Blades: Part 3
Sneaky as Blades was, there was no real way to beat a shark with a motion sense. The lights flicked on the moment he came in the door, revealing a sour looking Ripster seated in the armchair. They stared at each other through the heavy layer of tension. Rip was radiating stern disappointment that Blades tried not to take to heart more than he had to. Too much guilt would be as suspicious as not enough of it, and for some reason it was a little harder to fit back into the role of Streex after that encounter in the tunnels.
Ripster seemed to be very determinedly biting his tongue, waiting for the tiger shark to make the first move, so he did, scuffing a foot against the carpet. Apparently he'd be keeping his promise to Lena after all. "Look bro, we need to talk."
"Really?" Cold and sarcastic. Ouch.
He really didn't want to make an enemy out of Ripster. His job would be hard enough without any extra scrutiny, and having one of his 'brothers' mad at him didn't sit right in ways the clone didn't really like to think about. Damn genetic programming. Apologizing for Streex's mistakes would be aggravating, but at least in Paradigm's employ he'd gotten some experience in how to bow and grovel when he really had to.
"I've been out of line," he said, eyes lowered. "I put myself at risk and I put you guys at risk and I don't really have any excuses for it. I'm sorry."
There was a brief moment of silence as Ripster digested that, and then, "So how long did you practice that one? You can't be that sorry if you've been out again already."
Blades couldn't resist flinching a little at the tone. When the Doctor got angry, it was loud and explosive. The sharp, understated ire was somehow much worse. The part of him that was Streex was starting to feel slighted, but snapping back wasn't going to help the situation. Blades took a deep breath, and tried to inject some humor into his voice. "Okay, I probably deserved that."
Ripster was refusing to make this easy. Streex must have really screwed up, and Blades was just a blind man fumbling in the dark trying to figure out exactly what had gone wrong. He wanted to pace; Streex liked movement to help clear his head.But I'm not him, am I? Blades thought, and determinedly stood still. So this wasn't like dealing with the Doctor, where a quick show of submissiveness would work, and he doubted Streex's instincts to get angry were on the right track either. Come to think of it, that had probably been part of the original problem.
"I needed to clear my head," Blades said, and before Ripster could bite out anything he added, "I wanted to work out that apology before I ran into you again so, yeah, I was out practicing it. Happy now?"
Ripster managed to hold on to his scowl for a few more seconds before it slowly smoothed out. Now he just looked tired. "This place is too small."
Blades hoped he wasn't supposed to know what that seemingly non-sequential comment meant. "Huh?"
"For the four of us," Ripster specified. "We're not used to living in each other's space anymore…not since Clint and I moved out. I know it sucks bro, but you really need to stop running off like that. I'm not trying to be Dad, but he would want us to stick together. This place can be a bit claustrophobic but we need you here."
Must be nice to have a real place for yourself instead of just being the placeholder for someone else. Honestly, what the hell was Streex's problem anyway? He didn't appreciate what he had. He practically deserved to have it taken from him.
However, Blades couldn't afford to be confined, but he could at least temporize. "I promise I won't go out any more than I need to. Okay?" It wasn't a full answer, and Ripster knew it, but he seemed willing to compromise if it put the grudge behind them.
"Fine." He slung an arm around Blades's shoulders. "Now lets get some sleep already. I'm beat."
Blades was too, but he wouldn't be sleeping. Not with the invisible clock slowly ticking away the seconds of his life. Only two days to go.
So Street Sharks HQ was underneath Fission State University, and specifically the sports stadium. How appropriate, Blades mused, idly walking the circumference of the hockey rink. Mist was seeping from the ice but he barely felt the cold at all, the benefit of being a mutant. He didn't often stop to wonder what it must be like for the humans. His experience to was limited to Paradigm, and now Bends and Lena, and he didn't honestly consider himself one at all despite the major contribution in his genetic makeup.
Talking with Slammu had made that difference between them patently obvious. Interacting with the sharks more than he had to might be what Paradigm would consider an unnecessary risk, but Blades would argue that knowing the enemy would give a better chance of success in the end. Besides, he was curious, and Slammu had been awake and alone at four am when Blades had been getting restless and tetchy from the lack of sleep.
"On watch," Slam had explained, gesturing briefly to the monitors and display screens that Blades hadn't been able to get a very close look at yet. "Me and Rip are taking all the shifts until you guys get better."
There was a hint in his tone that said Blades probably should have known this, and so the Tiger Shark quickly changed the subject to something more harmless. Slam was a lot easier to talk to than Ripster, and with a bit of careful contrivance Blades had managed to lead it back to the topics he'd really wanted to know about.
As far as Paradigm was concerned, the Sharks were only interested in vengefully thwarting him at every turn. Turns out he was only partially right. From what Blades gathered, the sharks' main goals were finding their father, getting Paradigm exposed to the public, and getting human again, more or less in that order.
Three goals that Blades had absolutely no interest in, and he found that…disappointing.
Doctor Robert Bolton was an intriguingly mysterious figure, but not one that Blades felt any particular tie. Biologically, they were related, but the bond of blood meant diddly squat to Blades and it would probably mean even less to Bolton. After all, Blades was just a copy of one of Bolton's sons; he'd probably find the implications monstrous, which is exactly what Blades was.
