(A/N) Hey guys, time for another X-Ray and Vav update, this time brought to you by the wonderful SpoonyAzul, and picking up from Michael's POV after his defeat at the hands of X-Ray, Vav and Iron-Ryan. Another great chapter, which I know you'll all enjoy, and allows us to take a little look inside the head of one of the most dangerous beings in this little universe of ours! I am, of course, referring to Mogar!
Again, just a swift reminder that we're still looking for writers for our Red vs Blue fic, Phase Two: Betrayal, so if you're interested either head on over to our forum and fill out the application forms or bop a PM my way! Just remember, deadline for applications is the 1st of January 2014!
Enjoy!
Chapter Twenty-One – The Monster Within
Dr Michael Jones / Mogar
Written by SpoonyAzul
"Anybody can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way - that is not within everybody's power and is not easy." – Aristotle
Once again, darkness surrounded him before he caught his bearings. At first, he thought he was strapped in to a gurney again, but quickly dismissed it when he realised that he was able to move his arms and legs. He was laid on a slightly uncomfortable cot with rough cotton sheets and a soft, thick blanket. He removed the blanket and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet touching the cold floor. His torn clothes were replaced by off-white hospital attire that made him itch something fierce. It was almost as if whoever took him here wanted him to be as comfortable as possible.
Then, a deep searing pain entered his skull while the events of his rampage quickly filled in his head. He vaguely remembered tearing up concrete and asphalt, punching cars and anyone that looked at him funny, throwing anything he could get his hands on, the God-fearing rage that took hold of him.
Then X-Ray and Vav had showed up, along with a cyborg, to try to take him down. It felt like a never-ending battle. Just when they thought he couldn't stop, he caught a glimpse of red hair in the crowd watching the fight from a safe distance.
That's when he saw her, Lindsay, his girlfriend, the love of his life, looking at him from the front of the crowd in shock and horror. He could feel the seething fury just push itself far away before something stung at the back of his neck and he blacked out.
Then a horrible realization struck him like a ton of bricks. Oh god, Lindsay. She saw everything. I can't...I can't propose to her, not like this. How can I talk to her? How can I even look at her?! She saw what I was, what I did. I hurt all those people. She'll never talk to me again.
At that moment, the door on the other side of the room opened and a shadow entered through the doorway. A Hispanic man with thick, black hair and a small beard walked over to him, with a thin plastic clipboard in his hands, flipping through the pages as he skimmed them behind his thick glasses.
"Michael...Joaness?" he said subconsciously, not even having the slightest hint of a Latino accent before he corrected himself, "No wait, it's just Jones. Anyway, you've caused quite a ruckus in the city."
"Who the hell are you?" Michael asked the doctor, looking around his room, "Where am I?"
"I'm Dr Gus Sorola," the man said matter-of-factly, pulling out an iPod tablet and turning it on, "I'm a psychiatrist with the FBI and you're in a secure facility. Quite simply, I'm here to discuss…well, I'm here to discuss you."
He had fiddled with the small screen with his fingers before turning it to show Michael. It showed a video of the carnage shot from the news helicopter before a mid-sized sedan came flying straight into the camera before the screen turned snowy.
The doctor then swiped his finger across the screen, playing the next video. It was in poor quality, possibly recorded on a cell phone, but Michael could clearly see his other self ripping apart an army tank. He tore through the metal as if it was made of papier-mâché.
Another finger swipe at the screen showed the fight with X-Ray, Vav and the cyborg before the doctor paused the video when he punched a hole in the pavement, "I would like to know more about this...this other side of you."
Michael subconsciously took the tablet and took a closer look at the picture of his beast self with his mouth agape in shock and terror. His eyes turned completely solid red while his torso had increased exponentially in muscle size. His face and head remained intact, but his mouth bared fangs with brown fur on his arms and back. After a minute, he just blurted out, "Holy shit, it's Mogar."
Dr. Sorola looked from his notepad and quirked an eyebrow at his patient, "Mogar?"
Upon realizing what he said, Michael shook his head, "It's a stupid name I…a stupid name a voice in my head came up with. I realise how strange that sounds but…," he trailed off, before shrugging, "But hey, what's not strange about all this shit, right?"
"I see," the doctor wrote on his clipboard, "Tell me more about the time when you went missing and about this...Mogar."
The surgeon hesitated for a bit before he explained what had happened. For a while, he recollected his encounter with the unknown red mist in his apartment, waking up held against his will, being thrown out of a van in the rain and finally to his rampage in the streets of Achievement City. The entire time Michael told his story, Dr Sorola sat in a chair and simply listened while scribbling on his notepad and nodding his head.
"Did you manage to get a look at the men in the van? Any clue would be helpful."
