#dundundun

Danny rolled his eyes. “You keep staring at me.”

“Do not.”

“Totally do too.”

Kon huffed. “Okay, fine, maybe I do. I guess I just expected you to be more… I don’t know, curious about where we’re going.”

“I am curious,” Danny insisted, “but if you wanted me to know ahead of time, you would have told me. I’m okay with a surprise, since it’s you.”

Kon fought back a blush. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Danny said with a blush of his own that he totally failed to fight. “I don’t know. I guess just… know that you’re not going to let anything bad happen to me while I’m with you.”

“Oh.” Kon blinked. He gave a little shake of his head to clear it. “Yeah, of course not. I’d never. I’d stop anything bad from ever happening to you it I could.”

Danny smiled crookedly. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s true.”

“It can be true and sweet at the same time. Those aren’t, you know, contradicting or anything,” Danny pointed out. “And, hell, even contradicting things can be at the same time.”

“I don’t know about that,” Kon said.

“Nah, trust me,” Danny said. “I’m an expert at this. Both things can totally be true at the same time.”

“Oh, you’re an expert, I see,” Kon said with a little nod. “I guess I better listen to you then.”

“Just best to,” Danny agreed with a little grin. “But only in contradictions.”

Kon chuckled and pressed a kiss to Danny’s cheek. “Got it. And come on, we’re here?”

Danny glanced up at the neon sign. “Roll it Over?”

“Weird name, right? But I think it will actually be fun,” Kon said as he opened the door to the roller rink. Which was like opening the door to an oddly wholesome rave that the 80’s threw up on. “Fun with a lot of black lights and neon, apparently.”

“Pretty sure there’s a disco ball in there too,” Danny said as he stepped through the door. “A roller rink?”

“Yeah,” Kon said. He turned one of his bracelets nervously. “They, um, they do roller derby here apparently and use it as a regular roller rink. Have you have skated before?”

“Just ice skating,” Danny said. He tilted his head at the rack of skates. “Four wheels has to be easier than a deadly blade, right?”

Kon laughed and nudged Danny closer to the counter. “Usually? I mean, if that exists comparison exists for any other reason. And if you are worse on four wheels, I’ll be right with you, okay?”

Danny gave a determined dip of his chin. “Yeah, okay. Right, let’s try it then.”

“Yeah?” Kon grinned and gave Danny’s hand a little tug. “Come on, we have to get our skates first. I bet they have some amazingly horrible food for later too.”

“I can smell the chili cheese from here,” Danny said.

He let Kon pull him along trough the skate rental and onto the rink without protest. They stuck against the outside edge while Danny worked to get his feet under him, literally. Kon kept one of Danny’s hands the whole time. If he also used a little TTK them both upright, well, what was wrong with that? It’s not like it was obvious what he was doing. He just wanted the date to go well.

“Come on, give me your other hand,” Kon urged.

“Nope. Sorry Con, but this railing an I are an item now. You’ll just have to accept a third in our relationship,” Danny said.

Kon gasped dramatically. “On our first date Danny? How could you?”

Danny sniffed. “Well, you shouldn’t have introduced me to such a stunning example of physical support if you didn’t want me to literally fall for it.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” Kon asked, not completely able to hold back his laughter.

“Exactly,” Danny said. “You get it now. You just have to be careful what sort of architecture you introduce me to in the future.”

“I don’t see how it’s my fault when you didn’t tell me you were a [WORD from the start of our relationship.”

“A what?”

“Person who falls in love with inanimate objects or building or has sexually relationships with,” Kon explained with a shrug. “There was a documentary about it streaming on one of the things. Morbid curiosity got to my friends and me.”

“Huh. Well.” Danny blinked owlishly. “I guess there really are all types.”

“Let’s face it, not the weirdest thing that you’ve heard of,” Kon said. “Not when we live in Metropolis.”

“True,” Danny agreed easily. “We do have a bunch of alien protectors flying around. And Lex Luthor. That guy gives me the creeps.”

Kon almost stumbled. “Just, like, what you’ve heard about him…?”

Please let that be all.

“Sure, that, but he’s worse in person,” Danny said, oblivious of Kon’s panic. “Like, I’m not accusing the guy of anything, and he’s never done anything, but I wouldn’t wouldn’t want to be in a room alone with that guy, you know?”

