Chapter 3
For the umpteenth time in a two-hour span Rhys had seriously considered asking Jack if he wanted more cheese to go with his whine.
Or if maybe he should call a whambulance, because seriously, Jack would not shut the hell up.
The sun was too bright, the heat was too overwhelming, and he was too sore to hear any more of what the older man would to do to the people who had shot an apparent missile launcher at their shuttle. As if he'd run out of horrible ideas, or what seemed like fantasies, of the gruesomely detailed acts of torture that these poor bastards would endure once caught. But oh no, when Jack ran out of the simple tactics, he got creative.
"...And then, ohoho, and then,when they're gurgling blood and other bodily fluids out of the gaping hole in their throats, I'm going to castrate them with a hot, rusty tire iron and make them watch as I feed their genitalia to a pack of skags. And then I'm going to beat the ever-living piss out of 'em…."
With a sigh Rhys raised his head to gaze up into the cloudless sky above him, tuning out Jack for another span of time. Pandora's insufferable summer heat was that much more excruciating when one is use to the consistent seventy-five-degree air conditioning of Helios. Rhys almost felt spoiled, and on a completely different note a little envious of the difference between him and Jack and how they both seemed to handle the desert temperature.
Rhys was drenched in sweat and had long taken his jacket off to tie it around his waist, the top three buttons of his undershirt undone to expose a portion of his sweaty pale chest, pant legs rolled up to his knees. And here Jack was, strolling next to him in all four layers of clothing, strapped to the hilt in heavy guns, and the older man only had what he could see as a light sheen of perspiration on his forehead.
Maybe all the bitching he was doing actually served as a cooling mechanism. Maybe.
He gulped, and swallowed nothing. His throat was so dry and the thought of a single drop of water drove him crazy. He wanted water, he wanted air conditioning, he wanted to be sprawled across his comfortable bed with all the flush pillows and soft sheets. But mostly, he just wanted Jack to shut up. Because the entire time he'd been throwing a tantrum in his head, the CEO was still going on about his unique torture methods.
"...and the photography crew I'm gonna hire are going to take high definition pictures, so I can send holiday cards to each of their family members. Haha, it's gonna be sweet, because instead of cheesy holiday quotes, It's gonna say something twisted, like Season's Slayings." He broke out in a cackle at that last comment.
"Jack." Rhys called out to him, deciding he'd had enough. Between the blazing sun and the horrible visions of mutilation and distasteful holiday cards to grief stricken families, he had to stop this before it drove off the last sane part of him.
"Haha, oh, Season's Slayings. Man, that's a good one."
"Jack."
"But seriously though, I'm gonna fill their family's stockings with their severed remains…."
"Christ, Jack!" Rhys snapped, a little harsher than he meant to, and he winced once he realized his tone. Jack had stopped talking but the heat of a pointed glare burning his back was clear sign that he was zoning in on Rhys now. The silence grew and with it more fidgeting out the younger man's body. If he turned around now his words would melt and cling to his tongue; Jack had a way with his eyes that could crack stone, could tear easily through Rhys in seconds, and he knew this from experience. He often wondered if Jack knew as well.
Both men stayed quiet the rest of the walk. Rhys focused on the sounds of his feet dragging across the sand and the sensation under the soles of his shoes. A shadow engulfed him for a short moment, catching his attention quickly and he gazed up to squint through the sunlight to watch the gliding form of a patient predator circling above him. He ran his tongue over his dry lips; man, what he wouldn't give for some fried Rakk eggs right about now.
From that moment things started looking decently optimistic.
Rhys blamed it on good timing. Jack blamed it on Rhys' wobbly "spider ant"legs and proceeded to compare his rather embarrassing tumble down a sandy incline to a newborn learning how to walk for the first time. Either way considered, Rhys found himself standing at the foot of a cave. A glorious, dark, cool, hidden cave. Needless to say it was a mouthwatering sight and the allure of it all hypnotized the chestnut haired man into a trance like walk into the opening.
Only to be stopped short by an arm pressed against his chest, coming between him and the shade he was so desperate for. Rhys snapped out of his trance when the rest of Jack suddenly appeared next to him, a stern caution etched into the frown on his face. His other hand reached to pull a pistol out from underneath his jacket, switching off the safety and cocking it in one fluid motion.
"Stay here and keep watch. Imma check the place out first." What could have been considered a touching proclamation was immediately ruined when Jack ruffled Rhys' wavy hair and added smugly, "can't have my little damsel running into distress."
Rhys swatted his hand away, pouting. "I'm not your damsel."
