A/N: Very rough, somewhat fragmented, a little…odd, and part of it adapted from a section of a novel (credited below).
--
Thirty-seven cups of coffee into the night. He hadn't got a response yet. He wondered if it hadn't been opened yet, or if they had ignored him after all. He hoped it wasn't the latter.
It was just the normal night sounds. A car drove along the street. His machines beeped.
He had expected the noise when it came.
It was fragile protection, but he no longer had the power to affect them from a distance. Not after Kilobyte had taken him.
The door burst open, and he shot three times with the hunting rifle at something that moved too quickly, agile as nothing human was. The right wall, the lamp hanging from the ceiling, the left and then it leaped on him, and the rifle was torn from his hands.
Agile as a…as a spider.
He'd always had a thing against them.
She snapped it in two with her hands. They weren't meant to be that strong, this was ridiculous…
And then the dark bundle she'd dragged to the doorstep with her started moaning, and she kicked it sharply in the head to make it stop.
"Please don't kill me," Rick said. "I could help you, you don't know what I have the power to do, I could do anything…" His voice was almost a squeal as he pleaded.
She closed the door behind her, shoving the dead weight to one side, and went to his desk. She swept his monitor and the various other paraphernalia to one side, and he watched as the coffee cup smashed on the ground. The spilled liquid looked almost like a bloodstain in the dim light.
"Shut up," she said, and he slowly raised his hands in surrender.
"What do you want?" he asked eventually. She was sitting on the desk, staring at him as though he was some strange species of insect about to be squashed beneath a boot. "Please. Please don't kill me…"
"I'm going to tell you a story," she said, and smiled almost encouragingly at him. "No, a joke. I believe that's the mortal world."
He relaxed slightly, though he didn't let his hands slip down. He could let her talk. He could tell her what she wanted to hear, get her out of here…
He'd wet himself in the shock of it. She didn't seem to notice as she let herself ease into her perch, crossing her legs over the edge of the desk. "A mortal girl walks into a bar. Let's say she looks twenty-one, because of course this bar's filled with decent and law-abiding citizens. In any case, she sure looks like she knows what she's doing.
"It's her second try. Which of course is as expected. In fact, one would prefer to assume that she'll have a really long night—or nights, as the case may be.
"I don't know whether you'd find her attractive. From what I know of mortals, it's probable. She's somewhere between eighteen and twenty-three. Caucasian, blonde. Quite slender, duly curvaceous—"
Jealous? he managed to think spitefully. She was almost as bony as Fear, really, and with her side turned to him he could see how thin she was.
"—Your mortal standards. Wearing a miniskirt and a leather jacket. No panties, though at this point that isn't important." She laughed, and it was like blunt nails scratching across a monitor. "Interested, mortal? Is that what you people want?"
"No," he said, not knowing or caring if that was what she wanted or not, as long as that would be what enabled him to survive the night.
She didn't seem to hear him. "So one of the guys at the bar says he'll buy her a drink. He's just an ordinary-looking mortal—thirty-something, average build, a beer already in front of him. It's probably what she's looking for, this girl—why else would she walk in there dressed like that—and she does exactly what he expects. Soon she's hearing all about his day job as, coincidentally enough, a software engineer. Not games, of course. Spreadsheet applications. This is all according to him, of course."
She paused again, and he couldn't resist glancing down at the bundle on the floor; in the gloom he kept his Fortress in, he could only just make out a small dark stain leaking from hair a shade lighter.
"He puts a hand on her leg while they're talking, and she doesn't do anything about that, so eventually he says, Let's take this somewhere else. She says, Yes then, and soon they're walking out to his car. Tan-coloured Camaro, kept pretty clean. Not a bad car."
There was a slight moan on the floor, but he kept looking at her as she spoke, watching her gaze at a spot of moonlight on his left wall rather than him.
"They get in the car. He shuts the door, pushes down the automatic lock, and they're in the backseat. His breath smells of alcohol, and probably hers does too by this time. So he starts unzipping her jacket with one hand and getting further up the miniskirt with the other—that's where we find out about the whole panties thing—and she's just holding onto his shirt with a rather vacant expression on her face."
