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The world had gone to hell. Walls and floors were swirling masses of mismatched colors, stretching on forever. A mind-numbing cacophony echoed throughout this colorful hellscape, grating on Peacock – the only apparent resident – like nothing else ever had. Only the faintest hints of familiarity could be picked out from the awful din. Despite the hectic nature of the ambiance, she could pick out things she recognized. What stood out was one voice in particular. Low, worn, almost struggling for breath – she instantly recognized it. As soon as she came to her realization, a withered hand gripped the ankle of her prosthetic leg.
“Patricia.” Doctor Avian croaked. The good doctor was lying belly-down in a puddle of his own blood, his free hand feebly clutching at a massive gash in his stomach. This was precisely how Peacock had found him after Valentine charged through Lab Eight with the Skullgirl.
“Cripes!” Peacock yelped, leaping backwards instinctively. Her leg, however, didn’t move with her. It popped clean off, remaining firmly in Avian’s hand. The jet fired uselessly for a good few seconds before it fell uselessly against the ground with a dull clunk, perfectly in time with its owner, who was uselessly pinwheeling her arms. Landing flat on her back knocked her hat off her head, revealing a distinct lack of the Avery Unit underneath. She pulled herself slowly away from the frightening visage of the dying Doc, grabbing her fallen hat from the floor. An enormous glove dug inside, clumsily digging for Avery to no avail. Frustrated, she slapped her hat back down on her head, only to look up and see none other than Nurse Valentine digging her heel into Avian’s back, cleaning one of her many scalpels.
“You.” Peacock spat, “You got some nerve showin’ your ugly mug around here, nurse!” She paused, Argus eyes scanning left to right. “…Wherever here is.”
“Really? All this effort, all this wasted funding, and for what? A girl who wants to bring her imaginary friends to life?” Valentine spoke, clearly not addressing Peacock directly. Cold, monotonous, and unblinking, she spun her freshly cleaned scalpel. “She was a casualty of war, Whitefin. I don’t know why I even bothered closing her wounds.”
Peacock couldn’t help but feel like she’d heard this before. It wasn’t recent, only a faint recollection – perhaps something she’d heard during training. “Well,” she bared her metal chompers, “whoever you’re talkin’ to ain’t here at present. But I’d be happy to introduce you to the Eyes of Argus!” She readied herself for one of her most deadly attacks: Argus Agony. The mechanical peacock head that extended from her hat remained useless and unpiloted, but she’d already accounted for that. Instead, she was relying on the firepower of her Argus System’s countless eyes. Alas, to her dismay, the entire damn thing began falling apart as soon as she tried firing. Eyes fell uselessly to the ground en masse, and her arms themselves broke into pieces.
“No, nonononono!” Peacock scrambled. The Argus System was broken, Avery and her gang were missing, and her legs were popping off with hardly any effort. Her entire body was falling apart, causing a reasonable amount of panic. Most notable, however, was the fact that the Argus System’s collapse didn’t lead to her blindness. Somehow, she could still see. She peered downwards, inexplicably formed green eyes locking onto a pair of dainty little gloved hands. A swift look downward revealed she was stuffed into a little maid outfit that she hadn’t put on since before she was chopped to bits. Standing on fresh, organic legs, she looked ahead to see that Valentine and Avian had vanished. However, directly behind her, there was a whimper that caught her attention. She whipped around to spot none other than little Marie Korbel, in an identical maid outfit, curled up against a slowly defining corner.
“Patricia,” she, much like Avian, addressed Peacock by her true name. “you can’t do this. You’re brave, sticking up for me, but- but you know what he’ll do if you keep doing that. I don’t want to see that happen.”
“Marie?” Peacock stammered, taking slow, cautious steps closer. As she moved, reality seemed to define itself around her. Swirling colors solidified to form cold stone floors with red carpets, walls winding back into near-endless hallways. “Slow your roll for a second! I don’t got half a clue of what’s going on! But that big mook’s dead, ain’t he? Just like… just like you and the Doc.”
Abruptly, Marie got up and darted away, hiding her face in her hands. She sped like a bullet down the winding hallways of the recreated manor. Peacock reached out feebly, but catching her was hopeless.
“Marie! Wait!” she shouted. The second she put a foot forward to pursue, she felt a massive hand settle on her shoulder. She was spun around roughly, now staring up at the towering landlord that once terrorized her. There was no time to react; two beefy hands clutched either side of her head, lifting her roughly off the ground. Before she could so much as kick back, the man’s gigantic thumbs dug into her eyes, shrouding her in an inky void once more.
Peacock’s screams didn’t translate to reality. She shot up in her hammock like a bullet, Argus eyes shooting out in every direction to scrutinize each shadowy corner of her room. Fortunately, there were no walking corpses or buxom murderers stalking in the darkness. All she saw were the usual stacks of glass soda bottles and pizza boxes, one of which served as a makeshift bed for George Bomb. The rest of Peacock’s gang sat slumped in the corner, using Lonesome Lenny as a makeshift bed. For a moment, all was still; at least until Avery, perched atop her hat on the nightstand, woke up and gave Peacock yet another scare.