And as much as he didn't like Paradigm, Blades didn't have any moral objections to what the man was doing. His dislike for his creator was just personal. Fission City wasn't his home any more than Shark Central was, and the humans were just a nameless, faceless mass to him. Lena was nice enough, but when Blades looked at her all he could see was the fragility. He was a creature of superior genetic advantage, and couldn't see why anyone would object to having that.
The rest of the sharks obviously didn't feel the same though. The undisguised yearning in Slammu's voice couldn't have been any clearer, but Blades just simply did not share the desire. What could humanity offer him? Normalcy? What was normal for a clone? Being stripped of his strength and his senses didn't appeal to him in the slightest, though he'd covered his real opinion with Streex's usual brand of vanity for his precious striped fin and Slammu hadn't noticed anything amiss. Streex had gotten used to being a shark. Blades had never been anything else, and you didn't miss what you'd never had.
The thoughts should never have crossed his mind, except the old man's words kept coming back to haunt him. Choice. If he had his choice, would he stay with the sharks who were genetically his 'family'?
"Thinkin' heavy thoughts there bro?"
Blades started a little, but Jab's voice was touched with humor and warmth. The hammerhead was leaning against the rail Blades had been following, close enough that the clone should have known he was there, but he was starting to realize the wariness he'd maintained around the Seaviants didn't seem to register the rest of the sharks as a threat. 'Family'. Huh.
Blades made a face at him. "You should try it sometime."
"Why? It doesn't seem to be doing you any favors."
Not at all, but at least it was keeping Blades awake and occupied. He'd need to make it through the day without any sign of trouble if he wanted to convince Ripster to let him take a watch shift that evening. He needed a long, undisturbed look at those computers so find their weaknesses for Paradigm. Just because he was speculating about staying didn't mean he couldn't keep his options open. That was what choice was all about, right?
"Shouldn't you be resting?" he asked finally.
"I got bored," Jab said, but with a stretch that seemed to suggest he hadn't been up long. He looked over the rink, and then back at Blades with a twisted smirk. "You up for a game? The outer doors are locked. No one'll see."
"Yeah, except Rip," Blades pointed out. "And then he'll come up and yell at us about not taking it easy."
"So? That'll be entertaining at least."
"I only just got back on his good side," Blades said with a groan. "Forget it."
It was true enough, but he also needed an excuse. Annoyingly, one of the few traits he hadn't inherited from Streex was the ability to balance on skates. It was probably a matter of practice, but Jab would definitely figure out there was something up if 'Streex' kept falling flat on his face.
"Aw, you're no fun." A soft beep caught Jab's attention, and he tilted his head. "You gonna get that?"
Blades scowled, glancing down at his phone. That was the sixth one that morning; just a simple message, 'Call back'. All from Paradigm's number, which he had absolutely no intention of answering. Most likely the Doctor had just found out that Streex wasn't where he was supposed to be, and Blades wasn't going to hand the location of his progenitor over until he was ready. If he wanted to cut a deal with Paradigm when this was all over, he needed more bargaining chips.
He looked back at Jab and shook his head with a smirk. "Pushy girlfriend," he offered by way of explanation. "Come on, let's get some food already."
The magical words of distraction for any mutant. Jab's eyes lit up. "Done deal."
Paradigm was a patient man. When needed, he'd allowed months, or sometimes years for plans to reach fruition, but in this case he'd expected his results to come in a quick and timely fashion. The silence from the clone had passed from mild irritation into vast annoyance.
Damn Boltons.
It couldn't last forever, not if the clone wanted to see next week, but Blades had obviously turned out to be just as obstinate as the rest of the brothers and waiting for his report was trying Paradigm's patience. Half the allotted time had past, and so far Paradigm had lost track of both Streex and his agent and had gained nothing for his troubles.
He could see what the clone was doing, of course. Trying to gain an upper hand in the game, trying to be a player instead of a pawn. Thinking above his station when by his very nature he was nothing more than a copy on the verge of expiring. Obviously he hadn't learned his lessons well enough. Once he returned, discipline would be swift and merciless, but until then Paradigm could only seethe. Better judgment cautioned him not to do anything rash, but his displeasure needed an outlet.
"Find him," he ordered the Seaviants. "Whatever it takes. Remind him who he owes his pitiful existence to."
If Blades wouldn't answer then he would just have to send the message another way, and with the issue laid to rest in his mind he could partake in another waiting game. His diagnostics didn't lie. His system had glitched, except that the design was another of his perfected creations and so it shouldn't have, which could only mean that the supposed error was merely a cover for something even less pleasing. His system had been hacked, and he could almost guarantee it wouldn't be the last time.
"Let's see you try that again," he dared the open air, staring intently at his computer screen as they ran every security scan in existence and a few he'd made up for the purpose of catching this intruder. If they tried to break back into his files, they'd encounter a nasty surprise.
The computer system wasn't nearly as complex as Blades had anticipated, or maybe the knowledge of such things Paradigm had infused into his brain was just better than average. Blades could probably deactivate the whole thing right now, given the inclination, but of course he didn't. Paradigm wasn't going to be happy to hear from him right now, even if he was offering the sharks on a proverbial silver platter.
No, the moment wasn't right. He needed more time, and he really should check on Streex again. Of course he was supposed to be on watch, but he'd already found a way around that. A brief twist of wiring and one of the camera readings went out. Humming innocently, he strolled back towards the workshop where light and sound radiated. Bends was the only other person still up, wrapped up in some project Blades couldn't even begin to figure out. He knocked politely against the wall. "Yo Bends! Could you keep an eye on the alarms for a bit? I think one of those big roaches is stuck on one of our cameras or something. I'm gonna go shoo it off."
