Author's Note: Um, yeah. Took a while. ::hides::
Chapter 7 - "...David felled him with a stone."
Streex shivered in the brisk wind, preferring to blame it on the cold he could barely feel than the nervous tension. "Where is he?"
"He'll be here," Ripster reassured him, but years of experience in reading his elder brother's tone informed Streex that Rip only hoped it was true. There were no guarantees, armed with only a hastily conceived plan of desperation against Paradigm who was hardly a stable human being. All he had to do was decide not to show up and they would lose.
The sun was starting to rise. A few hours ago, Streex would have paid a month's worth of allowance to be above ground and able to see it. Now he glared at it balefully. "Think Jab's awake yet?"
"Bends would have called."
The seconds felt like starved and lonely years without something to fill the silence, and Streex wished Ripster would keep talking to him because he couldn't handle the lack of noise. It left him to contemplate the hazy fragments of memories he had from his own laboratory nightmare-
Okay, he lied. Those memories weren't really hazy anymore. If he took the time to sort them into order and context he could probably remember the whole thing pretty damn clearly; he just didn't want to. But the worst parts kept coming back in flashes.
Since Rip seemed to have the whole lookout thing covered, he spent a few minutes distracting himself by scavenging through the various piles of concrete and steel. Personally, he didn't think Fission City needed another mall, and about half way through construction, someone in the mayor's office had apparently come to the same conclusion because the building site had been abandoned for a couple of months now, much to the disappointment of Bobby's social clique. He'd been too cool to join in with their juvenile mourning, of course.
He found a piece of steel that was about three quarters of his height, and with a little application of force (and man, did he love the new strength they all had) he made a bend at one tip and had himself a reasonably facsimile of a hockey stick. He'd once considered trying to make the team in high school before he'd realized how many hours it'd take up with just training for the sake of one glorious game every other week, but he'd kept practicing. He didn't have his skates, but the weight of the stick felt good in his hand, and he satisfied his urge to hit something by making targets out of stones.
He could feel Ripster glaring at his back, but the expected rebuke never came, so Streex cheerfully went on doing it, satisfyingly picturing each one as Paradigm's head. He only stopped when Ripster straightened.
"They're coming."
"About damn time." Streex considered giving up his stick before deciding he felt better with a weapon. He knew he and his brothers were dangerous enough without them and, unlike the others, he even had claws that could do all kinds of nasty damage in close quarters, but he didn't really enjoy brawling like Jab did. It was twice as damaging to both parties and, call him crazy, but he just really didn't like pain all that much. "Where and how many?"
Rip pointed. "Just two."
"Well…" Streex rested the end of his stick in the dirt. "Maybe we won't need your backup plan after all."
"Here's hoping," Ripster said. Truth be told, if Paradigm wasn't willing to deal on either of their offers, the backup was only a tentative step from announcing this as a suicide mission: the final resort that didn't really count on either of them getting away.
He concentrated hard on those two signals as they moved sedately from the opposite end of the construction yard towards he and Streex, and that didn't sit quite right with him, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. This wind was with them, and he could catch the distinctive, unpleasant scent of Paradigm – the potent leather of his coat was a giveaway, along with rubber and metal which suggested he was wearing his armor, but was that paranoia or preparation? He could also smell his brother, which made him relieved and edgy all at once.
He didn't smell fear. Oddly enough, the clichés about that were true. Fear did have its very own, special scent: salty, bitter and sharp, but attractive in its own way to the shark mindset because it was the hallmark of prey. It wasn't easy to make the shark feel fear, but the brothers were certainly all capable of it. Terror was a very human reaction, and a very useful one that reminded them that no one was invincible.
Slam shouldn't have been unafraid. He shouldn't have been walking so close to Paradigm without hesitation or a struggle. Something wasn't right here. His stance lowered instinctively. Streex noticed. "What's wrong?"
"Don't know," Ripster said curtly, feeling dread right down to his bones. "Don't like it."
Paradigm sauntered like he had no place in the world he'd rather be in, and the mere sight of him was enough to raise invisible hackles and have Ripster growling sub-vocally. Streex unconsciously crushed part of his pipe and didn't notice, fighting a wave of vertigo at the sickening shades of memory, but they vanished entirely when he caught sight of Slam.
His little brother stumbled after the doctor like a sleepwalker, seemingly tethered by an invisible leash. He swayed crazily, shoulders hunched and head drooping, and every time he fell behind there was be an obedient surge, a few quickened steps, that would put him back on the Doctor's heel. The sight was so wrong Streex could feel his world tilting. The way Ripster stopped breathing was also worrying, in a distantly unimportant kind of way.
Paradigm's hands rested casually in his pockets. "Here I am, holding up my end of the bargain, but you both look so surprised."
"You-!" This wasn't the bargain. This was the bargain being set on fire and thrown out a window. "What the hell did you do to him?!"
Slam had staggered to a halt and stood with unnatural quietness; a clockwork toy unwound. His eyes were wide but glassy, sightless. He didn't see his brothers, or anything else for that matter.
Paradigm was smirking, enjoying their horror. "I fixed him, of course."
"Fixed?"
"Now he knows who his master really is…and I think it's about time the two of you remembered as well." Paradigm raised his hand and clicked his fingers. The noise had the effect of an electric shock on Slam, who twitched and turned slowly to track the source. Paradigm's voice overflowed with unbridled venom as he ordered, "Bring your brothers to me…don't bother to be gentle."
