A Legend of Korra Fanfic
By Sakura Martinez aka SMTsukishiro

Summary:

A promising engineering student. A mysterious woman capable of controlling the four elements. When their paths cross, the resulting collision not only changes their lives and themselves, but the fate of the entire world as well. [Korrasami AU]

Author's Notes:

I'm aliiiiiiive!

Gosh, I do not know where to begin in apologizing for the massive delay in updates for this fan fiction. I had been very much busy over the past months what with life and my projects ranging from my third book to my YouTube channel, and then my videogame project.

I had wanted to update this fan fiction as soon as I could, but I never quite found the time to do so. Really, I am so sorry about the delay. Hopefully, this chapter will suffice for now.

The Legend of Korra:

The Schism

Chapter 34. Forbidden Technology

Councilman Tarrlok had a certain energy in his step that was easily noticeable to all who crossed his path. It was as blatant as the gleeful look he wore on his face. No one knew why he acted that way. Some speculated it had something to do with the contract he had made with President Raiko—a contract no one knew anything of. Others, specifically those who had worked with the Councilman on the Spirit Bastille Project, believed it had something to do with the creation of another Spirit Bastille (something many involved in the project didn't believe to be true, considering the blueprints and Miss Sato's studies had gone missing).

But no matter what their guesses were, they were all far from the truth. After all, no one knew of his visit to the house of the famed entrepreneur, Iknik Blackstone Varrick and the arrangement he had made with him. Nor did they know of the certain item that he had—from the moment he obtained it—had always carried around inside his well-secured briefcase.

Those who seldom saw Councilman Tarrlok carrying anything aside from a folder or an envelope found their curiosities piqued even more so. Few who were courageous enough—some would call them clueless, foolhardy, and reckless—had vocalized their curiosity to the Councilman, admitting their desire to know what was inside the case he had been carrying frequently of late with as much care as a parent would with a newborn child, had been met with a cold gaze and a curt reply—a reminder from Councilman Tarrlok—to mind their own business. Some immediately backed off and tried their best to put thoughts of the briefcase and its secretive contents behind; others who were much more persistent in their nagging found themselves being escorted away from the Councilman by his strangely-clad bodyguards, their protestations loud.

By the time afternoon rolled in and people began to clock out of work, no one dared look at the Councilman nor at the case he was carrying as he passed by. Hushed whispers followed the Northern Water Tribe native as he walked out of the University grounds. The news of those poor, unfortunate, curious souls that were carried away had, at that time, reached the ears of many, and people—mostly students of the prestigious school—began to see Councilman Tarrlok in a different and fearful light.

Not that Tarrlok actually cared about what they thought. His mind, after all, was elsewhere. His hands itched for the chance to test the newly developed technology that was in his grasp. This was the reason why his footsteps were quick and agile. He had the perfect guinea pig in mind…

Hiroshi Sato sighed as he slumped on his office chair. His eyes bleary and were surrounded by dark rings that spoke of the long nights he had found himself forced to endure as he scrambled to meet the deadline Noatak had set for the new set of gloves.

The inventor ran a hand over his face to try to chase the sleepiness away as he wondered and found himself suspicious—and not for the first time, to say the least—of what had happened with the plans he had originally drafted.

It was easy to come to a conclusion that Tarrlok did something with them. He was not blind to how the other man had acted upon his return, nor to how the blueprint had changed in the way it was folded and tucked. The changes were minuscule. In fact, if it had been anyone else but Hiroshi Sato—who had a certain way of folding blueprints and plans—they would be none the wiser.

The Sato Patriarch was not worried, at first. Merely curious. He was certain, despite how smart the Councilman was, that he would not be able to uncover the secrets behind the plans he had made the mistake of leaving out in the open. That was…until he had begun to assemble the materials needed for the prototype and had begun to hear word of someone (though his contacts failed to obtain the name of) who was gathering the very same things as he.

He chalked it up to coincidence. It wasn't as if these materials were made for one very specific purpose. But then, when every single one of the materials in his list were being bought by another in the same quantities and manner as he had requested them, he began to suspect and fear what that might mean for his creation and the Equalists.

Amon had been angry. Not at him—which was a relief—but at his own brother. Never, in all the long years he had known the esteemed Professor, had he seen such hatred oozing from Noatak in waves that seemed tangible enough to touch. It was enough for Hiroshi to hold his tongue.

Standing rigid, with eyes ablazing, Amon muttered a promise that chilled the CEO to the bone.