Kon tried to swallow back the bundle of nerves.

It didn’t work.

as sherman and his lackey lunge for sylus' cards to search for signs of foul play, you frown at the door he just closed.

this guy. he's no ordinary guy. of course, you knew that when your handler stationed you here. he's the head of onychinus for fuck's sake, the infamous person who runs the infamous faction that runs the infamous n109 zone. but seriously? anyone in their right mind would stay after seeing the hands on the table, especially after a whole night of losing. your handler emphasized that despite how much the rumors about him vary, they all point to him being a cunning man, capable of bringing a rival faction to their knees in less than a day. 

it’s not like he’s a gambling addict either. you’ve seen your fair share of them, and they all have this crazed look in their eyes. but no, this fucker gave you the most smug look before tapping the table. it's almost as if he knew he was going to win.

"hey, we need you at the bar," your one-day manager calls for you. "lounge's closing in five minutes."

"yeah," you exhale a deep breath. you need to calm down. it’s bad enough you lost your composure (in front of the head of onychinus of all people). for now you’ll focus on what’s important: no longer the commission but getting out of here. as soon as the last cup is put away, you’ll ring for transportation and book it. 

"goodnight gentlemen," you step away from the table. sherman and his lackey stand up in pursuit. "i would advise against any attempts at violence," you say as politely as you can. "this is a lounge, after all. one that is closing too. have some tact, will you?"

and with that, you walk towards the bar, paying no mind to their insulted faces. if they still decide to follow you, you'll use your evol to the max. you can’t afford to care about anyone who’s within fifty meters anymore. every additional second spent here is jeopardizing your chances of escaping sylus qin. did you see that nod? he's nowhere near done with you.

luckily, you don't hear footsteps chasing you. once you reach the bar, you quickly scan the lounge before collecting the empty glasses. 

all seemed well for a moment. there were little signs of your one-day manager assigning you more tasks. there were many signs of sherman and his lackey waltzing out. most importantly, there was every sign of you finishing your task, meaning you could soon leave without running into a certain silver-haired man.

however, there were no signs of sherman's gun on the table.

♢♢♢♢♢

it's raining by the time sylus leans back against an alleyway, a hand in his pocket and a foot against the wall.

"speak."

"hey boss!" luke and kieran greet simultaneously through the phone.

"you'll never guess what we found out," the older chirps.

"idiot, he's the one who sent us here," the younger reminds.

"what did you just call me?!"

"cut to the chase," sylus snaps. "i'm in a hurry right now." he is very much in a hurry right now, damn it. every additional second spent here is jeopardizing his chances of seizing you, having you. he needs to get back to the lounge as soon as possible. he needs to see you, talk to you, squeeze out of you that enticing look you had on your face less than five minutes ago.

"woah there, boss. is everything okay? you sound tense," luke asks.

sylus sighs, pinching his nose bridge. "yes, everything is fine, luke. thanks for asking." he glances at the rain-covered window across from him to see if you're still at the table. he frowns when he doesn't see you. "did you confirm what i asked you to?"

"yes," kieran answers, earning a grumble from his twin about his stolen thunder. "there are no authentic protocores here at sherman's warehouse. actually, there are no protocores here at all."

"seems like he was trying to strike us a deal with nothing," luke pipes in.

"how disappointing," sylus chuckles drily. "not surprising, though."

"should we go after him, boss?" the twins excitedly suggest at the same time.

"no need," sylus peels himself off the wall and moves over to the window for a better view. "i'll take care of him myself," he assures as he wipes the glass. he's delighted to find you at the bar drying a glass while sherman and his lackey make their way towards the exit, which leads right into the alleyway he's in. "in fact, i'll take care of him right now."

and with that, he hangs up the call. right on cue, sherman and his lackey step out of the lounge, their faces twisted with frustration from all the losses they experienced tonight. however, their faces immediately morph into fear upon seeing the head of onychinus.

"gentlemen," sylus smirks as he pockets his phone. "i just heard something very interesting."

in a blink of an eye, bloody, inky wisps wrap around the two men's necks and slam them into the wall. the very wall the feared man was leaning on moments ago. how unfortunate.

"w-wait," sherman chokes out. "let's t-talk about t-this."

