Hey guys! Sorry this one took so long, but I had to extensively rewrite it to satisfy m desire for good characterization. As always, a special shout-out to m faithful beta Amymimi! She's very fast and gives me great feedback! Don't be afraid to try reviewing yourself! I encourage any and all types of critiquing!
The look in Derek's eyes hardened immediately. He stood quickly, moving between her and the door in one swift motion. Charlotte noticed, once again, the titanium crowbar in his hand. He was squeezing it so hard that his knuckles were white, and she could see the muscles straining. But besides that, he maintained perfect composure. His face, which had been animated moments before, was now a marble mask. There were no emotions in his eyes, besides a hard edge that she had seen before. He used the same image when he threatened his men with death if they continued to question him.
"Explain," he ordered coolly.
"I… it's a long story," Charlotte excused lamely.
"You're not going anywhere anytime soon," Derek responded, steel thick in his voice, "except maybe on a one way trip out the window if you don't start talking."
Charlotte glanced at the window involuntarily, already well aware that she would not survive the descent if it came to that. "Derek, I-"she began, her tone pleading.
"You," he interrupted quickly, "are a spy. By your own admission, I might add. A spy who now knows far too much. A spy I am giving one chance to plead her case before I kill her. I can afford the risk; you're no threat to me. Now start talking," he ordered once again. But a subtle change had come over Charlotte now. Before, there had been indecision, confusion, and inner turmoil etched all over her. As he had spoken, however, a cold certainty had come over her. She looked at him now as what she was, strong, fierce, and not to be beaten down. Derek cocked his neck to one side, feeling the joints pop. This would be interesting.
Charlotte took two quick steps forward to get within arm's length of him. Derek tried to step aside, but there was little room to move in the cramped apartment. So instead he took the blow she had aimed at his neck in the shoulder instead. He was surprised by the amount of force her fist had behind it, but she was nowhere near the strongest opponent he had ever faced. He accepted the blow and countered with a jab from his crowbar into her gut.
Not expecting such a quick recovery, Charlotte took the attack full on, doubling over in pain and gasping for breath. Derek calmly stepped around her, and then took a swing at her exposed back with his weapon. He knew how to hit hard enough to elicit pangs of agony without severing her spine. "No…" he said as she collapsed onto the floor, whimpering now. "…threat…" he continued, striking at her ribs as she tried to rise. She screamed in pain as several of them fractured, causing her to fall prostrate once again. "…to me," he finished, pointing the sharp end of his crowbar downward and stabbing it into the back of her knee.
Charlotte cried out in mortal anguish as he crippled her. But Derek didn't stop pushing his crowbar until he had split her kneecap in two. She'd heal just fine with stimpacks and proper doctoring, but it would be months before she could do so much as walk around the tower. Not that he intended to let her heal. "Come out," he ordered the seemingly empty room.
Several of the tiles on the floor crumpled and fell aside as a form rose out of the apartment's disguised false floor. Justice looked over and hissed in reflexive sympathy for the pathetic figure of Charlotte. Her blood was pooling on the ground around her, and it didn't look like Derek was in any mood to help her. He just stood there, staring with hidden emotions at the beaten woman. He released his crowbar, and it remained stuck in her leg, standing straight up like it was fixed in concrete. "When you said watch her, I… wondered why you wanted me to do it myself," Justice said in an effort to end the silence.
His words seemed to awaken Derek. The man stepped forward, grasped his weapon firmly, and yanked it out of Charlotte's tortured knee. The poor woman's cries had died down, but at this she gave one final shriek of torment. Derek was glad his father had fixed a few of the rooms to be cells. Soundproofing and hidden watchers were a useful tool in keeping prisoners in line. He turned and pointed the sharp end of the crowbar, still dripping with blood, at Justice. "You will tell no one what you heard in this room."
The Regulator nodded quickly, holding up his hands. "Of course! I'm the first one to agree that we need to protect civilization however we can!" Derek searched his face, and then lowered the crowbar slowly, still watching him. Justice stepped warily to the side, getting close enough to the silent form of Charlotte to lean down and check on her. She was still breathing, but they were short, ragged gasps. "You probably broke a few ribs," he informed the other man. "She can barely breathe."
Derek's silence caused Justice to glance in his direction. Derek was staring, trancelike once again, at Charlotte. A single tear had broken through his stony façade to trail down Derek's face. Noticing Justice's scrutiny, he spoke; his voice emotionless, "give her a stimpack. One. Then take her to Simes." Justice nodded and took a stimpack from his belt. He stuck the needle in her neck and depressed the plunger. After a few moments, her breathing relaxed, and the blood flow from her knee subsided.
Justice lifted her into his arms, taking care not to aggravate her broken ribcage. "Cover her up," Derek said, still staring at the spot where she had fallen. Justice looked around for something to use, finally yanking the sheets off of the bed and draping them over his charge. With one final glance at Derek, he turned and left, Charlotte moaning softly in his arms. Once outside, however, he quickly sat her down and fished another stimpack out of his belt. He moved the sheets around, uncovered an arm, and stuck the needle into the vein and dosed her again. Then he hurriedly pocketed the spent syringe and got on his way.
