Mandarin had never been a morning person. Not once in his life. Everything was too bright, and more often than not he felt like absolute trash besides. The latter could be argued as him averaging about four hours of sleep a night, but Mandarin thought it more likely that mornings were just the gods' way of punishing all sentient life for the ancient sins of their ancestors.
When he woke the morning after escaping the cloning factory's basement, everything was far too bright, he felt like death warmed over, and he was ridiculously grateful for all of it. Mere mornings were nothing compared to what he'd left behind. The gods would have to try harder.
(His insides twisted apprehensively at the thought. It occurred to him that – given his current state – taunting the gods may not be the smartest move. He made a hurried mental amendment of actually no you've proved your point I'm fine thank you carry on.)
Where he'd woken up was barren, and he could see Shuggazoom City off in the distance. He'd collapsed several feet from the edge of the monstrous pit the cloning factory had been stationed in. Stiffly, he dragged himself closer to peek over the side down to the bottom.
At some point, the factory itself had been destroyed. The remaining rubble was probably even what had been blocking the trapdoor he'd eventually escaped from. A circular walkway had been erected, standing about three stories off the ground, which he had no memory of. It must have come after he'd been… it must have come after. Moreover, there was a crack of considerable size in the pit's floor, roughly at the center of the walkway. An earthquake? It would certainly explain why the cloning factory had been demolished, anyway.
Mandarin shuddered as it occurred to him how lucky he'd been the basement hadn't collapsed along with the upper floors. If the box had been destroyed, would he have died with it? Or just been trapped in its hellscape for all eternity with no way out? He shuddered again.
As he pondered, Mandarin found himself staggered by just how deep the pit was. There were steep, sheer rock walls surrounding it on all sides; virtually inescapable. Yet, somehow, he'd scaled them almost without realizing it. Thank every holy power that be for adrenaline, he supposed. Having since calmed down he was left aching literally all over from the effort, his whole body trembling whenever he tried to move. Still, he firmly maintained it was an impressive feat nonetheless.
Without warning, he was overcome by an intense feeling of lightheadedness, and he hastily scuttled back from the edge. If he passed out or lost his balance, he didn't want to be leaning over a twenty story drop when it happened. Logically, his dizziness could attributed to his exhaustion and the sheer amount of physical and emotional duress he'd been under. Logically. But as he sat, knees drawn up with his head in his hands and trying to will the world to stop spinning, he couldn't dismiss the sinking feeling that the situation was much graver than that.
There was still pain from when he'd used the Power Primate to blast the door open. That was… intensely concerning. He'd never felt anything like that before in his life. Was he just grievously out of practice? He wasn't entirely certain how long he'd been inside that wretched box, after all – and as a side note, he was absolutely sick of waking up from unwilling comas without being immediately aware of how much time had passed. Twice was two too many. An even more worrying thought, was he somehow losing connection with it?
…was there something wrong with the Power Primate itself?
Mandarin raised his head from his hands. His dizziness hadn't fully abated yet, but that could wait in the backseat for now. There couldn't be something wrong with the Power Primate itself, could there? It was by and large a self-perpetuating energy, so it wasn't as if it ran the risk of fizzling out. And in terms of outside forces hurting it… Honestly the only things that had the power to even hope to do that were the Dark Ones, and the Veran Mystics had imprisoned them at least seven thousand years ago.
Shockingly, his application of logic didn't miraculously make the pain in his core stop existing. There was still something very wrong here, regardless of what "logic" had to say about it.
He sat like that for a minute, staring forward at nothing in particular, hands frozen in the position they'd held his head. If something was amiss with the Power Primate itself – rather than his personal proficiency or connection wavering – the results could potentially be catastrophic for everyone linked to it. Half-heartedly, he tried to tell himself that he didn't know that; it could be as simple (though unfortunate) as no one being able to use it again. He knew better though, however much it would put his mind at ease to not. The Power Primate, once attained, wove itself into the being of its users. If it went bunk, the situation would be more comparable to someone's kidneys shutting down than it would to their weapon breaking. And there wasn't a power in the universe that could be transplanted to substitute for the Power Primate. Not that Mandarin knew of, anyway.
He closed his eyes, brow furrowed, and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and haltingly, painfully, fumblingly rose to his feet, teetering slightly as he stood. The dizziness that had never really gone away intensified, but he didn't fall. When he felt steady enough (hardly steady at all, really, but this was an instance where he was forced to settle), he began staggering towards Shuggazoom.
He had no resources, no guidance, and no idea where to start, but Mandarin had never been the type to be idle when a task needed completing. More than that, he had not fought his way out of literal hell just to die from mystical organ failure. One way or another, he'd find out what was going on and either patch it up or put a stop to it. But he needed to prepare first.
That had been several days ago. He'd managed to make it to the City, wherein he'd been able to swipe a bit of food and some supplies. In particular, he'd found a large square of fabric that was old and ragged, and whatever its original purpose had been it'd apparently been deemed unfit for it now. The comparison to Mandarin's own situation couldn't have been more obvious if it'd had a flashing neon sign attached, and it made his muzzle twist into a sour grimace as he thought about it.
Well, no matter. It could be tied around his neck to form a makeshift cloak and hood, which in turn helped him feel less exposed. Just because no one else thought it was good for anything didn't mean it was worthless. It still had plenty of uses, it just took some innovation to see them. And Mandarin was exceedingly innovative, so it worked out fine. Everything was fine.
At first, he'd been concerned that he'd be noticed by one of the citizens, who in turn would alert the Hyperforce. He was disgusted (though far from surprised) to find that the people of Shuggazoom were too wrapped up in their own pathetic little lives to pay him much notice, provided he stayed out from underfoot. Honestly, he wasn't even certain the greater majority of them had developed object permanence yet.
