Storm
Here's chapter 10! Updates will no longer be weekly after this as this chapter puts us at the buffer (which I am still continuing). Updates will be slower, but I will try to keep updating on Saturdays just so there's some order lol (Also FF kept messing with my formatting, so there are some minor differences between this version and the AO3 version)
Please enjoy!
Chapter 10: City of Orphans
The air was chill, the warmth of summer dissipating daily from the derelict city. The days themselves were growing shorter the colder it became. Most plants that once were green were well on their way to death, leaves shriveled and brown. The piles of detritus littered the already dirty streets, where wind rustled through the brown plants. None of that mattered, however, to the ink black king. The once grand city of Townsville meant nothing to him. Its skyscrapers were nothing more than scrap metal and convenient stone. Everything that Aterex needed was within the insulated and black walls of his city.
Well, almost everything.
The great king wouldn't fool himself into believing that the loss of Blossom wasn't devastating. The superhuman girl served a great purpose, both as a figurehead for those sheep of humans and as a warrior. However, with her gone, he could only guess that the vermin on the edges of Townsville had gotten their paws on her. He wasn't oblivious to those rebellious humans. On the contrary, the countless battles over the years were particularly hard to ignore. If not for them, he would have conquered this gods' forsaken planet long ago.
The king rubbed his chin, tilting his head as he stared out at the ruins. No, the planet wasn't truly forsaken. Its changing seasons were aggravating, but that was truly the only thing horrible about the planet. Earth had a wonderful wealth of resources and Aterex couldn't ignore how wonderfully humid and hot it could become. When that warmth disappeared, though, their bases were perfect hideaways from Earth's chill.
The chill only reminded him of what he had lost.
Fist clenching, Aterex snarled. It was that traitor's fault. He had been a fool to let such a cretin handle his pet, but his advisor had told him that the populace often better liked a merciful leader. What ridiculous advice. He should have left them to rot on Narcassia when they fled from the Great Drought, mercy be damned. Mercy hadn't helped him conquer this world.
His eyes narrowed. He should have killed the cretin on the spot. It was bad enough that his prize had been branded wrongly, but that traitor had let her free, no doubt to those vermin who scuttled around the edges of this city.
The door behind Aterex opened and the king sighed, cold eyes glancing at the reflection in the window. Wild red hair pulled back with a ragged red ribbon and faintly glowing magenta eyes greeted his gaze. If he was willing, he could almost fool himself that it was Blossom. Almost, but not quite. The girl in the reflection lacked his prize's grace and sophistication. The reflected girl was more of a feral mutt to Blossom's pedigree collie. Feral dogs, though, had their uses.
Turning, the great king regarded Berserk. "What business brings you into my presence, warrior?"
She sauntered forward a few steps, stopping and genuflecting almost half a room away. "The military and political leaders have begun preparing for winter, my king."
"Wonderful. That still does not explain why you had to bring this news to me," Aterex spoke blandly, tilting his expressionless face to peer at the feral dog.
Berserk's mouth twisted before forming that sardonic smirk that always adorned her face. It was an expression that annoyed him to no end. "I thought that a visage of your prize would ease your anger. After all, there's no doubt those vermin have her."
The king gazed down at her before twisting away and returning to his vigil out the window. "Gazing upon your countenance only increases my ire, warrior. You hardly bring about a calm my pet did."
From her scowl in the reflection, the great king knew that hit a chord, but he didn't care. Berserk was created solely to fight those rebellious humans. She was simply a weapon in a humanoid shell. Unlike his prize, though he did not know the true meaning behind her creation. To him, though, Blossom was a trophy and beacon to those confused human scum that had scuttled to his feet, begging for mercy.
The great king let his lips form a smirk. Under the influence of the blood drug, Blossom had been the figurehead to ease the fear of the humans. Of course, her influence had not reached the rebels, but he had never really brought her to them. He couldn't trust that her sisters wouldn't try to take her back, so her missions had never been close to his throne and always had his generals or the Powerpunks with her.
She had served her purpose well, though. Those humans in his city didn't need to know how she remained so docile or why she remained quiet during his speeches. They were compliant and that was all that mattered. Now, however…
With Blossom gone, it was hard to miss the murmuring happening among his human sheep. The first time he addressed them without his prize, he was able to lie about her being on a mission. Months later, though, that lie was beginning to wear thin. Malleable and stupid as they were, the humans knew how fast and thorough their glowing beacon was. Even before she became his, the people of Townsville knew how well their hero fought. Being on a mission for months seemed unlikely to them. His advisor had spoken about military missions and what not, quoting a human saying, "Loose lips sink ships", but Aterex had been able to see the nervous energy. His humans were beginning to doubt. Eight years compliant and now that his prize was stolen, they begin to waver. How typical of a lower race.
