Finally! The first (actual) chapter is done. It only took me forever and a minute. Hopefully, the remaining chapters won't take this long. Yearly updates are not beneficial to the story. I couldn't figure out how to wrap this chapter up. I didn't want it to be exactly like "Bionic Showdown" but have some similarities.
So… here it is.
Chapter One: Disconnection
Silence was often a welcome visitor in his small part of the world. At this moment, however, the silence that filled his corner of the universe was deafening – and he didn't like it. It was too quiet. Horribly quiet. Grabbing his tablet, he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. He pulled up one of the many music playlists he had made over the last two months. It was a rather eclectic list, made up of every song that fit with his current mood; some were quite funny. There was one song, however, one song that seemed to know him, know exactly how he felt about certain people in his life.
As the first song began to play, he began to snicker. It was one of the few songs that made him happy. Come on…: How can cyborg robot squirrels not make you happy? He should really look into that; it might actually be fun. Nope, nope, nope. Don't need that. No cyborg robot squirrels.
He rubbed his face vigorously as the next song began to play. It was a good song; it made him feel good…in a bizarre kind of way. A normal person wouldn't consider it a feel-good song; but then again, he'd never been accused of being normal, or abnormal, really. Regardless, the song fit him. He did walk alone, despite all that he had created; he had walked alone for years and it was just fine with him. He didn't need anyone, which was just as well. Sometimes, he felt like a monster. Heh. How apropos to be thinking just that when that very song comes on.
There were a few songs on that list that gave him a rather sadistic satisfaction. He was sure the songs were not necessarily intended for that purpose, but he had looked up their meaning and thought the explanations were rather intriguing. It did make sense; even in a logical way. Regardless of how he chose to interpret it, the music was always soothing. Sometimes, unconsciously, the words to the songs would feed the darkness within him. He didn't choose to allow that feeding to occur, it just happened. Far too often his "special songs" simply added fuel to an already raging fire within his darkened soul.
If only he could make someone else hurt just like he hurt; a freakish mix of pain and madness. No one understood. No one cared to understand. He knew he couldn't force that apperception into anyone's mind. Psychology. Funny how he often found himself psychoanalyzing…well, himself. He huffed. Sure, he could be hateful. A lot. And most of the time he didn't mind being that way. It was rather refreshing.
He closed his eyes, soaking in the next song. And there it was. That song. Open wounds. That was all his father and brother gave him. Even his mother after a time. There were times when just thinking about them filled him with hate. He wanted to hate them, but….
His father. Loathing erupted within him at the thought of the man. He stood up from his chair, laying the tablet back on the desk. The man had dominated his life since he was twelve, subtle at first, and even after his death his father seemed to have a certain power over him. It was that which truly filled him with hate; hate that he was so desperately needing to unleash. And his brother, the brother that had broken a promise made over twenty-five years ago; a promise never fulfilled. It was no ordinary promise, no "piecrust promise;" yet his older brother managed to break it almost as soon as he made it. And the then fourteen-year-old Douglas Davenport was left to the mercy of their father.
He stared at the large glowing target on the dark wall in front of him. Time for a little game. A small blue ball lay in the center of a round platform about the width of the basketball at the foot of the desk. He had found handball to be a great stress reliever – when played properly. Of course, his definition of "properly" wasn't quite the same as those who made the rules. "Follow the rules" was not exactly part of his vocabulary. Unless, he was the one making them. He grabbed the gloves that were laying on the platform and put them on, then picked up the ball. The one thing he loved most about making the rules – he could change them whenever and however he wanted. They were his rules to bend or break. And he loved to do both. He sighed heavily as the next song began to play. It brought out a lot of contempt for both his father and mother, and even his brother. He squeezed the ball tightly in his hand as he stepped up to a thin blue line on the floor, ten and a half feet from the target on the wall. The glowing red bull's-eye seemed to mock him.
Go ahead, Dougie. Try and hit me.
Bouncing the ball high, a sneer crossed his face, followed by a deep throated growl. As the ball came back into his line of sight he slammed it with the palm of his right hand into the target – missing the center.
The red solid circle continued to mock him. What's wrong, Dougie? You out of practice?
The ball came back to his left and he hit it back, a grunt escaping his throat.
You can't get me, can you?
"Shut up," he growled, hitting the ball back. It bounced off the green ring around the bull's-eye.
It laughed.
"Don't laugh at me," he seethed, as the ball came towards his face. He reared back, almost dropping to the ground.