Bends glanced up distractedly from the bench, his reaction automatic. "Sure thing dude." A second later he blinked, looking Blades over again with particular attention to the bruises and amended, "Uh, you gonna be okay or-?"
"I'll be fine," Blades assured him. "You keep at it."
Bends obviously didn't want to leave his pet project to go roach hunting, and was all too happy to agree. Of course he'd probably forget that he was supposed to be keeping watch in Blades's stead, but the clone had it on pretty good authority that the Seaviants wouldn't be sniffing around for at least another few days so it wasn't like anything would happen. What he really hoped for was that Bends would lose all track of time, and considering how quickly the human was reabsorbed by his work, it was a likely bet. He wouldn't notice if 'Streex' was gone for a while.
His path to the surface took back through a familiar set of tunnels, and involuntarily he slowed to a halt when he reached the same place he'd met the rag pile the day before. He paused, listening for that distinctive shuffling sound, but the only noise was the hiss of steam through the pipes. Not even a ghost of a presence here anymore. He was starting to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing, but the whole scenario had been ludicrous enough that it almost had to be real.
"A sign would be real good right now," he told the empty air, but nothing in the tunnels shifted except perhaps for a few of the roaches he was blaming the camera failure on. He sighed, mostly at himself. "Didn't think so."
It was a petty amusement to hear Streex squawk every time the lights came on with their unrelenting intensity. Blades savored it for a moment before swinging himself up into the back of the van, cradling his burden just carefully enough not to spill it.
"A bucket?" Streex eyed it distastefully as soon as his eyes adjusted again.
"That's how animals get fed," Blades said, dropping it outside the bars, splashing a little water. It was within Streex's reach if he chose to stretch. Blades didn't have time to taunt with food today, and if Streex became delirious from dehydration these little visits weren't going to be any fun.
Streex, however, didn't immediately reach out. Instead he seemed to be focusing inward. "You know, I thought of something."
Blades widened his eyes in exaggerated astonishment. "Really?"
"I only dated Lindsey for two weeks."
"…So what?" Blades said eventually, having pulled the name from his memory and gotten nothing that made sense of Streex's comment.
"So I remember when the media was doing interviews of everyone we used to know, she said it had been a month. She lied, or got mixed up, I don't know, but we were definitely only together for two weeks." Streex sidled up to the bars. "But when you reminded me about her you said it had been a month too."
"Slip of the tongue," Blades offered with a tilted smirk, but his ability to read Streex's body language wasn't one sided and he knew it wasn't going to work.
"I was wondering how Paradigm did it," Streex said. "You can't copy memories. Even he's not that good…but he must have really done his homework on me. TV interviews, school reports, home movies…hell, he must have hacked just about every database in town looking for any sign of me. Tiny bits of information that just keeps adding up, and in the end he got you."
"Well what do you know, looks like you didn't entirely miss out on the family smarts after all," Blades drawled, clapping mockingly.
Streex's grin was victorious. "So you're really not me. Not even slightly, and if I can pick the difference then eventually some one else will."
"Only if they do it quickly," Blades said, leaning back against the wall in a nonchalant attempt to pretend it was more comfortable than it was. He really could do with a nap but there wasn't the time for it. "One day left. Tick tock."
"You don't have to do this."
He'd expected more hissing and spitting and anger. Blades raised an eyebrow at Streex's soft tone. "If you're going to talk to me about choices I've had that speech already."
Streex's eyes flashed, but he kept his voice low and even. "You haven't hurt anyone yet, right?"
"You're the one who's been locked in a cage for two days. You tell me," Blades challenged.
"As long as everyone else is okay I won't hold it against you."
Streex wasn't supposed to be able to surprise him. They were the same, after all, but Blades had been pretty sure he'd done all the right things to make himself unforgivable and yet Streex seemed sincere. Being stuck in a small, dark cage alone for that long would have been hard on anyone, much less a freedom-loving attention seeker. He scrutinized Streex closely and took a page out of Ripster's book. "So how long did you practice that one?"
"I've had a lot of time to think in here," Streex pointed out. "If Paradigm made you, you owe him, and you're only doing this because of his orders. I mean, what else could you do, right?"
"Wrong," Blades sneered. "I don't owe Paradigm anything."
"You don't believe that," Streex said.
Blades hated being transparent, and hated the cause. He'd made every attempt to bottle that rage, appeasing it with small cruelties and slights, but it had been right there with him for every day of his life and somehow Streex had found it. "What the hell do I have to thank him for? A body that belongs to someone else? Fake memories? A lifespan that's just long enough to be useful to him before he gets bored with me? Exactly what part of this should I be grateful for?"
"You're alive aren't you?"
"And intending to stay that way," Blades snapped, standing up. "Which is far more appealing than anything your or your brothers have to offer."
"But didn't you just say you're only gonna live until he gets bored with you?" Streex pressed. "How long do you think that's going to take, a few months? Maybe a year?"
Blades didn't respond.
"You're screwed," Streex told him concisely, but with sympathy. "He's screwed you just like he screwed us."
"I don't need your pity," Blades told him icily, turning to leave.
"Ask yourself if it's worth it," Streex called. Blades imagined he head triumph in the other shark's voice and furiously slammed the doors of the truck behind him as though the noise could somehow banish his doubts.
"I'm not dead yet," he muttered to himself, glancing instinctively at his watch. One day left.