“SQUAWK! What’s the problem, Peacock?! You look like you just saw a ghost!” Avery stared right into a beady red eye.
“Nothin’, lay off!” Peacock stammered, defensive right off the bat. “If anything spooked me, it was you and your big mouth!” She was certainly thankful to have the rest of her gang still be fast asleep. They were brought into existence as some sort of odd coping mechanism. They were friends born from the cartoons she got so quickly attached to, all dedicated to keeping her safe. Yet the idea of seeming weak in front of them still made Peacock’s skin crawl. She hopped out of her hammock, not bothering to change out of her pajamas. “Just go back to sleep, will ya? We’re goin’ out on the town tomorrow.”
“Fiiine.” Avery huffed. “Forgive me for bein’ worried about ya, boss.”
Considering the fact that Peacock couldn’t make herself shake the gang awake and show them her vulnerability, there was only one real option left. First, she made a beeline for the kitchen, scooping up just about everything unhealthy she could find at once. She topped this pile off with a massive bowl of chocolate ice cream, which she coated in enough fudge and whipped cream for ten people. Taking advantage of her massive arms, she scooped up the entire sugary payload, carrying it into the main room of the lab. Taking up one wall was a massive set of television screens, a couch sitting just in front of it. Peacock sat down her treats on one half of the couch, while she took the other. The instant she sat down, she grabbed the remote.
Screen after screen flickered to life, gradually putting together a massive, confusing wall of cartoons. Looney Tunes, Animaniacs, a couple Charlie Brown specials, assorted animated films, most notably The Iron Giant, and, of course, several different episodes of Glorious Annie. Before long, the entire wall was lit up, each screen assigned a different Argus eye so she could properly watch everything at once. Sound was a different story, but at this point, she really didn’t care. She began cramming all sorts of junk food into her mouth, tearing through bags of chips and popcorn with one hand while she cracked open a bottle of soda with the other. The messy sound of the countless cartoons, surprisingly enough, didn’t wake up the entirety of Lab Eight. Only the oldest resident was stirred by the noise.
Big Band was almost always hidden by his trenchcoat. Seeing him in anything else was honestly kind of silly, which Peacock was sure to point out every time, to his chagrin. Currently, his enormous metal frame was covered by a set of loose, baggy pajamas. He even had a cute little nightcap to hide his balding head. As he stepped out into the main room, his mind was just a bit foggy. Being abruptly woken by an obnoxious noise from the dead center of the lab wasn’t a particularly comforting experience. Each of his footsteps was slow, loud, and mechanical. Even so, Peacock didn’t look away from the screens. He let out a long, slow sigh, which registered as a hiss of steam from several different valves.
“Peacock, it’s four in the morning.” He said. To his surprise, though, Peacock flinched. It wasn’t cartoonish and hammed up, either – she just flinched, a few Argus eyes whipping around to study Big Band from above.
“Jeez lou-friggin-weeze, Spit Valve! Give a gal a warning before you go sneakin’ around like that!” Peacock ignored his observation. She crammed another handful of popcorn into her mouth, thus showcasing the massive pile of food she’d amassed.
Off the bat, he knew something was wrong. The girl was on edge – even more so than usual. She was subjecting herself to an ungodly number of cartoons at an hour she wouldn’t even dream of waking herself up at. That wasn’t even to mention the stress eating. The last time he saw her attack this much food, she’d overturned an entire ice cream cart, taking everything but the Rocky Road. It was easy to find out what had stressed her out that much back then. She was a kid recovering from being dismembered and the subsequent surgery that was inexplicably bringing things to life. Running off to loot ice cream carts and break into movie theatres was her way of blowing off steam, he supposed. But what could’ve upset her this time?
“…Peacock. Something’s up.” Big Band said, beginning to slowly wind his way around the couch. He didn’t chastise her for stealing the entire lab’s snack reserves; that’d just make a bad situation worse.
“Pff! Nothing’s up, Benny-Boy.” Peacock forced herself to laugh along with what she was saying, lacking much of her usual fire. “Can’t a gal dabble in the fine arts at four in the morning?”
Ben faced Peacock, trying to figure out a way to put himself between the girl and her snacks. He opted to let the slide of a trombone snake out from his jacket, pushing the pile far to the side. As soon as he sat down, though, he heard the telltale crunch of a bag of chips beneath him. There was no way in hell he was cleaning this up all on his own. That could wait, though – he had to tread lightly if he wanted Peacock to open up. He seemed to be the only one she’d really talk to about her problems; but even so, she was a tough nut to crack.
“Patty,” he said, using the nickname rather than her full name. He knew that people who called her Patricia wound up dying in front of her quite often. “You know you can tell me about anything, yeah? We’re partners.”