Another moan from the floor. Rick kept quiet.
"She hears him undoing the zipper of his jeans. He's breathing heavily, and the smell's getting worse, and it's hard to move with him above her in the small back seat, pushing her down with coarse skin. Stop, she says, and then she repeats it just in case he didn't hear that the first time."
He was starting to have some sympathy for the guy now, Rick thought. He didn't want to know what came next.
She spoke like she was reading a history book out loud, dry as cracked pottery buried in a desert. "He doesn't. So she's just started to try to get him off her, and then he reaches into a pocket in the seat and takes out a knife. You wanted this, he tells her, and holds it to her throat. She starts bleeding, just slightly. Slut. You like this." The words kept going, flowing like grains of sand in a duststorm.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," the heap on the floor said. "Please don't kill me. Please."
She ignored him. "And then the girl isn't there any more. An alien knocks him out, steals his car, and drives down here."
"You should…let him go." Rick's tongue felt like it filled his mouth, swollen and loose as cotton candy. "You're going to...get hurt…"
"Hold on," she said, and then turned to him. He could see the dark glitter of her eyes. "You haven't heard the punchline yet."
"This is…crazy. Look, I understand why you're upset—" he wasn't completely sure on that, but lied anyway—"but you don't need to take it out on this guy. I've got power, I could…"
"Shut up." She reached across the table, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him across the room. "You don't understand, mortal. That's why I'm here." She pulled up the other man by the nape of his neck; he was slightly taller than her, but hung down in her grip. "I'm going to kill him," she said. "Here. Do you mind that?"
"Don't do it," he said. He didn't want to look at her hand around the man's neck. "Please don't do it." He couldn't go through…watching this, for Chrissake. Not murder.
"You didn't understand," she went on, ruthlessly. "You brought us here, and you had no idea about what it meant, did you?"
There was suddenly a knife in her other hand; she raised it to the victim's cheek.
Blood. On his carpet. Just a few drops, but more than enough. He felt like he could barely breathe.
This wasn't supposed to happen. He was going to take over the world, make sure nobody laughed at him ever again, let his programming genius be recognized at long last…
"Death," she said, the stained knife still in her hand. "Do you know what it's like to kill, programmer?"
The man's red-slashed cheek glittered in the dim light. He opened his mouth to gasp, gurgling as her hand squeezed his windpipe.
"For real? Not something you dreamed up for one of those monitors?"
"Don't kill him," he repeated wearily. He closed his eyes; he couldn't see this.
"Open you eyes," she demanded, and then a small flame seemed to burst in front of his face. He looked again, at the exploding bomb and the man about to die.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I never intended…." That you'd see that and take offence. "I just want…" You not to kill anyone here.
Another slash. More stains on his carpet. A whimper managed to escape the man's throat.
"He's guilty, mortal," she said. "He tried to rape a mortal girl. Any comments on that?"
"You," he corrected. "If that." That scene. But the program meant she'd wanted it all along.
She shook her head. "Not me. A mortal. He wouldn't dare that."
"You set it up," he said. He could feel vomit gathering in the back of his throat. He didn't even know the guy, but it was a horror movie happening in front of him and he couldn't stop it.
"That doesn't change anything!" she said. "You can't even stand the thought of mortal scum dying in front of you. Weakling."
She loosened her grip enough to let the man scream, and it was awful, jagged and desperate and savage. As though pain made him less human. She clenched her hand around his windpipe again, and continued. "This is the point, programmer. You should never have brought us here."
She raised the knife; light glinted from the clean part of it. He couldn't think of anything but throwing up, unable to turn from the horror yet impotent to prevent it.
"No. He shouldn't have," said a new voice, and then his door was smashed open.
Damnit, he should never have done it…
--
There were four of them in the Thunder Tower that day. Mark thought he'd always manage to remember that.
He opened his email. Random was watching the video he'd borrowed for history class. About World War I. Mark kind of hoped his evil side wasn't going to get inspiration from it, but the history was probably old enough to be all right. Ace and Lady Illusion were playing chess (still; the last two matches had been a draw and she was still one ahead). It was still early in the game, time to wait for the villains to make their move first.