Michael racked his brain before he remembered one thing, "All of the them were wearing black and had their faces hidden. But, one guy wore red with the weird hat you see an army general wearing sometimes. He looked like that one villain from Street Fighter."
"Who, M. Bison?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"I see," Dr. Sorola said, writing down on his clipboard before sitting down in a chair, "Okay, last question: What was it like when you transformed into your Mogar state?"
"Rage." Michael said, "Like when I used to get mad at Gavin, when he being an fucking idiot, only he doesn't stop and I can't keep it contained. Instead of throwing insults, he lashes out and destroys anything that looks at you funny, or even looks at you at all! Even now I can feel it in my stomach, sometimes I can hear him in my head."
"Hmm," Dr Sorola wrote something on the notepad before putting it down on the table. "From what I've seen on the videos and what you told me, I have no doubt that your anger is what triggers the transformation," Dr Sorola said, standing up from his seat and pacing back and forth, "The beast within you, this Mogar as you call it, is a powerful creature, possibly the most powerful force on this planet. If you can control it and learn to wield it properly, you could do more help than harm."
"Are you fucking kidding me? I want this gone! I want whatever this is to go away!" Michael blurted out.
"Unfortunately, that is not possible," Dr Sorola ominously replied, adjusting his glasses, "Whoever in the Community did this changed you right down to your DNA, Dr Jones. In other words, we can't reverse it."
Michael felt like he was slapped in the face when the psychiatrist stressed that last sentence. A strong sense of dread mixed itself in the anger in his stomach, "So, what, that's it? I'm supposed to be locked up now?"
"Is that how you feel?"
"After turning into a monster and tearing up half of Achievement City, I should be. It just that...this whole thing is...it's making me..."
"Angry." Dr Sorola finished his sentence, "but, as I've said, that is the key to control Mogar. To keep yourself from transforming at random and attacking everything you see, you must learn to control your rage."
"What, you mean like anger management?"
"More or less, yes."
Michael had given it some thought, which wasn't that difficult, but he had to make sure, "Say I go along with this, what will happen to me if I do manage to keep...Mogar under control."
"The FBI will let you back into society and live a normal life," the doctor said, adjusting his glasses, "You will keep your job and your apartment. Simple as that."
There's had to be some strings attached he was sure of it, but if there was a chance he could control it and function normally...
"Fine, I'll do it."
After all it couldn't be that hard, right?
Much to Michael's dismay, he turned out to be wrong.
Mogar, what he named his other self, was still there, brewing in his stomach and waiting to come out. He wasn't expecting to be better overnight, but counting to ten and thinking happy thoughts for a week could only take him so far.
While transforming was easy, gaining control of Mogar was proving difficult. Apparently, picturing a fictional pony on a kid's show elicited a few chuckles until one of the newbie agents said, "God, you're fuckin' gay."
At that moment, Michael flew into a rage, bellowing at the rookie, "FLUTTERSHY DOES NOT SUCK, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" He knew he would've killed the poor schmuck if Dr Sorola hadn't snuck behind him and stabbed him with a syringe filled with a sedative.
As always, Dr Sorola entered the room right on schedule, but instead of the usual anger management techniques, he simply sat in the table across from Michael.
"Okay, Michael, I think we're gonna try something different," the Hispanic man said, "I've been thinking outside the box, actually, about Mogar. Rather than learning to control your anger, I began to think of what could make you calm, other than playing Minecraft Creative Mode on peaceful.
He pulled his iPad and shifted through the pictures, "According to your own account and eyewitnesses, you kept your anger in check until muggers attacked you. Tell me, what were you thinking of?"
"About getting home, "Michael answered and then he added, "and Lindsay."
"Lindsay?"
"My girlfriend, or at least she was, before I went missing," Michael said, his face turning a tinge of red in embarrassment.
"I see," Dr Sorola made a gesture to the two-way mirror and, a few minutes later, the door opened.
Michael's eyes went wide and immediately stood up from his seat in surprise. A woman with red hair walked through the door, wearing a dark T-shirt with "Ask me About My Zombie Plan" printed in white and denim jeans. She carried a duffle bag over her shoulders and a paper bag in her hand that smelled of greasy cheeseburgers. He didn't even notice Dr Sorola leave the room so they could be alone.
"Lindsay," Michael breathed out in confusion, "What are you doing here?"
"What, I'm not allowed to visit my boyfriend on my lunch break?" Lindsay said with a forced smile, placing both bags on the table, "Speaking of which, I also brought you some lunch from Whataburger."
Boyfriend? Michael didn't understand, but the anger he'd feeling for days begin melting away. "I...I don't..." he found hard to find the words.
"Is there something wrong, Michael?"
"No, no, o-of course not, I just..." He managed to blurt out while the words he wanted to say formed in his mind, "I didn't think you'd want to see me ever again."
