he knew to expect the hammer. When the public grew terse, he could jump and act as a jester.
He’d done a good job at helping them forget, hardly anyone really took Ren Tennyson seriously anymore. Only those who had been around in those early years, whom had been subject to his less subtle days, remembered his animosity. With laughable ease, he could take out the entire district, township, or even state. They knew that; they were wise. Gwen and Kevin had left for good reason.
Those of Undertown and beyond this world did not remember, so why were they testing him again? He didn’t do anything, had only dealt with minor matters for the last month. There’d been no casualties or significant damage to infrastructure. A handful of injuries and a few bomb threats, yes, but nothing that should warrant some mind reading scholar to spontaneously appear on base, or their air blimp to show up in town.
They thought they were sneaky, as if he were wholly ignorant. He was often oblivious, but it was insulting how careless they’d been in hiding their plans.
Or maybe that was their ploy; test and see if their hero could deduce his own inspection. What then?
—
Something was buzzing.
That wasn’t particularly uncommon, there always seemed to be some unsought sound, but it had stolen his attention and wouldn’t let him slip back to inky oblivion.
A breath slipped unabated into a groan, then a mumble, and finally an annoyed, grumbling croak as he willed up one groping hand in search of the source. He made contact with one lukewarm corner and peered over to the phone’s screen.
Panic sparked as he saw not the black and orange image of some alarm but rather the green acceptance symbol adjacent to a starlit icon. “Hello?” Ren swiped then asked, clearing the grime from his throat.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Danny joked. Ren tried clearing his throat again and looked around for his water— on the counter. Dang it. “Did I wake you or something?” The halfa asked, knowing the answer.
“I’m up, been up.” Croaked out Ren, covering the phone’s mic to try and mute the crunch of joint and bone as he pried his uncooperative body up.
“Coulda fooled me, what were you up to?”
“Give me a second,” Ren tried to say, leaning against the counter and tossing back a forgotten glass’ contents, then staggering to the rolling chair kept close by.
“…Aria?”
“I was cooking.” The half-truth was smooth as it came, “I’ll send you a picture, here;” He raised up the camera with his goodhand, wincing as blood began to refill numbed limbs, bringing with it the beginning prickles of sensation. Best to cut this call short.
He snapped and sent a slanted shot of the cutting board and stove, its timer mercifully unfinished.
“I’m waiting, and I’m waiting,” Danny drawled, Ren bit his cheek. “Aaaand it’s coming..”
Pause.
Ren dared a stretch, the pricks spiking sharply. “Danny?” Ren asked finally.
“You fell asleep on the floor again, didn’t you?”
Twice, back to back; one here and another in some unfamiliar guest room. He couldn’t remember how the heck that second one happened, which meant that it probably didn’t, but— What was the question?
“I’m here,” Ren said vaguely.
“That’s a ‘yes’ then.”
Pause. Ren cleared her throat.
“…Well, we can talk about that later,” Danny allowed, “But I wanted to give you an update, and maybe get some clarification about what you said earlier.”
“What I said?” Ren echoed.
“Before you left, after dropping me off.” Danny explained. “It sounded like you had a plan, and I should probably get a few details before whatever it is happens.”
“I need to go mix the dyes some, and the torches aren’t set up yet. Then there are the cushions, fabric lines,… I need to check the conveyer…” Ren absently listed.
“Fascinating, wash up when you’re done, that’s not what I was trying-.”
“Then wha-“
“-to ask.”
“Sorry, go on.”
“What are your plans for tonight?”
“…Dyeing stuff,” Ren repeated. “Making ecto.”
“‘Dying stuff’? What’s going to die?”
“Silk and cotton, mostly. They’ll almost all be plain weaves- the kind your shirt’s made of- And I think some herring bone.” One of the people he’d approved was making a blanket, the design simple yet charming.
“Aria,” Danny said pensively, “What is going to happen in Amity Paro tonight, other than your errands or normal work stuff.”
