Sharp iron fingers were grinding at his windpipe as black spots danced in front of his eyes. Both his arms were free to rake at the metal hands which were fixed upon his throat; little good it did. Flesh fighting against metal was a futile escape plan. Timothy's chest spasmed again as he attempted to draw breath, but Wilhelm's grasp did not falter.

"Calm down, I needed him relaxed not lookin blue like Tassiter's balls"

Wilhelm's armored fingers relaxed only to shift and fixate on his shoulders. His metal thumbs dug deep into his spine assuring Timothy was pinned to his knees.

Timothy's chest jarred in agony as he drove his muscles to draw in air. Bile stirred in his stomach and his head span as the air finally reached his lungs. Even if he were to collapse, Wilhelm's grip would keep him from falling.

"Sir, If this… is really necessary, then I should be the one to do this if you miss or-"

The words of some cowardly fool spoke over Timothy's rasped breathing. He was certain if he moved in the slightest the exertion would cause him to faint. So his head remained bowed and the speaker's identity continued to be unknown.

"I'm paying you to keep him alive doc and to keep your thoughts to yourself, alright?" Jack barked.

Timothy clenched his eyes shut as Jack's sharp words pierced his ears, he'd forgotten how close the madman was to him. He reopened his eyes to study the brown canvas striped shoes kneeling before him. They were far too casual for any CEO, yellow stripes decorated the sides and thick laces made them appropriate for a teenager. A far gentler hand than he expected lifted his chin up, and Timothy's dry eyes found their way onto Jack's masked face. Not long earlier Timothy had been wearing an exact copy of the same discoloured synthetic flesh. Jack had commanded it be removed and Wilhelm did the honours, with one swift and violent tug the mask had been ripped from the bone. Blood had trickled from the metal clips embed on his angular face, it had long dried now as Jack's office was uncomfortably hot.

A carved gold fireplace seethed on the side of Timothy's vision. The embellished mantelpiece and flickering flames could've been a romantic sight if not for the violence which regular occurred on the floor. Yellow banners with Jack's portrait decorated the walls and black marble busts ran the length of the room. Jack's office was decorated in every way possible to satisfy a man who needed his ego stroked.

"Now you know why I've gotta do this champ?" Jack softly questioned him.

Timothy didn't bother to answer, even if he could speak, Jack was proficient at rhetorical questions and feigning sincerity. Timothy's answer would've fallen on deaf ears.

"I mean, you just haven't been up to scratch? Holding out on the New Haven job, you didn't even get one kill and let's not forget how you failed to bring the red headed bitch in." Jack slapped an enthusiastic hand onto his shoulder, "and then you failed to recapture Roland's psycho little brat? Kiddo the list goes on, what's been happening?"

Timothy kept his head bowed and jaw clenched to bite down a retort. He'd been taking advantage of every opportunity to sabotage Jack's plans, even if it were in the slightest of ways. It started out as some comical act of defiance, Timothy stocked all of the Hyperion vending machines with Jack's least favourite snacks. Slowly but surely Timothy found his courage and increased the antics in his rebellion. He'd conveniently got 'knocked out' on the assault of New Haven so that no blood was spilled on his account. His bravest move to date was letting the little explosive blonde girl get away from a group of bounty hunters he was leading.

Timothy's mistakes were calculated so the blame always fell on someone else. His guilt from seeing others thrown out of airlocks for his mistakes was justified by his survival. The programer struggling with debt may be long gone, but at least he didn't relish in the capture and murder of children.

And now, Jack was foolishly blaming him for all these shortcomings because he wasn't 'Jack enough'.

What an idiot.

His jaw was snapped shut to prevent himself from smirking at his counterpart.

"Claptraps were more Jack than you!" Immediately Jack waved a hand in front of him to dismiss his previous statement. "No wait, I take that back, but you get my point."

Timothy's eyes remained fixed studying the dark geometric slabs under his knees.

"Well, anyway I got thinking…" Jack pushed himself up off the floor.

"You just haven't lived as Jack! If you're going to be a badass Jack, you've got to have the good part of Jack and the bad."

Timothy's vision - still spotted - jerked up, his bicoloured eyes were now glued to Jack's. His employer took a few long strides over to his equally corrupted female counterpart. Timothy hadn't forgotten about her, how could he. Nisha's hat adorning silhouette stood against the fireplace, a large modified branding iron was being twirled by her in amongst the flames.

"And trust me, you've had plenty of the good. The women, the money, a damn fine house and constant supply of arsenal, what else could you get from life?" Jack's tone was packed with glee.

Timothy was not one to celebrate the life Jack had "given" him. The man had taken away so much. Airlocking allies into space, no wait...the destruction of Felicity, that should've been when he left Jack's services. A contract (that may as well last a lifetime) bound him to Jack and a fried brain awaited him if he disobeyed.

"Fffark errhnnyoohhhuu" Timothy's words were rasped and pathetic. His windpipe could collapse from the slightest outburst. He wanted to scream at the madman, at all of them. However, even that muffled curse had seared his throat and weakened his spirit.

