Chapter Summary: Karl attempts to kill Ethan without success.

X

Karl cleared his throat as he leaned into the microphone. Beyond the window, he could see a movement along the bridge leading up to the factory. But he wasn't nervous, not anymore. His plan felt fortified and secure, just like his factory. There was no way in hell that he'd let himself fall prey to insecurity and fumble this opportunity. He was a man with a plan now - renewed and baptized by the roaring waters of his ego. The storm of his vengeance lay heavy upon the horizon, inching closer and closer by the second, making its way across the bridge.

He decided that he was going to use his radio voice. Years spent listening in to foreign broadcasts and watching his brother's gaudy monologs in the black church had taught him a thing or two about coming off as a captivating gentleman. Only a few hours earlier, Marianne's ghost had suggested that he dazzle Ethan. And, by god, he'd do just that.

He pressed a button on the microphone, activating the speakers that had been strung up around the factory. A deep breath in, a crooked smile, and then-

"Ah!" He exclaimed. "E-than Win-ters," he took another breath in. "Welcome!"

The figure on the bridge paused, no doubt looking around for the source of the sound. Karl leaned closer to the window and squinted. It looked as if Ethan had drawn his gun, and was moving with renewed vigor across the land.

"I didn't think you'd make it past Donna or Moreau. But I suppose you've survived worse back in America, hm?" He ran his tongue over his teeth before leaning back with a smile, the microphone tilted towards his face. "I like you….I'd like to speak to you about Rose and Miranda. Oh! Come on now! Don't worry-" his grin broadened. "It's not a trap."

He flicked the switch to his microphone and tossed one leg over the other, leaning so far back on the legs of his chair that he was at risk of falling over. He would have sat there simply meditating upon what was to come forever, but the alarms at the factory doors blared and he realized that Ethan Winters had already made his entrance.

Damn, he thought to himself as he hopped off the chair and grabbed his hammer, the man was fast.

He forced himself to take a leisurely stroll down the staircase, headed back towards his office as he followed the sound of Ethan's footsteps. He could hear the other man's ragged panting, and then the swish of the curtain separating the office from the adjacent hallway. The hammer was leveraged comfortably along his shoulders as he turned the corner and walked into the room. Ethan hadn't noticed him yet - engrossed, as he was, in the pictures hanging above Karl's desk. No doubt the picture of Mia Winters had caught his attention immediately There was a pistol hanging limp from the man's hand - Karl noticed this immediately.

"Truth hurts, don't it?" He called out and Ethan spun around in alarm. He immediately clasped both hands around the pistol and thrust it between them, but Karl made sure not to flinch. "Let me guess," he said before dropping his cigar onto the stone floor. "You're thinking take me out like the others and then you get to go and save Rose, right?"

Finally, Ethan lowered the gun. Much to Karl's relief. The man's battle with the other three lords must have winded him. Ethan looked like shit, despite the observations made by certain women.

"I'm healing my daughter," Ethan growled before swiping his hand across the sweat rolling down his forehead. Though it had often been said that sentimentality did not suit Karl, he decided to give it a try. Put on a show. Dazzle Ethan with a display of considerate compassion.

Though the thought of doing so turned Karl's stomach.

"Look, y-you've got this all wrong-"

A sudden revving sounded out from the lower level, cutting him off mid-sentence and throwing him completely off track. He had completely forgotten that he had transferred Sturm to the cellar below his office a few days ago. The sound of his voice must have roused Ken from his mechanical dormancy, and now the damn bastard was revving and throttling with a passionate fury. Of all fucking times, Karl thought to himself as he stormed over to the grate leading down to the cellar.

"Damnit, I'm talking here," Karl muttered in a venomous tone before throwing the grate open. "Shut yer fucking hole!" He yelled down before spitting into the cellar for good measure. Then, remembering that Ethan was still in the room, he sheepishly wiped his hand across his lips and said 'sorry about that' in a tone that came across as a little too stiff for his liking.

He hadn't missed the look on Ethan's face - that oh-so-familiar expression of bare-faced confusion that the villagers had been fond of using on him throughout the years.