Streex wished he could say that there was some kind of hesitation, but the pause seemed only long enough for Slam to process the words before he turned his empty gaze on his brothers and lurched forward. The weight of the pipe was reassuringly heavy, but Streex knew instantly he'd never be able to bring himself to hit his little brother with it.
"Oh shi-"
"-it!"
Jab sat up far too fast and could have sworn the bed tried to buck him off, but rampaging furniture couldn't distract him from the realization that the scents of his brothers had faded, which meant they hadn't been around for a few hours which meant they left him behind, god damnit!
"Bends?" he called, doing his level best to stand up despite the persistence of the ground to sway unpleasantly under his feet. Whatever it was that Paradigm had created to drug them, it worked far too well for his liking, but even disoriented he knew he'd been unconscious too long. Was it morning already? It felt like it, but then by his standards that just meant any hour before lunchtime and the underground was timeless.
The main room of the place he wasn't willing to call home yet was empty save for the indignant scampering of rats as they fled from the echo of his call. For a moment he thought they might be all the company he had, but from above he caught a rustle of movement, and that got him scampering ungracefully for the ladder. Under less dire circumstances, he might have reconsidered doing something requiring that much coordination in his current condition…or maybe not.
The upper floor of the maintenance station hadn't been cleared; only Streex tended to prowl around up there, getting as close to freedom as he could. Bends, sitting amongst the rubble, started when Jab threw open the hatch, leaning heavily on the top of the ladder. "Where are they?"
"Whoa, Jab, you don't look so hot." Bends crawled over and started ineffectively helping the hammerhead up. "Should you really be up already?"
"My brothers," Jab said warningly. Bends should know better than to think misdirection would work.
The blond hung his head. "They went out to make a deal with Paradigm…to get Slam back. They went out to that old construction site near the school."
Jab was going to hit them when he found them. He dizzily tried to focus. "How long ago?"
Bends squinted at his watch. "About half an hour…?"
Maybe he wasn't too late then. "You've still got my bike, right? Tell me you fixed it."
Though John was known to tinker with motorcycles from time to time, Clint preferred Bends to do his repair work. For one, Bends complained less about Clint's mistreatment of his machine. Street racing got kind of dirty sometimes, and his bike took all kinds of unwarranted damage.
"Yeah I did…hey, hang on!" Grabbing Jab's arm only resulted in getting dragged, but Bends clung persistently. "You look like you're about to keel over and we don't know what happened. They might still call."
"Don't count on it." Jab had gotten a good look at Bends' watch too. Anyone on the streets at this hour was either up too early or too late, and hopefully wouldn't trust their eyes if they saw him. A mutant on a motorcycle wouldn't be the easiest sight to take.
"Then I'll go with you."
"No," Jab said firmly, finally shaking Bends off. He glared, more distracted and irritated by the need to hurry than really angry. "I screwed up, so I'll take care of it. It's not like you'd be much help anyway."
When he had the time to think back later, Jab would wish he could take that part back. Bends stopped cold, stunned enough to say nothing more than, "Fine."
"I'll bring them back," Jab promised, mostly to himself, and missing Bends' conflicted expression.
"Hope so," he murmured, concern nearly covering the trace of bitterness in his voice.
Early mornings had never agreed with him and it seemed his shark instincts weren't any more appreciative of it. Hammerheads were dusk hunters, Jab recalled. Rip had done a bit of background research on their species on the off chance that it turned up anything interesting. Jab hadn't really listened. He didn't need to know the science behind why he could tear through metal with his teeth, or pick up the sound of a roach scuttling across the room, or his now insane sense of smell. That last was taking him a long time to get used to, but there were times when it was undeniably useful. The potent smell of the city still made him cringe, but he caught the scent of his brothers a mile away.
The scent of blood carried even further, but it wasn't until he reached the edge of the construction sight that he realized it shared the same origin. At close range it was overpowering and damn, he should have eaten something first. The last of his drug haze was wearing off, but in its place was the shark's ever present hunger. He quietly tore himself a hole in the fence and let those instincts guide him to the source.
The frames of unfinished buildings jutted like naked bones from the ground, and it gave the wind a voice as it rattled and whistled through the remains of the site. Jab wasn't a believer of superstitions or omens, but the eerie noise did nothing to soothe any of the bad feelings he had. The silence clearly indicated that whatever had gone down here was already over, but was that good or bad?
He was coming to the sour understanding that having a perfect sense of smell was hardly infallible. Though he knew his brothers had definitely passed this way, there wasn't any way to tell which way or when. Whenever the wind changed he had to double-check his direction, and the closer he got to the blood the less he noticed anything else. Powerful feeding instincts wouldn't be swayed from their goal, and they informed him that he was slowly approaching something that was still warm and alive, but still.
He heard Streex groan softly.
Cursing under his breath, Jab hurried to the source and found the tiger shark pinned under a pile of crooked support beams. A hurried attempt to lift them proved he wouldn't have an easy time of it by himself, even with mutant strength. He nudged Streex's shoulder, voice unconsciously kept low. "Hey, moron, wake up."
The part of his mind that had been quietly preparing itself for a panic over possible spine fractures was eased as Streex glared up at him blearily. "…late, jerk."