"After you went missing for days and came back a raging mongoloid that destroyed half the neighbourhood?" Lindsay said, holding back tears, "I didn't think so either."
She placed her hands on the table and sighed, preparing herself to vent out whatever was going through her head.
"I was so mad when you went missing. I said some awful things like, 'He'd better have a good excuse or I'll kill him until he's dead' or something. Then finding out my boyfriend turned into a monster and watching him wreck a good chunk of the city made me wonder if I should break it off.
"But then, one of the FBI agents, J-Roll or whatever they call him, pulled me aside and explained everything. How someone had kidnapped you during the blackout and did horrible experiments on you, then dumped you like a sack of garbage. They explained to me that it wasn't your fault that you went on a rampage.
"It took me a few days, but I've decided not to be mad at you. I am pissed off. I'm pissed off at the fucking asshole who kidnapped my boyfriend, strapped him down to a cot, force-injected him with god-knows-what kind of experimental drugs, and turned him into a freak of nature! They did this to the one person I love in this god forsaken city because they were butthurt about some cut-rate superheroes kicking their asses on a daily fucking basis!"
Her voice rose and her face turned red as she spoke, like she was the one Rage Quitting. It was as if she had held this all in for a while and finally was letting it out. Michael didn't say a word. He just let her vent until she burst into tears. Then, as if he was on autopilot, he walked over to her and held her in a tight embrace.
"I'm sorry," he managed to say, it was all he could say after her outburst. It was a good moment.
...until his stomach growled in hunger and promptly stared at the paper bag.
"Really, Michael?"
"What?! I'm hungry!"
The rehabilitation went much smoother after Lindsay's first visit. She visited him when she could and often called on the landline on days where she couldn't make it. On the table, she had left him a picture frame with the photo of Michael and Lindsay wearing matching hooded sweatshirts. Both were smiling, though he had a hint of irritation around his face, possibly because the hoodies were pink. It would've been downright embarrassing if Lindsay didn't let him wear his favourite "Rage Quit" shirt as a compromise, even with the "Tough Men Wear Pink" bullshit.
Then the moment of truth came. After another week of rehabilitation had gone by, Michael was brought to the testing chamber with Dr Sorola waiting in the middle with a stun baton.
"Okay, Michael," the Hispanic man said, waving the baton in the air, "This week's test will be the same as before. Get into the middle of the room and we'll get started."
Dr Sorola and the other scientists gave themselves some room while Michael stood at the centre. The psychiatrist's voice cackled over the intercom, "Test number two, starting in five...four..."
He closed his eyes as the rage bubbled within. Michael had to get through this. His life was at stake.
"...three."
But he would do it. He would keep Mogar under control.
"...two."
If not for his own sake...
"...one."
Then for Lindsay's.
"Aaaand go!"
He released the anger trapped in his stomach and let it course through his body. His eyes snapped open as they turned red. He let out a bellowing roar that shook the walls and the windows while his shirt tore itself off. The brown fur grew on his back and arms, which also gained muscle mass.
The anger swelling with him tried to take control, but he forced it down, immediately thinking of Lindsay's face and taking deep breaths from his anger exercises.
Dr Sorola entered the chamber armed with his stun baton and activated it with an audible hum of electricity. He swung his arm back and smacked him across the face. It like a bee sting, painful and annoying. At that moment the anger swelled again and actually spoke to him.
I'm gonna kill that bas-
No, you're not.
The presence in his head scoffed at Michael, as if he wasn't fazed by his threat. Still, Michael persisted with Lindsay's face in his mind when Dr Sorola smacked him in the face a second time.
Seriously?! You're gonna take that from a fuckin' egghead?
He shoved the presence back into his mind and brought back Lindsay when he was hit for the third, fourth and fifth time. Rage swelled inside him with each smack of the baton. On the sixth hit, it became so overwhelming that he made Michael scream and fall to his knees.
I'm really getting sick of your shit, Michael. You know you can't control me, no matter how much you think of Lindsay! You should kill this guy, make an example of-
...You should shut up already.
Don't you talk to me like that, you little sh-
I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP, ASSHOLE!
He didn't know whether he was saying any of this out loud or in his head. He kept thinking Lindsay when she showed him how she built Buckingham Palace in Minecraft, the last time they went out on a date, and the memories just kept coming.
YOU better listen to me. This is my body and you can't control it whenever the fuck you want! If anything, you're just the annoying roommate who needs to pay his share of the rent.
What makes you think I should listen to a little shit-stain like you? Because of your precious Lindsay? Because that egghead told you to?
Because you're nothing without me, dick.
It was then that his anger suddenly gave pause at this display of bravado, maybe even actually thinking about what Michael was saying to him. Then he broke into laughter.
Heh, never thought someone like you would have the balls to stand up me, kid. Fine, I'll let you take control...for now. But, know this. If you ever slip up, I'll take that opportunity and never let go. You be mindful of that.