He considered the fuming warrior's reflection, tilting his head slightly. Lower race indeed, but one of them had made Blossom and her sisters. And that was why he had taken in that man for his promise to make something just as good, something better than Blossom, for him. Not long after, the Powerpunk Girls were born. Their creator, Dick Hardly, had pledged allegiance the moment he saw Blossom beside Aterex. Apparently, the greedy human had been thought dead for years, though how he had managed to hide with his green complexion and tendency to grow to enormous size in anger was a mystery.
Nevertheless, Aterex had allowed the mutated human into his circle. And then, the scientist made him his warriors, dark versions of Blossom and her sisters, from vinegar, salt, everything nasty, and a combination of a substance known as Chemical X and Narcassian blood. It was a potent mixture and Hardly had been excited to test their strength against Blossom. Aterex doubted they would do much damage. The result held true to his prediction: the Powerpunks, while outnumbering his prize and nearly destroying her, had wilted under her ice powers.
They did the trick, however, and kept those rebellious vermin busy. Even with five more superpowered humans, the Powerpunks kept them busy and kept them away. He didn't need to waste Blossom and her powers on such vermin when he had lesser versions to throw around. No matter how many times the Powerpunks went against her, no matter how many times they brought her to the brink, she always managed to beat them.
Aterex chuckled. His prize had had a way of overcoming obstacles. He had witnessed a number of her missions and all were successes. Well…all but one. The featureless plane of his face rippled at the memory of the battle in the northwest. It had been an undeniable success, but it had come at large price. He supposed he should have predicted the scar it would leave on Blossom. The human sheep, the human pets, whispered that they didn't think Blossom was there willingly, talking of justice and righteousness. Eventually, he would have gotten her to come around without the use of the drug. However, to keep her docile, to keep her from using her ice powers, they had to drug her. The Narcassians just wanted to live and if they had to destroy another species, a lesser species, to do it, what did that matter? Nothing. It mattered nothing.
And yet, he had never expected her to go catatonic after such a mission. A mission of destruction because those humans were getting too close, too full of themselves. The battle in the northwest was a reminder to them. The Narcassians were superior and the humans should understand that. Blossom had done so well, so, so well, but she had returned unresponsive. The drugs probably had put too much stress on her system; they had been made with his blood that time.
He rolled his shoulders, admiring the strength he could feel in his limbs. Strongest of the Narcassians he was so of course his blood had been too much. For her to run away in such a state, though...
He narrowed his steely eyes out the window before glancing towards the kneeling warrior as she cleared her throat.
Standing, Berserk said curtly, "I'll leave you to your sulking then, 'great king'."
Such impudence, but Aterex did not stop the woman from stalking out of the room. He cared not if her feelings were hurt. The emotions of one were less important than the needs of many. Rubbing his face, he narrowed his eyes at the ruins. Retrieving Blossom would secure a longer hold on this world.
It was indeed a need of the many.
If he were being perfectly honest, Boomer would admit that guarding Blossom was the easiest job he had ever had. For the last week, he was relaxing more than he had in what seemed like years. Usually, the blue ruff was busy with meetings or training his unit, spending so much time needing to focus or on his feet. With Blossom, however, he spent a large majority of the time in the library.
He had watched the pink puff read about five novels and three textbooks since his duty started and she had more waiting. They were piled high, two stacks on either side of her, on the table she often sat at. While awe inspiring, watching her read wasn't exactly exciting. It was actually kind of boring.
"You should read something," Blossom had encouraged the first day, seeing his bored expression. However, he had shook his head and continued standing firmly behind her chair.
That hadn't been the last of her encouragement to read, however. When he had refused again the next day, she had changed tactics. Instead, she had begun asking questions while she read. Simple questions about the Resistance or his training or his relationships with others. He answered with short answers, but he caught how she gestured for him to sit. He didn't, standing just behind her left shoulder while the two other guards formed a miniature perimeter around their table.
On the third day, she had asked about his birthday.
"You know," she said, peering up from her textbook at him. "I don't think I know when your birthday is."
Boomer lifted an eyebrow. "It's not like there's much time to celebrate birthdays anymore."
"I know, but it's a step towards learning about you and your brothers. We weren't really on good terms before, you remember."
He stared at her as she turned back to her book. She flipped the page, but he wasn't so sure she had read it.
Their birthday hadn't been anything special. They really only had a birthday because Boomer and Butch had seen one on TV and had wanted one. They had been seven and had been in between living with Mojo and on the streets. Mojo had also been in jail; otherwise, they would have asked him. Brick had been the one to bite the bullet and sneak into Townsville Library. He had returned with a newspaper that both talked of their arrival and death.
"November sixth," Boomer said after a long silence.
Blossom turned to him, looking a little surprised, before a grin blazed across her face. It was hard not to respond to it, not when it reminded him so much of the smile Bubbles used to have.
She tilted her head and said, "Mine is July second."