If Streex was seriously hurt, he wouldn't have sounded so annoyed. Jab nudged pointedly him, hiding relief. "Should have waited. What the hell did you get yourself in to?"
With Streex awake, they might be able to shift the beam together, but the action was forestalled as he belatedly recognized the echoes of footsteps. Predator-sharp senses had been too occupied with evaluating the helpless Streex as a possible meal, and only at the last moment did they decide to warn him that someone or something had managed to get behind him and close. He half-rose, hackles raised and fists ready. Slam gave him a blank look.
"Oh man," Jab breathed, his pulse spiked from the jolt of alarm. "Am I glad to see you, bro. You okay? Hey, help me move this thing."
Streex bucked weakly under the beam. "Jab, move, he's not-!"
Not expecting an attack from that quarter, Jab had turned his back, but the scent of blood had woken his reflexes from their stupor. By habit he wasn't listening to Streex very carefully, but he sensed the threat without need of the prompt. His dodge was unconscious and natural, but only after he'd backed out of Slam's range did he rewind the event and realize why he'd done it. He blinked indignantly at Slam. "Hey! What was that for?"
"Paradigm," Streex wheezed by way of explanation. "Did something. Dunno what, but-"
Jab had seen his brother's fists take out steel and concrete, and the reach of his arms was deceptive. He dodged again with a hiss – not quite fast enough now that he was actually thinking about it – and though barely grazed, it stung. Slam wasn't screwing around, but in spite of that, there was something off about his movement. A slowness between swings that he might have thought was hesitation except there was nothing of that in Slam's body language. It was more like the halting movement of horror movie zombies.
Had he lost a day somewhere? Was this what Paradigm could do with just a couple of hours to work with? He stared disbelievingly. "No way."
"Yes way," he was corrected with insulting mimic. Splitting his attention to track Paradigm's voice nearly cost Jab an eye as Slam remained undistracted. Resting on his heels, arms crossed in a manner that translated to boredom, Paradigm seemed largely unconcerned. "Your brother belongs to me now."
For a moment, all Jab could picture was the satisfying crunch of his fist intercepting Paradigm's nose, but the bastard was hiding on the sidelines, well away from the fight and with Slam's imposing presence as a barrier. Revealing himself was perfectly planned, perfectly timed, and perfectly executed in a way that made Jab fully aware that he couldn't do a damn thing and was just frustrated enough to still consider trying, despite the obvious futility and likely stupidity. The only reason he didn't was because five rapid-fire realizations distracted him.
One, Streex was still pinned and, despite obvious effort, wasn't going to be able to move without help. Two, Slam was zombified or brainwashed and he didn't have a clue what to do about it. Three, Ripster was missing in action, and the fact that Paradigm didn't look worried made his insides lurch. Four, his nose was informing him that two other alien scents were fast approaching and he was familiar enough with Paradigm's other pets to recognize them at a distance, and five, his ability to maneuver was quickly becoming a problem with Slam herding him back against one of the half finished walls, effectively boxing him in. Sure, he might be able to break through it, but that would cost him precious seconds and probably bring the foundation beams down on his head. The concrete had only been erected for the bottom floor, and above them the half-started beginning of a second story wobbled precariously.
The last revelation came a little slower than the others, hindered by denial, and he was forced to consider that he might actually be royally screwed.
"Give up now and you'll spare yourself the pain of your brothers," Paradigm offered arrogantly, like he'd know all along it was going to end like this. The final act of the play he'd predicted three scenes ago, with all the characters on the stage resigned to their predetermined roles.
Overkill, Jab seethed. All the pieces on the board to corner one lowly pawn. Paradigm figured it wouldn't cost him anything, and adding insult to injury was just the kind of cruel pettiness that Jab had come to expect from Paradigm. He hadn't known the man very well back when he'd been human, and hadn't wanted to for reasons that he'd never thought too hard about. The man just left a bad taste in his mouth.
So did losing, for that matter, and he was faced with two impossible choices, but when the greater evil was to stand his ground he had to take his chances with the one that would only be hurting his ego and his convictions.
"I'll take my chances," he hissed, and did what no pawn should do. He broke the rules, and deliberately knocked the only part of the wall that had seemed moderately stable. As his final act of penance, he ducked under Slam's guard and shoved his brother clear as the first screech of weak steel announced the precursor to rusted metal finally buckling under pressure.
The whole structure came apart like a tower of cards, making the ground tremble ominously and raising a cloud of cement dust. Streex coughed and rubbed it from his eyes, his head ringing from the sound of it. Paradigm – far enough from the center of destruction to remain unaffected - stood tense and scowling, waiting for the air to clear, but despite the magnitude of the destruction, there was no sign that the hammerhead had been caught in it.
The drill-nosed fish and the lobster-thing melted out of the shadows, the latter full of glee. "Is he dead?"
Drill-nose sniffed around the edge of the rubble and sneered. "Gone."
"Then find him," Paradigm ordered, brushing the grit from his coat.
The two slunk off, torn between resentment at the chore and excitement at the prospect of the hunt; Paradigm hadn't specified what kind of condition the shark should be brought back in. Slam stayed where he'd fallen after Jab's push, directionless without Paradigm's specific instructions. Streex glanced at him worriedly, but knew better than to call out. Slam didn't hear him, and trying to talk his brother down was how he'd ended up pinned in the first place.