Peacock fell silent for a moment. Dammit, he had to use that cutesy nickname, didn’t he? It made him a lot harder to lie to. “If there was something up, you’d probably be the first to know, Inspector Gadget.” Again, she deflected with a snide joke and an assertion that she wasn’t actually vulnerable.
“That’s exactly it,” he sighed, “I do know. Patty, you’re stress eating again. You’re up at four in the damn morning watching more cartoons than your brain could possibly process.” Cautiously, he looked down at her, trying to read her expression. “Just tell me what’s up. ‘Cause I know after what we’ve been through, I’m all shook up myself. Seeing what Lab Zero’s been up to, fighting off that Skullgirl, the Doc…”
“Ugh, don’t bring it up!” Peacock hid her face abruptly, catching Ben by surprise.
“Whoa, whoa, little bird. Relax. It’s just you and me. Tell me what’s got you up so late, alright?” Ben did his best to be as calm and collected as possible. His presence wasn’t often seen as comforting, considering his intimidating size and stature. But Peacock seemed to latch right on to him. She sighed, Argus eyes sinking back towards her one by one.
“Fine, detective, you got me. I had a nightmare. Big whoop. Some dumb kid gets scared over somethin’ that didn’t even—”
“Hey now, no beatin’ yourself up. I still get nightmares.” Ben interrupted her. “Tell me what it was about.”
“…I saw the Doc. Bleedin’ out on the floor, just like Valentine left him. Then she was there, starin’ at me with that big, ugly eye,” she began retelling the story, hugging her knees to her chest as she did so. “I tried to clobber her, but I started fallin’ apart, and—and then it was like I was back to normal again? My hands, my legs, my eyes, my teeth… it all came back. And so did Marie.” The name was hard to say. She practically choked on it. “But she ran off, and then I saw him.”
“Alright, alright, you don’t gotta finish.” Ben said, blood running cold as he pictured it all. Having to relive all of that in one night really did sound like a nightmare. Quietly, he nudged against her side. His lack of proper hands never seemed like much of a tragedy until now. “You wanna bring it in? Just let it out for a second? I promise, nobody’s gonna know.”
Peacock hesitated for a moment. She still didn’t want to show any sign of weakness – not even around Ben, who’d seen her as a limbless, blind orphan that was spitting up blood and desperately clinging to life in hopes of taking revenge on the Medici Mafia. But she figured that since she’d already admitted to having nightmares, there was no point in hiding it anymore. Without a word, she buried her face in Ben’s side, wrapping her arms around as much of his massive frame as she could hold. Shuddering, she allowed herself to cry. Tears poured from her empty eyesockets and the Argus System’s eyes alike.
“There you go.” Ben said. He did the best he could to return the embrace, letting a metal clamp snake free and wrap around her. “Just let it out, Patty.”
“Do—” she sniffled, “Do you really have nightmares, big guy?”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded. “Sometimes I see, uh… how I became the one-man band I am today. Sometimes I’m just stuck in the iron lung for the whole damn dream. But the worst ones? Those are the ones where you’re hurt, and I can’t do nothin’ to stop it. They don’t come around too often, but they hit me hard every time.”
“Hah…” she forced out a little chuckle, “I always thought I’d show up in someone’s nightmares. I was just hoping it’d be Valentine’s, or Lorenzo Medici’s. Not yours.”
“Life works in weird ways.” He said quietly, using the already extended clamp to switch off the wall of cartoons. For the next couple minutes, the two of them sat there in silence. Peacock would occasionally let out a little noise as tears flowed; but other than that, nothing. Ben was certainly satisfied. He liked to think that emotion was best expressed outwardly with other people rather than left alone to fester inside of someone. Ever since Peacock first moved into Lab Eight, he’d served as her emotional outlet. A lot of times, she served as his as well – though Ileum was also a damn comforting presence that could calm just about anyone down. He wasn’t a perfect guy, but if he really helped her open up about her metric ton of repressed trauma, then he knew he had at least some purpose aside from being a walking weapon.
“Thanks, Ben…” Peacock pulled away after a moment, wiping her face. “Just don’t tell anyone I was cryin’, alright? I’m the toughest gal this side’a the Rio Grande.”
“Mmmmhm.” Ben chuckled. “Alright, your secret’s safe with me.” Finally, he stood back up, looking at the massive pile of snacks topped with a now melted bowl of ice cream. “Alright, it’s time for you to get a little more shuteye. But first… we’re gonna clean this mess. Ileum’s gonna keep you cooped up in her office all day if you wind up achin’ over all that sugar.”
“Eh, I can live with that.” Peacock waved a dismissive hand before moving to pick up the stray bag of chips that Ben had crushed underneath him. “Hey, watch where you’re sittin’ next time! If these were barbecue, I woulda slapped ya.”