And this was the populace he'd fought for so hard for so long. Absolutely disgraceful.
Mandarin had initially dreaded that whatever was effecting the Power Primate would be so deeply interwoven into it that so much as investigating the situation would require him to speak with the Veran Mystics. Which would have been truly unfortunate, because not only was he lacking any means to reach Koraladol (not that it mattered, he didn't suspect he'd be exactly welcome there anymore), but he heartily doubted that it would have done him a lick of good anyway. When faced with a problem, his dear former masters were much more likely to ostrich their heads even further up their own backsides than actually work to solve it. Undoubtedly they'd feed him some tripe about "destiny" or lecture him how "the universe has a way of balancing itself out Mandarin" or "it's not your place to question fate Mandarin" or "your insistence to go against the way things are predetermined to be will be your end Mandarin" blah blah blah. And that was just the lower Mystics; gods help him ended up speaking with Xan. His audio receptors would be aching for days from the sheer amount of pretension they'd be forced to endure…
He discovered that he needn't worry about contacting the Verans (almost) by accident: Not truly expecting results (but hoping against hope anyway), he'd found a secluded, quiet place to meditate, and telepathically reached towards the Power Primate. The hope was that, if there were any fissures in its makeup, he'd be able to both locate them and follow them back to a source of the bizarre behavior. It was a staple of a Mystic to be able to tap into the Power Primate in a way that would boost extrasensory abilities; "seeing without looking" was often considered the most impressive of the skills, but the unofficial secret was that it was actually one of the most basic. Conversely, being able to, so to speak, "see" the Power Primate itself was considered one of the higher-tier practices, and Mandarin had been one of the few students to have mastered it.
(He used to take great pride in that. He tried to stir up some of it in his chest, but was met with lackluster results. It was difficult for him to feel proud of much of anything lately.)
He had expected his efforts to be futile, or if he did find anything that it would be the tail-end leading off into the ethers where he had no hope of following. So his surprise at finding not one, but several trails to track, all of which having a decent chance of being reached (read: on planet), was rather substantial.
He selected the closest path, and set out for it that night. He would have preferred a chance to recover a bit more, but things were accelerating. Earlier that same evening, in fact, he'd felt the Power Primate writhe within him, and he hadn't even been using it for anything. He'd just have to hope that he was recovered enough to deal with whatever he might be heading off towards.
Thusly, Mandarin could be found slowly crossing the outskirts of the city, making his way towards who knew what. He wasn't exactly regretting his decision to set out, because really what choice did he have, but all the same…
While in the city, with people constantly bustling about and a task to focus on, it had been easier for him to put the abysmal Box out of his mind. But now, alone, out in the open with nothing to occupy himself but putting one foot in front of the other, it seemed to be all he could think about. And quite frankly it was putting him so on edge that he was practically falling off the proverbial side.
He tried to take his mind off it by looking up at the stars, which were numerous and objectively beautiful. Constellations had never held any particular interest to him. How, precisely, were ancient games of connect-the-dots of any real consequence to anyone? "Navigation" (which was the most common answer to his indignant question) didn't really apply to someone with navigational systems already built into their processor. Yet, irritatingly, he still probably knew more constellations than the average person had any right to, if only because they'd been drilled into his skull by—
Ugh, this was even worse. Mandarin grumpily put his head down and stared resolutely at the cracks in the dry ground.
A sound behind him shattered the silence like a gunshot.
Mandarin whipped around, his heart throwing an absolute tantrum against his ribcage. It couldn't have followed him all the way out here, it just couldn't have, it had been under the ground at the bottom of a hole— could he fight it like this? If he hid on an outcrop would it be able to reach him—?
A flash of silver at the top of an outcrop caught his eye – nothing on the box is silver, not even its crankshaft, that's iron and rusted – and his gaze was drawn to the spot as the tension seeped from his posture.
It was another monkey. It was another robot monkey. Blue eyes, silver coating. The Hyperforce had commissioned another one? Or… well no, it would have to have been the Team, wouldn't it? Who else would be going around building robot monkeys? More pressingly, what was it doing so far out in the middle of nowhere? It appeared just as surprised by him as he was of it, so that suggested it hadn't been intentionally sent out to stalk him…
Before Mandarin could make an attempt to communicate with it (though what he'd say he had no clue), it spoke. More than spoke, it said his name. Most jarringly of all, it said his name in a voice he recognized.
Why was Antauri's voice coming out of a body that wasn't his?
The canopy of Chiro's bed was the same as it ever was: smooth, off-white. His eyes were naturally drawn to the scrapes in the finish from when he'd accidentally chucked a toy a bit too high. It'd been around the time he'd first joined the Team, he remembered. He'd had a habit of being just a little too enthusiastic with things back then, because he'd been in a state of near-constant excitement. He was on a real, honest-to-gosh hero team, and they were going to teach him to be a real, honest-to-gosh hero. How could life possibly get any better?
The pleasant nostalgia had faded to nothing after two hours of staring at the exact same scratch-marks.
Antauri had suggested he get some rest after the stressful night they'd all had. Good plan. Fine plan. But the execution was escaping him. He rolled onto his side, hoping that a change in perspective would inspire sleep. He now had a lovely view of his closet door, and he didn't feel any less awake. Cool.
The strange feeling from earlier had long since faded, but Chiro swore he could still feel aftershocks of it ricocheting around this chest. He tried, half-heartedly, to tell himself it was just the remnants of stress and anxiety; he was just worried about Sprx and Gibson. Perfectly normal to feel how he did, considering his friends were hurt, right?