After a moment of contemplation, Paradigm sighed quietly, as though it were all a disappointing tea party. The click of his fingers made Streex flinch, and Slam homed in on the sound. "Follow me."
If Paradigm had passed a little closer than Streex would have been able to…well, chew his leg off maybe. He didn't have the leverage for much else, but although he was seemingly been dismissed as far beneath the Doctor's notice, Paradigm wasn't careless enough to give him the opportunity. In spite of common sense telling him that not drawing attention to himself would be a real good idea, he couldn't suppress an unexpectedly feral growl; a low, warning rumble that promised more trouble than Streex could probably deliver. Paradigm's flicked over him in a cursory kind of way, but if the toppling of the building hadn't managed to phase him then one petty show of resistance sure wouldn't.
Still, Paradigm smirked. "Why don't you just stay put until I finish with your brother." As though Streex had any choice in the matter. "Don't worry. We'll be back for you."
Slobster's antennae twirled in aggravation. "He's not here."
Slash hissed. "Maybe you're not looking hard enough."
"And maybe," the lobster challenged, "he ran away."
Slash made a dismissive sound as he restlessly upturned a barrel, though it had little chance of being able to hide a shark. "Well I'm sure he would have had time to, with all the noise you're making."
Slobster gave him a dull, sullen glare that said he wasn't quite sure what Slash was implying, but he recognized the tone. The concept of a stealthy pursuit didn't even enter his limited brain, whereas Slash at least understood that unwary prey was easier to catch.
"He's still here," Slash insisted. "Paradigm said he wouldn't leave the others behind."
"If he's smart, he will," Slobster grumbled, but arguing further would suggest that, somehow, their creator was wrong. Paradigm was never wrong, so therefore the shark must not have left despite what any survival instinct would have dictated.
Four against one, and the last wasn't even the most dangerous, as Paradigm had patiently tried to explain to his creations. Hammerheads could be vicious, and the temperament of the second eldest Bolton would only have enhanced this trait, but as hunters their primary strength was in numbers. They didn't take down large prey alone like great whites or tiger sharks, and they didn't have the imposing size of the whale shark.
Slobster hadn't really listened. Information tended to drain from his head like water through a sieve. All he understood was that he had to follow the Doctor's orders. He wasn't the first of the Doctor's creations, but he was what Paradigm had deigned to be the first success. A very tenuous title when compared to the likes of the Boltons, or even to Slash. He barely qualified now that the bar had been raised, and Slobster knew it well enough to be wary.
Meaning as much as he wanted to give up and return to Paradigm he couldn't while he remained empty handed, but while Slash was still hunting furtively amongst the pylons, Slobster was slowed by the glare of the sun. While right at home underground, in enclosed buildings, or at night, the light burned his eyes unpleasantly. Paradigm didn't often let them roam outside, and almost never during the day, but he was eager to have all the sharks in his possession by morning. A calculated risk, but the Doctor was masterful at those.
Grumbling in annoyance, Slobster shielded his eyes with a claw and rounded the corner of another unfinished wall segment only to come face to face with his target. Jab leaned against the brickwork, casually examining his fingernails. The bored glance he gave the Seaviate was dismissive.
"So what took you so long?"
Slobster's hesitation was only long enough to plot how he was going to tear the shark's arm off. He didn't even consider the oddness of this picture until he took a great step forward and suddenly found that the ground ahead was only a burlap cloth and some artfully scattered dirt hiding an unexpected hole. With a squawk of surprise, he found himself abruptly falling down into the earth.
After only a second, he recovered the presence of mind to react. The hole was deep but narrow – probably having been intended for one of the foundation beams – and he lashed out with both arms and legs, digging into the dirt and simultaneously pushing his back against the wall until friction began to slow his fall. Though the bottom half of the shaft was slick with clay, he managed to stop through sheer persistence and strength before he reached the bottom.
The sky was now only a mellow circle above him, but he was far from finished. His claws were as good as pinions. He could still manage to climb back up, and when he found that shark he would-!
But whatever plan he had in mind was stalled when bags of dry cement powder started raining from above. Slobster's bulk had barely fit down the shaft; the bags could hardly miss him. The first slammed hard across his shoulder, and though his armor protected him from all but a dull impact the force made him slip downward another couple of inches.
Only after the sixth bag had fallen did the shark peer smugly over the edge of the hole and brazenly called down, "And that's why sharks are at the top of the food chain."
Slobster snarled an incoherent reply, practically spitting in animalistic fury until as a final insult Jab dropped the wheelbarrow he'd used to cart the cement down the shaft as well. Beneath the layers, the lobster's curses were practically silenced.
"Where did that idiot get to now?" Slash mused, searching for any sign of his partner's rusty red hide. It was practically impossible that Slobster would be able to disappear when he moved like an armored tank and was just as subtle, but inexplicably Slash had lost sight of him. Maybe he'd found the shark, but more likely he'd just forgotten their mission and wandered off. Slash hissed softly in aggravation, and then tried to console himself with the idea that if he brought the shark back himself, not only would he get the pride of the battle itself, but he'd also earn the Doctor's approval.