"Yeah yeah. Just shout if you need me, cupcake." Before Rhys could reply Jack ventured down into the darkness of the cave. There was no way to tell how long Jack had been down there, and Rhys was counting every step in his back and forth pace as if counting seconds. It wasn't helping, each minute felt considerably longer and he wasn't sure how long an hour was on this planet. When he found himself bored of pacing he decided to find a comfortable area on the wall of the cave to sit against. No sense wasting precious energy by walking in circles. His thoughts raced instead, of wondering if word of the explosion had gotten back to Helios yet, if Vaughn and Yvette both knew about what happened. Would Hyperion send a search party? Would they care to?
Rhys snorted. Of course they would. Handsome Jack's return shuttle had been blown to pieces, the man that ran Hyperion like a well-oiled machine was missing in action. The Board would search night and day for their precious CEO, that and if they failed to it would mean a one-way ticket out of an airlock for all of them if Jack found out.
But what about Rhys? The question startled him. What about him? He was just a Personal Adviser, which in his defense was a very important job, and he carried out high risk executive decisions on a daily basis, but…
A blunt pain in his back caused him to wince, and he shifted lower against the wall. The pain, however, wasn't enough to shake his mind away from it's current train of thought. It was childish to dwell on it, but the lack of comfort made room for uneasiness. He knew well that Vaughn would worry sick about him, would be on the next shuttle down to search for him with Yvette on his heels. That alone brought a distant warmth to his chest, but even they didn't have enough authority to carry out something like that. His thoughts were again broken this time by a sudden heavy yawn, eyelids becoming more difficult to keep open.
Maybe a small nap would do him good, would clear his mind of the anxiety. He knew he was supposed to be keeping an eye out, but the temptation of sleep was so...enticing. Five minutes wouldn't hurt. Rhys shut his eyes to the world with one last lazy blink, slipping into temporary peace.
Five wonderful minutes was all he wanted….
And he started to hear something that sounded like...sniffing. Like he was being sniffed. Was he dreaming already? He wasn't sure, but if he was it was an odd way to start a dream sequence. But there was something off that Rhys couldn't shake. The sniffing he could put up with, the hot puffs of air on his neck and his chest was a little unnerving, but he shifted uncomfortably when he felt like he was being watched. Intently.
Rhys opened his eyes, and sorely wished he'd have kept them closed.
The scars and sprays of dried blood adorning the mask inches away from his face were too detailed for his dreams to conjure. Another gust of hot breath in his face reassured that logic. Rhys blinked a few times to clear the sleep from his brain, replacing it with a jolt of panic.
If the mask wasn't the first clue, the bare ashen skin littered in shoddy tattoos hunched over him was definitely the dead giveaway.
What other great way to wake up than with a freaking psycho way too up in your personal space?
"...you have them."
Rhys almost didn't hear the whispered comment, assuming the psycho said it more to himself than to Rhys. When he did nothing the mindless Pandoran let out something akin to an impatient whine. "Give it…!"
"W-What?"
"M...Mmmm...meat sacks."
What?!
"They're mine! Give it!"
Wild hands were on Rhys faster than he could register, pushing him into the dirt, the psycho's full weight on top of him and pinning his legs. Those crazed hands gripped his shoulders, his neck, his chest, gripping at the collar of his shirt and tugging harshly until one of the buttons popped off. Rhys shouted, using his own hands to pry the man off him. The metal hand was doing a pretty good job of holding off the psycho's head with a strong palm to the jaw, but his flesh hand had been caught at the wrist and slammed back down to the ground beside his head.
"Delicious meat sacks. You covet! I take! I will taste the selfish desire in your blood!"
The shit coming out of this guy's mouth was, to be expected, but freaking crazy. Rhys yelped when blunt fingertips of the free hand frantically dug into his bare chest. Was this guy really trying to rip his heart out? His stomach lurched painfully. At this moment he regretted not asking Jack for one of his ex-girlfriend guns before he left, and not thinking ahead like he should have would now come back to bite him. Or in this case, tear his heart out.
"My babies, precious meat sacks. GIVE THEM TO ME!"
"You can't have them!" Rhys shouted the only sensible thing that came to mind, regretting it as soon as realized how idiotic that sounded and it only served to fill his attacker's unsteady eyes with indignant rage. Not only would he be awarded for most embarrassing last words, but now he was about to get mutilated by a pissed off psycho, who suddenly raised himself up into a sitting position and heaved a shrill scream.
"I'll drink the juices from your bra-!"
