Aight, was gonna wait until tomorrow, but this chapter's burning a hole in my...erm...that saying does not apply all that well here...hrm.
ANYWAYS!
Behold the exciting conclusion of the kerfuffle of last chapter.
Word of warning. This chapter is...dramatic. And if thoughts of suicide are a thing that you do not enjoy or may cause you issues, you might not want to read this one.
If that is not the case, enjoy, we worked super hard on this chapter.
Derail III.II
I looked at the unconscious body of Dean, his chest rising and falling. He was, thankfully, finally silent. No more of his barbed words could claw their way into my brain.
But that couldn't stop the ones already mauling my thoughts.
A moment of introspection was enough to see that the reason I had been working so hard, pushing myself to Tinker to exhaustion, was so I wouldn't have to think.
I was alone.
Worse, I couldn't remember when else I had been. I knew I had a family, a sister who was at once my best friend and my worst enemy, but I couldn't remember anything else.
I couldn't remember the sound of her voice, try as I might, her face was as smoke through my mental fingers. I knew I had a mother, but was she alive? I had a vague feeling we had been close, very close.
She must be so worried.
She must be.
Or was I as bad a son as I was a teammate? Was I as much of a disappointment to her, to them, as I was to myself? I knew that my parents got on my nerves, but that's what parents are supposed to do. Well, that and offer quiet support, which presumably they had and I had hopefully reciprocated.
The absence was glaringly obvious now that it had been pointed out to me. Like a cut, raw and bleeding, that I had failed to notice due to adrenaline and shock.
But try as I might, I could not remember their faces. The sound of their voice was a mystery. Their proper place in my life was only visible thanks to the gaping void they left in their absence. A void I'd been frantically trying to fill without acknowledging its existence.
I was alone.
I glanced down at the weapon.
I didn't have to be.
What even would be the point of continuing on? It's not like Kid Win got anything useful done on the first go-around. I wasn't lying when I said Gallant fucked up his one chance at usefulness, I just hadn't mentioned that Kid Win had not even had that much. I was not the Chosen One, I would not be the one snatching an impossible victory from the golden maws of defeat.
We were insignificant in every sense of the word. Utterly incapable of agency. Everything would play out the way it would play out. The Space Whale would go on a rampage, trillions would die. Taylor would kill it.
Hell, if anything, my being here would just sabotage that. Could I be certain that my stunt at the bank had not done so already? There are few bonds as strong as those forged in combat, combat I denied.
My being here would just make things worse, like a cancer subverting the body's immune system. The only moral thing to do would be to remove the cancerous cells. Cleanse the parasite so the organism lives on.
My loss would not cause any significant damage to the endeavor, after all, Kid Win had been utterly inconsequential, achieving nothing of note, his only victories a hollow misery. If anything, removing myself would increase the chances of those that remained, since my arrival I had been nothing but a disruptive force in the Wards, pushing them nearly to the point of dissolution. I had refused Taylor an opportunity to grow as a combatant, perhaps sabotaged her ability to bond with one of the few people who could give her necessary insight into defeating Scion.
I was alone.
The only moral thing to do was to remove myself.
I wouldn't have to be alone if I removed myself.
Gallant groaned as he opened his eyes. My non-lethal rounds only knocked people out for 20-30 seconds, anything powerful enough to last longer had the chance of complications. Vomiting, nerve damage, organ failure, aneurysms. And of course, the most common and severe side effect of all.
Death.
It would be immoral of me to remove myself, and leave the cancer healthy. Besides, there would be some poetic justice in two cancerous cells removing each other before they could metastasize. I might even do him the favor of leaving an option for an open-casket funeral.
He was shifting while I'd reached the conclusion of what must be done. I changed the pistol's setting to lethal, the necessary components teleported into place. I'd had to hide that setting pretty thoroughly to get it past Beardmaster, but as in all things, all I had achieved with my hard work was a way to hurt people, and ultimately inconsequential.
I looked down at Dean as he regained his faculties, his eyes moving back and forth as they gained clarity, as he realized where he was.
Ensuring an open casket would merely result in extending his suffering. And I had brought enough pain and unkindness to this world, if I had to put him down, the least I could do for him would be to ensure he did not suffer. I put the red-dot in the middle of his forehead.
A small ball of the most inspiring shade of blue I'd ever seen hit me in the chest.
Suddenly, against my will, I gained some perspective. Sure, there was the chance that I would make things worse, but there was also the possibility that I'd make them better. Do or do not is bullshit, everyone has the right, the obligation, to try.
But was that worth the risk? Trillions of lives hung in the balance, a balance I had already disrupted. If there is anything my existence in the last few weeks had made perfectly clear, it was that I very clearly lacked the wisdom to play God.