"He will not get away with this. We will make him—and everyone who dare cross us—pay…with your new invention." And then he followed these words with an instruction, "And I want you to double—no, triple—the output."

Hiroshi Sato knew it was a dangerous request—one that, upon acceptance, would greatly put to question his morality. But he too felt the anger that Amon felt. His pride was wounded by Tarrlok's act. And, at that moment, it was enough for the head of Future Industries to do as the Equalist Leader had asked.

And that was how he had come to work on the new gloves every chance he got. Improving it with every test—which, there had been many and had desensitized him, witnessing the powerful effects of the glove.

Despite his brilliance, he didn't actually think he would be successful with what Noatak had wanted with the gloves. The fact that it was a success came as a surprise.

His thoughts were derailed when he heard the intercom come to life with two successive beeps followed by his secretary's voice informing him of an important call in his personal line.

Hiroshi quickly took the call. There were only two reasons why someone would be calling his personal line at a time like this: either there was finally news of his daughter, or Noatak was calling him because of the gloves. He desperately wished it was the former reason of the two. The Republic City Police Department had yet to make a breakthrough on the case of his missing daughter, likewise with the disappearance of Chief Lin Bei Fong.

Alas, it was the man from the Equalist Movement—the one they simply call 'The Lieutenant'—who spoke on the other end.

"Mister Sato," the voice on the other end drawled.

Before the Lieutenant could ask what he knew Amon had ordered the man to inquire about, Hiroshi was already giving his answer, saying, "I have finished it. You can tell your employer that."

There was a pause—as the CEO learned there always was when speaking to this man—which Hiroshi assumed was meant for weaker men to feel pressured or anxious, before he heard the Lieutenant speak again, "Amon will be pleased to hear that. You are expected to come tonight, Mister Sato, to demonstrate the gloves."

As soon as the message was delivered, the Lieutenant cut the line, leaving Hiroshi unable to reply and with the beeping dial tone.

Disgruntled at not having been able to have the final word and with the Lieutenant himself—not to mention at hoping it would be the call he had been waiting for from the authorities (whom he had begun to think were a bunch of incompetent fools who were not doing their job), Hiroshi slammed the receiver back down the phone's body and leaned back on his chair.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten, getting his breathing and his temper back to normal before he glanced at the wrapped package that contained the gloves.

He waited until night fell and enveloped Republic City, knowing that there was a scheduled power interruption that night. He needed the cover of darkness, having sensed—for the past few weeks—that someone had been tailing him. And he had an inkling it was not just your run-of-the-mill shadow, either. For as much as he tried to lose whoever it was that was following him—going so far as to make use of the confusing layout of some parts of Republic City—his attempts seemed futile.

It was hard to pinpoint who was behind each night filled with people trailing after him. He had, after all, crossed a lot of people. It was no secret he had a lot of enemies. He wouldn't even be surprised if Hiroshi Sato was already one of them.

As Councilman Tarrlok ventured into the night, he made certain he was careful. The briefcase he had been carrying all day, sat securely on his lap as one of his hirelings drove around town in a way that would surely confuse anyone who was following them. His hands continued to itch, excited to see the full extent of his new "toy" that when they finally arrived at his new hideout—which was disguised as an old barn close to the borders of Republic City—he had to force himself to appear and walk as calmly as he could.

The people he had hired—whom he trusted most—gave him a salute, greeting the Councilman as he passed them and towards the staircase that led to the underground cellars where the people who had sought to question him were imprisoned.

With each step he took, he made sure to let the sounds of his footsteps be as loud as they could. He wanted his captives to put up a fight…and he wanted to see that fight—and their will—die out when he finally used the glove on them.

A lone hireling, her face hidden behind a mask, was the only one of his men that stood guard. Not for the lack of security, no. Councilman Tarrlok had amassed quite a number of people to work for him. Rather, it was because of Tarrlok's desire to keep the secrecy of the compound—and that which lies within it—intact. After all, what was hidden inside the seemingly-nondescript building was one of the people the Republic City Police Department had been stretching their numbers in search of…

The masked, young woman saluted as the Councilman stood in front of her, waiting to hear the report that she—and those posted there at the time of Tarrlok's visit—had been expected to give.

"The situation remains the same, sir," said the guardswoman, "The prisoner remains uncooperative. She is as spirited as she is known to be."

"And what of the ones that had escaped?" Tarrlok asked, remembering the call he had received hours before.