The fourth day, he finally had acquiesced to her insistence to read something. She still asked questions, of course, everything from his favorite food to things going on around the Resistance to asking about his book. (He didn't read as fast as she or Brick did. He had barely gotten through two chapters.) He answered as much as he could without going too into detail.
Blossom never indicated that she was dissatisfied with his answers. She would just nod and move onto the next one, eyes drifting between him and her book. He couldn't really read what she was thinking when she did that, but she seemed happy when he answered no matter what. It was that happiness, that smile, that kept him answering her because it was the closest he was going to get to Bubbles' smile.
He wondered if she knew they had similar smiles.
"I can't believe that Brick is general at nineteen," she said, after he finished regaling her about one of their first missions.
Boomer shrugged and played with the page of his novel. His eyes stared down at it without seeing, remembering an older face and a younger Brick who still knew how to smile.
"…technically, he became general two years ago," he admitted. He continued playing with the page, flipping it irritably. "It's…not my place to say…but the old general had taken Brick under his wing. Like…Like your dad and Mrs. Cavadini, he had seen potential in us, in Brick, so…"
He hadn't been there, but he had heard about the battle. He remembered the hollow look in Brick's eyes, the hard set of his face and mouth. He remembered how his brother's shoulders seemed to sink when the mantle of general had passed to him over Lieutenant Hernandez, their original mentor, or Lieutenant Kenny. He remembered the hiss of anger, of hate from his brother when he had vowed to take down the aliens.
Butch hadn't been much better, beating himself up because he was the fastest, he had the shield. The impenetrable shield that the aliens couldn't phase through. And none of that had mattered. Neither of his brothers had ever forgiven themselves for letting that happen. Butch just hid it better, but then again, he hadn't been handed the mantle of General. He had thrown himself into protecting Brick more often than not, though, threw himself into being more bodyguard than sergeant.
However, he didn't say any of that to Blossom. He figured he hadn't needed to. The contemplative look in her eyes said everything.
The fifth and sixth days had passed by the same way. Reading, talking, and, occasionally when she became fed up with reading, she had begun to draw. She had done so the first day too, when he had stood behind her shoulder and had not sat across from her like he was doing now.
He had discovered that she could draw pretty well from the sketches he had seen littering the pages of the sketchbook. Admittedly, it wasn't something he had expected. When they were children, he knew Bubbles had been the most artsy, but looking at the realistic depictions of things and people around the base, he was wondering if all the girls had such ability.
Curiosity still tickled him even now, on the seventh day, as he sat in the chair opposite the redhead. He didn't know how to bring it up, though. After all, Blossom looked engrossed in her new book, her head bent over the pages and arms bracketing the book.
The blond man propped up his head, his own book open, but forgotten before him. The pink puff hadn't done anything that could be labelled "threatening" the past week. All she did was sit and read or draw. Even the questions were relatively harmless. Most of them were common knowledge around the base, anyway. Well, with the exception of the personal questions in regards to Boomer, at least, but nothing that could be labeled as malicious. It seemed all very paranoid of his brother to order this guard.
Boomer didn't want to doubt Brick, but he was beginning to think that maybe this whole "Blossom is a traitor" thing had something to do with her being his counterpart. It probably had less to do with protecting people and more to do with Brick's own comfort. Not that he thought his brother would be so selfish, but it was obvious that he kept Blossom at arm's distance. The most dangerous thing Blossom had really done was beat up Butch, but the green ruff had asked her to. Oh, and freeze Emmons, but…
Boomer frowned, brows furrowing at the thought of his late subordinate. Emmons had been told to kill her. He had been mutated for the sole purpose of killing the seemingly innocent woman in front of him. That had happened under his very nose! It irritated him that he could let something like that happen. That his soldier had been used in an alien plot. He could feel his blood boiling in hatred and shame. He hated how he could let that happen to one of the men he swore to protect. He may not have Butch's extreme speed, but he was the fastest after him. He should have done the sweep after that battle rather than let his soldiers do it. If he had, maybe Emmons wouldn't have died.
"It's not your fault."
Shocked out of his thoughts, he looked up sharply. The gaze that met his was soft.
Blossom was looking at him with a sympathetic expression, almost apologetic. She closed her book after inserting a bookmark, placing it gently before her.
"If it's anyone's fault, it's mine," she continued, eyes holding his.
He felt his mouth twist, but he didn't break eye contact. Someone had told him that breaking eye contact showed weakness or admitted subservience or something, but he didn't feel defiant. He felt more…compliant? Or maybe…comfortable?
Blossom's eyes weren't challenging. If anything, they were sad. She didn't look like a threat at all, not with her low shoulders and closed body language. Her hands sat on top of her book, folded and tight with white knuckles. Her left thumb stroked her right.
"Are you going to tell me it's your fault because the aliens are after you?" he asked finally, crossing his arms on the table.
She shrugged. "Well, yes."