You're a loser, Douglas.
Hitting the ball too high, it bounced off the outermost ring of the target.
You'll never win. It laughed again.
"Don't mock me!"
Three more times the ball came back to him and three more times he missed the red glowing bull's-eye that relentlessly mocked him. Anger was building up inside of him.
Get angry, Douglas. Release it. Show everyone who you really are.
"No," he screamed. "I will defeat you."
Hit me!
He reared back again, hitting the ball with everything he had – and with deadly accuracy. The ball slammed into the bull's-eye. "You'll never beat me," he seethed quietly as the ball gently bounce towards him and then came to a roll, passing him.
I already have, he heard it laugh as the target shut down.
The ball rolled across the floor, stopping at a black-shoed foot. A hand reached down and picked it up. The hand brought the ball up to the face of a teenage boy, a very un-ordinary teenage boy. He looked at the man standing at the other end of the room.
The boy walked towards him, hearing the man say in a growl under his breath, "I said shut up."
The boy smirked. "Talking to your imaginary friend again… Dad?"
Douglas stood perfectly still, not turning his attention to his "son," a twisted smirk crossing his lips, followed by a soft, humorless chuckle.
"Marcus." He turned to face the boy with an eerie, gleeful smile on his face that made the boy shudder slightly. "So… How'd it go? How's my big brother?" Douglas gave him a mock frown. "Did he put up a fight?"
"Too easy," Marcus replied, smirking. He walked over to the desk set against the north wall and dropped into the chair. Swiveling back and forth he said, "he really misses you." Douglas could hear the sarcasm loud and clear and it made him smile, a genuine, yet somewhat sadistic, smile. Marcus took little notice and continued. "Would you like to hear what happened?"
"Oh, what the hell. Why not?" He plopped into the chair he had been seated in earlier and stared intently at the boy.
Marcus made his – fortieth? – mental note on how weird the man could be. There was something seriously wrong with him. But since he really didn't care, he began his story.
Donald Davenport stood at the desk busily running his fingers over the controls. The kids were still at school, so he had ample time to do what he needed to do without being interrupted, annoyed, irritated, etc.
"Hey, Eddie. Run a diagnostic on Adam's capsule." There was no response. "Eddie." He turned around to look at Eddie's screen. "Eddie?" His screen was blank. So were the security screens. Strange.
He was about to check the security system when he heard footsteps. They were unfamiliar, but he knew who they belong to. "Shouldn't you be at school?"
"Nah. My dad let me ditch."
Donald turned around. "Hello, Marcus."
"Hello, Mr. Davenport. I've heard so much about you." He gave Donald a pleasantly, creepy smile.
They stared at each other. "I would ask how you got in here…."
"But that's pretty obvious."
Donald furrowed his brow. "What are you?"
The teenager's creepy smile grew bigger. "Let's just say… Leo's on the right track."
Keeping as calm as he could, Donald replied, "what are you doing here?"
"Just bringing special greetings from my dad. And yes, you know him very well." He paused as the man stiffened. "Or at least as well as any big brother who turned his back on his baby brother would."
Donald eyes widened. No, it can't be.
Marcus's creepy smile kept going. "Oh, yes. Douglas wants to know, 'how ya doin', big brother?'"
Douglas threw his head back, laughing giddily. "Please, tell me you got a picture of the look on his face."
Marcus grinned. "Of course, I did. Couldn't pass that up." He pulled out his phone and showed Douglas the picture. The man laughed through his teeth.
"Send that to my phone." He let out a happy sigh.
As Douglas stood, the teen noticed his demeanor turn a one-eighty. But Marcus had become accustomed to his often bizarre mood changes and behavior and brushed it aside. The man must have some kind of mental illness, he thought.
"Where'd you leave him?"
"He's hanging out in your special laser pen," Marcus said with a smirk.
"Good. Keep an eye out for your friends."
As Douglas left the room, Marcus turned to the monitor behind him. "Yeah… That statement wasn't oozing with sarcasm."
Donald scanned the room as he walked around in his cage. The poles hummed, sounding almost like a light saber. With that thought, it probably wasn't a good idea to touch it. There was very little in the room, other than the giant holding pen he was in, a desk and chair with the laptop laying on the desk and what looked like a large archery target on the west wall. There was no telling what his little brother had been up to these past twelve years.
"What have you been up to, Douglas?"
"Oh, not too terribly much."
Donald turned towards the room's entrance. There he stood. His baby brother, a twisted smile on his face. "You look no worse for wear."