"Friend of yours?" Ethan asked slowly, gesturing with his gun at the grate. Karl shook his head and turned away, his cheeks warm with embarrassment.

"God, no." He grabbed a chair and placed it firmly before Ethan. "Take a seat," he offered in what he wrongfully assumed was a gracious voice.

Ethan did no such thing and Karl was forced to walk away from him lest his growing impatience got the best of him. Time to switch gears again. His attempts at sentimental consideration had failed - thanks to the awkward interruption courtesy of his brother - and now it was time to reason with the man.

"Listen, Ethan," he said with some difficulty. "You're being played."

"What are you talking about?" Ethan said back. "You think this is a game?"

That comment managed to press all the wrong buttons at the same time. The chair stood between them - an inanimate reminder of Ethan's obstinance in refusing to sit down. Everything - every little damn thing in Karl's life - boiled down to powerplay and he was getting tired of it. Miranda with her coy little insinuations, the Duke with his inflated implications, his own damn servants talking back to him, Ethan refusing to take a goddamn seat. His rage had finally boiled over. He grabbed a knife, threw it as hard as he could at the wall, and then shoved Ethan backward into the chair.

"I SAID SIT!" He roared before twisting Ethan's collar just hard enough to show that he wasn't fucking around. "When a man offers you a seat, you fucking take it!"

"Are you unhinged!?" Ethan snapped back. Karl leaned down until they were face to face, close enough to feel Ethan's breath gusting across his neck.

"You think I'm unhinged? I'll show you unhinged. I'll fucking-" he paused, suddenly remembering why they were both there in the first place. He needed Ethan's alliance. And already he was off to a terrible start.

He removed his hand from the man's collar and backed away slowly, eyeing him carefully through the narrow squint of his eyes. There was a single lamplight burning in the room, and somehow the light from the humble flame was enough to send white hot spears slashing through his retinas.

"Lady Supersized Bitch," he uttered before slinging a knife toward his wall. "Ugly-ass psycho doll. And that moronic freak." Now, all three pictures had been impaled. He stood staring at them for a moment before turning to face Ethan again. "Don't you get it?" He pleaded. "It's a test…to see if you're strong enough to be a part of Miranda's family!"

"I don't want to be a part of Miranda's family-"

"Neither did I BUT HERE WE ARE!" Karl cried up to the heavens. "And I'm next in line, right? Kill me - move up the chain?! Well, fuck that!"

This time, Ethan jumped as the fourth knife penetrated the wall with enough force to send the tacks rattling. Still, the man clung to his obstinance like a child hanging on tight to a treasured toy. Karl could sense Ethan's eyes on his back and could feel the man's loathing from across the room. Ethan's attitude nettled his already agitated conscience. One more chance, Karl thought as he forced himself to keep his gaze on the wall, but if he says the wrong word, I swear to God I'll-

"I don't give a damn about your personal issues," Ethan said, his voice betraying an amused sense of pity. "I just wanna fix my daughter!"

Karl forced himself to laugh this one off. He had to before he found it in his heart to scalp the man. "So do I!" He rumbled. "Do you have any idea how powerful that kid is? Even Miranda's scared of her-"

Again: the grating revving coming from the cellar. Sturm was on a roll now, and wouldn't be shut up so easily. There was that final straw teetering on the proverbial camel's back - any second now, Karl felt as if he would implode what with the noise and the failing attempts at conversation and the heat of the room. He threw his hands up in disgust and then stormed back over to the grate.

"Last time, you freak! I swear to God-!"

He took a deep breath in - really filled his lungs to capacity with the fetid office air - and then turned to look at Ethan. Back in America, the man must have been one hell of a poker player judging by the blank slate of his face. But Karl had one more trick up his sleeve, one that was bound to break and unsettle Ethan.

He snatched his glasses off and set his Devil eyes upon Ethan, baring his teeth in his odd facsimile of a smile for good measure. But the dim lighting of the office must have been working against him, or maybe Ethan was blind as a fucking bat for he barely even shifted at the sight of Karl's infamous irises.

Which only succeeded in making Karl feel stupid.

