The brothers froze at the sound of Cohen's voice. Yakko slapped a free hand over his mouth as Wakko tried to pull him to his feet.
"Na-uh-ah," the crackling voice verbally finger-wagged, "your little game of hide-and-seek has gone on long enough. The time has come to return to our work."
As Cohen was talking, Jack could see Yakko swallow with a shudder. I don't know what's going on, thought Jack, but I definitely don't like it. He lifted the radio to speak.
"What do you want, Cohen?" Jack demanded curtly.
"Little Moth!" Jack could practically hear the artist's grin in his tone. "You must accept my applause for a most spectacular performance! Bravo, braviiiiissimo!" The abject glee in the artist's delivery made Jack's stomach curl as he looked out at the carnage he had just made.
"Yeah, sure," he muttered dryly, "You didn't answer my question."
"So fidgety!" tutted Cohen. "Yakko, be a Good Boy and escort our guest to the Fleet Hall." Yakko kept his head down, buried his face in Dot's ears, and generally acted as though he didn't hear the command.
Barely a moment passed before the radio crackled once more, "I know you can hear me, Songbird." The once chipper voice had dropped into a more unnerving lower register, but Yakko's only response was to hug Dot tighter, and shake his head, whimpering.
A melodramatic sigh, "do I need to come down there and give you a Time-Out?" At that, Yakko jolted to his feet with a yelp, accidentally banging his head on the countertop. Cohen laughed, and announced he would be expecting them shortly.
The young toon gazed forlornly at his unconscious sister and, giving her a final kiss on her forehead, handed her over to his brother. As Wakko secured Dot in his arms, Yakko gave his red hat a tap. Wakko looked up to see Yakko pointing to the Little Sister Vent. The younger brother shook his head, "Wha- No! I'm not letting you go back to-"
Yakko just narrowed his eyes and pointed again.
"But Yakko…"
The older brother bared his teeth in a silent snarl and stomped his foot; a stance that reminded Jack of his parents ordering him to his room whenever he misbehaved. It had the same effect on Wakko, who reluctantly nodded. Maneuvering his sister to carry her piggy-back, Wakko proceeded to carefully tread across the sea of bodies. When he finally reached the vent, he glanced back at Yakko, eyes full of worry. He then turned his gaze to Jack with a pleading expression.
Jack gave what he hoped was a reassuring nod; I'll look after your brother.
After a moment of acknowledgment, Wakko, keeping a firm grip on Dot, leapt up into the vent. Once Wakko and Dot had disappeared from sight, Yakko coughed to get the man's attention and gestured for him to follow.
As they exited the Southern Mall, Yakko's eyes landed on poor Mr. Bubbles and was hit by a wave of grief. Sorry, Mister B. Thanks for everything. Yakko gave the Fallen Protector a sharp salute, and hurried along, wishing he could set a memorial for the Bouncer. But they couldn't linger, his master was waiting.
The odd pair had entered the elevator to Fleet Hall when Jack broke the quiet.
"Um, my name is Jack, by the way. Jack Wynand... Hi." he greeted awkwardly. It felt right to make proper introductions, and he had no interest in telling Cohen his name.
Yakko gave Jack a curious look before opening his mouth. He suddenly jerked, and groaned in frustration when his tongue flopped out, revealing it was tied in a giant knot.
Jack startled at the display. "Do you, uh," he began, "do you need any help?" Not that he knew exactly how he could help. Yakko just shook his head as he worked to untie his tongue. He had to get it loose before Cohen noticed or it'd just make everything worse. When he finally freed his tongue, he inhaled sharply, and cleared his throat.
"I'm Yakko." He paused. "Warner." He paused again. "Howdy." He wasn't in the mood for saying much else. The teen saw the strange man, Jack, give an encouraging smile. It helped, somehow, as Yakko felt some of his unease fall away. He thought he would try to say more but then his ears flicked as they caught the sound of music floating down into the elevator shaft.
