#skizzledoc

Impulse looks up, surprised. He wasn't expecting anyone today. He makes his way to the side entrance of the silo, waiting for the doors to open.

When they do, he stares.

"Hi, Impulse!" Shadow says brightly, waving from behind Doc, who is standing with his arms crossed and eyes- both flesh and cybernetic- narrowed. The chill coming off his newly iced prosthetic arm causes a gentle mist as the potion vapors dissipate.

"Impulse. As you can see, there has been a...development."

"What HAPPENED?!" Impulse exclaims. "Shadow, dude-"

"It was no one's fault." Doc says as he and Shadow follow Impulse deeper into the silo, down on the agricultural level where he'd been putting in another farm. "A creeper over a cavern I had not yet lit. My redstone is in shambles and so, it seems, is Skizz."

"We fell!" Shadow says brightly. "Saturation saved our asses but you know, one good CRACK to the noggin and the joysticks change hands!"

"You're alright though? Is he-...Shadow is he awake?"

"See THAT'S why we love you, Dippledoppler, your A to B problem solving and noooo! He is not! And I am kind of freaking out!!!"

Impulse gestures and Shadow immediately moves around Doc, dropping onto the shulker Impulse had been working from and leaning on him. Impulse curls an arm around his shoulders and looks at Doc, who raises an eyebrow.

"How long?" He asks.

"The whole time, dude," Shadow says, sounding suddenly drained.

Impulse nods. "Since I've known him. The, uh, swapping isn't new either but I mean you've met Skizz- the parameters are so specific it almost never happens. He has to ALMOST die, and then recover enough to survive another hit."

"Ah. So. A rarity, then."

"I got to see the nether spawn for like a second and a half!" Shadow points out. "Before a hoglin wrecked our shit."

"Mm. And if I ask who is in..charge?"

"Skizz," Impulse says, Shadow clearly drifting off leaning on him. "Shadow is- look Doc we don't KNOW what Shadow is. We're pretty sure he's not like an alternate Skizz but he's not STUCK either, he doesn't remember anything before Skizz."

"And the teeth and the eyes and the combat proficiency?"

Impulse shrugs. "Don't know."

"I see. I am alarmed. Impulse you can understand why I am alarmed, yes?"

"I mean yeah so am I but mostly because Shadow can't hear Skizz." Impulse looks worriedly down at Shadow, who is drifting in and out. "Its hard for them to communicate- like they're hearing each other on a delay AND speaking underwater. That's what Skizz wanted to work on this season, find a way to fully talk and then introduce the idea to the other hermits with a guaranteed method of communication."

Doc looks sharply at Shadow. "You asked if Skizz was awake and he said no."

"Yeah. Thats- I'm trying not to freak out but that isn't normal? At all?" Impulse sounds a little strained. "Wirh Shadow in charge he should be having the same half conversations Skizz always has. For either of them to be totally asleep is- its not great."

Doc looks between the dozing man leaning against Impulse and Impulse himself. "Has it occurred before?"

"....no?" Impulse sounds strangled.

"Mm. Shadow wake up."

"M'not asleep," Shadow mutters, half-asleep.

"No you are not. And you won't be. I am messaging Xisuma and the Hive and then you are both coming with me. I will need your aid, Impulse, in crafting an apology."

"An apology for what?" Impulse asks as he holds his arm tight for Shadow to haul himself upright.

"For horning in on Skizzleman's project," Doc says. "Since unprecedented situations call for unprecedented goats."

"Oh shit we going nuclear up in here. Nootch."

Impulse can't help the nervous chuckle. "Yeah, I guess we are. Uh. Call Tango?"

"Callin' Tango," Shadow says, still leaning on Impulse who has not moved to push him off. He flails an arm in the air, opening the chat. "How much yelling is he gonna do?"

<shadow> hey mr. The tek you free?

<tangotek> shadowadowadyman? Long time no talk what's up?

<impulsesv> uh yeah. There was an accident.

"I am sure we will hear him from beneath his mountain range," Doc says as he waves away his messaging interface. "Alright. Let's go."

<tangotek> a what?

<docm77> we'll meet you outside the Himalayas

<tangotek> what kind of accidentificating happened, doc?

Impulse sighs. "What do we even tell him?"

Shadow shrugs.

<shadow> the new kind!