"You and me, Ethan," he tried in one last desperate attempt to convince the other man. "Together…we go save Rose! And then we can use her to grind Miranda into paste!"

"My daughter is not a weapon - fuck you!"

Karl reared back at this. The spit flying from Ethan's mouth had startled him more than the words themselves. Looking into Ethan's eyes, he suddenly felt that old feeling of unease that had washed upon him back when he had learned of Ethan's execution of Moreau. Something dawned on Karl then and he realized that Ethan Winters was simply too dangerous to be kept alive.

He slammed his foot against the leg of the chair and caught Ethan just as he was about to go tumbling backward into the cellar.

"Last chance," Karl said, but only because he was a gentleman and was bound by his word to Marianne to be a purveyor of consideration. "You don't want to find out what's in that hole."

Ethan held his gaze with confidence, even though sweat was streaming into his eyes. "I'll take my chances."

Such a shame to have to destroy such a pretty face, he thought he heard Marianne say in the back of his head. It was this comment that forced him to make his final decision.

He snickered. "Your funeral," he said before letting go of Ethan's wrist and watching as he tumbled into the cursed cellar.

X

Miranda didn't pick up on the first call, nor did she pick up on the second. This was worrying, as only the Lords of the village had access to her direct line. And, considering the fact that the other three were dead, she should have known that Karl was calling.

He stuck the tip of his blade into his finger as he listened to the ringing on the other line. Finally, there was a slight crackle and his heart almost jumped out of his chest at the sound of her voice.

"Karl!" She said breathlessly. "Where are you? Are you alright?"

A woman was screaming and pleading in the background, and he assumed that Miranda was in her laboratory performing experiments on Mia Winters. He gave the knife's tip a little wiggle along his skin, for some reason unsure of what to say.

"I'm fine, Mother Miranda."

"Where is he? Where's Ethan Winters?"

"He's dead. I tossed him in the cellar with Sturm."

He heard her take a deep breath and then sigh on the other end. Somewhere in the room, Mia Winters was crying softly. The sound of it made him uneasy. There was no telling what Miranda had done to her. "

"Sturm? Your brother?" Miranda asked. "That man did not have mental fortitude enough to kill a fly if it landed on him."

"Remember, Mother. I took off his head and fortified it with scrap metal. It was an improvement!"

"Improvement?" There was a sharp scream in the background that was quickly silenced with a grunt from Mother Miranda and a fleshy thump. "Improvement," her voice clarified as she returned to the phone. "Are you sure that Ethan Winters is dead?"

"Dragged his limp body out of the cellar myself," Karl lied. Though it was reasonable to assume that Ethan had been shredded to pieces.

Or so he thought.

"It is not enough," Miranda said quickly. "You have to burn his body. I told you that man is made of different stuff. He can and will defy execution if it is not done properly."

"Uh-huh," Karl grunted distractedly, watching the black blood roll down his finger.

"Heisenberg!"

"Mother Miranda," Karl said slowly, interrupting her. "A-are you…proud of me?"

All that he needed was for her to say yes. He needed her to comfort him, to betray some sense of motherly love now, at the end of all things. Maybe if she did he wouldn't kill her. Maybe those five little words - I am proud of you - would be enough to smother the flame of hatred licking voraciously at the chambers of his heart. He wanted her to break him down, make him feel like a child again - make him feel that he could run to her and be encircled in her embrace. As God was willing to forgive, so was he.

"Proud of you?" She cried in a high-pitched voice. "Why would I be?"

He stabbed the knife so deep into his finger that its point impaled itself on the surface of the desk beneath his nail.

"-I gave you an order, Karl, and you fumbled your way to its completion!" She was screaming at him now, her voice growing louder by the second. "You were supposed to have killed Ethan days ago when you first brought him before the council! And so what did you do!? You put on a little show with your Lycan friends and let the man escape unscathed! It is your fault that he killed the rest of the lords! It is your fault that my children - Salvatore, Alcina, and Donna - are dead! Your siblings, Karl Heisenberg! And now you sit here and tell me that you haven't even burned the body? Have you no discretion? Have you not a speck of intelligence in your goddamned skull-?!"