"what could there possibly be to talk about, sherman?" sylus mocks with crossed arms. "surely not the fact that you tried to deal me not even fake protocores but none at all?"

one would find it difficult to determine if the two men were going pale from the lack of air or the abundance of fear. perhaps both. how unfortunate.

"no matter," sylus shakes his head. "let's talk about my wager instead, shall we?"

the air shifts as his evol tightens around sherman and his lackey's necks. the crimson and ivory tendrils rampage faster and faster, signaling for a brutal execution to come, a signature move every bastard in the n109 zone is aware of. however, the dreaded crushing and disintegration of flesh never comes. seizing this chance, sherman desperately searches for something in his pocket. 

“looking for this?” 

his eyes widen upon seeing his gun in sylus’ hand. 

nobody, not a single one of you, noticed him swipe the gun before leaving. 

“now, about my wager,” sylus cocks the gun. “how about your lives?” he aims at the drenched forehead of its owner. “surely it’s the least both of you can do after trying to trick me.” he places a finger on the trigger. “again.”

before sherman can open his pathetic mouth, sylus pulls the trigger, a glorious bang ringing through the rainy night sky. he doesn’t give the lackey a chance to mourn. instead, he gives him the same fate as his employer: a bullet lodged deep into his skull. not a single one of them was worth his evol. 

wiping the blood off his cheek, sylus tuts. “felled by your own gun.” he releases his evol. “how unfortunate.” 

after chucking the gun on the floor, he approaches the entrance of the lounge. he doesn’t have time to clean up the corpses. he’ll just escort you out another way (yes, this man plans to accompany you wherever you go after tonight). unable to hide his frenzied smile, he grips the door handle and steps in. 

♢♢♢♢♢

the brief pitter-patter of rain let in by the door should’ve been your first sign to hightail it out of here. the silver-haired man who’s currently seated at the bar with an elbow planted should’ve been your second. the red hungry eyes trailing over your figure most definitely should’ve been your third. 

but you’re too busy drying the glasses with your back turned. big mistake. 

“a glass of gin fizz, please.”

you still.

“make that two, actually,” he adds. 

you don’t turn around. you don’t dare to. instead, you slowly grab the last glass, prepared to put it away. 

“i’m afraid the lounge is closed, mr. sylus,” you counter gracefully. 

the man chuckles, leaning back in the stool. “surely this lounge can make an exception for the head of onychinus.”

“of course!” your manager dashes out of the employees' room, eager to earn the lounge additional funds. “what are you doing?!” she scolds you with what she thinks is your name. you’re thankful you have an alias tonight because the idea of sylus knowing your identity turns your stomach, which you’re sure is what he’s trying to do by ordering two glasses past closing time. “pour him a glass of gin fizz!” she instructs and dashes back into the employees’ room. you resist the urge to curse when you hear the employees’ entrance lock, meaning she clocked out for the night, meaning it was just you and sylus. couldn’t she have just made the drinks herself if she wanted the additional funds that badly?

exhaling deeply, you use the glass in your hand to scoop up some ice. no point in resisting. last thing you want is for your handler to nag you for not cooperating with the client’s staff, especially when you already gave up on the commission. might as well just get this over with.

“i wouldn’t scoop the ice first if i were you, sweetie,” sylus snaps you out of your thoughts. “it’ll dilute the alcohol.”

you don’t say anything. you just grab a bottle of gin and pour it into a jigger. your customer scoffs. 

“are you ignoring me, sweetie?”

you pour the gin into a shaker and squeeze some lemon juice. 

“if you’re upset about something, then you should tell me.”

you take out the simple syrup from the fridge and pour it into the jigger.

“how about this?” he starts. 

you add the syrup to the shaker along with three ice cubes. 

“i ask you a question, and you ask me a question.” 

you equip the shaker with its strainer and start shaking it violently. 

“aren’t you curious as to how i won?” 

you freeze. only now do you feel the chill of the liquor from the shaker. 

