CHAPTER SIX: I WANNA ROCK RIGHT NOW: PART II
Deception, intimidation, and fear.
Those were the prime attributes of John Scarecrow and the mannequins that inspired his name.
But within the confines of his Providence cell once reserved for other forms of monsters, he felt like little more than a hollow bundle of straw to be scattered by any passing breeze.
...Or a huff from the big bad wolf at Providence, Rex Salazar — the one responsible for his capture.
And though it was Doctor Holiday who struck the final blow on the mission that went astray, John attributed that blunder of a task to his long time rival; nor could he rationalize any other excuse, as across all of his failures he found that the only common thread was Rex's disrespect.
Be it at Abysus, Hong Kong, or the Processing Plant that the Defect group claimed as their base of operations, Rex was at the center of John's downfall every time. In spite of all of John's precautions, their routine turned out exactly the same. Every. Single. Time. Such was the nature of their rivalry.
Granted, John wouldn't have ended up in custody if he had just collected the data Black Knight requested and moved on. But sabotaging Rex's group—nay, the war-bound allies Rex embraced as his new family—after all the humiliation and suffering he made John endure wasn't enough.
It could never be enough. So, as he was about to make his exit, John disregarded both his mercenary professionalism and any notion of self-preservation to plant seeds of tension and engage in one final duel against the hero. And in terms of sheer power, it was a battle he could have never hoped to win...if he hadn't known about Rex's emotional setbacks and how they inhibited his nanite abilities.
John didn't consider that bit of trivia a revelation after having already pieced it together from footage of Rex's machines becoming unstable during high-crisis scenarios and the like. But after eavesdropping on a conversation between Caesar and Black Knight before that assignment he finally had hard confirmation.
However, that knowledge led to overconfidence and hubris which made his defeat by Rex's hand all the more demoralizing when Rex retaliated against John's emotional attacks in kind.
To think that he, the master of manipulation, was so easily provoked by Rex and his empty taunts. Surely there was no possibility that Rex was aware of the insincerity of his words or the gravity of their impact since the last time the pair met was before Rex's infamous blackout in Mexico.
Yet John believed that Rex knew exactly what he was saying, at least on a subconscious level, because that was the kind of person he was by default. Not that anyone other than John knew that, since the burden of remembering was on him while Rex was always the one who got to forget.
As such those memories lingered in solitary — making his very mind a prison so cold, bitter, and alone that the darkness which surrounded him could be likened to a void entrenched in malice.
And in addition to being an apt description of his mental state, it was an easy task to use those same terms to describe the unforgiving glare that he reserved for Rex and Doctor Gabriel Rylander as the two guards guided the latter figure through the closed off, ill-lit premises.
The heavy footsteps of the soldiers contrasted the sharp clicks of Rylander's heels and walking cane. And while the doctor conditioned himself to disregard John's resentment every time he drew near the bars of the confinement, the guards that allowed him passage marched alongside him with their fingers on the trigger of their suppressive instruments; apprehensive and prepared to incapacitate.
With John Scarecrow's poor behavior in mind, the doctor clearly understood that the agents were following procedure and that their response was reasonable towards a subject as volatile as John; especially with his recent escape attempts in mind and all the chaos that invariably ensued.
But Rylander also knew how difficult it was to make conversation in the presence of armed guards and could only imagine how the agents furthered the tensions by standing outside John's cell; as such, Rylander unsuccessfully tried to dismiss the overbearing agents only looking after his safety.
"No can do. Doctor Holiday explicitly instructed not to leave you unattended in your current state."
"In my current state?" Rylander objected with a hint of annoyance on his face. "It's the first time you agents don't have to wheel me in on that confounded contraption, and yet I'm suddenly a liability once I can stand on my own two feet again?" He protested with his head tilted at an angle and his supportive cane being used as a makeshift prod against the senior agent's chest with one tap.
"The issue isn't your body, it's your mind. She claims that you're unfit to have a private session with someone so personally familiar and emotionally abusive." the other agent elaborated.
"That so?" Both the guards rapidly aimed their stun-rifles at Scarecrow's direction but he didn't flinch in the slightest. Instead, he eased his murderous glare and expressed a sinister, mocking smile. "Bet you two she was referring to the old man behind his back." He mocked.
John then proceeded to shift from his hunched position and curled into bed with his blanket tossed over his body for privacy, laying in bed but by no means resting. Rylander could only frown at John's despondence and anti-social tendencies, but looked back at the agents with more desperate eyes and was entirely ready to begin pleading for but a sliver of privacy with the captive.
"Please, there's no need for your weapons here. The other agents granted unsupervised conferences in the past," he murmured, "But five minutes is all I ask. I have other business to attend to anyhow."