This time when he went back through the tunnel, it wasn't empty. He only wished it was.
"Slash," Blades greeted warily. There was a shift from behind him. "And Slobster. Well isn't this my lucky day."
"Not anymore it isn't Shark," Slash hissed. "You have some explaining to do."
"Well you've picked a really bad time," Blades ground out, trying to convey in a fearsome look, you're going to blow my cover you idiot. They weren't close to the Shark's Headquaters, but they weren't exactly far from it either. Not far enough that a misspoken word and an untimely appearance from one of his 'brothers' was too possible for his liking, and that would ruin everything. Paradigm must have been pretty pissed at him. "Can't you come back tomorrow or something?"
Take the hint morons. But he was, of course, forgetting who he was talking to. Anything less than a two-by-four to the face wouldn't penetrate Slobster's skull, and Slash didn't look like he cared to listen. Blades looked heavenward and groaned softly.
"Okay. You two want a piece of me? You got it." He squared his shoulders, raised his fists…and took off running, pushing Slash out of the way and calling over his shoulder, "If you can catch me!"
No, he was not running. Just a strategic retreat, because fighting the Seaviants was a pointless waste of the precious time he had left, although he did owe Slash a beating for being kicked while he was down. He was half tempted to turn around and deliver it, but the tunnels weren't the best place to pick a fight. He'd save it for later, assuming he had a choice about it.
The best course of action would be to lose the Seaviants in the tunnels…an easy task for the real Streex but Blades had no idea where he was going and it took him less than a minute to hit a dead end. He glared at it in frustration. "God damn it."
He backtracked quickly, hoping to make it to the side tunnel he'd spotted only to find the two Seaviants guarding it with dark expressions of glee on their faces. He hissed angrily through his teeth and warned, "You two are making a big mistake."
"You're coming with us, shark," Slobster informed him, clacking his claws ominously.
"Uh, excuse me, but I think you two are a bit lost."
Blades couldn't have been happier to hear Jab's voice right then. The hammerhead was further back in the tunnel, behind the Seaviants, with Slammu's comfortingly protective presence at his side.
"Unless of course you're looking to get your asses kicked," Jab continued. "In which case we'll be happy to do that for you."
The two Seaviants glanced at the clone, perhaps wondering who he'd choose to side with. As though it wasn't obvious. Blades smirked wickedly and swiped his claws at them. "I told you guys you were making a mistake. I'd suggest running."
Slash growled at him, but the odds were against him and perhaps the veiled order in Blades's words finally got through. He grabbed Slobster and dragged the other Seaviant down the side tunnel, disappearing with an echo of curses and heavy footsteps.
Blades breathed a sigh of relief. "Man. Good timing guys."
"Bends sent us to check on you," Slammu said. "He thought you might have run into a little trouble."
"Copy that," Blades said, peering down the tunnel where the Seaviants had disappeared. "I kind of took a wrong turn."
"Moron." Jab punched his shoulder just a little too hard. "Looks like you owe us one."
Blades stared at him for a long moment. "I guess I do."
He'd wasted his day with thinking. Amazing how quickly time could slip by when you were too distracted to keep track of it, but despite the effort he didn't feel like it had gotten him anywhere except closer to his deadline.
Even after sitting in the tunnel for three hours, Blades still wasn't quite sure what he would say if his mystery benefactor did decide to appear, but it was starting to look like it wouldn't matter. Three hours and no show. If the old man wanted to find him, Blades was making it damn easy, which probably meant he wasn't coming. Had he changed his mind? Hadn't found what he'd needed to help Blades? Or had it all just been a cruel joke. Ha ha, very funny. He felt sick, but that was probably because the serum Paradigm had given him to stall the effects of his flawed biology were starting to wear off.
He'd never actually delayed the dosage this long before, and already it was unpleasant. A faint nausea that wouldn't leave, and had been enough to put him off food despite the usually voracious mutant appetite. The weariness he felt could have been just the lack of sleep, but the leaden feeling in his limbs probably wasn't.
Damn, damn, damn. Blades couldn't put it off any longer. He had to go see Paradigm before it got any worse, and his second option was apparently defunct. Guess there had never been a real choice after all.
He got up and stretched, wasting a few more moments to pace and get the stiffness out of his muscles just in case, but it was a pointless effort. Stop waiting and leave, he berated the impulse that tried to keep him there and forced himself to do exactly that. The first steps were the hardest, and he hoped that once he was out of the tunnels it would get easier, because at that point there was no turning back.
He nearly walked right past Ripster, who had been waiting in silence and stillness not too far from the exit Blades intended to use. "I thought you weren't going to leave again."
Blades paused. "Only when I have to, remember?" He offered a weak grin, but the tension in his stance wasn't guilt over the promise. All bets were off. If he had to fight his way out, he would. "This is one of those times, bro."
He'd almost prefer if it came to a fight. If he had to take Ripster down, then he could guiltlessly tell Paradigm that his cover had been broken and there was nothing to be done. He wouldn't have to decide if the Sharks should have a warning or not. Things had been so much easier when there was only one path.
"Okay."
Blades couldn't read Ripster's expression. Resigned? Or something else. "You're letting me go?" he asked with some surprise.
Ripster shrugged. "It's your choice."
Maybe Ripster was a mind reader too, though if that were the case Blades would have been screwed long before this. Why the hell did he have to say that? Unable to think of a reply, Blades kept walking.
