Chapter Text
Never underestimate spite as a motivator for genius.
- Sam Kean, The Disappearing Spoon
The Block
“I don’t like it.” Wraith’s eyes darted around the stark prison, as she trailed behind the bound man. His eyes were too cool. Planning had never been Spite’s strong suit. Why did he look so goddamned confident?
Expatriette strode beside the Wraith in silence. Spite had busted Pride, one of her two very favorite guns, during his capture, and may well have wounded her actual pride in the process. Her eyes were trained on him, her glare almost as effective a deterrent as the thick steel gauntlets preventing his hands from wielding his strange, drug-induced powers.
Ahead a few paces, KNYFE didn’t turn, but spoke. “The Block is the right place for him. We… They have ways of holding men like Spite.” Some habits die hard. She launched into what sounded almost like a sales pitch. “Each cell is time-looped, so any abilities he might have won’t hurt anything--he simply wouldn’t have time to take advantage of any damage he caused before it was reverted. Even if he managed to get out of his cell, he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere. The prison is kept separate from any known inhabited time-space dimension. And before long, the FILTER agents here would take him down.” She glanced at the prisoner. “There are worse than you in here,” she said flatly.
Leading the way was the Block’s Warden, Hoefle, flanked by the Sentinels, who’d come to help keep Spite contained while they had waited for his drugs to leave his system before moving him out of Rook City. Wraith didn’t always like Dr. Medico or Mainstay--the former too self-rightous for his own good, the latter’s careless nature getting his team into trouble more often than was healthy, but she could have kissed them then. Expatriette and Wraith had been worn out after chasing the crazed killer all over Rook City, but the four of them had been so effective. Once the threat was contained, they had given them the gift of time to recuperate.
“I still feel like I’m missing something,” said Wraith. KNYFE didn’t respond. Up ahead, Idealist--the Sentinels’ resident teen psychic--stopped, seeming like she was listening. Dr. Medico looked at her, concerned, even as the others kept on moving. Wraith took better stock of the room now; Idealist’s abilities could be extremely useful, but one had to be paying attention.
The cell was in Ward C, section 10. The trans-dimensional nature of the prison meant that the organization of the cells inside the prison didn’t exactly conform to its vast, cubic exterior shape. Not to mention that it wasn’t, strictly speaking, on a planet, and therefore there were no cardinal directions--nor even an especially convincing reason to think of any particular direction as “up” or “down”, since all gravity in this place was strictly artificial. Still, there was some organization to it. Ward C was for oxygen breathers, for starters, and Level 10 for native gravities that were fairly close to Earth’s. There were many places in this prison where Spite wouldn’t even be able to stand or breathe. C10 was the largest cell block in the prison, and it had an internal organization that was fairly easy to follow. Each of the cells lining the walls to the left and right (and up, at least six stories) had a small screen to the right of a heavy, windowless door. The screen showed an internal view of the time-looped cell. Most of the prisoners sat motionless, having long ago given up any thoughts of freedom.
Idealist gasped.
Wraith turned to their unmasked prisoner, and Spite met her eyes. His disfigured face seemed to freeze, his eyes never leaving hers, but his lips slowly curled at the edges, into a nasty, lopsided grin.
Then he exploded.
Smoke billowed out of the place where, a second ago, a dangerous serial killer had been, but Spite was gone. KNYFE had been closest to him; she had been tossed to the ground, her hearing dulled to a high-pitched whine. Wraith grabbed a set of tactical goggles from her pouch and switched over to infrared. She took note of the scene in seconds. The Sentinels had fallen into a defensive stance, except for Dr. Medico, who was moving toward KNYFE. Her body armor had protected her, but it was taking her a moment to recover. Hoefle’s body was limp and unmoving, a few paces from where he had stood next to the prisoner. Expatriette had rolled backwards, drawn Prejudice, and was scanning through the smoke. And in the corner of the room, at a security console, with a dead guard next to him, was Spite.