“go ahead, sweetie,” sylus coaxes, thrilled to finally have your attention. “ask. i know you want to. your face back there said it all.”

placing the shaker down, you open its lid, pour its contents into the ice-filled glass, add a generous amount of soda water, turn around, and slam the glass in front of sylus. 

that’ll shut him up for a minute or two. 

but it takes everything in you not to gasp when you look up from the glass. 

since when was it raining outside? he’s seated with his shiny, silvery hair messily slicked back, beads of water slowly dripping down his face and neck, his drenched button-up suit clinging onto his chest and forearms for dear life, and his ruby-streaked blazer not only hanging from his broad shoulders but also adding to the puddles forming beneath the stool.

you make a mental note to inform your handler that the head of onychinus is NOT some old, short man with a face only a mother could love, like some of the rumors say. 

enjoying your gaze on him, sylus tilts his head teasingly. “well?”

you can’t back down. it sounds like he won’t either until you talk to him. pinning your hands on the counter, you lean in. “why did you hit? you knew your chances were low, even after looking at my cards.” 

he doesn’t answer immediately. it’s your turn to expect something from him, want something from him. it’s the least you could do after driving him in circles the whole night. besides, he wants a closer look at your face; commit it to memory in case you even think about leaving without compensating him for the absolute torture you put him through. 

after taking a slow sip from the glass, sylus asks, “ever heard of gambling addicts, sweetie?”

you squint at him. “yes, but you aren’t one.” 

“oh,” he quirks a brow. “so you know of me?” 

“everyone in the n109 zone knows who you are, mr. sylus.”

“yes, but you aren’t from the n109 zone, miss dealer.” 

you tense. although the shift in your shoulders was incredibly tiny, it was taken hostage by his eyes. he’s impressed by how controlled your reactions are. 

but now it's his turn to ask.

standing up from his stool, sylus leans in dangerously close and whispers, “what brings you to the n109 zone, sweetie?”

you don’t answer. but you don’t back away either. sylus likes that. he likes what’s happening right now. when was the last time he felt this ecstatic from a conversation? even though your answers were cryptic, he was able to conclude that you come from a place or are in a position where his existence is made aware, and probably in certain detail too, given your insistence on him not being a gambling addict. when was the last time he had a gin fizz that tasted this good? he’s delighted the serving he had at the previous table was also made by you (how does this psycho know that). and most importantly, when was the last time he felt threatened? something is unsettling about the way you won every single game tonight, with a look of indifference too. 

by chance, are you an evolver?

“i assure you, i am from here, mr. sylus,” you answer with a small smile. it doesn't reach your eyes. removing your hands from the counter (he frowns when you do), you turn around to make another glass. hopefully his previous request for two will serve as a distraction. “you’re welcome to look into my name, but i’m sure the head of onychinus has better things to do than to worry about some dealer.” 

sylus laughs. he actually laughs. although it isn’t loud, the intervals as to which his rich voice seeps through are enough to convey that your lie hasn’t convinced him. “sweetie,” he shakes his head endearingly and sits down. “because i am the head of onychinus, everything and everyone in the n109 zone is subjected to my worrying, including intruders who use fake names.” 

you spin back around, your eyes full of alarm. how does he know about your alias? no, how does he even know you’re not from here? from the beginning, that’s what he’s been insisting on. there’s no way someone as busy as him could know about every single person residing in the n109 zone. at least, that’s what your handler said (oh how wrong she was). 

“do you truly expect me to believe that is your name?” sylus repeats your alias with scorn. it’s an injustice to your frame. “it doesn’t suit you. you need to pick better names, sweetie.

what the fuck. he’s convinced you’re an intruder because your alias doesn’t suit you?! this guy. this guy’s not sane. that’s it. now you really need to get out of here. glaring at him, you snatch his glass and dump its contents down the drain. damn it, you wasted too much time. he got you. he got you good. he never intended to uphold his “a question for a question” deal in the first place, given his bullshit answer about gambling addicts. 

“i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through gritted teeth. “now excuse me, mr. sylus. the lounge was supposed to close fifteen minutes ago.” 

sylus licks his lips. he can almost taste the frustration in your face and voice. it’s intoxicating. that’s the second time he’s forced a reaction out of you. how much more until you beg him to stop? 

“of course, miss dealer,” he concedes mockingly. "allow me to escort you out.”

“that won’t be necessary,” you hiss. “my car is right around the alleyway.” 

“still,” he blocks you from exiting the bar. “it’s dark and raining outside. it’s the least i could do to pay for the drink.” 

“money will do,” you frown. 