"Yeah, well… Despite everything, I try to take decent care of myself." He walked up to the cage, the twisted smile disappearing, replaced by the soft, gentle expression in his hazel eyes that Donald had known so well. "In case you were wondering all these years… Finally got a diagnosis." He started his brother. "I'm bipolar."
Donald expression fell. "Bipolar," Donald said under his breath. "I should have figured that out."
Douglas glared angrily, his eyes becoming cold. "Damn right, you should have." He turned around and walked a few feet away before turning back. "But… I forgive you." That eerily jovial tone returned. "Forcing me to leave allowed the genius in me to flourish."
"Genius?" Donald scoffed. "More like insanity."
His little brother grinned at him. "Well, there is a fine line between genius and insanity."
"And you managed to cross that line."
Douglas glared at him angrily again. Then a sly grin began to creep across his face. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?"
Donald pursed his lips.
"Oh, come on," his brother continued gleefully as he walked over to the chair and sat down. "It was funny."
"What do you want, Douglas?"
"I want what rightfully belongs with me."
"What rightfully belongs with you?"
Douglas wiggled his finger in his ear. "Wow… That was kinda echoey."
"Adam, Bree and Chase don't belong with you."
"They're my kids and you stole them," Douglas shouted bitterly.
"You wanted to turn them into weapons," his older brother shouted back. "I was protecting them from you!"
Douglas shot up out of the chair, shouting as he walked furiously towards his brother. "Just like you protected me from Dad." Donald's breath hitched in his throat. "You broke your promise!" Douglas took a deep breath and continued more calmly, pointing at his brother, "you lied to me. You… You lied to me."
Donald had no reply. His brother was right. He watched Douglas drop back down into the chair and spin around to the computer that sat on the desk, mumbling, "you have no idea what I wanted."
The clicks of the keys echoed through the room. The older Davenport watched in silence, trying to figure out what his brother was up to. His eyes widened in awe as he watched a series of panels on the wall fold-down, revealing a rather sophisticated computer system.
"How about a little music, big brother?" He didn't wait for any kind of reply, pulling up his favorite playlist. "So," Douglas continued as the music began, "what little white lies have you told the kids?" He spun back around. "What's wrong, Donnie? Little kitty cat got your tongue?"
Donald remained quiet.
"Haven't set a damned thing about me to them, have you?"
His older brother stared hard at him. "No, I haven't."
Douglas had an almost content expression on his face. "Figures. You tend to have issues with telling the truth. Especially, when it really matters."
"You have the same issues, little brother," Donald spat.
"Hmm…. Yeah, I do. I've got a lota secrets." He leaned forward, staring at his brother with a deadpan expression. "I have secrets you wouldn't believe."
Those words made Donald shudder. What on earth was his brother hiding?
Silence fell between them as the music continued to play. Whatever had been wrong with his brother was still there; something that went beyond bipolar disorder. Douglas seem to be worse. Donald knew there had to be a crap load of stuff his brother wasn't telling him. He wouldn't be surprised if Douglas had even more bionic children. He sighed. His brother wasn't going to divulge any more information at the moment, so he stood there, in his cage, silently wishing he had a chair. He sighed – loudly.
Douglas stopped what he was doing. Without turning around, he said, "really?"
"Yes, really," Donald replied flatly.
"Nothing satisfies you, does it?"
Donald had the urge to stick his tongue out at him; but before he had the chance to consider the childish retort any further, his thoughts were interrupted by footsteps and then a voice.
"They're here."
Douglas turned slightly to face Marcus. "Well… I suppose you should go welcome them."
Marcus smiled with wild eyes and promptly left.
"You better not hurt them," Donald shouted after him.
"Oh, for cryin' out loud, Donnie," Douglas said, sounding nonchalant, "he's not gonna hurt them." Grinning to himself he continued, "I'm sure they'll all cause equal damage."
Donald furrowed his brow. "Equal damage?"
"What? Don't you have any confidence in your kids?" Douglas didn't hold back in his bitterness.
Donald sighed. It was futile arguing with Douglas. Always had been. The man was the most stubborn person he had ever known. Although, Chase could come in a close second when he wanted to. Stubbornness was proving to be a family trait. He hoped bipolar disorder wouldn't. Donald could see it in his brother's eyes; the pain, the anguish, the… fear. That was shocking. He wasn't expecting to see it, see the fear. Not in his little brother's eyes. He sighed again. All he could do now was wait.