Ripster's voice echoed a little in the tunnels. "We'll be here when you come back."
Blades wished they wouldn't be. When he came back, it would probably be with the other Seaviants for the sole purpose of taking the sharks down. They'd never see it coming…not unless Blades said something now. A clue, a hint, anything!
Blades raised his hand in parting, not looking back. "Later."
The instructions were simple enough. Come to the old warehouse, come alone, and if I catch so much as a sniff of any Seaviant lurking around then there will be no deal. Paradigm was a smart man, and had probably realized that Blades was stubborn and desperate enough to have them both lose everything if he felt like he was losing control of the situation. Besides, the Doctor was arrogant enough to believe he wouldn't need the protection against one of his own creations. He'd come.
But he was taking his sweet time about it, probably on purpose. The closer it got to Blades's time limit, the more willing he'd be to compromise, or so Paradigm would think. Every passing minute had his stomach doing flip flops, nervousness or nausea, take your pick.
He felt ready though, like the hazy fog of indecision had finally lifted. He was nearly starting to feel positive until Paradigm finally arrived, decked out in full battle armor. Not a good sign for the Doctor's mood.
"Is that really necessary?" he asked plaintively.
"It will be," Paradigm said. At least his face was still normal; if he'd turned piranha then Blades wouldn't have a chance. "For your punishment."
"I've done everything you told me to," Blades protested, arms spread wide and expression as earnest as it could be around a smirk.
The Doctor glared flatly. "Where's Streex?"
"I still have him," Blades assured. "And all the information you need to take down the sharks, plus a few other interesting tidbits." He took a gamble. "Like information on the person who's been hacking your system."
True, he didn't know much, but the naked interest on Paradigm's face clearly said he'd guessed right on that score. He wondered how the man would look when he was told about Lena.
"I was starting to think that perhaps you'd had second thoughts about your mission," Paradigm said, relaxing ever so slightly. "Changing sides would not end well for you."
"The only side I've ever been on is mine," the clone informed him. "And that's why my information comes with a price."
Paradigm's face darkened again. "I see."
Blades shrugged. "I don't like living only three days at a time. I want the cure for whatever you did to me, not just the stalling measure. Give me that, and I'll tell you everything I know. Believe me, it's more than enough for you to finish things with the sharks, and you won't ever have to see me again. I'm not going to get in your way."
He could see Paradigm thinking quickly. "You must have been planning this right from the start. Quite impressive, considering you're not even a month old."
"Thank you," Blades grinned. "But stop stalling."
"No time to waste, hm?" Paradigm said, and Blades didn't like the look of his answering smirk. "But unfortunately one factor you didn't take into consideration in your plan, and to put it simply…there is no cure."
Blades tried to cover his faltering, but sudden uncertainty invaded his voice. "You're lying."
"I'm not," Paradigm returned smugly. "To fix the problem I'd have to completely remake you from cells again. Even with my genius, an alternative solution would take years to produce, assuming I had the time and inclination to dedicate to the task, which I don't, particularly with your recent streak of bad behavior."
Chided like a child, but Blades was too absorbed in Paradigm's revelation…there was no cure. How could there be no cure? The man created him, surely-!
Another of life's cruel jokes. Ha ha, still not funny. He had miscalculated. He'd assumed that Paradigm would know how to fix him, and that he could be free of the man's authority. He didn't want to live like this…
"Now I want you to ask yourself if this petty act of insubordination was really worth it?"
Ask yourself if it's worth it.
"All this trouble and you've gained nothing. You forget that everything you have, I gave you. You owe me-"
Looks like you owe us one.
"-And you'll repay every inch of that debt before I'm through with you. Your only choice-"
It's your choice.
"-is to tell me everything you've learned, and maybe I'll decide it's worth keeping you around. Who knows, maybe if you work hard enough to absolve yourself, on day we can talk about a cure for your condition."
Blades wouldn't last long enough for 'one day'. He'd been made a prideful creature, and he wouldn't be able to swallow it often enough to satisfy Paradigm, nor did he want to, but there was no other option. It was a tenuous life in servitude, or nothing.
Or nothing. So, really, Blades did still have a choice. It almost made him laugh He'd thought there wouldn't be anything worse than 'nothing', but now he wasn't so sure. The idea was strangely liberating. He could still choose.
"Actually, that really doesn't sound like a nice choice," Blades said, and arrogantly turned his back on his creator. "So you can forget it. I'm leaving."
"Leaving?" Paradigm repeated, laughing incredulously. "To go where? You don't have more than a few hours left."
"Well I'd better start making the most of them then, shouldn't I?" Blades said. "Fitting all the fun of a lifetime into a few hours, sounds like a good challenge to me. You can go make yourself another clone, but I think you'll find the same trick won't work twice."
For anyone else, Blades was pretty sure he would have managed to walk away before the dumbfound shock wore off, but Paradigm was a genius after all. He recovered quickly. "I'm afraid that's not an option."
He only saw the shadow of Paradigm's lunge. Despite the bulky looking armor and the fact that he was only human, Paradigm was fast. Blades barely had time to catch the man's wrists before they reached him. The first was armed with a deadly looking serrated hook. The second was holding an injector gun.
"You're coming back with me whether you like it or not," Paradigm hissed, pressing forward with unnatural strength. "Your last hours can be easy or painful but you will tell me what I need to know."