The commanding agent let out a frustrated sigh, but figured there was no point in arguing against Rylander if he swore to be gone in less time than it took for them to transport him there. So after exchanging looks with the other agent who nodded in agreement they established ground terms.
"You have five minutes with him, that's it. The clock starts once the door is closed and we WILL drag you out by force if you aren't done by then." The agent poked at Rylander's chest in return.
"No complaints here. Thank you two for being so considerate."
"Don't make us regret this, Doctor." the cadet added before the entry was closed off and Rylander was left alone with Jonathan, who only shuffled slightly beneath the cover of his sheets.
The silence between them spoke volumes on its own. And though Rylander doubted that John would warm up to him any time soon, he swore to break the ice above all else.
"These visits don't get any easier, Jonathan." Rylander solemnly mentioned while grabbing on to one of the bars and trying to make small-talk with John, who continued to ignore Rylander's very existence both intentionally and not as he was preoccupied with a personal task demanding his attention.
"So, even though I'm back in one piece you still treat me like I'm nobody. Heh! See what I did there? No body?" Rylander chuckled at his fatherly sense of humor and then frowned abruptly when he didn't get so much as a retort or insult in return. He hoped to get through to John soon, but knew quite well that it would take more than jokes and frequent visits to win him over.
"I understand. You're still upset at me, and probably hate to see me here of all people. However, I thought you would at least be interested to see my new form." Rylander explained while raising his hand and waving all five fingers at John with a mechanical whir — not that John could see the gesture, but he definitely heard it and was more than intrigued by the development.
It was the first day Rylander visited John in prison when he addressed the destruction of his original body, which made it all the more incredible for John to learn that he finally possessed a new one. All the same, he only sat up in bed without any official acknowledgement of his interest.
"Yes, I can still recall how fascinated you were by the medical applications of nanites back when you were much, much younger." Rylander continued anyway, "And when efforts to reassemble my molecules proved ineffective, we opted to turn me into an android instead. So I wanted you to be the first to witness the product of our labor after Caesar and I finished construction this morning!"
"Of course you needed help from a Salazar." John muttered to himself with a scowl. Whatever praise and admiration he held for such a significant biological advancement was quickly discarded with the knowledge that it was accomplished with the assistance of Rex's family.
Rylander, conversely, was unaware of John's vitriol towards his godchildren — and having mistook that muted reaction for a positive response he thought to move forward with that talking point while John revealed a compact device that he no longer made the effort of hiding to repair.
"Oh, did they lend that trinket to keep you occupied? It looks inoperable, but I suppose that is something we both have in common!" John didn't care; he simply ignored his elder's rambling and continued to rewire his contraption until the trigger finally functioned properly. And nothing.
"See, we should have spent more time securing and testing the subsystems before engaging a full blown test," that much John could agree with — if sparks didn't fly from his tool it would surely be confiscated and he wouldn't get that same opportunity again. The trigger was pulled again. Nothing.
"However, we made do with the time we had left. After all, today is a very special day and I couldn't bear the thought of you spending it alone while Rex was in the company of all his friends."
Click.
An electric impulse fired off in both the handheld object and inside of John's head. But while his scraped together paralyzer turned off the moment he involuntarily let go of the trigger, the rest of his body froze up while his heartbeat became as rapid and stuttered as his breathing.
Likewise, his typically cool demeanor was inexplicably overcome with a sense of distress, envy, anger, loneliness, and vengeance above all else — all stirring together in a pool of emotions he was drowning in. Or, to put it aptly, he was experiencing a panic attack for the first time since The Event.
But what was responsible for this sudden reaction? Was his breakfast spiked with a substance to control him? Or could there be exposed circuitry in his weapon? John considered all the possibilities in a fraction of a second, but after confronting the cause with rational thought he regrettably concluded that it was the verbalized mention of Rex's name that sent him in such a state of disarray.
"...You do know what day it is, don't you?" Rylander asked after looking down at John and confusing his discomforted expression with one of deep thinking and recollection.
John, of course, had no way of keeping track of the date and had no clue what the occasion was, nor did he really care enough to find out despite his usual investigative nature.
No, at that moment the only thing that mattered to him was escaping from his confines and getting as far away as he could from the man before him. So he loosened his grip on the paralyzer and tempered both his voice and attitude to get close enough to do what had to be done.
After taking a deep breath he looked up at Rylander with a deceptive, tired smirk and stood up.
"How could I forget?" He innocently replied, slowly pacing forward while Rylander pulled himself closer to the bars with a hint of hope gleaming in his eyes. John, in turn, revealed a genuine albeit thin smile — but it was in anticipation of the shock Rylander was about to experience by his hand.
So, standing mere inches on the opposite sides of the bars, John pressed the trigger of his stun gun and whispered "It's the day you die, fuckhead." on the opposite side of the bars.