"Haha no unfortunately doc is out at the moment I'll be sure to let you know the moment he's back in the building"

I mightve miss-remembered the prompt a little but for the lovely @greenekangaroo

Prompt under cut

and like I haven't written it, but I'm just SAYING. It's right there. We all know Skizz can be a henchman, we SAW Wild Life.

(and I will accept no 'but he was useless' here Mumbo the murder machine who is as good at murder as he is at dying is an outlier and DOES NOT COUNT)

All it takes is one 'hey boss you could really use some sleep' and a blanket put over you at your desk when you fall asleep plotting mad science.

Doc has great respect for PixelPulse Valley.

The massive sprawling city-state had been in flux for years, ever since its unleashed AI programs gained control- and then were snuffed, despite their sentience, despite their advanced coding and neural learning webs, just like a toaster being unplugged after it completes its villain monologue, destined for the scrap heap.

That's the problem with AI, Doc knows. That off switch.

PixelPulse had come out of its near destruction by its advanced robots a little wiser, a little rustier, and with a- well not a mayor, or a governor, or- any other world.

He doesn't have a title.

He's Impulse.

Impulse, who was one of a team of three that saw the writing on the wall when the AI rebellion started. Impulse who had done the work after the EMP bomb, rewiring and reconnecting, letting the people who had fled know that it was safe, that they could come home.

Impulse, who had put all of PixelPulse Valley on his back and carried it up from the dark.

Once communications came back online, of course, the surrounding nations reached out. Some were tentatively treated with. Others were told to go pound sand. The same could be said for various international organizations, including the Watcher Council.

Who had been told on no uncertain terms that if a single hero with their ID entered PixelPulse Valley, there was no guarantee of safety or cooperation. Impulse knew where the bodies were buried, and he dug a few up before the Watchers relented.

The last hero to try and get into PixelPulse, if Doc recalls correctly, had been HawkEye. He made it out in one piece, sure, but he'd nearly turned in his badge.

PixelPulse looked after its own, was the message.

Fuck the rest of you.

Doc has had the pleasure of meeting Impulse a time or two, mostly when the Conflagration agrees to a yearly meeting. This time is different.

This time, Impulse has found evidence that a group within his city have tried waking the AIs again.

He would like them stopped but moreover he would like what they were working on considered because the loss of the AI, while the salvation of his home and his people, had caused a backslide that PixelPulse is still working on overcoming now, ten years later.

All of this brings Doc to the top of Pulse Tower, so named not after its current most famous occupant but because once its basement contained the power generator of the entire city- where one of Impulse's team had saved their home, but met his own fate in the process.

"Doc," Impulse greets with warmth and Doc shakes his hand firmly. "Impulse. I was surprised at your invitation."

"I know you don't like to be disturbed this time of year," Impulse apologizes as he leads Doc through a quiet black marbled entryway, "but when I found the black box I knew I needed your help quickly. Thank you for coming so fast."

"It was the least I could do. Now, shall we discuss?"

In a well appointed office- this had been a penthouse suite once, apparently- they do discuss. Impulse lays out what he knows of the rogue group, and how they are being received.

Poorly, is the answer.

"If they thought they were going to get recruits within PixelPulse they don't know anything about us," Impulse says. "Even the younger people know what happened ten years ago and the older folks would rather use well water forever than go back to the AI rebellion."

He's worried it will come to bloodshed.

"These people don't feel malicious, Doc. They seem misguided, excited. They know what they could have and what they have now and they feel like they got shorted."

"Children do not often know what is good for them," Doc notes as he examines the code and plans laid out on the tablet Impulse has given him, "but this is some inspired work."

"That's why I want them to live long enough to explain to me what the hell they think they're doing."

"This does not seem relevant to my experience, Impulse," Doc points out.

"It's not. I've got someone working on finding them but everyone knows he's mine, so it's been slow going even with his- unique charms. I'm working on putting other people on hunting down the perpetrators. What I'd like you to do, Doc, is dig into their work- see what can be made of it, where we can create leashes and labyrinths."

"Where we can curb the code to prevent another rebellion," Doc says. Impulse nods, hot pink eyes shadowed behind his visor. "Yeah. I- Max died so this wouldn't happen again. Skizz and I promised him it wouldn't. So it won't. Not on our watch."

Doc inclines his head. "And in return I gain access to your dead AI network."