Paradigm was winning. He had better leverage, better footing, and Blades's strength was failing him already. It took more effort than it should have just to hold his ground, and for a second he considered just letting go. It was really hard to pretend anything mattered after resigning yourself to death…Until he remembered that he hated this asshole, and if he was going to spend his final hours on anything, why not vengeance?
Blades hadn't had much time to explore his full range of emotions. While he hadn't enjoyed the mindless rage Streex had managed to bring out, he thought he might like hatred a lot more. It ran just as deep but felt much steadier, and it loaned him the unexpected strength to pry the injector out of Paradigm's hand and shove the man to the floor. He stopped himself before thoughtlessly crushing the fragile device.
"You know, I think I'd be doing the world a favor if I got rid of you," Blades mused, twirling the injector theatrically around his finger. "Looks like my life won't be totally wasted…"
Paradigm took one look at the expression on Blades's face, and fumbled hastily for the radio at his wrist. "Seaviants, to me!"
They probably wouldn't be too far away. Blades could stay and attempt to fight them off. He might even be able to take down one or two of them if he gave it his all. Going out in a blaze of glory, an unsung warrior with a heroic death…
…Sounded like it would kind of suck actually. Being heroic was overrated.
"Better watch yourself Paradigm," he sneered. "I'll be behind you when you least expect it."
More strategic retreating, which would be far more appropriate if he actually had a strategy. He didn't know exactly how much time he'd have left, but there was at least one more thing he needed to take care of.
Streex was silent for the first minute after the clone stumbled in, but finally he managed, "Wow. You look like hell."
Blades laughed, a sound as brittle as broken glass. "So do you."
The perfect pair they were. Three days in a cell hadn't done Streex any favors. He was looking decidedly lean and hungry, with bags under his eyes that suggested sleeping the cold, hard bunk in the corner didn't agree with him much. Blades couldn't imagine what he looked like himself, with old bruises and his own exhaustion which probably showed even more obviously, plus the most recent development of small muscle twitches that he couldn't suppress or control.
Though at least he wasn't the one in the cage.
"I'm guessing things didn't go so well between you and Paradigm," Streex said after a long, uneasy pause. "I can smell him on you. You didn't give us up, did you?"
"I really should have." Blades tapped his claws against the floor, staring just over Streex's shoulder. "You idiots are dumb enough to deserve it."
"Just who do you think you're fooling here?" Streex shuffled up to the bars and shared his wide smile of relief. "You didn't want to, did you? I bet they grew on you while you were pretending to be me. I mean, that was practically guaranteed."
"Don't get your hopes up," Blades grumbled, trying not to think about the unintentional kindnesses. Jab's playful banter, Slam's easy grin, Bends' concern, Lena's warmth, and even Ripster's stern care. It wasn't like he'd either wanted or needed any of those things. He leaned back against the wall, taking a much needed moment of rest
"Hey…do you have a name?"
He cracked an eye open.
"Because thinking of you as 'that jerk' is getting old," Streex added.
He wasn't sure how he felt laying claim to yet another thing that Paradigm had given him, but it didn't matter much anymore. "It's Blades."
Streex stared at him. Blades smirked weakly. "The Doctor has a sense of humor."
"It sucks," Streex pronounced, making a face and thinking it over. "So Blades…what now?"
"You know, I've been asking myself that all day."
Blades had been acting so lethargic, Streex obviously hadn't anticipated he could still move quickly. Blades had pulled himself back out of reach before Streex even registered the pinch on his arm. "Ow! Hey!"
Blades tossed the now empty injector on the floor. "Since I'm officially my own agent, I can do whatever I want, and my first order of business is to do something about you."
"You-!" Streex only managed to get halfway to his feet before the sedative struck, and his expression of shock melted away into unconsciousness. He hit the ground with a thump.
Blades nudged him tentatively and got no response. Finding a drug that worked so quickly and completely on a mutant wouldn't have been easy. The Doctor's genius was well credited.
"And now what?" he asked the unconscious shark rhetorically, examining his claws speculatively in the clinical light.
Paradigm was destroying his Lab.
At least that's what it sounded like to the Seaviants, who were once again bunkered outside the doors wondering if any of them dared cross that threshold. The near-palatable cloud of fury in the air was an even better deterrent than the noisy sounds of destruction, and despite the instinctive urge to appease their creator, none of them would dare. Not until the piranha was sated and the man was back to normal, at least.
"Sharks are bad luck," Slash declared, arms crossed to help hide the way he flinched every time broke in the Lab. "The Doctor should quit trying to take them back."
"Maybe he will," Killamari offered. "When he calms down a bit."
A high pitched shriek of fury had them all looking warily towards the doors, but nothing emerged, and for a time there was silence. None of them relaxed.
"What do you think'll happen to the clone?" Killamari asked.
"He's dead," Slash said flatly.
"Or he will be when we find him," Slobster muttered.
"I don't think we should leave while the Doctor's…distracted," said Killamari. True, they didn't have any specific orders to either stay or go, but he didn't want to inadvertently cross their creator when the man was feeling particularly vengeful.
Slash grunted. "We don't need to anyway. The Doctor said he won't last until sunrise. We won't even have to lift a finger."
There was a shift of heavy movement in the Lab, and something that crunched like plastic and glass shattered. The cycle began afresh. Killamari sighed. "At least we'll be able to get back to work. All this standing around is making me twitchy."
"Since when do you do anything like work?" Slash muttered on reflex.
"What was that, drill nose?"
