The details were vivid and dreams like this were prone to linger. The memory of burning pain echoed across his face as his mind heaved him back to reality.
Lawrence didn't jolt awake anymore nor did his heart beat irregularly in fear. No, this dream, or memory was far too frequent for it to cause him further grief. The burns had healed years ago, yet the scars were thick and contorted his face when he showed an ounce of emotion. He stretched out his jaw and twisted his neck to free himself from the stiffness Jack's handi-work induced.
Lawrence leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he drew himself up in bed. His long bronze hands ran over his angular face, tracing the metal clips outlining his jawline and brow. Jack would slit a poor man's throat if he knew he'd stopped wearing the mask.
As promised, in exchange for his devoted servitude Lawrence had been gifted another 'home.' It would've been the envy of every employee on Helios and bandit on Pandora if any of them knew it existed. Lawrence shifted to the far side of the king bed, the percale sheets sliding over him as he moved onto the cool, smooth floor. As large and as generous as his home was, he didn't get a say in the decor. As a result, everything was oversized, polished or marbled and all in black; it reeked of Jack's ego.
Lawrence's long legs paced over to the plush rug in front of the dresser, the numbness in his feet slowly departed as he reached softer and warmer ground.
His pale mask laid disregarded upon yesterday's clothes, amongst what few possessions he had. A few pieces of Eridium, his digi-struct watch, a custom holster, his cloaking device and a small journal.
Lawrence inspected himself in the mirror, repeatedly tracing his hands over his jawline. Cold yet bright bi-coloured eyes frowned back at him. He'd lost his eye, his own eye when Jack scorched his face with the mark of the Vault. It had been the one part of him which hadn't gone under the knife. Timothy Lawrence was born with green eyes, so only one had to be altered to resemble Handsome Jack's heterochromia. Now it was gone, charred, and replaced with a cybernetic implant. He rubbed his brow feeling the metal grind under his skin, how much of 'him' remained? He did not know.
For over five years he'd wake to the same strange face, and every time it left a sour taste in his mouth.
Deciding to forgo breakfast, Lawrence threw on yesterday's clothes. He was out West, and a clean outfit wasn't necessary when bandits were trying to take your head off. He ran a bony hand through his mousey-brown hair in an attempt to formally shape it. Grey lingered on the edges of his sideburns; Jack would notice in a glance and demand it be dyed (again).
Except for a few morning echo-comm calls, there were no face-to-face meetings with Jack. Lawrence was stationed in Thousand Cuts as his new job required him to keep track of the defenses for The Bunker and more importantly what lay beneath the fortress.
Lawrence clipped the mask in place and rubbed the synthetic flesh against his face to smooth it out. He was expecting a call from Jack today; otherwise, the mask would remain discarded on the dresser. With the mask on; expressing any emotion was a tough act to pull off, Jack made it look so effortless.
However, a mask was a handy solution to hide his contempt for his employer and close allies.
He shoved his arms through the holes of his brown leather holster, adjusting it, so it sat comfortably on his shoulders. Digitising a gun from his gear-chip was easy enough. However, Lawrence liked things the old fashion way. It felt more 'right' to him to be physically armed at all times, plus who didn't appreciate the aesthetic?
He opted for leather combat boots, not those thin canvas sneakers his boss still wore. His face skimmed his grey shirt as he pulled overhead, Hyperon yellow stripes paneled down the side. Finally, black military pants, he looked as casual as Jack allowed him to be. He needed gear to fight if the scenario suddenly arose, not resemble a playboy billionaire.
However, today's task was programming, so chances of combat were slim.
He was halfway through coding an update for the torrents outside, their accuracy and reaction time needed to be vastly improved. Like Jack, he was a programmer, although he wasn't as brilliant as his counterpart Lawrence did know enough Hyperphire to be a lead developer.
Lawrence strode over to push the paneled doors of his loft outward to reveal a sunlit balcony. Pandora's sun was a stark contrast to the darkness of Helios. The sun would've felt warm, and he was sure there was an actual breeze; however, he was staring at a massive digital screen capturing the filmed view outside. Sunlamps and a small fan simulated the weather, and it was a pretty darn close imitation. Having actual windows on a fortress would've been seen as a slight oversight.
Lawrence's workstation was within his new 'home,' as well as a gym, spa, a massive open plan bedroom that adjoined the living area and kitchen. Walls were apparently an afterthought.