If he hadn't been feeling twitches of whatever this was for the past few days, he'd have brushed it off as just that. But how could he have been feeling stress or anxiety from something that hadn't even happened yet? The only person on the Team who could have done that was Antauri, and Chiro couldn't fool himself into thinking he was on Antauri's level of experience yet.
The most disturbing part, Chiro decided, was that the feeling wasn't new. He'd felt it – or something like it – before when Skeleton King was corrupting the Power Primate. Granted, it wasn't exactly the same. It'd been… sharper back then, if that made any sense. He hadn't even put together that the feelings were similar at all until the incident earlier that night. But now that he had noticed, he couldn't separate them.
…maybe that wasn't the most disturbing part. Well, it was, but Chiro couldn't beat back the thought that he'd be feeling infinitely more at ease if any of the rest of the Team would comment on it. Or… y'know, if Antauri would comment on it. Chiro fully maintained that if Antauri had noticed something important, he'd tell the rest of the Team about it. But here was something that Chiro felt was, by definition, pretty honking important, and he hadn't said a single word on the matter. In fact when Chiro had tried to talk about it, he'd gotten cut off. Antauri could sense a moth turning the corner down the street, there was no way he wouldn't sense this too. Why hadn't he said anything?
Nausea flopped uselessly in Chiro's gut as the thoughts he'd been avoiding reared up all at once: What if Antauri wasn't saying anything on the matter because he didn't feel it as strongly as Chiro did? What if the reason Chiro was feeling this at all was because – instead of the Power Primate failing for everyone, like before – it was only failing him? It would explain why it felt similar-but-not-exactly.
Chiro stared into his open closet, tracing the outlines of hanging shirts in the dark. For a moment he tried to force his thoughts onto a different topic all together, because the one he currently entertained was making him want to throw up. He tried pondering when would be a good time to go through his old clothes and throw out what didn't fit anymore. Maybe this weekend. Maybe Jin May could help. Somehow or another she always ended up accidentally stealing his sweatshirts, maybe he could gift her one officially this time.
It didn't work, but then he realized he hadn't really expected it too. He gave himself a doleful "nice try," and miserably allowed his previous train of thought to resume its course.
He tried to reason with his anxiety: It didn't really make any sense, when you thought about it, for the Power Primate to only just now decide that he wasn't worthy of the Power Primate. It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong recently. At least not that he could think of (and trust him, he'd been wracking his brains for absolutely anything that could explain this). And anyway if the Power Primate was so picky about who used it, they how come Mandarin had been able to use it even after all he did to the Team? Where was the justice there?
Sensing he might have a point, Chiro's anxiety rebutted that perhaps it was because he simply wasn't needed anymore. Skeleton King was gone, after all; what was there left to fight? Random goons? The Team could handle that just fine without him.
But Chiro, confidence tentatively building, shot back that whatever had made him Chosen One hadn't set stipulations fitting that idea. If there was some kind of prophecy that had predicted that there'd be a "Chosen One" to begin with, wouldn't it have also predicted just how long the job would last, if that was the case?
Backed into a corner, argument thwarted, Anxiety decided it was time to pull out the Big Guns:
"I'm impressed with your diligence, young Chiro… But you are not the Chosen One!"
Bubble burst, Chiro felt his hope drain from his chest into his stomach, where it putrefied once again into a sickening sense of nausea. He wished he could say, even if it was just to himself, that he hadn't given Xan's seemingly random declaration a second thought after he'd said it. It was just the ramblings of some loony who thought Skeleton King actually knew what he was talking about. It didn't' require any further consideration or action. He'd let it go and moved on. But that was, unfortunately, a bold-faced lie. The line had attached itself to his mind since that point, bubbling just underneath conscious thought, ready to burst out and attack whenever he messed up: This is all wrong. You don't belong here. It's all a mistake.
Was that even possible? Chiro could picture a person mixing things up and picking out the wrong kid, but he hadn't been selected, things had just sort of… happened. Could all that, everything he'd gone through with his team, everything that brought him to meeting them in the first place, all just have been one big cosmic mistake? How could it though? He'd been able to understand the monkeys when no one else could, he could use the Power Primate—
Chiro's fists involuntarily clenched around his bedsheets, thought process right back where it started.
Seconds dragged on, and – thoughts suddenly unbearably loud – Chiro flopped back to his original position, frustrated. There's an explanation for all this, he told himself firmly, mentally beating back his doubt and negativity with a stick. There's an explanation, and tomorrow you're going to talk with Antauri, and you're going to figure out what it is.
For some reason having a plan of action – even one as vague as "you'll figure it out" – made Chiro feel minutely, almost defiantly better, even if it didn't make him any sleepier. After a moment's consideration, he rolled over again and felt along his floor for his TV remote. He'd watch Sun Riders episodes until he fell asleep, he decided. Or until the sun came up. Whichever came first.
Valina was troubled.
In and of itself, that was a strange circumstance. Usually when she fell victim to such moods, all she had to do was contemplate the glory or her master. The thought of him never failed to put things into perspective, and with everything set right again she was to return to whatever task she'd been entertaining.
This time was different. Thinking of Skeleton King didn't help her feel better, because thinking of him made her worry. Her poor master had been torn apart by the putrid Hyperforce, soul scattered to the winds, and thanks to his pathetic excuse for a toady she couldn't even begin to gather the pieces back. She needed his skull to tell her where they were, and the stupid monkey had not only hidden the skull, but was stubbornly refusing to share.
