Chapter Text
"Do you recognize this woman?"
It was the first thing anyone had said to Chosen since his arrival at the facility. The stick with the sunglasses had simply slipped a blindfold over his eyes, cuffed his wrists behind his back, and led him through the winding halls until they reached a room, and the blindfold was removed.
The room was blank white, and had no exits that Chosen could see. Panic had gripped him then, and he had sank to the floor, gasping for breath as he strained uselessly at his bindings. He felt weak. Too weak.
An agonizingly long time had passed as Chosen sat alone in the white room. He was beginning to wonder if this was it, when a section of the wall had slid open and a stick with grey hair and a dour expression had stepped gracefully inside. The stick was dressed in a dark suit and clutched a briefcase in their left hand. They looked important.
And now, the same stick was holding a photograph of a smiling woman with delicate features and long dark hair, and Chosen could barely breathe. Not because he recognized her, although she seemed distantly familiar, but because he was afraid to answer.
Somehow, he managed to say, "No," and then added, "I'm sorry."
A strange expression flitted across the unfamiliar stick's face, and they pursed their lips, seemingly frustrated. "I believe introductions are in order." There was a barely contained edge of icy contempt in their voice that had Chosen flinching ever so slightly. "My name is Vic, and I am the CEO of Rocket Corp." So Chosen's instincts had been correct. "You are currently being kept in an extreme-security cell within our facility. Do you know why this is, Chosen One?"
Chosen froze, sudden terror flooding his senses and filling his lungs. They must have a way to see my file name, he realized. They must be messing with my power.
"I-" he choked out, voice faltering. "…It's just Chosen."
Vic gritted their teeth, a sudden rage settling over their expression. "Answer the question, Chosen One," they demanded. "Why are you here?"
"…Because I'm dangerous."
Vic's features seemed to settle into something more like approval. "…Well, you aren't wrong." They stepped back and began to pace, never looking away from Chosen as they spoke. "You are, quite frankly, the most feared terrorist in the Interspace. The Angel of Death, scourge of the web." They paused, voice lowering slightly. "Killer of thousands."
Again, Chosen flinched.
Vic continued. "But what I want to know is why you decided to show up on my doorstep and hand yourself over. You have evaded our capture for nearly a year now. You have cost me and my company precious time and resources. You have, just the other day, been pursued by my mercenaries in the city's downtown area. What caused your sudden… change of heart?" The words were bitter and sharp, and Chosen lowered his head, feeling like a scolded child.
What had changed? Chosen's gaze sank to his worn boots, nausea wringing his stomach. He still felt as shaky as he had yesterday, sobered suddenly from the wild rush of his escape by the terrified cry of the pedestrian below. If he hadn't blasted that chunk of rubble in time, if he'd been a frame slower…
I don't kill people anymore. I don't. But he almost had, and not even on purpose. The mercenaries hadn't even slowed, and Chosen had realized with a sickening jolt that it was because he was the threat. He was dangerous. Not Alan, not Dark, not the virabots. Him.
The horrible knowledge had clung to him, weighing him down as he forced himself to go faster. It had lingered as he hid in the alley storm drain, desperately battling the memories of the antivirus chest in the damp darkness. And, when he'd finally drifted off to sleep, he'd dreamed of what Dark had said to him, the day of their final battle.
"Why are you pretending to be a hero? Why do you think you can win this?"
"I… don't know." It wasn't quite the truth, but it didn't hurt nearly as much.
Vic glared at him.
"Let me be very clear, Chosen One," they said. "This facility is equipped to contain you, regardless of whether or not you decide to comply. I am being far more generous to you than you deserve. If you accept my offer, you will have the chance to regain your freedom while ensuring innocent people remain safe."
"Really?" Chosen's eyes widened. It sounded too good to be true.
"But," Vic held up a hand. "I need to be sure you can be trusted to walk free. You are still a mass murderer and a criminal. How do I know you won't take this opportunity and stab me in the back? How do I know that you won't go right back to your destructive ways the minute I set you free?"
"I won't." Chosen promised. "I… I'll do whatever you want, so long as I can prove myself. I don't want to be a threat anymore."
Vic smiled then. It was barely a satisfied flicker, but it was there. "Good. If you behave, there should be no issues." Their smile died just as quick as it had come. "But if you disobey, the consequences will be severe. I do not wish to discipline you, but my primary responsibility is the safety of my workers. If you pose a threat…" Vic trailed off, spreading their hands helplessly.
"I understand." Chosen nodded meekly. Vic was right. They were being more generous to him than he deserved. If he couldn't manage to do as they asked, then it was really his own fault, right?
"Good. You will be confined to this cell for the time being for training." Vic turned, beginning to walk towards the exit. "I will meet with you in an hour for initiation."
"Thank you." Chosen muttered as the door slid shut. A second chance was far more than he deserved.
After all, he had no one to blame but himself.