Jack looked back over his shoulder to shrug of his failed insult, "Yeah, yeah kid, get it all out of your system. You know cursing is good for pain? Yeah, they did a study on it all and everything" Jack rambled on.

Jack collected a pair of thick decorative oven gloves from his desk and Timothy's heart quickened with every finger Jack shoved into place.

"Anyway, let's get to it." Jack rubbed the large mittens together, out of context the scene would've been a comical sight.

Nisha sauntered over to Jack, iron rod in hand. She whispered something to him with a smile that only an insane man like Jack could appreciate. He took a firm hand around her waist before sliding the iron out of her grasp.

Jack held the iron up and gave it a quick twirl, a curved white hot 'V' adored the end of it.

"Once you know what I had to go through, what those damn bandit Vault Hunters did to me! You'll see."

Jack paced back over to him, the glow from the iron left a trail which was grafted into Timothy's vision.

"Please…I can be better…" Timothy rasped his plea whilst struggling one last time to free himself from Wilhems grasp.

"After this, you won't hesitate to take those bandits down even again….It's for your own good kiddo."

"Pleas-"

Jack spoke over him, "What's the point of wearing the mask if you don't understand why I've got wear it" Jack scolded as his eyes narrowed.

Part of him wanted to spit more curses at Jack, but his teeth were clenched and jaw tight. He was too focused on anticipating the incoming agony. The heat from the iron rod was already drawing sweat on his brow.

"Make sure he doesn't move, I really don't want to mess this up" Jack scoffed.

Wilhelm's grip moved towards Timothy's neck and his metal hands dug into his jawline. His head was locked in place while the white iron rod danced inches from his unmasked face.

"1, 2 and -"

Jack never finished his countdown.

The molten iron was already deep in Timothy's face. The iron brand scorched past his flesh and burned deeper than he could imagine. He tried to screamed but Wilhelm kept his jaw clenched shut and dug his face further into the searing metal. Jack held the rod firmly in place for far longer than needed; only bone would remain.

Satisfied with the damage Jack peeled the rod away, taking part of Timothy's face with it.

Timothy let out the scream which he'd been prevented from venting. He roared in agony as his face continued to burn, charred pieces of flesh fell into his lap. Timothy wasn't aware Wilhelm had released him, but the giant must have, as he now leaned forward on the floor. His face inches from the ground, but unable to rest. Any contact would be too much, this is already too much. He could feel the heat radiating from his face, sweat and blood pooled in his hands which hovered in front of him.

Timothy's chest gave him further grief as he choked on the blood which had found its way into his lungs. He'd taken out a chunk of his tongue and was now choking on his own goddamn blood. His hands hovered over his face in desperation. He wanted to grasp it and take the pain away.

"See! That's what they did to me" Jack gushed with a venomous tone. "Now do you understand?"

Timothy fell forward onto his shoulder, body limp as he collapsed to the floor.

"I...yes...I understand…" the words rasped between his cries. His tears trickled from one eye, the other, his green one was seared shut. Jack was capable of far greater and intimate violence than he first thought; this is what he understood.

"Alrighty then!" Timothy heard Jack clasp his hands together, "You're up Doc, get him looking beautiful again… and be careful with him, a solid investment that one."

Wilhelm's cold arms lifted him up with ease and Timothy landed onto a cushioned surface. His eyes were firmly shut yet his mouth gaped open as the blood poured onto the pillow below him.

Damn them all.

The pain was agony, his palms were raw from where his nails had dug into them, pain elsewhere was pain away from the mess the Jack left on his face. He was two years into a lifetime of servitude and for the second time, his face had been altered to reflect his employer. Jack wanted Timothy Lawrence to be 'more Jack', a better killer, a more capable hunter, and a devious deceptor. If Jack wanted this, then he'll get it.

The doctor wheeled the stretcher bed down the hall, the yellow banners of Jack's face trailing behind them.

No more Timothy...no...just Jack Lawrence now.

He will be everything Jack wanted and more, and then, in time he'll be ready to take away everything the goddamn monster held dear. Lawrence's hands were still delicately hovering over what was left of his altered face, heat burning of it. He could already feel his bloodied jaw sticking into the pillow beneath him. If there was one thing Jack loved more than himself and Vaults, it was his precious Siren. Yes, Lawrence knew about her, months earlier Jack had slipped up and implied her existence.

The plan now?

Find her and when he was ready he was going to take her out.

****AUTHOR NOTES*****

I wanted to read a story where Timothy Lawrence become a surrogate Dad to Angel, I couldn't find one so I decided to write one my self. This is the first story that's being written on my own so 'enjoy' (and critique) the amateur writing, hoping I can get better along the way :)

I'm going to keep this story short and fast as I, unfortunately, don't have a good attention span for long stories (love to read them, just can't write them). I don't want to leave this as an unfinished work so going to jump right into it.

Focusing on my fave movie/game troupe: Sad murder dad.

A03 Version is you prefer to read it there - /works/12897621/chapters/29464575