Rylander was taken back by the threat after presumably making so much progress in that meeting alone. However, he didn't have enough time to process his disappointment, or to correct John on what occasion he was referring to before John made clear what he meant by his words.
With the press of the trigger, his stun gun was activated and then thrust into Rylander's throat.
Rylander doubled-over and slammed head first against the bars. Fortunately he experienced no pain for what would have otherwise been a fatal move, but despite his current build registering no pain all his motor systems were malfunctioning and his emotional devastation was beyond palpable.
Regardless of all the thoughts coursing through Rylander's mind with the increased voltage running through his system, he opened his mouth to call out for help to no avail — and John's amusement.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" John hissed with a sadistic laugh as he pressed harder against Rylander's metallic throat. "Or have you finally learned to shut your mouth for the first time in your life?" He ferociously growled while squeezing the trigger with a vice grip.
"What was that one expression you used to say all the time? 'Any man who runs from his past will surely forfeit his future', right?" John interrogated before violently withdrawing his stun-gun and reaching his arm through the bars to grab the back of Rylander's head, slamming it against the bars.
"Well let me ask you this: Did you really think that it would only take a couple of pep talks for me to forgive you? For me to forget all those years you abandoned mom? Or your own goddamn son?" John vented with a grizzled voice and irritated eyes before slamming Rylander's head again.
The second time around, the two guards finally heard the commotion and panicked to open the security door. They swore and lambasted themselves for letting their guard down after how accustomed they've become to the usually calm and uneventful visits; and how unfortunate it was that door was jamming on top of not registering the commanding agent's ID.
Indeed, the agents detested every second Rylander was assaulted — but John, however, was in the midst of an emotional breakdown that resulted from years of bottled up turmoil and anguish.
"Oh, that's right, how could I have forgotten that Rex is the only one you ever gave a shit about?" John mocked with yet another slam.
"Rex was the only one you ever noticed,"
Slam.
"The only one you were ever proud of,"
Slam.
"The only one you told stories to, or played with." he cried,
S l a m.
"The only one he — the only one you hugged," he stuttered, stopping his breakdown temporarily to let out a pathetic sob and allow himself to be vulnerable, just for once. He was no longer a child, and yet there he was protesting about the lack of affection he received from Gabriel all those years ago.
It was a whole other grievance from the recent anger John felt at Rylander after being abandoned following the event, but John was at his limit. He was hurt, as he had been for many years, and unlike Rex he had no one to lift him up, be by his side, offer him a second chance, or—
Oh. John then realized why he turned out the way he did. Because when it all came down to it, he and Rex were very similar people; even best friends, once upon a time. But there was a reason they drifted apart and became two diametrically opposed individuals and it was something Rex possessed — something that John always longed for yet never managed to attain.
With one hand clenched into a fist and the other hand bleeding with how the fingertips were digging into the robotic chassis, John stifled his tears and cleared his throat for one final declaration.
"Rex was the only one..." John uttered, with his striking arm outstretched far beyond the bars and still holding Rylander's head, now dented and leaking in certain areas — particularly the eyes. But John perceived it as a leak from a mishandled contrivance, and not the tears of a wounded man.
Whatever the case was, the agents were forcing their way through the door and nearly about to break through. So with what little time John knew he had left, he looked directly at his father.
"...You ever LOVED!" He bawled before crushing Rylander's artificial skull against the bars and subsequently tossing him to the ground. John felt cathartic to put his old man in his place, but no more satisfied or complete than the day he got locked up in Providence. And so the tears continued to flow as the agents broke through the gate and aimed their rifles, but it didn't matter to him.
His arms were already raised because he knew what consequences he would face for his actions. And in that instance he didn't resist because he had neither the energy nor the will to fight back.
Almost instinctively, the agents fired off their weapons and John was rendered instantly immobile; an ironic fate, but one he accepted it in the fullest. There would be time to scheme for his escape and long overdue revenge against Rex, but right then there was nothing he wanted more than some rest.
He couldn't remember the last time peacefully drifted away over the past several years.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hope I've earned that Drama tag on with this chapter; of which the focus is based on a headcanon I've had in my head for years. And after weeks of editing, I've finally finished writing it! John Scarecrow is a neglected and unpopular character, perhaps deservedly so. But with this, I hope I've presented the potential he has as an antagonist worth remembering, and one who has well understood motivation for the way he acted in "Mind Games" and was mentioned in "Rabble".
And on the subject of headcanons, feel free to share ones you've heard of or came up with in the comments and I may integrate them into the story at some point! Also, Dark Necessities is a very fitting song for Scarecrow. That's all—expect updates soon!
UPDATE [7/9/2019]:
Edits have been made to improve grammar and structure.