Boomer frowned, looking incredulously at her. "I'm not going to say that's not true, but you shouldn't take all the responsibility onto yourself."
He received a giggle and she leaned her chin on her knuckles. Her smile was still sad. "It's a habit, I'm afraid."
Sometimes he forgot that she wasn't always the so-called antagonist. All he had to do was look at Robin or the Professor or Hanout, one of her guards, and he would see those trusting looks they gave her. It made him feel a little guilty. Like he had taken something dear away.
He supposed that they had, actually. Not physically, not purposefully, but by this ban and their actions, it was as good as stealing a child's security blanket. Even if the ban was meant for their security, even if all they had was their safety in mind. Blossom had been their savior before he and his brothers had decided to protect them from aliens. She had been their protector against them.
"Anyway, the aliens would have probably resorted to the blood manipulation sooner or later," he remarked gruffly, huffing a sigh. "It just…corresponded with your escape."
"I guess so…" She smiled softly and he felt himself respond with his own smile.
"SO! When did you learn how to draw?" he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from such depressing thoughts.
She chuckled nervously. She rubbed her mouth with a knuckle before responding. "Well, it was one of things the Narcassians taught me actually…"
He raised an eyebrow. That seemed such a strange talent to cultivate in a superhuman. "They taught you to draw?"
"It was something about…making me a member of Aterex's court, I believe," she responded, frowning. Her eyes looked haunted, but she blinked a couple times and it was gone. Lacing her fingers together, she continued, "They taught me a lot of frivolous things, I suppose you could say. Drawing, dancing, their language, their culture… They might have attempted to teach me to sing or speak, but it's fuzzy. The blood drug probably inhibited my speech, anyway, so there would have been no point. Ah, but besides these…cultural talents, they also taught me to fight."
"From Butch's reports, he can vouch for that," Boomer tried for a light tone, but his mind was racing. She had probably told the Professor or someone already, but the knowledge that the aliens had been trying to assimilate Blossom seemed important. "I'm still stuck on the whole culture thing, though."
The pink puff hummed in thought, her eyebrows furrowed. "I…can't really say. I know…some things and I've remembered a lot since Buttercup found me back in July, but there are so many things that are still murky. If I could just…meditate without everyone's thoughts bombarding me…"
He doubted she meant for the whining tone, but her expression became more and more frustrated the longer she talked and there was a flash of panic or anger on her face. He didn't know what to do, honestly. His thoughts rolled in his confusion and he felt ashamed for them immediately. That was probably not helping her. However, he wasn't sure how he could help. There wasn't really anything within his powers to do.
Invisibility and illusions didn't do much for the mind. He could attempt to make an illusion for her, but he had never really did more than himself before. If she wanted an illusion of solitude, she could try a simulator, but to her, those were off limits.
Boomer blinked rapidly, mouth falling open. That was it, wasn't it? One was open for her. He slapped his forehead, startling his charge. He couldn't believe he was so stupid! It wasn't like it was outside of her limits, either; the blond man had actually forgotten that she could go to the Professor's lab. He didn't know if the material the simulator was made of could block her telepathy, but it was worth a shot, right? It could at least dampen it and that was better than nothing.
For a moment, he wondered if the pink puff was getting any of his speeding thoughts as she was looking at him curiously. He was tempted to throw a thought or two to see if she was actually reading his mind or now.
"Did you get any of that?" Boomer asked and Blossom frowned.
"Any of what?"
"My thoughts," he said, sitting up. He braced his hands on the table as he pushed the chair back. "I mean, since you seem bombarded all the time."
"Oh, well, when I say bombarded, I mean that I can sense all the thoughts, but they're more like a white noise, almost like how our super-hearing is," she explained, looking up at him. She raised her eyebrows. "I was also trying to be polite and not invade your privacy."
The blue ruff had the decency to look embarrassed before clearing his throat awkwardly. He really was questioning why his brother was so wary of Blossom.
"Well, if you use a simulator, it might dampen your telepathy, right? You could meditate in one," he began with a grin.
Her eyes lit up and she smiled slowly. "You're right, Boomer. It was dampened when I fought Butch and I can use the simulator in the Professor's lab as long as it's before curfew. This could definitely help."
"Both you and the Resistance." He couldn't help grinning back.
"You are a genius, Boomer!" she cried with a clap of her hands.
He shrugged and rubbed his neck. No one really called him that. Brick was the idea man, after all. Boomer just…noticed things sometimes.
She looked excited. If she was excited, that had to be a good thing. If Blossom remembered, they might be able to change this war. They could fight back more easily than they had been. They wouldn't have to live like rats underground.
"Well, then, why don't we go?" Hanout spoke up from behind Boomer, taking a step next to the sergeant. He tilted his head curiously, grinning a bit. "If it'll help both of us, then the sooner, the better right?"
