Chapter Text
Dark didn't have a close relationship with his "mother". In fact, he hardly knew the guy at all! He'd only learned that he was a dude from Chosen after they had broken out of the PC. No communication on the man's behalf, other than telling him to kill the The Chosen One. Not even a hello. Way to win yourself "Mom of the year" award.
Dark could hardly complain though. From what he caught from his poor "brother," it could have been way worse. The scars on his ankle and chest were more than enough proof of that.
Needless to say, Dark didn't exactly have much of an interest in seeing the man again. Not on the terms they had been originally on at least. Maybe if the bastard was still online and kicking, he and Chosen would find their "Mom's" new prison and tear it to the ground. But the location of the new device from what he had been able to find online was still... somewhat elusive. The Newgrounds raid had been a while ago, and given him some valuable hints of who their dear "mother" had connections with, but... Chosen still seemed tired out. Maybe he was getting old or something? Dark wasn't sure anymore.
His nightmares seemed to be coming back though. Chosen hadn't quite looked like he was about to vomit after the last episode, yet even to Dark's eye, the guy looked like a wreck. Dark had run out ideas to help him. Other than, you know, finding the guy again and blowing his setup to pieces AGAIN but. Something told him Chosen wasn't quite steady enough for that yet.
His "brother" had been struggling for a while now. And it seemed like this quiet idyllic retreat had left him without any piece of mind. Dark would have to up the time-table for hunting down their creator, he didn't feel like Chosen would be doing much better in a couple of days at best, and it was starting to wear on his own nerves. The Dark Lord looked down to the virus, belly up on his work table.
Back to work it was, then.
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Victim looks over slightly grainy footage of himself, with his hated "Mom". The monster itself. All sharp angles and white gleam. All of the vague smear of its face, disgustingly rounded teeth and shimmering glasses that was burned into his mind. The same face that had smiled as its had cut down his clones and let his body rot.
Sadistically minded and monstrous to the core, not a single ounce of kindness or mercy to be found in its body. So sweetly named itself "Mom" only to try and blow his head off less than a minute later.
Victim couldn't wait to get his hands on the bastard's neck. All these years of waiting, shuffling about, getting the company fully operational again, it had to be for something.
It had to be for her, at least.
Agent Smith knocked on his office door thrice. A delivery for him. Some more of the scavenged footage of... the incident. The squint of the other man's eyes under his glasses was more than telling enough that he was not interested in staying around and looking at the footage, not this time. Victim thanked and dismissed his quickly and courteously.
Hopefully the man would also be able to find some sense of comfort in the destruction of The Angel of Death at least. Victim was quite certain he would.