Wraith was in motion, a throwing knife already in hand, but Spite was still fast, even without his drugs. A red light began flashing in front of one of the cells and an alarm began ringing. The door slid open. Spite was already moving down the hall. Wraith knew she needed to follow him. She looked back at KNYFE.
“We’ll handle this!” The voice arose from an inky black cloud--the fourth Sentinel, known as Writhe, who was surrounding KNYFE to shield her. “Wraith, Expatriette, go get him”.
Expatriette glanced at her, and the two leapt to a run without a further word. As they disappeared down the hallway, a figure emerged from the open cell door, immense, muscled, his hands emanating a strange green light that licked his arms like flame. KNYFE was on her feet; she stepped out of Writhe’s occluding body. The former FILTER agent looked at him, then dropped to a low stance, and an energy blade protruded from her gauntleted hand. “Char, getting some fresh air?”
Char didn’t speak. He stood motionless for a second. Then he wasn’t there anymore. He was flying at her, all wild rage and untamed power he hadn’t been able to use in years. The last time they’d fought, KNYFE had planned the takedown and had a team of FILTER agents to run cleanup. This was unlikely to be as clean. She ducked and weaved around the worst of Char’s brutal attacks, countering with her energy blades. He was not nearly so agile, but didn’t need to be. When Char hit something, it stayed hit.
Dr. Medico was about to step in when his daughter shrieked. Another prisoner, his eyes wide, stood behind her with a knife at her throat. Medico, Mainstay, and Writhe focused. Char’s cell hadn’t been the only one to open. Idealist created the opening; she closed her eyes, and the prisoner dropped his knife as his hand spasmed, letting out a gasp of pain as it wrenched itself away from her. She dropped out of the way as her normally pacifist father dove at the startled man. His body shone so brightly that the prisoner squinted, and did not flinch before the Doctor's gleaming fist slammed into his head. The would-be attacker stumbled back into the light-sucking emptiness of Writhe, which enveloped him even as it turned fractal where it intermingled with the Doctor’s light. There was a snap, and the man dropped to the floor.
Mainstay was standing by Idealist when the second prisoner came, but this time they weren’t caught off guard. Idealist’s form erupted into a faintly glowing blue giant, still shaped like a twelve-year-old girl, but eight feet tall, and the face she wore was a mask of determination. Mainstay slipped behind the man, then dropped a chain over his bald head and drew it tight around his neck, holding him in place, while the girl’s massive psychically projected hand crashed into his chest, cracking ribs and disabling him.
KNYFE still had Char checked to a standstill, but her armor was covered with small dents and scrapes, and sections were throwing sparks. “Get to the panel, trigger a lockdown!” She yelled it hoarsely, and it was clear her armor hadn’t absorbed all of Char’s blows.
Mainstay spun and threw his chain to distract the foe, and then slammed a fist into what should have been the side of his face. Instead it was Char’s open hand, catching his fist in midair, still glowing and faintly thrumming with energy. The brutish Char seemed to almost glitter as the air around Mainstay turned to ozone. He was tossed back, and he did not move again.
The Doctor was at his friend’s side immediately. “Miranda, go,” he shouted, and Idealist’s body shrank to a more or less normal human size, effortlessly flying across the room to the panel where she could call their needed reinforcements.
The lockdown triggered immediately. The area segmented and the cells and exits locked with energy fields, which would remain until guards and FILTER agents could arrive to contain the situation. Nobody hostile could sneak up on them now. There were just the four of them, and Char.
“Nowhere to run.” Writhe extended himself under the battlefield, making Char’s footing uneven and giving KNYFE a momentary advantage.
KNYFE used the split second to turn up her suit’s power output; one of her blades became a sword. The energy her suit projected to create the blades formed an edge that was thinner than could be achieved with any physical material. She spun inside his guard. It also weighed nothing, and the suit assisted movement, which meant she could move the blades faster than most eyes could see. She raised her arm.
Char slumped to the ground, a wound opened from his left side above his hip, tracing a bloodied line along his back to where the energy sword had severed his spine.