A hole between the eyes silenced the screaming, the back of the crazed man's head exploding with a sickening wet sound sending chunks of skull cap and brain matter in all directions. Rhys felt the ringing in his ears then, adrenaline rushing through him too fast to consider how or what caused it. The body above him leaned back at the impact and slouched forward to the young man's dismay to drop it's weight on top of him, blood and other fluids splattering over his face which helped little to none to quell the surging bile in his throat. He grabbed the corpse's shoulders with quivering hands attempting to push the dead weight off of him, but before he could a strong grip on the back of his neck dragged him out from under the body and tossed him out of the way until he landed roughly on his metal shoulder. Biting back a pained groan he shifted to his other shoulder in time to see Jack marching up to the lifeless psycho sprawled out to the ground, hissing curses and mumbled profanity.
"Sick piece of skag shit." He growled, pointing the gun close range and firing off another shot into the corpse causing Rhys to wince. He watched Jack closely, taking note of the way he stood over the body quietly and scowled hard, as if it would cower under the feared man.
After a moment of prolonged silence Jack tucked the gun back into the holster under his jacket and paused before whirling his body a complete 180 to face Rhys, and at the sight of Jack's hauntingly furious expression the younger man flinched back as if he too was shot point blank. Damn, that look sent a shiver of fear up his spine. He wanted to ease away, to turn invisible and get the hell out of the cave, far away from that vehement stare.
"Seriously, kid? The bastard's on top of you wanting your...meat sacks,er, whatever the hell that means, and all you can say is 'you can't have it?'"
Oh. That. Rhys definitely wanted to turn invisible now.
Jack rolled his eyes so hard his head lolled back, hands on his hips to accentuate his exasperation. "Christ, he was gonna maul you and you politely decline? This isn't fighting with your sister over a doll, princess." Rhys dropped his gaze to stare at the ground in front of his feet. His metal arm rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, suddenly feeling more ashamed than embarrassed. So much for not being anyone's damsel.
"M'sorry, Jack…." the younger man mumbled under his breath.
"Sorry? Sorry isn't going to save your ass out here, kiddo."
"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Rhys snapped back defensively, "He had me pinned. Plus, it wasn't like I invited him to attack me. He surprised me!"
"A psycho that sneaks up on people? Bullymongshit. Were you napping or something?"
Rhys opened his mouth to retort, but closed it immediately and glanced away once more to stare at the cave wall. He made his answer clear to Jack without even saying anything.
"That was your first mistake, sleeping beauty. I told you to keep watch. See what happens when you don't listen to Handsome Jack?" It was ridiculing enough being lectured like he was a child, so instead of answering Rhys kept his mouth shut. Thankfully Jack didn't pry for the answer. He heard the other man advancing toward him but his eyes remained on the cave wall to the right of him. Jack crouched down to meet eye level and when Rhys still didn't give his attention to the man he felt his chin firmly gripped between a calloused thumb and index finger, pulling his face back to meet the scrutiny of blue and green irises.
Jack let out a sigh so heavy it dropped his shoulders. "Don't make that stupid face. It makes me consider the thought of feeling slightly guilty for yelling at you."
By now Rhys has learned a bit of the man's language, so if he was correct in his translation he was sure that from Jack to English that translated as a partial I'm sorry for yelling at you. But even that was a big enough reason for Rhys to give in and lock his eyes with the other mans. A flood of diffidence overcame Rhys and he pursed his lips with the hesitance of saying his next choice of words. "I only closed my eyes for a few minutes…I didn't realize..."
"It only takes a second, kitten." Jack's tone had taken a quieter, more wiser tone than before that startled Rhys and he realized something; him and Jack were having a moment. He could feel his cheeks and his ears getting warm at the thought, the familiar annoying flutter in his chest creeping up on him before he could fight it off.
As soon as the moment happened it was no longer there. Jack stood up abruptly, the hand that gripped his chin let go and extended out for Rhys to grab hold. In turn he looked up at the older man with wide confused eyes, which was met with a wide toothy grin.
"C'mon, pumpkin. We'll come back here later. That little bastard's camp shouldn't be too far. Knowing them they travel in packs. Well..." he let out a chuckle that turned Rhys' blood cold.
"...Let's go wreck their shit up, shall we?"
True to Jack's hunch, it wasn't a very long journey before they found the dead psycho's campsite where they discovered two lone bandits huddled around a makeshift fire listening to propaganda from a tiny radio, random belongings scattered around them. Both the CEO and PA were crouched behind a large rock nearby, keeping out of sight – which was Rhys' idea that had won from a small argument on the trip there. It was either that or Jack busted in guns blazing.
"I wish I could hear what station they have on," Rhys whispered, "sounds like Hyperion broadcasting."
"That's nice, pumpkin." Jack didn't seem like he was listening to him, instead he eyed the skewered meat cooking above the fire. "Oh man, you smell that? God, I just realized how hungry I am."
The auburn-haired man rolled his eyes, but remained vigilant. "Maybe they have an echo communicator."