His hireling hesitated and even before she opened her mouth to speak, Tarrlok already knew what she has to say.

"W-We have lost track of them, sir."

The Councilman counted silently in his head, remaining silent as he tried to calm himself down. His face was a mask of indifference, as though the news was not troubling. Likewise, the young woman standing before him was trying to keep her fright hidden and in-check. Ready was she of the tongue lashing that was expected to come.

But today was not like any other day for Tarrlok. He had come to this place not just to check up on his men and their captives, but also to test the prized glove he had in his possession.

"I see…" A pause. Face stern he added, "Do not stop your search of them. Retrieve them alive, if you can. We cannot let them call for help and spill the location of this place."

"Y-Yes, sir!" She saluted before moving out of the way to let Tarrlok in.

With a nod Councilman Tarrlok swiftly and purposefully moved down the hallways, towards the underground where their most-secured cells were. With every one of his men that saw him, they gave him proper respect, greeting and saluting him as he went.

At the far end of the underground hallway was the cell holding the guinea pig he had in mind. And from that very cell he could hear sounds exertion coming, in rhythm with the heavy pounding of the metallic doors that kept freedom away from their prisoner.

The two guards—burly men in their thirties—that were standing on either side of the door stood as rigid as statues and only moved to salute their employer before one of them went inside to keep their kidnapped victim from causing problems for him.

There was a sound of a scuffle—grunts that were muffled by the large door that lasted for minutes before silence took over inside the cell. Shortly after, the guard emerged, nodding at Tarrlok—a sign that the coast was clear.

Dark was the cell as Councilman Tarrlok entered it, and it grew darker still as the heavy metal doors whined shut behind him. It took seconds for his eyes to adjust. But even before it did, his prisoner dropped from above, intent on attacking him. Had the chains not clanged, Tarrlok was uncertain if he could have dodged.

A loud battlecry came soon after, followed by the chains clanging once more, as his prisoner attempted to harm him. Her attempts were futile, however, as the chains were far too short to allow her to reach him.

"Still as feisty as ever, Lin," Councilman Tarrlok said, taking in the disheveled state of the missing Chief of the Republic City Police Department. "Even when locked up and chained, beaten and battered, your will remains as strong as ever."

Lin Bei Fong began her answer to Tarrlok's mocking words with a spit that was aimed—and did, indeed, land—on his face, before growling, "Go. To. Hell!" She enunciated each word with as much ferocity as a human being would be capable of.

Tarrlok wiped the spit from his face with his kerchief, slowly. His eyes never left Chief Bei Fong's who met them with a fiery glare. He stayed at that spot for a few seconds that felt longer than they really were, before he walked—chuckling as he did so—towards the lone fixture in the room: a gnarly, bent, wooden stool.

As he walked calmly a short distance away from her, Lin Bei Fong continued to struggle against her bonds, screaming bloody murder. But Tarrlok didn't care. All he cared about was opening his case and giving that glove a test. Turning his back to the chained woman, Tarrlok began his preparations for the highlight of his day.

The briefcase's lock softly jangled as he flicked it open. The leather cover made a soft thud as it hit the stool's ligneous surface. Briefly, he pulled cloth after cloth that safely tucked the glove in its container before—with hands shaking with anticipation—he began securing it in his right hand.

The glove that Hiroshi Sato designed and Varrick built looked similar in form—albeit a bit slicker—as the old ones. It was just as heavy as well and so it took Tarrlok a few seconds to get used to it. But once it was securely fastened, he immediately flicked his fingers to turn it on.

At first, nothing happened. He frowned at the glove that was not doing what he had hoped it would do. He tried again, flicking his fingers ever so forcefully this time—an act that caused Chief Bei Fong to stop her quest for freedom and turned her attention on the equipment that was snugly wrapped around her captor's right hand.

By the third try, Tarrlok's face was far too scrunched up. He was muttering, trying to remember what it was that Varrick did to get the thing working. After what seemed like a long while of mentally cursing, and trying to imitate Iknik Blackstone Varrick's variation of a finger-snap, Tarrlok finally got it working.

The metallic glove buzzed to life. And the moment it did so, tiny pinpricks shaped like globules of light varying in color and intensity began to appear around the orb that sat in the middle of the glove's façade. Tarrlok watched these blobs of light be sucked into the orb which had, up until that moment, been dull and lackluster.