The elevator reached its destination and the pair stepped out and followed the piano music to the entrance of Fleet Hall. As they were about to cross the threshold, the man and toon could hear Sander Cohen's voice crying, "no, no, no! Allegro, allegro!" It sounded like he was reprimanding someone, and Yakko found himself inching closer to Jack.
The two entered the auditorium, and it was revealed what Sander Cohen wanted them to see. Upon the stage was a man in a bird mask playing the piano. Several spotlights revealed that the man was literally plastered waist down to the piano bench. The man also had heavy bandages wrapped around his hands, leaving only eight fingers usable. Heedless of his situation, the man played on, with a manic, desperate energy to him.
When Jack checked on Yakko, he saw that the kid was peeking around his body to watch the performance. Jack observed Yakko's expression morph from an anxious wince into a devilish smirk as he watched the hapless man struggle to play the chaotic piece of music.
"Da-da-da-da-Dah! Dah! Presto! Presto! No! Nooooo!" the artist screamed as he admonished the pianist. Jack looked around, but Cohen was nowhere to be seen.
Yakko smothered a snicker with his hand when imprisoned man ceased his playing to cry out to the rafters.
"I'm trrrryyying," the man sobbed, "Pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaseee!"
Cohen's reply was stern, and a little exasperated, as he commanded him. "Once again, young Fitzpatrick." It was after the pianist, Fitzpatrick restarted when Jack saw, to his alarm, the piano was wrapped with TNT!
Yakko heard Jack gasp and looked up at him perplexed. The little guy had been so caught up in the schadenfreude from Fitzpatrick's plight, that he hadn't noticed the dynamite. Before Jack could figure out what to do, the pianist had reached his limit. Fitzpatrick twisted again to scream, "COHEN, YOU SICK FUCK! LET ME OUT OF HERE!"
BANG!
The explosion rocked the Fleet Hall as the piano was blown to smithereens, blasting the man across the stage, killing him instantly. The living spectators jumped; Yakko actually jumped into Jack's arms. Cohen spoke again, his even and level voice unperturbed, as if he hadn't just blown a man up.
"Liiiife. Deaaaath." Cohen drew out each word as if savoring them. "The burden of the artist is to... capture." One of the spotlights turned to beam down on Yakko and Jack. "See young Fitzpatrick there on the stage, Yakko." The toon made a full-body flinch at the sound of his name, "use the camera and take him as he is now, so we may remember him..."
Yakko, dropping down, just gaped at the wreckage. Jack could see Yakko's eyes shining before the toon rushed onto the stage. Ignoring the dead body, he knelt down and tenderly clutched at the charred remains of the grand piano.
Jack followed Yakko up to the stage and tentatively offered him the camera. Yakko took it while assuring Jack that he knew how to work it. Holding the camera to his eyes, Yakko quickly, defiantly, snapped a picture of the obliterated piano.
Cohen didn't like that.
"ARE YOU MOCKING ME?! YOU INKY ABOMINATION!"
Cohen's outburst seemed to blast from all corners of the Hall. The poor kid yelped, curled into a ball, and shook with fear. Jack caught the camera, which had been thrown into the air. He moved to stand over the little ball, shielding the child from the angry voice. Jack could hear Yakko repeatedly muttering "I'm so-sorry, s-sir."
Furious, Jack scanned all corners of the auditorium, but there was still no sign of the artist; only plaster statues of people posed in rapturous applause were scattered about the seating area.
"Hey!" Jack shouted angrily. "Leave the kid alone! It's my camera, I will take the picture."
"Yes, you certainly do have the eye of the shutterbug, Little Moth." The echoy quality of the reply created the illusion that the theater itself was responding to Jack. "But my needs require a… shall we say… special touch."
Jack rolled his eyes and knelt down to the Yakko ball, whose quivering had lessened slightly. It was still tightly packed, Yakko had wanted to make himself as small as possible. Jack couldn't be sure where Yakko's head was. Regardless, he leaned forward to whisper "I may not know what is going on, but he had no business yelling at you like that." When the ball finally stopped vibrating, he continued, "and you wanna know what I think?" While the ball did not unroll, Jack could see an ear perk up. "I think he's hiding because he's afraid."
