Negative Six (1/2) / DILIGENCE
Summary: A quick mission to hunt down two EVOs goes horribly wrong for Six. Or horribly right, depending on your perspective. EVO!Six
Verse: Canon, except I literally forgot to mention Bobo so it's up in the air if he exists or not
Ships: None
Characters: Rex, Six, White Knight, Holiday, Calan
Warnings: Blood, gore, amputation, body horror
A/N: I am a FOOL, an ABSOLUTE COUNTRY BUMPKIN, GENERATOR KNIGHT
anyways I was always salty at the fact that nobody's EVO form got shown (other than Noah and Cal(l)an, I guess? but it's not enough to sate my desire. it's never enough).
the EVO!six/knight/holiday chapters are gonna be the Virtues
(You can kinda tell which parts I wrote today at 12am ha...haha...also this was not suppose to be this long)
YellowAngela: sorry this one's so late, got hit by the exams/ISU/new semester triple whammy. embarrassingly, three more genknight WIPs have cropped up (day that everything changed, plague, and lockdown) OTZ
Guest: I'm here for weird concepts. 2am, you say Consortium!White, I'm on the way
It was the quietness blended with the pure creepiness of the town that made Rex's skin crawl.
The stoplights turned and none of the cars moved, the sidewalks were empty save for paper fluttering in the wind, barks of dogs left behind being the only indication of life; the perfect setting for a horror game.
He likened it to the world when the sleeping plague hit, if the world also happened to be Breach's pocket dimension — signs of being lived in, signs that everything once was normal, contrasting with the deep feeling in his gut that everything was hugely wrong.
It wasn't hard to see why — deep scars marred the otherwise plain town, concrete sunken in with rubble lining the border.
The Keep floated above the buildings, removed from the world. On the Keep, it felt like a different dimension; a feeling similar to being at home (if home was a huge, flying battleship destined to go down in battle) that made everything happening around it seem unreal.
As if it was a videogame. It was scarily easy to see people as numbers, cities as statistics, when everything was miles below them.
Rex sat on the bridge, watching the countless grunts piloting the ship with Captain Calan acting as — well, the captain. Six stood near the entrance to the bridge, hands shoved in his pockets and expression neutral.
A rather normal day, if a bit less action-packed.
Rex looked up at the screen, desperate for a glance at the EVO responsible for the upturned cars, the shredded trees, the collapsed houses — maybe it was one that looked like an elephant, or a saber-toothed tiger. One that really liked digging.
The camera zoomed up into a section of a wooded park.
And continued zooming.
Maybe it broke , Rex impatiently tapped his foot, waiting for the screen to stop zooming and actually show the EVO — usually a Rank 1 or 2 EVO would be highly visible. They were almost exclusively large, hulking beasts with extraordinary powers, rippling muscles on top of a mindless being.
Or maybe someone fell asleep on the job.
This mission was the only one today that needed the Keep and Providence's secret weapon, so Rex couldn't blame them for slacking off.
After this, it was back to headquarters for a full maintenance check, and Rex was free to do whatever unless another world-ending crisis cropped up.
Which happened with surprising frequency.
The tree canopy had gaps that showed patches of grass and dirt underneath. It was a shame; some of the flowers planted were pleasing to the eye, even as scattered petals against the mud.
There, half hidden by the sparse leaves of an oncoming autumn —
"That's what's been causing the panic?" it didn't look impressive; short and round, lightly furred, like a star-nosed mole if it had a bunch of tentacle-like bones waving on its face. Rex turned to Six with an incredulous expression, pointing towards the center screen. Not exactly normal, but nothing to evacuate a whole town for.
To be honest, it looked pretty goofy. Like a second-rate Cthulhu.
"Keep watching."
The bone protrusions rippled, the mole's claws lengthened, and the mole ducked into the earth with a burst of speed as it dug a tunnel downwards.
"Wow. Drilling ," Rex was thoroughly unimpressed by the mole-thing. Way too hyped, "I'm quivering in my boots already."
"The residents of this town discovered it after it dug through the water pipes," he recited, as if reading a script from the back of his sunglasses, "And the underground electrical wiring. And an apartment's foundation. And —"
"Okay, okay, I get it," Rex rolled his eyes, eager to get a move on. The Keep had stopped by now, hovering in place above a large park, "Remind me why it's Class 1 again?"
