Shroud.

Shroud didn't take lightly to people leaving his command.

He let them, of course. But the consequences? Those they must reap.

Now for some individuals, the probability that they'd defy him at some point is higher. For those he'd take special precaution.

One of those people was Marrow.

She's always had this.. defiant nature to her. Reckless even. So, either she'd leave herself, or she'd get caught. Both things to be punished.

Her augments stopped when she left the Red Ring, and part of him thought it may be enough to get her back. Well, even he can come to wrong conclusions sometimes.

So now it was time to put phase two in motion.

He changed a few parameters on his device, reactivating her "enhancements".

Her healing factor would be slowing down, at first. With each day, it'd get slower, until it reaches zero.

Then, slowly, her bones would be locking up.

Her abilities, slowly becoming the source of great agony.

Until she comes back.

Marrow's hands warp into claws fighting a home invader, another stupid call from Robert. It's a smooth call, nobody got hurt (too badly).

She's on her way back, straightening out her arms and starting to rebreak her fingers... but they don't listen.

okay, so that's new. I'm sure it's fine.

_______________________________________

An hour passes. Her hands are still warped and monstrous, the calcified nails refusing to give.

It takes an hour and a half for her to regain control own body.

By the time her hands are usable, she's slumped against a wall from exhaustion and panic.

But waiting was proving harder than he thought. Marrow cannot stay an enemy. Her powers are far too powerful.

So after merely a day, he increased the rate of which her healing factor would decrease.

Not only that, no; he spent the last few hours rewriting the code, so that he has partial control over the way her bones transform.

Now how much would she like a rib cage that is forming spikes, threatening to pierce her heart?

He leans back in his chair, the squeak the only audible sound in the room.

She inhales...

...and stops halfway.

Her breath catches, sharp and wrong, like something inside her chest shifted when it shouldn’t have.

Marrow goes very still.

There’s pressure behind her ribs. Not impact, not injury, movement. A deep, grinding sensation she knows too well, bone answering bone, reshaping itself without her asking. She presses a hand flat to her sternum, fingers splayed, feeling the faintest rise beneath the skin. Too precise. Too deliberate.

“…okay,” she whispers, because saying anything louder might make it real.

She focuses. Tries to pull the structure back, to smooth it down the way she’s done a thousand times in the field. The response is sluggish. Resistant. Like steering through wet concrete.

That’s when the pain hits—not explosive, not cinematic. Just a slow, nauseating bloom as the edges inside her chest sharpen instead of settling, angling inward in a way that makes her spine lock and her breath go shallow.

Her healing doesn’t kick in the way it should.

That’s the part that scares her.

Marrow slides down until her back hits the wall, knees drawn up, arms locked tight around herself like that might keep everything where it belongs. She breathes carefully, counting like Dispatch med taught her. In for four. Hold. Out for six. Don’t let it panic you. Panic wastes oxygen.

Her comm buzzes on the table.

She ignores it.

This isn’t random. It’s not stress. It’s not her pushing too hard. Someone is touching the controls, and the shape of it—the timing, the cruelty of the escalation—settles cold and familiar in her gut.

“…you absolute bastard,” she mutters, not loud enough for the room to hear, but loud enough for herself.

She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t beg. She doesn’t call him.

Not yet.

Marrow braces, inch by inch forcing the bone to halt, sweat soaking into her shirt as the spikes stop just shy of catastrophe. When it’s over, she’s shaking hard enough her teeth click, lungs burning like she sprinted miles instead of sitting still.

________________________________________

The next day, he'd have to come up with something new. She still hasn't contacted him.

Maybe.. maybe something more inconvenient, than straight up frightening.

The smirk fell in an instant when he saw Robert on the floor, bleeding, unconscious.

His body moved as with a mind on it's own, eyes wide as he scooped up Robert from the floor. He didn't even know what to do, he just knew he had to get out of here now.

[ @the-shr0ud ]

[ Robert's mind was already on fire before he could fully comprehend why he was on alert again. Unconsciousness wrapped its soothing tendrils around his mind and pulled, but Robert pulled back harder. It felt like walking through tar. His eyes fluttered open long enough to catch a glimpse of midnight blues, bone chilling greys, and deep red. Wait... ]

Shroud cursed as the strike threatened to have him fall backwards onto the floor. The second he managed to catch himself, he lunged forward to meet Robert.

[ Through the blur of pain, panic, and anger, his eyes finally made contact with that mask. The same one that stared at him through the corroded hole in his old suit. The same one that watched him like a firework streaking against the night sky. He swatted at the hand on his shoulder and hissed quietly in pain. ]

"God, this night couldn't get any worse..." [ He wheezed out, mostly to himself. He was barely listening to Shroud in the first place. ]

Smartest thing was to leave, now. Fast. Out the door, leave Robert here to fall unconscious again.

He couldn't.

The smirk fell in an instant when he saw Robert on the floor, bleeding, unconscious.

His body moved as with a mind on it's own, eyes wide as he scooped up Robert from the floor. He didn't even know what to do, he just knew he had to get out of here now.

[ @the-shr0ud ]

[ Robert's mind was already on fire before he could fully comprehend why he was on alert again. Unconsciousness wrapped its soothing tendrils around his mind and pulled, but Robert pulled back harder. It felt like walking through tar. His eyes fluttered open long enough to catch a glimpse of midnight blues, bone chilling greys, and deep red. Wait... ]

Shroud cursed as the strike threatened to have him fall backwards onto the floor. The second he managed to catch himself, he lunged forward to meet Robert.

Hm.

An interesting kid.

Certainly.. more realized than the Robert I knew.

He has potential and this version has realized this himself, which is fascinating. I always believed Robert was too stuck in his presumed love for his father to understand his flaws and get my reasonings.

I would even go as far to say it's nice to see a version that broke free from those chains.

...

But maybe you're right? The version of you, the one I killed. He could never explain himself, not completely. He helped me understand the power of the Astral Pulse but he could never justify killing over it.

The Astral Pulse, of course..

-@vitaliaistired

Huh. No.