After her abrupt escape from her amulet, she'd relocated the pair of them to her temple in the Zone of Wasted Years. The simian was currently suspended off the ground, trapped in an orb, screaming his sorry lungs out. Valina observed him apathetically, not taking the joy she usually would from her work. Part of it was business, true. She had to make him tell her where the master's skull was, sooner rather than later. She couldn't imagine how uncomfortable the master must be to have miles between one part of himself and the other. But yet another part of the monkey's torment was purely revenge for the indignity he'd put her through, and by all means she should be enjoying it.
And yet, her satisfaction – if indeed, she felt any at all – felt detached and very far away.
Valina lowered her hand, and the electricity that had been crackling within the orb ceased. The simian gasped and panted, collapsing against the sides of the sphere. His breaths were shaky, and try as he might she knew he was fighting to disguise a sob or two. She was further depressed to note that she still felt nothing.
She ought to take this opportunity to press him for the skull's whereabouts, but she could already sense it wouldn't do her any good. Years of practice had given her a keen sense of when people were about to crack, and he wasn't there yet. She wasn't entirely sure if it was because the monkey's resolution was that strong or if she was just having an off night. She settled on it being the latter, both because her mind was clearly elsewhere and because she hated to concede that the simian was actually good for anything.
She settled back against the broken stone pillar she was sitting on. Let him stew for a while. Maybe a few minutes spent torturing himself – wondering what she was planning next, imagining what she might do – would get him talking. She needed to reflect for a moment.
It wasn't just the need to restore her master bothering her, she admitted to herself. That, though arduous, she knew how to handle. The master himself had personally prepped her for such an event. (His preparedness was truly a marvel. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back a sudden, adoring little smile. It wouldn't do to let one of those slip in front of a prisoner, after all.) But there was something else… Something she didn't know to handle, because she'd never dealt with anything like it before.
By all rights, she should still be trapped in her amulet. She knew this, as much as she hated to admit it. The only way she should have been able to get out was by the simian (well, anyone, really) intentionally releasing her. Which, safe to say, hadn't been the case.
She took a moment to look at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with a mix of defiance and – despite all his posturing – open fear. Neither said anything. She resumed her mental tread.
Not only had she escaped her imprisonment without the say of her captor (which went against everything she knew about magic, by the way), but just before there'd been a moment of… she wasn't really sure how to describe it. One second she was floating though the limbo of her own power, the next she was overcome by a downright odd feeling, and then without warning she was standing back in the real world, free as a bird. It made no sense.
Not helping her misgivings was that there were still remnants of the feeling ghosting around her core. This indicated that, disturbingly, this wasn't a one-time fluke. It was still there, whatever it was, and if it could bypass the laws of magic to free her… what else could it do?
"Well?" the simian barked suddenly, drawing her out of her thoughts. She made an irritable mental note to set him on fire later. "Are you taking a recess or have you just given up? If you're going to do more, get on with it!"
Silence ate at him in a way pain didn't, apparently. She made another quick note.
"Eagar for more, are you?" she drawled, leaning forward, chin in her palm. She took special notice of his near imperceptible flinch before he drew himself up and puffed out his scrawny chest.
"I have better things to do then muddle through your paltry interrogation attempts. Why not do us both a favor – and spare yourself further embarrassment – and release me so I can see to them!"
Oh, how Valina wished she could throw off this despicable shroud of boredom. If she could, his pathetic attempts at sounding sure of himself would actually be quite funny.
"Practice, dear simian," she said, forcing a sardonic smile she didn't feel. "Merely practice."
There, let him fret over that. He hadn't even seen the full extent of her power, not even close. This was just a warm-up.
He was, blessedly, quiet at that. Valina went back to her thinking.
A frank review of the facts to get her mind back on track: There should have only been one way to escape her confinement, and that was for someone, one way or another, to release her from it. Instead, she'd been released by nobody, apparently by accident. She'd had a strange feeling directly beforehand, and suspected – but didn't know for sure – that it had something to do with it. If this was true, then it meant that either A. She had powers that she didn't even realize she had that could bend the laws of magic to her liking (ideal), B. The universe at large had an unexplainable hiccup right at that moment, allowing her once-in-a-lifetime amnesty from how magic ought to work (unlikely), or C. There were larger forces at work here (…frightening concept).
Valina glanced back at the monkey as she pondered. He was trying to surreptitiously check the orb for any openings or weak spots. There weren't any, but he could figure that out on his own, she suspected, though it was anyone's guess how long it would take him to do so. He wasn't a particularly fast learner, at least as far as she'd seen. When trying to use her amulet, it'd taken him an embarrassingly long time of beating his head against a rock (almost literally) before he'd thought to change his approach. And even after he seemed to have gotten a handle on it, he'd still found a way to muck it up. Just before she escaped, in fact, he'd completely lost control of its power, for the umpteenth time, sending himself flying—
Just before she escaped.
It seemed pathetically obvious, suddenly, that it hadn't been the monkey's ineptitude that had caused his misstep. It'd been whatever had gotten her out. But… which explanation did that lend itself to, exactly? She wondered, now, if the monkey had noticed anything as well.
Not expecting much but likewise having nothing to lose, she asked, "Do you remember anything about right before I escaped?" Pause. "Did you feel anything out of the ordinary?"
He looked up, no doubt surprised at being addressed so calmly. He said nothing for a moment (it was apparently simply impossible for him to quickly and easily comply to a request), before slowly saying, "Why do you ask?"
"Give me a proper answer and I'll tell you."
She could see the argument going on behind his eyes, though what for or against she didn't know. Finally, he grudgingly admitted, "I did notice… something." Bitterly, he added, "That's when everything started falling apart." Then, sharper, "Why? Did you feel something as well?"