As the balls of light vanished into the orb, however, it began to shimmer in a beautifully twisted way, like a miasma of purple shadows dancing as it gobbled up the light. With each light—Spirits, Tarrlok corrected himself after remembering what those lights signified—that was consumed, that purple, swirling miasma began to turn into a shade closer to crimson.

He watched in awe as it happened, feeling the glove vibrating with power. Power that was now his to command. He was much in awe that he momentarily forgot he was not alone in that rancid room. It was only when Chief Bei Fong spoke, asking what it was that Tarrlok had and what he was doing, did the Councilman remembered his purpose…which was most definitely not to ogle at his toy.

The smile that Tarrlok wore as he turned back to face Lin Bei Fong was eerier than it would have been had the purplish-crimson light emanating from the glove attached on his right hand had not been casting shadows around his face, sharpening his features.

Lin seldom felt fear. But at that moment, she dreaded what the Councilman had planned.

"I am glad you ask, Chief Bei Fong," Tarrlok said, grinning even wider. "This is a product of the brilliant minds of the Republic. An enhanced glove than the ones you and your men pilfered when you rescued your niece."

The Councilman from the Northern Water Tribes then began walking as a predator would towards her. His right hand pulsating with a hauntingly fearsome light as it was slightly raised at his side.

"Unlike those, this is something far more powerful…and deadly," he went on to say. "So they say. I don't quite believe Sato's nor Varrick's words on that matter. After all, they just hypothesized it. They didn't bother testing whether their hypotheses are true. I, on the other hand…"

Tarrlok let his words hang for a few heartbeats, just long enough for the missing Chief of Police to understand what it was Tarrlok had come for that day. Before she could say anything—before she could even react properly—Tarrlok had pointed the glove's palm directly in front of her, the five smaller orbs that were embedded there showed her reflection.

And then, it happened. Councilman Tarrlok's experiment began.

It was subtle at the beginning. Merely a sense of unease or irritation that Chief Lin Bei Fong felt under hear skin. And then that irritation began to delve deeper than just her skin, it began to feel even more than just a slight pain.

It crawled and reached her organs that felt as though they were being squeezed or punctured by some unseen force. And then she began to feel as though she was inflamed, her breath being taken away from her as though she was drowning. Her body felt heavy, like lead.

Chief Bei Fong felt like her inflamed limbs were being pulled apart, and she could do nothing. Not even scream to give some form of outlet to the agony that she was feeling. It felt like hours of torture—though she honestly was not sure—until her eyes rolled into her head and she collapsed on the ground, unmoving, save for the spasms that continued to rock her limp body.

As Councilman Tarrlok watched the last vestiges of the light emitted from the collapsed woman be swallowed by the orb on the back of his gloved hand, he couldn't help but note with a malicious grin etched on his features, "Well then, I must say this experiment was a success!"

There were dozens of body lying haphazardly across the room where Amon had ordered the testing to be conducted. All of them were as limp as a forgotten rag doll. All of them an unfortunate sacrifice for the greater glory of the Equalist Movement.

Amon smiled behind his mask as he surveyed the outcome of those successive field tests, before turning to face the man responsible for the development of this new weapon.

"You outdid yourself, Hiroshi," he complemented the bespectacled man. "I knew you would accomplish that which I had tasked you to do, but to see my expectations be exceeded far beyond what I had hoped…you truly are a genius!"

"Thank you for your kind words, Amon," Hiroshi bowed his head in reply, careful not to slip up and utter the true name of the man behind the mask as the test subjects were carried away in stretchers. He watched Amon's men as they worked, adding, "I did not think anyone would be crazy enough to volunteer to be test subjects for our new weapon, though. I was worried you would abduct unwilling participants…"

"I had thought of doing so had those men not presented themselves," the masked leader admitted. "But they knew that which we are fighting for and they are willing to sacrifice anything to achieve our goals."

Hiroshi didn't know what to say in reply to those words, and so he merely nodded.

It was enough of an answer from Amon, however, who shook his head and in a business-like tone asked, "Tell me, Mister Sato, how long before these gloves are under full production?"

A sigh—one he hoped Amon did not notice—escaped his lips, before he replied, "You only need to say the word, Amon."

Post Author's Notes:

And that's that for the 34th chapter.

I hope it was satisfactory.

Anyways, I will try to post an update next week. I can't make any promises though since I am about to go on a week-long vacation. The thing that is important though is that I am not going to abandon this fanfic. I owe it to all the readers of this literary work to write this through the end, so you guys needn't worry about that.

So, until the next update...dream on; fly on!