Assuming the Doctor wasn't too engrossed in the capture of the Boltons. He certainly hadn't given more than his distracted appreciation when Slash and Slobster had brought the big orange one back. It was much the same with every new experiment, but Slash knew the Doctor kept him for a reason. He was stronger, superior, useful, and as long as he kept being so, then one day the Doctor would take notice. His current fascination with the Boltons would only be a passing phase, like everything else. Only their disobedience and persistence made them different.
Slash was almost looking forward to seeing what Paradigm would do to the others. The whale shark had certainly changed his tune…
His murky, gleeful daydreams were rudely interrupted by a nearly ignored shift of movement above him, but he wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the shark's kick as he swung down from the beam. He took it in the side instead of the back, but it didn't feel any less painful. Still, Slash was back on his feet after only a moment. Now he knew how the shark had managed to elude them so long, but how he'd managed to climb around on the unfinished beams without bringing the whole thing down was anyone's guess.
"Funny," he said, stooped low in a pretense of injury as he prepared to lunge. "I didn't think sharks liked heights."
"Paradigm obviously doesn't know me very well then." Jab twirled an object in his hand. "You dropped something."
Slash made a startled, spluttering sound, hastily glancing to his thigh where the tranquilizer gun should have been holstered, but of course now it rested in the shark's hand. Slobster didn't carry one; his claws couldn't manage the trigger, but Slash had been entrusted with it once more for the purpose of taking down the shark a second time. His fall must have knocked it loose. He raised his eyes, glaring hate. "You wouldn't-!"
The shark pulled the trigger, but instead of aiming high the dart took Slash in the leg. Immediately it began going numb and cold, like ice had started traveling through his veins. He staggered, off-balance, but grit his teeth and endured. He wouldn't be able to run, but it would take more than a single dart to bring him down, as they'd already proven when their situations had been reversed.
Deep down, he was perhaps just slightly worried. The look in the shark's eye wasn't entirely sane, and the way he leveled the gun between Slash's eyes was filled with malice.
"What did Paradigm do to my brother?"
Slash hissed his amusement, buying time while he tried to figure out if he could tackle the shark before the trigger was pulled. "What makes you think I'd know? The Doctor doesn't explain himself to us."
"Well you'd better start thinking," Jab told him grimly. "Because I'm running out of reasons not to pull this trigger."
"You can't kill me with that," Slash said. He knew because the Doctor had told him so; even if he were injected with every dart that gun had it wouldn't be enough to kill a mutant. Paradigm hadn't wanted any mistakes, after all.
"And what's to stop me from gutting you afterwards?"
As he watched, Jab's eyes slid very deliberately over to the right. When he copied the motion he saw a bunch of jagged, mangled looking lengths of shaft. Any one of them would make a usable, though not effective, stabbing tool.
Jab's smile was malevolent. "Don't think I won't do it."
If Slash had any doubt, he might not have caved, but the weak, moral-bound nature of the Boltons seemed to have skipped this particular brother. Maybe it was just because he didn't have much to lose at the moment. "It has something to do with the collar! That's all I know."
Confusion, followed by the slow return of memory. The collar might have been overlooked in the initial confrontation, but Slash could see Jab thinking back and could practically pin-point the moment he remembered the thin, metal-linked collar around his brother's neck. It almost gave him the opportunity to make his move, but just as quickly Jab's focus was back in the present. "And if I get that off, he'll go back to normal?"
"Maybe." Slash didn't think it would be a good idea to mention that the last person who'd worn that collar had ended up with her brain cells turned to mush. When Jab's finger tightened on the trigger, he hastily amended, "I don't know! The Doctor hasn't fully tested it yet."
"Then I guess you aren't much use to me."
Slash had an unpleasant vision of his unconscious body being staked to the ground with rusty lengths of metal. "Wait! I can tell you other things!"
"I don't have time for an interrogation."
The dart took Slash between the eyes. His expression glazed over quickly; the sedative's effectiveness was proportional to how closely it was injected to the brain, and after only a few moments he toppled. Jab counted off a few extra seconds to be sure it was safe and then kicked Slash's body for good measure. "And you're lucky I don't have time to kill you either."
That took care of the minions. Now there was just Paradigm to worry about. With adrenaline racing, high on success, and armed with new information, he was almost looking forward to it.
The skeletal building might as well have been a giant jungle gym for Jab's enjoyment, and the barely-risen sun was at a perfect angle to hide his approach. He'd avoided the central area of the site. It was the least finished, had the least cover, and the scent of blood radiated strongest from there. He knew it was where Paradigm had been waiting.
He'd been very tempted to go back and get Streex first, but when the wind blew in the right direction, he could hear snippets of his brother swearing under his breath. Obviously he was still stuck, but not in any real trouble, and Jab was inclined to leave him. He was going to have enough trouble watching his own back, let alone Streex's, and there was a subliminal sense of urgency for the insight he'd been subliminally aware of all along.
Ripster was bleeding. Maybe not much more than Streex had been, but so far Jab hadn't seen or heard any sign of his older brother. It didn't bode well.
Despite the temptation to storm his way to the center and take Paradigm on head first, he forced himself to go slow. Sneaking didn't come naturally, and the agonizing pace put the shark's instincts into rebellion, but he was well aware that Paradigm wasn't like those creatures. In spite of their talking, Jab couldn't shake the idea that they weren't quite human, and when he dwelled on that too long it made him shudder.