"Michael!"
He snapped awake and immediately stood on his feet. He towered over Dr Sorola and the agents pointing their guns at him. He just stared at them for a second until he looked at his hands. They were large as trash can lids and his arms were still covered in fur. That meant...
"Doc? I think...I think I'm in contr-OW!" Michael proclaimed before the Hispanic man whacked him yet again with his weapon, "What was that for?!"
"Sorry, had to make sure," Dr Sorola shrugged before shutting off the baton.
Michael still wondered why Dr Sorola was so adamant about his rehab in the next two weeks. On top of the anger management and Lindsay's visits, they had him wreck a decommissioned tank, lift and bench press a small NASA shuttle, among other feats of strength.
It wasn't until he was led deeper into the facility by a group of agents and the psychiatrist that he knew something was up. The team went down into the lower levels of the facility via an elevator shaft.
"Where are we going, Doc?" Michael finally asked after a few moments of silence.
"Your final test," he said cryptically, "and possibly, your weapon against the Community."
Then the elevator stopped and the doors slid open to reveal a large, circular room with an eight foot sword made of a strange, bluish-green metal embedded deep into a large chunk of crystal of the same material.
"Is that...a diamond sword?" Michael asked in awe, tinged with confusion.
No, Michael, but it is something similar," the doctor explained, clearing his throat, "Several years ago, we've discovered this beneath the planet's surface. Through thorough testing and multiple experiments, we know its material is nothing like we've ever encountered on Earth and is of an alien design. It's stronger than steel, can ccut through diamonds without effort, is nigh-indestructible and all attempts to remove it have ended in failure."
Michael let out a low whistle, "This thing's huge."
"Indeed, it is. However, I believe we now have a means to remove it from its resting place," Dr Sorola adjusted his glasses, "Only the strongest force on the planet can claim this weapon for himself and that...would be you."
It took Michael a few seconds to register what the psychiatrist said, "Wait, what?"
I think he means me.
I know that!
"If you can pull the sword out, Michael, we will release you back into society. You can keep your job and your apartment." Dr. Sorola reminded him.
Michael looked up at the hilt of the alien weapon as he walked forward with a tinge of paranoia creeping in his spine.
I still think this is too easy.
Hey, it's not that difficult. I get to go home and you get a bitchin' alien sword to smite our enemies with. Simple.
He took a deep breath, let the anger out and let the transformation take shape with an earth shaking roar.
Assuming you can get it out, if not, then you're just shit out of luck.
So are you, you know. Same body, dumbass.
He gripped the hilt with both hands in a strong vice and began to lift the blade slowly with some difficulty, "Damn, it's really stuck in there."
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
You're a part of me. If I fail this, you'll be stuck in a jail cell with me for life if you don't help me. Or is the all-powerful Mogar is too chicken shit-scared that he can't pull this toothpick of a sword out?
The presence became infuriated from Michael's taunt, SHUT THE HELL UP!
With a deep grunt of effort, he lifted the giant blade effortlessly out of the rock and hoisted it in the air, letting out a bellowing roar of triumph, "YOU CAN'T BEAT ME! I'M FUCKING MOGAR!"
As Michael reverted back to his normal self, he noticed how the sword shrank with him until it was the size of a dagger. Michael waved it around, feeling the weight and slashing the air, excited about having a real life Diamond Sword.
The presence was struck by a sudden realization; You were egging me on, weren't you?
Hey, we got the sword, didn't we?
Hmph, sneaky little bastard.
"Amazing," Dr Sorola said in awe, "Well, I definitely say your rehab was a success, Michael. You're free to go. But don't think you're getting off scot-free. We'll be keeping tabs on you."
A few hours later, with his head held high, Michael walked out of the facility with his new found weapon tucked safely in his bag. He made his way across the parking lot when he saw a car parked out front with Lindsay sitting on its hood.
She looked up from her phone and immediately smiled at him, "I was wondering what took you so long."
"Oh, red tape and all that shit, but hey," Michael said, hugging Lindsay, "at least I'm out and able to keep my job...and my girlfriend, I hope?"
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, Michael," she said, kissing him on the forehead before she entered the driver's seat.
He climbed into the passenger seat after putting his bag in the back seat behind him. As Lindsay drove back to their apartment, the presence in his head said, Hey, I thought you were gonna propose to her when you got out.
Michael reminded himself of the engagement ring he had before he kidnapped, I was, but...
But...?
After everything that's happened to me, I don't think I can do it. Not now anyway. If I even mention it now, it'll feel like I'm rushing things. I'll ask her when I know I have control over this power."
Hmph. Whatever, Mogar said before disappearing into the recesses of Michael's mind once more, leaving his host to ponder his situation, alone.