“i’m afraid i’m all out, sweetie,” he smiles. “you did quite the number on me, after all.” 

you scoff. not only is his smile shameless, but so is his lie. you may not be from here, but you know damn well it’s going to take an eternity of games to even leave a dent in the head of onychinus’ bank account. you glance at the clock. you should have called for transportation by now. technically, you still can, but you need to be outside. and it doesn’t look like he’ll let you go anytime soon unless you accept his offer. 

“you can walk me to the alleyway,” you sigh. 

“not to your car?”

you scowl at him. don’t push it. 

sylus chuckles and steps aside. when you exit the bar with a huff, he can’t help but think you look like a cat, a cute little one who scratches when agitated. perhaps kitten will be what he calls you next. 

after turning off the lights, you step out of the lounge. only to freeze in your tracks.

corpses.

corpses of the two people involved in your commission. narrowing your eyes, you notice a bullet wound in each of their foreheads. you scan the ground, searching for any traces of the murderer. however, your blood runs cold when something catches your eye. sherman’s gun. you crouch to pick it up. did he kill himself? no, that doesn’t explain why his lackey has the same wound. 

“ah,” sylus interrupts your thoughts. “i forgot to escort you out the other way. my apologies, kitten.”

he knows violence doesn’t faze you as it normally would for any other outsider. still, he didn’t want you to see this kind of violence since there’s a substantial difference between witnessing an arm get crushed and witnessing the glassy eyes of lifeless bodies. 

though, he supposes he worried for nothing since you’re being eerily quiet with your eyes fixated on the gun. 

skillfully, you unload the gun. no bullets left. you exhale deeply. from the looks of it, sylus killed them since he knew the bodies would be here. furthermore, he used sherman’s gun, which initially only had two bullets, given the lack of bullet marks in the alleyway. you just happened to miss the sound of gunfire since you were too occupied. but if that’s the case, that means sherman and his lackey died quite the unfortunate death where the former’s gun was their undoing and no one could’ve heard them, which means… your evol. it did its job. too good of a job. 

“at least the commission is complete,” you murmur. 

sylus furrows his brows. “you, what did you just say?”

for a moment, all that is heard is the downpour of rain and the distant rumbling of thunder. 

you pull out your phone and press a contact. “delilah, open it now.” 

“what?”

you sprint down the alleyway, not bothering to acknowledge his confusion. 

sylus immediately chases after you, his legs moving like never before. shit, you completely took him by surprise. what was that phone call? no, what did you mean by a completed commission? and why do you know how to unload a gun? clenching his jaw, he prepares to teleport to the end of the alleyway, determined to intercept you. he’ll be damned if he lets you escape. 

although he blinks to the end of the alleyway, you make a sharp turn, evading his outstretched arm. 

“tch,” sylus clicks his tongue before continuing his pursuit. however, you make another turn around the corner, giving you three seconds out of his sight. 

by the time sylus turns around the corner, you’re gone. not a single trace of you left behind. but what infuriates him more is that this is a dead end. not a single way out but the way he got here. he slams a fist in the wall, ignoring the blood that seeps down and the deep cracks in the bricks. using his free hand, sylus pulls out his phone and dials his most recent contact. 

“luke. kieran. get me access to the cameras surrounding this lounge,” he spits the lounge’s name. “now.” 

♢♢♢♢♢

you breathe rapidly as you fall onto the floor, your throat burning and your ears ringing. you’ve never run so fast in your life. 

“welcome back,” a smooth voice says your name. your actual name. 

you look up to face your means of transportation, delilah. 

“what the— did it rain over there?” an acute voice asks. 

stella, your handler enters your vision. 

both of them reach out a hand for you to take. 

you begrudgingly accept and swiftly walk towards the door, eager to give yourself a fucking break after all that happened today. 

“what’s the rush?” delilah asks with a yawn. “don’t tell me you failed the commission—"

"how was your first time in the n109 zone?” stella interjects, warning delilah with her eyes. 

you pause before turning the knob. 

"That way they'll chase you and I'll have just enough time to grab a few brains for Slurp. I mean, Isaac," Pugsley corrected himself quickly.

"You brought me along just to be a distraction?! I'm not drawing the cops away for you, Pugsley!" Eugene protested.

"Okay, well if you want, I can do the running, as long as you can grab the brains," Pugsley shrugged. "Either job is fun... do you know how to perform a complete craniotomy? Not where you just remove part of the brain, mind you, we're after the whole goodie."