Aside from Douglas's interesting choice of music playing, all was quiet. Donald had decided to take a seat on the floor, while his brother did whatever he was doing on his laptop. The sound of thundering footsteps broke through the silence – well, music – pulling Donald to his feet. Douglas hadn't so much as flinched at the sound. He swore his younger brother had every little piece of this planned. Even what was about to happen next. He glanced at the doorway, then back at his brother. Gone.
Donald stared at the empty chair, stunned. "What the – where did he go?"
"Mr. Davenport!" Chase's voice drew his gaze back to the door.
The three teens rushed in, coming to a screeching halt in front of the glowing blue bars that encompassed their mentor. Before Davenport could utter a response, Adam piped, "did you lose?"
Devonport furrowed his brow. "Lose at what?"
"The target game," Adam replied, pointing behind him.
He glanced back at the large target on the wall and grimaced. "No. I didn't lose the target game. I didn't play any game."
"Yeah, you prob'ly would've lost, anyway."
Devonport grimaced again.
"What?"
Bree and Chase rolled their eyes.
"Anyway," Chase growled, "we took care of Marcus. Now we can get you outta here."
Chase frowned at Davenport's seemingly unimpressed expression. "That's great, but I have the feeling things aren't what they seem around here."
"What you mean?"
"Look, there's a lot more going on here than you realize."
The three teens looked at each other. "Is there something you're not telling us, Mr. Davenport?" Bree asked.
Chase looked at him uneasily. "Mr. Davenport?"
Before he could reply, his brother returned. "Well, would you look at this, the whole family's together again."
The three teenagers turned around to face the new arrival. "Mr. Davenport, who's that?" Bree said.
"Oh, Donnie… I'm hurt. You never told them about me?" His little brother was rather exceptional at acting. At least, around him. Douglas's red-hot anger and contempt he had taken out on him earlier was replaced by a pseudo-sarcasm. "Hey, kids. I'm your father."
They slowly turned back to Donald, all in disbelief. Glancing back at Douglas, Bree said, "you're not our father, he is."
For a brief moment Douglas locked eyes with his youngest before he turned back to the computer behind him. "It's amazing where lies can get you."
Adam furrowed his brow. "I don't care who you are. Yer goin' down."
"Is that so?" Douglas turned a small, square object between his fingers, turning around just as the oldest bionic lunged for them. He pressed a small button on the object, as he pointed it at the three teens. In an instant, they were in the cage with Donald.
"You mastered short range teleportation," the other Davenport shouted. "I've been working on that for years."
"Oh, would you stop whining," Douglas replied. "You do this every time someone beats you to the punch." He glared at his brother. "Especially, if it's me."
"Yer still goin' down," Adam shouted, grabbing the poles. "Ow!"
"Yeah… You might wanna avoid touching those." Adam growled at the voice and the four in the cage looked towards the doorway. Marcus stood, leaning against the frame, smirking. "The perimeter's secured. Even if the tigers manage to get out of their cage, they won't get out of this house."
"Good," Douglas said flatly.
Adam growled again. "That's it." He quickly fell silent. "My super-strength." He looked at his siblings. "It's gone."
Bree tested her superspeed. "So's my speed," she said in a slight panic.
Focusing as hard as he could, but to no avail, Chase uttered, "I got nothin'."
"That's because I designed the lasers to block the signals from your bionic chips." Douglas stared at them, deadpan. "Daddy gave you toys… And he can also take them away."
"You're insane," Chase said flatly.
"Insanity is relative," Douglas replied. "It all depends on who has who locked in what cage." He turned to his android son. "Let's go. We have work to do."
Stopping at his laptop, he hit a sequence of keys, sending the panels back into their previous positions. The four Davenports in the cage watched in defeat as their remote chance of escape disappeared into the wall. Douglas closed his laptop and picked it up. He knew better than to leave anything to chance. Giving his brother one last glare, he and Marcus walked out.
The room was silent for a moment. The three bionic teens looked at their 'father.'
"Mr. Davenport, why did that guy say he was our father?" Bree asked.
Donald sighed heavily, realizing he had no choice but to tell them the truth. "Because technically, he is your father. And he's also my brother."
"What?" Adam coughed out.
"How is that even possible?" Bree said.
"Years ago, Douglas and I started Devonport Industries. We had something of a falling out a few years prior, and we hadn't talk to each other until he found his way to my apartment. We reconciled and started our business together."
"What happened between you two?" Chase asked a bit cautiously.