Slash glared at him, but as much as he felt like reestablishing the pecking order, Killamari still had the upper hand and the Doctor wasn't around to referee. Slash may have been his current favorite, but by next week Paradigm would forget, as he did with all his other failures, and Slash's hard work would be forgotten with it. He hissed in frustration. "Nothing."
He'd simply have to wait for a better opportunity.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid."
Staggering unsteadily over treacherous ground was made even more dangerous by the limp weight slung over Blades's shoulder. It was an uphill battle, though wether the street was actually on a slope or if the clone's perception was just skewed was up for debate. Every loose stone and crumbling step threatened to send both of them skittering painfully across the ground, but Blades had a goal in mind and he would not be swayed. And in the untimely event of an accident he had Streex's body to cushion his fall anyway.
"Stupid," he reiterated. "Both of us. But mostly you."
Streex didn't make any kind of response and if Paradigm's little injection was doing it's job properly then there was no risk of that changing any time soon, which left Blades free to speak his mind.
"Note to self, must remember not to take advice from crazy, faceless old men about making 'choices'. It will never end well. But then we were never very good at listening to reason, were we?"
He shifted Streex weight slightly, grunting with the strain. "No way was I cloned from a whale fish like you. Lay of the junk food already tubby, you'll make both of us look bad. Not that you could put much of a dent in this perfection but..."
He vaguely wondered if babbling was a habit of Bobby's or something he'd managed to pick up on his own, but it was nice to have an audience even if they probably couldn't hear a word he was saying. Not that he'd had any lack of people to talk to this week (or talk at, most of the time. The Shark brothers had the remarkable ability to tune out his Streex-isms, which was as useful as it was irritating), but never about his own thoughts. He'd played the role so thoroughly it was hard to tell how much of what he did was his own and how much was due to the imprint of Bobby Bolton in his memories.
"It would have been easier to kill you," Blades remarked airily. "Then there'd be no comparison." And he'd been tempted. Every step he took reminded him of how much easier it would be just to kill Streex now and dump the body here than go to all the effort of carrying him back to safe territory. The though alone was enough to make his mouth water at the prospect of blood, and the mere fact that it was Streex, the benchmark of his existence, set a violent tremor of eagerness down his spine. But that was easy, and Streex could never resist the easy path which was exactly why Blades would. That was the point of this futility after all. Choices.
Was his vision getting blurry? He would of preferred to blame it on simple tiredness except that he wasn't supposed to have that weakness either. But going back wasn't an option at this point and sheer obstinace was enough to keep him from stopping. This was almost over. All he had to do was find a place to hide Streex until his brothers could come find him, and then...what? Go find some soft ground to dig his own grave in before the inevitable caught up? The thought disgusted him. Blades did not give up, but having essentially signed his own death warrant when he'd left Paradigm didn't leave him with any options beyond a slow, painful death.
The only thing he had of his own was this choice, and death was something he could face with pride because for the first time he was his own person. And no one, not Streex, not Paradigm, could take that from him now.
"Hey!"
Though evidently someone had a mind to interrupt his very simple plan of action. He glanced slowly behind him, because moving any quicker would have unbalanced him and also because he recognized that voice and wasn't expecting any immediate attack. The vision of two purple striped tiger sharks should slow Ripster down a bit.
From his dumbfounded expression, it obviously had. Blades raised an eyebrow with equally exaggerated slowness. "You're a long way from home, bro."
"I followed you," Ripster told him, still staring between the two as though waiting for one of them to fade out of existence. "I wanted to find out what was so important."
"Ah." He probably should have anticipated that. The Streex-like impulse was to mockingly applaud but they were past that point now weren't they? He dropped Streex…literally, and hoped the moron felt it when he woke up. "Nothing more important than family, right? You can have him. Don't know why you'd want to though."
He felt a brief pang when Ripster rushed immediately to his real brother's side. You couldn't buy that kind of affection, though he'd stolen it for a time. No more.
"You're all idiots anyway," he muttered, turning his back. He wasn't needed here anymore.
"Wait."
He didn't want to stop, but in spite of his best efforts there was no knighting the instinct to obey his older brother's orders. He paused in mid-step.
Ripster looked like he had a million questions to ask, but impressively managed to narrow his selection to one. "Where are you going?"
What an unpleasantly loaded question. Where could he go?
No, he was thinking about this the wrong way. The real question was, where couldn't he go? He didn't have anything to lose at this point, so he could take a walk down main street, or maybe see if Cindy would take a few hours off work to comfort a terminal Shark. The possibilities were endless really.
"Somewhere you can't follow," he said eventually. It was truthful, ironic and obscure, and the look of utter confusion on Ripster's face was well worth it. Blades didn't have many memories to cherish. That expression, and Paradigm's face turning as purple as his false stripes were quickly becoming his two favorites. "But you can tell the egotist there not to worry. You won't be seeing me again. This town isn't ready to handle two of him."
Blades forced himself to leave before Ripster could think of a reply, because otherwise he'd have been tempted to stay. There might have been some comfort in that, being surrounded by the people who were, for all intents and purposes, his friends and family as the end drew near…but he wasn't theirs, and there was enough in his life that had been fake. He'd chosen his own path and there was nothing to do but stick with it, even if it meant dying alone.
Someone was prying his eyelids open. Streex growled in petty defiance, and tried to push whoever it was off, but it didn't seem like his hands encountered anything. Either he was too numb to feel it, or he hadn't actually succeeded in lifting them. Considering how they felt like ten ton weights, the latter was entirely possible.