The ball slowly loosened. Yakko turned his intrigued face toward the young man, eyes wide as if to ask 'you really think so?'
Smiling, Jack gave a light shrug. "Why else wouldn't he show himself?" he asked with a wink.
Yakko tilted his head, considering Jack's words and – after reassembling himself – took back the camera. He marched over to Fitzpatrick's body. For a full minute, Yakko stood there, glowering at Fitzpatrick. Then, he reared back his head, and blew a very long raspberry.
"WHAAAT ARE YOU WAITING FOOORRR?" screamed Cohen impatiently, "FITZPATRICK CAN'T HOLD THAT POSE FOREVER!"
Yakko flinched but didn't drop the camera. Looking up to the rafters, he took a deep, if shaky, breath. "Uuuuuuuhhhhhhh," he drawled, "I'm pre-prreetty sureeee he can." He glanced about, expecting a comeback. When none came, he let out a disappointed sigh. "Alright, fine." he grumbled, resigned to the task. "I got it."
However, instead of simply taking the photo, Yakko hung the camera round his neck. Forming a rectangle with his fingers, he seemed to scrutinize the body. With his focus locked on the corpse, he began to slowly circle the body with wide, agile sidesteps, carefully avoiding any debris. Once he completed the rotation, Yakko's middle elongated like a snake to wave the focus above the corpse.
Jack watched the spectacle, bemused. Is he just dragging this out? Or is this actually necessary? Whatever the reason, Cohen didn't seem to mind, if the absence of ordering Yakko to 'get on with it' were anything to go by. Jack blinked and started when he saw that Yakko had somehow flipped the body over to repeat the entire process. Still, the artist did not complain. The 'inspection' carried on, and when Yakko pulled out the microscope, Jack began to consider speaking up.
Jack was certainly pissed at Sander Cohen; but that didn't mean he thought it was a good idea to provoke the guy. And yet, Cohen was being surprisingly tolerant of Yakko's antics. The atmosphere of the Fleet Hall was tense with anticipation as if the entire theater was holding its breath. Could I be missing something? Jack then remembered Cohen wanted Yakko to take the picture because he wanted it to have a 'special touch'. A thought occurred to Jack and he picked up the photo Yakko had taken of the piano. To his surprise, instead of reality, it depicted the piano in pristine condition. In addition, the photograph's piano was surrounded by a radiant glow, almost like a halo. An epitaph was located at the bottom of the photograph: Jazzy Junior, 1950-1960, Resting in Peaceful Pieces.
Jack had to swallow back a snort at that; he didn't want to upset Yakko. Well, that explains the newfound patience. Seconds later, Jack finally heard the click of the shutter.
"Yeesss! Good, good! Now, head to the atrium, and place his photograph in my masterpiece!" the artist just about squealed, "And so, our collaboration commences!"
Jack handed Yakko the snapshot of Jazzy Junior, who accepted it with a grateful smile.
"How'd your photo come out?"
Yakko gave the photo a hard flap in the air, "You'll see," he smirked mischievously.
As they walked out of the theater, Jack tried to think of something to say. He had many questions about Yakko's situation with Cohen. A thought did occur to him, and he just had to ask so he tapped the toon on the shoulder. "Did Cohen," Jack whispered, "did Cohen create you?"
Yakko was stunned by the query, then recovered and shook his head vigorously. Jack released a breath, "thank god, I shudder to imagine that guy making cartoons." Yakko responded by putting a finger to his lips, but he still smirked at Jack's line of thought.
The silence returned. Since Cohen's summons, Yakko had become more at ease around Jack, and the last thing he wanted to do was make the toon uncomfortable. Jack decided to hold off any more questions about Cohen, but he struggled to come up with any appropriate conversation starters.
Jack was saved from his uncertainty when Yakko broke the silence. "So, uuuhhhh... what brings you to this neck of the seaweed?"