Valina ignored him, leaning back once again. If he'd felt something, then that ruled out the first theory. The second one too, in a way. That just left…
"Witch!" he snapped, hands (hand and claw, technically) pressed to the inside of the bubble as he glared at her. "Answer me!"
Ugh, his voice was quite literally the most annoying noise she'd heard in years. How did he not give himself a headache when he spoke? She glared back, and waved her hand. Electricity jumped back to life inside the orb, granted only for a few seconds. He gurgled in pain, and didn't speak again (he positively scowled once he got his wits back, though).
If there was indeed larger power at work (which was what the signs seemed to be pointing to), one that could twist how magic itself worked, that would've been concerning on a good day. But the fact that Valina had a very large task ahead of her, one that she definitively needed her magic for, made it terrifying.
How could she expect to safely resurrect her master if she couldn't even trust her magic to work how it should? True enough, it seemed to be working just fine at the moment (she gave her fingers a little snap to reassure herself; the monkey yelped), but the thought of what could happen if things went wrong was enough to make her want to cry. Would her master spend the rest of eternity as segmented soul fragments? Conscious, but unable to focus himself, eternally barred from returning to the living? Or would she merely succeed in ripping his soul into yet more pieces, until whatever he'd once been was gone forever?
She couldn't take the risk, she realized. As important as it was to bring the master back (as much as she wanted to), she couldn't do it unless she was absolutely sure the process could be completed safely. One way or another, she was going to have to find out what the source of this mess was, and, if need be, fix it. Only then would she be able to restore her glorious master to his former magnificence.
Valina rose to her feet, mind working furiously. Before she could do anything by way of research, she needed to secure what she could for her master. The Ice Crystal of Vengeance, the Fire of Hate, the Soul of Evil… she wasn't too concerned about those. Mortals would have a hard enough time reaching them, much less actually handling them. The master's skull, on the other hand…
"I'm going to ask you one final time, Simian…" she said, approaching the orb briskly. She let her power kick into overdrive, pink flames crackling dangerously from her hands. She finally felt the spark of satisfaction she'd been seeking as the monkey inadvertently recoiled inside his confines.
"Where. Is. The master's. Skull?"
Antauri was thoroughly lost on what to do.
Mandarin had last been seen in the Dark One Worm, or at least by Chiro's admission he had. Apparently they'd had a fight, and it was only through Nova's timely intervention that Chiro had managed to walk away from it alive. When the worm detonated – with Mandarin still inside, as far as they knew – the Team had assumed him dead. And yet, here he stood, clear as anything else in the night, apparently no worse for the wear.
Antauri was bizarrely unsure how he felt about it.
He tried to say something. He wouldn't have assumed it would be that hard, considering he'd blurted something out once already. Unfortunately, apart from the other's name, words were not forthcoming. But really, what was there to say when unexpectedly bumping into your ex-leader in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, after previously assuming they were dead?
"What are you doing here?" Same as him, most likely: secret things.
"What do you want?" He'd never indicated he wanted anything.
"I thought you were dead!" Obviously not.
"How have you been?" No.
Furthermore, Mandarin's reaction wasn't offering any indication of how to proceed either. He wasn't attacking (physically or verbally, which was flagrantly out of character for him), so it wasn't as if Antauri was going to start. He wasn't doing much of anything, really, just standing there, watching him silently. Was he waiting for him to act?
Slowly, like he was dealing with a wild animal that might get spooked if he moved too suddenly, Antauri rose from his crouch and gently levitated from his outcrop. Mandarin didn't react beyond tracking his movements with his eyes. They observed each other for a few moments more before Antauri began tentatively moving forward.
"Mandarin…?" he said again, trying to prompt a response. The monkey opposite him remained cryptically quiet.
Antauri began mentally filing through possible theories for the other's uncharacteristic silence and stillness. Was he too just trying to make sense of the situation? Was he hurt? Antauri knew distantly that he really ought to activate his ghost claws, because as seemingly non-confrontational as he was behaving this was still unquestionably Mandarin, which in and of itself warranted caution…
His claws remained inactivated as he warily crept closer. If Mandarin thought he was displaying aggression, he might rise up to match it, and Antauri would prefer to avoid confrontation if possible. When he got close and Mandarin still made no move to attack, he felt silently vindicated.
Antauri tilted his head to the side, observing him more fully now that he had a better view. His initial summation of his size proved accurate despite it being from a distance: taller than he, shorter than Chiro. He looked haggard and disheveled, and had a useless old scrap of fabric wrapped around him a cloak. He certainly seemed in poorer shape than the last time Antauri had seen him (and fought him, right before the Dark One emerged), but considering he'd evidently been living in a demon's intestines for months on end, he'd also definitely looked worse.
"Mandarin…" Antauri tried again, "How did—?"
Being a robot, Antauri couldn't traditionally "see stars." Instead, his ocular orbs would malfunction so all he saw for a brief moment was static and double images. Which is what happened when something hard and heavy struck him in the temple. He stumbled and landed hard on his side.
So much for vindicated.
He was struck again in the stomach, making him grunt in pain. He rolled away as he tried to will himself to see straight again, and the sound of air whooshing told him he'd just narrowly avoided another blow. He twisted himself upright, coming up in a crouch and finally managing to wrangle his vision back, though still slightly disoriented.
Mandarin was a little ways off, gripping a small, rusted metal sledgehammer with both hands. It looked like he'd scavenged it from an old toolbox somewhere, and had apparently been hiding it underneath his cloak. He moved forward, swinging again, and Antauri only just barely managed to dodge the strike.