"Class 2. And though it may not look like much, it is causing property damage on the scale of a natural disaster while simultaneously being difficult to predict and locate," Six gave him a knowing look, which must have been difficult considering his eyes were hidden, "Combat ability, while a large factor in ranking, isn't everything."
"Okay, let me rephrase: why is the Keep here? A bit overboard, especially with us on board," he put extra emphasis on us; it wasn't a normal, 'you and I' us but a 'we're super powerful, super secret, top-tier Providence agents! This is overkill ' us. Rex crossed his arms, tilting his head and waiting for an answer from the agent.
"There are two of them."
"Sure, we can chop up one mole while the Keep bombs the other from above," he threw up his arms, daring a reaction from Six. Around them, the grunts hid their laughter through coughs; Calan had a small smile on his face, half-hidden by one of his hands.
"The Keep also needs a performance check," Six finally broke eye (sunglasses?) contact, looking to the right of Rex, "To be honest, White only assigned the Keep out of convenience."
"He could have sent a jet or something —" Rex narrowed his eyes and put his hands to his hips, "Maybe he didn't know the fearsome Class 2 EVOs' only there because of property damage instead of murder capability and just sent the Keep on its merry way. Did he read the files?"
"Nope. He was busy at the time," Six raised an eyebrow, "Although, by your logic, you didn't read the files either."
"When have I ever?"
"You've escaped from Providence to illegally assist in missions you've discovered from hacking dozens of times."
"Those don't count!"
Six's reply was a level stare.
"Okay, maybe those did count." the screen looked awfully great this time of day and — oops , he just admitted to sneaking out to join missions, nobody was suppose to find that out until at least a month later, "Uh, let's get on with the mission already!"
Three hours.
Three hours of chasing one EVO while keeping an eye out for another.
Not that the other mole-creature appeared, of course — instead, the Keep did whatever the Keep did in its downtime while Rex chased mounds of dirt in a desperate attempt to nab the mole. If he tried to stomp it, the mole would dig deeper down and they would risk losing sight of it. If he tried to grab it on his own, the mole would scurry away before Rex could get a build up.
He tried climbing into the tunnels created, one hour in.
Six had to dig him out.
Now, Six was off in the distance perched on a tree branch, watching Rex stab the ground with the B.F.S. in fits of anger. His arms were crossed and Rex swore that he was enjoying him floundering about.
"A little help here?"
Two blades streaked past Rex's head, sinking into a patch of dirt quicker than he could say 'what the heck was that for?!'.
"Caught it."
Rex raised a brow upwards, wondering how both of his blades jammed into the earth counted as successfully catching an EVO.
Six moved from the tree branches to his swords in one graceful movement, dragging out the blades from the dirt with flourish.
The mole was speared through the tentacles from both of the magna-blades, spasming more and more as Rex approached it with a dumbfounded look. Three hours of chasing that mole around, and Six caught it in an instant .
Curing it wasn't anything special — a blue flash, and the large mole became a small mole. It was actually quite endearing, the way it squealed in Rex's hands, squirming in his grip.
Who was he kidding, he wanted to punt the mole to Hong Kong.
The mole was accidentally dropped onto the ground and it scurried into the earth once more, Rex settling on glaring at it until it was out of view; didn't want Six to go on a lecture about refraining from indulging oneself too often or something similarlyvirtuous and cheesy .
"Well. Job done." Rex swiped off some dirt from his gloves, then brushed soil from his jacket (grimacing as he realized the amount of dirt that must be in his hair and in places he would never want dirt to be) before building the Boogie Pack and lifting his goggles down. "Time to head back."
"Rex," Six turned his head to look at him, impatience filling his every movement, "We still need to find the other one."
"Which hasn't been seen at all since we got here," Rex dissolved the Boogie Pack, pushed his goggles upwards, and shrugged at Six; Six responded by furrowing his brow, "Maybe someone thought they saw another EVO when in fact they saw, I dunno. A rock? Some dude's dog?"
The magna-blades slipped into Six's sleeves with a twist of his wrist, and he fully swivelled to face Rex.