Kilobyte had been left in the Sixth Dimension, he had been told, and Lord Fear was still hiding somewhere; and, looking at the three of them, if it wasn't for Sparx' storming out to go for a fly earlier their break would have been perfect.
A message from the school paper, which meant from Heather. It could wait. The monthly Ace Lightning Fans newsletter, which wasn't as helpful as he'd hoped but which was fun to share with Chuck. "Holiday Geography Camp For Talented Students" from school.
And "URGENT. Open At Once. My Life In Danger." From wasn't as if a header like that gave him a choice, really.
He clicked; the text message scrolled across his screen.
"Kilobyte has returned. He's going to kill me. Tell your superhero so-called friend to protect me, before I turn my powers on him. The attachment opens automatically. Ask yourself whether you want him or your other pals to see it. Think about it."
Mark pressed escape to stop the loading-in-progress, but he couldn't get anything on the screen to move. It was frozen as the reading on the bar climbed further and further upwards, ninety-five, ninety-seven, one hundred…
"The Master Programmer. Video splicing follows. I can do whatever I want to this game. Bear that in mind."
The words sounded as loud as though they were coming from a loudspeaker, and to Mark's dismay all three of the superheroes (or villains) turned to look at him.
And then the screen changed and she was there in front of him, naked in the bottom of a coffin (he'd never actually believed that, Mark told himself, thinking of something, anything other than the main fact of what he was seeing).
The corner of her mouth had a faint sheen to it, nearly-transparent iridescent fluid that took him a few seconds to guess was her version of blood (crap, or worse, really don't want to think about that). She'd been still so far, almost as though she was dead as well (but dead people weren't supposed to do anything like that), but then she started to move a bit and it was far less like porn than like horror, somebody he knew doing that.
"What is this supposed to be?" Ace asked, and then he moved his head to see the screen and then froze.
She—the her in reality, not pictured there—looked too, and she paled, turning ghost-green. Her hand lashed out, and the chessboard fell to the ground; she didn't seem to notice. Mark pushed his chair back from the computer, raising his hands; he hadn't done this, he told himself.
"Shut this off," Ace said; the expression on his face was as harsh as though he had been cut from stone. "Turn it off now."
"I can't," Mark said. "This wasn't me, I just…"
And then she spoke. "Please," she said, only it wasn't her but the woman on the screen, and Mark looked back again. "My lord, please don't..." He'd have said the same thing, he thought; that just looked painful and he'd probably never have sex ever if it was supposed to be like that…
Laughter, mostly offscreen with her body taking up most of the picture, and then she cried out again.
"Hope you enjoyed the free show," the Master Programmer's voice said. "Now for the next demonstration. Remember Random Virus?"
Random had wheeled around to watch, and gaped as he appeared on the screen, his eye red and his claw bringing down an old car. "Do you want him evil? Do you want me to make him go after you?"
"Destroy them all!" the Virus on the screen yelled.
And then Random leaped forward and slammed the laptop screen down, and his chair fell backwards and he ended up sprawled on the floor.
"If you want to see my evil side," Random said, "just hang around the next time I go into it. Or take that thing away, let it finish, and keep it to yourself. Got it?"
Mark peeled himself from the floor. "It wasn't me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to…"
"Well, it's happened," Random said. He put a hand on the machine; it fizzled for an instant. "The Master Programmer. Rick Hummel. A game called Ace Lightning. I should have done this a long time ago. Is that the story?"
Mark couldn't do anything more than nod; his tongue felt glued to the top of his mouth.
"He set it up so we came to this world. What did he want?"
"To…to take it over," Ace said into the silence. "He wanted the evils to take it over for him."
"You knew." Lady Illusion, speaking for the first time. "Why didn't you tell us, Ace?"
"I thought that was best. I didn't want to hurt anyone," he said. "And I'm sorry this has…"
"You should have told us," she said, fixing him with an icy glare. "I've seen the game in the mortal world. Zoar damnit, I thought you trusted me!"