"Glad you could join us, Hanout," Blossom laughed, standing as well. "Well then, we should go. I mean, it's around noon now, so the Professor should be on break."
Boomer snorted. "Fat chance. You should know him. If he has a goal in mind, then he'll stop at nothing to see it through."
Blossom faltered a little, but she kept a steady smile. He wondered if she had read his thoughts or was thinking the same thing as him. When the Professor had a goal, he didn't stop until he reached it, sleep and food be damned. He had to be searching for a way to prove that she was a victim in all this.
Boomer was beginning to see it was true, but without evidence, Brick wouldn't budge. He had plenty of experience with his brother's tenacity to know that he wouldn't change his opinion easily. And if there was one thing that Brick had hated passionately, it was Blossom.
If they could get information from her through this meditation, though, then maybe the red ruff would let some of his hatred go. There were far too little allies in the world anymore for them to be so paranoid. They needed every superhuman they could get, even if that superhuman used to be one of their bitterest enemies.
Unsurprisingly, when they arrived at his lab, the Professor was deep in the middle of doing some kind of research. He was bent over a microscope, the screen next to him displaying some kind of cellular structure that he poked and prodded. The most notable thing about it, Blossom found, was the color. The cells were all a mixture of red and dark, dark purple. The purple mostly appeared in the cells or around the cells themselves, stark against the red background.
From her father's thoughts, fast though tidy, a beacon of focus through the more of abrupt suspicion from the other scientists, these cells were blood cells. Blood cells that had once belonged to Emmons and her stomach sunk. Even in death, the purple of the Narcassian blood invaded the red of the human. It seemed much slower than before, probably because they were decaying, but she could see the minuscule spread.
This was what the blood could do when it was unrefined, not filtered and diluted through medication and chemicals. The realization that that had been in her, that that may have left effects on her, rolled her stomach. If it still crawled after death, maybe Brick had a reason to remain wary of her.
Boomer made his way over to the Professor and cleared his throat.
With the tone of a man used to chastising people who bothered him in the middle of work, because Blossom remembered doing that to him herself when she was little, her father said, "I'll be with you in a moment, Boomer."
"I still don't know how you can tell who it is with just that," Boomer countered, taking two steps back as the Professor turned to jot something down.
"It's been eight years. I should be able to tell," he responded and looked up at them. His face softened tremendously when he saw her. "Hi, sweetie. How are you holding up?"
"Oh, it's only been a week." Blossom waved her hand blithely, ignoring the thoughts her father threw at her. That hadn't been what he was talking about. "Boomer had a wonderful idea earlier. I was wondering if I could use the simulator to meditate? I may be able to recall memories more clearly if I don't have the din of everyone's thoughts around me."
As much as she wanted to question about the blood, she had a goal. That could come later, given that whatever memory she recalled didn't leave her drained. The ones she had recalled with Butch had left her tired beyond belief, but that may have been a combination of fighting with the sergeant and trying not to let the memories consume her at the same time.
The Professor's face lit up. He immediately began shuffling his papers before jumping to his feet. Without further ado, he ushered their small group over the simulator, not even once questioning her reasons.
"That is a brilliant idea! The simulators are all made of duranium to prevent your powers from damaging it, plus virtual reality technology that we've perfected over the years. We just need the perfect setting for you to meditate," he was saying, already pushing buttons. His smile waned a little. "Ah, though...maybe Boomer should be in with you? You've said...and, well, Buttercup too mentioned that sometimes—"
"I need absolute solitude," Blossom cut in, even though she did agree. "If something seems wrong, you can end the simulation and send Boomer in, but I need to be by myself."
Her father hesitated before nodding. "Of course. Boomer's thoughts could distract you… All right. But…But if something seems wrong, if you look like you're in pain—"
"You can end the simulation and send Boomer in," she confirmed with a nod. She then winced. "I apologize in advance, Boomer. I have hit Buttercup and Butch when they tried to get me out of a memory."
Boomer waved a hand. "I understand. Don't worry. I've taken some pretty hard hits before."
A flash of a demon jumped between them, followed by an image of red and green flashes intercepting the monster. An overwhelming wave of loyalty and love followed it before he completely shut down the memories. He winced before offering an apologetic look.
Her only response was a smile; a smile she hoped was reassuring because she hadn't expected those images. They must have come from way before the Narcassians had invaded, from before the Boys had even left. It seemed, despite Brick and Butch's constant needling of their brother's intelligence, that they still cared for him all the same.
That knowledge gave her hope. Maybe Butch and Boomer could get through to Brick.
Maybe she just might have a chance at joining the Resistance.
Her smile grew firmer, warmer, and she nodded sharply at the sergeant. Turning back to the Professor, she squared her shoulders.
"Shall we?"