His workstation was a large curved desk with two monitors overlooking the sharp terrain of the (simulated) Highlands. The best part? He was the sole employee inside The Bunker's defenses, and his loft was stationed right above the Siren's chamber. He was alone, away from Jack and right where he wanted to be.
He knocked a few keys to wake up the computer from its slumber, last night's work was still open on the desktop. No login required, his lax in security was another one of his small acts of defiance. He dismissed the text editor and opened up the surveillance camera. With a quick browse, he was satisfied that everything was in order. The cameras gave him a full view of every corridor, ledge, balcony, and port of entry around and into The Bunker. His only blindspot was the observation deck and the Sirens chamber, only the real Jack had access to those areas.
Lawrence's first heard mention of a Siren when Jack was arguing with some glassy-eyed fool of a scientist (before Jack ejected the man into space). The doomed man had explained the Vault needed a charged key, a catalyst, 'perhaps a Siren?'
Finding a Siren was no easy task, as he later found out there were only ever 6 in the whole damn universe at any given time. Jack seethed at this news and had taken it upon himself to destroy the only framed picture on his desk along with his chair, a golden arm, his computer, a dozen books, the scientist neck and the finally the desk itself.
Lawrence mused at Jacks fits of rage and the lack of clarity they held.
After running feverish hands through his matted hair, Jack ordered Lawrence to find him a Siren. However, before Lawrence could excuse himself from the broken office, Jack had told him to disregard that order.
So Lawrence built a theory, if Jack didn't want to pursue a Siren then maybe he already had one? Or knew of one close by? His theory would later be proven correct.
Lawrence's rubbed his eyes, trying to remove last night's weariness. A crooked smile stretched across his face as he prepared his morning brew. Lawrence - and not Jack - was expecting the Vault Hunters to raid the Bunker any day now. Jack had too much pride to realise everything was compromised. The Vault Hunters had the other doppelganger's cloaking device, and it wouldn't be long before they drove through their defenses, even with his new security adjustments.
He did not doubt the Vault Hunters success he even welcomed it. It had been a long steady wait for Lawrence, full of violence and disdain. Yet, he was so close.
He still marveled at himself for gaining the madman's trust. So much so, that minor disobediences from Lawrence went unnoticed, or if it didn't, it went unpunished.
After the searing, Lawrence had become the best Jack he could be, kill count to show for it. A corrosive sniper was now his weapon of choice. He liked to stay out of the chaos that warfare on Pandora always brought, although that was a choice rarely given to him.
His most celebrated exploit so far was getting Nisha on his side. The two of them had scores of successful missions under their belts. Their success and Lawrence's apparently new appreciation for violence had stirred something new in Nisha. Lawrence flexed his hands. He knew damn well that Nisha got off on blood, chaos, and Jack.
Lawrence added enough sugar to his coffee to satisfy a child's appetite and stirred in milk until it was a light beige. Jack had his coffee black; if Lawrence were expected to follow suit, then he'd rethink his contract.
So, how do you get a madman's trust? Be madder than him, kill more than him, torture more and manipulate more. He had moments of doubt, where Lawrence thought if he stopped now maybe he could go back to being Timothy. But the moments were fleeting. It wasn't rational to think like that. He couldn't just call it quits and become a house husband.
Lawrence looked up to follow the flight path or a couple of (simulated) Rakk's overhead their large wingspans drifted in the sky. A deafening screech fell across the valley as one of them dove down, probably onto some poor sod below.
Now that he'd had become 'tight' with Jack, as the masked man had described them, or 'more Jack than he could hope for' he'd been granted access to Jack's Siren. She was quite literally below him, working her magic through Hyperion's interfaces. Lawrence had one set back; Jack forbid spoken conversation with the Siren or any face-to-face contact. Except for general 'chit chat' through the Hyperion Network, an allowance to make sure she got everything she needed.
'Make sure she's happy, see that she gets everything she wants,' those were Jack's parting words to him when he left Helios to move to the Bunker. Jack's words were idiotic, make her happy? Impossible, the darn Siren was permanently locked away. As for talking with her, he never knew what to say beyond 'Hi, need anything?'
If the Siren tried to open up or pry anything personal from him, he'd immediately log off. Getting intimate with her wouldn't help his cause. It wasn't like he could talk openly with her, 'Hi, how does it feel to work for the universe's greatest decrepit piece of shit?'. That, would not go down well with his employer, Jack was undoubtedly observing all conversations between them.
Lawrence made himself comfortable at his desk, legs propped up on a second leather chair with his coffee in hand. On queue, the chat interface opened up.