Whatever else had happened to him, it seemed thatMandarin's inclination to fight rather than talk remained the same. Antauri felt an almost nostalgic spike of exasperation, but shooed it away irritably. A fight it was, then.
He activated his ghost claws and slashed viciously. Mandarin danced back, having to abort a swing he'd been winding up for. Instead he took the momentum he'd used to twist away and morphed it into a sweep meant to knock Antauri's legs out from under him. Antauri removed his feet from the ground altogether and let himself levitate into the air. He dove suddenly, and that the only way Mandarin was able to dodge the attack was to drop his weapon and dart out of the way. Unfortunately, this meant that both his hands were free. Closing the space between them by levitating himself now, Mandarin delivered a devastating punch, this time to Antauri's other temple. Antauri dropped back again, not in quite as bad shape as the last hit but still a bit shaken. He decided then to end it before things got too out of hand.
He squared up, preparing to unleash a Monkey Mind Scream. Mandarin he saw, appeared to be doing the same. When each was on the precipice of unleashing their attack, a pain in each of their cores flared up, and they both dropped several feet from the air.
It was a rather disappointing and anticlimactic end to their confrontation, all things considered: Both of them writhing in pain on the ground, several feet apart from each other. Even Antauri, who'd initially wanted to avoid conflict, had to admit it was a low-point.
The spasms in the Power Primate abated, and both were left shuddering from its aftereffects. There was a moment of quiet wherein neither moved, before Antauri quietly asked, "You felt it too…?"
Mandarin (who Antauri had to twist to see, positioned as they were) made a scathing sound in the back of his throat. "No, Antauri, I felt nothing; I'm lying on the ground because I like it down here. Of course I 'felt it,' nitwit!"
Antauri frowned, but said nothing further, shifting back into his original position. A moment later he heard Mandarin struggling to rise, so he reluctantly did the same in case the other chose to resume their previous spar.
Once standing, he turned and saw that Mandarin didn't actually look too inclined to do so. Though upright, he was still on the ground, sitting cross-legged, with his arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen like he had a particularly bad stomachache. He was also glaring fit to melt iron, but that was typical.
"None of the rest of the Team feel it as strongly as I do," Antauri supplied coolly, perhaps hoping to elicit some kind of penitence for the other's snappy remark.
Predictably, it did no such thing. Mandarin snorted, rolling his eyes. "Obviously. You need to beat that lot over the head if you want them to sense anything. They're as collectively attuned as a broken radio."
Antauri's frown turned to a scowl, not appreciating the derogatory tone directed at his teammates. Not that he could say anything back, really. While the tone was derogatory, the sentiment wasn't exactly wrong…
"What are you doing out here, Mandarin?"
Mandarin had the audacity to look indignant. "What am I doing out here? I am a homeless vagabond, thanks to you ingrates; I can be wherever I want because I have nowhere better to be. You have a bed you could be sleeping in right now and a job you have to get up for in the morning; what are you doing out here?"
Antauri said nothing for a moment, before finally conceding, "Investigating."
"How illuminative. Investigating what?"
Antauri's expression started to sour. "The Power Primate, Mandarin. You ought to know that."
"And the middle of the night is the best time to do that, obviously," Mandarin said snidely.
Antauri felt his irritation spike dangerously, so he paused to calm himself, willing it to dissipate. Finally, he asked again, "What are you doing out here?"
Mandarin sneered, pushing himself to his feet as well. "What do you think? Same as you. But this being essentially a desert—" he gestured widely at their barren surroundings, "—which are prolifically hot during the day, by necessity I have to travel by night. You have a ship to make the journey. I, as you are aware, am currently lacking such an advantage."
Mandarin's tone was as pompous and deriding as it ever was, but Antauri easily ignored it in light of the new information. "Wait, what?"
"What do you mean 'what'? Since I don't have a ship to keep the elements at bay, I'd be roasted alive trying to make the trek during the day so—"
"No, why would you be out here for the Power Primate?"
Mandarin huffed. "I was following one of the trails."
Ah, that was right; Antauri had forgotten Mandarin could do that. So if Mandarin was headed in the same direction he was, considering his ability, then at least it meant Antauri wasn't too far off the mark. But the confirmation that he was on the right track and the horrifying implication that there was apparently more than one source to the problem could all be unpacked later. He still had something he needed to get to the bottom of.
"Why would you care what happens to the Power Primate?"
Mandarin gave him an outraged, incredulous look. "It's the Power Primate. I'd rather not lose the last vestige of power I have left, and even more pressingly I'd rather not die. You of all monkeys should have internalized the lessons we were taught of the importance the Power Primate holds in the universe more than anyone. At least I would have thought so, given how constantly willing you were to lick Xan's boots—"
"You didn't seem to care much before when you were helping to corrupt it," Antauri cut in, anger beginning to poke through despite his best efforts to keep it at bay.
"Excuse me?!" Mandarin sputtered. "I helped do what now?"
Antauri tilted his head, confusion beginning to mingle with his irritation. Was he just playing dumb? To what end? "Well, you certainly didn't seem to have any objections when Skeleton King was using it to awaken the Dark One, anyway."
"I never—!" Mandarin froze abruptly. "…the clone…" he muttered. Then, furiously, "You actually thought that clone was me?!"
Antauri, recognizing it as his turn to be monstrously confused, rose to the occasion grandly. "Erm…?"
"Could pick the boy out of a literal lineup, oh of course, but you thought that shoddy copy— and go back a moment, did you say 'Dark One'? You actually thought that I'd be insane enough, that I'd be stupid enough—!"
Antauri was now thoroughly overwhelmed, and recognized that Mandarin's ranting was about to go past the point of no return. He held up both hands in what was (hopefully) a calming and defensive gesture. "Mandarin, slow down, please. What are you talking about?"