Not long after, she was seated in a simulated field. Warm sunlight caressed her skin, making her smile despite its artifice. That was something she missed dearly. Living underground made her crave fresh air and bright sunlight, the feel of grass and dirt under her palms, the wind against her face. The simulator made a decent substitution, but even it could only go so far. She was sure she wasn't the only one who missed flying through the sky or laying down on a sandy beach and soaking up the sun.
A gentle breeze played with her hair and clothes. She breathed out slowly. The pleasant scent of grass and flowers wafted after it, calming her. Her breaths were rhythmic and even as she centered herself. She let her mind go, let it focus on nothing in particular, and urged the memories forward despite the lack of stimuli. After all, memories had appeared before with less, so just a simple meditation should work.
A gentle inhale, a gentle exhale. A focus on the feel of the grass, on the sun, on the wind. Ignoring the artifice of it and letting it become real. Letting her hands relax, her body relax, until she felt like she was floating.
Inhale, exhale
Inhale, exhale
Inhale, exhale
Release the emotions, release the stress, worry, fear, and excitement. There were no thoughts here, no thoughts but her own, no emotions but her own, even if the empathetic link she shared with her sisters would always be there.
Inhale, exhale
Inhale, exhale
Inhale, exhale
Maybe she should focus on something. Something that wouldn't shake her calm. Something like…
Her back tingled.
Red
Pink
Red
Pink
Redpinkredpinkredpink
Blue?
Blossom kept her breathing steady, as steady as she could as the colors assaulted her mind's eye.
Blue was new. Blue hadn't been there before. Red and pink, yes, but not blue.
A dark but golden room spread before her, tinted red for whatever reason. She didn't know if it was sunset or sunrise or if the red was even actually there. There weren't many windows in the dark city, in the golden city. She had been ushered in and tied to a table; a table with a plethora of…dyes? Dyes and needles next to it.
Her mind felt fuzzy, felt horrible. She could hear Aterex speaking, could hear another submissive voice answer him.
"Mark her, slave! She is mine!" Aterex snapped.
She whimpered and her heart raced.
She was not his. She would never be his.
The submissive voice whispered to her, hands against her back, poking and prodding.
"Relax, —" A garbled word, a bitter thought. "It…It will be over soon. This mark—"
She would NOT be his!
Pink flashed. Then blue, then green. Pink blue green pink blue green pink blue green pink blue green
Red
Pink blue green pink blue green pink blue green pink blue green pink blue green
RED
Pinkbluegreenpinkbluegreenpinkbluegreenpinkbluegreenpinkbluegreenpinkbluegreenpinkbluegreen
R-E-D
The voice gasped and the assurances began anew, firmer, stronger. The hands moved deftly.
"Yes, yes! I see! You are—"
PINKBLUEGREENPINKBLUEGREENPINKBLUEGREENPINKBLUEGREEN
R-E-D
P-I-N-K
B-L-U-E
G-R-E-E-N
"You fool!
A roar.
Her body flinched instinctively.
"How could you mark her wrong!? There is no time to fix this!"
"It is what she wanted," the submissive voice uttered and Aterex snarled.
The sound of a body slamming into the wall barely broke through the haze in her mind. She whimpered in her shackles. Her eyes tried to move, but everything felt sluggish.
She caught reflections in the floor.
Pink
"Sniveling fool! What gibberish did you write! I should have killed you long ago!" Aterex snarled.
Blue
A hand grabbed her hair and tugged, twisting her head to the side. She whimpered again.
Green
A displeased hiss.
Pink
"Feh. We will fix this when she returns from—"
Blue
"Seattle, my liege."
Green
Her head lulled as much as it could with his fist in her hair. Her eyes dragged over the reflections in the golden floor, over the distortion of red eyes peering back at her. Over the shadowy form of Aterex.
She shivered.
Se…at…le…?
"Yes, that city. In the northwest." Another growl and her hair fell around her face. "Useless!"
Eyes stared up from the golden floor, eyes that looked…
Red
RED
Seattle
RED
SEATTLE
R-E-D
S-E-A-T-T-L-E
Blossom fell forward, hands jumping to her skull.
Her stomach rolled and she gasped. She spat out the foul taste of bile, but her stomach refused to calm.
Seattle was red. Why was Seattle red? What happened in Seattle?
Her body trembled.
She gasped.
Vaguely, she thought she heard the Professor call to her. She thought she heard Boomer call to her.
She couldn't hear them. She stared at the grass without seeing. Red pooled in her vision, red that stained everything, stained her hands and her skin and the very air.
Screams echoed in her ears.
Seattle was…
Seattle was…bad.
Everything in her rejected everything about the city. About the name, the word, the mere thought. Her body convulsed, but the red played before her eyes all the same.
Seattle was bad, but she had to know. She had to remember.
Seattle was…
A battleground, full of soldiers. Human soldiers, Resistance soldiers and Narcassian soldiers, the ones who had sold their souls to Aterex. Alien soldiers in special armor to protect them from winter's chill.