"We need to stay diligent. The people living here are counting on Providence." Six paused, a split second of thinking before continuing, "Also, we'll have to return later if we leave an EVO here."
"Which means we'll have more data on it and hopefully have a better tracking system than shoving our weapons into the ground and hoping for the best!"
"Providence is not leaving until the threat is neutralized."
Mouth opened in the beginning of a retort, brows furrowed in irritation, Rex was focused entirely on Six. Six, who apparently couldn't see reason. The little mole could be dealt with later; now, Rex was hungry and had the strong desire to take a warm shower then sleep.
The earth behind Six shifted.
Rex barely gave it a thought.
"C'mon, can we at least go back to the Keep? I promise —"
It was the moment something white poked out of the ground, sharper than the EVO that came before it and much larger, that Rex thought — Oh. That's important.
The spike arched upwards.
The sound of bone ripping through flesh was thick — Rex blanched, unable to look away. It was like watching an airplane hurtle downwards; horrifying, mesmerizing, a dance of fire and metal that was difficult to pull his eyes away even though he was screaming between retches —
Six staggered, unbalanced as his right leg slid away from the rest of his body; the stagger turned into a topple as his body refused to move.
Rex wasn't quite sure what to make of Six's expression. His eyes were covered, as always, but instead of a deep scowl his mouth was open, teeth biting his lip in a desperate attempt to remain composed; blood stained his jaw, his teeth, his clothes, droplets scattering in a fine mist when gasps forced their way out of his throat.
Rex couldn't move either.
His right arm followed as the last sinews ripped apart — it fell faster, not quite synced up with the mess that use to be his shoulder.
Blood pooled around his body, staining the grass and his clothes. Hysterically, Rex thought about how the mix of red, green, and white would be perfect for Christmas — Six should really get different colours of clothing — they suited him.
Hah. Suited.
I'm joking. 'Cause if I don't, I'm gonna remember how scared I am right now.
The last bit of the mole EVO — ex-plant, animal, human, he didn't care — exploded against Rex's fist. He barely noticed the wet pieces of flesh that clung to his jacket, the slow rumble as his build fell apart, the Keep drifting in the sky above —
Too slow. They were too slow.
For him to notify the Keep, for a team to be sent down in a smaller craft, for a doctor to stabilize his condition; it took time. It would take too much time, Six was in shock and he was losing blood too quickly (much too quickly. None of it was clotting. Rex looked at the strange fluid that escaped from the EVO's spikes with hate, despair, desperation ) and while Rex didn't know the exact amount of liters someone could lose before they went into a coma (or worse, he didn't want to think about or worse ), he was sure Six was approaching that amount —
Rex was glad Six was unconscious. The wounds looked painful.
"Rex to Keep! Rex to anyone, please," his voice cracked as he knelt down, one hand on the communicator and one lying limp against the grass, "Six is in critical condition, Code Red!"
He was vaguely aware that Code Red probably meant something completely different. Something arbitrary like 'White's milk chamber is broken'.
It sounded official, though, he hoped that it would speed everyone up.
It was quiet. It was sunny. Puffy white clouds lined the sky. The day was too beautiful, too idyllic for him to almost lose his father figure.
The Keep shifted in the sky, engines whirring faster, but Rex barely noticed that — just Six's body in front of him, his quick breathing, flashes of memories as he thought —
Oh no.
I distracted him.
A funeral. Sunglasses still on his head. Would they bury him minus an arm and a leg? The arm and leg thrown in there? Would they stitch it back on?
Useless.
People will blame me, won't they?
Dr. Holiday looking at Six with concern morphing to fear, then at him with hate. White Knight seeming more disinterested than usual, then not showing up on screen for weeks. Callan not allowing him to sneak out anymore. Providence Agents parting around him as he walked through the hallways as if he were a dead man walking heading to his execution —
What would the Numbers think? They were his 'family' . Would they mourn at the loss of a team member? Laugh at such a stupid death? What would One think, if he was still alive — Six growing up to be kinder, less merciless and having all of that development cruelly ripped away.
Part of him objects, says that the Numbers weren't Six's family. They, at Providence, were.