Derek didn't move for awhile after Justice had left. He stood there, staring at the bloodstain Charlotte had left on the floor. No more tears adorned his face, though inside he felt a tide of bitter resentment drowning him. He had never wanted any of this: the power, the abilities, the leadership, none of it. He gave a short bark of frustrated laughter at the irony of his own existence: he hated what he was while others hated him for being it. Of the few who did know, no one really understood. Olivia was oblivious to his emotions, being friendly only when it suited her. He knew she fully expected him to come crawling back and apologize for his aloofness of late.
Simes cared, but only in the way he cared about everyone else: a tool to be used for the betterment of man. It wasn't his fault. The ghoul was very good at what he did, for a very good reason. That left only one other person who actually knew what Derek was anymore. Everyone else was either dead or so far gone they didn't matter.
Derek felt a fresh wave of misery wash over him as he thought of his father. He had loved the man, once. In a way, he still did. But his father had never been the same since Derek's mother had stolen his sibling away. He had never once shown his grief, though the three who remained had sensed it there, festering below his broken smile like an infection. The others had given up: gone away with Gaulm to save the world in their own way. Actually, it was more like they had fled with him, knowing things would get worse. Only he had stayed behind. He had wanted to stay behind. He had wanted to help his father. He still did! Instead, Derek had been forced to watch his father, the man he had once seen as invulnerable, fall beneath the weight of the world he had taken upon himself.
It had been gradual at first: he pushed his friends, his partners, and his child, away. He made plans by himself, discussions were replaced by commands, and the tower had become a dictatorship. Then the purges had come. Those who knew the truth were assigned on "diving operations," dubbed such by his father. They were given the bare minimum amount of men and supplies, and then sent deep into the "sea" of enemies to the east and west on "vital preemptive strikes." There was always someone there that needed killing. And there was always someone in the Raw Border that needed disposed of. No one suspected an ulterior motive.
Derek had been sickened by all of it: the betrayal of honest men, his father's paranoia, his gradual withdrawal from leadership until his son had been forced to begin making decisions. This latest stunt, leaving Carew Tower entirely with what few men he still trusted, was his father's escape attempt from a role he had long since given up. That Derek was now stuck here made no difference. He would keep the mantle that his father had discarded through lack of faith. Even if he despised all of it; his abilities, the role he had been forced into, what his father now was, he would run himself ragged to ensure a future for humanity.
A knock at the open door startled Derek out of his revere. Spinning, his crowbar up and ready to strike, he came face-to-face with the girl he had rescued from the Talon Company slavers. She stood there in the doorway, looking unafraid of the threat posed by his weapon. Instead, she was staring worriedly at the pool of blood on the floor. "Why?" she asked him simply, not averting her gaze. The girl always spoke softly, with as few words as possible. Some part of her was still afraid of punishment for being too forward. In the few weeks since the battle at Mt. Adams, Derek had tried giving her multiple names, but she insisted on being called Slave.
Derek shrugged, and then remembered she wasn't looking at him. "Someone wanted to betray me. I don't take that sort of thing well."
"Who?" was the soft response.
"Charlotte. The woman who came back from the slavers with you," he explained.
The young girl looked up at him now, the concern still plain in her eyes. "She okay?"
Derek shrugged. "I don't know. I hurt her pretty badly."
The girl, Slave, for lack of a better name, tilted her head in curiosity. "You not sorry?"
Derek sighed, and his shoulders sagged. He found that, in spite of the malice he had felt to the woman, he honestly was disgusted with himself for assaulting her that way. "Yes," he said in a subdued tone. "I wish I hadn't now."
"Good," she said in a much happier tone. She gestured to the blood on the floor. "Too much like where I'm from. People here nicer, I'm happier."
Derek gave her a small smile. "I'll try not to hurt anyone if it upsets you."
Slave's expression brightened considerably, and she ran forward to hug him bodily. "Feel better?" she mumbled into his midsection.
A little startled, Derek patted her head in return. "Yeah, I am. Thanks… Slave." He mumbled the last word, still a little averse to the idea of that being her name.
But the look on her face when he called her that was ecstatic. She beamed up at him, then excitedly took his hand and started dragging him out the door. "Come with! Let's see your robot!" He followed her passively, content to be dragged to any destination so long as it kept him distracted from the bitter tide of emotions that Charlotte had brought forth.
As they walked through the halls, Derek noted a marked change in the young girl. As the pair moved through the more populated areas of the tower, the smile on her face vanished. She no longer led him, instead keeping close to his side. Whenever someone brushed against her, she cringed as if burned. Derek actually heard her yelp when someone called his name from behind them. It was only when they were alone in Mato's personal garage that her exuberance returned. Derek wondered how she survived in the halls alone, even how she slept at night.
The two of them spent hours tinkering with the sentry bot, and by the end of it they were both covered in grease and laughing hysterically as Mato rolled around with no head. "Feeling better?" she asked again. Derek thought about it and realized that he did.