A casual, worthy opening. Jack began to respond when Sander interrupted.
"This Little Moth is his own canvas, my Songbird; one he intends to paint with the blood of a man I once loved."
The toon raised an eyebrow, all the way above his head. "Which one?"
"ALL OF THEM, YOU STUPID MUTT!"
Yakko cringed, muttering "mutts aren't stupid."
Jack lifted the radio to speak. "If you know why I've come here, then you must also know I don't appreciate being held up."
"Don't worry, Little Moth, I will send you to Ryan," Jack heard Yakko gasp at those words, "but first, you must help me complete my masterpiece."
Jack groaned, at least he now knew why Cohen sank his bathysphere. The deranged artist hadn't explained exactly how Jack would 'help' but if what just happened was any indication, he could make a guess.
He felt a small hand tug at his sweater sleeve. Jack looked down to see Yakko staring at him, his eyes full of wonder. "You're really gonna bump off Andrew Ryan?"
"Yes, I am," Jack answered honestly. "That's not a problem, is it?"
The toon hastily shook his head, so Jack continued. "I stopped here to make the connection to Hephaestus."
Something flashed across Yakko's face and before Jack could discern it, the toon began to spew words.
"Ya know, it's not all bad, working for Cohen I mean. Like, he'll make you do all this weird stuff and if you ever ask why… Well on a good day he might say 'you'll understand in time' and that's all you ever get on the matter, b-but the point is, if you do good and not be a doubter – he really really hates doubters – which is weird to me because he's fine with you not getting it but you just can't doubt it, and I always thought artists wanted you to understand their stuff, you know?" Yakko took a breath for the first time in 30 seconds. "I had a point. What was my point? Oh yeah! If you're good, you get rewarded."
I can see where you get your name, Yakko. Jack thought, with a smile. Then he replayed Yakko's words in his mind and became very tense. He stopped walking, and knelt down, placing his hands on the toon's shoulders.
"Hey, what's the matter?" asked the kid.
"Yakko," Jack struggled to keep his voice calm and even, "what did you mean by he'd make you do 'all kinds of weird stuff'?"
Yakko blinked twice, "Well, uuuuhhhhh, it's a bit hard to put into words, but-"
"HURRY NOW!" Cohen was fed up with all the delays," MY MUSE IS A FICKLE BITCH, WITH A VERY SHORT ATTENTION SPAN!"
"That's the word!" Yakko slapped his fist into the palm of his hand, before quickly taking Jack's hand, leading him to the center of the lower atrium. "I'd help him with alllllll his muses." He then jumped into Jack's arms to whisper in his ear, "One time, his muse lasted for a whole half hour, I timed it! We were even able to finish the painting! I felt kinda proud, but then Cohen got bored and set it on fire."
"Wow," Jack deadpanned as Yakko jumped out again, letting go of Jack's arm. The boy hopped up to the stage as the curtain drew back and Jack beheld Cohen's masterpiece.
"Do you see it?!" The artist sounded absolutely thrilled. "When I am dust, this! This is what they'll point to! My Quadtych! My masterpiece!"
The Quadtych was a set of seven plastered men that were arranged in various acrobatic poses. A couple were kneeling, sitting on shoulders, and hanging upside-down by a trapeze; they all wore rabbit masks and four empty frames were held in their hands. If Jack were a foolish man, he might have assumed that the red splatters around each of their necks was paint; but he wasn't a fool.
Yakko didn't appear to be fazed by the display, but then again, he was desensitized to this sort of thing. Needing no prompt, Yakko placed the photo in the first frame.
The photo showed an image of Fitzpatrick in the process of exploding; it also featured an anthropomorphized toon version of the piano, Jazzy Junior, dressed like an angel, who was pointing and laughing at the man's misfortune.
"Yeeeesssss," slithered Cohen, "and there's Fitzpatrick! Freed at last of his kinks and defects."