Oh.
“About those white guys?” This wasn’t a conversation to be recorded, best not to leave a trail.
“The Guys in White, Aria.” Danny laughed.
“Mne mne mneh, mneh.” Ren johed lightly. “What’s going to happen. Is.” This was a face-to-face topic. “…A light show. I saw them setting up before I dropped you off.” Their arm itched.
“Really?” Danny intoned, unamused by the euphemism but complying all the same. “Seems pretty excessive, maybe I should pay them a visit to check for myself.”
Get caught again, more like.
“No, no, Omnaira seems pretty sure.” He couldn’t recall if that was the same code name for the Omnitrix they’d last used. “We should steer clear of the whole thing, at least until the dust settles. Are you and your dates having fun?” Were they all together?
“We went out for lunch and are heading to the movies, they’re rerunning Jaws and Sam says it’s shark week.”
Ren leaned away from the phone to sigh, “Ha. Ha, ha.” They drawled.
“I think I’d like to get a word in with Omnaira sometime. When will the show happen?”
“Just after the moonrise but before sunset.”
“Can you come over before then? I really don’t think this is the best way to go about things.”
“Sure, watch that movie first, then send me a text.”
“Keep an eye on your phone, then.”
“I will.”
—
“We have a problem.” Ren told Benjamin the moment he entered earshot.
“Nice to see you, too.” Jamie drawled, giving the large pot a shake to dislodge the bottom bits. “Explain.”
“I haven’t had the chance to harvest the majourity of this month’s crop and I don’t think I will until at least tomorrow.”
Pause.
Ren shifted on their feet.
“Why weren’t you working on it before now?” Ben finally asked, brow furrowed but gaze never leaving the pot. Ca’od had looked up from their work before thinking better of it.
“I had some blood tests and a hostage situation to take care of; I couldn’t find the time.” Pause. “Today was supposed to be nothing but that, now I can’t, so we need to figure out what to do.”
“Why not pick them tomorrow..?” The kid suggested hesitantly.
“We’d have rot on the vines-” Ren started,
“The magic is time-based and this is the- What it said.” Jamie started at the same time.
Jamie and Ren glanced to each other, unsure who to speak.
“These things have a window of time to harvest, the rest is spent accumulating. What we don’t pick before moonrise won’t be here tomorrow, then we’ll have to stick to the emergency supply.” Ren said.
“Yeesh, no bueno.” Ca’od fiddled with their knife, contemplative, “Can anyone harvest or is the magic specific to you?”
“I made it to be a little looser than just me.”
“Whoever it is needs to be either a sparker or somatype, and somatypes need to be fully briared first.” Jamie added with a pointed look.
“I’m briared!” Protested Ca’od, motioning to the back of their neck, “And I’m already messing with this stuff anyway. And also, too, I’ve eaten this stuff before, that means I have some degree of immunity; this body’s used to it.”
“They have a point there,” Ren allowed.
“You’re not briared fully , and even if you were, this isn’t a decision I can make on your mentor’s behalf.”
“It’d be hard for you to help anyhow,” Ren assured, “I put them all in places humans can’t reach too easily.”
“Well-“ Ca’od tried, grasping for a retort, “I’m- I can help somehow?”
“Somehow.” Ren agreed. He turned to Jamie, “We might have to put out a request. Are your work friends available, or will we have to let strangers in?”
“I know a few who I can ask,” Jamie thought for a moment, “Rainy Day isn’t a Vulp, but I know they’re free. Dual Haven would be a better help, then that apprentice of theirs might join in.” She freed her hands and washed them in the makeshift sink, “I’ll find out, will you be able to show them where the webs are?”
“Hopefully.” Ren’s tail coiled partway, “I’m not sure.”
“I’ll find out.” She repeated.
Jamie hesitated at the door, spontaneously forgetting the Port’s admittedly perturbing layout. She turned around and walked through the other door, leading into the level above.