"I was cloned!" he exploded, anger far from spent. "After the cloning project with the boy failed, Skeleton King cloned me and replaced me with it! That's what you've been dealing with since that point!"
Antauri blinked. In hindsight, that did explain how Mandarin could be standing in front of him now rather than floating around deep space in pieces…
"If it makes you feel any better," Antauri tried, "it's likely dead now."
"Small mercies," Mandarin spat, bitterness and sarcasm dripping off the words. "Now go back to this 'Dark One' nonsense."
Antauri sighed as best he could without lungs, suddenly feeling very tired. "Skeleton King corrupted the Power Primate to use it to awaken a Dark One. That's – presumably – what's wrong with it now." Mandarin's sour expression dissolved into shock and muted concern. Antauri went on, "He was destroyed in the process, and afterwards everything appeared to be back to normal until…" Antauri gave another non-sigh. "Until now."
Mandarin stood there for a moment, processing the information. "He… corrupted the Power Primate?" he asked at last. "Intentionally?" He gave a laugh that was disbelieving, exasperated, and enraged all at once. "Did that— that— complete and utter imbecile not know what could happen?"
"He was using it to try to free a Dark One," Antauri pointed out morosely, "so destruction was his goal from the start. I don't suspect he cared."
Mandarin growled through clenched teeth, rubbing his face tiredly. "And you're out here doing what, again? 'Investigating,' you said?"
Antauri hesitated. "One of Skeleton King's followers was stationed in the Zone of Wasted Years. I was headed there to find out if she's the cause of the current deterioration, as Skeleton King was last time."
"You mean you don't know?"
"Not— not at the moment, but—"
"You came all the way down here in the middle of the night just to check?" Mandarin spat disbelievingly. "How exactly did you plan to confirm that? Ask her? An acolyte of Skeleton King would be more than happy to discuss their plans with a Hyperforce member, I'm so sure." Antauri tried to cut in to defend himself, but Mandarin went on, "And what precisely were you going to do if you found out that she wasn't the cause of this, hm?"
Feeling remarkably like a rebuked child, Antauri shot back coldly, "You seemed to be headed in the same direction I was; what were you doing?"
Mandarin crossed his arms petulantly. "…investigating." Antauri's shoulders squared victoriously, and Mandarin's glare intensified. "Wipe that look from your face! I'm out here because I have a viable lead to follow; you're here because of a lucky guess!"
Antauri, rather than fall for Mandarin's petty jab, asked, "Do you truly think the trails you've found in the Power Primate lead to the source of the corruption?"
"I can't imagine what else they'd lead to."
Antauri was quiet, weighing his options even though he knew he didn't really have much of a choice at all. Finally he said, "Mandarin… I may need your help."
"My help?!" he squawked. "After everything you've—? You have the nerve—?!"
"You said it yourself, Mandarin, I'm…" Antauri winced, "I'm only here on a lucky guess. I don't know how to fix this, or even really where to start. You have insight on how to proceed and I—" he emphasized, raising his voice just slightly as Mandarin started to cut in, "—have resources that you need. This will go a lot smoother for both of us if we help each other. And you know what'll happen if we fail."
Mandarin stood, arm's still crossed, expression and posture still heavy with suspicion and dislike, and didn't respond.
Antauri remembered an old trick that might get him to agree, though honestly it was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. After dallying as long as he could, he finally bit the bullet and said, "Please, Mandarin, you're the only one with the knowledge and power who can help me."
Something flashed briefly in Mandarin's eyes. He still didn't speak, but Antauri knew he had him.
When in doubt, appeal to his ego. Antauri felt a shiver run through his circuitry. He suspected it might be disgust.
"…I want a pardon."
Antauri's head tilted. "Excuse me?"
"When we're done, I want some sort of guarantee that you lot won't try to put me back into stasis. For lack of a better term, I want a pardon."
Antauri frowned. "Then I would like a guarantee that you won't try anything underhanded against us afterwards as well."
Mandarin waved his hand. "What I do with my time after we're done is my business; you're the one asking for my help; I set the conditions, not you." Seeing Antauri's expression deepen into outright mistrust, he snarled and amended, "I won't try anything during our time working together, and should our paths cross by way of confrontation afterwards, you're free to respond accordingly. Are those terms to your liking?"
Ignoring the mockery that coated the entirety of his last sentence, Antauri considered. Eventually, he ground out, "I'll need to discuss it with the Team."
The desire to bite his lip came back and hit Antauri full force as he spoke. Oh Mystics… he was going to have to tell the Team. Working on his own to fix a problem was one thing, working with an enemy – much less making deals with them – was another thing entirely. Would they be upset with him for not telling them right away? How much could he get away with still not telling them? How on Shuggazoom was he going to convince them to actually work with Mandarin again? He fought to keep his anxiety out of his expression, and resolved to play it by ear when the moment came.
(A horrible plan, really, but anything to not have to think about it for just a little while longer.)
"We should start heading back, then," he said, turning in the direction of the Moon Buggy. "I'll have to inform the Team before we proceed any further. I have a vehicle this way—"
"I think not."
Antauri turned back around, confused.
Mandarin went on, "I'm not going back with you just to be put in lockdown and monitored every second of the day. Particularly not before I have any kind of security that you'll honor my demands." He turned, looking away dismissively. "I'll be in touch when I'm prepared to head out again."
"Mandarin, you know that after everything I can't simply leave you to your own devices—"
Mandarin looked back, taking a step forward and leaning in, challenging. "You want my help? Those are my conditions. If you don't like them then go rally the Team, try to stuff me back into stasis, and go back to stumbling around in the middle of the night, hoping you trip on some answers." His glare hardened. "I'm standing in the middle, Antauri; either meet me here or leave me alone."