"Speaking of trust," he said, "why didn't you mention that Fear was—"
"You knew perfectly well that I slept with him!" she said quickly, her voice rising to a yell. "And others before that, not that that's even peripherally your concern—oh, wait, that would be just the program, wouldn't it?"
"You said he was trying to kill you. You didn't mention anything like…"
"And you think sex is worse than homicide?" Her hands were clenched tightly into fists at her side, as though she was only barely restraining herself from jumping into a fight.
"I don't call that sex," he said softly. "You could have asked me. You know that."
"I told you all I needed to! And you'd have done, what, swooped down like a knight in armour and told Lord Fear how to treat his minions?"
"You're not just a minion. It doesn't even matter that we're programmed, in the end, because you deserve better than that…"
"Then why do you seem to think I don't even know what I deserve?" she yelled back. "I asked you for help when I wanted it, when I needed it. Do you have a problem with that?"
"You could have asked when he—no, wait. I'm not saying that's worse than murder, but you should have said…" He shook his head. "No. Maybe I should have known, and I'm sorry you went through that. You know I care."
"I can't know," she said. "Not after this. I thought that I had sworn myself to Lord Fear's service years ago, in return for something I particularly wanted at the time, and that was why I should not have betrayed him. But to find out that a mortal was responsible for everything…"
"It hurt." He took a step towards her, reaching out a hand towards her shoulder. "I know the feeling. I—"
She turned from him. "Leave me alone," she said. "I need time to sort this out."
He stepped back as she whirled into a teleport, and then seemed to sag.
"I agree with her," Random said. "I'm going back to the junkyard. Don't look me up, Ace."
Mark grabbed his bag and hurriedly began to shove his homework into it. "I'm…sorry about this, Ace," he said. "I didn't mean this."
"Nobody did. That's the problem," he said. "Go home if you like, kid. I'm not keeping you here."
"Yeah," Mark said. "Do you think it's going to be all right? Eventually?"
"I trust them." Ace said. "Even if they don't want to trust me."
He disappeared past the skylight, into the clouds.
--
She turned to glance at the new arrival.
The Virus. He'd directed the message to the mortal, not them. Damn it all to hell.
"I thought I'd make the same choice as you," he said. "I suppose we have that much in common."
Her eyes widened slightly as she stared at him. "I see your point. How long were you eavesdropping?"
"Long enough," he said. "I should tell you. I allowed my evil side to take the lead on my way here, after I'd come to my decision in the junkyard."
"I don't particularly dislike your evil side, Virus," she said impatiently. "Feel free to destroy him under the influence of either personality."
Rick didn't dare to move.
"That's what I originally thought," he said. "But I noticed my evil side approved. And so I changed my mind."
"Then I will," she said. "You cannot argue we lack the right."
"Listen to me," he said. "Just for a while."
She shrugged. "I might as well," she said, and brought the knife's handle down on her prisoner's head. He collapsed, and she let him fall to the floor. "As for you, programmer…"
"Allow me," Random Virus said, and the cords from his own machines sprung from them and wrapped themselves around Rick's hands and legs, binding him to near-immobility. "I was trapped inside my own head," he said. "It hasn't even gone away now I know why it exists. I hate it. I hate knowing I'm a danger to my friends. I hate not being able to decide what I do, because there is no one I. I hate living with it because some human thought it would be entertaining."
"Eminently understandable," she said.
"And I know what happened to you was wrong, too. You shouldn't have had to stay at the Carnival. You shouldn't have been—"
"I am perfectly fine," she said coldly. "Your cause is understandable. Mine is…a certain generalised annoyance at his attempt to control us and keep his own hands clean."
"Then why pick a guy like that?" Random said. "I'm—well, now especially that's not a concern of mine. I've never had to live with that particular…anticipation. It's not fair you were forced—"
She turned on him like a striking snake. "It was the mortal girl, and he did not even get so far. Do you mistake me for some vulnerable human?"
"You were in morph." He raised his hands. "And I'm sure it wasn't a—good—experience. I do understand—"
"I was in control," she said. "You don't even know the full story of the other, what I did and did not do."