"Come on Streex." Now he was being shaken too. It as unpleasantly disorienting on top of the way the ground was already jumping around. "Wake up."
Ripster was always telling him to do things he didn't want to. So unfair. But his brother was being damn insistent about it so Streex decided that maybe he could force himself to rouse just long enough to tell Rip to leave him alone. Then he remembered that no, god, no, he really didn't want to be alone any more and there was the insistent notion that at some point while sitting in the dark, he'd promised to sell his soul for a chance to see any of his brothers again. Shortly thereafter his last memory came back, of Blades's evil, bloodthirsty leer, and he jerked unsteadily awake.
"Where's that two-faced bitch of a clone?" he slurred unevenly, looking around without really being able to see. "I'm gonna tear his fin off."
"Hey Streex, it's okay."
His head was grabbed and turned, and he fought it until he realized who he was looking at. His struggles melted into disbelief. "Rip?"
Ripster's grin looked a little wane, but relieved. "Yeah. You back with us?"
Streex didn't usually dig the whole family affection thing – he was too old to hug his brothers in public any more, but he did so right now and he didn't care who saw it. He might have been speaking too; he could pick out the frantic tone of his own voice but didn't have a damn clue what was coming out of his mouth. Three days of useless, pent-up worry, most likely.
Eventually he had to stop for breath, and without his own noise he could hear Ripster talking as well, quiet and soothing, and it didn't matter what he was saying either. He was there, and something in Streex finally eased. He could easily spend the next couple of hours being lulled by that voice, and the comforting hand rubbing his back, but the inconvenient prodding of memory reminded him that there was something he really needed to get off his chest, and he wasn't sure if Ripster would have heard it amongst the stream of babble even though he'd probably said it more than once.
"Rip," he said desperately. "Bro, I'm really sorry about what I said to you. I didn't mean it, I was just pissed, and it wasn't fair to you and I'm sorry."
He'd spent a long time composing a really long and eloquent apology, but damned if he could remember it now. Sincerity and desperation would have to do.
Ripster, however, just blinked without comprehension. "What?"
"You know, in the tunnel." It wasn't that long ago, and it had been the heaviest thing on Streex's mind while he'd been locked in that cage. Who'd have thought he wouldn't ever get the chance to apologize for a screw up like that.
"…Oh." Rip grimaced and shrugged. "I forgot. It doesn't matter now anyway."
"You…forgot?" Streex gaped, and then aimed a punch at his brother's shoulder which missed by a mile. "You jerk! That's all I've been stewing on for the last three days and you don't even remember?"
"Hey, calm down," Ripster grinned, grabbing Streex's flailing wrists and ignoring the muttered curses. "It's forgiven and forgotten, okay."
"Well I'm not forgetting it. Jeeze." But his ire faded and Streex stilled…and the took his wrists back and wrapped them around his midsection as though in sudden pain. "Oh man."
"What?" Ripster asked in alarm.
"I am absolutely starving. You wouldn't not believe it." Streex moaned long-sufferingly. "I need food, right now. Anything. Pull the tire off that car over there for me because, seriously, I'll eat it."
Ripster laughed, tension draining. "We can probably do better than that. Come on, let's get you home."
"Please," Streex agreed, remarkably subdued, and letting Ripster cradle him more than was strictly necessary.
Blades had never stopped to watch a sunrise. It would be his first, and his last. Very poetic that. He was pretty sure he shouldn't have lasted this long. His deadline had been up a few hours ago, but for some reason his heart was doggedly still beating. He felt like shit though. Couldn't walk anymore, could barely move, so he'd simply picked a nice spot to sit and wait.
Pity Fission City's pollution problem had colored the rosy pink sky with a faint hint of brown. Oh well. Couldn't have everything. At least he had a few pitifully squawking birds and the distant sounds of honking cars for company. It was a nice, mundane symphony of sound, and would have been relaxing except for the disruptive beat of heavy, labored footsteps coming closer. Turning his head was almost too much effort, but he managed, expect to see one of the unfortunate victims of his fun spree. Some people just couldn't take a joke. Well if they wanted their shot at him, they could have it.
But it wasn't.
"Well if it isn't my favorite pile of rags." Already his voice sounded rusty, like machinery left too long unused. "I was wondering about you…you're a bit late to the party." He looked harder, at the odd shiny footprints the thing was leaving, and observed, "You're getting slime on my roof."
The rags seemed to be huffing. Well Blades had chosen a pretty tall building to sit on. He hadn't liked all those stairs much either, but the view had been worth it.
"It took me a while to track you down," the old man grumbled. In the budding daylight he looked even more distorted. Not human. Blades might have been interested before but he couldn't dredge up the enthusiasm for anything.
"Yeah, well, I was busy. Night on the town. Was pretty good." His vocabulary was stunted too. Thinking was hard. Blades frowned. "Didn't think you were coming."
Was that sadness? Disappointment? The rag pile came closer, taking Blades's arm between its own thick but surprisingly agile finger. For an odd moment he thought maybe the thing was offering its sympathy, but the way it probed at his elbow was more clinical.
"Hey, I've composed my famous last words," Blades announced with an expression that tried to be a smile but was too exhausted. "Wanna hear them?"
"No," the rags grunted, pulling something from beneath its many layers. "You won't need them."
The last thing he felt was the pinch of a needle in his arm.
The may be an epilogue out in a couple of days. Thanks for reading this far:) Remember, comments are always appreciated.