I want to fix this.
Something stirred inside of him. Rex couldn't pinpoint what the feeling was emotionally or physically — the closest analogy was a machine booting up, an unknown revealing itself in little fanfare.
It feels close to an Omega build. Not quick the scale of one, but —
He looked at both of his hands, cyan lines streaking across them like comets. Pulsing.
He knows it isn't a build. He's not quite sure how, maybe the nanites were talking to him!
The thought lingers on longer than a joke ought to. Something odd happened the last time he unloaded his nanites, something weird happened with One, and while nobody gave him the specifics —
Build protocol enabled. Command accepted. Stand by for additional user input.
Everyone's counting on me, aren't they?
Rex clenched his fists. Determination overwrote his fear. The pattern grew brighter.
He can hear them.
The nanites, all singing.
All of Rex's —
( He is able to control nanites. He has the first, the last, the master control — machines bend to his will, removing themselves from DNA, resetting a host to 'base'.
Providence ran tests. Scars disappearing. Tattoos gone. Limbs regrown. Any EVO cured became whatever the being should be based on their DNA, not what they physically were before.
They called him the cure.
Nobody said he could not be the catalyst. )
All of Six's —
( He resists the cure, of course — from his experience with One, it is to be expected.
The cure for the disease called hunger. Thirst.
Weakness.
Most people cannot resist the temptation of being stronger, smarter; their wills are fragile. Easily broken.
And yet —
They cling onto the idea of staying in one form, of staying 'sentient'.
Even if it meant the nanites couldn't save them. )
Rex ripped off his gloves and pressed on Six's back. He tried not to look at his blood, at his shoulder, at his hip — the communicator rang. He ignored that too.
The sunglasses reflected an eerie blue glow, dancing shadows as the light pulsed along with the array on his body.
Activating nanites goes against every fiber in Rex's being, every instinct he's learned in the three years of his memory — instead of taking out activated nanites, he's attempting to put nanites in. The cylinders pressing outwards, ever outwards, changing DNA unchecked in lieu of the nanites returning to their inactive state.
Instead of the familiar, slow whine of machines powering down deep inside him, it's the frantic pitch of thousands of nanites all powering up.
The lines wavered, close to flickering out and briefly he's hit by an onslaught of anxiety —
He has to succeed.
Rex focused, blocking out the metallic smell, the slickness of his blood-splattered clothing, angry shouts in his ear from a higher-up at Providence (Calan or Knight, he wasn't sure), the feeling of his heart hammering against his chest.
His communicator cracked in half as blue lines raced upwards.
The glow strengthened.
Through half-opened eyes, he could see the radiance shining brighter — never has the harsh blue looked more welcoming in his life, not even the times when his built the Smack Hands just in time to save his life. He wants to cheer, to congratulate himself, but his job wasn't finished yet; just the most difficult portion.
The lines spread from the palm of his hand across Six's unmoving form as Rex forced his own activated nanites in — they bloomed across Six in a chain reaction, a cascade of yellow light as the nanites powered on —
Eager to help.
This is what they're made for.
It was quicker than Rex could parse, even pumped full of adrenaline — movement from Six's shoulder. Through half-closed eyes from concentration, Rex could see —
It felt cold, all of a sudden.
It looked exactly like the spike that tore through Six, the — the thing coming from the stump. Down to the scars from their battle. It protruded at an odd angle from Six's natural flesh, like it didn't belong — different colour (not even green!), different shape, different texture, it looked wrong.
Rex thought that the EVO had come back for more, for a second.
Why does it look like that? Out of all possible EVO forms — that?!
Another one joined it, this time twisting out from the stump formerly known as Six's right leg in a grotesque dance; writhing, waving, tearing apart the grass but avoiding his own body.
Worst case scenario: previous EVO was a parasite, and Six was the new host.
Best case scenario: you just turned your father figure into a monster.
Hooray?
Well, Rex's hands stayed firmly connected to Six's body, fear coursing through him, The bleeding's stopped.
That wasn't quite true; a final splatter was forced out of Six's mouth as he coughed, a wet hacking sound that drew Rex's attention in an instant; he looked horrible, blood and dirt covering his face, expression twisted in a grimace.