Whatever they were, they were stupid. They hadn't looked up to see Jab ghosting their movements, waiting for his opportunities. He didn't like to give Paradigm any credit, but he couldn't count on the man to make the same mistake, to he forced himself to inch stealthily along the upper walkways, and then when he ran out of places to climb to, he dropped back to the ground and crept from one sparse patch of cover to the next until he was as close as he could get, although his hiding place was only a low wall of brick that forced him to practically lie flat. After an uncertain minute of trying to decide if it was safe to look without getting caught, he gave himself a mental smack and quietly pried out one of the uneven bricks so he could peer through the hole.
Paradigm was pacing. Jab didn't bother to suppress his grin. There was a definite line of agitation in the man's posture, slowly rising in intensity. Slammu stood passively nearby, not perfectly still, but swaying as though to a slow, silent song. Jab stared hard at the collar that he'd overlooked the first time in the struggle. Woven links of metal that looked like it fit snugly to the skin, with no obvious controls or clasps. It wasn't very thick. He was going to tear it off and then tear it to pieces…or maybe strangle Paradigm with it if he had the opportunity.
Ripster was on the ground. Jab's heart clenched a little, but the rise and fall of his back proved that Rip was still breathing. A closer scrutiny revealed a cluster of small darts peppering his shoulder. Must have been Paradigm. Drill-nose had been a lousy shot. He touched the stolen gun reassuringly, making sure it was still stuck into his belt. His first impulse had been to crush it and throw it away, but then shooting Paradigm with his own toy would be perfect irony. A hundred hours of arcade games probably wasn't quite the same as real-world experience, but he didn't think his aim was too bad.
Paradigm abruptly halted in his tight, circular route and turned his vile gaze on Slam. Jab tensed, but all Paradigm did was click his fingers – that same, ominous sound that seemed to be the only thing Slam reacted to – and say, "I'm going to get the car. Guard John. Don't let anyone get close and don't let him escape."
Jab could feel his pulse start to race a little faster as Paradigm stalked away. How far was the street from here? A five minute walk at the rate Paradigm was going. Enough time to try something while he was gone, but would Slam sound an alarm if Jab came out? Would he even notice? Come to think of it, he wasn't sure how Paradigm's commands actually worked. He considered the problem until he was reasonably sure Paradigm was well out of range, and decided he was over-thinking it.
He stood up. Slam wasn't looking directly at him, but Jab should still have been in his field of vision, and he wasn't making any attempt to be subtle. No reaction. Whatever mind-control method Paradigm was using, it wasn't too complex; like leaving a really limited AI in charge of Slam's body. If it could only follow one set of instructions at once then Jab was safe as long as he didn't get too close to Ripster…but how close was too close?
He approached cautiously, giving Rip a wide berth but slowly winding close to Slammu. Only when he got to about twenty feet away did Slam even register his presence, turning rapidly to watch Jab's approach, but he didn't move. His eyes were unnerving though. Like dark, empty glass. It made Jab uneasy, but he kept their gazes locked as though he could will Slam into stillness, and he watched for any sign that he was crossing a boundary.
Maybe the real Slam was watching, trying to fight his way out, but there was so sign of it.
Each step brought that wicked collar closer to his reach. He hesitated just before moving into Slam's personal space, but there was still only that blank incomprehension. He was close enough to put a hand on Slam's chest, to reach just a little bit further and-
At the last second he realized the ploy. Why would Paradigm bother explaining himself to Slam, who didn't hear anything anyway? Lena had said the Doctor was a good actor, and Jab had seen a few of those TV performances himself. The neatly timed departure was just a little too convenient, and would have been the perfect lure to draw him out while his brothers were unwatched.
Damn. Jab had underestimated him after all.
He distinctly remembered hearing the soft clack of a trigger being pulled, but what happened next was less clear. Only when he was aware of himself again did he realize he had moved and the soft whoosh that echoed in his ears was the noise of the bullet having gone wild. He blinked. Paradigm looked intrigued.
"Impressive reflexes," the Doctor observed, lowering his tranquilizer gun. "The four of you are still surpassing my expectations."
Jab had only taken a half step back. He was still close enough! He lunged for the collar, but not before Paradigm had made his next order.
A click of fingers. "Attack."
Slam moved. Jab was faster.
The collar shifted as he groped for purchase, and the moment he tried to tear it off he knew he'd made a mistake. Slam's expression didn't change at all, but a thick trickle of blood began falling from each side of his brother's neck. The red was a shocking contrast to Slam's pale coloring, and the unexpectedness of having caused it made Jab release the collar like it burned. He had paused, but Slam had not and, heedless of injury, his strength wasn't pulled for the punch that sent Jab flying.
The ground was rough dirt and loose slate, and didn't cushion his fall in the slightest. His lungs felt bruised, and the stone felt like it had shredded his back and the side of his fin, but he knew better than to stay on the ground. He wincingly staggered back to his feet, but Slam was still processing the new distance to his target and Paradigm was laughing.
"A noble effort," Paradigm applauded mockingly, moving closer to Slam. "Your older brother tried the same, though not as successfully, as you can see." He gestured to Ripster's still form. "And he would have discovered as you just did, that my device won't be so easily removed. The pins on the collar are only to hold it in place, but you could do some irreparable damage if you try that again."