"That's not important right now." Donald paused for a moment. "For a while it was great. We developed the bionic technology for robots to aid soldiers in war zones and even rescue workers in places too dangerous for them to go. To help… Keep them from getting killed. I don't know for certain, but Douglas got it into his head to create genetically engineered humans."
"You mean us," Adam said.
"Yeah. Your chips were never designed to be interfaced with the human nervous system."
"So that's why we glitch," Chase stated.
"Exactly."
"Oh…" Adam began, "all these years I thought it was just because yer a terrible scientist."
Donald grimaced at the comment but continued with his explanation. "Douglas also hid all kinds of secret codes in your chips. That's why you have all these mysterious new abilities popping up."
"So, if your brother created us," Bree began, "how did we end up with you?"
He hesitated before answering, hoping the brief half-truth answer would suffice. "He wanted to turn you into cyber soldiers of mass destruction. But I thought if I could raise you in a safe environment, I could train you to be heroes. So, I built the lab and hid you there."
However, his answer wasn't good enough; not for his youngest. "You didn't answer the question," Chase said flatly.
Donald opened his mouth to speak, but only silence filled the room.
"Tell us what happened, Mr. Davenport," Chase demanded.
Ready to rebuke the bionic teen's remark, he was interrupted by his little brother's voice, his snarky tone.
"Yeah, Donnie. Tell them what happened that night."
They all turned to see Douglas, once again, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. Donald stayed silent as he stared at his brother. He knew no matter what he said or didn't say it wouldn't go well. He knew he was wrong to do what he did to his brother, but he wouldn't admit it. Not to himself, not to anyone. He couldn't. He had a legitimate excuse to justify what he had done; how he had sent his people in to get Adam, Bree and Chase. To kidnap them. He should have gone with them to get the kids.
"Tell them, brother," Douglas shouted, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking towards them. "Tell them the truth about that night. Tell them how you couldn't even come yourself."
Adam looked at Donald. "What does he mean, you couldn't come yourself?"
Donald kept quiet. His brother huffed, shaking his head. "Or is it more like… Wouldn't?" Douglas said, trying his best not to yell obscenities at his older brother. "Oh, but you did observe everything through that video feed." The elder Davenport stiffened. Douglas gave him a snide smirk and continued. "Oh, yeah. I know all about your little livestream. Watching one of your goons," his voice began to elevate, "rip Chase right out of my arms, kicking and screaming for me!" He turned, walking a few feet away before turning back to face his kids. In a soft, almost sorrowful voice he said, "you may not remember that night… But I'll never forget it."
He quietly left the room, leaving the remaining four Davenports in stunned silence.
Smoke curled up around the ceiling fan from the cigarette clenched tightly between Douglas's fingers.
"I thought you quit," Marcus said to his father as he leaned against the bar between the kitchen and dining room.
"I didn't," he replied. "Just smoke less often than I did before."
"Right… Only when you're irritated about something."
Douglas grimaced and took another drag of his cigarette.
Marcus folded his arms across his chest. "Okay, I can handle the smoking. I just wish you stop your drinking spurts. That's not helping any."
"You know I'm trying my damnedest to stop…."
"I know, I know." Marcus paused briefly, then continued, "so what's the next –"
A loud crash interrupted his thought. They walked over to the security monitor in the den. "Oh, for cryin' out loud," Douglas groaned, finishing off the cigarette. "Get rid of him before he destroys everything."
Marcus stared at the screen that now showed his "Uncle Donnie's" stepson, Leo; the very Leo he had been tormenting for the past couple months. Sure, it was mean, but it was fun.
"And while you're at it," his father continued, "melt that little red wagon of weapons."
He smirked. "Any particular reason?"
"Yeah. They belong to my brother."
"Is what Douglas said true?" Chase asked eerily monotone.
Donald sighed, looking at the floor.
"Mr. Davenport?"
He looked up at the three of them. "Yes, Chase. It's true."
All three looked to him in disbelief. "I don't believe this," Adam said, shaking his head.
"You lied to us," Bree added. "Why?"
"I did it to protect you."
Chase remained silent as his two older siblings bombarded Davenport with questions. As the questions escalated into bickering, Chase finally spoke. "I wanna see it." The other three quieted. "I wanna see the tape. I know you had to've record everything." Chase glared at his 'uncle.' "When we get out of here, I want to see that tape."
"Chase, I don't even know if that thing still exists," Donald responded. "That was over ten years ago."
"Oh, come on, Mr. Davenport," Adam began, "you keep everything. What about that ratted stuffed tiger you carry around when you sleepwalk?"