Should I really be the one to dictate the future? Me? The one who could not handle playing in the kiddie superhero league?
If not me, who?
I looked back at Gallant.
One should always strive to minimize cruelty.
It would undoubtedly be cruel to invalidate his struggle against the inevitable. But what is more cruel? To let him toil and suffer in a sisyphean task and put the totality of humanity in danger, or to kill him and let fate play out a tragedy I knew could be survived, sacrificing trillions so that millions may live?
My hands trembled under the enormity of the decision, only the servos in my armor ensured I could keep the pistol trained on Gallant's chest.
A second, bigger ball of blue light slammed into me, this one hard enough to make me stumble back a few steps.
Not only was I being cruel, I was being stupid. Defeatist. Taking, as an asshole like me would put it, 'the coward's way out.' If my sister knew what I'd been thinking, she'd clobber me.
I found the fact that I did not understand how or why I knew this, very distressing.
A third ball of blue light half again as big as the last hit me, this one hard enough to send me skidding back until my back slammed against the wall, and the world finally regained color. The last minute caught up to me, and I had to scrabble my helmet off so I could puke without drowning myself.
"I fucking hate you." I growled between heaves.
"That's fair," Gallant said slowly, a fourth ball of light sitting over his entire fist pointed at me. His other hand cradled his stomach, right over the spot my stun round had hit him. "I kind of hate you a little bit too."
That's fair. I was man enough to admit, I had, to a rather enormous extent, brought that upon myself.
The two of us stood there, in the most awkward Mexican Standoff ever.
I brought a hand up to my temple, my head didn't hurt, but it helped, somehow. "It was all so clear, I think. Looking back on it, it feels like a fever. Just cold, instead of hot." I absently put the safety on my pistol and set it down, not trusting myself to return it to non-lethality at this particular moment. I moved away from my puddle of vomit and sat down to hyperventilate in peace.
"So…" As usual, my peace did not last nearly long enough. "Do you feel like talking now?"
You know what? Fine, at least I can spread the misery.
Explaining the whole of how fucked we were to Dean took a while. "But we got lucky, and Golden Doodad can't do it because his other half got lobotomized. Otherwise we'd be majorly fucked. That's the short of it. Now you know." But I persevered, if only because fuck talking about this later.
"Okay, I'm going to shelf the hundreds of questions that the info dump brought up. Because, dude, what the fuck?" Gallant did not look like he was prepared for today, welcome to my last several weeks buddy. "And just ask the important question, which is what can we do to stop that."
"Nothing. We can't. Scion may as well be an Idiot God. But it knows fighting, if enough people get ready, it'll just kill us all." I said, taking a sip of water.
"Well, that's good. I didn't really plan on fighting a god." Dean still looked a little uncomfortable that the blunt and simple way was not an option. "But there still has to be something we can do."
"The only thing we can do to mitigate the apocalypse is make sure Skitter survives. She's the Chosen One. Our literal last and only hope for the continuation of civilization. Maybe try and make a few more people live through the End Times. Maybe save Dragon, she can help with that."
"So we can do things, you're just too depressed to see that as helping." Gallant said flatly.
I glared at him. "Trillions of lives hang in the balance, trillions we may have already doomed to die purely because we kicked the Chosen One off the correct path."
"Or, we could have made things better and a few trillion less people will die." Gallant spouted more hopeful bullshit. "Either way, if we're going to keep Taylor alive, we should probably stop the crazy bomber in the city that is blowing up places at random."
"Bakuda is not that important. We can leave her to her fate, we just need to make sure Skitter doesn't die during the chaos." I spat, trying to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth, the little wheeled drone I made a while back zoomed over and slurped up the vomit I had left completely unattended. That thing wasn't rated for organic waste, that would be a bitch and a half to clean up. "Though now that I think about it, the best way to make sure that objective is ensured, would be to blow Bakuda's brains out. Yeah, good plan. Glad we thought of it."
Dean looked flabbergasted at me when I mentioned the logical thing to do, then shook his head and said. "I'm going to ignore the murder vibes since you just had a breakdown." Rude, I thought we were ignoring that. "Why do you keep saying you're disagreeing with me when you agree with me?"
"Because you looked surprised when I said we should kill Bakuda." I said bleakly. "This isn't the time for Superpowered Cops and Robbers or Batman's 'thou shalt not kill even when it is fully and objectively justified' bullshit. We are literal killing machines, insignificant gnats trying to kill God for the privilege of continued existence. We don't have the time for kiddie shit."
"Okay, half baked Nietzsche, let's step it back." He countered. "If it looks bad and we need to kill her, I'm not going to shed tears for the woman putting bombs in people, but I'd like us not to default to murder. Tends to set a bad precedent."