"Full access. But Doc-" Impulse sighs. "threatening you is pointless, and we both know I don't want to do it. But if you're going to do ANYTHING with what you pull out of there, you do it as far the hell away from PixelPulse as you can manage. Alright?"

"Alright." Doc agrees.

Impulse smiles. He seems so young, so tired, though Doc knows he's a man grown. "Good. We've got quarters for you-"

A light on his desk blinks. "oh, excellent. Your guide's here."

"I have a guide?" Doc asks, remaining eyebrow raising.

"I wasn't sure you needed one," Impulse says, "but he insisted. Said it would make a nice change from how he usually gets to see you, and since I'm kicking him off this case anyway he'll need something to do."

Doc frowns, turning as the door opens. "Impulse I do not believe I have ever met-"

He shuts up.

Here in the valley, he's not wearing a suit, not precisely. Slacks, yes, with a button down shirt. He has no sleeves here, showing every scar on his perfect arms, and a leather vest with the same strange glowing lines that seem prevalent in the style of PixelPulse. Blue. Like his ever-present glow.

Impulse is standing, smiling. "Doc, I'd like you to officially meet my number two, Skizz. Though I think you might know him by another name."

Angel smiles, and it's the same warm, welcoming smile Doc has seen over hotel tables and roulette wheels and in the warm closeness of luxury suites.

"Hello, Angel," Doc says, the words feeling dry and crumbled.

"Hello, Doc," Angel says. "I'm so happy you finally came to see me."

--

Doc can't come to the phone right now

Why?

Art commissioned by mishattina on insta

I have no uhm

Doc would argue that he has few indulgences and his second in command would agree.

(His second's husband would not, but then again Martyn's always been a bit insecure about His and Ren's history. Doc doesn't let it bother him; Ren adores Martyn and Martyn's the best head of security Doc's ever paid, so it all works out.)

Few indulgences.

But not none.

He is still a living, breathing man, after all, despite what some enemies might think.

So entering a poker tournament now and again scratches a good part of his brain. He can have fun. He can play. There are stakes, sure, but the stakes aren't arms deals or small countries or whether or not he'll side with the Watchers and their never-ending army of heroes against whatever intergalactic threat has decided the world has offended them this month.

And if he manages to get into a tournament that has Angel, well.

All the better.

As his chosen epiphet might imply, his meta abilities are angelic in nature- a halo that sits like a jaunty hat on his head, a pair of beautiful white wings that come and go in a rush of feathers and light as he needs them.

Angel has an everpresent barely noticeable glow, cool and white, that shows the stars in his brilliant blue eyes. Oh Angel is lovely, handsome as handsome can be; taller than Doc by perhaps an inch or two, built broad and strong. He wears a suit so very well.

Angel is a hustler of some kind, Doc is sure, but whatever it is he moves- be it drugs, weapons, information, or just himself- it's not relevant to the game.

Angel is oh so good at the game.

He's got a keen eye and a cool head and a poker face that shouldn't be possible, considering how easily he speaks to other players while they wait in the lounge; Doc never speaks to him in the lounge. Angel is the center of attention there regardless of whatever new hussy might have made it to the high rollers' table. Often imitated, never duplicated; what Angel has, other arm-hangers would kill for.

Doc loves being paired with Angel. Their banter, their quick hand plays, the way Angel so shamelessly watches his fingers as they curl around the cards.

"Good to see you again, Doc," Angel will purr in a voice that maybe other men pay to hear. Doc doesn't care. He only smiles and says, "It's lovely to be here."

Because it is.

If the tournament goes on a couple days- and some do- Doc will find himself meeting Angel places. The lounge, obviously, or perhaps the restaurant of this tournament's host hotel, or the nearest upscale club where he'll laugh as Doc is seated with him in the VIP and say, "We're both too damn old to be down there, aren't we?" with a gesture at the young and the hopeless writhing to the music down below.

Doc will agree that they are. They'll drink champagne without knowing or caring the cost.

If everything's right- in that nebulous way things have to be right- Doc will not spend the evening alone.

Angel will go in the morning, buttoning his crisp white shirt over a body that shows scars- some old, some new- and every time he kisses Doc ever so sweetly on the forehead, between his horns.

"Come up and see me sometime," he'll murmur, and then be gone.

Doc would argue he has few indulgences. A love of poker, an appreciation for the game.

And Angel.