"You sound like my evil side," he said quietly. "Not so much the insanity. The insistence on not being weak."
That at least seemed to slow her. She sighed, letting her hands drop loosely to her sides. "I refuse to be weak," she said. "You think you know why."
"Everyone needs someone sometimes," he told her.
Sentimental crap, some part of Rick's mind told him. And it looked like she felt the same, because she shook her head. "Perhaps," she said. "But there are times when we cannot rely on others, in case we lose the ability to face them afterwards—or worse, continue to rely forevermore."
"I think you're stronger than that." Random wheeled himself to stand beside her, looking down at Rick on the floor in what felt like indifference. "And I don't think you're a killer."
"You guess wrong. By my memory, I became a killer at thirty cycles. And I'm sure you recall the names of many of your Knight colleagues I've killed in battle."
"Murderer, then."
"I have stood by and watched as a woman I once considered a friend was executed, and a few short months after replaced her in her position. I have known innocents have been destroyed in our battles, and still waged war. It's in me, and whether or not it was real is not the point." She materialised a crystal ball in her right hand, glowing red. "It's over."
"No," he said slowly. "You still don't want to do this. Because you would have done it already."
"You don't know that," she said, and threw.
Rick collapsed as dark smoke whirled around him.
--
"I'll deal with the other one," she said, reaching for him. "You can take care of the car if you like."
"I'll do that. Is he going to live?"
"He'll be fine once he wakes up." She sighed. "Are you going to tell Ace what happened here?"
"No," he replied after a moment. "Are you?"
"Eventually, I think. I would prefer to be honest with him." She smiled faintly. "He's like that."
"It sounds like you weren't about the tape," he said.
She shrugged. "Personal detail."
"He's…the understanding type. You'll work it out," Random said. "There's a mortal saying. The best revenge anyone can have is simply to be happy."
"I suppose that might work for me. What about you?" She took a step towards him. "I'm free, but you're not. And yet you wouldn't do this."
"Humans did this to me. I can believe they might be able to undo it someday. And I know I have friends."
"Ace." Her hand reached out to rest lightly on his claw.
"In case you were wondering, I trust his judgment. And I think I've started to trust you."
Her eyes widened as though in astonishment, and then she smiled. "Friends," she said.
--
Mark replaced the mobile in his pocket, wiping his hand across his shirt as though it had soiled him. The so-called Master Programmer (why did the bad guys always give themselves these names?) was evidently still in perfect health, though he had seemed almost apologetic about his little blackmail stunt.
Sorry he'd created at least two potentially very angry CGIs, more like it, but Mark supposed any improvement was something. He'd get around to helping him out if Kilobyte returned. Sooner or later.
He ran a finger over the newsprint, scanning quickly for the week's stranger news just in case. Runaway kitten saves toddler, man bites dog, oldest citizen turning a hundred and twelve this year, man found tied to roof of police station claiming guilty assault, middle school principal embroiled in gambling scandal…
Nothing there. He looked up as Lady Illusion and Random Virus walked through the door, grateful he'd finished with the conversation.
"Hey, kid," Random said.
"Hi. You're okay?" he asked. Neither of them looked angry, but it was usually pretty hard to tell just what Lady Illusion was thinking.
"I'd like to know if there's any way you can fix me," Random said, wheeling himself towards Mark. "You and Chuckdude. Is there any way to create some sort of override?"
"I don't know." Mark frowned. "We would have tried it if there was some way, but I can show you the online forums in case you can get something from that. You're not a player character, but there are codes…"
"I know the Shield of Justice helps shut me down. What's that made of?"
"In the game it's made of thunderiron, but I think Chuck said that it runs a negative feedback loop from the port kernel."
"Then if we could siphon a portion of the code it might just work," Random said. His eye flashed green. "Let me work out a couple of calculations…"
Lady Illusion walked to the chessboard, which Ace had picked up and laid out again; she slid a castle forward, and watched their conversation.
--
A/N: The novel used was Joy Fielding's Tell Me No Secrets, which used a case of rape similar to that described.