They stared at each other for several seconds, mutual dislike and mistrust mixing in their gazes. Finally, Antauri bit out a curt, "very well," before activating his rocketpack and taking off.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mandarin below him, moving to retrieve his sledgehammer from the ground. Eventually, he couldn't see him at all.
Chiro couldn't wait any longer; he needed to talk to Antauri now.
He'd felt it again. He'd just been starting to fall asleep when he was jolted back awake by the pain of the Power Primate freaking out. He'd spent another couple hours trying to calm himself down before he decided he couldn't and had to talk to Antauri.
Covers flung off, quickly padding to the door, he wondered why he hadn't just gone to Antauri before when he couldn't sleep. He'd done it before, Antauri didn't mind. (Chiro only acknowledged on the basest level that he knew why he hadn't gone to Antauri right away: he was scared what he might find out.) Hastily walking down the hall, he opened Antauri's door and slipped inside his room—
He wasn't there.
Chiro looked around, confused, but quickly turned and left to search the rest of the Robot. He didn't have the forethought to question the strange circumstance the moment.
Just before he reached his own tube, Antauri came shooting up his.
"Antauri!" Chiro exclaimed, rushing over to him.
"Chiro?" Antauri queried back, and Chiro didn't think he'd ever seen him look so taken aback before.
Whatever, he hadn't been expecting to see him as he entered the floor. Fair enough. Chiro had bigger things to worry about.
"Antauri, I really need to talk to you. I know you said to wait until morning but I just can't, I'm sorry—"
"It's… It's alright, Chiro. There's something I need to discuss with you as well." He made a small gesture to move forward. "Let's move out of the hall first."
They ended up convening in Antauri's room, and the second the door closed behind them Chiro started talking again.
"Antauri I think there's something wrong with the Power Primate. Over the last couple days I've had this really weird feeling, and sometimes there'll be flashes where it just hurts, and I didn't recognize it at first but now I'm positive of it—"
Antauri tried to interject, but not having said all he needed to say yet, Chiro kept going.
"—and nobody else seems to notice. I mean everyone sorta did right before Sprx and Gibson crashed, but they didn't any of the times before then. I just felt it again like a couple hours ago and I just— I feel like I'm the only one actually feeling any of this. I don't know what to do."
Antauri tried again to cut in, looking deeply upset, but by this point Chiro was spiraling and couldn't have stopped if he wanted to.
"And I don't know if this is stupid or not but I can't stop thinking that maybe it's because I messed up. I mean— I'm the Chosen One, right? Supposedly? What if I'm the cause of this? This happened before because of Skeleton King, but then it went back to normal for a while, and for you guys it still seems it is normal, but what if I— what if I did something I wasn't supposed to, and-and now I'm losing it?" Antauri tried to speak again, but Chiro, not paying attention, added over him, "Or what if I didn't do something that I was supposed to do? And, and—"
But Chiro had finally run out of words. He looked at Antauri, hands shaking and out of breath. Antauri looked… Chiro couldn't quite place it. Surprised, almost, but there was something under that.
"…what is it you feel you were supposed to do?" he asked after a few seconds.
Chiro shrugged miserably. "I don't know. Just… maybe there was something big that I was supposed to do and… didn't? That sounds like something that could cause the Power Primate to go nuts, right? A Chosen One failing his duty?" He looked down at his feet, feeling sick and ashamed. "I can't think of any other explanation…"
There was another seconds-long pause, before Antauri slowly said, "Chiro I've… I've also been sensing a disturbance in the Power Primate…" Chiro looked up, nervousness swelling in his chest. Antauri observed him for a moment, closed his eyes briefly, then went on, "It's… it's likely merely the aftereffects of the Skeleton King's corruption the first time. It's simply the Power Primate working to repair itself."
That… that was not the horrible news he'd been expecting.
"Wait, really?"
Again, Antauri paused. "Yes," he said. Then again, more firmly, "Yes, that's all it is." He looked away suddenly, eyes darting to the ground. "I— I wanted to make sure that was the case before I told the rest of the Team, so none of you would worry. I am… so, so sorry for having caused you this much stress, Chiro."
Chiro actually burst out laughing, which made Antauri's eyes snap back to him, but that was okay. He hadn't messed up at all! It was all just some stupid misunderstanding! He felt almost exhausted with relief.
"Antauri that's… oh Shuggazoom that's great to hear, oh my gosh," he said, exhaling a laugh and running a hand through his hair. "Oh man, I wish I'd talked to you earlier…"
Antauri gave him a smile that looked slightly cracked at the edges. "Yes… I wish I'd talked to you earlier as well."
Chiro held up his hands comfortingly. "Hey, look, don't feel bad about not saying anything, okay? I wouldn't want to worry any of you guys either if it were me. Everything's good now, right?"
Antauri nodded, though his smile still looked a little broken. Poor guy. Chiro hoped he wouldn't beat himself up too much about this…
He smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging way, before he was abruptly overtaken by a massive yawn. "Aw jeeze… I think I'm gonna go back to bed now, Antauri, I'm kinda just starting to feel how late it is."
"That's a good idea. Good night, Chiro."
"Night Antauri."
Just before exiting the room, Chiro paused at the door. It was stupid – childish, honestly, but there was still a tiny part of him that needed to hear the words before he'd be able to let the matter rest. Turning back to Antauri, he asked, "So everything's gonna be okay?"
Again, Chiro couldn't quite place Antauri's expression. "…yes. Everything's going to be okay."