Ren considered Ca’od for a second. “Don’t hurt yourself.” He advised. Then he walked to the main door, sliding down to the ground level with a dull splash.
—
Making an appearance in Bellwood had been newly necessitated, and so Ren took the fast route to their preferred vender. Mr. Smoothies was one of two surfice-side establishments that readily accepted the Plumber’s off-world credits, and it just so happened to produce food items of Ren’s preference.
The Plumber’s economy was a little strange and very, very different from what was standardized in this region. Ren sometimes wondered how the other patrons, the ones using debit or cash and wore human skin, went about their business.
What he did know was that those other, human patrons expected recurrent sightings of Bellwood’s most exotic attraction; a pale, humanlike shapeshifter with sandy brown hair and steely green eyes. A stocky warrior with a sweet smile and dorkish obsession for a long abandoned franchise.
While it was easy to forget, very few had ever actually seen a non-human person. Well, a non-human person who was not a corvid or squeaky dolphin. Ren was approachable; Earth’s palatable exposure to the people gradually boarding among them, slipping into politics and governance.
Ren was a thing which people had come to accept as an odd but undeniable feature to this county, not unlike the bedazzling peacocks of zoos. Unlike the fowls, Ren had made it clear early on that grabs for the entrancement would not leave them with the fun trophies of fascinating feathers. Pictures, answers, and autographs were Ren’s offer; bruised egos and bodies were less fortunate handouts.
However long it took them to down one blueberry and tyrantula smoothie ought to suffice, thereafter he could venture on to more pressing matters.
He’d made it halfway through approving the evening’s patron list, and three quarters of his smoothie, when a very familiar vehicle entered his radar. He disconnected his phone from the Omnitrix in a fluid motion, taking down a gulp of both foodstuff and water before deciding it time to physically acknowledge his partner.
The prototruck parked in Rook’s practiced place of preference, in a spot mismatched in size and shape from the spaces around it, reserved all but explicitly for them. Ren wondered if Rook knew most human vehicles weren’t quite that shape.
They must have been driving for a while, the engine bright with heat. A second, smaller person came out from the passenger’s side. He’d clocked them on thermal but was still somewhat surprised to see it was a human.
Ah, it was that cryptid guy who’d asked Ren to transform last time they met. That must have been who Max had not so subtly assigned for his unspoken assessment.
Thermal sharpened as they started closing the distance, entering enriched radius.
“Hey, Rook.” Ren greeted with a measured grin, “Playing ‘Where’s Waldo’ with me today?”
The assessor smiled back, doing a rather poor job at hiding their (his?) bitterness. “You can say that.”
“Zak Saturday-” Ah, name, “-located you through the process of an internet community which documents instances of seeing you.”
Yeah, obviously. “Wow, that’s.. Huh,” Ren looked up with a slight tilt in seeming contemplation, “That’s kind of cool,”
“I was actually wondering why I couldn’t find you sooner,.” Saturday hedged. He really needed to practice his routine some, subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.
Ren shrugged benignly, giving Zak a funny look, “Guess most people had better things to do than snap pictures of the local hero? I’m here all the time- Kind of live here?”
Zak looked as though he wanted to argue, but shook his head, expression shifting back to obscure his own frustration, “Sorry, it’s hard to believe anyone would get tired of seeing you , especially when there are so many faces for you to mug at the camera.”
Ren nodded in friendly understanding, decidedly not flowering or signifying disapproval; she was a professional . Should he spar back? If this was all a test to see of Ren’s capacities, sociability would probably be included.
But play could signal banter and banter could be read as arguing. True though it was that the act would be bettered with amicability, it would be a risk. No matter the choice it would be a risk.
Rook was still standing next to Zak, patient as ever while the humans went on with their hyperverbal habits.
“Yeah, my aliens-“ He hated phrasing it like that “-are pretty awesome,” Shift focus: get the inspector talking about coself. “Your work is pretty impressive, too, though I figure that’s best served obscured.” He shouldn’t talk like that in professional settings. “Not everything praise worthy shows up well on the big screen.” Good enough.