Jab would have spat an insult if he hadn't been too absorbed in the pain. From his shoulder blade to his waist burned like road rash – those rocks were sharper than they looked – and he thought something might be cracked if not broken. If there was any chance he could have willed Ripster into waking up it wasn't working, leaving him to face the unpleasant task that was starting to seem impossible.
Cooper had never been a fighter, but he hadn't needed to be. His size and strength had meant people thought twice before provoking him, and he hadn't been all that easy to provoke in the first place. Even now, Paradigm's mind control didn't lend him any skill or finesse, but that wasn't needed when strength alone made up for it.
Battling his brother, exhaustion, and now pain all at once? He might be able to manage, but he'd taken a measure of that collar's strength. The metal had no grip, and wouldn't tear without a bit of struggling that would only hurt Slam further, not to mention it would leave Jab open for another hit like that one. He didn't think he could take any more.
He pulled the stolen dart gun from his belt and took aim in one smooth motion, so quickly that even Paradigm's genius would have been hard pressed to keep up with it. He focused on Paradigm, imagining being able to plant a dart between his eyes just like he'd done with Drill-Nose…but the gun wasn't quite steady in his hand. He calculated his chances of being able to even hit Paradigm, whose armor protected all but his head, and painfully forced himself to switch targets. With a silent apology to Slam he fired.
He knew better than to think there would be an immediate reaction. At least, he consoled himself, Slam didn't seem to feel the sharp sting of the darts when they connected, and after a few seconds his gentle swaying became more pronounced, and Slam fell heavily to the ground.
Paradigm's expression barely changed. If anything he only looked slightly annoyed. "Even after I calculated a high chance that you would use my device on your brother instead of myself, I didn't actually think you would. How foolish of me."
Jab vengefully threw the empty gun as far as he could. "It's just you and me now."
"And you seem to think that this will end well for you." Paradigm smirked. "Your brothers aren't here to help you."
The way Paradigm blanched when Ripster suddenly grabbed his ankle was the sweetest thing Jab had seen all day. Rip gritted his teeth. "Says who?"
Unsteady footfalls announced a new arrival. "Yeah slimeball, now you're in trouble."
Jab turned, not quite able to believe it. Streex was definitely looking worse for wear. How he's managed to dig himself out from under the rubble was anyone's guess. They'd probably all be forced to listen to it at great lengths later, with the proper heroic embellishments, but right now Jab thought he could suffer through it with joy. He turned a victorious grin on Paradigm. "You were saying?"
Paradigm kicked out of Ripster's grip. The great white was conscious, but not strong. The change of odds seemed to make Paradigm think twice, however, and the Doctor retreated a few steps as he rethought his next move.
Jab forced himself to stand straighter than his injuries liked, because even if it was going to be three to one, none of them were in great shape. Streex was limping and Ripster barely looked like he was standing, but there was an electric current of ferocity in the air. Paradigm might be able to take them, but Jab saw a flicker of hesitation. For all his planning, Paradigm hadn't expected it to end up like this; he'd said so to Jab already. There were holes in his logic, flaws in his knowledge, and the brothers kept being able to surprise him when the stakes were unreasonable and most would have given up.
Arrogance and steel calm failed for a moment. Jab saw Paradigm doubt, and took a menacing half-step forward.
Paradigm retreated; not like a dog with its tail between its legs, much to Jab's disappointment, but cautiously, and with his face twisted in an ugly grimace.
"Your luck will run out sooner or later," he sneered, and for a moment Jab could have sworn he saw a shadow of that thing Paradigm had mutated into. Sharp fangs and dead eyes, but Paradigm was gone before he could confirm it. They waited breathlessly until the cling of his armor was nothing more than a distant echo, and Ripster took the opportunity to fall over again.
"Ouch," he grumbled tipsily, seeming to be struggling with the same unpleasant hangover Jab had woken up with. "Is he-?" He gestured vaguely in Slam's direction.
"Drugged," Jab offered, feeling a bit dizzy himself. "We need to get that collar off before he wakes up."
Streex had already rolled Slam over and was gingerly pulling out the darts. At Jab's words, he frowned and reached for the collar.
"Watch it," Jab snapped, brushing Streex's hands away as he knelt at Slam's other side. "It's hooked into his neck. You'll hurt him."
Streex glared. "Then what's your plan, genius?"
"We need bolt cutters," Jab said, trying to think if he'd seen anything like that lying around the site. "Or a saw, or something."
"Bite it," Rip suggested.
The two of them looked at him incredulously. With a tried growl he added, "Didn't you tell me you managed to chew through metal the other day? Just get it off him."
Streex scooted back. "All yours bro. I don't wanna touch anything Paradigm did."
"Thanks," Jab muttered, looking uneasily at the collar. Though he'd been surprising his awareness of it for the last few minutes, Slam's neck was still bleeding, and it wasn't the collar he wanted to bite in to. The thought was nauseating enough to keep a handle on the shark's hunger, and with a look that dared Streex to comment he leaned down and fit his teeth around the collar.
It was, bizarrely, chewier than he would have guessed. The outside crunched but the inside was wires and tubes, and it leaked something that tasted like battery acid and the charge of electricity made his teeth tingle. He forced himself to get through it and spat out the mouthful with distaste, hoping his tongue wasn't about to melt or anything equally unpleasant.
