It was suddenly awkward once she walked in the kitchen; Jason had gotten up earlier than her out of hunger, and she was surprised to find Grayson quietly digging into his cereal as he watched the news of the supernatural event on Pioneer Bridge. The reporter was having trouble describing the battle which took place on the bridge, unable to fathom the likes of magic being present in Gotham and the concept of magic not being used to fix the city. Jason was by the fridge, taking out what remained in the pizza box, and laid a kiss on her forehead as she walked past him. "You're up early, Gray," she teased, taking a seat by the island counter next to the vigilante, and frowned when he didn't respond to her. "Don't tell me you're mad at me."
He almost chuckled at her, "Why would I be mad at you?" His emphasis on the last word was incredibly obvious; he was mad at Jason, but all the latter did was raise his brow in recognition of his name whilst eating his way through a pepperoni slice.
"Because I didn't tell you everything. If I were you, I'd be pissed off, and I can't blame you if you are. "She sighed, "Look, if you want to know anything, you can just―"
"Who is Arcadius? Why do you keep passing out? Why are these people after you? 'cause I sure as hell know you didn't just piss them off."
She sighed, "Arcadius is a god that lives in my body, namely a God of War. Not a goddess, a god. I'm not wrong on the pronouns. In order for Arcadius to provide me with his power, I have to tune myself to him. And since he's transcendent and I'm not, he provides me with power in bursts large enough that my body won't break apart when I absorb it. Right now, he's dormant but gathering his strength through Shards of Arcadius."
"Which is why you keep passing out. Explains a lot."
"Syndicate...Sinclair is after me because he was supposed to inherit Arcadius, not me. While in my body, Arcadius boosts my ice manipulation to limit-breaking possibilities as well as my healing capabilities, he even gave me access to infrared perception without having to use him as a conduit. In Sinclair's hands, however, I don't even want to imagine what he would do with power like that. His specialty is pain manipulation by controlling nerves in the body, but with Arcadius it can become pain on every single level of the mind, body and soul."
Grayson dropped his spoon in the bowl in surprise, letting out a sharp exhale as he pushed the bowl aside, "Wow. That is...a lot to take in."
"I never wanted to hide this from you, Gray, you should know that. But not knowing at all could've saved your life. I'll do everything I can to make sure you stay safe."
"That's...very noble of a mercenary."
"I...I like to think of myself as a self-proclaimed anti-heroine, my mercenary status holds a lot of weight I'm not ready to bear again." Then she snapped out of her trance and looked around the kitchen, "Where did Morpheus and Kyle wander off to?"
"They left, said that you wouldn't need them for a while and that Arcadius has found peace. Where they went, probably the City of Light." She hummed and attempted to fix her messy hair, glancing over at Jason who was back in the fridge again and the clinking of cans confirmed his intentions. "But how are you feeling, Blake?"
"Me? I feel...sentimental. Going after the same people twice is a bad case of deja vu. In fact, there's something you two should know." Alias let out a sigh of resentment as Jason moved so that the three of them were by the island counter, a distant look that glazed her hues that immediately captured the boys' attention. "This was something I should've told you, both of you, a long time ago. God…"
"Come on, Blake," Grayson nudged her shoulder. "Trust us."
"I do trust you. I've always trusted you. It's just a matter of trusting myself. Remember when my memories were completely fragmented? They've all fallen into place, every single one, but Sinclair takes up the majority of what I've experienced."
"What are you talking about?" Jason piped up this time, taking a swig from his can.
"Sinclair was...he was my first." Dead silence, and the nothingness that flooded the room said it all. Jason stayed motionless when the silence became heavy but Grayson reacted, his eyes wide and jaw slack. "When he took me in, he didn't put me under treatment but helped me overcome my mortal illness. He cared for me. In Syndicate he...he was the world to me and admittedly, I loved him. We were together for a while. I had never felt so needed by a person, and he taught me how to live but..." By now her composure changed, from confident and open to closing herself off by not meeting their eyes and crossing her arms tight around her chest. No, no this wasn't the Alias they were used to seeing. Someone afraid of talking about the person they loved. Although Grayson couldn't tell, fire began to burn at Jason's chest. Not of the jealousy that didn't exist, but the anger that wanted to set the skies alight.