"Pugsley!"

Down the street, sirens wailed and lights flashed. Both outcasts froze with Pugsley still fumbling at the lock.

"Damn, I'm not nearly as good at this as Wednesday!" Pugsley mourned.

"That's it, I'm out of here!" Eugene exclaimed.

He took off into the woods. Pugsley prepared to follow him, but his lockpick snagged in the door and refused to budge. While he was still struggling to pull it free, three cop cars raced past him without so much as slowing down. He watched in disbelief as they tore off down the street and disappeared from view.

"Huh. Guess they've got somewhere more important to be," Pugsley puzzled. "What... what... what a great stroke of luck! Eugene! Hey, Eugene!"

His friend was long gone. He heaved a sad sigh.

"Poor Eugene, he's gonna miss out on all the fun because he's so jumpy," Pugsley lamented on his friend's behalf.

He bent down again and went back to the task of opening the back door to the Jericho morgue.

Tara eyed the keys Gates carried. It wasn't hard to guess her intent.

"Walk away," Tara warned her. "Leave my brother alone."

"Aw, but your brother needs me," Gates pandered, expression simpering and manipulative. Tara was unimpressed with the display. "A hyde is doomed to waste away in agony in separation from his master. Don't you know that? Or didn't you bother to research your brother's condition?"

"I've read everything there is to read about hydes," Tara countered harshly. "You should know better than anyone that the available information is limited at best."

"That's true, I'm something of a... self-made expert on Tyler's particular breed of monster," Gates agreed. "Take my word for it, Ms. Galpin. He needs me."

"What he needs is to be free of you once and for all," Tara scowled. "What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Fairburn doesn't have something to do with this, does she?"

"Oh, Fairburn thought it would be conducive to Tyler's recovery to have me close by," Gates explained. "She thought the woman who unlocked her most fascinating patient once might be able to do it again."

"Well, that's a gaping breach of ethics and common sense," Tara noted.

More than an oversight on Fairburn's part, exposing Tyler to Gates intentionally likely constituted a moral breach that Tara could use to her advantage.

Assuming she could keep her brother safe from Gates, of course.

"Tara, careful," Tyler spoke up. "Don't underestimate her. I wouldn't be surprised if she was the one behind all the chaos out there."

"Listen to your big brother, honey," Gates drawled. "You're out of your depth. Just stand aside. I'll just take my hyde and be on my way..."

She took a step closer to the door of Tyler's cell. Tara raised her right hand in warning.

"Stay the hell away from my brother!" she growled. "He's not your property!"

"Oh please, don't bother baring your teeth if you're not prepared to use them," Gates scoffed. The next step she took put her not only in reach of the cell, but at arms length from Tara as well.

"Don't test me, Gates!" Tara hissed in warning.

"I'm taking Tyler," Gates smirked. "If you're going to stop me, it's now or never, Ms. Galpin. Well?"

Tara placed herself bodily between Gates and the door of the cell. Behind her, Tyler leaped to his feet. Foreboding curled menacingly in his gut, the knowledge of his master's nature filling him with dread and terror. The fear wasn't for his sake.

"Tara, you need to leave, now!" he told her, voice low and urgent. "You need to run while you still can, do you hear me?!"

"Like hell you're taking him!" Tara snarled, the entirety of her attention focused on Gates.

"Tara, listen to me!" Tyler snapped.

"I'm not leaving you here with her!" Tara yelled back. "I won't just abandon you! Back off, Gates! You can have my brother over my cold, dead body!"

"Well... if you insist," Gates shrugged. Her eyes flicked to the other Galpin in the room. "Tyler, honey? Be a good boy, won't you. Move the Da Vinci brat for Mommy."

Tara's expression twisted with disgust at the display.

"That's enough out of you, you fucking sicko!" she spat.

She raised her right hand, only for Tyler to catch her wrist through the bars. The hum of her power surged and then fizzled, the brief burst enough to send Gates stumbling back a few steps.

"Tyler, what-"

His grip tightened painfully, hard enough to wrench a harrowed, startled cry from Tara.

"You're hurting me!" she panted. "Tyler! Stop!"

"I said move the bitch!" Gates shouted. "Now, Tyler!"