Rex almost regretted shoving him to consciousness.
Even through all that, he still has those sunglasses on, Rex thought with a flicker of amusement. It would be okay. It would all be okay.
Rex stopped activating Six's nanites, still wary of the two tendrils that now curled up against his body. They ceased thrashing moments ago, now undulating lazily in the grass.
"Is that — is that my arm?" despite the question, Six's voice was oddly calm.
"The tentacle or —" Rex stopped and followed Six's gaze. There, in front of his eyes, was his previous limb. Arm or leg, he couldn't tell; it was mangled beyond all recognition, covered in tatters of green and red.
The sights and smells hit him harder than a subway train.
He stopped himself from emptying his lunch on Six. He's seen worse, but knowing the previous owner somehow intensified his nausea.
"Tentacle?" there was an edge to Six's voice now, harsh and hysterical. Unnoticeable to a stranger, but highly different to his normal tone of voice if someone knew what to look for.
"Uh, just wait a sec," the steps to cure someone were like second nature to him — the ghost of a thought, and the lines shifted. Calling his nanites back to him.
The spikes thickened and split into a facsimile of bones, held together by half-formed joints — muscle and skin oozed out of Six's shoulder and hip, graceful in their movement. Flowing, fastening, concealing.
One fluid movement, and Six looked perfectly fine. Minus a sleeve and a pant leg. No scars, no scabs, not even a faint line indicating where old met new; as if nothing had happened. That everything was a bad dream.
The leaves rustled above, blurred with the faint hum of the Keep. There was another noised mixed in; high-pitched, growing steadily louder.
Probably the jet he asked for, loaded with doctors expecting the worse.
Rex removed his hands from Six with patience fit for calming down a wild animal — slow, deliberate movements, designed to soothe and not startle.
Still, Six flinched. The involuntary movement was the only indication that Six was still conscious; he was fixated on the mound of flesh and bone in front of him that use to be him, barely moving, barely breathing.
Dazed; that's what he would call Six's current expression. Or meditative. It was as if he was deep in a trance, mind wandering away from his body, forcing himself calm.
Expecting, dreading, to look down at his right limbs and see a huge bleeding gap where it once was.
The silence was deafening; Rex needed to talk. To Six, to himself, to the trees and bushes around him — he didn't care, he wanted to talk and laugh and cry because —
I can't believe that just happened.
"Do you think we should give a burial to those?"
A question returned with more silence. He almost gave up the conversation, eyeing a few interesting trees, before —
"What would be the purpose of that?"
"Y'know, on the tombstone it could say 'here lies Six's first set of limbs'. It'll be a great lead-in to a story," Rex nudged Six. Bad idea; his elbow jammed into Six like a brick wall, "On second thought, maybe not."
"There's no graveyard on Providence grounds. Bodies are sent back to their families," Six pushed himself upwards to sit alongside Rex. Using only his left arm, he noticed, but kept that observation to himself. Six looked at nothing in particular, "If no family members are available or they are unidentifiable, they're burnt to ashes and scattered into the canyon ."
Which happened way too often. Rex was patched up in the Lab, so unfortunately he didn't get to see the normal infirmary, but out in the field with the assault vehicles scrambling to pick up the pieces after a particularly long fight, tire screeches mixing with human screams of help —
Absently, Rex itched at his skin.
If he concentrated, he could almost smell the smoke.
Wait.
Actually, he didn't need to concentrate to smell an acrid tang. A shadow drifted on them, the wind picking up and throwing up upturned dirt and broken branches.
The white form of a Providence jet hovered above them, a hatch opening up with a stretcher attached to a cord being lowered.
"Oh!" Rex leapt up, smiling from ear to ear. "Since you're in a fragile condition, I can totally fly you up, right?"
Six glanced down at his exposed arm before levelling his gaze at Rex, expression neutral. "I'll risk it."
The flight back was uneventful compared to the frantic moments just before. Six sat in the corner of the on-board infirmary, screens monitoring his status surrounding him; Rex didn't know what half of the graphs or words meant, but none of the numbers were red and no alarms were sounding, so Six was fine, right?