"Let's find out." Jack cocked his pistol and made to stand but was jerked back by the tug on his jacket. He looked down and met Rhys' frantic expression. "What are you doing?" he hissed, and Jack merely raised a questionable eyebrow at his young adviser. He waggled the gun in his hand. "What do you think?"
Rhys frowned. "Do we have to kill them? Can't we just...knock em out and take their stuff?" His question was answered with a pained groan.
"Rhysie, sweetheart, babycakes, must you make things harder than they should be?"
With full intention of arguing his case Rhys was immediately silenced when they heard the conversation between the two bandits, and he crouched lower bringing Jack down with him who for once gave in to Rhys' request and listened to the conversation.
"Do you believe what they're saying all over the radio, Mike? It's on every station."
Mike, the other bandit, gave a muffled answer like he was talking through a mouth full of food. "Nah. It's repetitive at this point. Said the same crap a few years ago, then six months ago something different. And now this….bah, it's all nonsense."
"You think so?"
"Don't get your hopes up. I'll give it three months this time before they say he's come back good as new."
There was a pause. "...the man's a fucking demon. Just never stays down, ya know?"
Jack and Rhys exchanged questionable glances. Were they talking about Jack?
One of the bandits busted out laughing, assuming it was Mike with the way he almost choked on his food. "Demon doesn't even begin to describe it. He's like the fucking Satan of this Hell."
Rhys rolled his eyes again and turned his attention back to the camp when Jack grinned smugly, almost bashfully. "Yeah, they're talking about me." Good lord, how a comment like that could stroke any ego he'd never know and frankly didn't want to.
The bandits continued their small talk. "I've heard rumors and such, about the destroyed towns and eridium experimentation, but that's about it."
"Oh, I've heard worse. Do you know what he did to his own daughter?"
Oh, fuck. Rhys palmed his face with his flesh hand. The poor bastards have unknowingly just signed their own death certificate. Every lizard, tree, and sensible human knew the first rule about Handsome Jack. Never, ever,bring up his family. And he could practically feel the heat radiating off Jack after that foolish comment.
"Jack...I know you want to kill them, but please, let's just…Jack? Jack?" When he finally raised his head to look at the other man, he found that he wasn't even there. Oh crap. This wasn't good–
"AAAAAGH!"
Rhys popped up from behind the rock instantly and gasped. One of the bandits were laid sprawled out and face down in the dirt, the other dangling in the air by his neck, squirming under the crushing grip of Jack's hand clenching around his throat. Acting fast he scrambled from behind the rock and ran over to the campsite, stepping over the body and approaching Jack with extreme caution.
He froze when he caught a glimpse of the twisted snarl on Jack's face, mimicking a rabid animal with all the mindless intent of ripping someone to shreds.
"You stupid stupid little bitch…don't you ever fucking talk about her….like you fucking knew her."
Rhys for the life of him knew not to intervene, knowing well this man's death would alleviate the pain of the sensitive nerve he clearly stomped on by mentioning Jack's daughter. The radio's broadcast caught his attention then, and he gladly turned away from the scene before him to focus on what had spurred the topic of the bandit's earlier conversation.
Another strangled cry sounded through the camp, most likely from Jack clenching his fist around the Pandoran's windpipe. "Y-You're…the devil…."
"You're goddamn right I am."
With a sickening snap the body stopped it's manic squirming and fell limp. Either Jack didn't notice or he was still absorbed in his bloodthirst, he dropped the body to the ground and proceeded to stomp the corpse repeatedly.
Whatever was going on in the world around Rhys was lost to him. His lungs burned, and he realized he had stopped breathing when panic seized his body, limbs hanging numbly at his sides. Brown and blue eyes stared at the little radio as if it was the cause of all his life's problems, his physical pains, his inner turmoil.
"...Jack…." he managed a whisper that sounded miles away from his ears.
Through his current blind rage Jack must have caught the despair in the younger man's voice and he stopped kicking the lifeless body to turn to watch Rhys staring at the radio, following his eyes to stare at the object, his ears picking up the automated voice soon after.
"This is an urgent Hyperion announcement. It comes with great sorrow to confirm the deaths of Hyperion President and CEO Handsome Jack and his Personal Adviser Rhys, who met their heroic demise earlier this evening due to an unfortunate shuttle explosion on their return to Helios. Their remains have been incinerated along with the crew aboard the ship. No further details have been brought to light. The board has announced the campaign for the available positions to begin effective immediately..."
The broadcast continued to repeat itself over and over, Rhys tore his gaze away slowly to lock eyes with Jack, who had mimicked the same action. They both stared at each other, the same wide realization setting in.
With one simple broadcast, it became evident that as far as the entire universe was concerned, Jack and Rhys no longer existed.