She did not feel the chill. It was like she wasn't in her body, but watching through someone else's eyes. Her hand rose and—
Screams. So many screams.
Laughter echoed from the three lights that arched above her. The Powerpunks were here too then. Yes, to keep an eye, but they…they loved destruction too much.
If her mind was not so foggy, she was sure that would remind her of something. If her mind had been her own at the moment…
Her body moved and she felt sick. Humans and Narcassians alike fell to her hands, blood coating her skin.
He told her to destroy. So she would destroy.
The drug made her listen and the drug was strong, too strong this time. She had no mind, just a doll with a consciousness trapped inside.
Destroy
Destroy
DESTROY
D-E-S-T-R-O-Y
Blossom opened her mouth and screamed.
Training Buttercup was not one of Bubbles' favorite things to do. If anything, it was in her top ten least favorites if only because she knew that her sister didn't need it. Buttercup was like Butch. The two of them had a propensity for fighting that the rest of them didn't had. Sure, Brick and Blossom were both good at battle strategy, but fighting? Buttercup and Butch had made that an art. She was only slightly bitter to admit that. Espionage and interrogation was more Bubbles' forte.
At this point, where she knew that Buttercup could easily be made an officer if Brick wasn't being so stubborn, she was only really going through the motions. Punch, kick, block, punch, punch, kick, punch, block. Moving through the standard combat training that all cadets received because that was procedure. That was how things were done. It was a semblance of normalcy in a world turned topsy-turvy.
Punch, kick, kick, block
Bubbles was only slightly bitter that Brick had assigned her to Buttercup. She knew it was his weird way of keeping her safe, but she didn't need protecting. She hadn't needed protecting in a long, long time. He should know that by now and yet. And yet.
Here she was.
Punch, punch, kick, kick, block, kick, block
Buttercup was scowling at her. Both of them had barely sweated, the actions too rote by now for them to really work up a sweat. A brief glance confirmed the rest of the cadets were drenched, but she and her sister were dry. Well, maybe a faint sheen of sweat shone on Buttercup's forehead, but nothing like a good sparring training, one full of energy blasts and flying, could bring.
Bubbles trusted Boomer. Of course, she did. If anyone could take care of her sister, he could because Boomer was sweet, kind, and gentle. He understood emotions the best out of his brothers, even if Bubbles had done her best to teach all three Rowdyruffs what empathy and compassion was. Maybe it was a counterpart thing; Bubbles had been the best with emotions out of her sisters, so Boomer of course would be the best out of his brothers. That still didn't mean she wasn't bitter, though.
Sure, Boomer could care for Blossom, but she was her sister. If anyone should be keeping an eye on her, it should be her.
Punch, punch, kick, kick, block, punch, kick
Bubbles dropped and swiped Buttercup's feet out from under her the moment an opening showed up.
Her sister yelped, but caught herself in a float right above the floor. She spun and slammed her foot into Bubbles' shoulder.
She rolled with the impact, rolling back onto her feet. Her shoulder stung, but she immediately returned to a fighting stance.
"Nice recovery," she remarked as Buttercup rose up.
The scowl almost lessened. A muted flare what might be pride followed.
Her sister matched her stance, fists raised and body closed.
Neither moved, both staring the other down, analyzing each other as they had long been taught. Bubbles braced herself, sinking down just a little. Buttercup mirrored her, but widened her stance instead. The scowl flashed into a cocky grin.
Now it was Bubbles' turn to scowl. Hissing a breath, she lunged forward with a punch.
A wave of despair and panic knocked her to her knees.
She choked on a gasp as she fell, knees slamming into the padded mat under them. Her heart raced, the panic filling every single nerve in her body. Her limbs trembled and her hands soon joined her knees. The tears came unbidden. Her throat screamed from her ragged breaths, but she couldn't stop them. Her heart felt stuffed, beating fast and loud and painfully, painfully hard. Every inch of her trembled, every breath shook. Every breath hurt.
Her vision swam. Tears blurred her white-knuckled hands. She choked on a sob.
There was a growl from in front of her. She barely managed to lift her head. Through her tears and hair, she could just see Buttercup in a similar state. Her knuckles shone white too. Her body trembled too. She was snarling, tears pooled in her eyes, and the green fire of her beast flickered over her. Her breathing picked up.
Bubbles reached out a shaking hand. Her fingers brushed her sister's fist.
Buttercup looked up then, eyes wild and wide, and she knew. They both knew.
"Blossom," she breathed and her sister inhaled sharply.
For a moment, they could only stare at each other as the panic and despair consumed them. Then, a determined look overcame the wild expression on the green puff's face. The flames disappeared.
Bubbles matched her determination and took a breath. They nodded to each other.
Their streaks were all that remained as they barreled out of the training room.
The simulator was shrieking, shrieking about conditions, safety, and the abrupt change from a hillside in spring to…
To…
What Boomer could only assume winter was like in Nepal. Or, maybe, Antarctica.