It was actually pretty boring, sitting in one spot to look after Six (how the tables have turned). The only exciting part was when White had appeared on the screen to shout at Rex, then the screen split to reveal Holiday also shouting at Rex, and Six, why are you hiding a smile I can see that.
White had long since left to resume leading Providence or drink milk or whatever, and Holiday disappeared from the screen soon after, giving a concerned look towards the both of them. Now, silence permeated the room as the Keep flew back to Providence.
Rex was debating whether he should turn the screen back on to watch whatever was on TV when Six shifted in the sheets, marking the first large movement from him in half an hour.
"I could have died." A simple statement.
And the truth , Rex thought, guilt flooding back into him, face hot with a mix of embarrassment and shame. "Sorry."
"Don't be. I should have paid more attention," Six's expression was of cold determination; for what, Rex wasn't sure. Most likely the determination to improve himself, "An accident like this was bound to happen sooner or later."
He wanted to say something, to shift the blame back on himself to get Six to relax, but he seemed dead-set on his ideals. Any other apologies were unspoken, hanging thick in the air.
The rest of the trip to Providence was in silence.
It was subtle, but Six was acting strange.
Nothing too big, nothing too alarming to suggest that he'd been replaced by a shapeshifter, but the signs were still there — Rex felt a smudge of guilt from spying on Six, but at the same time he would have felt more guilt from not looking over Six after his mistake.
The first day —
Six excused himself early from a meeting. White looked peeved, but allowed it.
That was the first time that Rex had seen Six leaving early. If anything, he should have stayed late to talk to White about — well, something, it wasn't like Rex stayed in the war room longer than he's obligated to.
Rex didn't think much of it and went back to keeping his eyes open during a boring, boring speech.
The second day —
Nothing happened. Nothing.
As in, Rex didn't see Six at all during the day; not in the lab, not in the war room, not tucked somewhere in a dark corner of Providence contacting the Numbers, nothing.
The only explanation was White giving a vague explanation of him wanting a small break.
His room was locked.
The third day —
Six was quiet. Well, he was normally quiet, but that day he was completely silent — the words he did speak where mumbled in low tones, and Rex found himself nodding politely after not hearing the same phrase repeated three times.
Sometimes he swore the agent said something, but Six just shook his head when Rex asked.
The fourth day —
7 am. Six's cup of tea crashed to the floor. He apologized, clutching at his right arm while backing out of the lab.
Holiday called someone to clean up the shards of ceramic on the floor, face filled with confusion and worry. She went back to typing a report but her work was slower, mind muddled with off-topic thoughts.
Rex tried to follow him but the hallways were empty.
Uneasy, he returned to the lab and casually asked Holiday if anything was wrong with him.
Six was reportedly in perfect health. Better than perfect, even.
Rex forced down his anxiety and smiled.
Today was the fifth day.
Rex stopped his stretches as the door whooshed open, waving at Six. The green suited man didn't wave back, but it was expected – a small nod was the largest form of greeting Rex had observed during training sessions, and those were saved for the really good days. Which usually was made up of days where Six was rarely seen in the hallways or in the lab, instead tearing apart EVOs at city blocks or national parks.
And the days where Six was actively socializing with other people ('other people' consisting of Rex, Holiday, and White Knight) – the number of those could be counted on one hand.
Although –
Maybe it was the way his brows were furrowed, or the tenseness in his posture, but Six looked distracted. A bit pale, sweaty, and distracted. Maybe he just didn't notice?
Rex couldn't blame him after the fiasco earlier this week.
"Looking a bit under the weather there, Six," Rex teased, smile wide, "I'm not gonna go easy on you, y'know."
"I'll manage."
It was almost a routine – stand a few feet apart and acknowledge the other, Rex builds the Smack Hands, Rex punches first and Six dodges, Six slashes his right blade and Rex would use his Smack Hands to block it, Six slashes his left blade and Rex would have to sidestep, continuing onwards like actors in a play. The time for more unique moves, more creative strikes was later; for now they were just warming up.
The first punch hit empty air, like always; a gust of wind was the only thing that marked Six was once there. Rex flicked his eyes upwards, following Six's arc above him — this dodge was a particularly good one, fit for one of the most dangerous people on Earth.