The eyes that met Tara's were wide, black pits without a trace of iris left to them. Tara had enough time to feel fear when Tyler reached through the bars and swatted her. He sent her flying with little more than the palm of one hand and a short grunt of exertion.

Tara impacted the wall and bounced to the floor, groaned through her agony and rasped for breath. Her vision blurred and shook while she forced herself to look up, watched while Gates opened the door to Tyler's cell and freed him from his collar. She was speaking to him, saying something, crooning in that repugnant, condescending tone. Fury surged through Tara as she struggled back to her feet, clutched ribs that ached with every ragged inhalation she managed to rake in.

"Get- get away from him, Gates!" Tara cried.

"Tyler, honey..."

One more order, Tara realized, and she could be dead. Tyler would be forced on the run with this psycho, destined to end up dead himself or worse.

There was no way in hell Tara was going to stand by and watch that happen. Not while she still had a breath's worth of resistance left in her body.

"You took him from me once, Gates!" Tara shouted. "You can't have him again! I'm not letting you take my brother away from me again!"

Tara clenched her fist. Driven by turbulent emotion, the outburst of her telekinesis wrapped Gates in a psychic tempest unlike anything Tara had ever previously known herself to be capable of. She yanked on pure instinct, pulled Gates abruptly from the cell while Tyler reached for her. Excruciation painted his expression in shades of mindless, forlorn tragedy. As hard as Tara had hit the wall, she lashed Gates twice as brutally, let her slide down in a gasping, helpless heap.

Tara saw Tyler move out of the corner of her eye. She stopped him with a wave of her hand, sent him stumbling back with barely any effort at all. She lifted his collar with the twitch of a single finger, snapped it back into place and twisted the mechanism with ease. He grabbed it with both hands, tore and growled with futile, animal ferocity while Gates rose incrementally, only to collapse again.

With Tyler in check, Tara rounded on his master again, rage burning behind her eyes. Reason was a god she would never forsake, and he was a deity who condoned violence when the cause was rational.

"He'll never be free while you're breathing, you fucking psychopath!" Tara spat.

She clenched the fingers of her right hand again, yanked Gates back to her feet, dragged her up with her back to the wall. Blood already spotted the corner of her mouth. Internal injuries? Or something as minor as a split lip or a bit tongue?

It didn't matter to Tara. She curled her fingers even tighter, nails digging into her palm hard enough to draw blood as Gates choked to death in front of her. The villain's eyes widened, pupils consumed by her panic as she stared down mortality. Tara glared at her like the very incarnation of wrath, like the vengeance of an entire bloodline distilled into one stubborn Da Vinci.

Savage satisfaction filled Tara when she watched the light drain from Gates' eyes. Behind her, Tyler snarled and howled, thrashed and wailed. When Gates went still, Tara let her body fall to the floor. Tyler collapsed in sync with his master, chest heaving, hair wild, disconsolate tears streaming down his cheeks.

"What did you do?!" he demanded. "What did you- what did you do?! What the fuck did you do?!"

"Stop that!" Tara snapped.

Tyler stilled at once. Tara didn't read any deeper into his compliance. She was too dazed from the culmination of her spite, her surrender to the darkest impulses predisposed to her by her twisted lineage. The way he obeyed her completely, without hesitation, without flaw, should have raised her hackles. She was too busy basking in her spite, in the vicious thrill of victory.

She loomed over Laurel Gates corpse. Her lips curled up in a snarl of contempt. She spat vehemently at the husk of the murderer who had ruined her brother's life. Or tried to, at the very least.

"There's no sin in excising a tumor," Tara declared coldly. "Do you understand me, Tyler? I didn't do anything wrong. This was self defense at worst. More realistically? The world is a better place without someone like Laurel Gates to sully it. Say you understand."

"I... I understand, Tara," he mumbled.

One Galpin on his knees. A dead master, already pallid in the otherworldly glow of the emergency lights. The wail of sirens outside and the escalating chaos of an asylum tearing itself apart from the inside out.

Tara settled down cross-legged in front of the door to her brother's cell.

"Everything's going to be alright, Tyler," she assured him. "Don't worry about anything.

Behind her, her big brother stopped trembling. His breathing steadied one shaky inhalation at a time.

"Okay," Tyler said, numb with the inability to disagree with her. "Okay, I... I believe you, Tara."

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