Zak seemed to agree, positively beaming at the mild praise. “You can always come with us and I can show you around, we could do a bit of covert work like last time.”
Ren opened his mouth, waving a hand in slight warning. They were in public and the Saturdays’ field of expertise necessitated privacy. Hell, the last and only time they worked together resolved as a cover up which Ren had to manage in the Saturdays’ absence.
Seeming to not notice, Zak continued, “We can even do that now if you’d like and we could go to my house until we get called in, then I could show you around!”
“That’s very interesting,” Pause. “What all else do you have goin’ on there? I know Nessy’s not bunking in your backpool, buuuut,” he trailed,
Zak took the bait, “My mom and I have a massive underground garden with cryptid plants like you’ve never seen before! And we have an indoor pool, which doesn’t connect to the underground tunnels but we do have a submarine there so-“
Ren continued smiling, nodding, and at one point made eye contact with a worker he knew. Philis, a young adult who treated her face like a canvas, set her jaw and deposited an armful of trays on the counter, grabbing a notepad and smearing a smile onto her vibrant visage.
“-Not to mention the
————
——
—
Ren felt his lip threaten to curl, he let it. “Oh, Operant O., hello, hello, hello!~” Ren all but sang, stopping a measured distance away. Their caution was needless if the man’s interior was anything to go by, but Ren was nothing if not wary.
“You know, it’s funny, ‘cause you still could’ve useful; a gallant public resource! Betcha wish you’d stuck to the rules now, huh?”
People often complained about the strangeness of media monologues. Ren understood the urge, though; the eager exuberants threatening to spill because this was his work, his life, and here before lie an opportunity to show the undoctored, unfettered effort.
But he knew better than to be too explicit, fearful even now that someone, somewhere, might somehow capture his intentions.
“Did you know that ecto-contamination is suspected to be a carcinogen?” Ren asked vaguely, eyes burning and gills flared. “And yet it also suspected to have a positive effect on longevity. Funny, huh? If only there was an organization capable of containing the spread, testing for it themselves what might be true and how to memd the matter.”
His vocal folds rolled into a chuffed pur, “There was plenty use in you. I would have left you alone. The Phantom King wanted me to leave you alone.” He leaned down, lips pulled to a leer and fangs extending like a readying snake. “I agreed to the rules. You went after him; you broke them.”
He wanted to bite down, feel the warm gush and soft give. He wanted to he wanted to he wanted to-
“But!” He forced down a breath, “I was also raised half Catholic. Many folks don’t get the idea, it’s so simple; I was a duo deal from dos padres. Catholics, and Christians as a whole, believe in a messiah.”
A pause, he wanted to hear a response to his prompting, some sort of rebuff or jab. The grounded glare was good enough.
“That’s not me, obviously. I’m not so presumptu-nos. Presomunus. Assuming. I don’t lead people to their salvations.”
Pause.
He leaned in again, “But I do sometimes choose.” His tail flicked, “Everything in life comes with consequences, good sir, and occasionally, life calls for a scapegoat. If I’m going to get along with you people then I can’t be mad; if this business wants a clean slate then the old one needs to be omitted. Liquidated, if you will.”
Ren’s awareness flickered to their surroundings, the walls that housed them and the people beyond. He ran a hand through his hair, switching back to a more casual tone and volume, “I’ll leave you to it then, best of luck on that fresh start. I hear that things haven’t been too great so far, since you caught the Phantom and all, but maybe it’ll turn out soon.”
—
———
—————
Ren knew better than to do that, of course. No matter how assured the victory, or seclusive the events, one must never let slip their tongue, lest they lose hold of the narrative.
Stretching, spine snapping into place, she surveyed her quarry in its far off place. Reserved, unspoken, soon to be obliterated. The building was composed of concrete and sturdy metal; it would make for a remarkably boisterous display. And within,
He’ll rot all the same.
——