"You're the one who brought him to the village in the first place!" He screamed back.

"A mistake on my part that I thought would be remedied by my faith in you!"

"You ever heard of the word 'gaslight,' Miranda?" He growled. "None of this is my fault."

"And so tell yourself that if it makes you sleep better at night. But do not ask me about pride anymore. There is no pride for a dog who retrieves a squirrel for its master and destroys it in the process-"

"-you calling me a dog now?"

"I am extending you the same courtesy that you extended to me when you compared me to the damn 'bitch of a hound' that you shot because it bared its teeth at you! What, son? Have words failed you again? Good, because I do not want to hear you speak. The only thing that your brother did right was fry your vocal cords years ago when he had the chance. If only he had completed the job!"

They both fell silent, the sound of their heavy breathing dancing back and forth on the line. Karl's finger was dripping blood all along his desk but he did not care. His eyes found Mother Miranda's picture hanging on the wall above him. He'd give her two days tops before he tore down her fortress and lapped up the blood sliding down her severed neck.

And then she spoke again.

"Karl," she said in a hoarse whisper. "I am sorry. It was wrong of me to lash out at you. I just…Ethan Winters' cruel execution of the other Lords felt all too similar to the execution of my daughter by God's hand. As the years go on, I only lose more and more of my children. And I cannot bear the thought of losing you, as well, my chosen son. My anger was misplaced, and I have dishonored you. Tell me: do you still love me? If you say no, then I shall consider my heart shattered for the last time."

No, no, no, no, no.

Yes.

He balled his hand into a fist and then opened it to swipe his hand across the jaw, drawing a cold and sticky trail across his face. "Sometimes love requires letting go of that which binds you," he said, using the very same phrase that she had uttered to him many years ago when they were as close as they would ever be. "Mother Miranda. I will never let you go."

"I'd rather you that than entertain thoughts of killing me. I haven't forgotten what you wrote in your diary."

"Neither have I," he said, somewhat ironically. He sighed as he stood up and began to search his desk for something to wrap his finger with. "Mother Miranda. What do you intend for me to do now? Everyone in the village has been killed off or turned into a Lycan. The men from my factory- I-I had to send them away. There's is nothing-"

"There is something left, son. Rosemary Winters. The vessel for my daughter. She is the last light of hope cast upon the land."

"Alright," he said tiredly. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"She is going to need a father figure in her life. Someone whom she can look up to, someone that she can trust to love and protect her."

"Y-you mean…."

"Heisenberg. If it's okay with you, I'd like to-"

His door suddenly slammed open and he dropped the phone in alarm. Servant 29 stood grinning wildly with her hand on the doorframe. Faintly, he could hear Miranda's voice calling him in a buzz from the dropped phone. Seeing the look in his servant's eye, he quickly picked the phone up and slammed it on the receiver before Miranda could hear the woman say anything unbecoming.

"Karl Heisen-bird," his servant sang. "You've got company!"

Karl reared out of his chair and stumbled back as Ethan came sauntering into the room. The man's eyes were alight with fury in his bloodied face, and he walked with a pronounced limb. Still, there was an edge to his demeanor: a feral and holy sense of vengeance that scared the ever-loving shit out of Karl. When Ethan was only a few paces away, he stopped and flung something at the floor between Karl's boots.

It was the metal reactor core, the one that had been installed in place of Ken's heart.

"Any more 'friends' you'd like me to meet?" Ethan growled before wiping his bloodied sleeve across his mouth.

"What? How did you-" Karl sputtered as Servant 29 cast him a snakish smile before closing the door. 'How the fuck did you-"

"You really wanna know how I killed your machine?" Ethan asked. "Then try to fuck me over again and you'll find out."

"You can't-"

"By the way," Ethan interrupted him. He leaned against the doorframe and gave a heavy sigh before speaking again. "I accept your offer. Not because I think you'd make a great coworker. But you're the last person in this village who knows Miranda, and I need you to help me get close enough for me to save my daughter. Any questions?"

"Y-you-"

"Good. Now give me the flasks."