"Yeah, thanks. I really appreciate it." Slave beamed at him. "I need to go though," he said apologetically. Instantly the girl's expression fell. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed quickly. "But an important message came today and I need to go over it." Mato whirred by, knocking over a pile of spare parts. "Could you clean this up?" he asked tentatively, pointing to both the robot and the mess they had created. Slave nodded and immediately got to work. After thanking her one last time, Derek turned and left the garage. It was time for a shower.
The ruler of the Raw Border lay back in his chair as he studied the communiqué from The Pitt. It had arrived while he had been occupied earlier in the day. But now, with the moon out and the tower dormant, he had the time to peruse it. The note was hand-written by Ashur himself. It read:
To whomever is currently in charge of keeping the Raw Border secured: The first stage of the plan is in effect. As was predicted, Old Balto is no longer in radio contact. My commanders think the Talons there have been decimated. As per your recommendations, I haven't told them the whole story. They only know to be ready when the threat comes. I have good men along the Susquehanna River, because I think they'll keep using their boats until they have to go overland. We'll know well in advance where they go first. My men are ready, and we have surprise on our side. They won't be expecting the trogs.
PS: The medical equipment and staff we salvaged from Old Balto are like another Marie. Sandra has never been more hopeful that the cure we desperately need is near. Don't worry about the people of Balto: they're being treated with the utmost courtesy. Thank you for the suggestion that we utilize their expertise.
Derek reread the note, then crumpled it in his hand and stuffed it into his shotgun. He opened one of the windows nearby, then pointed the weapon out the door and fired. "Perfect paper shredder," he praised himself as the scraps of paper drifted away on the night air. Derek reloaded his gun, and then set it back on his desk. He had preparations to make.
First, he made the trip to the basement where the yao-guai, Panama, was being kept. She hadn't given Derek any reason not to trust her, but he wasn't about to take chances with a wild animal. She was to stay away from the others living in the tower. But the bear was still housed, fed regularly, and given shelter from the nasty Sin'Nati winters. Derek thought she had no room to complain. "Bear!" he called. The answering growl told him Panama was awake. "Okay! You can sleep now!" A hulking shadow further off in the poorly-lit basement shifted slightly, then settled.
Derek stepped over several pieces of junk, navigating the cluttered basement floor. He reached the far end, near where Panama was still trying to sleep, and felt along the wall for the switch he was looking for. He flicked it when he discovered it, and a square of light appeared and grew bigger as a garage door slid opened. By chance, the light fell directly on where the yao-guai was resting. She lifted her head to shoot Derek what he thought was a withering glare, before reluctantly trumping off into a darker, quieter corner of the basement.
Derek turned and looked into the lit room he had just exposed. Inside were several valuable pieces of pre-war technology. A vertibird, covered in dust, sat silently in one corner of the storage space. Next to it were several military vehicles: jeeps, trucks, and an armored troop carrier. What made all of these valuable, however, wasn't the fact that they had been preserved beneath the ruins of Sin'Nati. Instead, their worth was in their usefulness: all of these vehicles were in perfect, well-maintained working order.
"Planning on leaving us?" an impish voice inquired from behind him, in the darkness.
"No, but I'm willing to give you the vertibird if you swear to find someone else to annoy," Derek responded. He was pleased by how confident he sounded.
Olivia stepped forward, a pout on her features. If nothing else, she was consistent. "That was mean."
Derek shrugged. "I don't care. No one's accused me of being a nice guy."
Olivia sighed, stepping in front of him and crossing her arms. "I'm mad at you," she informed him in a sullen tone.
"Good for you," Derek responded, wondering why he was tolerating this at all.
"Why are you acting like a spoiled brat?" she demanded, glaring at him.
Derek squeezed his crowbar tightly, resisting the urge to beat her with it. "I could ask you the same thing," he retorted. She looked taken aback by that, so he went on while she was quiet. "I thought we were friends! You told me we were friends! You used the words "forever," and "love!" You even said we could be more than that! And you know what? I believed you! Too bad every other time I see you, you're chasing after a random hired gun!"
Olivia's glare faltered, and she took a step towards him. "Derek…" she began.
Derek pushed her back firmly. "Don't," he warned her. "Don't pretend anymore. You're my friend. But that's all you'll ever be. Just say so and be done with it."
Olivia sighed again, and turned away from him. "I'm willing to give us a chance…" she insisted, her head down.
"You're not worth the pain and effort," he informed her bluntly.
Olivia whirled to face him, but one look at his face forced her angry retort back down her throat. Derek was calm, certain of what he was doing. There was no doubt in his mind that letting her go was the right thing to do. She understood this, and gave up the fight. Instead, she stepped forward and embraced him tightly, burying her face in his chest. He hugged her back, happy that she wasn't furious or depressed.
"So," she said after letting go of him and turning to face the fleet of vehicles once again. "What are we doing with these?"
"We're going on a diplomatic mission," Derek informed her, moving to stand beside her. "The Island needs to be dealt with."
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