A blizzard filled the window and the viewing screen, obscuring everything within the simulator. Blossom's scream had preceded it and then static filled the coms. Well, maybe not static, per se… The noise was more like muffled wind, like something had completely and utterly covered the microphones in cotton. That made no sense, at least to him, because he didn't think that there were physical microphones within the simulators. Then again, he really didn't know how they were built, anyway.
He could only stare in horror as the Professor and another one of the scientists scrambled to calm the blizzard down. They couldn't, though, because the simulator didn't cause the blizzard. The Professor should know this, but…but Boomer couldn't blame him for his panic.
Blossom was in the middle of that blizzard. She was the cause of that blizzard. Whatever she had remembered had caused the biggest reaction he ever thought he would see.
He abruptly remembered pure red eyes and black smoke billowing from snarling lips. He remembered watching white hot flames melt stone.
His fingers fumbled as he pulled up his communicator.
[Message Sent 09/10/xx 1:34PM]
Me: Has Blossom ever used her ice powers when remembering something?
Butch: No
Butch: y?
Me: Something happened. Don't tell Brick
Boomer swallowed nervously and shoved his communicator back into his pocket. Well, this wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. Whatever she remembered must have been horrible for her to cause a blizzard. She had warned him she might hit. She said nothing about freeze.
His body went cold as he thought of the possibilities. His breathing picked up before he shook his head. Now wasn't the time to panic. Focus on the present before shoving all curiosity about Blossom's trauma aside. There would never be time for that.
"Profes—," he began and froze at the voice the growled behind him.
"What is going on?"
This was very bad.
Bubbles stared at the simulator and felt cold. They weren't entirely sure how they knew where to go, but she and Buttercup had been moving on instinct the moment they decided what to do. If anyone had tried to talk to them on the way, if they had yelled or shouted at them for zooming down the halls, she didn't know. She didn't care. Their leader needed them and hell wasn't going to stop them getting to her.
Somehow, they had made it to the Professor's lab.
Now, Buttercup was growling at Boomer and demanding answers, but Bubbles could only stare at the blizzard before her. The despair ached in her chest, curled and twisted and sobbing. Her lips trembled as she stared at the blustery white in front of her. No thoughts reached her, nothing besides panic and despair. Her throat felt tight and the tears that had long pooled in her eyes spilled over.
She did not sob.
She did not make a noise.
Her fingers touched the glass of the window. She could almost pretend it was cold, but the walls and glass were much too thick for such elements to leak through. That didn't stop a chill shooting down her spine. She shifted and her reflection stared back at her, pale and wide-eyed with tears rolling down her cheeks.
For a moment, pink eyes and copper hair flashed over her.
Bubbles squared her shoulders.
"I'm going in there," she declared and cut off whatever rant that Buttercup had gone on.
The Professor grabbed her shoulders, turning her to him. His eyes were wide and frantic.
"Bubbles, honey, I'm worried too, but that blizzard has caused the temperature to drop into the negatives. Even you're not that strong to resist that," he explained pleadingly. "I'm not…I'm not sure how Blossom's resisting that."
His voice shook. He shook and her heart shook with him.
As gently as she could, she shrugged out of his hold. She took a deciding step backwards, towards the door to the simulator.
"Professor, dad, I love you, but I'm going in." She lifted her chin with determination. "That's my sister."
Whatever retort the Professor was going to say immediately died. He stared at her, half in awe, half in that heart-aching loving way he did. His own eyes filled with tears.
"Bubbles," he murmured, but she was already turning.
A hand grabbed her arm.
She tried to ignore the shock that went through her at the touch, at the touch of a rough hand sparking with power. To ignore the lump that jumped to her throat. To ignore the faint rising of her pulse. Now was not the time for such…things.
Gritting her teeth, ignoring the faint shiver from his skin against hers, she looked over her shoulder. She steeled herself as she met cobalt eyes.
Boomer had a frown on his face, almost like he might argue with her. There was a faint tremor in his fingers, but, to her surprise, he let her go. Dropping her eyes, he began removing his uniform jacket. She stared almost uncomprehendingly when he held it out to her. Her eyes darted between his face and the jacket.
Tentatively, she reached out.
"This will at least give you some insulation," he muttered when she finally held his jacket. Their eyes met and his face softened. Her heart gave an abrupt throb. "Bubbles… I think she's in pain. There was a scream and then…this… And Butch said she's never used her ice powers when remembering something."
"She hasn't," Buttercup snapped. She was pulling on what looked like one of the Professor's sweaters and a lab coat from one of the scientists. "Whatever Blossom's remembering…"
The two sisters met gazes.
The panic and despair echoed between them.
Bubbles clenched her fists.
"…it's bad," she finished and then turned back to the simulator's door. "Let's go."
Together, she and Buttercup entered the simulator.