Streex peeled the rest of it off, his expression darkening as the cause of Slam's wounds were revealed to be a set of nasty looking spikes on the inside of the collar, two on each side of the throat and one on the back of the neck. It was a good thing Paradigm was long gone or Jab might have been made a murderer.
"Do I hear sirens or are my ears ringing?" Ripster asked, a frown of concentration on his face.
Jab listened. "No, those are sirens."
Ripster looked bleak. "Time to go."
"Is it okay to move him?" Streex asked, a hand on Slam's arm.
"I don't think we have much of a choice." Rip got to his feet, unsteady but determined. "Let's go."
The sirens overhead were far too close. They really should have run further, deeper, but considerations had to be taken. Streex was still limping heavily but was wisely silent instead of drawing attention to his bumps and scraps. They were all hurt, all exhausted, but even so Ripster and Jab would have gladly taken the weight of their youngest brother and carried him home if waking him hadn't been much more pertinent.
"Coop?" Jab was almost afraid to touch even though the whale shark hadn't ever been the most fragile of them. The gouges in Slam's neck were ugly, barely trickling now, but his breathing was disturbingly shallow.
Ripster searched worriedly for a pulse and counted it off to every second they shouldn't be staying. "Slow," he offered vaguely. "But that might be okay for us. I don't think we ever checked…"
Since it didn't look like they were going to move immediately, Streex slumped down against the wall. "He'll be okay now, right?"
He shouldn't have asked, despite how badly he needed to know. None of them had that answer, and reassurances would have been kind lies, but luckily they didn't need to think of a response. Slam groaned softly. The three of them tensed reflexively, but under Paradigm's control, their brother had been unnaturally silent. A groan, a mere whisper of breath and voice, was still something.
"Hey bro," Jab tried, gripping Slam's shoulder tighter than he should have but unable to help it.
Slam's eyes inched open by fractions as the other held their breath. The moment his oddly dilated pupils were visible he suddenly blinked rapidly with a long, drawn out, "Huuh?"
It still took long minutes before he approached anything like coherence, and Ripster didn't let go of his wrist the whole time. There were twitches of tension in Slam's arm, but when he managed to focus on his brothers the flashes of panic seemed to ebb, and in its place confusion reigned. "Where…?"
Slurred, but at least he sounded like himself. Streex's head dropped sharply, as though he were about to pass out from relief or maybe just collapse in exhaustion, but he caught himself in time to say, "Welcome back to the land of the sane."
Slam's expression was uncomprehending, but none of them cared to explain. It would have taken time they didn't have. Gripping the walls and each other for support, they managed to haul Slam to his feet and stagger slowly back home.
The bleak hours of pre-dawn were slowly becoming the real morning, with daylight and singing birds and the AM rush hour. Bends still hadn't slept, and was seriously considering using up one of his sick days, but there was no doubt that Paradigm would be in his office at nine o'clock sharp and damned if Bends would be outdone by him. Insomnia prompted by guilt was a terribly effective motivator. Besides, he was going to need to give the University his two weeks notice ASAP. He'd miss it, but he needed those hours for other things and it was hard to stay when the empty offices of the genetics department were practically haunted with Paradigm's influence and Bolton's memory.
When Slam was finally soothed enough to drift into uneasy sleep, Ripster dared to leave him with the other two and came to sit by Bends. "You okay?"
Bends smiled weakly. "Shouldn't I be asking you?"
"We'll be fine," Ripster said, quietly but with certainty. "He'll be fine." But something's eating you. He had to give Rip points for perceptiveness. He hadn't even had much of a chance to be cold to Jab yet, but hours later those callously thrown words were still gnawing at him.
"Yeah," Bends sighed, rubbing his eyes that felt like they'd been scrubbed with sand. "Just feel a bit useless, you know?"
"We needed you here," Ripster pointed out reasonably. "Things might have gone worse than they did. Now, how'd the results on that disk go?"
Bends was just awake enough to be wry. "Well there's good news, bad news, and weird news."
"Someone managed to crack it?" Ripster asked hopefully.
"A few people did," Bends said, but before Ripster could look too enthused he added, "And they found out it was linked to a self-destruct clause that crashed their computers and deleted the data the moment it was hacked."
Rip looked appalled. "Let me see."
He hadn't lied to Paradigm. He'd deleted every fragment of the Doctor's files off his hard drive, but before that he'd gotten Bends to put the whole file up on the internet and posted to half a dozen relevant message boards with the same statement that had once prompted him to hack the University servers. A dare no self-respecting computer wiz could resist: I bet you can't unlock this.
It was like invoking a free work force. Dozens of people had answered the challenge, and found exactly what Bends had said. A self-replicating virus that had detonated in their computers and destroyed any information they could have used. Most people had posted back warnings, assuming the file was a hoax, and warding others away from trying it for themselves. No wonder Paradigm hadn't been worried about the disk. He already knew it was useless.
That covered the good and the bad news. The weird news was a single message in Bends' email account.
got it
fp
Ripster gave Bends a look. "Related?"
Bends shrugged. "I didn't leave my email anywhere when I posted the file."
"If they're a hacker, they might have found a way to follow you back."
"That's why I thought I'd run it by you." A few clicks and the message was safely stored away. Bends stared at the screen morosely. "I guess we'll see if anything comes of it."