I shook my head. "One, Nietzsche was a much kinder man than me. Two, and I'll repeat this until I drive it through your Carlos-rated skull-plate. The stakes are literally too high for the humane approach."
"You know what. Go ahead, murder a bunch of people. Get yourself labeled an S class threat." Dean agreed mockingly. "I'm sure that'll go great with the kill order on your head. What's your plan for that, dumbass."
I rolled my eyes. "The 'plan' is plausible deniability."
"Yes, because the world full of super powered Thinkers is going to fall for a teenager's first resort when something goes wrong."
"Well, when you use an entirely mundane IED or an entirely mundane rifle. And the third best Superpowered Thinker's input on this is 'somewhere between blue goat and red bubuu,' they're of course going to immediately go 'Kid Win did it.'"
"You're literally speaking gibberish now, which I'm guessing means you're running out of ideas." He stared at me like I was a particularly slow child. "I'm going to say this one more time, and hopefully you'll disagree but agree with this. Stop Baduka, yes. Kill Baduka, if necessary. Let's not be murderhobos, since that labels us as the Slaughterhouse. Dumbass."
I kept eye contact as I walked to one of my stations and printed a piece of paper I wasn't supposed to have access to. And held it out to him.
"The great basalt pillar rumbles in disquiet, the orchard shudders in its poisoned rampage, but stands tall." He read off in absolute confusion. "Okay, I'd say your poetry sucks, but even you're not this dumb. What the hell is this?"
"That's the warning Watchdog gave forty minutes prior to Behemoth showing up and nuking New York." I spat back. "That's the most coherent warning Watchdog gave."
"Okay, yeah, but aren't Endbringers just weird to Thinker powers?" He looked at the paper with a raised eyebrow. "That's not going to protect you."
I printed a second paper and held it out to him.
"'The Flesh Carver shall fall, and rise, and grow ever greater as its eye becomes unerring'…and 'something pretty bad is about to happen in New York.'" Dean read with increasing exasperation.
"And that's the warning they gave a few days before Quarrel killed Butcher the XIVth and became the XVth along with a bunch of other nonsense to muddy the waters." I said. "I could keep going."
"Okay," Dean looked at the papers slowly as the gears finally started to turn in his head. "So, I'm guessing that makes Tattletale something of an exception, because she was very coherent as she basically figured out my secret identity from small talk."
I blinked. "Okay one: Yes, she and Dinah are absolutely the exception. Two: Hee Hoo Hold the fuck up! Say what!?"
Dean had the audacity to look a little sheepish.
"Yeah, so Tattletale looked like she was going to say some pretty mean things to Amy, and I vaguely remember that being bad. So I kinda sorta said some mean things to her to get her attention. Long story short, she figured out I'm Gallant and then verbally bitch slapped me with my missing memories. It's kind of how I figured the whole six words thing might work since it gave me a panic attack myself."
I felt my eye twitch, but pushed it down, now was not the time. "Probably for the best, the Plague Cauldron is notoriously unstable. Tattletale tipping it over for the funsies could have led to disaster."
"Okay, seriously, you need to stop with the names." Dean glared at me, "And also, rude. She's a healer, not Bonesaw."
I pointed a finger at his nose. "One, no, they're how I cope with existential dread, I am owed this." I raised a second finger. "Two, the only thing stopping Amy from being Bonesaw on steroids is her own flimsy moral fiber and her current state of mind. I'm not sure what that state of mind is, but I recall that her moral fiber was pretty fucked up. You prevented the first step towards the plague apocalypse, so I take it back, you've managed to be a little useful. Congratulations, now you can go back to proudly babysit the Teenage Muta-"
Dean raised his fist, the (still very reassuring) blue energy sheathing it suddenly pointed at my face. I noted that this one was no longer the size of his fist, but now the size of a large watermelon.
On the one hand, it was a little intimidating, but on the other, it was just such a hopeful shade of blue.
"Okay, in your words. One, I'm a little too busy babysitting the idiot in front of me, so no." Dean countered, and I had to admit, if only to myself, I walked into that one. "Two, we've gotten off topic. Bakuda. Stop, yes. Kill, maybe. Your answer, yes or no?"
I gave him the most obnoxious grin I could, and resolutely called his bluff. "Maybe."
I had just enough time to take great pleasure in the displeasure that showed on his face, then the blue light shrunk to the size of an apple and slammed into my chest. The impact drove the air out of my lungs and made me stumble back, but despite everything, I felt that even if we had some trouble working together, we could do it.
Goddamnit, even when he's being blatant, his power is insidious.
Still, we could make a plan, hash things out so that idealistic stupidity buoyed deterministic nihilism. I felt that, even if our chance was minute, it was still a chance.
And we had the right and the obligation to try.
Fuck. I can't wait for his power to wear off.