Donald huffed "I do not sleepwalk. And my tiger is not ratted. He' just tired out from all his – look, I don't know where that tape is. I didn't even watch all of it."
"Maybe you should've," Chase retorted.
"That's enough, Chase."
"I hate to say this," Bree said, "but I agree with Chase."
"Me, too," Adam added. "What are we agreeing on?"
Before anyone could answer, Douglas returned to the lab, laptop in hand. Without so much as a word or a glance in their direction, he placed his laptop on the desk, hooked it up to one of the panels, and opened it. As he began punching keys, his older brother spoke.
"What're you doing?"
"Letting you go," Douglas replied flatly.
The caged four looked at each other, astonished. "Why?" Bree asked.
"Because I feel like it, Princess. That's why." As the cage disappeared, he added, "get out."
The four stood silently, unsure of how to react to Douglas's sudden 'change of heart.'
He whipped around, shouting angrily, "I said get out."
Donald sighed. "Let's go, guys."
They hesitated. "I'm giving you the chance to leave unharmed," Douglas said calmly. "I suggest you take it."
Looking back at the three teenagers, Donald repeated, "let's go, guys."
As they began to walk out, a loud cracking sound echoed through the room. "What the…." Douglas sputtered as something large and heavy came crashing through the ceiling. They all covered their faces, protecting themselves from flying debris. "Are you kidding me," Douglas said as the group stared down the large robot that now stood before them.
The robot emitted a voice, a very familiar voice, as the last of the debris fell to the ground. "Exoskeleton in the house! Or whatever you call this funky place."
"Leo?" Chase siad in disbelief.
"Dad!" Marcus rushed into the room. "We got a prob–" he stopped abruptly. "Nevermind."
"How do you like me now, Marcus?" Leo called triumphantly.
The teenager shrugged. "Eh."
Leo frowned at his response. "So…" Leo continued, "why y'all just standing there?"
"Douglas let us go," Donald replied.
Leo furrowed his brow. "Really?"
"Yes, really," the other adult Davenport brother replied. "Now get outta here before I do something we'll all regret."
A sudden laser discharge erupted from the exoskeleton, hitting the panel next to Douglas and sending sparks flying.
"Oops." Leo grinned sheepishly.
Another blast fired from the exoskeleton, this time getting a little too close to Bree and hitting the far-right panel, causing an internal power surge, now snaking its way through the system to the hidden main core in the floor beneath them. "Leo," Donald shouted.
Marcus sped over to the malfunctioning robot suit, knocking it over. Leo tried to get up, but to no avail.
"This thing can bust through walls and shoot lasers, but I can't get up," Leo said accusingly.
"Well, it is a prototype," Donald replied.
"What part of get out are you not comprehending," Douglas growled.
The three bionic teens ran over to their brother as Marcus made his way to his father, growling in much the same way as Douglas did. "You're actually letting them go?"
Douglas looked at his brother, and almost pleading look in his eyes. "Get out now."
Something wasn't right. Donald stared at his younger brother for a moment. Douglas knew what was about to happen, whatever it was. He looked back at the teens behind him. Leo was out of the exoskeleton. "Let's get out of here."
As they rushed out, Marcus glared at his father in anger. "How could you let them leave? We had them."
"We'll get them later," Douglas replied calmly. He stepped away from the control panels, backing up towards the door. The panels were popping and spitting sparks angrily into the air. Time was running out. "We hafta get outta here."
He turned to Marcus. His cyber-humanoid creation was furious. And now a lost cause. The android was forcing nearly every app – power – into use at once, aiding in the labs meltdown. Marcus was completely out of control. He was on the verge of bringing the entire house down on top of himself. Douglas was not interested in dying at that moment, so he simply walked out, leaving the android to his self-destruction. Besides, there was someone he promised he would go see. And he kept his promises.
LabRats
A bit dark, I suppose. I wrote this in such a way to keep the option open for there being a real Marcus, not just the android. I'm still batting the idea around. If anyone would really like there to be a real Marcus, I'll put him in. I have ideas that can go either way. From here on out, I won't be writing in any actual episodes, "Avalanche" being an exception, but touching on some that involved Douglas. I hope to keep most of the ideas completely original from the show, which of course means it will get dark. It will eventually flow into "Elite Force," but the story will remain posted in the Lab Rats 2012 section.
Enough of my blather. Hope you enjoyed it.
And remember, be lovely to each other.