'Good morning, are you enjoying the sunshine? - Angel' The text digitized across the screen.
'Yes, is there anything you need? - Anonymous'
He tried to keep his responses concise; he didn't dare run the risk of giving anything personal away. As far as the Siren knew he was no more than a Hyperion security programmer in charge of her safety. He couldn't leave any hints or traces in their conversations for Jack to doubt him.
'No, I'm fine, thank you for asking,' she replied, a moment of pause before she continued, 'Jack is certain the defenses for the BNK3R will hold. What do you think?'
Lawrence's brow raised and his hands hovered over the keys as he carefully considered his reply. These questions aimed to pry into his views weren't uncommon, but they were becoming an increasing nuisance.
'They will hold' Lawrence typed back before closing the chat window.
There was one minor mystery that he'd like answered before departing from Jack's service. Why did the Siren agree to work for him? Was her family held hostage, or was she just as war hungry as Jack? The Siren had unleashed enough havoc on Pandora to match his and Jack's kill count.
There was nothing in the tone of her voice - or messages - that revealed the answers.
All he knew for sure was that she was Jack's cherished ally and so she had to go.
His echo-comm gave a shrill blare which snapped him out of his thoughts, Jack was calling. Lawrence leaned forward and accepted the call on the device, and the screen lit up with his exact copy sitting at his desk.
Jack got straight to the point.
"So good work on fast travel port update, but you know, if you're going to litter your work with comments explaining what you coded, you probably did a piss poor job at it."
Jack wasn't even looking at the echo-device receiver. Instead, he was typing away on another device.
"I mean, I should just be able to read this, yeah?" He exclaimed pointing a hand at another screen.
Lawrence mentally rolled his eyes. The way Jack talked you'd think he was a frat boy enjoying his first hand at blow.
"So...ahhh, fixed that for ya. Like all of it," Jack mocked.
Lawrence picked up a pretzel from the dish at his workstation and threw it at echo-comm hitting Jack's image on the screen.
"Cut that out Champ!" Jack ridiculed with no actual menace.
Who'd ever think that questioning stammering Timothy Lawrence could ever be forever-best-buddy-ol-pals with Handsome Jack? Well, the guy was easy to talk too. Wit, banter, and rarely any substance, it wasn't hard to get into his groove.
Lawrence downed the rest of his coffee before moving the conversation along, "Did you like the space-hurps part?"
"Oh that, that was brilliant!" Jack cheered as he leaned back and slapped a hand down on his lap.
Every Hyperion employee had enough vaccinations to start a new ecosystem in their lymph nodes. However, that didn't stop Zarpedon infecting half of Helios with it during the Elpis situation five years ago. Despite their best efforts, the virus made its way to Pandora. Hyperion eventually developed a vaccination. However, the only beneficiaries of that were Hyperion employees.
Lawrence's last update took advantage of that.
Fast travel points reconstructed the body, if it identified an illness, say space-hurps? Well, now only half of that person would be reaching their final destination. Who on Pandora was infested with every known disease to man? Bandits.
That was just another one of his own fucked up magical ideas that kept Jack happier than a maggot in a dead skag.
"Right, well I want the torrent update by the end of the day."
"Righteo" Lawrence reluctantly cocked a finger towards the screen, "I'll be done by midday, then I'm on patrol, gonna test out the new gear on the Brick head's encampment."
"Love it," Jack gave a curt nod and the echo-comm disconnected the call.
What an idiot, what a fucking psychotic idiot.
Lawrence switched off his echo-comm and leaned back into his chair. He reached for his coffee only to realise he'd already finished it. So he returned to watching Rakks circling some new prey. Any day now the sky would be filled with Buzzards, and the assault against the Bunker would be on. That was the day Lawrence yearned for, the Bunkers defenses would fail from the strength of the Vault Hunters, and that would be his chance.
He was going to kill Jacks Siren.
Come get her Vault Hunters.
**NOTES***
So writing Timothy characterisation for this chapter was a tricky challenge. I've prevented the reader from seeing the 5 years of character development that would of have happened since we last saw him in game. Hopefully, I've communicated what he's been through and how he sees the world now.
I also believe its likely that Jack would station his double near Angel, the reasoning being as Timothy became more and more like Jack, Jack (in his egotistical way) would have trusted him more as he saw just another version of himself.
Also, SPACE-HURPS.
Happy to hear your thoughts on it, criticisms, comments are much appreciated :)
A03 Version, if you prefer to read it there - /works/12897621/chapters/29464575