It was a really good dodge, actually. Rex likened it to a startled cat — one time he watched one leap high in the air after some person's car alarm went off, and Rex got slammed into the same car after getting distracted and laughing.
Smack Hands raised above of him, Rex was perfectly defended from Six's downwards dual stab ( does he name them cool names like my builds? I mean, I could name them for him ).
Rex noted that he going off of the script a bit, but that happened every few months. Nothing to be too worried about.
The agent probably wanted to keep his skills sharp.
The fists were thrust upwards, and Rex tightened the internal mechanism to trap the blades inside.
It seemed to have worked, kinda of — Six pulled away with only one of his blades, irritation crossing his face as he backflipped away with the fluidity of a professional dancer.
If he's gonna change things up, then I will too.
The internal workings shifted, connecting and revolving deep inside his Smack Hands. In a second the magna-blades were flung off into a wall, missing Six by an inch, as the entire thing started spinning like a drill — a huge, orange, fist-drill meant for punching people.
Wait, I don't have a name for these?
Six leapt backwards, picking up the remaining blade and using his momentum to push off the wall, speeding towards Rex.
What about….the Drill Hands? A bit obvious. Spin Fists? Pivot Mitt? That's kinda lame.
Rex swung, using the danger of the drills to set up a makeshift perimeter — Six was all too human (maybe? Rex sometimes thought about the possibility of him being an android, or at least a cyborg), sliding around the wildly swinging hands to assess the situation.
At least the other alt modes are easy to name. Rex Ram. Big Fat Chainsaw. Uh, Turbine Grabby-Things —
His thoughts froze as his brain finally caught up with the situation. Six wasn't moving to attack, or getting up from the slide at all; he was hunched over on the ground, holding his head as if wounded. His nails dug into his scalp, and Rex guessed that if he could see his face Six would have a scowl on it.
Rex hadn't landed a hit on him, though.
Before Rex could gloat, or ask if anything was wrong, or crack a joke, a Six sprung up as if the event never occurred — his muscles tense and grip on the blades painfully tight, but otherwise unscathed.
A feint? Clever, he could easily set up sneak attacks while pretending to be injured.
Odd that he would reveal his trick so early .
A smirk crossed Rex's face. The hands revolved to a stop, clicking back into place as he sprinted forwards towards his target.
There was something off .
Rex couldn't name it. Six was standing there, posture perfect, ready to use his mechanical fists as leverage for a dodge. He could see it in his mind already — Six would leap off of his Smack Hands, he would jam his hands into the wall, lose precious time destroying them, and by the time he turned around to face his enemy two swords would be at his throat.
His reflexes still needed to catch up to his thoughts. Rex was powerless, careening forwards by his momentum even as his mind screamed that he needed to move —
Something slammed against his right fist, jamming itself between Rex and the training room wall.
A wide grin appeared on his face —
Rex noticed how cold the training room was. White should've invested in heating for headquarters.
He was scared to look. He was scared to move. Not that it mattered; his builds fell into pieces, scattering around the floor and revealing the sight like curtains unveiling a stage —
"Six? Are you alright?" Rex called towards him, tilting his head. This wasn't like him. Six was supposed to give a dry retort. Six was supposed to tell him to ignore it and keep training.
Six wasn't supposed to crumple against the wall in one hit, limbs shaking and breath coming in quick pants.
Six wasn't supposed to get hit, period.
"Should I—" Rex gulped, and glanced at one of the surveillance cameras in a silent plea — was anyone checking on them? He would even welcome White's pasty mug appearing on the wall if it meant Six would go back to normal, "Should I get help?"
What kind of question is that? Rex wanted to slap himself right in the face — he just smashed Six against the tiles on the wall. He absolutely needed help.
The memory burned into his head; the joy tinged with confusion as his fist got closer and closer to an unmoving Six (normally he would be a blur ), a wide smile as his hand connected to flesh then — fear.
Realization.
His builds disintegrating, crashing into a circle of twisted metal around him, whether by unconscious will or by his biometrics diving downwards.
Any more and he would have been a smear —
He should have been a smear —
There's no blood.
No splatter of red staining the stark-white walls of Providence, no crimson blooming across Six's suit; it was unnerving, seeing everything be so normal other than faint cracks on the tiles.