"What happened?" Grayson asked. "What did he do?"
She hesitated, "...he killed me."
More than everything was good.
Screams of a familiar voice bounced off the solid walls and enveloped the frames that stood to attention of their general, a younger, more careless pink-haired girl being dragged across the door by her hair with her voice cranked to max and her lungs on nothing but fire. Pulling her along was Sinclair, easily fighting against her pointless squirming and thrashing. "Ladies and gentlemen," he piped up. "Let this be a lesson to whoever finds themselves ruminating about an order made by me" He carelessly threw the girl into the room once he reached his destination, two black-clad members already picking her off the floor and forcing her into a chair in the centre. But her anger snapped and she managed to twist her grip out of one of them, her instincts shaping her violet ice into a spear to stab through the heads of one of the troopers.
"Let go of me!" she yelled, but her protesting was to no avail as her jaw locked in response to her nerves burning and her body slumped, Sinclair scowling in disappointment while he shoved her into the chair and strapped her in. The sore marks on her wrists and ankles were almost comforting when the belts were fastened to place. He leaned back to admire his work before whispering something to one of his men, a smirk dusting his lips.
"Not talking. Devil cut your tongue?" Nothing. "87 days and still counting. Huh, we might have to start counting in months if you keep up your spirit. I say, for someone as stupid as you, I'm surprised you're not dead yet."
"...p...please…" she muttered. "...Tae...yeon...I can't…"
"Can't what, Alias? I know you can't see, I sewed your eyes shut."
"...I...didn't me...an to…"
"And you're still talking about it? I gave you a direct order, and you disobeyed. So this is where you end up. I've only sung high praises about you to everyone I've met, telling them that you're my best mercenary." As Sinclair ran into his next sentence his hand clasped tight around her throat and that was all it took to get her screaming in agony again, although she attempted to suppress it through bared teeth, "And this is the thanks I get?! After all that I've done for you, Alias! Huh?!"
She couldn't even form a reply, her mind completely scrambled by blasts of white and muscles clenched so tight blood spilled from her lips as she didn't realise her tongue was caught between her jaws. Once he let go, Alias instantly doubled over to spit out the crimson and fought the tears that stung her swollen eyes. "Let's see if losing your eyesight was worth it. How hot am I? And round it to 3 decimal points."
She strained her neck to move her blinded vision towards him, a concentrated look on her bruised, freckled face as she centred Sinclair's heat signature. But with several more padded bodies in the room and her lingering pain displacing her senses, she clenched her fists and reopened the wounds in her palms. But then something hot, blazing hot, spread against her nose and numbers flashed in her mind. For a second, there was clarity. She spoke. "37...point 617 degrees Celsius..."
He flashed a genuine smile after he checked his signature on his gauntlet, "There she is, my favourite mercenary. Almost makes me sorry for sewing your eyes shut. And for loving you. But can I ask you: why didn't you kill him. Hmm? Please, I'd love to know."
Alias shivered, "But...if I...if I say any―thing…"
"I won't hurt you. You know I never lie to you, Blakelyn. Come on, tell me."
"...he...he saved my life…"
"He did? And how was that? You were sent to kill him."
"You did...but―he didn't just save me...he helped me…"
"Oh~, do I hear a mercenary regrowing their conscience? Alias, I trained you better than this―"
"He reminded me...of you." Sinclair's intimidating expression glowered at his ex-lover's confession, her hands trembling so much that he suddenly had the urge to clutch both of them warmly. "That's why I...that's why I couldn't kill him. The funniest thing about it...was that he knew...he knew I was sent to kill him. But―he didn't care…" He sighed deeply and reduced to his knees between her parted legs to wipe the tears from her pale cheeks. Even though this was his job, seeing her genuinely cry struck a tender nerve in him.