Yakko gave an exaggerated nod as if in complete agreement with Cohen. There was a pause, and Yakko's neck made a sound like a heavy stone block sliding across a parking lot, as it slowly turned to look at Jack expectantly. The toon boy's face held an expression of serene awe that was just as plastered as the statues on stage.
I read you loud and clear buddy. Jack cleared his throat "I've never seen anything like this before in all my life." Nice and sincere, "And probably never will again."
Hopefully.
Yakko gave him a discreet thumbs up as Cohen giggled, a sound which tied with the collection of dead bodies for most disturbing thing Jack had dealt with in the last five minutes, very pleased with the man's words, "And here is the glorious news: this is just the moment of conception!"
He proceeded to explain that he wanted Jack to find and kill his three remaining disciples, all of whom had betrayed him: Martin Finnegan, Silas Cobb, and Hector Rodriguez.
"You will find these traitors out in the Fort. Once you send them to their rewards, my Songbird will immortalize their mortality for my Quadtych."
Yakko and Jack exchanged an uneasy glance. Jack spoke up first. "How do you know they're not already dead? I mean, with what happened earlier, I killed a lot of them." Jack could feel Yakko's gaze burning a hole into the back of his skull, as they both remembered what had caused the earlier battle.
God, I hope she's alright.
"Alas! No, you can only find them by going to Poseidon Plaza. The door is now open to you."
Yakko tensed upon hearing that. He struggled to keep his tongue from knotting again.
Jack declared that he would stock up on supplies before leaving. Cohen didn't protest this and a statue posed in a sitting position rose up from a trapdoor in the stage. A crossbow was resting atop of its hands.
"A little something to help you on your way, Little Moth." Then, the radio went silent.
Jack picked up the crossbow, examining it closely. Lightweight, quiet, and retrievable ammo. I like it.
Yakko hadn't moved from his spot but his eyes darted about anxiously. Stowing the crossbow, Jack strode over to him. "Hey buddy, can you show me where the nearest Circus of Values and Power to the People are?"
Yakko's eyes snapped back into focus. "Oh yeah! Over here, this way!"
They found a Circus of Values that looked very beat up. "Wakko hates these things, but they still work." Yakko stretched his neck two feet longer to whisper into Jack's ear. "He hates clowns. Don't tell him I said that, will ya?"
Jack pantomimed zipping his lips before turning back to the ammunition-filled vending machine. As Jack purchased bolts for the crossbow, Yakko remarked, "Cohen never says please, but he will say thank you, in his own way," gesturing to the new weapon.
Jack had to ask an extremely pointed question, so he first took a deep breath. "And how did he say thank you, to you?"
"W-well he'd let me watch Wakko's cartoons." Yakko was taken aback by Jack's sudden intensity. "And he'd let me visit Jas-"
Yakko's voice cut off as his eyes suddenly filled with tears.
"Visit who?"
Yakko acted as though he never spoke. "Oh, and one time he let me tweak those fortune teller machines! You should try one sometime, they're a riot!"
He wasn't being paid, thought Jack, not that it would have made this any better.
"Would Cohen ever punish you?" he asked gently. The toon's face went slack he pulled his arms in, hugging himself, his tail wrapped itself around his leg and his eyes locked on an area beyond Jack's shoulder "W-w-well h-he-"
Jack didn't like the haunted look in Yakko's eyes, so he quickly backtracked. "Nevermi-"
Hop Hop Mister B. No time to waste!
With the sound of that unmistakable two-toned voice, Jack knew that another Big Daddy had entered the area. He whipped out the grenade launcher, confident that he was ready this time.
"Wait, what are you doing?"
"Go be with your family, Yakko." Jack was locked and loaded, "Just leave the disciples to me, then I'll find you to take the pictures."
Yakko looked conflicted before shaking it off. "But you said you wouldn't hurt the Sisters!"
"And I won't," Jack answered, "but I can't heal the girls without killing the Big Daddies."