"H-hey Six, your plan isn't working," Rex's smile's wavering and he's staring wide-eyed at the body as if it was going the spring up at any second, "Playing dead? Puh-lease, EVOs try that every week. Never worked. Except for that one time with the turtle thing."
No reply. Six's breathing wasn't stabilizing, fluctuating between deep wheezes and hurried gasps of air. One of his hands was gripped tightly on the grip of a magna-blade — the other hand was grasping at empty air, fingers twitching and muscles tensing as if he was struggling against an unseen foe.
The sunglasses were still planted firmly on his head. Askew, but still covering his eyes.
"This is the part where you say, 'it was a tortoise , Rex, you need to brush up on your animal recognition skills '," he did a crude imitation of Six's voice — deep, bland, always pointing out his faults. Maybe the rare compliment or two, "Please. This isn't funny anymore."
He lifted his hand to his ear out of habit, but brushed up against nothing — he swore inwardly; they were in Providence Headquarters, in a training room at that. The area he was standing in had safeguards for the safeguards, a whole 300-page book for precautions, and a contingency plan in case an elephant herd somehow made its way into the inner sanctum of Providence – it was a safe, controlled environment.
Rex hardly felt safe.
The situation didn't feel under control.
The vague feeling of needing to do something other than stand around uselessly took him over; his gaze broke away from Six's barely-moving body and he turned his head to look at the wall behind him.
He felt like he was going on autopilot; limbs going through motions to drag him to the controls built into the wall while his consciousness was a million miles away, the repetition of everything's going to be okay, you can fix again this hammering against his head, hand hovering over familiar buttons while he tried to remember the code for 'Emergency, I need an adult'.
A few seconds passed of him motionless, staring dazed at the wall before his mind snapped back and he thought – what am I doing?!
There was a slapping noise as his hand surged onto the buttons, blue lines running down his palm and spreading across the wall. It didn't take much for his goal to be reached – just a short conversation from him, to his nanites, to the communications system across Providence and he could talk through any speaker, see through any camera, trip up any alarms he wished –
He has one person in mind. Well, two , but Holiday wasn't guaranteed to be at one location all day.
Rex isn't quite sure how he knows the connection was successful – there was no noise, no artificial voice telling him 'congratulations!', no fancy screen popping up inches from his eyes, just a feeling deep inside him as his nanites patted themselves on the back for a job well done. Well, the faint sound of static emanating from the speakers was helpful, too, but the link between him and technology existed and was powerful .
"Rex," for once in his life, Rex was relieved to hear White Knight's dismissive tone. Through the speaker, he could hear papers being shuffled and a deep sigh, "I told you not to hack into secure channels. It's a privacy issue."
How was he going to explain? 'Sorry, I might have just killed Six right after he had a near-death experience, can you send Holiday over please and thank you'? 'Whoops, Six needs a doctor right now because his ribcage may be crushed'?
"If you're not going to do anything, cut the connect —"
"Six is —" that caught White's attention; he shut up in an instant, "Six is down. I'm in the training room, he's—"
A sharp pain shooting from his ear, quick movement in the corner of his eye —
A blade jammed in the speaker, White's voice dying in the middle of a question.
Rex removed his hand from the wall and turned around in one fluid motion, confusion flooding into him. Six didn't take training that seriously. He hoped.
Six rose up, putting his right hand down; his posture was hunched and unlike any fighting stance Rex had seen before.
And Rex was taught a lot of them. Notably, by the man in front of him.
He had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't a fighting stance; nothing professional, anyway. It resembled the pose of a feral animal defending its territory from others, teeth bared, fingers splayed and curved —
Oh , the puzzle pieces clicked together in his mind, That's not a good sign.
He felt his blood pounding as adrenaline rushed through his system, cyan lines spreading down from his elbow.
The first thing he noticed was that Six's sunglasses were completely off, broken in a corner of the room. The two black pieces were striking against the pure white floor, and Rex looked at Six's swaying form expectantly.
He wasn't making any moves to grab them.
The second thing he noticed was the raw emotion on Six's face — a flurry of fear, uncertainty, rage — as his eyes focused on Rex.
All six of them.