"You can see me, can't you?" He whispered softly and hugged her chest, with Alias reacting by placing her cheek on his head.
"I don't have to...to know that you're not happy with me...but it's okay. I don't care what you do to me, Tae...but understand this. All the torment you put me through―it can never compare...to the love I have for you. So why don't you kill me…? Am I some sort of broken toy...that you care for? You trained me to love you. But you also trained me to kill." The heat was back again, and her hands tightened into fists. "And that's exactly what I'll do." Sinclair widened his eyes but he was too late to jump back as she phased herself through time, freezing her shackles to absolute zero and freeing herself from captivity and raised her hand to strike him. Just as she was about to spear him through the chest something happened, his hand was burning, unbearable heat that spread through his palm and before he knew it, he touched the centre of her chest.
Arcadius.
Alias reacted immediately, the ice spear she summoned shattering on contact as she doubled to the floor, nothing but raw screams bringing an uneasy feeling in the stomachs of the Syndicate troopers that stood watch around them. She rolled onto her back, trying to fight whatever force suffocated the light that sparked her abilities and suddenly pale violet glass crawled from her reddened lips, her hands scratching it away but to no avail. Sinclair glared hard at the hand he touched her with, shocked at the arcana he never knew he had, and moved his sight to the pink-haired girl on the floor, her movements less aggressive. No, more strained. "I never wanted to kill you, Blake," he said sadly as he looked down at her, her once hazel eyes glazing over to a shade of lilac. She stopped moving.
"I never wanted you to leave me."
So tell me where it went so bad.
Sinclair had his back pressed against the wall and kept his arms crossed as Rex screamed with the voice he didn't have and fought for escape, body restrained to a metal chair with Rhys beside him siphoning through the vigilante's memory banks and thought processes via concentrated telepathy. He could see it from here, how fragmented his mind was after Chaos robbed him of his repaired vocal chords, and persistently fought the urge to walk over there and shut Rex up himself.
Fucking hell. For a psychic, he screamed really loud.
"Wait." Rhys immediately stopped and blinked in recomposure. In turn, Rex heaved and gasped and choked, still sputtering curses and threats. Sinclair, unfazed by his explosive demeanour, knelt down in front of him and frowned. He was crying, sweating and bleeding. This wasn't the Rex he knew. Rex would've fought back, probably would've separated Sinclair's consciousness from his mind because his telepathy was just that strong. But this was Rex, an anti-hero with the exact same blade as Rhys but the exact same pride as Alias. A shame. "Rex Downey," he started off carefully. "Do you know who I am?"
A...fucking coward―. He had shivered out his words, he was obviously still in pain from that drop. He was lucky Sinclair even revived him. A couple of seconds later and he definitely would've died from the shock to his spine. I mean, Rex could have survived the drop, but being lost in a hazy reality meant he was easy pickings.
"Tae, I―"
"No." The Syndicate founder held up his hand to Rhys and she backed away once. "It's not that he doesn't want to remember. It's that he can't remember. I've been trying to read his mind but Chaos seriously did a number on him. Fuck, that guy couldn't cut him some slack? My orders were strictly to capture Rex, not cripple him."
"So what do you want me to do?"
"Not kill him, that's for sure. He still means alot to me...I was the man who saved him from death and this is the thanks I get."
"There's psychic bindings to his memory banks. I'm not an adept but I'll do what I―"
"No, you can try tomorrow. For now, you can go."
Rhys paused. "Don't get soft while I'm gone."
He had moved parallel to Rex once his sister had left, pulled up a chair and sat directly opposite to the man, and bit his bottom lip. "Rex," he sighed, roughly combing back his hair and undoing the top button to his shirt with his free hand, and the Meta barely met his eyes as pain blinded his vision. "I need you to help me. Help me restore balance to your beautifully complex mind."
A shadow's laying where you should. So tell me where you've gone with my heart...you stole.