It took Yakko a second to fully process Jack's words. But once he did, Yakko's jaw hit the floor with an audible clang; he had to bend down to pick it up. "Heal the girls!? You mean…that thing you did to Dot… You fixed her?! She's better? She's really better!? She's not one of those zombie-vampires anymore!?" The desperate hope in his voice pulled at Jack's heartstrings. Jack knelt down to look Yakko in the eye.
"I don't want any more misunderstandings, so listen to me very carefully." At Yakko's nod, he continued. "You don't owe Cohen anything." Yakko sputtered but Jack insisted "I mean it, kid. Yes, he did trap me here, but I promise you I was always going to free the Little Sisters here."
Jack's voice had been increasing in volume so he could be heard over the nearing whale-groans. Yakko, eyes huge, warily pointed to the side. Both heads turned to see a shocked, humanoid, Little Sister.
Aw, crap.
"AAAAIIIIEEEE! STRANGERS! MR. BUBBLES!"
Tossing Yakko behind him, Jack engaged the Big Daddy. A hectic minute later, the Big Daddy was dead and the Little Sister healed. Dr. Tenenbaum's voice came over the radio as she was wont to do, thanking him for his kindness and mercy. As usual, she cut the connection before Jack could get a word in edgewise.
Damn it! Jack wanted to ask her if she knew about Dot and why she collapsed. Taking a look around, Yakko was nowhere to be seen. Jack hoped the little toon had found his siblings.
Jack considered heading to Poseidon Plaza to hunt for the targets, but something in the upper atrium caught his eye. It was a room with a nameplate above it, labeled 'Cohen's Collection'.
That's what Yakko was staring at when I asked about punishments. After a moment's hesitation, Jack decided to investigate. As he climbed up the stairs, his vision briefly flashed white, but he knew what it meant.
Fantastic, another ADAM memory. Wonder what ghosts I'll see this time.
He saw a tiny figure dart to and fro about the atrium, frantically searching.
"Yakko? Big brother? Where are you?"
The vision came close enough to Jack that he could recognize it as Wakko. The young toon looked so scared and so alone, Jack couldn't help but reach for the ghost when it ran up and into Cohen's Collection.
Jack hurried up the stairs to hopefully see more of the vision. He entered the room, noticing another collection of plastered figures; this one of a family, seated at a dinner table. He pulled his gaze away and watched the rest of the memory.
He saw phantom Wakko slowly treading toward a particular statue. Jack strained his ears to hear the child's soft sobs as he identified the statue.
"Yakko… Big bro? Is that you?"
He was a few steps away from the statue's base when another ghost entered the vision to attack Wakko. After a scuffle, the splicer was gripping the boy by the neck as he pulled a familiar-looking jar out of his pocket.
Jack struggled to not avert his gaze, reminding himself that the boys were okay now, wherever they were.
The splicer was shaking the turpentine in front of the screaming child, and Jack noticed the Yakko statue, which had been vibrating since the start of the fight, was beginning to crack.
The splicer and Wakko also heard it; turning, the two were able to see large cracks rapidly forming all over the statue. A few seconds later, it burst open to reveal a wrathful older brother!
The phantom Yakko snarled and pounced onto the splicer, stabbing him with a plaster shard. As the splicer howled in agony, Yakko gathered his brother into his arms, and fled into the vents.
This, however, was not the end of the vision. Another figure popped in, and stared at the broken plaster. Scowling harshly, the figure began advancing on the injured splicer.
"Mr. Cohen! Wa-wait, I can explain!"
"Ohhhhhhh, Fitzpatrick," the ghost growled, "you have been a very naughty boy!"
Just as quickly as it began, the vision ended. Jack walked over to the pedestal where the Yakko statue once stood. There were still broken plaster shards scattered around the base. Behind the pedestal was a large poster, depicting Yakko in his black rabbit mask posing atop a piano.
Introducing Yakko! Cohen's New Songbird!
Jack ran his hand through the plaster dust. Then, he stood up, and headed for the exit. His mind was resolute.
Alright Cohen, he thought darkly, I'll help you with your little art project. But when I'm done, the Warners are leaving with me, whether you like it or not.